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fleur-bbyy · 1 year

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mornication /// katsuki bakugo

rating: 18+

wc: 3.5k

warnings: sex (minors DNI), pet names, unprotected sex w/ no mentions of birth control (please be smart), mentions of drunken sex (please be smart here too), phone call during sex, afab! reader (i try to not be descriptive about skin colors so all can read, but if I slip up please let me know so I can correct it), bakugo with an eyebrow piercing, hockey!au, college!au, quirkless!au, pre-established situationship, slight breeding kink, characters aged up to 21+.

just wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged my work in the past week! when I decided to finally post some of my writing here, i was a bit NERVY, but seeing how many people actually like and appreciate it has me giggling and kicking me feet. so thank you from the bottom of my lil heart :’)

“i cant believe we did this again.”

the room was spinning when you opened your eyes after hearing the low grumbling the male voice beside you. the rays of sunshine streaming through the blinds made it almost impossible for you to open your eyes all the way, leaving you to squint as your eyes wandered around the room. all you could pick up was that you were in some hotel before you registered your pounding head and groaned into the pillow, throwing your face down in it to try and block out the world from your eyes. some details of last night came back to you, just a few, though.

all you could remember was that katsuki and the guys won their hockey game against the school’s top rivals and that caused the after party at the club near the hotel you were staying at to be crazier than usual. you also remembered agreeing to share a hotel room with a certain sexy blonde to cut down the cost. you told yourself that you guys could keep it in your pants for one night of drinking.

clearly you were very wrong.

you were almost asleep again when the bed shifted, scaring you awake from any sleep you were about to get. you turned your head out of the pillow and looked up to see the back of the man you had shared yourself with last night.

the man you had shared yourself with for multiple nights.

he was still naked. colorful kt tape adorned his back, making little ‘v’ shapes in between his shoulder blades and lower back. after the rough game he played last night followed by an intense after party, you knew he had to be sore. you watching the way his powerhouse muscles rolled and rippled as he bent down to pull on his boxers and sweatpants over his taut ass.

your mind took over and you couldn’t resist reaching out smacking his butt while it was still naked. he jumped a bit, clearly not expecting the sudden contact. he smirked down at you as he looked over his shoulder.

“‘bout fuckin’ time you woke up.” he said as he continued dressing himself. sadly covering up his ass you were simply fascinated with and covering his upper half with a tight, wife-beater black tank.

“wish i wasn’t awake. my head is pounding.”

“mine was too. left pain meds and water on your nightstand for when you woke up.” you smiled at the thought of such a sweet gesture coming from a brash man like him. you flipped over again to face the side your nightstand was on, eyeing the horse-pill sized medication and now-melted ice water. you didn’t realize you were still naked until the blanket slid from your body as you sat up. nipples hardening as soon as they hit the cold air all hotels insist on keeping circulated throughout their rooms. you quickly took the gigantic pills and drank half of the water before flopping back onto the bed, boobs bouncing from the action. it didn’t go unnoticed by katsuki.

“nice tits.” he plainly stated, as if he were complimenting something mundane like a shirt or shoes and not a private area of your body.

“thanks, nice dick.” staring at the imprint his cock left in his sweats was like something out of a porno. even soft, the man still managed to look hung. you never thought the saying ‘third leg’ was a real thing until you met katsuki. he gave a light laugh at your reciprocated banter.

“care to tell me why you were up so early after a rough game, mister?”

“can’t let myself get behind, athlete’s gotta train, sweetheart.” your face and neck began to heat at the little pet name.

“maybe if you gave yourself a break, you wouldn’t have to doll yourself up in the pretty-colored tape.” he laughed at you again and sat down next to you, removing the part of the blanket that still covered your lower half and lightly stroking your bed head.

“then i wouldn’t have a good excuse to get you to touch me while you patch me up.” he still had that darkened look of lust in his ruby red eyes and you assumed he either didn’t have enough of you last night or you were both too intoxicated to remember. it’s not like you guys went out of your way to fuck when you were drunk, it just happened to play out that way. you couldn’t help that you both turned into to horny-fucking-bastards when you drank.

he removed one of his hands from your hair and trailed it down to one of your breasts. kneading the fat and pinching at your already hard nipple. you felt arousal start to build up in your core as you softly moaned under his touch.

“y’know,” you said in between whines, “we’ve never had sex sober.” you both gave it some thought as he continued to absent-mindedly play with your chest. you were right. every time the two of you ended up stumbling into bed together, you were always either both tipsy or completely sloshed, making it hard to remember fine details of the night’s event the morning after. all you know is that you were usually left with sore legs from whatever crazy positions your tainted heads came up with. bakugo furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about it too, the metal of his brow piercing reflecting the light. his face softened again as he looked you deep in the eyes.

“we’re sober now, aren’t we?” his pretty, infectious smile sending more jolts of pleasure down to your now-aching clit after so much teasing with you nipples. you gave him a devilish smirk as you grabbed the soft skin of his cheeks and pulled his lips down to meet yours. soon after, his tongue snakes out of his mouth and into yours. saliva mixing and rolling out of your mouth and onto your chin as the two of you shoved your faces together as close as they would go. you bit his lower lip and pulled it away from his mouth to get closer to yours, satisfied to hear that lovely groan come from his pretty lips.

you whined into his mouth when he moved his hand from your chest, your disappointment not lasting long as he moved his hand to where you really needed it. rubbing lazy little circles on your clit that lit your entire body alight. you were dripping so much that tiny droplets flew every time he completed a circle around. you were panting like a bitch in heat under his touch, already getting so desperate for release.

his pace quickened and he was able to slide a curious finger into you when he moved his body to lay atop yours. his thumb doing most of the work on your clit whilst his middle finger repeatedly hit your sensitive g-spot, making you see stars. no, the entire universe, because of his touch.

“you gonna cum f’me baby? i know you got it in ya. don’t worry about messin’ up the sheets, we’re leaving today anyways.” you felt yourself beginning to come undone from his magically skilled fingers and still-raspy morning voice. the tight, but sloppy circles on your clit sent a wave of pleasure straight to your hole every time he completed a rotation, causing your pussy to clench down onto his fast, skilled finger as that fire burning in your stomach only grew.

“kats… baby i can’t hold on for much longer.” you mewled at him, breathlessly. he kept up his pace. never moving slower or faster. determined to have you come undone at least once before he fucks you again.

“then cum f’me, sweet girl. I wanna feel you drip down my fuckin’ fingers.” his words set the fire in your stomach ablaze to unspeakable heights. you finally let go around his hand, your orgasm blinding and earth shattering. thighs shaking so violently that katsuki had to use his free hands to try and soothe them to a relaxing point.

“atta girl. you did so damn good baby.” he praised as he attempted to give you a moment to catch your breath.

“fuck me. wan’ you s’bad.” your words slurred together as you were trying to come down from the ecstasy his fingers just brought upon you. he laughed in your ear, lightly slapping your thigh as he lifted himself off from being over you and flipped you onto your stomach and into the jockey position. you felt him shuffling behind you as he pulled his cock out from the confines of his clothes and lined himself up with your inviting entrance.

“i’m gonna take care of you. don’t move a fuckin’ muscle.” and with that he pushed all the way into you, a shared moan leaving your lips and his. your eyes were heavy from your previous orgasm and from the fact you were already sleepy to begin with. the vicious pace katsuki had already set with his hips kept you from even thinking of falling back asleep. his pelvis became flush with your ass and his heavy balls kissed your abused clit with every thrust in. your warm walls sucked him in so good, as if you guys were two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be put together. your liquid arousal dripped out of you and onto him, making him loudly groan at the sight. your cute little moans made him want to bust in you already.

the pair of you were quickly pulled from your euphoric state when katsuki’s phone began buzzing so violently it almost vibrated itself off his nightstand. you both tried to ignore it, but the unrelenting buzz buzz buzz sound began to ruin your pleasant morning.

with an annoyed growl, bakugo reached over to grab his phone, his pace inside you never once faltering and he continued to pound into your sweet cunt like his life depended on it. he turned the screen to face him and saw that half the team had been blowing his phone and his personal group chat with his friends and you (you always kept them on dnd because they distracted you too easily) also ringing to life. he pulled the little half-slide trick to read the messages without them knowing he read them and found that they were looking for you both. some of them genuinely wondering if katsuki was dead because he was never sleeping in this late. he roughly slapped your juicy ass to elicit another sweet moan from you as he slid open the chat all the way.

hey man, everyone’s looking for you. wya?

yeah, we’re beginning to get worried, kacchan

and where’s sparks?

sparks. that silly little nickname given to you on your twenty-first birthday when you drunkenly tried to stick a fork in an outlet. “for science reasons” you said. nobody ever let you live it down and they still never let you around metal when you guys were drinking.

katsuki was once again pulled from his thoughts by his phone buzzing again, denki calling him now, and by the feeling of you pushing your hips back to meet his dominating thrusts. he reached down to wrap his hand around the front of your throat, “i said don’t. fucking. move.” the last three words punctuated by rougher thrusts into your sobbing, sopping wet little cunt. his ringing phone still in hand when he got an idea.

“since these extras won’t get the hint, i’m gonna answer them. think we can play up a little show, angel?” you breathlessly moaned out a “yes” before throwing your head into the pillows. your gummy walls beginning to clamp down on him harder, you were close.

he devilishly grinned as he pressed the ‘answer call’ button on his screen and put his phone on speaker, throwing it near your head so your friends could hear you loud and clear. the influx of voices bled into the air.

“thank god you answered dude! we were really beginning to freak! thought you were de- wait… what the fuck is that sound?” it was kaminari talking on the phone, but he could definitely hear the voices of kirishima and midoriya next to him along with some other voices he couldn’t quite identify in the background. he could hear the loud hum of the air conditioning, so he assumed they were still in someone’s hotel room. katsuki quickened his pace and reached around under you to rub your clit and bring you even closer to the edge. your moaning was louder, unrelenting. ready to give him all of your sweet juices.

“well? get on with it? ya really gonna interrupt me ‘n my girl having the best fuck of our lives and just go silent? or do you guys enjoy being nasty fuckin’ pervs?” my girl. his girl. your heart and pussy both fluttered at the two simple words that left his mouth. your lips breaking into a sweet, sleepy smile.

the grip his free hand had on your ass cheek once again pulling you out of any sweet thoughts you could have and back into the filthy ones. so close to release, you were teetering off the edge. the tight coil of pressure building in your stomach, begging to unravel around the thick cock of the muscular man behind you.

“c’mon, baby, show these nasty extras what you sound like when you cum on my cock.” that one perverse sentence was the one to finally throw you off the edge. white hot pleasure overtook your spent body. practically screaming his name as clear liquid splashed onto his toned stomach and dripped down his sweat pant-clad thighs and your naked ones, seeping onto the plush mattress and ruining the sheets. he held his tight black top up to avoid getting any of your messy release on it.

katsuki let out a guttural growl, “fuck yes. you hear that boys? hear how my nasty fuckin’ slut just squirted all over me?” you hated to admit it, but the thought of your shared friends listening into the two of you fuck like a digital peep show was so exhilarating to you. it was by far the dirtiest thing you’ve ever done during sex. by the pride in katsuki’s voice, you could tell he felt the same way.

his thrusts started to become sloppy and rougher, signaling that he was very close to his own release. his hips quickening as the sound of skin slapping skin also got louder and filled the thick air.

“fuck baby fuck baby.. ‘m gonna fuckin’ bust so hard. want to me cum in you? want me to fill this slutty fucking pussy?” his deep voice was laced with desperate groans as he so badly wanted to let himself go. you feverishly shook your head ‘yes’ at him, still moaning and yelling at the overstimulation.

the thought of his friends still listening in filled katsuki with a sense of pride that he’d never felt before and the sight of your naked body so weak under him making him so close to release that he could practically taste it. he began to feel his balls tighten and constrict, signaling that he was just a few thrusts away from a mind blowing orgasm. the straw that broke the camel’s back was the sight of your peachy little ass rippling and bouncing every time his hips thrusted in. a loud groan ripped from his throat as he pushed in one final time and painted your pretty walls white. the two of you were covered in a light sheen of sweat, little bits of his hair stuck to his wet forehead. some of it dripped down onto you and he used his thumbs to try and wipe some away. the feeling of rough hands performing such a gentle gesture just for you made your heart swell.

he was about to reach for his phone that still had the call going, when you lazily reached out for it instead.

“hope you enjoyed the show, boys, we’ll be down in a few!” somehow you made your sleepy voice sound so sultry it made katsuki’s softening cock twitch inside you again, like he could already go for round two. he was pulled from any thoughts of fucking you again when you wiggled your hips as a signal for him to pull out and he reluctantly did.

“what? done with me already?” he teased.

“never, just don’t want to leave them waiting for too long.” you weakly pushed yourself up and got out of the bed to head to the bathroom.

“we can leave them waiting as long as we fuckin’ please after the show we just gave them. and don’t forget to pee, i’ll have your ass inna chokehold if you get a damn infection!” he had to slightly yell the last part so it could reach your ears behind the closed bathroom door.

“whaddya think i’m doing in here, dimwit!” you yelled back. you loved being one of the few that could tease the temperamental man without having to worry about it being your last day on earth if you do. he chuckled to himself as he searched for another pair of pants to wear, now that his current ones were tainted with your juices.

you exited the bathroom as he finished redressing himself. he could tell you had just brushed your teeth due to the scowl that was always on your face after you did. he knew you abhorred the taste of toothpaste. hell, you were still using children’s toothpaste when he met you and teased you into being an adult and ditching the strawberry sparkle flavor you could actually tolerate. he nudged your shoulder and pointed at your still half full glass of water, telling you without words to drink it to get rid of the taste.

you finished the glass began to pick up your clothes and dress in silence. you both loved the domestic feel in the room after you made love. this time, though, you would actually be able to remember it since you guys weren’t drunk of your asses.

“can’t believe we did this again.”

“you’re telling me. call me crazy, but i’m beginning to think you actually like me or something.” you stated with fake shock in your voice.

it took both of you until now to admit it, but you were both tired of just being a drunk hookup buddies. trying to make this situationship or whatever clearly wasn’t happening since you were always yearning for something more. yearning for more time together. yearning to be something bigger, better than just fuck buddies.

“well miss, i don’t believe you’re crazy. just a little stupid.”

“hey!” you swatted at his thick bicep.

“y’know i’m just playing, princess.” he walked around to your side of the bed to help you pack your clothes together as his were already done, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek as he bent down to get your leftover things.

“I don’t know mister, I think you’ll have to take me out to prove that you’re just playing.”

“take you out now?”

“yes sir!” you ruffled his pretty, blonde locks and gave him a playful salute. he shook his head and took your bags from you. insisting that he carry yours and his. your heart pounded a little faster in your chest at the sweet gesture.

“‘s a date then,” he smiled at you as he gathered your key cards and left them on the table where they were when you arrived, “and stop calling me sir before ‘m forced to take you again.”

“you don’t have the energy to do it again!” you teased, sticking your tongue out at him.

“oh yes i sure ‘s hell do. one look at your ass and ‘m ready to go again.” he playfully smacked your ass and wolf whistled at you, causing a light yelp to escape from your lips. even though he carried both of your bags, he still managed to open the hotel room door for you.

“okay. I guess I can be good for you, sir.” you said, slyly as you walked through the opening and out into the carpeted hallway.

“you’re on thin fuckin’ ice, sparks.”

“as long as i’m with you on the ice, i couldn’t give two shits.” you got on the tips of your toes to kiss his soft, pink lips. he moved his mouth in tandem with you, neither of you wanting the lovely moment to end.

you ended up pulling away first after losing your balance from staying on your tiptoes for too long. he offered you his available hand to help you gain your footing, but even after you were stable again, he didn’t let go.

“ready to face those extras downstairs?”

“readier than ready.” you said with a slight giggle. you weren’t easily embarrassed by sex. with all honesty, the thought of your friends getting flustered by hearing to two of you made you want to either cream your pants or physically laugh out loud.

you trickled out of your thoughts when you noticed that katsuki’s hand was still intertwined with yours, still not attempting to pull himself away for you.

you smiled and quietly sighed with delight as you kept walking down the hotel hallway to reach the elevator. you didn’t let him go, either.

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cerastes · 7 months

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Hey. It's been a while. I think it's right to update you on stuff so tl;dr I'm probably not going to be around for some time, and if I am, it'll be in a diminished capacity, but if you're interested, do check under the cut. I'll also immediately state that I am not in any dangerous situation, it's other stuff, but I'll immediately dispel that before the cut just in case you just wanted to know that in particular.

Let's talk for a bit.

Long story short, the economy here is in shambles. The idea was for me to already have a new job, but that's not gone according to plan. I've been eating into my savings for a while now, and the people that told me that I had a job lined up for me September or at the latest October, meaning, this month, have been ghosting me. It seems to not be an option anymore, and no explanation was ever given to me. A shame, because it came from a place of relative trust.

This has eaten away at my nerves somewhat, and though it is the month of my birthday, I can't help but notice that, between the economy being this bad here, how hard it's been to land another job, and the fact that I'm eating into my savings, well, it's got me more than a bit worried. I'm not in any immediate danger of losing the roof over my head, or starving, or anything like that, but after a few months of "well, my savings take yet another hit this month with no end in sight", it's been rather rough, you'll understand, and it's compounded a bit. For just a second, and not as a primary, secondary, or even tertiary plan, more like a twenty-eighth measure if anything, I did entertain the dark idea of maybe asking for a bit of help here, and the moment that thought came up, I realized, "Ok, this is truly and well affecting me, I never want to do that", because, again, it's not like I'm in any immediate danger of homelessness or anything that grave, but it's been weighting on me enough that, even as a distant glint in the horizon of an idea, I did consider it. I don't want to sound like I'm blowing my own horn here, but for over a decade that I've had this blog, and the community/following/whatever you want to call it that has grown around it, I've never once asked for something like monetary help, because I think that can be a slippery slope. I've seen people far bigger than me, and some smaller, too, get addicted to asking for donations or help, or simply start taking it for granted when they ask for such a thing. My friends will tell you I writhe in agony when I receive a gift such as a game or something over the mail. My logic is that I don't need it, not in a proud way, but rather, in a "I wish you would spend this money on yourself instead, or on someone that truly needed it". With this in mind, I realized that, for me to even slightly consider that as an option, for the first time in my life, it meant that it was biting away at me far, far more severely than I thought. It's translated to other parts of my life as of late; I've not been depressed or anything, but I've felt this itch, this remarkably implacable feeling of "my man, you don't deserve to be taking it easy right now, something has to change, progress needs to be made".

I went out to wander for a few days, then arrived at my cousin's farm. He and his wife live a humble, hard working life, he invited me to stay for a while, I accepted, it was real nice, we hanged out, went exploring creeks and mountainsides while knocking back a few beers, the whole shebang for two guys that grew up in the middle of nowhere. Anyhow, it's true that the whole exposition that was the previous paragraph is something at play, but I also just... Haven't really wanted to be online at all. I don't want to check anything, read anything, and I feel a deep sense of alienation that I've not really felt in a long time. I suppose this is one of those good ol' Bro Is Going Through It, if we're to summarize it in a few words. It's easy for me to dispel negative thoughts and bounce back normally, because I've done a great deal of personal building and homework on knowing myself inside out, but not even this black belt in Drimobrain has helped this time around, and well, it bothers me, obviously, bwahaha. It's the first time in a few years that I really sincerely do not understand what's up with me, and while it's not really something I would consider me being rock bottom or anywhere near those depths, I do think I'm still below surface level, which is something I don't admit to easily, but have no choice to. I would love to be able to give this malaise shape and firmness through written or spoken word, but right now, it's a work in progress.

What bothers me the most is the sense of alienation I spoke of before: It makes no sense for me to feel this way, I'm treated with love and kindness every day, no one's silencing me in any way, I don't deal with barbs or hostility. So why is it that that's how I feel? Or perhaps it's something that feels similar, but I've no clue what it is, so I'm compounding it with alienation?

Regardless, it's all compounded into me just... Not wanting to be online. In the words of a friend of mine, "Dreamer has a fetish for self-development and growth", and, well, yeah, she's got that right despite the wording, I like to feel as if I'm improving every day and becoming better every day, even if slightly, and right now I feel like I'm just degenerating. Is it because my mood has been sour overall? Maybe. It might as well just be the fact that I Just Don't Want To Be Online For A While, and capricious clown that I am, if I want to do something, I do it, and if I don't want to do something, I don't do it. I'm tied to nothing and no one except my desire and drive to do or not do things. I can't change that, nor do I want to change that. And in this case, my heart's said to me, "fuck going online, go out, do things, try to get a job".

I also almost got recruited into something fucking vile that I thankfully noticed in time to avoid, but that's a story for another time.

There you have it. Am I leaving the internet/blue website forever? No, of course not, I like it here. Are things hard right now? They are, to be honest. Are they the worst it could be? Not at all. Do I have complete clarity of what's up with this fog inside of my head? No, and that bother me quite a bit. Are things going to be alright? Yeah, I think they will be.

I do regret it's in October of all months that this is going on, because it's where my shitposting power is at its apex due to my birthday, but hey, things happen, not necessarily for a reason, but they can be handled in such a way that it gives them meaning. I'm a fervent believer in that. I'm sorry this isn't the update you may have been hoping for, full of Lucina cosplayer blowjobs and other such hijinks, but hey, they can't all be Rainbow Road, haha.

So in case we don't see each other for a while, I hope you're all doing fine and dandy. I'm alive, I'm trying to be well, and most importantly, most fundamentally, most quintessentially,

I stay silly.

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vhagarlovebot · 2 years

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UNLUCKY FAITH.

♡. ── gif credit. ; ( aemond targaryen masterlist. )

pairings: prince aemond targaryen x fem!reader.

summary: did aemond targaryen ever love you?

content contains: this is pure angst with no happy ending, if you’re not comfortable with it i suggest you not to read. aemond being a piece of shit.

note: i’m a real whore for angst and i couldn’t leave babygirl aemond out of it. if there are any mistakes i apologize but as some of you may know english is not my first language. hope you enjoy! reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated.

YOU NEVER THOUGHT aemond targaryen would break your heart, how silly you were.

the moment you felt your heart being crushed was during dinner. you knew something was happening the minute you entered the room and were met with a familiar face. you did not knew her name but have seen her face before. this was a family dinner. a private family dinner, and she was standing next to the prince, a nervous smile on her face.

aemond paid you no mind when you walked past them, just the girl who bowed at you.

jacaerys, your older brother, had grab your arm, leading you to a secluded corner. his eyes were full of worry. “aemond is marrying lady ellyn baratheon.”

your world fell apart in that moment. and if it had not been for your brother’s hold on you, you would have dropped to your knees.

you knew aemond would ask for your hand, you have talked about that just hours before while his head rested on your lap, your fingers caressing his face.

later that night when you went to his chambers to demand an explanation, the doors remained closed. no matter how loud you screamed and cried, he never opened them. not even the day after that, or the next.

and no one knew what was happening. your relationship was never a secret to your family, even though you two tried very hard to hide it from them. so it was a shock when he announced his wish to marry the baratheon girl. his own mother had demanded an explanation for his sudden decision, but aemond never granted her or anyone with one.

the days where you’d walk through the gardens holding his arm, talking about the future and how far would you fly with your dragons if you could, turned into cloudy days spent in your chambers crying. the beautiful moments you two once shared turned into memories impossible to forget.

aemond not once tried to visit or talk to you, even when your absence was evident. the girl he loved so much turned into a mere inconvenience easy to be removed. was that always his plan? were any of the things he said true?

when your mother came to you with the option to go back to dragonstone, you tried to talk with aemond one last time.

you waited for him in the dragonpit for hours, until the night came and he descended from his dragon.

he was really surprised to see you for a moment, before his expression changed to a hard disgusted one. “you should not be here at this hour, princess.” he nodded, not meeting your eyes and simply walking past you.

“did you ever love me?” your voice came more weaker and raspy than you intended.

aemond stopped immediately and your heart, hammering against your chest, held onto a flame of hope.

but the second he turned around, clench jaw and eye devoid of any emotion, you knew it was all over.

“i do not wish for gossip to reach the ears of my wife-to-be and stir up unnecessary trouble.” and just like that the flame of hope died down. “it is improper for a princess to be wandering around this late unescorted.” and just with a nod he ended the conversation.

you were left behind bloodied and bruised, the pieces of your heart at your feet.

hugging yourself you fell to the ground, tears streaming down your face while you tried to comprehend how the man that once killed a man for you, the man that used to profess his undying love for you, is now incapable to look you in the eyes.

the following morning you were found by the dragonkeepers, almost passed out due to the cold, being taken to your chambers immediately.

when you woke up, you wished for it to be a bad dream. but the faces of your family, full of pity and worry, told you otherwise.

that same night you accepted your mother’s suggestion, flying on dragon’s back at sunrise. leaving behind once loving and happy memories, hoping time would make the pain fade away.

you did not heard from aemond targaryen until two years later when a letter came from king’s landing, and all those memories you tried to bury away came flooding back to haunt you.

after you watched the unopened letter burn, you never heard from aemond targaryen again.

#📮 ⌇ my works ˖⋆࿐#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #prince aemond x reader #aemond fic #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fluff #aemond targaryen scenarios #house of the dragon imagine #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #ewan mitchell

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Portrait: Epilogue

Masterpost

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: What happened after the last session?

Warnings: some suggestive content, flirting, banter, nudity.

Word Count: 0.6k

Author's Note: Please enjoy the wrap-up of this fic :)

Epilogue (4 weeks later)

“Benedict,” you whine, pouting at him over your shoulder.

“I am almost done,” he chuckles, “hold still for just a little while longer…” the request muffled around the paintbrush he just shoved between his teeth.

You sigh dramatically and writhe slightly, the crisp white sheet you lay on tickling your stomach; a shard of warm sunlight cuts over your back as it leaks through the gap between the window shutters.

“Husband, this is not what I envisaged when I said let's retire to our bedroom for the afternoon. This is our honeymoon, and we only have three days left,” your exasperation fond.

“Darling, I want to memorialise this. My beautiful wife, in the first flush of marriage,” he flatters. “You will thank me one day that this painting exists when we are both old and grey and our bodies sagging.”

“Hmmm, most likely. But it would perhaps be much less distracting were you not painting me whilst also nude yourself,” you shoot back, twisting to ogle the muscular thighs you can see under the easel.

“You are nude darling wife; I thought it only fair,” his voice like velvet and pitched to make you flustered.

“Get on this bed right now,” you groan, raising your hips and opening your legs a little so he can see everything you want him to.

“A few more moments…” he replies, but he sounds a little breathless now as you buck and writhe once more, making a show for him.

Your parents were horrified when you returned from your final portrait session wearing a ring from another man. But under your very real threat to run away to Gretna Green should they not allow the marriage, they reluctantly acquiesced. To avoid the scandal that an elopement would bring to your family and his. Viscount Bridgerton hastily arranged a special license, and you were married a few days later. (Your portrait taking pride of place in the hallway of Benedict’s home when he carries you over the threshold as Mrs Bridgerton.)

And henceforth, you departed for the South of France on honeymoon, where you have spent the last three blissful weeks together in a hilltop villa surrounded by a rolling landscape dotted with vineyards. Idyllic would not even begin to describe your sun-soaked days of wandering fragrant fields of lavender hand-in-hand, swimming naked in the fresh river, feasting on wine, cheese and local delicacies, before retiring for hours of love-making with your wonderful, attentive husband. This is everything you could ever have wanted. Beyond your most ardently wished dreams.

The clatter of palette and paintbrush being dropped breaks your reverie, and you squeal in delight as he flips you onto your front and crawls over you, a huge grin on his face.

“You never could behave when I paint your portrait, could you?” he contends lightheartedly, trapping your wrists on the pillow and looking down at you with an expression that never fails to leave you wanting.

“Why break the habit of a lifetime Mr Bridgerton?” you respond breathily, your gaze sliding greedily down his naked toned torso.

“Well, every other subject does pale in comparison, I admit. I will never paint another portrait again unless it is of you,” his glittering promise is murmured into the skin of your neck as he presses heated kisses there, lowering himself on top of you.

“Not even of our children? Or grandchildren?” you query as you enjoy his body heat and sinful tongue mapping your collarbone.

“Correction,” his head pops up, the most adorable squint on his face. “I shall never paint another portrait unless it is of you or our progeny….. Speaking of which, I think we should get right onto that, Mrs Bridgerton,” he inhales, sliding lower to capture a nipple between his lips.

“Onto what?” you ask over a moan, feigning ignorance.

“If you do not return to England pregnant, I have neglected my duties. Surely?” he teases, his tongue swirling, making your hand slide into his hair and grasp hard, pushing your breast up into his warm, wet mouth.

“Well then, please proceed, my darling artist.”

And he does.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory

Portrait-only taglist: @mysticwitchcraftco

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton smut #bridgerton x female reader #portrait fic

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oh-its-souichi · 6 months

Text

Marry part 4

Sakuna x reader

Im so stoked on the idea I started writing for part 5 I just rushed through this

Warning- same crazy stuff man

You woke up in his soft bed, comfortable warmth surrounding you. In the wives' hall, it was cold, and water leaked through the walls. In Sakunas' room, it was warm, and everything was lush. The only sound was the crackling of the fire. Not the hush of the other women and the scurrying of feet.

You had spent a majority of your time sleeping, the sickness your injuries gave you rocked your body, and it was only recently that your body was able to rejoice. The silence was nice, for awhile but once you spent more time awake you noticed no one came to visit, and sometimes, your maid would bring out food. It wasn't often, though, and you found yourself hungry most of the time.

Your maid told you she was working with someone else now, but things were changing in the temple. She said Sakuna was rarely there, and when he was, he didn't react to their presence. She said it made her feel scared. You nodded and wished you could give her more information, but you knew nothing. You were vaulted away more secluded than before.

You didnt know what day it was at this point or if it was day or night, there was no windows but you felt safer this way. Death didnt seem so close.

Rising from your bed, you stretched your arms and legs, pushing your feet into the plushy carpet. You made your way to the bathroom and ran the warm water. You only had a few pairs of clothes, so you chose to lounge around in a long satin robe. It was black and extremely comfortable. You stripped it off and slipped into the water, feeling goosebumps errupt all over your skin when the hot water soaked it. You sunk up to your ears and closed your eyes thinking about falling back asleep. The hot steam on your face and the lull of the fireplace beckoned you, you were tempted as there was nothing else to do. Your mind wandered from your maid, to your father and then to the injuries you had obtained from the wife in red. You found yourself replaying certain incidents and no matter how hard you tried to stray away, everything ended back at him. Sakuna.

Suddenly, a foreign sensation came over your body, like fingers dancing acrossed your skin. You eyes flew open, and the first thing you saw was teeth, they were formed into a wicked smile. You followed them down to his chin, then his neck to his body. You saw two of his arms plunged into the water. His hands grabbing at your body. "My wife" he purred. You stared up at him keeping half of your face submerged in the water. A shield of sorts. "Ive never seen you like this" he said, his voice was shockingly human sounding and deep like a drum. You sat under the pressure of his gaze not sure what to do. He mapped one of his hands up your stomach and to hand picking it up and bringing it out of the water. The cold air stung your skin but wuickly subsided when you felt his lips connect to your hand. He kissed it over and over again before bringjng it to the side of his face. He closed his eyes and hummed. "You'll never leave this place. You die and rot down here the rest of time." Your heart thumped at his sing song voice. Your mind wanted to whiz out of sontrol but you stayed numb. "Answer me" he said and you say his red eyes open. You popped your head out of the water "I understand." You said. You furrowed his eyebrows and a pained expression came over his face.

"Are you happy about it"

"Yes"

He was acting different, and it was giving you whiplash.

"Good, no, that you have a choice," he laughed, but you heard the danger in his voice, and it made the world around you feel less and less real. His eyes lapped over you hungrier and hungrier until you felt the first of his left arm slide around your back and rip you up out of the water. He pressed his lips to yours, and you felt like he was eating you alive. You tried to kiss him back, but the ferocity overwhelmed you. He pulled you closer and closer. So close, it hurt. His crushing strength made your bones ache. Your breath locked itself in your chest. You groaned in pain, but that seemed to encourage him as you felt his arms loop underneath your body and lift you out of the bath. The cold air made you gasp. He kept his lips to yours, and you felt him smile. "dont worry, you won't be cold for long," he whispered. He walked you out into the bedroom and gently laid you down on the bed. Your heart picked up as he stared down at you. He started to disrobe, and every part of you rejected it. You weren't ready for what you knew he wanted to do. Your voice ached to protest, but nothing came out. His robe dropped to the ground, and your eyes widened at his hulking form. He was all muscle and weapon of a man, curse, a whatever he was. He came forward his hand wrapping itself around your neck. He squeezed lightly but started to tighten his grip. Frightened, your hands flew up and grabbed onto his wrists. You dug your nails into his skin, and he hissed in reply.

"You dare hurt your husband?" He said, his voice deadly. You looked down at him and locked your eyes to his. At first, you only saw rage, but that melted away into sorrow. "Perhaps I've been too rough." He sighed. Slowly, he leaned forward and wrapped all of his arms around you. His weight made your chest lock up, and once again, you were fighting to breathe. You didn't dare speak, though. The fear of the tides turning with any word you said kept your mouth shut. "Things are different now," he muttered. Your heart slammed in your chest, a fear like you felt the day he killed his other wives clawed up your throat. "Why are thing different now" he rushed popping his head up and gripping onto your shoulders. He stared you in the eyes with one of the angriest expressions you had ever seen. His eyebrows were knitted together and his eyes sharp. You rationalized quickly with yourself and opene your mouth to speak "it-it-its" you stammered. "Its not, my husband, my love" you said. With each word your confidence built and you reminded yourself of the position you were in. The comfort and seclusion had numbed you of the danger at hand, this game of survival.

His expression relaxed, and you felt like a snake wrapping around its kill. "Im so grateful for what you've given me Ive not had the words to say it." You snaked your arms around his shoulders and brought your fingertips softly up and down his back. His eyes relaxed, and he searched your face.

#sakuna ryomen x reader #jujutsu kaisen sakuna #jjk sakuna #sakuna ryomen #sakuna x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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boltupbitches · 7 months

Text

Today's the Day - Justin Herbert

Sequel to One Day at a Time

Justin knew his game was off. He could feel it. It wasn’t just the painful left-hand injury indicating so, but the way his brain couldn’t stop thinking about Alex who was back at his house in Irvine, likely watching the game along with his mother who insisted on staying with her since she was so close to her due date.

In two weeks, Justin would finally meet his daughter, Layla Grace Herbert. Every day since finding out about Alex’s pregnancy has been an emotional rollercoaster for him. One filled with a lot of excitement, anticipation, and fear. The fear on some days was stronger than the other emotions. Not because he was afraid of losing his time for himself - no it was fear of messing up.

He was scared of failing. Scared of not being there for Alex or Layla. He was scared of Layla finding out how he treated her mother once upon a time. He was scared that Layla might find something innately wrong with him and not want him to hold her, feed her, or rock her to sleep.

He didn’t realize how irrational those fears were until Alex found him crying in the shower one morning after he was working out in the gym. He didn’t realize Alex had come to check up on him, having heard his whimpers when she peaked in the bathroom to ask him a question.

He had confessed then, while wrapped in a fluffy robe she handed him, what he felt.

He was surprised when Alex wrapped her arms around him, cradling him against her bump as he cried into her shoulder. He had relaxed against her, leaning into her warmth as he calmed down.

“Justin, the one thing you should know is that Layla is going to love you so much when she gets here. Just as you will love her the same. And about our past? That’s a conversation we’ll worry about years down the road when it gets here. Right now, let’s focus on getting through this birth, okay?” Alex smoothed her hand through his soaked strands, brushing them from his eyes.

Justin was thinking about those words while he watched the D-line scramble to target Prescott.

Today’s game was going to shit. So much so that he couldn’t even bring himself to stay focused for a few moments. His hand was throbbing badly and his neck hurt from the tackle earlier in the game. Yet, he couldn’t concentrate for long because his mind kept wandering back to Alex. He wished he could call her and ask how she was at that moment.

Lately, she was having false contractions and he hated leaving her alone. Once the doctor put her on bed rest a few days ago, Justin struggled with leaving the house and going to practice. His own mom had to step in and fly down to look after Alex since she had the vacation time to do so.

“Bro.” Justin blinked for a moment. “Bro!” He felt someone shake his shoulder and he came to, blinking quickly and staring at Keenan. “Justin, I been calling your name. What’s up with you today, man?” The older man looked concerned.

Justin blinked again before shaking his head slightly, “Sorry.. It’s just that Alex is due soon and today, before I left, she was suffering with false contractions again. Her doctor advised that she stay on bed rest and call if there is no improvement. Which makes no fucking sense. I told her she needs to go to the ER so we can be sure it’s not the real thing, but she’s certain her OBGYN knows best..” He frowned.

Keenan smirked at that and nodded his head. “Listen, my wife was no different. Anytime I suggested anything or disagreed about something she’d gladly remind me who was carrying the baby and who the expert was between me and the doctor. Is she good though? Her due date is soon right? Y’all are expectin’ a little girl?”

Justin nodded, absentmindedly rubbing his arm as he thought about Alex giving birth without him there to support her. “Yeah. In the next two weeks. But we think it’ll happen sooner. My mom’s there with her right now at our house, and Alex’s mom is planning to fly down when the baby is born. Her work schedule doesn’t let her have off so often. With Alex moving down here with me during pre-season, it’s really just been the two of us.”

“Y’all on better terms now?” Keenan asked as he observed Justin’s expression.

Justin grimaced and looked down for a moment before looking back up with a slight squint under the sunlight. “We are. I mean, we’re friends and we’re co-parenting…”

“But you want your lady back?” Keenan finished for him.

“Yeah. I guess I never got the chance to ask her officially to be my girlfriend before I blew that to shit… Right now I don’t want to lovebomb her with that shit. So, I’m just satisfied that we’re living together, she’s letting me help her and provide for her, and that the baby is going to be healthy in a two-parent home even if we’re not together.” ‘Yet.’ He finished in his head. ‘Not yet, but we will be together again someday.’

“Take one day at a time, bro. That’s all you can do.” Keenan tapped him on the back. “Alex is a kickass girl. She sees what you’re doing. Keep at it and y’all be back to being loved up together in no time.”

Justin’s face turned a little red as he laughed a bit at that. “I hope so!”

They didn’t get the chance to continue on about it because the defense was coming off the field and it was their time to get out there and play.

—--

They had lost 20-17 at home.

The team’s morale was low. The locker room was tense. Justin was packing his stuff away after speaking to the media, his face grim and his head kept low to keep from making eye contact with anyone.

A couple of his teammates tapped his shoulder and back in solidarity as they passed by him. He appreciated it, but after today’s game, he just wanted to go home to Alex and take his mind off football for the next day or so until he was due back for training.

Just as he had finished up packing the last of his stuff in his duffle bag, his phone started vibrating and he immediately dug it out of his pants pocket and hastily accepted the call when he saw his mom was the caller.

“Is Alex ok?” He asked immediately, not even greeting her.

He had stopped what he was doing and waited with bated breath for her answer.

“Hello, mom. Thanks for calling. I hope you’re well,” his mom started sarcastically, “to answer your question - yes Alex is fine. We’re at the hospital now and she’s being admitted. Get down here, but don’t speed!” His mom warned quickly, knowing he was going to cut her off and take off for the hospital.

“For real?” Justin asked in disbelief. “You guys are playing a joke on me are you?”

“Justin Patrick Herbert! No, I am not joking! The OBGYN is on the way to the hospital and Alex’s water broke at the house during the end of the game. We just got here a little bit ago.”

Justin hoisted his bag and sped past everyone, weaving between people as he hurried to get to his car, ignoring the calls from others. “Why didn’t you take an ambulance?”

“Justin.. She was fine. She didn’t want to go in wet clothes so she took a quick shower, got dressed and I drove her there. We got the diaper bag and all the necessities. Just get here.” His mom said, exasperated with her son’s hard-headedness.

“Right, right. I’m leaving now. Love you. See you soon.” He hung up as he tossed his duffle in his car and got in. He pulled up the address of the hospital on his phone and drove off immediately, not wasting any more time.

He just prayed he’d make it in time.

—---

And he did.

Alex was preparing to push, having dilated enough, and was ready to get it over with as long as the epidural was lasting in her system. Holly Herbert was god sent. She held Alex’s hand and stuck by her, giving her tidbits of knowledge from her own time raising three kids.

Justin was escorted into the delivery room and almost cried at the sight of his mom dabbing a cold wash cloth on Alex’s head. He didn’t know what he’d do without either woman in his life.

Alex made eye contact with him and weakly smiled, the nerves showing on her face as she waved him over.

Justin approached her side quickly, careful to be out of the way of the nurse’s fretting around the room, preparing it for delivery.

His mom gave him a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Stay with her. I’ll be waiting out in the waiting room.”

He nodded and smiled his thanks to her, his eyes going back to Alex who was staring up at him with tearful eyes. “Hey..” he greeted weakly.

“Hey.” She said back with a chuckle, “It’s almost time. She’s almost here.”

“I know. It’s.. it’s unbelievable.” Justin marveled at the reality of that statement. “Are you ok? Do you need anything?” He asked her as he took a seat.

“No,” she shook her head. “I’m good. All drugged up and ready to go.” She joked.

“They give you the good stuff?” He teased.

“The best they had to offer. Can’t wait to see the bill for it all.” she joked back.

“Let me worry about that, Alex. You focus on you and Layla. I got the other stuff.” He promised, stroking her hand that was resting in his. “You got this.”

“I know. You’re here so we’re ready to go now.” She smiled back.

Justin opened his mouth to say something, but the doctor had interrupted them to announce it was time.

Justin listened to instructions and stayed next to Alex’s side, keeping an eye on her expression and letting her squeeze the living hell on his non-injured hand as he watched her push with all her might. Even with the pain-numbing medicine she received, it was still a challenge.

Justin felt like he was to blame for that a bit. Layla was after all going to be a slightly above average-sized baby and Alex was not the tallest of women.

Yet, she championed through it all and Justin watched in complete shock as Layla Herbert entered the world, screaming loudly for all to hear within the room.

He never experienced love at first sight before, but as a newfound father, the moment his eyes laid on his newborn daughter, his heart was a goner. She was everything to him and more.

He didn’t realize he was crying until the nurse tapped his arm and asked, “Would you like to cut the umbilical cord, dad?”

He nodded dumbly and approached his squirming daughter as the doctor instructed him where to snip the cord.

He was worried for a brief moment that it would cause Layla pain, but the nurse saw his hesitation and reassured him. “She’s okay, dad. She’s just cold, wet, and angry we disturbed her nap with momma.”

Justin nodded again, still not able to coherently form words, and snipped the umbilical cord.

He was certain, although still in shock, that he’d never forget this day as long as he lived.

—--------

Things had settled a bit. His phone was going insane with family, friends, teammates, and all sorts of other people congratulating him or wanting to talk.

His mom took his phone and shut it all down immediately, informing him that his publicist would be helping her field the questions at this time. He just needed to worry about his newborn daughter and Alex.

Justin's hands trembled as he reached out to gently cradle the back of Layla's head. She was wiggling slightly in Alex's arm, her tiny face scrunching in displeasure at the cool sensation of the room. Justin made a note to ask the nurse to turn the room temperature up a bit.

He looked up from Layla to the tired and tear-stained face of Alex, who looked up at him as well, a smile pulling at her face. They stared at one another in that moment, neither saying a word, but communicating just enough through their gaze.

"Thank you." Justin whispered. "Thank you so much, Alexandra... I.." He was at a loss for words, stopping to blink away the tears as he felt his heart swell at the sight of his newborn daughter in the arms of the love of his life. 'I love you.' He wanted to say in that moment, but he didn't want to ruin the moment if she didn't feel the same.

'Coward.' Hos conscious accused against him, 'You're nothing but a coward.'

"I love you." He blurts out in a rush, tears flowing now. "I love you so much and I love Layla. Thank you for bringing her into this world, Alexandra."

She stared back, equally teary-eyed as she smiled at him, the warmth in her eyes making him feel like he was enveloped in her love. It was hard to explain beyond the strong blooming sensation taking over his chest and spreading throughout him. “I love you too. So much, Justin Patrick Herbert. Even when you piss me off and don’t listen to me, I still love you whole-heartedly.” She hiccuped.

He gently leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her lips, careful to not squish a now-sleeping Layla. Alex returned his kiss eagerly, not wanting their moment to end.

Justin pulled back and leaned his forehead against her’s. “I never imagined this would happen to me. I never considered kids before you… before this. But I’m so glad it happened. Thank you, so much Alexandra.” He repeated his thanks. “I can’t believe we made her.” He marveled at the baby in how lover’s arms. “She’s perfect.”

“She is.” Alex agreed. “Although she’s very pushy like her daddy.” She teased him with a smirk. “I barely got my boob out of my gown when she was attempting to latch on and feed earlier.”

“Ah, yes. I can relate to that.” He joked. “I too am angry when hungry.”

She gently shoved his shoulder. “You’re so lame.”

“But I’m lame for you.” He countered. “Only for you.” He promised.

She knew what he had meant. Since the pregnancy discovery a few months back, Justin had been hypervigilant of Alex’s health and activities. He had hired her a nutritionist, and searched for the best OBGYNs in not only Eugene but also Los Angeles. He set up a nursery in his home in Eugene, helped set one up in her mom’s house where she was staying at the time, and had taken a few trips down during the off-season to Los Angeles with his brothers and dad to build a nursery in his home there.

He kept in contact with Alex regularly, going on walks with her, taking her grocery shopping, and even joining a pottery class on weekends with her.

She knew he was serious about rebuilding their relationship - this time the right way and this time more healthier than their situationship like the last time.

She saw it and was thankful. As time went on they grew closer and closer. When preseason started, they agreed that it would be best if Alex stayed with him in Los Angeles as she got closer to her due date.

Justin remained steadfast in taking care of her and keeping up with his commitment. Each day, Alex found herself loving him more and more. Even when they disagreed and got angry.

Justin stopped dating months ago and continued to make it clear that he wanted a proper relationship with Alex. One they could build long-term and show their daughter.

Looking at it all now, he knew he was one step closer to that goal. Work still needed to be done, but in that moment of tired, euphoric bliss, he could only thank God for Alex’s healthy pregnancy and Layla’s health. The game today? The issues at the facility? What critics had to say? None of that mattered to him right now.

It could wait for another day. Today’s the day he finally got his family.

#justin herbert fanfiction #justin herbert one shot #justin herbert imagines #justin herbert imagine #justin herbert fanfic

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frankenkyle19 · 1 year

Text

A Lesson In Vulnerability

Request

warnings: mentions of murder, ooc James (my bad), angst, and probably grammatical errors

word count: 1.4k

(gif is not mine, again, found it on Pinterest)

It was hard. Being trapped in a hotel for all eternity with nothing to do. Boring as hell. Nearly unbearable. James had made it better. Given you nearly everything your heart desired. You had been one of the spare few who had resided in the hotel without getting killed by the infamous Mr. James Patrick March.

No, you had come to the hotel to end your own life, not expecting that it would backfire, trapping your soul within the confines of the property.

It was a boring existence. One in which you wandered the halls, hoping to come across someone worth talking to. That’s exactly how you had met James. You had stumbled into his suite right as he was in the middle of dispatching his latest victim. The sight should have scared you. Should have made you turn tail and run, but dying had changed the way you saw things. You weren’t afraid of him. Instead, you were curious.

Your relationship only grew after that day, but it would be many years before James gave in to his desires and took you to bed, truly making you his. You were the first person he’d shared such intimacy with after his falling out with his dear wife, who you knew as the countess. You’d only been in her presence a handful of times over the years of which you resided in the hotel.

James had confided in you his desires, his secrets and fears. He truly trusted you with the knowledge of which he gave. He was still closed off, though and you figured he always would be in a way.

For example, you had never seen him break. Never seen a single tear drip from his beautifully dark eyes. Never so much as seen a mournful look on his face. You didn’t know if he just never showed it, or if he was truly lacking such emotions. Would you become like that after spending centuries as a ghost? Or did James already have that darkness in him?

That’s exactly why you were in for the shock of your undead life when you opened the door to his suite and found him on his bed, head in his hands as he cried. His shoulders shook from the force of it. At first, you wondered if he’d been hurt, but no… that couldn’t be it, he couldn’t hurt as a ghost. At least not physically.

He startled when he saw you, having not heard you come in. He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands and cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. He knew you had seen him crying, but still he tried to cover it up.

“Darling, I wasn’t expecting you so soon-“ he stood up, looking at you intently, his usual pale face a bit red from crying.

You wanted to know what was wrong but you didn’t want to pry and risk upsetting him more. You decided it would be best not to ask, but as soon as you turned around to leave and give him space, he grabbed your hand. When you faced him again, a fresh wave of salty tears began to form in his eyes. He looked absolutely distraught and you wondered what thing could effect a man like him so much.

“Please stay, you mustn’t leave. You can’t leave like she did, I won’t allow it.”

At first, you were confused by his words. Who? Who left him? But then it clicked: The countess. His wife. You knew the story well by now, but seeing him so upset by it made it all the more real.

“I won’t leave James, please talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

He seemed to consider it for a second, which took you by surprise. You were ready for him to completely refuse you and your ‘sappy words of comfort’. You just wished he understood that even a man like him could be broken, and could be put back together with the comfort of someone else. He didn’t have to deal with this all on his own.

“It’s my anniversary. Nearly a century together my dear Elizabeth and I.” He swallowed hard after the words left his lips, as if they physically hurt him to speak aloud.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“What have I said about talking?! Talking does no good, talking is futile. It cannot change the past and it will not solve the future. Therefore I see no point.”

You wanted to scream right back in his face. Call him a selfish man who, even after beginning his relationship with you, pined after his estranged wife who couldn’t care less about him. You knew she hated him, and she had her reasons. He had done awful things to people she loved.

But you didn’t yell back. You were calm, after all you knew that he was only yelling because he did not know how else to expel his emotions. He’d never been taught, and he’d been stuck in a past that didn’t fit the world he now lived in.

Instead, you put a hand on his shoulder, which seemed to surprise him. He was so used to pushing people away that just the mere fact that you stayed sent a whole new wave of tears to spring up in his eyes.

“You don’t have to be afraid of vulnerability, James.”

“But my father said-“

“Your father isn’t here, James. You are your own man, don’t let him keep haunting you.” You looked up at him eagerly, cupping his pale cheek and wiping the remaining droplets of tears he had missed. His bottom lip quivered ever so slightly, no doubt his feeble effort of trying to pull himself together.

“Let it go, James. It must be so hard keeping it all inside for so long. You don’t have to be like that with me. Whatever you need, I’m right here.”

Carefully, he laid his head on your shoulder. You could tell this kind of physical touch was foreign to him. He was so used to roughing up bodies, he had forgotten how to gently touch one. To savor the feeling of another’s body against his in a non sexual or violent way, just a loving, gentle and caring way. He finally did let a few silent tears slip from his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you as well. He was taller than you, so he bent at the knees to better hold you. This was what he needed, for you to just stand there and let him hold your body, to remind him that not everything in this world had to be so rough and harsh. That he could enjoy being gentle too.

“I miss her.” He whispered, voice muffled against your shoulder as he seemed to squeeze you impossibly tighter, body nearly molding itself against your own.

“I know you do. You loved her so much, you still do.”

“How can you handle it? Knowing I love another woman, and yet you stay with me? Knowing I could never love you more than I love her-“

“I’m willing to settle, James. I’d be a fool to let you go. You’re such an amazing man. There truly is no one like you.”

You felt hot tears drip onto your neck, sliding down to wet your shirt no doubt. It was incredible how silent his cries were, and it made you wonder, with a bit of sadness, how he had perfected this silent cry. How many nights had he been crying alone to finally silence himself?

Never again, you decided. Never again would he have to cry alone in his room over the loss of love, the loss that looked over him like a thunder cloud filled with such heavy weight that it nearly crushed him. He had you now.

“Darling, you’re too kind. I do not deserve such kindness.”

“Nonsense James. You deserve just as much as anyone, if not more. I wish I could find the words to tell you how much I care for you.” You held him a bit tighter, rubbing his back before sliding his jacket off of his slumped shoulders. He needed to relax.

“Come lay with me James.” And with no resistance, he obliged, kicking off his freshly polished shoes as he crawled into bed. He seemed a bit confused when you started spooning him. That was usually his job when he was in the rare mood to cuddle.

He ended up relaxing into your arms instantly, closing his eyes and letting out a deep breath.

As a ghost he couldn’t sleep, but he felt at peace for the first time in a century. All because someone took the time to see through his hard exterior and comfort him.

#evan peters #american horror story #evan peters icons #ahs fandom #american horror story rp #james march x reader #james patrick march imagine #james patrick march #ahs hotel #american horror hotel

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labyrinth-runner · 4 months

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The Tavern Maid

I'm tempted to turn this into a (short) series if people are interested?

This is based off a cliched prompt from this list:

Help me I'm being hit on a bar, please pretend to be my fake boyfriend for a second.

Summary: Jaskier comes to your aid when some elves in your brother's tavern get a little too handsy for your liking.

Word Count: 1300~

Warnings: I mean, the elf is handsy and tries to proposition reader.

It was a usual shift at the tavern. Which, for you, meant that some patrons were getting a bit too handsy for your liking. You would never understand why people assumed that because you worked there that you'd like their advances. Quite frankly, you didn't give a fuck about tips, and you were only working here to help out your brother because his usual server (his wife) had just had a baby and he was short staffed. Still, this crowd was raucous. There was a group of dwarves in the corner, louder than most, but the real problem were the elves, with their wandering hands, blaming it on the fact that they were so much quicker than you and therefore unused to having to dance around a slow human.

You could feel the vein in your forehead throbbing as you scrubbed the sticky remnants of mead from the bar. You couldn't wait to go back to your house, take a scalding hot bath to burn off the unwanted ick that their gazes left on your skin.

A bard was strumming a tune in the corner, pulling most of the patrons into his performance. It was a nice, jaunty tune. Something about tossing a coin to a witcher. Now, there was a right beast, that. Witchers with their golden eyes and wild temperaments. You'd only ever met one, with his snow white hair. He'd been tracking some manner of a beast straight through your father's farm, and he actually seemed to care about the damage the beast had done to your father's crops. Some Geralt of Rivia or something like that. Hadn't seen him in years, but the bard's tune brought him right back to you as if he were standing in front of you.

You wished he were. Maybe he'd do something to deter the elves. One of them, the one with the sneer and tight braid was elbowing the man next to him, gesturing with his head towards you. Great. You were about to be propositioned. He smirked at his friend, nodding vigorously before downing the rest of his ale and making his way towards the bar. You clocked it, and were hoping to avoid it, already rounding the bar to see to another patron.

Like the elves said, you were so much slower than them. His hand was on your hip, turning you into his chest. "Now, lass, where are you going?"

Clearing your throat, you attempted to push away, "I have a job to do."

He grinned down at you, drinking in your discomfort as his hand trailed lower, dangerously close to your ass. "I'm sure they can wait a bit."

"I suppose they can, but I'm sure my husband wouldn't approve of whatever you have in mind."

He laughed. "What husband?"

Damn that elf, seeing through your bluff. You spotted the bard taking a seat at the bar and nodded towards him. "That husband. Right, dear?" you asked, directing the question to the bard to get his attention. You'd said it rather loudly. You mouthed 'help' to him as the elf turned to address the bard.

"Is this one yours?" the elf asked, pulling you against his chest, his hand high up on your waist and his thumb dangerously close to the underside of your breast. You grimaced.

"Yes, that lady happens to be my wife, and I would appreciate if you'd take your grubby hands off her," he said with a dramatic flourish of his hand towards you.

You gripped his hand, your palms sweaty and allowed him to pull you into him. "Thank you," you murmured. He smelled of smoke and sage.

His hand cupped your cheek. "Are you alright, dear heart?"

He was good. Then again, as a performer, you weren't that surprised.

"I do apologize," the elf said, backing away. "I didn't realize she was spoken for."

The bard wrapped a protective arm around you. "Even if she wasn't, Sir, no means no. She shouldn't have to say it in elvish for you to understand." His tone was ice and he stared the elf down until he slunk back to his table, tail between his legs. He passed his mug to you. "Here, take a sip."

You raised a brow, but accepted it. It wasn't what you were expecting, the first sip coating your tongue with a warm mix of cinnamon and clove.

"It's a tea I got from a druid. It's supposed to help your voice and calm nerves," he explained, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"You can stop acting," you told him, handing him back his mug. You dug around in your pocket for a coin, trying to discreetly hand it to him for his trouble. "For your witcher," you teased.

He folded your hand back around the coin. "You don't have to pay me for doing the right thing," he said with a soft smile. "Somehow, I feel like I'd do so much more than merely this for you if you'd asked, dear heart."

His hand stroked the back of yours and you took the moment to look at him, really look at him. He was handsome, with short chestnut brown hair that swept across his forehead. But, it was his eyes that had you trapped in your place. They were the most beautiful blue you'd ever seen. You'd never been to the ocean, but you were sure in your soul that it would pale in comparison to the color of his eyes. You rested a tentative hand on his puffy shirt shoulder, feeling the way it deflated under the weight of your hand. He wasn't built with bulky strength like the witcher. He was lean, but you could still feel the taut strength of muscle under the fabric.

"My name is Jaskier," he told you.

You told him your name and he frowned slightly. "What's the matter?" you asked.

"'Dear Heart' suits you so much more," he said, the corner of his lips pulling up ever so slightly.

"No one else has ever called me that," you said, feeling your cheeks burn.

"Good," he grinned. "I want to be the only one."

"And will you write songs about me?" you teased.

"No," he admitted. Your smile started to slide from your face, so he quickly added, nodding back towards the elf. "I don't want to share you."

You swallowed, realizing that you'd been neglecting your patrons for a while. You started to pull away from him. "I should get back to work."

He grabbed your hand, holding it to his chest. "When are you done?"

"In about an hour," you replied.

"Would you mind if I walk you home?" he asked, stroking your hand.

"Why would a wife mind her husband walking her home?" you said with a smirk. "And, I suppose..." you said, tapping your chin in thought. You couldn't help yourself, he was so handsome and you were hoping he was feeling whatever was sparking between the two of you here and wanted to explore it, too. "There are some other things that husbands and wives do once they're home that I wouldn't mind, either."

His eyebrows raised into his hairline at that.

"U-unless that was too forward," you stammered.

He kissed the palm of your hand. "No, Dear Heart, you're right. We must do our duties." He winked. He held your hand until you pulled out far from his reach, and then he watched you the rest of the night, stepping in to give you a hand with carrying things if a customer started to get to handsy, reminding them that you were 'married' and therefore off limits.

At the end of the night you waited for him to pack up his things and fetch his lute from the table he'd turned into his makeshift stage. He came over, lute slung across his back, and dramatically offered you his arm. "Milady."

"M'lord," you said with a laugh, sliding your arm though his. You pulled him through town towards your house, marveling at how normal it felt to be like this with Jaskier.

#jaskier #jaskier x reader #the witcher

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hmmidnight-hunt · 7 months

Text

Day 4 — Ghost

“Away from prying eyes”

Part 1.

Kinktober day 4: Teratophilia — GN!Reader, Monster!Ghost

NSFW, MDNI — TW: Depiction of murder and violence, blood, vague descriptions of s3xual acts, paranormal

If I can recommend anything for this one, it’s to add Glow by Snow Wife to your playlist while you read it. Absolutely obsessed by this song. Hope y’all enjoy this one as much as I did writing it <3 -Midnight

It’s sweaty. Stuffy. Humid and oppressive. The loud sounds, the overly bright lights, the strangers bumping into you, the yelling.

You are having the time of your life.

Genuinely, this is one of the best Halloween parties you’ve ever been invited to. I guess illegal raves have that charm. Everyone is dancing and laughing, alcohol flowing freely in the guests’ cups, there’s that one cute guy grinding on behind you.

His hands are settled on your waist, although a bit touchy-feely with everything else. You’ve lost track of time, unable to even tell when he first snuck up upon you to start and whisper all sorts of dirty things in your ear.

Not that you’d heard anything over the deafeningly loud music.

It’s a stranger, and maybe that’s part of the thrill. You two are sharing a moment, and soon enough it’ll be gone, just like it never existed. It’s exciting.

“Want to ditch?” You offer, lulling your head back against the man’s torso to almost yell in his ear. It makes him wince. It makes you laugh.

“‘Course.”

You turn around and grab his hand. It’s easy, finding a hot ex frat boy willing to follow you home and spend the night with you. It’s easy, and it’s how you like it. With a gentle tug, you guide him through the dense crowd, hips swaying their way out. The nameless man licks his lips as he follows, gaze wandering down on the way the rainbow flashing lights highlight your body with each step.

The cold autumn air greets your exposed skin with a sharp bite as soon as you step out into the night. The stranger soothes the shivers on your spine with a caress. Maybe an attempt at coming off as romantic. It doesn’t work very well when you’re quite literally leading the man towards your car for some adult fun.

It isn’t much warmer inside the red Vauxhall Astra MK1, but at the very least it shields you from the wind outside. The passenger door shuts right as you make contact, engaging the reverse gear to back out of the tight spot the vehicle is parked in.

“What’re ya doin’, doll?” The stranger asks, raising a brow at you.

“I’m not a fan of prying eyes… I know a spot close to here.” It’s the truth. You smile at him, innocence mixing with the enticing glimmer that dances in your eyes.

“Alrighty then. You’re a needy one, yeah? Skipping right to the main course…” He laughs, and you feel a hand slip over your thigh.

It is a quick drive to the nearby forest, the rave’s sounds now only a distant mutter. The full moon is beautiful, shining silver down upon the bright red paint of your car. She plays hide and seek behind passing trees. Your passenger gets impatient. You pull up and stop the engine, parking it close to a small river stream.

It’s beautiful. It’s peaceful. It’s perfect.

“And I’m the needy one?” You chuckle, turning to him. He mirrors your laughter, fingertips inching higher between your legs. He does not answer, but he does lean in to kiss you, his other arm resting on the top of your car seat – right behind your head.

The man stops right in his tracks. “D’you hear that?” There’s a tinge of nervousness in his voice when he turns his head to look into the depths of the woods.

“No, keep going… Or we can leave if you’re afraid,” you tease, biting the fat of your bottom lip. Men like him never back down when you question their ego. His lips twist into a carnal grin.

“Ah, you wish,” He replies.

Things get heated quickly; hands get lost grabbing at each other’s bodies, unbuttoning shirts and pants, pulling on hair. The jock moans into your neck, tongue busy tasting your warm skin. “I’m gonna show ya what a real man feels like, babe.” His tone is so cocky it makes you snicker. Still, you arch your back and part your legs, just like he expects.

“Yeah? Go on then, pretty boy, show me what you’re made of.”

You close your eyes, anticipation curling your lips into a foxy grin. He hums in satisfaction, ego swollen with pride at your words.

There’s a bit of ruffling, wet sounds reaching your ears, movement over you. The wind feels cold on your skin. You bite back a smile when whimpers fill up the car and drown out the radio. You don't even realise how your thighs press together, intoxicated in the moment.

Suddenly, a warm liquid seeps through your remaining clothes. You gasp, soon followed by a light chuckle. “Already? You didn’t even let the fun start. You made a mess in my car…” You note, opening your eyes, “Again.”

Again? Wasn’t he a stranger? What do you mean, again?

There’s blood everywhere around you, on you, staining the seats, soaking the carpet. And two yellow orbs looking back at you.

“You know I hate when they put their filthy hands on you,” The shadow growls. “They touch what’s mine, they die. Simple math.”

The car door opens with a click, phantom tendrils of pure darkness filling the car up and curling around your body. Slowly, it lifts you and pulls you out of the Vauxhall. It’s gentle, but it’s possessive.

You smile, wrapping your arms around the concealed humanoid shape you are pressed against. There is blood dripping from his mouth. God, you’ve never wanted to kiss him more than you do now.

“Hey there, Ghost…”

#cod mw2 #call of duty #fanfic #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #monster #i am vibrating

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teshamerkel · 1 year

Text

Pokemon Mystery Dungeon: Seekers of Soul

[Chapter 48]

<< First | < Previous | Next >

AO3 Link

Nia and Tobias reach Shivergleam. However, they may not be ready for the information Edme has to offer.

Nia kicks her legs over the side of the boat, tucked securely against the railing. Evening sunlight is filtered weakly through cloud cover, but still warm on her back. The river below her is as swift and swollen as it has been the whole trip, rocking the ferry in uneven motions, but she finds it oddly soothing.

Her curious eyes are trained on the crew working to navigate the dangerous waters. Beck and Nori are swimming ahead of the ferry, sleek flashes of orange and blue weaving back and forth to check for underwater obstructions that could hinder their travel. Occasionally, Nia sees the two Pokemon work together to push a downed tree aside and clear the way.

The captain, Cordelia, is steering them slowly through the treacherous waters, staying to the outside of the river to keep to deeper channels. Well, at least that’s what Cas said she was doing when Nia talked to him earlier. The little duck clearly admires the brash crocodile, and proudly answers all of Nia’s questions about the ferry and how it’s run. Since they’ve been riding for a little over a day now, they’re finally nearing their destination of Shivergleam, at least according to Beck when he was on break earlier.

Nia has honestly enjoyed their trip downstream. Traveling by boat is new and exciting, and she loves watching the crew work around one another like a well-oiled machine. And last night when they’d had to stop as darkness set in, Nia had enjoyed getting to talk to the crew over supper.

Cordelia is a bit brash, but it’s clear she loves her job and her crew—plus, she tells one heck of a story. Nori the golduck, on the other hand, rarely speaks, instead communicating in dry looks. Cas seems more like a little cousin tagalong than an actual crewmate, too young to do much heavy lifting, but the rest of the boatsmon clearly love having him around. Even Ignatius, the quiet, sarcastic old torkoal is grounding in his own way.

While none of the crew have been unwelcoming, Beck the floatzel has been Nia’s favorite to get to know. The older Pokemon is clearly the most sociable of the bunch, asking Nia and Tobias about where they’re from and where they’re heading with genuine interest. When Nia had mentioned the Lexym Guild, the weasel’s brows had lifted. He’d explained with a smile that the guild is just a bit west of his own home, where his wife and daughter live taking care of his grandkids.

“I’m a bit of a wanderer,” Beck had explained as he helped himself to a second bowl of stew. “My heart always leads me back home, but I wouldn’t be happy staying in one place. This job gives me the chance to travel without leaving my family for too long.”

Nia likes the older man’s demeanor. It’s warm, friendly but calming. His surprisingly deep voice is nice to listen to, and Nia is endeared by how fondly he mentions his family.

Nia liked him even more after the weather was mentioned and Ignatius made a sarcastic comment about humans that made Nia freeze and Tobias glare. Beck was the first to scoff, whipping the turtle playfully with his twin tails. There was no real fire behind the torkoal’s words or the floatzel’s gesture, but Beck had cast Nia and Tobias a concerned look regardless.

“Sorry. Natius doesn’t have the best sense of humor. We know the humans have nothing to do with the weather being out of sorts.”

Cordelia had snorted, slamming her drink down on the table. “I wish humans were the problem. They’d be a lot easier to corral than the gods apparently seeing fit to dump rain across the whole region.”

Nia and Tobias had relaxed, and Nia couldn’t help the way she immediately grew fond of the ragtag little group.

Now, nearing their destination, Nia feels a familiar sting in her heart. She’s only known the crew for a day, but she hates that they have to part so soon. Tobias likes to tease her about how quickly she gets attached to people, but she can’t help it! She thinks she vaguely remembers her mom telling her she had a heart too big for her body. Tobias would likely say she’s got a heart too big for her brain.

Tobias.

Nia frowns, absentmindedly looking into the reflections in the river’s surface for a sign of Giratina. She hasn’t seen the banished legendary since the tunnels, though that doesn’t mean he isn’t there.

It’s not enough to distract her from thinking about her partner. About how they’d found one of his family’s killers, only to find him too late. About the family the crobat had left behind. About Tobias’ grief, a relentless sort of sorrow she’d never had to face so head-on before. It’d been so powerful she’d sworn she could feel it herself, at times.

And she tries not to think of Tobias’ voice on their ride over. The way his words choked as he mentioned her leaving for the human world.

Nia swallows against a lump in her throat and closes her eyes. She leans her head forward to bump against the railing, listening to the loud, constant rush of the river.

She’s leaving, once Will or somebody else finds them a way home. She has to. Every time she thinks of Clay’s bright grin or her Mom’s tight hugs or Toni’s laughter her chest feels like it’s going to cave in on itself. She knows it’s not an option to not go back.

But she let herself get attached. Of course she did. And now she has Tobias. Tobias and Maggie and Xander and Andyn and Val and Avery and—

Tears burn at Nia’s eyes, so she takes a deep breath, letting it out slow. She opens her eyes again to watch as Cordelia slows the ferry. Debris is floating on top of the water, and Nori and Beck get to work clearing it with experienced hands. It only takes a glimpse for Nia to recognize what it is, after seeing multiple sites like this.

It was a home, once. Likely a lovely one set up right off the riverside. But the flooding has washed it away, right off its foundations. Hopefully not with a family inside.

Nia feels her chest tighten even further. She can’t stay here, but she also can’t imagine just…going back to her old human life, like nothing ever happened. How can she just leave behind all of the people she’s met in this world? Especially knowing that mystery dungeons and natural disasters like this are slowly ramping up in severity. She would feel like she was abandoning them.

She’d mentioned a way to go back and forth between worlds out of nothing more than desperation, but now she’s thinking it might be the only way she could actually handle it. You can’t just give up an entire 18 years’ worth of life and the family you love. But you also can’t live in an incredible, magical world for months—has it really been months already?—and form a whole new support system only to leave. Not without tearing out a part of your soul in the process, at least.

She doesn’t have an answer for her situation. And that worries her.

Beck chooses that moment to call out to Nia. She lifts her head, thankful for the interruption.

The orange weasel—a floatzel, Tobias had said, and the species had rang a bell in her head for some reason—is bobbing in the water below her. “We’ll be pulling into the branch leading to Shivergleam soon. You might want to grab your partner.”

Nia thanks the water type before getting up and heading inside the cabin. She takes the path downstairs into the belly of the proverbial beast, knocking on the heavy door to the furnace room before nudging her way inside.

As it has been every time Nia has checked on Tobias, the room is sweltering. Dim orange light bounces off the metallic walls. Ignatius the torkoal gives her a passing glance before continuing his work keeping the steam engine running. He takes a bite of coal, crunching it loudly in his mouth. The flames inside his shell flare, almost bright enough to hurt Nia’s eyes, and the torkoal spews a cloud of steam and embers into the pipes of the steam engine.

Tobias is sitting nearby, crunching idly on his own piece of coal and flipping through a manual for the ship. Nia doesn’t know why being down here puts him so much more at ease, but he’s relaxed as he waves casually to Nia in greeting.

It’s a bit loud with the whoosh of the flames and the rumbling of the ship and engine so close, so Nia nearly has to yell to be heard. “Beck says we’re getting close and should prepare to dock!”

Tobias perks up. With all the rain they’ve been dealing with, he hadn’t gotten to go onto dry land yesterday evening when they’d docked for the night. Nia knows he’s been eager to get back to solid ground from the moment they stepped onboard The Aqua Jet.

Tobias gives Ignatius a nod of parting and grabs a piece of charcoal to go. Then he follows Nia back to the stairs. As she leads them back to the upper floor and out on deck, Nia sneaks a few glances at Tobias crunching into the little black mineral.

“I still can’t believe you can just…eat coal.”

Tobias shrugs, catching some crumbs before they fall. “I couldn’t live off of it, but it’s nice. Stokes my fire a bit. Got a good crunch to it.”

Nia stares at the charcoal with a furrowed brow as they reach the railing on deck. “Does it…taste good?”

Tobias makes a so-so motion with his hand, then holds it out to her with a smirk. “Wanna try?”

He probably expects her to recoil, but she can’t deny that she’s curious. She takes the charcoal and gives it a sniff, wrinkling her nose. Then, she licks the little stone.

“Ugh,” Nia shoves the charcoal back at her partner. “It’s like licking a dirty grill.”

Tobias barks a laugh. He tries to reign it in, but his shoulders still shake as he stares at her. “I-I didn’t think you’d actually try it.”

“I was curious! You really underplayed how awful it is, though.”

Tobias shrugs and takes another bite, the sound cracking through the air even with the loud background track of the river. “‘S not that bad. Just…earthy.”

“‘Earthy,’ he says,” Nia teases. “I think you’ve just fried off all your taste buds. You—“

“There’s the turn!” Cas cuts in, hurrying to their side. The little duck looks out at the river with glittering eyes. “I love Shivergleam. It’s so spooky!”

Nia trades an uncomfortable look with Tobias as the ferry takes a turn down an offshoot of the main river. The trees on either side of the waterway close in overhead, blocking out much of the evening light. The air feels cooler, suddenly.

“Spooky?” Nia echoes cautiously.

Cas nods. “Yeah! There are lots of ghost types living in Shivergleam. Delia says that all kinds of weird stuff happens there!”

Nia takes a step closer to Tobias. He’s trying to look unbothered, but Nia sees him cast his sharp gaze out into the trees.

The shaded marsh around them does suddenly seem more…unsettling. Large stretches of floodwater sit between twisted trees, pools of reflected light between dark shade. Away from the roar of the Lilycap River, it feels unnaturally still. Even Beck and Nori, still swimming from side to side in front of the ferry to clear roots and foliage, seem to cut through the water silently.

It must take another half hour for them to finish the journey to Shivergleam, considering the sun is quickly setting through the trees. To Nia, it feels like it somehow takes half the time and twice as long, and her nerves only grow as they approach.

As long shadows fade to total darkness, Nia starts to see…lights. They’re a bluish-purple color, scattered like flickering candle flames throughout the trees. For a moment she thinks of the lights she saw when she was sick. Her memories. But when she looks to Tobias, he’s also watching them, brow furrowed.

When they start to flicker into being on either side of the waterway, Nia gets a closer look. They’re tiny flames, somehow resisting the damp environment. Additionally, they don’t seem to be…burning from anything, or even sheltered from the elements. Instead, they flicker in space at fixed points along the river, among the grassy banks and up in the trees. Like lamp lights along a street.

“Will-o-wisp?” Tobias murmurs.

Nia frowns, wracking her brain for the familiar term. “The move that causes burns?”

“Lots of ghost types learn it. They must have a system set up to light the path, like how the grass types at the guild repair the Lexym tree and open and close the windows to accommodate the weather.”

“Okay, that’s pretty cool,” Nia whispers, looking at the little flames with a mix of awe and unease.

Soon after, Beck and Nori pull themselves out of the water, dripping onto the deck. The floatzel shakes out his fur, and Tobias hisses and hides behind Nia. To Nia’s surprise, Cordelia keeps the boat moving.

Nia casts the dark river a nervous look. What if there are downed branches here still? Won’t they get caught up?

Beck moves to their side. He leans against the railing and smiles down at the will-o-wisps reflecting off the water. “Don’t worry. Shivergleam keeps the river clear from here on. Nori and I can relax.”

True to Beck’s word, they make the rest of the trip without any issue. As they round a bend in the river, the trees thin out enough to see the glow of the town ahead.

Shivergleam is built in bits and pieces into the thin, ropy trees of the swamp, like a city of treehouses. Long, draping boughs of leaves curtain the warm glow of the buildings. Nia can see the occasional silhouette move across bridges made of twisting roots and vines. The whole city almost looks like it’s floating in the blackness of the swamp, its lights reflected in the floodwater below. Nia almost doesn’t notice the short, jagged silhouettes poking above the surface. It takes her a moment to realize that they’re more buildings, homes and businesses swallowed by the floods. Her ears flatten.

“Ol’ Shivergleam,” Beck says, sounding pleased. “Some folks get spooked by so many ghost and dark types living in one place, but don’t let that scare you. They’re nice enough. Make sure you try the food while you’re here.”

Nia gives Beck a thin smile. “Will do. Thanks.”

“You think they’ll be open to us trying to find this Edme ‘mon?” Tobias asks.

Beck’s twin tails give a thoughtful spin. “Good question. They can be a bit private about Shivergleam matters. They didn’t want to ask for outside help with the floods until half their ground population lost their homes. But no harm in asking.”

Cordelia pulls the ferry to a stop beside a makeshift docking system made of arching, twisted branches. A staircase sits nearby, circling the tree’s trunk. Its lower steps lead under the floodwater and its upper steps lead up to the light and activity of the town.

Nori hops out to tie the boat to the dock, Cas scrambling to follow. Beck helps guide Nia and Tobias onto the firmer ground of the stairs—made with slick, damp wood that creaks underfoot. Nia grabs onto the thin rail with one hand and Tobias’ hand with the other, both for her reassurance and his own.

Cordelia leaps out of the boat and onto the stairs with all the confidence of a water type hanging over floodwater. Or maybe that’s just Cordelia. “Passengers delivered safely! Whatcha think, Charmander? Not too bad, eh?”

Tobias gives the croconaw a glare. Cordelia laughs.

Beck stands beside his captain, looking up at the islands of activity. Light shines down between thin gaps in the wood. “You two going to be okay on your own from here? You’ll probably have to catch a flight ‘mon when you want to leave.”

“Better be, because we ain’t sticking around. Heading out first thing in the morning,” Cordelia says, moving to help Cas carry a bag three times bigger than his entire body off the boat.

Beck hums. “I suppose she’s right. But if you need us before we leave, then just come find us at Hollowberry. Always happy to help out a new friend.”

“That offer does not extend to me!” Cordelia calls.

Nia laughs, giving Beck a warm smile. “Will do. Thank you so much, Beck.”

Beck gives her a friendly wink and Tobias a nod before turning to help his crew.

In the quiet left behind, Nia looks to Tobias, who has one hand gripping the rail with white knuckles and the other holding her hand tight enough to hurt.

“Ready?”

“I guess. Anything is better than being on that rickety old thing.”

Nia takes that as a yes and leads the two of them up the winding staircase, towards the gentle clamor of the population above. As they emerge into the soft light of the town, Nia looks around.

The platform they’re on holds two small, twisted buildings built into the side of the tree. One home’s window is bright, and Nia hears laughter from within. Long, drooping leaves drape over the roofs. Ropy bridges made with vines and roots link the platform on either end to another two islands, one slightly higher and the other slightly lower. Despite the heavy darkness of the night, the warm light spilling from most of the buildings lights up the town like a sea of stars.

It’s nothing like the busy roar of Afon’s merchant-heavy environment. It’s quieter here, almost residential. Pokemon talk in pairs or move peacefully about their business, but it all feels very…quaint.

Two Pokémon pass by Nia and Tobias, their conversation pausing as they give the pair cautious looks. They move on quickly enough, voices rising again as they gain distance. Nia’s almost too preoccupied by the townsfolk’s appearance to be hurt by their obvious suspicion. Her grip on Tobias’ hand tightens.

“Those are ghost types, right?” Nia murmurs, tearing her eyes away. She doesn’t want to be rude, but…well. She can see through them! They’re semi-transparent, the lights of the town visible as a blur of light through their bodies. It’s a little unnerving.

“Yeah?” Tobias asks, sounding puzzled. “Why are you so freaked out? I know we don’t get many ghost types in the Haven, but…”

“I know they aren’t like…dead,” Nia whispers, looking around to make sure no one is close enough to overhear. She doesn’t want to offend anyone. “But it’s still hard not to be freaked out by actual, literal ghosts!”

Tobias snorts. “They’re only called ghosts because of their typing, remember? They resemble what spirits are thought to look like, but they aren’t actually ghosts. Well, most of them.”

Nia gives him an incredulous look. “Most of them?!”

“Uh. Yeah? Did your books not tell you that? Some species are supposedly born from reincarnations. Maybe it’s just like a cultural thing, but they say all souls of certain species lived previous lives. Phantump. Pumpkaboo.” Tobias cuts her a dry look. “Yamask.”

Nia blinks, caught off-guard. “Yamask?” So…Will?

She does vaguely remember reading about the yamask line, when she first came to the Pokemon world and was looking for a name. About how they’re supposedly born from lost human souls. At the time she’d assumed that meant they were in the same situation as her and all the other humans, but Tobias almost seems to be implying that there’s something different about them. That some ghost types are…born as reincarnated souls. But Will is an adult and he’s only been here a few years, so—

Tobias tugs at Nia’s hand, apparently deeming her moment of existential crisis unimportant. “We’d better get moving. We’re getting looks.”

Nia shakes off her thoughts. “R-Right. Can you lead the way?”

Tobias snorts. “As long as you do the socializing.”

“Deal. Are we looking for Hollowberry to rest for the night?”

Tobias mouth flattens as he looks around. Nia follows his gaze, slowly less and less unnerved and more amazed by the chilling beauty of their surroundings.

“With this many ghost and dark types, most of the town probably runs on a nocturnal schedule,” Tobias finally says.

“Oh. So…should we start looking tonight?”

“Are you too tired?”

Tobias glances at her, then away. As if to make it seem like he doesn’t actually care about her answer. Nia bites back a smile and pointedly doesn’t remind the prickly charmander that they’re still holding hands.

“No, I’m all right! Where should we start?”

Tobias looks around, then heads down one of the bridges leading to another platform, releasing her hand to grab onto both sides of the railing. The woven branches underneath them creak and dip under their weight.

The first Pokemon they find who actually makes eye contact and seems willing to talk is a floating purple ghost with no legs and disembodied hands. He’s handing out samples outside of a cute little bakery, which means his friendliness is probably just a business tactic, but Nia will take it.

Nia gratefully accepts a small sample of donut and exchanges pleasantries before saying, “We were actually wondering if you happen to know anyone in town called Edme?”

The ghost type’s friendly smile falls, a gleam of suspicion entering his eyes. “…Where did you say you two are from?”

“Lexym Guild, in Bethoc’s Haven,” Tobias answers, crossing his arms. “We aren’t here to cause any trouble. Just want to ask them some questions.”

Another Pokemon, some kind of little orange and black fox with a large tail, walks by. The ghostly baker catches her eye, pasting on a huge grin. “Hey! Quinta! Want to try a new recipe?”

The fox glances at Nia and Tobias before deciding to speak to the baker. The two quickly start a conversation, turning their bodies to shut Nia and Tobias out.

Okay, message received. Nia devours her (delicious) donut sample and leads Tobias away before his flaring tail flame gets them in trouble.

“Maybe the next person will be more open to talk,” Nia says hopefully.

The look Tobias sends her makes it clear how much he doesn’t believe her. “Sure.”

Unfortunately, the next Pokemon they stop is no more forthcoming. Nor the next. Most of the townsfolk don’t look thrilled to talk to outsiders at all, but even the friendliest of Pokemon immediately clam up and hurry off when they mention Edme.

“This is going well,” Nia sighs when they take a break, sitting against one of the platforms’ central tree trunks. The wood is damp and the air is getting cold as the night wears on, so her fur feels both thin and uncomfortable. She’s starting to drag, but the town only seems to grow more active as the moon rises higher.

“They’re suspicious of outsiders, and apparently protective of this Edme ‘mon,” Tobias says, also looking tired. “They must think we’re here to cause trouble.”

“Even though we’re Seekers?”

Tobias sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Probably because we’re Seekers. Ghost types and dark types get a bad reputation sometimes. They’re pinned much quicker for crimes than other types.”

Nia winces, remembering her earlier reaction to seeing the ghost types. She’s grown more accustomed to them over the past hour or so, since they’re not really any stranger or scarier than other types of Pokemon. They’re just not ones she’s used to seeing.

“So you think they’re worried we’re here to take Edme in?”

“Probably. Whether it’s warranted or not.”

Nia makes a thoughtful sound in her throat. “So far we have been pretty vague about why we want to talk to Edme. Should we just be honest about why we’re here?”

Tobias gives her an Are you crazy? sort of look. “And say we’re here to ask Edme about—“ Tobias’ voice lowers. “Giratina?”

“Why not?”

Tobias rolls his eyes. “He’s a scary story for a reason! Most ‘mon don’t even like hearing his name.”

“But Edme was the source for all of those books we read! They’re almost like the authority on Giratina. And everyone here is defending Edme, so—“

“So Giratina probably isn’t a bad omen here,” Tobias finishes, blinking at her. “Huh. You know, that…might make sense. He is a ghost type. I don’t know enough ghost types to know if they see him as a deity, but…”

“We could try it?” Nia suggests.

Tobias sighs. “I guess it can’t get any worse than how it’s been going so far.”

Their next target is a pair of Pokemon chatting amiably outside of a shop and drinking tea. A misdreavus and a banette, according to Tobias. The two ghost types quiet as Nia and Tobias approach and politely introduce themselves.

“—and we were hoping that you might know about a Pokemon called Edme? We need some information about Giratina, and we heard they’re the best person—uh, Pokemon to ask.”

The two Pokemon straighten up with surprised expressions when Nia mentions Giratina’s name. They exchange a look, but Nia can see the cold suspicion thaw, ever so slightly.

“You want to know more about Lord Giratina?” The banette asks, clearly doubtful.

Lord Giratina? Guess they were spot-on about the deity thing.

Nia nods. “Yes! Please. We came all this way looking for information.”

“Why? Most solids are too scared to even say his name.”

Nia hesitates. Looks to Tobias. He shrugs. She bites her lip and looks back at the two Pokemon. “H-He’s been following me. Through reflections. And we want to know why.”

The pair’s eyes widen. Their idle hovering stills. It’s the most open emotion anyone from the town has shown so far.

“Lord Giratina showed himself to you?” The misdreavus asks, voice hushed with awe.

The banette looks torn between suspicion and confusion. “Why would Lord Giratina show himself to some random fighting type?“

Nia opens her mouth without thinking, to say something about it possibly being because she’s human. Luckily, Tobias whacks her leg with his tail, stopping her from blabbing.

“That’s what we’d like to know,” Tobias growls. “So if someone could just tell us where to find Edme, that’d be great.”

The two Shivergleam natives look torn, exchanging a worried look.

“What do you think?” The misdreavus whispers, her “hair” floating in a nonexistent breeze.

“The riolu should be fine. She’s a fighting type. But sending a fire type to the Guardian? You know how dangerous that is!”

“But if Lord Giratina really did show himself, then there has to be a good reason! And you know the Guardian can handle herself.”

Nia and Tobias share an uncertain look as the two go back and forth about the “Guardian.” Looks like Tobias was right—the citizens of Shivergleam are protecting their own. Admirable, if not annoying at the current moment.

“Fine,” the banette finally says. She turns to Nia and Tobias. “We’ll tell you where to find the Guardian.“

“Oh, thank you so much! We—“

“But,” the ghost type interrupts, baring her terrifying zipper-like teeth. “We don’t take kindly to anyone messing with our own. Especially a Guardian. So just know that if you do anything to harm her, the entirety of Shivergleam won’t hesitate to drag you both to the afterlife.”

Nia’s bubbly gratitude dies in her chest. Eyes wide and tail tucked, she frantically agrees. Tobias glares at the two Pokemon, but nods.

The banette seems somewhat satisfied by that. She waves her friend on.

The misdreavus hesitates once more before gesturing with her chin to the right, off through the sea of platforms and flickering lights. “She lives on the edge of town, at one of the highest sectors. It’s the tall house with the shiny baubles hanging outside of it.”

Nia grins, forgetting her momentary fear in favor of relief that their search is almost over. “Got it! Thank you!”

The two Pokemon still seem unsure. They go back to their tea with an uneasy air. Tobias hauls Nia away as she’s still trying to thank them.

“You want to lead the way?” Nia asks. “I’m so glad we finally know where to find her!”

Tobias snorts. “After a little light threatening of our lives. But yes, of course I’m leading. You’ll run us in circles with your sense of direction.”

Nia concedes that and follows Tobias across town. The residents of Shivergleam still give them wary looks as they pass by, but otherwise don’t seem aggressive. Defensive, if anything. It hurts Nia’s feelings a bit, to be honest, but she figures that she can’t really be upset with them if they’ve been blamed in the past so much by outsiders. She shouldn’t make this about her own hurt feelings when they’re the ones who have actually been harmed.

At least the town itself is a beautiful sight to see. Still damp and a bit unnerving to traverse with the pitch blackness of the water far below them, but otherwise lovely. The warm lights of the buildings make the place feel magical, almost dreamlike. Or maybe that’s just Nia’s sleepiness talking. It is getting late.

“Why do you think they were calling Edme ‘the Guardian?’” Nia asks.

Tobias shrugs, eyes glued to his feet as he carefully crosses the bridge. “Dunno. Not a title I’m familiar with.”

“They sounded kind of…reverent. Of both Edme and Giratina. I haven’t heard Pokemon call any of the legendaries ‘Lord’ before.”

“Eh, ghost types can be weird. If they’re looking to Giratina of all Pokemon for protection, then you know they’ve got a few screws loose.”

“Don’t be rude. Everyone has their own beliefs.”

“I guess.”

By time Nia hears the gentle tinkling of something almost like windchimes, the warm lights of the town have started to die off. Black forest sits ahead, with a single home framed against it. It’s a tall, narrow, misshapen structure of woven roots and branches. Shiny items like bottles, mirrors and glass are tied together from branches, swaying gently in the breeze. The upper windows are aglow with a soft light.

“Guess this is it,” Nia murmurs.

“Guess so,” Tobias responds. “Ready to get some answers?”

“I hope so.”

Nia steps forward to knock firmly on the front door. She listens for footsteps from inside, but doesn’t hear anything. So she’s surprised when the door unlatches and swings open. The faint purple of telekinetic energy—usually belonging to a psychic or ghost type—glows off the door handle in the dark room within.

In the doorway floats a…bug? It almost looks like a cicada shell, something about its stiff body and angular wings bringing to mind childhood summers and bugsong. A halo-like piece floats above the Pokemon’s head, and it stares out at the two of them with two immobile eyes. It floats faintly in place, but otherwise doesn’t move—not the flicker of an eye or the twitch of a claw. Not even a breath.

Nia feels a shiver roll down her spine.

Then the Pokemon speaks, a chipper voice echoing out of the shell. “Yes? How can I help you two?”

Nia blinks. Opens her mouth to respond. Closes it again. Something about the expressive voice paired with the unsettlingly dead image is…really throwing her for a loop. Not to mention that they’ve been running into unfriendly residents all night.

“Are you Edme?” Tobias asks. “The, uh, Guardian?”

The bug Pokemon laughs. It’s unsettling not seeing the body move with the sound. “I was the last time I checked! To who do I owe the pleasure?”

“N-Nia,” Nia finally blurts, getting her tongue under control. “Nia and Tobias, of Team Scarlet.“

“A Seeker team?” Edme asks, sounding intrigued. “We don’t see many Seekers in Shivergleam.”

“Well, we aren’t really here on team business. We were actually hoping to ask you some, uh, questions? About Giratina.”

Edme floats slightly lower, as if to meet their eyes and get a better look at them. “It’s…rare, for someone outside of our community to seek out information about Lord Giratina.”

It’s a thinly veiled question, just the slightest bit wary. Nia glances at Tobias. He gestures for her to go ahead.

“Giratina’s been following me, through reflections. Trying to contact me. I—we did some research, and pretty much every book we could find referenced you in some way, so we figured you know the most about him. We were hoping you could give us some answers.”

Edme stills entirely at this new information, as if frozen in time. Nia opens her mouth to ask if she’s all right when the bug lurches forward, a little too close to Nia’s space.

“You say you’ve seen Giratina? You believe him to be attempting contact?”

“Yeah, we’re pretty confident about that,” Tobias says drily, clearly thinking about the banished legendary trying to yank Nia into the distortion world.

Edme turns to Nia for confirmation, so she gives a helpless shrug.

Edme bobs in the air, as if excited. “That is incredible news! Please, do come in.”

The bug turns and heads inside. Nia shudders when she catches a glimpse of a hole in Edme’s back, showing the blackness of a hollow shell inside.

Nia looks to Tobias, unsure. Tobias nudges past Nia to lead the way, swinging his tail forward to use it as a torch in the dark house. By the light of his flame, Nia can see the walls are covered in bookshelves, and what little space is left is taken up by tables holding notes and inks, bowls and ingredients and jars. A large woven rug sits in the middle of the floor, strangely empty of furniture. A spiral staircase winds around the sides of the room and upstairs, to where Nia saw the lights in the window from outside. A study, maybe. It all looks rather spooky in the low light.

“Oh! My apologies,” Edme says, floating back down from the darkness and making them jump. “Let me give you some light.”

Edme uses the same telekinetic power—Nia still isn’t sure if it’s psychic or ghost type in nature, but she’s leaning towards psychic considering she can feel her fur prickle—to pick up a lit candle from upstairs in bright purple energy. It floats down and expertly makes a circuit around the room, lighting half-melted candlesticks until the space is warmly lit.

Nia relaxes, following Edme to where she’s nudging two cushions forward on the floor. They’re dusty with disuse, but Nia doesn’t want to be rude and point it out so she sits gingerly. Tobias has no such qualms and takes a moment to beat the dust off the cushion before flopping down.

Edme lowers herself to hover in front of them. “Would you two like some tea?”

Nia, anxious as she is to get some answers and worried that tea might lull her to sleep at this late hour, smiles and politely declines. Tobias just shakes his head.

Edme laughs her hollow laugh, blank expression never shifting. “Honestly, I was hoping you would say no. Now, would you mind laying out your situation? When did you notice Lord Giratina following you?”

Nia blinks, surprised that Edme believed them so easily. She looks to Tobias to start explaining, since he was the first one to notice Giratina.

Tobias, however, clearly isn’t as eager to talk. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. “I have a few questions first. We came to find you because you were the most referenced source in the books about Giratina, but it was obvious that the authors were holding stuff back. Being intentionally vague. Why?”

“Tobias!” Nia hisses. They’re the ones who came barging into Edme’s house—starting off with open suspicion is just rude!

But Edme simply laughs. “No, it’s quite all right. You are exactly right. There is a reason you could sense holes in their words. I no longer speak with authors, as they so willingly pick and choose what to share of the truth.”

“The truth..?” Nia echoes.

“The truth that the Guardians preserve, as servants to Lord Giratina.”

Nia and Tobias’ confusion is palpable.

Edme bobs, as if nodding. “Ah, yes. Allow me to introduce myself properly.” She twirls higher off the ground. “I am Guardian Edme, the 13th Guardian under Lord Giratina.”

Edme circles the room, gesturing with her body to the many, many papers and books stuffed into the walls. “For nearly a millennium, Lord Giratina has had a loyal guard in our realm to act as the official liaison between our dimension and the distortion world.”

“A millennium?” Tobias asks, suspicious. “So you didn’t stop serving him once he was banished.”

“Because he was banished unfairly,” Edme says, as simply as the sky being blue or grass being green. “Wrongfully ousted for trying to protect our world.”

Nia straightens up, frowning.

Tobias beats her to the punch, clearly incredulous. “That’s…definitely not the story we’ve heard. We heard that Giratina nearly killed another legendary and was banished for his violence.”

Edme lowers slightly, as if slumping. “Yes. Despite our best efforts, the truth has been grossly distorted.”

“But…that’s the story literally everyone knows,” Tobias protests. “It’s what’s written in all the books—including the ones you’re referenced in!”

For a moment, Nia swears the flames on the candles flare brighter before dying down again. Edme is once more still as stone.

Then, she speaks, voice bitter. “They record the truth they want to be known. Not the truth that actually happened. No matter how loudly we shout it.”

“And how do we know that what you say actually happened is the real truth?” Tobias challenges.

Nia bites her tongue. He has a point.

Edme turns to them, rising higher until she looms over them. In the flickering light, she looks as imposing as a statue in the dead of night, playing tricks on Nia’s eyes.

“I know this,” Edme says quietly. “Because I am a Guardian. It has been my duty since the moment I was born from my sister’s shell. This is my only duty. And the only duty of all my predecessors. I know the truth because they have taught it to me. Because I have spoken to Lord Giratina myself.”

Nia’s breath catches. “Wait. Y-You’ve talked to him? How? When he tried speaking to me in the tunnels I couldn’t hear him at all.”

Edme turns to Nia, quiet for a moment. Then she says, “I can allow you to speak to him, if you’d like.”

“No. I still don’t trust him,” Tobias growls. “Or, quite frankly, this ‘truth’ that you and your predecessors believe in. Sorry, but when the whole world thinks that Arceus themself banished Giratina for nearly murdering another legendary, it’s kind of a hard impression to forget. Plus, he tried to yank Nia into his creepy dimension against her will!”

“He did help us in the tunnels,” Nia points out, softly. Tobias throws up his hands, at a loss of how to respond.

Nia turns to Edme and says, hesitantly, “I guess…I don’t know what to believe right now. We thought he was bad, but he helped us recently. I know he did. And he has to be trying to talk to me for a reason. We were hoping you could give us some answers as to what that reason might be.”

Edme hums. “You would have to speak to Lord Giratina yourself for that. I can tell you the truth of his banishment, but I know not why he follows you.”

Nia swallows. She doesn’t know how ready she is to try “speaking” to Giratina. But…

“Could you tell us, then?” She asks. “What the true story is, according to the Guardians?”

Edme looks Nia in the eyes with hollow pupils. “Are you sure you want to hear it? There is a reason the cowardly pens of those writers never recorded my words.”

Nia looks to Tobias. He still doesn’t look like he trusts Edme, but she can tell he won’t stop her, either. Nia takes a deep breath and nods. “Y-Yes. Please. We want all the information before moving forward.”

Edme is silent for a moment longer. Then she chuckles. “Wise girl. I will gladly share the truth, if you promise to hear it.”

Nia murmurs agreement, and Tobias grudgingly copies her once Edme turns her stare onto him. Then Edme settles, floating low to the ground in front of them. Nia crosses her legs and leans closer, heart pounding.

“The story told for decades is that of Lord Giratina attacking another legendary Pokemon. Of Arceus commanding the Lake Trio to banish him to the Distortion World for his crime, destined to protect the dimensional borders without ever leaving them. Correct?”

Nia thinks that’s right, but lets Tobias nod their confirmation.

“The truth,” Edme says. “Is that Arceus had nothing to do with that decision. They weren’t even aware of it.”

Tobias frowns. Nia wracks her brain to keep up with the unfamiliar lore. Arceus is like…the god above all the other deities, right? The one in charge of everything?

“But,” Tobias says. “That doesn’t make any sense. Even if Arceus weren’t there at the time, they would still know about it, right? If Arceus is real, then surely you can’t hide anything from them.”

“Arceus is a very knowledgeable being,” Edme agrees. “Their eyes and ears and arms reach farther than any other. But they did not know about Lord Giratina’s banishment, for they were already asleep.”

“Asleep?” Nia murmurs.

“Asleep…” Tobias’ eyes widen. “You mean how the rest of the legendaries have gone dormant and disappeared? Arceus also..?”

“Arceus was the first,” Edme says. “They fell to sleep and none could wake them. Still to this day they rest. Presently, most of the others have followed. However, when it was just Arceus, when the panic of their parent’s falling was fresh, the legends didn’t know what to do.”

Nia can sense the gravity of Edme’s words, even if she’s having a hard time feeling like they’re actually…real, and not just a fairy tale. She glances at Tobias, and is surprised that for someone once so unconcerned about legendaries, the charmander seems pale and tense.

“The legends argued,” Edme continues. “About what to do after Arceus fell dormant. For months on end. This had never happened before. They didn’t know what would happen without Arceus there to guide them. Would their own energy falter? Who would protect the mortal Pokemon of their world?”

“Without their leader,” Edme continues. “Infighting began. And in the gods’ absence, our world began to slip. Without Lugia and Kyogre guiding the seas, waves became impossible to navigate. Marine Pokemon and sailors alike died without any hope of rescue. Without Groudon and Regirock, the earth shook and splintered without guidance, destroying towns and homes. Without the guiding winds of Tornadus and Rayquaza, gales developed into terrible storms free from Raikou and Zapdos’ protection, striking the earth with lightning and fire and flooding it with rain.”

“So they just…abandoned the Pokemon world?” Nia whispers, horrified. “To argue?”

“Most of them. Understand that to an immortal legendary, a few months is a heartbeat in time. To the Pokemon in our realm, it is an eternity. Many of them did not realize they were abandoning the world that they were born to protect.”

“Are you making this up to make all the other legendaries look bad?” Tobias accuses, baring his teeth. “It’s not very subtle.”

Edme laughs. “I don’t need to make it up. The legendaries are generally benevolent. But they were aware of their power in a way that led to self-importance.”

After a heavy beat of silence, Nia hopefully adds, “But you said most of them didn’t notice the issues they were causing, right..?”

Edme bobs in a nod. “Yes. A few legendaries were aware of what their absence meant for the Pokemon of the world. Those more tied into the affairs of mortals. Entei, protector of children. The Swords of Justice. Latias and Latios. Mew, Mother of all Pokemon. Lord Giratina.”

“You’re trying to tell us he was worried about mortals?” Tobias scoffs.

“He was not,” Edme says, startling Nia and Tobias into silence. “At least, not directly. He was worried about his domain—the dimensional rift. The borders containing our world, and keeping it safely separate from others.”

“Like the human world?” Nia ventures.

Edme nods. “Yes. Lord Giratina has been the guardian of our world’s borders since the beginning. He doesn’t care much for mortals, but he takes his duty seriously. He was aware that Arceus’ sleep was concerning, but the absence of legendaries—particularly his siblings Dialga and Palkia—only exacerbated the issue. Their panic was putting the fragile balance of the world in danger, and endangering the entire dimension in the process.”

“So what did he do?” Nia asks.

Edme laughs, this one more genuinely happy than bitter. “He gave the other legends a piece of his mind. Told them all to get back to their stations and stop destroying Arceus’ beloved world if they were so worried.”

Despite herself, Nia quirks a smile.

“However,” Edme says, voice sobering again. “In Lord Giratina’s absence, more of the legends had fallen dormant against their will. Victini. Hoopa. Jirachi. Tensions had grown high. Cresselia, in a fit of anger, accused Lord Giratina of being uncaring for their parent, Arceus. Even accused him of being the cause for their dormancy.”

Tobias makes a doubtful noise, but otherwise doesn’t interrupt. Nia frowns, focused entirely on Edme’s hushed voice in the dim candlelight.

“She attacked him, and so Lord Giratina defended himself. Squabbles between legendaries were not rare, but never was there intent to genuinely harm one another. However, Cresselia, already in a weakened state, was seriously injured and fell dormant after the fight.”

“On edge,” Edme continues. “The Lake Trio—Azelf, Mesprit, and Uxie—used their power to banish Lord Giratina to his domain in the Distortion World. The battle did spur the legendaries to finally return to their stations, however, rebalancing the world for the past hundred years.”

“But?” Nia murmurs.

“But,” Edme sighs. “They too eventually fell to sleep. Recently, even the most powerful of legendaries have begun to fall dormant.”

“The increase in natural disasters,” Tobias murmurs.

“Correct.”

“Is that what’s causing the mystery dungeons, too?” Nia asks.

“I…am not sure,” Edme admits. “Giratina is not speaking to me as openly as he used to. However, considering the two phenomena have been following the same progression, I believe they must be linked in some way.”

“Giratina hasn’t been talking to you?” Tobias asks, doubtful. “He’s sure been trying to ‘talk’ to Nia lately.”

Edme turns hollow eyes on Nia. It feels a bit unnerving. “Lord Giratina himself is weakening, but he believes that whatever is causing legendaries to fall dormant and steering the world towards ruin can still be reversed. Perhaps…he believes you could be of use in such a mission.”

Nia leans back. “M-Me? What could I do to help?”

“And I don’t like how you phrased that,” Tobias growls. “‘Of use?’”

Edme floats a bit higher. “Apologies. I simply meant you might be helpful in finding the answers Lord Giratina seeks.”

There’s a heavy moment of silence, tense and unsure as they digest that.

“That’s…” Tobias starts, sounding off-kilter.

“A lot,” Nia finishes. “And you heard this story from…Giratina?”

Edme floats over to a window, as if looking outside into the night. “I understand you may think me foolish, to believe the better light straight from the accused’s mouth. But my predecessors assure me that Lord Giratina has always been harsh, but just. That he would never intentionally harm another legend. I believe it to be the truth.”

Nia glances at Tobias, wanting his take on all this. The charmander is staring down with a furrowed brow, lost in thought.

“I still recommend speaking to Lord Giratina yourself,” Edme says, moving to float over to one of her tables. She uses her power to start sifting through the mess. “I can set up the ritual now, if you would like.”

Nia’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Like bring him here?” Tobias asks, barely hiding his alarm. “To our world?”

“No, no. Not to this realm, of course. The Lake Trio saw to it that even in their dormancy Lord Giratina would not be able to cross over any time soon. Especially not here. If anywhere, that would need to occur at the dimensional gate.”

“Dimensional gate?” Nia echoes.

“The traditional summoning spot for Lord Giratina,” Edme explains absently, shuffling through jars and papers. “Where the border between our realm and the dimensional rift is thinnest.”

Nia opens her mouth to continue that line of questioning, but Edme makes a sound of triumph, pulling back with a few supplies held in her purple energy.

“Would you be willing to speak with Lord Giratina and ask him yourself why he is trying to contact you? I believe conversing with him will convince you of his authenticity as well.”

Tobias growls a sharp, “No.”

Nia stays silent. Conflicted.

Tobias looks at her, bewildered. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not saying we trust him immediately, or even Edme’s story, but…”

“He’s the villain of the story! Of course he’s going to try and spin himself in a better light. And you can’t trust someone who is clearly obsessed with him to be any more truthful! I know how you are, Nia. If you talk to him, he’ll win you over with some sob story in a heartbeat.”

Nia huffs. “But what if they’re telling the truth? What if Giratina isn’t the bad guy he’s made out to be and he’s trying to save the Pokemon world? What if he needs my help somehow?”

Tobias groans and rubs at his face, muttering something about her being a bleeding heart.

“It can’t hurt just to talk to him, right?” Nia adds. “And you’ll be right here to keep us on track.”

Tobias looks at her for a long moment. Then he sighs. “Fine. But only because I know you won’t let up otherwise.”

Edme, who had been waiting nearby with barely restrained enthusiasm, jumps into action. She shoos them away from the cushions they’d been sitting on, then moves the pillows aside with her powers. Then she removes the rug covering the space in the middle of the floor, only to reveal a circular wooden panel below. Purple energy envelops it and easily lifts it aside, leaving a shallow dip in the wooden flooring maybe an inch or two deep.

Edme bustles about, gathering supplies and snuffing out a few of the candles. She fills the basin with a bowl of water, until the surface of it is nothing more than a smooth, glassy pool. Then she sprinkles some herbs on top of its surface, pouring a salt-like mixture into an intricate pattern on the wood around the outside of the pool.

“Should we tell her that Giratina just…shows up around you?” Tobias whispers to Nia, dry with humor.

Nia bites back a smile despite her nerves. “This does look very…intense. But she has to have a reason for it, right?” Even if she does look like she’s trying to summon the dead.

Finally, Edme floats back, apparently satisfied. Only a few candles near the basin remain lit, leaving the edges of the room dark. The thin pool of water almost seems to…glow, in the low light, a few bits of herbs floating on its surface.

“Now what?” Tobias asks, shifting nervously.

Nia moves to step closer to the pool, and he quickly latches onto her arm to stop her.

“We have lit the beacon for Lord Giratina. But if he has been following you, young riolu…” Edme turns to her. “Would you mind stepping into the pool, to show him you’re here?”

Nia stiffens, and Tobias immediately turns on the bug with a glare.

“We said we’d talk,” he growls. “Nothing more. I don’t care how much you believe Giratina’s story—we still don’t know that he isn’t trying to kill Nia or something. She’s not stepping in there to serve herself up on a silver platter.”

Edme angles slightly towards Nia. “Riolu?”

“I-I have to admit I’m not…completely comfortable with the idea. Can I not just…I don’t know. Sit by it and call out to him or something?”

“It is the only way to speak to him,” Edme says, something in her voice making Nia nervous. Something almost…desperate.

“It’s also the only way we know of for him to grab you,” Tobias counters, baring his teeth.

“You must be in his realm to speak with him!” Edme says, voice rising. “The banishment—”

“You didn’t tell us that!” Tobias snaps, stepping in front of Nia. “We sure aren’t going onto his creepy turf!”

For a moment, Edme is silent, staring at the two of them. Nia has a terrible feeling in her gut. Then, the bug sighs. “Shame. I was hoping I wouldn’t have to force you.”

Tobias’ lashing tail stills. “…What?”

In a flash of purple light, Nia feels her whole body lock up. From the corner of her eye, she can see herself outlined in the same bright purple energy that Edme’s been using all night. She can’t move anything but her eyes and her mouth. She’s stuck. Through her panic, she absently notes that it must be a psychic-type move if it’s able to affect her.

In front of her, Nia can hear Tobias make a strangled sound as he too is caught in the attack. Then, he’s pulled through the air to float at Edme’s side, wild eyes flicking to Nia.

“What’re you doing?!” Tobias snarls. Nia can see fire glow briefly behind his teeth before he chokes again and it peters out.

Nia has a sinking feeling about where this is going, even before Edme’s powers start to pilot her legs, moving her forward one jerky step at a time like a puppet.

“E-Edme, wait!” Nia yelps. “Let’s talk about this!”

Edme hums. “Unfortunately, Riolu, I must put Lord Giratina’s wishes above your comfort. If he wants to speak with you, I shall make it so. You cannot hear him if you are not in his realm. I was hoping to get you there voluntarily, but I can see the lies you’ve heard won’t allow that.”

Nia’s foot splashes into the thin basin of water. And then the other, until she’s frozen in place right in the middle of it, shaking against Edme’s grip.

Nia didn’t realize she was so powerful.

“Don’t worry,” Edme says, voice bright. “He won’t harm you. You should be excited! Not everyone gets the chance to speak with a legend.”

Nia feels tears start to gather in her eyes as her heart pounds. She alternates between looking down at the reflections in the pool below and up at Edme and Tobias. “I-I don’t want to. Please, Edme—“

Tobias tries to lunge forward, only to be snapped back into place. His eyes are glued to the pool.

Nia follows his gaze down and feels like she’s going to throw up. Giratina circles in the reflections below her, gold and gray and black and red. A faint serpentine shape growing closer and closer.

Nia closes her eyes, counting her rapid heartbeats and praying that something happens to miraculously save them. To break them from Edme’s grip and let them escape. Something cold wraps around her ankle. She whimpers, refusing to look.

Tobias is panting and growling, still struggling against the bright purple energy surrounding him. “Nia!”

The grip around Nia’s ankle tightens. She opens her eyes and looks to Tobias. She has a single moment to meet her partner’s eyes before the grip around her yanks.

Despite the shallow water of the pool, she’s pulled straight down. Deep, deeper than should be possible, through the coolness of the water and then back into open air. Her stomach flips. She feels like she’s weightless in the worst way possible.

The world seems to spin, and then she’s falling hard on solid, dry ground. She gasps, pushing herself up on shaky arms. She’s free of Edme’s telekinetic grip. She looks around wildly at the dark environment she’s found herself in.

It’s like some kind of strange nightmare. A dark, crumbling stone landscape, pieces floating midair as if trapped in resin. A swirling blue-black void of empty sky sits as its backdrop, and weirdly enough Nia is reminded of that one Vincent van Gogh painting she was taught about in elementary school: The Starry Night. Just without the comfort of the stars. The air is stiflingly still, making her shaky breaths seem particularly loud.

It feels…heavy here. Unnatural.

Nia staggers to her feet. She opens her mouth to call out for Tobias, but movement catches her eye. She follows it, her partner’s name dying on her tongue as she tips her head back.

Looming above her, all long tendril wings and piercing red eyes, is a creature of nightmares.

Giratina.

#pmd #pokemon mystery dungeon #pokemon #charmander #riolu #sableye #pmd seekers of soul #tesha draws #tesha writes

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kit-williams · 5 months

Text

Seven Brides for Seven Brothers

@bispecsual I decided to write another using my favorite scene from a movie I really adore (yes in this technically Captain Arkyn would be one of the brothers but I decided to just make 7 others)

tw: kidnapping

Captain Arkyn looked at his boys. "Now remember. In and out. Do not give them a chance to scream or else we have to awkwardly explain what is going on. And we don't need the Inquisition on our asses. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Captain." The seven of them spoke as he let them out into the city to go collect their mates.

Arkyn walked over to the pilot and slapped his shoulder. "Aye a real trooper ye are."

"This makes us even Captain." The pilot only grunted as he took the time to woo his mates... usually but he owed Arkyn a lot for helping collect his recent mate.

"Of course Bjorn..."

-----

Volak saw his little husband flirting with another man and it made his teeth itch as he could hear his laughter, "No I don't think I could give you a kiss. I'm such a bad kisser." He says, Volak knew that was a lie but he watched his little husband continue on, "Oh okay just close your eyes."

Volak quickly and quietly snuck up behind the other man and knocked him out as he took his place for that kiss causing the smaller man's eyes to flutter open. "Volak?! What are you-" Was all he managed to get out before a gag was pushed into his mouth as he grabbed the now thrashing man and started to rush towards the ship.

One Bride down.

----

Algir slunk closer to the house with his bride and purposefully left the gate open so their hound would wander out allowing him to lure them out. Algir sat near a window and started to whimper and whine like their hound. "Charlie.... it sounds like Rigby wants to come in."

"Well Rigby can wait I'm still cleaning up his mess."

Well Algir had time at the very least....

-----

Baldun had a feeling that his little bride would behave as he walked up to her door and knocked. He gave the little girl who answered the door a warm smile and knelt down, "Hello little one. Would you call your big sister for me?" He watched her nod.

"Sis! Sis! It's Baldun! He's back." She said oh so happily as she gave the Space Wolf a hug and Baldun held her close looking at his little bride as he gave her a predatory smile watching her flinch to a stop.

Baldun's eyes seemed to glow so very predatorily as he beckoned with a single finger for her to approach. A gentle kiss to the side of her head. "Little one. Go pack up your things." He said before whispering to his little bride, "You try to run and I will make sure you will never see her again. So you either come willingly or I take her instead." Baldun looked at her and watched as tears started to roll down her cheeks and he licked them away. "Go pack what you need. Any heirlooms you wish to keep. I'll wait right here... oh and dearest... I'll know if you try to run."

Two Brides down.

-----

Olgus' and Svat's little husband and little wife were as thick as a pair of littermates as they walked arm in arm just singing something. It was Svat who let out a sharp whistle and his little wife was looking around for the wolf whom had basically trained her to listen for it.

"I know what I heard!" She huffed as she pulled him closer to the alleyway.

"I know but that could have been anyone. I miss Olgus just as much as you miss Svat but they're gone off to go save someone else. Listen just treasure the memories I mean hey we can always boast to our families that we survived being fucked by a space marine." Olgus' little husband joked.

"Or you could enjoy being always treasured." Svat said scooping up his little bride as she squealed happily and gave the space marine messy drunken kisses.

She didn't notice how her friend struggled against Olgus as his senses weren't as impaired and he knew something was wrong but...

Brides Three and Four were gotten.

-----

"Charlie... he sounds so distressed." Algir could hear their sickly mother say as Algir had turned up the whimpering and whining to include some distressed barking.

"Alright I'll go let him in." They said as they walked to the back door and opened it. "Rigby?" They said before stepping out and Algir should have waited just a little bit longer before he messily grabbed his little bride. But they managed to let out a half distressed cry before he rushed off with them.

Bride Five aquired.

------

Rune Priest Odus looked down at his little bride as she was part of a local watch as there was now growing suspicions... someone had gotten messy or someone was seeing what they were doing. But he admired his little lamb as she was trying. She practically jumped out of her skin when he simply said hello to her. Her nose was rosy from the slight chill. Oh Odus was going to spoil her rotten, her being his soft little bed mate... she jumped at her own shadows even. "Oh Odus I thought you were gone."

"Yes well I managed to get away for but a moment and I had to come make sure you'd be okay and tell you goodbye." He said playing his role as if he wasn't about to snatch her up. He practically melted at how she smiled at him and the way her hands were so small in his.

"I'll miss you Odus... I'll try to be a bit braver for you." She said looking down and blushing giving Odus the perfect opportunity to summon a spider spirit and when she looked up and saw the space marine hand sized spider on his chest... he watched her jaw drop... her entire body tense out of horror before she fainted. He could smell that she had pissed herself too but Odus hardly minded as he hummed softly dismissing the spirit and picking her up as he rushed off.

Bride Six obtained

-----

Hvold was excited to grab his bride as he went to her usual spot under the bridge. He could see her sitting close to a small fire she no doubt made. He could see the tremble of her form as she was cold and Hvold was going to insure that his darling would never have to survive like this again. Oh yes he admired her for being able to survive like this but now being her mate he'd show her how good of a provider he was.

"Hvold?" Her soft voice fluttered across the wind as he walked closer. She got up and hugged the warmer man slightly disbelieving that he came back for her like he had said. She was so use to disappointment. "You... you came back for me." She looked up at him with wet eyes as he just nodded.

"Of course I did. I told you that you were my mate and as your mate I refuse to let you continue to survive out here." Hvold said looking at the tattered backpack on her back as he just picked her up and radioed Arkyn.

Bride Seven gotten.

-----

Arkyn grinned as the seven space wolves rushed into the ship. Though Baldun had an extra little female but Arkyn knew that before as his bride needed... encouragement to come willingly. She'd make a fine mate for someone else when she came of age or find a husband amongst the chapter serfs. His eyes roamed the humans there as most of them looked scared. "Bjorn get us out of here." Arkyn ordered as the ramp slid shut causing the distressed mates to watch the way out close and they were sealed to their fates.

What had happened tonight would be chalked up to a strange coincidence of kidnappings or murders that no one would dare to suggest that it was the Space Wolves doing. Even though it was their doing as the several sobbing humans seemed to cry harder when they got to the ship and realized no one was going to help them in fact their captors were being congratulated.

There was a bit more sobbing on the ship that night but in time they would accept their places as mates.

#warhammer 40k #Yandere #Yandere Space Marine #space wolves #Yandere Space Wolves #Space Marine

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belit0 · 9 months

Note

AND IF THE SCENARIO WHERE READER TESTS THE LIMITS OF INDRA UNCONSCIOUSLY... DO YOU DO IT NSFW??? (i know, i'm a genius......or a masochist)

i really love how you write the personality of the characters (ESPECIALLY INDRA 💞💞💞) and you also give me good vibes and confidence AAA i love you, marry me

Thank you for your beautiful words, they reassure me to be doing the right thing with the kind of space I am trying to create on my blog, AND YES, WE ARE MARRIED IT'S OFFICIALLY OFFICIAL, PERIOD.

When I saw this order I literally screamed out loud because I thought it was amazing (but I couldn't do it right away because I had to give some love to Itachi 😭)

However, I don't know if this is… too much. Indra is the biggest villain in all my writing, and in this one, it's very evident.

nsfw version of this.

Huge TW: this is straight-up S,A (noncon) please, if you don't like this type of content, avoid this piece. It's raw.

(Y/N) feels real terror, almost as if his words were releasing an icy blast running through her body anxiously, a sudden emptiness in her stomach even worse than what she felt when seeing him enter the room. Time seems to stand still, as if Indra is waiting for a reaction, a misstep that will lead to her ruin.

"They forewarned you what might happen should you not listen to their advice, didn't they?" his words evoke the memory of the only woman who deigned to look her in the eye throughout the house, the only person who spoke directly to her when she arrived on the scene.

(Y/N) was wandering through the vastness of the home, and when she entered the library to browse through the myriad of books kept there, one of her personal maidservants dared to warn her regarding her alleged husband.

"Miss (Y/N)..." she had spoken, looking all around, afraid that someone would hear her, that someone would see her trying to communicate with the girl, "do not underestimate Lord Otsutsuki, he is a fearsome, ruthless, cruel man... please do not pursue him, you wish not to meet him!". She looked terrified, trembling from just putting his name in her mouth, as if trying to look small in size and hide among the objects in the room.

After finishing her admonition, she had run away, disappearing down one of the building's many corridors.

Her statement had stuck in her mind, etched in her memory, and after that occasion, she had never seen the servant again. Assuming that the woman had been assigned to some other task, or changed in position or responsibility, she now understood the terrible consequences the poor woman must have suffered just for trying to help her.

Indra is a monster.

"Perhaps I ought to taste how capable of a woman my wife is? It's about time, isn't it?" One of his hands releases her hair, sliding down the flat of her back and down to her waist, holding her and resting what looks like a hard object against her bottom.

"After all, we never had a wedding night." He lifts the robe (Y/N) is wearing, the Uchiha garment she was forced to dress in from the first day in her new home, and with both hands this time, effortlessly rips her underwear off.

"Please... Lord Otsutsuki, not like this..." She cries disconsolately, surrendered to the situation and knowing what is about to happen. Her only possible escape is to try and please his ears, to sweeten his being with obeyed orders and flattery to free herself from this. Never had she imagined her first time in such a way, let alone with the greatest tyrant on the face of the earth.

Finally understanding her poor servant's warnings, she sends a silent apology to the woman, wishing to think she still preserves her life.

"Lord Otsutsuki... please, (Y/N). My dear husband, if anything." She can hear the mocking tone in his voice, the sarcasm, as if he had a smile made up of pure evil on his face while pulling down his pants and readying himself for her entrance.

"The madder you quarrel the madder you will hurt, I hope now you comprehend there is no use wishing to move against me." He spreads her legs with terrifying force, and (Y/N) has no will to close them again. Trying to save herself from this would involve fighting, and what would the strength of an ordinary woman do against the most powerful man in the world? To want to avoid her bitter fate is buying a ticket to hell, with Indra being the one sending her there.

Completely dominated and with no escape from the bed, she listens as he spits on what is probably his hand, preparing something that will glide enough to enter her. Her body will not cooperate under these circumstances, totally blocked and without the slightest desire for what is about to happen to her.

"Isn't this preferable, (Y/N)? I overheard your whining about how little attention you were receiving, your prayers of how it would please you to have someone speaking to you, seeing you, listening to you. Here you have it, someone providing all you asked for, the least you can do is beg for it." Without thrusting in but resting the head against her buttocks, she can feel Indra touching himself, preparing to outrage her in the worst possible way.

"Please... don't..." She follows his orders, hoping he will have the slightest mercy not to proceed in this way, not to take her as if she were an object under violence and threats. They could have a splendid marriage, full of love, but the Otsutsuki chooses a path of disgrace and darkness, something she cannot understand no matter how hard she tries. Between tears and sobs, not daring to raise her head and face him, she pleads for her integrity, for her husband not to snatch away her first time in such a cruel way.

She hears him laugh, and knows it is all in vain.

Without warning, he opens her thighs with both hands and enters ferociously, penetrating her roughly and burying himself into her deepest point. The mixture of pain, physical and emotional, makes her cry out helplessly, wailing at the top of her lungs at her inability to do anything to protect herself.

He moves inside her, without concern for her body or mind, using her as he wishes, "Remember this, remember this for as long as you live. You are nothing, (Y/N), no... worse than nothing, at least nothingness itself has value. You? No... I will show you what value you have to me, I will give you a reason to be." He speaks as if she were his worst enemy, as if she had killed his entire family, as if she had betrayed him in the worst possible way.

Her body transforms under Indra's motives, using it as releasement regardless of consent or desire, regardless of what she intends, what she wants. She is nothing more than a piece of nothing in his eyes, a hole to use when he deems necessary, a container to procreate what will be their terrible children.

In shock, she no longer even records how the tears stream in droves down her face, causing her hair to stick to her cheeks and her skin to burn. She ignores all physical sensation, detaching herself from the situation and looking at it as if outside her body, in the third person. (Y/N) becomes a spectator to her own rape.

She sees herself moving her mouth, presumably pleading for her own sake, but cannot hear what she utters, unaware of her words, "Please... you don't have to keep doing this. I can't-"

"You're right. I don't have to stop. I don't wish to stop. You don't have to do anything though. You can lay there; scream and cry for all I fucking care. You'll get me off faster." He interrupts her abruptly, answering her attempts at liberation with harder movements, driving into her even more brutally.

All she feels is an overwhelming heat between her legs, a thick liquid that seems to keep pouring out and staining the sheets, generating a circle composed of a warm sensation under her pelvis.

The only thing she senses is the blood that Indra forces her to spill, painting everything with an intense red color, just like the one in his devilish eyes.

#indra otsutsuki x reader #otsutsuki indra x reader #indra x reader #otsutsuki indra #indra otsutsuki #indra #naruto shippuden #naruto imagines #naruto #uchiha clan #naruto x reader #otsutsuki clan

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slutforstabbings-archive · 1 year

Text

Clean Again

Chapter 2: REAL ADULTS read on AO3 | previous chapter | tumblr chapter index make sure you check AO3 for this fic's playlist, all the references I make throughout, the drawings I did of Reader and Corey's apartments, the vehicles the characters drive and more!

Corey adjusts to life on the lam... kind of. We get introduced to Reader.

general warnings for this fic - angst, fluff, eventual smut (MDNI), canon-typical violence, canon-typical gore contents/warnings for this chapter- mega angst, violent assault (non-sexual), homelessness/squatting, unhealthy relationship and infidelity, wishing for death

7,901 words

@rebel-blue @heartrot666 @wolvesandvampires @cordelium @toxicanonymity @multifandom--mess @hersweetrevenge @futurewife @yllcm @ethanhoewke dm me or reply to this post to be added to my tag list 💕

His first day in Georgia, Corey slept. He slept until the motel manager banged on the door to demand he pay for another night or get out. Then he hitched a ride further into town in a 1970’s Ford Courier with an old man whose accent he could barely decipher. He didn’t catch the man’s name but he wrote his number on a crumpled receipt he found in his pocket and told Corey to call if he ever needed some odd jobs to do.

When he got out of the truck Corey wandered. Trying his best not to look sketchy as he stumbled down residential sidewalks. When the neighborhood looked rundown, he went towards the shabbiest houses, if things started looking too well-maintained, he turned around, until finally he found the most condemned house on a street of condemned houses. It had been left to rot so long the boards over the windows flaked and sagged. Even with his limited strength he could pull the nails right through them, so he freed a window facing away from the street and let himself in.

The weakness and the brain fog lingered so long Corey thought he might not ever feel better. He sometimes followed the physical therapy exercises recommended in the papers Nancy had given him, stretching and flexing in the moonlight streaming through the collapsed part of the roof. He wasn’t convinced it did much, and just accepted that he would always have a stiff neck and a loose left fist, that he would never raise his left arm over his head again, that he would forever sound like he had a frog in his throat.

He shoplifted travel size bottles of lotion to rub into his scars. He couldn’t give two shits about how they settled, except that they were one more identifying feature, bright pink and broadcasting his past to anyone who looked in his direction. His hair grew long and hung limp and greasy on either side of his face. Momma had always refused to let him grow his hair, and he enjoyed rebelling against her like that, even now that she was worm food. He tried to grow a beard to hide the scar on his throat more, but he found it too uncomfortable. Sometimes when he’d pocket lotion, he’d grab razors too, and shave his face by touch. He didn’t see his reflection often, but when he did the person there was unfamiliar. Not a hapless dork, not the town pariah, not a dangerous man on the edge. Just a homeless guy, gaunt and haggard.

He did what he could to find or earn money. Sometimes he called the number on the greasy receipt he’d kept, asking a stranger who walked by texting if he could borrow their phone. The old man, whose name he learned is Phil, would give Corey grubby wads of cash for holding his chickens still while he clipped their wings, or helping his wife Joanna in her garden. Sometimes when the work was finished, they’d let him use their shower. Then they would send him off with a container full of some unfamiliar food. Collard greens with little cubes of ham floating in broth, peanuts that had been boiled instead of roasted, all kinds of animal organs he didn’t know people actually ate. They asked him questions about himself but he didn’t speak to them much. He knew they were the only people in Georgia guaranteed to recognize his face. Giving them any information at all seemed like too big of a risk.

Sometimes he panhandled, but he tried to avoid it because it made interacting with cops far too likely. Other times he found money in places he knew people lost their wallets often, bus stops, bathrooms, alleys behind bars. He always dropped the wallets into mailboxes after stripping them of cash and gift cards. He read somewhere once that doing so meant it would be mailed to the address on the ID inside. He kept his savings in rinsed out containers from the old couple, tucked under a loose floorboard in his squat.

Corey often felt his life had scarcely changed at all. He was a nobody, friendless and marginalized. Strangers glared at him, or else averted their eyes, crossed the street to avoid him, and whispered behind his back. Just as they had done in Haddonfield. Constantly on trial for a new crime: being homeless. Climbing through the busted window of the rotted house where he sleeps just an endless iteration of breaking into the abandoned Allen house.

It suffocated him, making him so angry he couldn’t see. Rage rising in him and spilling out no matter how hard he tried to remember how he used to bottle it up. He had lost everything! Fucking again! He had sunk to the lowest depths of humanity to try to get free. And now he was fucking subterranean. Reduced to a rabid animal. And responsible for the destruction of the only good he’d ever had proximity to. Too stupid to hold onto his one shot at happiness. All that effort to get out, but he could never get out. His isolation only worsened despite any efforts he made.

He cried. He seethed. He released his full wrath on the building he inhabited, using any blunt object he could find to knock the walls full of holes, tearing at floorboards and door frames with his bare hands, hurting his bad shoulder and expending so much energy he'd sleep all through the next day. Other nights he’d scream until his mouth filled with blood, until nothing but a wet rattle could be heard. Each time moving his scratchy, damaged voice just a little further from how he used to sound.

If anyone challenged him they came to regret it deeply. Occasionally on his wallet hunts, a drunk asshole pissing against the wall would decide he was tough. Corey had broken men’s ribs, felt the crunch and sick squish underfoot as he stomped some prick’s hand into ground beef. He generated enough broken teeth to put a dentist’s least impressive son through all four years in an Ivy League program. Magnanimous "donation" included.

When the rage threatened to overtake him he would call out to Allyson in his mind. Corey had never been a religious man. He knew that wherever Allyson had gone was black, and cold, and empty. But he would cast her as a guardian angel when he needed her. Picturing her love for him as a shield, keeping the feelings that had driven him to kill people outside of him so they couldn’t reinfect him, the spell she showed him on a divine level. Or else keeping his evil inside, smothering it and compressing it so it couldn’t leak out and hurt others. Allyson, in death, did for him what she couldn’t do in life. She hooked her finger in his collar and held him back from the brink. Though he left people battered and bruised, Corey didn’t kill anyone else.

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

You wake from an uneasy sleep with an unsettled feeling in your stomach. Keeping your eyes closed, you pat around on the bed next to you. Your search turns up nothing. You open your eyes.

You know that if the bed is empty, the whole house will be. But you lay still and listen anyway, hoping to hear a footfall, the sound of water running, any bump or clatter or rustle that would indicate that you’re not by yourself. No sounds come. For the third time in as many weeks, the only living thing in the building is you. God fucking damnit.

You lay on your back and tears of rage roll down the sides of your face to pool in your ears. When you’d first moved in with Orin there had been a couple of times he hadn’t come home all night. It was weird, but he’d told you he was just getting used to having a reason to come home now. That before you moved in, he stayed with his buddies all night a lot because there was no reason to come home. He wanted to come home to you, but it was hard to tell the boys he had to leave when he was so used to staying out. You could understand that, you were adjusting to living with a partner too. But that had been before.

Before he stopped pretending to be charming and kind. Before he started complaining about how boring and annoying you are every time you open your mouth. Before he quit bothering to roll over and kiss you goodnight before he fell asleep. Two weeks ago when you’d woken alone for the first time in years, you had been suspicious but tried to let it go. The second time was a wake up call. The third time is a death sentence.

You feel like you could explode out of your skin. What the fuck!? What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck whatthefuck??? You’re not sure if you’re more angry at him, or at yourself. You’ve been considering leaving for months, but haven’t worked up the nerve, and now this feels like his way of telling you you took too long. This is him saying why aren’t you gone yet? You desperately need to talk to someone, but it’s 7 am. Everyone you can think of talking to is asleep or already at work. You roll over onto your stomach so your face is in his pillow, ice cold from spending the night unused, and you scream until you run out of air.

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

It has been four months of living like a rat. Corey slips into the unboarded window of his condemned hovel. He’s had a good morning, making $50 for helping Phil candle chicken eggs, and being sent away with an old Cool Whip tub stuffed with cornbread. He goes to the loose floorboard and pries it up, removing similar tubs, brimming with the cash he’s been hoarding. Stuffing a piece of cornbread into his mouth, he counts.

His plan took time to form. The grief, and the rage, and the effort his body spent healing all formed a heavy cloud over the future. And he still hoped he might die. That it would get cold enough overnight to freeze him in his sleep, or hot enough to boil his blood in a heat stroke, his body lying in the condemned house for weeks or months, decomposing in secret. That an alleyway opponent would produce a knife and, eyes darkening like storm clouds, deliver the karma Corey so desperately deserved. But things were improving, against all odds. So he decided he might as well live a little bit more of a life. He started by getting a phone.

A phone meant not having to borrow one to call the old couple for jobs. And a phone meant access to the internet. With the internet he could really get things done. Like trawling Craigslist for apartments owned by slumlords who wouldn’t bother running a credit or background check as long as he paid them, in cash, on time. Like finding a motorcycle with less than 1000 miles on it, being sold for far less than half its value by a man desperate not to let his wife know he bought it in the first place. Like buying an expertly crafted fake Georgia Driver’s License with a new last name.

The license arrived last week and he was finally able to get his hands on it today when he went to help the old couple. He’d asked them if he could get mail at their address and they’d happily obliged. He’d taken the photo himself, posing for a selfie in the craft aisle of the grocery store, a piece of blue poster board propped up behind him. He decided to keep Corey as his first name. It was common enough not to raise suspicion, ranked 110th his birth year, something he had checked. And going by the same first name seemed safer in social situations. He could never slip up and accidentally introduce himself as his old name if he didn’t have an old name. He picked Wallace as his middle name, after his father. A last name was harder. He considered Myers as a sick joke, and Allyson’s last name, Nelson, an even sicker one. In the end, he settled for another C name, because he’d always liked his double initial. If anyone asks, his name is Corey Carpenter.

The newly christened Mr. Carpenter stacks bills by their denomination and makes sure they all face the same direction. He desperately hopes he can get the apartment and the bike today, but that’s a pretty penny. It just doesn’t seem possible he could have enough, but he’s not sure, he’s never actually counted all of it. He’s just been grabbing the amounts he needed, a couple hundred for the phone, a couple hundred for the ID. Corey knows he needs to prioritize a living space that isn’t so full of mold it practically writhes, and that if he gets a bike first, it will be a bitch to store it so it doesn’t give his squatting away. But this one he’s found is once in a lifetime. The owner wants it gone today, and it’s a Kawasaki, the same make as the motorcycle he left behind in Haddonfield.

Cornbread crumbs rain down as Corey stacks and folds a wad of bills. With everything counted but the ones, he’s just a few hundred shy. He holds his breath as he passes the bills from hand to hand. Please be enough, please be enough, he chants to the strips of paper. He's $50 short. Corey feels cold rage spread through him, hand clenching around the wad of money so hard his knuckles look bright white. Then he gets it under control. It’s only $50. He can find that somewhere on the way, or intimidate the seller into coming down a little if he has to.

He doesn’t have to. The idiot didn’t even count the wad of cash being handed to him by this scruffy stranger who won’t make eye contact. Corey wishes he’d ripped him off more, since he hates having to spend everything he’s collected in one day. But the seller’s hurry grants Corey another gift. In his haste he doesn’t remove the license plate, giving Corey a reprieve from having to steal one or get a good fake made.

The way it feels to finally swing his leg over the seat of a motorcycle again, to lean down over the handlebars as he speeds away, to see the lines on the road as nothing more than smears, it’s the best he’s felt in months, better than he ever thought he'd feel again. He hadn’t had his bike in Haddonfield all that long, but it had become a part of him. Riding now feels like regrowing an amputated limb. He spends so long darting around town just soaking up the roar of the engine that he’s almost late meeting the landlord.

He screeches to a stop outside the apartment. It’s a studio above a garage. 300 square feet upstairs, 300 downstairs. The cheapest thing Corey’s seen, but still a rip off to be sure. The whole structure sags and looks sad, slumped on the back corner of the yard of another house the landlord owns. The beige siding is mossy in places the water drips off the roof and bounces back up to splash the wall when it rains. The window facing the street is webbed with cracks around what can only be a bullet hole. It’s not a very big step up from the place Corey’s been squatting, but as the landlord takes him upstairs he explains he keeps the utilities in his name, and Corey will owe the light and water bill in cash to him on top of the rent every month. Fantastic news because he’s been dreading the utility companies asking too many personal questions. The landlord asks him none. Instead, he spews bullshit about what a good deal the apartment is compared to everything else in the city.

“Can I uh - Can I move in today?” Corey asks, interrupting the landlord’s attempts to spin the apartment.

“If you’ve got the cash on you,” the landlord replies, skeptical.

“I do,” Corey says, pulling a fistful of bills from his pocket. The landlord eyeballs him with suspicion. He was not expecting such an easy target this afternoon. He pulls first a counterfeit detection pen, then the keys from his shirt pocket. He sets both on the counter of the kitchenette where Corey can see them. Then he takes the money from Corey’s hand.

“First and last month?”

“Yes, sir,” Corey replies. The landlord counts the money three times and marks every bill with his pen twice. The guy who sold Corey the motorcycle could learn a thing or two from him. When he’s confident the whole amount is there, he holds out his hand to Corey. Corey grips it firmly and does exactly one shake, up then down. The landlord pats the keys on the counter, satisfied.

“It’s the 12th, so next month’ll be prorated. Don’t put no holes in the walls,” he says as he goes. Then he closes the door behind him, leaving Corey in the empty studio.

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You compose and recompose your DM to Veronica Hand, a girl from your high school graduating class. You’d known her since sixth grade, and your friendship had waxed and waned. When you had class together you’d get close, when your schedules separated you, you’d more or less forget about each other. Since graduation you’ve had the type of zombie friendship only possible via occasional Instagram story replies. You haven’t seen her in person since your last Thanksgiving with your parents before they moved to Florida to be retired. It feels weird to reach out to her like this, but you don’t know what else to do.

That went way better than you expected. You didn’t think her response would be quite so welcoming. Your friendliest moments feel like ancient history, but she seems genuinely excited to have you back in town.

You’ve started packing but you haven’t said anything to Orin yet. Not that he’s been around much to say anything to.

You stayed home on the third morning you woke up alone. When Orin finally came in, you’d been sitting on the couch in silence. Waiting. He walked through the door with a big grin on his face. When was the last time you’d seen him smile like that? Had you ever?

“Jesus fucking Christ!” He exclaimed in surprise when he noticed you. “Weren’t you supposed to go to work today?”

“Called in sick,” you said flatly. He didn’t reply or ask how you were feeling. He just turned down the hallway toward the bathroom, the smile thoroughly wiped from his face. “Hey, wait! Where were you last night?”

You didn’t know what you wanted to gain from asking. He could tell the truth, but if the truth was innocent, you didn’t know if you’d believe it. He could lie, but you would know it was a lie. A question with no right answer. Really, you just wanted him to do something. To react. For months and months he’d ignored you more often than not, barely responding to you no matter how hard you worked to gain back his affection. At least an elaborate lie would be a reaction. You could pretend to believe him, as long as he put in a performance that gave even the tiniest indication that he wanted to be with you.

“Out,” he said in an annoyed tone as he disappeared down the hallway to the bathroom.

You knew without a shred of doubt then. And he knew you knew.

Three years down the toilet. Three years when your friends were having fun, hooking up, going out. Three years where they were finding themselves and making connections. While you’d been at home, whittling yourself down into a shape you thought would keep Orin’s interest, pretending to be far cooler than you were so he wouldn’t get bored of you. Three years in service of a man who couldn’t even be bothered to look in your direction as everything crumbled around you.

That had been more than a month ago. You’d barely seen him since then. With the cat out of the bag, there was no reason for him to act like he wanted to be at home with you. One day you came into the kitchen to find his portion of the rent on the counter, a balled up pile of cash for you to deposit in your account before you paid online. At least he wasn’t kicking you out. Yet. You had no desire to sit around and wait for him to. You looked at places online but everything was out of your budget. And you didn’t really want to stay anyway. First your failed stint at Georgia State, now this. The city of Atlanta is your own personal Hell. Huge and yet somehow cramped, teaming with reminders of all your failures.

The idea of moving back to your hometown came to you one evening last week. You were standing at the kitchen counter trying to force yourself to eat something despite the mess your stomach had been in from the stress. It wasn’t exactly conducive to eating to be dwelling on the thing that was upsetting you so much, but as you pushed your food around with your fork you found it impossible to think of anything else. Going over everything with a fine tooth comb. How you’d met, how you’d wound up moving in together, what he’d seen in you and what you’d ever seen in him. Trying to understand how you’d wound up so small and insecure that you’d been dragging the corpse of this relationship for the better part of a year, desperate for a miracle to bring it back to life. How now, even though the body was in the ground, you slept on top of the grave. Why hadn’t you fucking left yet?

You wished you could go back to high school graduation and start again, have a second shot at the beginning of your adulthood, do everything differently. Tell your parents to fuck off about college. Take a gap year or three. Travel, or move somewhere it’s crazy to move, New York or Chicago or LA. Be a slut and refuse to let anyone make you feel bad about it.

You couldn’t do any of that, but you could go back to your hometown, and do a soft reset of sorts. You knew it had changed since you left, places you’d haunted all your life now demolished. Shiny new buildings sticking out like sore thumbs with their incongruous architecture, built by people who didn’t give a shit about the history of the surrounding area. The population swollen huge, full of strangers, while everyone who’d been close to you had gone away, except Veronica. But it was the fire you had been forged in. As long as one ember of your memory continued to smolder, it would be home. And you desperately needed to feel at home in some way, to try to find home in yourself again.

Veronica is exceedingly helpful. You can’t believe the kindness she extends in those first few weeks. She goes to see apartments in person on your behalf, reporting back about any unlivable details of the places in the links you send her. She finds the apartment you wind up renting, not online, but by noticing a FOR RENT sign stuck in the grass at the end of the street.

She shows it to you in a video call. It’s an old building with an impressive number of original details intact. The floors are hardwood, stain oxidized so dark brown they’re almost black. The living and dining rooms have built-ins and all the doors are surrounded with heavy matching trim, little floral medallions carved into the corners. The kitchen and bathroom are time capsules too, renovated in the 70’s and the 90’s respectively, then never touched again. The anachronism charms you, and while not everything is in the best shape, it seems like it’s been subjected to remarkably few landlord specials.

You finish packing. There’s not much you’re bringing with you, all the furniture and all the shit in the kitchen is Orin’s. You text him that you want to talk to him. He doesn’t reply. You hang out around the house, hoping to catch him in a rare moment home, but out the window you see his car roll slowly by, not stopping because your car is in the driveway. You weigh the idea of leaving without saying anything to him at all. It seems cruel. But then again, you’ve seen proof he’s been in the apartment when you’ve been gone. Things moved around, his hamper filling up and overflowing since you’ve stopped doing his laundry. The rent on the counter that day. Surely he’s noticed your things disappearing from parts of the house, the boxes and suitcases in the corners. He’s an inattentive asshole, but he isn’t stupid.

After mulling it over for a day or two, you put everything in your car. There’s so little it all fits neatly in the trunk and backseat. The only thing you leave behind is the login information for the rental company’s payment portal, scribbled on a scrap piece of paper, stuck to the fridge with a beer cap magnet.

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Corey is astounded at the difference having power and water makes to his health, mental and physical. The apartment is a dump to be sure. He wonders how it isn’t condemned like the squat he occupied. But it’s warm inside when it’s cold outside, and cool inside when it’s hot outside, more or less. He can shower, he can shave in a mirror with a light instead of dragging his hands along his cheeks and hoping he didn’t miss a spot.

He finds a mattress and box spring on the curb down the road a week or so after he moves in, abandoned by a graduating frat boy. The mattress is covered in mystery stains, reeks of marijuana for days, and is extremely difficult to get up the stairs by himself. It gives Corey fleas that he has to set off a bomb for. Even so, it’s a vast improvement over the hard linoleum floor. He’s always struggled with insomnia, and he still doesn’t sleep much, but the amount of sleep he does get doubles right away.

He buys two plates, two cups, two forks, two spoons, two knives. He can eat two meals a day and do dishes once. Momma didn’t teach him much about cooking, but it’s no big loss since her food was disgusting anyway. He’s competent enough to follow the directions on the back of a boxed meal, stirring in canned chicken for protein. Sometimes he scrambles an egg from his warm, stale fridge, the only thing he retained from Home Ec in middle school.

He notices his mobility increasing. It’s crumpled, stained, soft and fraying like fabric, but he still has the paper Nancy gave him with the exercises on it. He commits to following them. Corey’s shoulder is still stiff and uncomfortable, he always knows when it’s going to rain — something he’d thought was made up — but he can finally lift his arm over his head. Most days. Something he thought he would never do again. The clothes from the hospital lost and found actually fit now, after so long being huge on him. He doesn’t have to worry about his ring sliding off his pinky anymore. The man he sees when he looks at himself is almost someone he recognizes. The cheeks are almost his cheeks, no longer so gaunt and hollow. The forehead is almost his forehead, just with some unfamiliar creases. He lets Joanna give him a haircut, massaging his scalp with her tree root fingers, and that makes him feel more like himself too.

With an address, an ID, and a reliable place to shower, he can look for a job. He wants something sketchy, something where they won’t do a background check, they won’t verify his resume, and they won’t make him fill out any tax paperwork. The first thing he finds is maintenance at a decrepit and festering apartment complex, so run down that the job seems moot. Being on call sucks, and he has to interact with residents more than he thought he would. He gets a call to examine a tenant’s leaky ceiling. When he comes to the apartment, the woman who lives there is listening to a true crime podcast. The hosts giggle and shriek as they describe a serial killer’s collection of trophies from his victims. It’s the last straw. He leaves her apartment, gets on his motorcycle, and rides away. When he doesn’t show up for work the next week, the complex manager only tries to call him once.

For a while Corey wanted to avoid jobs at auto shops, fearing the memories of the last time he drove a tow truck, the last time he used a cutting torch. But he misses the intellectual challenge of figuring out what’s wrong with such a complex machine, and the prevalence of small businesses in the industry appeals to his need for privacy. He washes dishes at a restaurant, he works at a plant nursery. When those don’t work out, he caves and starts looking for HELP WANTED signs in the windows of the mechanic shops he rides past. It doesn’t take long for him to find somewhere that will hire him without any paperwork bullshit. They have a girl who works the front desk, the owner’s daughter, so he almost never has to interact with customers. He keeps his eyes on the ground when he hands her the printouts of what was done to each vehicle. She says nothing to him except thank you.

He lives simply enough that his salary from the auto shop mostly piles up, stuffed into Country Crock containers in his freezer. Corey continues to do jobs for the elderly couple here and there, now refusing to let them pay him, but still accepting food. He starts buying busted small appliances and repairing them, but he doesn’t have the space to keep most of his projects, and selling them fills the dent in his hoard right back in. He vaguely wishes he could open a bank account, but it’s way too risky to even entertain. He tries not to ever use his fake ID if he can avoid it. He picks smoking back up, a habit he’d had in his old life, but he makes sure only to buy cigarettes from places he knows won’t card him.

He makes one notable exception. It’s a government entity, but only in the most local way possible, so although it makes him nervous, he convinces himself it’ll be okay. He gets a library card.

One day on his way to work, he sees a cop flashing her lights at him in his mirrors. He considers fleeing. If he did, maybe she would bump his motorcycle with her car, maybe bump it a little too hard and send him flying off and scraping down the road. Or maybe she would pull her gun out and shoot at him through her open window. Death hasn’t lost its appeal for him, and what a way to go that would be. A nice little ending for the Netflix documentary. But if he runs and she catches him without killing him, that would be the worst thing that could happen. So, gritting his teeth, he pulls to the side of the road and turns the bike off.

“Good morning, sir.” The cop says as she walks up to him, thumbs hooked in her belt loops. “Did we leave our helmet at home?”

Corey’s not sure how to respond, so he doesn’t.

“Georgia law requires all motorcycle drivers and passengers to wear a helmet, and have some kind of eye protection. Since your bike here doesn’t have a windshield, that would mean goggles or a helmet with a visor. But I’m sure you knew that. Maybe you just forgot?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I was just in a hurry this morning. My mistake,” he says, trying to sound casual despite his heart pounding in his chest. A bead of sweat rolls down his scalp through his curls to make the collar of his shirt wet. He wonders if he could kill her, if he lunged forward and wrapped his hands around her throat. He's never strangled anyone before, but he remembers Michael's hand crushing his windpipe so vividly. The cop's neck is long and slender. Corey sees her pulse thumping beneath the skin, and imagines feeling it slow to a stop under his fingers. Would someone drive by and see him before he could finish the job? Or would a nosy housewife peak out the window and make a phone call? His eyes land on the cop's body camera nestled just below her breasts, then on all the doorbell cameras along the street. Watching him. Someone always fucking watching him. He stays seated.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time. But don’t let me see you out without a helmet again,” she says.

“Right. Yes ma’am,” Corey replies.

“I mean it, now. I never forget a bike I like, so I'll know if I see you again, Kawasaki." She looks down at him over her mirrored sunglasses. "Have a good day.”

The cop gets back in her car and pulls away in front of him, leaving him stunned on the side of the road. Guess I’m getting a fucking helmet, Corey thinks.

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You hear a massive vehicle approaching and go outside. Veronica and her little brother Harker pull up outside your new apartment in his lifted Ram. It’s so ridiculous you have to laugh at him. It has the biggest deer bumper you’ve ever seen, and lights twinkle on the running boards. A holographic sticker in the rear window proudly displays his Instagram username. Veronica opens the passenger door and slides to the center of the front seat. The sound of Walker Hayes meets your ears. You practically need a ladder to get inside, it’s so tall. You try unsuccessfully to stifle your giggles.

“I know, I’m embarrassed to be seen with him too,” Veronica says.

“No, no, I think it’s cool,” you say, voice straining around the laughter you’re still trying to suppress.

“It is cool,” Harker says. “I have 500 followers on Instagram.”

“Well thanks for taking the time to help me pick up furniture, Your Majesty.” You bow your head to him. Harker and Veronica both laugh. It’s so weird to see him driving, with his short little beard and biceps like melons. Last time you saw him he was a twerpy ninth grader with less fuzz than a peach, who had failed to even make the bench at football tryouts.

Harker pilots his behemoth with surprising ease. You cruise around town in a big loop, meeting people from the Craigslist free section and Facebook Marketplace, hitting thrift stores and Target. The three of you organize boxes and furniture in the truck bed like a game of Tetris, then cross bungee cords over the top. When the truck backs up to your door hours later, you’ve managed to fit everything you needed to furnish your apartment in both the truck bed and your budget.

You can’t believe you had such a successful day. Veronica and Harker make easy conversation with you, as if you’ve kept in close contact with them all this time. After unloading your giant haul, you order pizza. They stay and help you assemble and arrange everything big. By the time they leave, the space has been transformed from the cold, echoing box you’d slept in last night, to something resembling a home.

You haven’t thought about Orin in hours, comfortable and busy with your friends. But now that you’re alone and it’s dark outside, you remember why you moved here. You picture him. What’s he doing right now? What did he do when he came home and your car wasn’t in the driveway and your clothes weren’t in the closet, no goodbye except the login info you left him so he could make your replacement pay the rent. You hope he’s fine. You hope he doesn’t even miss you a little bit. You hope he’s miserable and kicking himself for losing you. You hope the new girl is cheating on him right this moment, screaming some other man's name. You hope they’re happy and that he never treats her the way he treated you, never says the things he said to you. You’re boring. You’re fat. You’re unambitious and slothful. No matter how hard you try to learn how football works.

The way you bounce back and forth between incompatible feelings could give you whiplash. It’s his fault. It’s your fault. You feel bad for leaving how you did. You wish you did something much, much worse. You lean against the wall behind you and slide down it, sobbing. Embarrassing yourself in front of all your new furniture.

Getting close to Veronica again is easy, like all those semesters you’d be pleased to find you had a class or two together, automatically sitting next to each other on the first day. She annoys the shit out of you sometimes — she always has to know everything , and she’s not shy about asking. But she’s a good friend, fun and funny and actually there for you. Orin got custody of all your old “friends.” Not one of them sent a single text after you left Atlanta. You can imagine him blaming the whole thing on you, making you sound so awful they wanted nothing to do with you. Or maybe they just never cared about you of their own accord. Veronica’s twice the friend any of them were. You’re relieved to find all your coworkers get along well, and you like when everyone hangs out together.

You’re also extremely pleased to find out you love records. You’ve always liked music, but you’ve never owned a record player until the store upgrades its listening station and everyone votes that you should get the old one. The speakers it comes with are amazing. You can actually hear what audiophiles are talking about for the first time. It brings you great joy that the warm crackle of a record isn’t a myth. You slowly acquire a neat little collection of all your favorite albums.

One day a customer comes to the register with a fistful of stuff from the patch bins. They’re wearing a plain denim vest.

“Are these going on that?” You ask as you ring them up.

“Yeah, I’m stoked on it, “ they say, “But I’m not actually sure how to attach them.”

“These three are iron-on,” you tell them, flipping all the patches face down to examine the backs. “You can tell because the back is like, plastic-y. The rest you have to sew on, but you don’t have to sew all the way around it, you can just tack it down in a couple spots.”

“I don’t know how to sew and I don’t own an iron. How much would it cost to have someone else do it?” They say, laughing.

“I’d take 20 bucks.”

“Are you for real?”

You hadn’t been serious but the customer asks with such earnestness, you feel bad. “Oh, I guess,” you say with a shrug.

The customer takes off their vest and folds it into a nice square, then sets it on the counter. They pull their wallet out of their pocket and swipe their card to pay for the patches, then they put two $10’s on top of the vest.

“Thank you so much!” They say.

“No problem,” you say incredulously. “I’ll do it tonight and you can pick it up tomorrow.”

You attach all the patches to the vest that night. The customer didn’t give you any guidance on placement, but they’re all relatively small, so you put them all on the front and hope for the best. They come in the next afternoon and love what you’ve done. They ask for your phone number for when they buy more patches, and they hand you an extra $10.

“20 just seemed kinda low,” they say.

After that you find out their name is Taryn and they text you for permission to give your number to friends from time to time. The record store pays pretty decently but you could use a little more wiggle room, so you say yes and wind up with a neat little stack of projects from local punks. The money is a nice addition and the work is fun. Things come to you that you’re not sure how to do, so you watch YouTube videos until you figure it out. You realize you could try to market yourself to more people, so you make an Instagram and have business cards printed. When the work gets overwhelming to do completely by hand, you find an almost unused sewing machine at an estate sale. It becomes an actual thing, so much of a thing that you have to figure out what it means to the government come tax time. It makes you feel like a Real Adult for the first time. It feels nice.

#corey cunningham #corey cunningham x reader #halloween ends #fan fiction #mine

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