Kaball’s In Your Mouth

gamer, writer, lover of the arts. They/He/She, and open for interpretation Requests: closed.

[kyberphilosopher]

Ah, The Negotiator

Here you will be directed to everything I’ve ever done. This will be updated and reposted as it grows. Thank you for being here.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

READ THIS THROUGH!

Original Stories

Star Wars

Shingeki no Kyojin [Attack on Titan]

Death Note

DC Comics and the DCEU

Detroit: Become Human

Mortal Kombat

Character Headcanons

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

[kyberphilosopher]

Kneel

Smut. My first ever straight smut. A little bit of angst and fluff if you really squint but it's really just disgusting lesbian smut. You'll have to tell me how I did because this is the only blatantly sexual thing I've written. Welcome back, me! I think I found this gif on Tumblr but I'm not sure who to credit for it so hopefully it does it automatically idk just enjoy. Warning(s): SEX (18+) (acts of fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, etc.) Reader is strictly female anatomy. Not proof read.

Word Count: 4191

"Do not kneel," Minthara's gravelly voice rang lowly by your ear. Your knees buckled at the sensation of her inside of you, her fingers slender and gentle.

Although you certainly would've found it more comfortable to indeed kneel, sit, or lay, Minthara's muscles held you back. Her arm wrapped tight across your shoulders, pressing your back into your chest, kept you upright. It kept you near her, so she was sure you could hear her, and there would be no excuse for disobedience- which Minthara detested.

The Nightwarden's other hand was settled deep within your little pussy, which Minthara held no negative feelings for whatsoever. By the low purr reverberating from her sternum, you wondered briefly if there was any chance she was getting more pleasure out of the experience than yourself. Then, you feel the tips of her fingers rub high against something inside of you. Something inside your flooding hole that excites you, causing you to shiver and arch into your lover. Minthara knows. She felt you tighten around her digits involuntarily- and she likes it. 

Your vision blurs slightly through the pleasure. Both Minthara’s eyes as well as your own are half lidded in lust. It feels sloppy. You can feel the dirt move under each of your boots, hear the sounds of laughter from the cackling fire just a little around the corner. The night, once fierce and biting, is no match to Minthara’s passion and ambition, and you do not shiver in the cold but in the heat. 

“Fuck,” you manage to quiet as it slips from your teeth. Minthara’s hand slows inside you, trading three fingers for a simple two that drag in and out. Her third finger is so happy to be acquainted with your body that it takes a few seconds to slide free from your hole with a cute little ‘pop!’ that causes the drow’s breath to hitch. 

“Yes,” she hears herself beckoning to you. Her intense red eyes fall from the side of your jaw and neck, to further below. The woman observes over your breasts and down your stomach, settling excitedly on the sight of her lilac hand in your trousers. The sound of your breathing mixed with the stretch of your body is causing Minthara’s own reaction, now. The Nightwarden feels her nipples grow stiff against your skin. With a controlled groan, Minthara presses her breasts further into you for some kind of relief, which you are quick to give. You please Minthara as you roll your head to the side, exposing your neck and submitting yourself to the woman further. One of your own hands slips upwards to caress Minthara’s skin behind you, welcoming her further into you. 

From up ahead, the party revels in a particularly loud bout of laughter. The light of the fire danced rapidly over your little camp. If it weren’t for Minthara’s desire to be away from others, the two of you would never have such an opportunity. Hells, if someone were to decide to check in on the two of you and simply turn the corner, hoping to make their way to the drows’ tent, it’d be over. There was certainly a fear inside of you that worried the light would somehow expose your doings, but Minthara did not seem worried. 

“Faster,” you whisper to her as your eyes focus on the direction of loud, distant joy. 

Minthara’s pale fingers continue in their place. They fill and refill you again and again, and although you know your pussy revels in such a delight, it’s not enough. You wanted Minthara right down to her evil, rotting core. You wanted her covering you, stretching you out as you listened to her voice praise and degrade you. You wanted the flaming heat that motivated her very being- the one in her chest that put her ambition at the center of all things. There was a part of you that, selfishly, wanted to harness and own it. 

“Patience,” Minthara urges, dangerously. “I will go at the speed I see fit.”

She accentuates her final word with a particularly intense pump into you. Butterflies fly from your loins to your belly, your hips circling instinctively. A quick moan even leaves your mouth at the sensation, dropping your lips apart. 

“Take it,” Minthara continues, her eyes lingering back upwards to your face. “Take it.” 

You’re so wet. There’s no doubt you’ve coated and pruned the woman’s fingers with the little gift between your legs. You wish you could apologize for such disrespect, but Minthara would punish you. She liked the way your slick dribbled down your thighs and over her palms. She liked how that tight, little pussy eagerly begged for more from her when you would never admit it. 

Your own outstretched hand strokes over Minthara’s collarbones lazily, unable to see her from this position. While her skin is soft and smooth, it is also littered with scars. 

“Fuck,” you breathe out once more, finally closing your eyes all the way. You give in to your own bodies desires, like a naive child who hasn’t thought enough about their deal with a devil. Minthara was your devil- your only devil or vice- and the image of her was flashing through your mind faster than a spell. You could see her supple breasts, cleavage glistening as her fingers danced over a nipple. You could see her other hand, a little shyer, slowly easing down to her toned thighs. Then, they ease past, and settle in a spot that you can only imagine is warm.  

“Let me see those tits,” you whisper out to her. Ahead of yourself, you’re already beginning to turn as you finish your sentence. 

Usually, Minthara would never let you get away with such insubordination. She was a somewhat straightforward woman, and she found she quite enjoyed the thought of having complete control over you. She was strong enough, certainly, but she only wished she were taller so that she might pick you up more. Tonight, however, the flow and intimacy was just… too good to let go. Your skin was so warm and accepting of hers. Your hair smelled sweet and safe, given the circumstances of how you were living. Your body… firm where Minthara liked bodies firm and soft where she liked them soft. She lets you break from her grasp and twist your head til it accommodates your noses for a kiss. 

Minthara’s lips are thin, but soft. They meld against yours, binded by secrecy from your friends and duty, intimately asking you to give in. You do, and as you relax, feel the wet muscle of the tongue prod at your own. Delicious. 

You kiss her, Minthara’s tongue swirling over your own playfully. You’re breathing into her mouth, humming all the moans you can’t set free while your right hand wanders over her shoulder. The woman felt so damn good on you- in you. You can feel the spit that slides between your mouths, shared and stringy. 

With a soft smirk you thought you hid well, the hand on her shoulders raises. She watches, like stone, as your index finger gathers a string of saliva connecting your lips. You admire it for a moment, gooey and glistening, before you swipe it over the imprint of Minthara’s right nipple. 

A beat of silence passes. 

You dive close for one more kiss from her lips, satisfied, before turning your attention towards her breasts once more. This time, your fingers slide past the thin fabric of her camp tunic and happily dance across the swollen, violet, hill. Minthara lets you expose her body with a smirk. Her tits, while paired with an athletic and sturdy body, bounced and seemed only to continuously invite you to play with them. One hand of yours cups each of her boobs, reveling in the squish- in the warmth. “Let me…” your voice comes out hoarse, almost begging. 

Minthara’s smirk only deepens. Her eyes lower to your own cleavage with pride. She knew that she owned you, she owned your pretty pussy and the pretty tits she was pawing at with one hand. “Have you been good?” she replied back. Her index and middle finger roll over the bud at the center of the nipple, the most sensitive part, and pinch. 

A dirty move.

“Let you what, dear thing?” Minthara cocks a brow. You feel her nails tracing your other breast now too, and if she wasn’t careful, you weren’t going to let her hand ever leave it. She pinches and tortures your tits once more, this time both of them. 

You sigh, attempting to pull her closer. “Feels good,” you admit, only then realizing your left hand grabs at the skin of her ass. Your right hands’ fingers are lost in pools of spit that only spread further over her breast as you palm them greedily. They filled your hands just right, just how her hands filled your hole. 

“Tell me,” Minthara demands, pinching and twisting again. Nerves shoot up your spine and to your brain, making you feel alive. You wanted to rut against her now more than ever. You wanted to feel her hot, drenched folds against your own, against your lips and your tongue. You wanted to taste and lick every inch of the Nightwarden’s body, to taste her sweat and practically suck it clean from the inside of her thighs. 

“Feels fucking good.”

“Mm,” Minthara hums through closed eyes. You can feel her breath fan over her face. It makes wisps of her pale hair flow in the light of the divine. “That’s it. You’re being so… agreeable.” 

Your lips dart forward, catching her own. Feminine, wet, the two of you can hear only the sounds of the party and the excitement of the other. You press your tits tight up against hers, your nipples touching briefly. Each of you hiss in reaction, but you don’t stop your attempt to grind on her. You need something there, something filling you. You want her fingers back, but she would never be so kind as to give you exactly what you want. You want her to handle a toy on you, to watch her sadistic face twist as she fills you up, but you have a feeling she’d be jealous. You know what you want, though not how to get there. Your Nightwarden would know though, wouldn’t she?

“Fuck me,” you sigh into her shining lips. “Please fuck me, baby.”

Minthara arches a brow. She likes many things about you, but she loves to hear you beg. She likes you desperate, wanting, needy. It disgusts her like a bug under her shoe, but she won’t crush you. She wants to crush you. Minthara desires, greatly, to tie you up under her and allow her to have her way with you. To press a finger to the pretty hole of your ass while her other hand pets over your clit repeatedly, just to show you it was okay. 

“I didn’t hear you,” she insists, almost angrily. 

Desperately, you let your tongue kitten lick over her collarbone once. “Fuck me, baby. Fill me up. I want it. I’ll take it.”

“I know you will take it.”

It sounds like a threat. 

Minthara continues. “You will be good for me, yes?”

You open your eyes, holding eye contact with the ruby orbed beauty. “I’ll be so good for you, Nightwarden.”

Minthara’s hand slaps your ass with a sharp jolt that makes you squeal. Instantly, you grin as her hand squishes your cheeks together, seizing your face in her hand powerfully in her own attempt to silence you. “Good girl,” she tells you, slowly. Her eyes, red and heated, hold yours intently. “Now shut the fuck up.”

You nod once in understanding, but can’t help another wave of satisfaction rolling over you at Minthara’s hold on you, at her words, at her sentiment. Seemingly full of naughty decisions tonight, a loose finger of your own creeps gently down Minthara’s trousers. You feel her heat instantly. Greed, it seems, must be some sort of a transferable trait that melts from her and drenches you. 

“Just let me taste it,” you manage to whine through the constrict of her hand. 

Minthara’s face snakes closer to yours. “You cannot even tell me what it is you wish to taste,” she counters. “Do you wish to taste these?” Minthara places her free hand to her breast, giving it a tight squeeze. “Do you wish to taste this?” Now, she pulls your hand from her protruding clit and replaces it with her own. 

“All of it,” you submit. “Please, all of it, Nightwarden.”

“Beg me!” she hisses under her breath. Beneath her trousers, you can see the form of her hand swirling erratically. 

“I want it,” you pant. “Please, Mommy. Please let me eat your fucking hole. I’ll be so good I swear-”

Minthara tugs your hair down sharply. It hurts, unappreciated, and Minthara passes you a soothing look for an apology. “That’s it,” she tells you, untying her trousers. “You may kneel. Mmm… yes- there. Now, you may eat my pussy until I release you. Do you understand, girl?”

You smile, and Minthara doesn’t let on that it melts her heart as she watches you nod, eagerly. Always so eager. Always so good. 

Minthara settles her eyes ahead, trying to anticipate what the group might do. The relationship she’d managed to form with you was a secret from the outside- which really meant anyone who wasn’t you or herself. She hated the thought of Astarion striding in, asking to join. Or Wyll, on that white shining steed, who would’ve slain you both on the spot. Nobody seemed to quite like Minthara except for you, which was obvious as your tongue delved deep into her cunt. 

She tasted… well, wet. You could lap your tongue anyway you liked, and it would still taste just as good. Incredible. You could smell the sweat and sex leaking off of her like a hound, and it was only spurring you on. You slow your muscle to lick straight, long lines against Minthara’s sex that pull shakes from her knees. Looking up at her, you’re already met with her heavenly, piercing gaze as she watches you. Nightwarden Minthara was getting off to your image like pornography, like some personal, vulgar plaything. Both of you liked that. 

Minthara’s eyes shine as she watches your body adjust. Your back arches into an inward curve so that she can see the shapely swell of your butt- looks like a heart. Always the epitome of self control, Minthara hums a groan again at the sight. “Yes,” she praises. “Like that.”

Your palms snake up around the back of her legs and to the flesh of her ass. You push her into you with the leverage, soaking up her delicious pussy. It was warm on your tongue. Sweet. Almost a fruity, dominating flavor. Fitting, really. When you moan into the tight cunt you’re currently feasting on, the owner's lips fall open. 

Yes. 

The satisfaction is like a drug. You want another reaction from Minthara, and another, and another. Party be damned. Do tell, you wondered, what would Gale of Waterdeep do exactly, should he find the two of you tangled up like this? Why not find out?

You moan louder into Minthara’s pussy happily. The muscle of your mouth prods Minthara’s entrance curiously, before pushing inside. Your Nightwarden’s back arches- you grip down into her flesh to keep her steady as her own hands similarly clutch at your head. 

“You are so well to your Master,” you hear the woman above you breathe out. You don’t stop, you don’t think. Your tongue begins to ache from the repetition and the somewhat awkward angle, but the taste and smell of Minthara is overpowering. Her sweat runs down her thighs and drips unto you- addictive. 

“It’s my turn,” she suddenly decides. Minthara’s hand pushes your head from her form, and your tongue follows her desperately as you watch her. She kisses you once more, a little slower than before, but no less sloppy. 

“I’m not done,” you pant to her through closed eyes. 

“Oh?” you hear your lover respond. “You are not even a little curious what I may have for you?”

You giggle and bite down on her bottom lip, harshly. “I think I know what you have for me,” you coo. “Cute little fucking box…”

Minthara pushes you til your back hits the ground. While biting your lip in excitement, you twist around briefly to make sure nobody is coming. With the coast clear, Minthara places one of her hands on either side of you, climbing over top. Her body looked good- muscular and strong despite the recoil of her asscheeks. At the sight, you cannot help but order your own hand to spank her. The sudden sound elicits a quiet moan from both of you.

Minthara’s lips dabble against your own once more. They were somewhat swollen by now from being kissed out, and shiny from being coated with saliva. You could see the little indents of your teeth where you’d bit down on her (which had not been enough to draw blood and would surely end in some sort of punishment for you on another night) and shivered under your lover. 

Nightwarden Minthara pulls away from you, though not far. A hand of hers reaches over your near neglected tits and gives one a lustful palming. You bite your lip. “It’s sore,” you explain. “You’ve pinched them too hard.”

Minthara’s expression changes to an annoyed one. “I have not done a thing to you so hard as I would like,” she said. You swallow. “Though, that can be changed. If I wish to feel your features…” Minthara playfully slapped at your breast, still wet with spit, “...I will. If I wish to use your little box in however way that I desire… I will.”

You watch Minthara stand over you, straight over your face. The view is practically holy, gazing up at the drows cunt, still slick and dripping with your previous services to her. You wish for nothing more than for her to simply take her rightful seat. You know how much she likes a throne. 

Minthara seems to hear your mental cries as she lowers herself down. At first, her pussy indeed fills your face well. You can smell it all, can feel how easy it is to simply reach up with your tongue and feel every inch of her, from ass to clit. But you notice the Nightwarden hovering ever so slightly over you, balancing on her own feet and knees. No, this won’t do. With a moan of relief that you bury deeper into her hole, your hands grasp at the skin of her buttocks once more and pull it to your face. Minthara sits suddenly, releasing a moan you never thought she’d let herself sing. Her full weight on you, you still yourself and push your tongue deeper, searching for any drop of pussy juice you might’ve missed. 

“Good,” Minthara praises above you. “That’s so… good.” A little moan serves in response, switching yourself to short, quick laps that go no further than shallow in her cunt. Her body swallows them, hot to the touch. “Yes,” you hear her continue. 

You’re so lost in her raspy, layered voice that you don’t notice her shifting over you. So lost in the feelings of her desire you’d almost forgotten of your own, and so the sudden jump as you feel a tongue along your swollen clit is most satisfying to the Nightwarden. You continue licking and lapping at the paladin, as if it were your own oath to fulfill, but Minthara doesn’t stop there. She licks once more, gently, over the bundle of nerves as you buck into her. 

It’s almost a continuous cycle for a few moments. You, moaning desperately up into Minthara’s pussy; Minthara, swelling with pride as she feels how loyal you are to her. What a good, loyal girl you are to your Nightwarden. The two of you tighten up around the same time, only exciting the other even further. 

A feeling tickled in the drows belly. It was light and airy, and it came from your tongue every time you pushed it back inside of her hole. Minthara was so turned on by how wet it was, how dirty it all was. You, literally eating her cunt in the dirt without complaints…

Minthara doesn’t stop herself. She takes her final, savoring lap at the top of your yummy cunt and sits upwards. Her ass presses further into you at this, pussy practically suffocating your mouth as you feel her thighs squeeze. Her muscles stiffen, hips drawing tight little circles. You know what’s coming. Smiling, you squeeze her closer to you once more, forcing your tongue as deep as you can possibly place it. 

Nightwarden Minthara shakes as she cums over your mouth. 

Her walls are tight over your tongue. You feel a warm rush of wetness wash over you, moaning at the sensation. However good Minthara’s arousals tasted, her cum tasted five times better. It was sweeter, and there was so much of it, you couldn’t help but be pleased with not only her, but yourself. As the spasms of her orgasm begin to slow, you ease your tongue into a coy, licking motion once more. A loving, cleaning act. 

Minthara takes herself from you, though there’s no rush. As soon as her body lifts from your own, her lilac hands are on you once more. 

“You are not satisfied, Nightwarden?” you smirk, shaking your head. Behind you, you can hear the group's festivities continue on, unbothered by the whole ordeal. Someone was playing their lyre, and by the shadows that flitted over the light, several people had taken to drunken dancing. “Not when I’ve already given you so much?”

“You are a brat,” Minthara says, matter of factly. “And you are foolish for thinking I do not know when you have more to give.”

Minthara lowered herself closer to your aching sex, taking a long inhale and staring a moment before spreading her legs open. “Stay where you are,” she barks. “Do not move, unless I instruct you to do so.”

You nod. 

Minthara swings her toned across her body as leverage. You’re confused, never seeing such a move from the woman and failing to see the sexual advantage of such. In an instant, your lover quells these questions, pressing her sopping, freshly orgasmed cunt against your own. You try not to moan out at the sensation- succeeding at the sight of Minthara’s warning stare. But then, your Nightwarden is rubbing her hips- her pussy- against the raw flesh of your own that it distracts you. It’s hitting that sensitive nub once again, repeating the motion in the way she knows just how you like. 

“Take it,” she urges a second time for the night, leaning closer to your lips. “Take it like the good girl you are.”

“Minthara…” you half moan, half warn. 

She only speeds up the pace and intensity in response. 

Your hand reaches up to play with the flesh of her boob as she touches you. She puts both of her palms on the sides of your hips for leverage, so she might pull you back against her quickly as she grinds against you. The position is new and unfamiliar, and when she bumps you the wrong way, raw against your skin. But the way that Minthara grips you, the sight of her equally blissed and concentrated purely on fucking you… your little pussy… well…

“Minthara,” you moan. “Fuck!”

Minthara fucks her pussy into yours vigorously. A sensation builds in the pit of your tummy, growing- begging for attention. Minthara pours hers into it without question, using her own clit to pleasure yours. She must feel you twitch and cum before you do, because before you can even warn her, you lock eyes as you cum. 

Minthara slows immediately, taking in your face as she grinds long, drawing circles with her hips on yours. Your orgasm tightens you- your toes curling, hands balling to fists, lips opening as your back arches. Minthara spits over your tits at the sight, only hoping to prolong your pleasure as she rubs the saliva across your chest. 

You don’t know how long it takes you to come back. It seems only to rip through your system, igniting every nerve in your body like a firework and blinding your vision. You couldn’t describe the pleasure, you never could when you were with Minthara, but she always left you with a wholly, complete feeling and satisfaction. 

The woman watches her nipples begin to soften. She sees the cum leaking out of your hole like golden elixir and turns her attention elsewhere. A second round would surely get the two of you caught. 

You place your clothes back on silently, as usual, before returning to the party. They did not catch the last glance of longing you and your Nightwarden shared, in their happy, drunken state.

*I am 20 years old and by no means a minor*

[kyberphilosopher]

Tenebrous

Tenebrous/Tenebroum : shut off from the light : dark, murky. tenebrous depths... hard to understand : obscure. Word Count: 2362 NO WARNINGS Shadowhearts' mind is a weathering storm, but a storm is no match for one simple flower. A/N: Will be slowly returning to writing. I've been out of it for at least a year so my quality may not be what it used to, but I don't think it's that bad really. It's sorta proof read this time (not really)! Yayyyy.

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There are many changes in life that could be considered… unwelcome. Life in itself has a tendency to be such a complicated journey, weaving and webbing and entrapping all that it can; much like Lolth’s loyal, spindling spiders. Such arachnids, for example, shed their skin to allow for their growth. Flowers bloom up and down, all around, before they die. Even a body of water might change its height, day by day. None of these things, of course, possess a conscience. Only a human might possess that, and humans, miserably, are more often ticking time bombs than not. 

Shadowhearts' change was difficult to pinpoint. She’d shed her skin and dawned a better, holier mantle, and yet she did not shine anew. Her skin did not glimmer or reflect- only absorbed and denied. Her hair was black like loneliness, her eyes mossy shadows. The young woman, though previously punished and whipped, now rewarded with understanding. She understood how she’d come to choose the name Shadowheart for herself, and now she understood how she’d finally earned it. She was a living weapon. An envoy for The Dark Lady’s will. A Dark Justiciar. Shadowheart should’ve felt on top of the world for such a feat. 

You… well, all of you could still very clearly remember the look on Nightsong’s face when she was slain. Shock. Shock, surprise, fear. Shadowhearts' arm was heavy with muscle and willpower. There was no hesitation in her sage orbs as she brought down her Spear of Night. Then the Nightsong sang no more. 

“I did what had to be done,” the half elf had spoken about it after. “No point in fretting over it, is there?”

You watched her. Not always- not while she slept like a creep. A sneaking glance or two was all you needed. Shadowheart was a (somewhat) kind hearted, devout, and intimate woman who displayed a deep interest in bleeding something to dry as well as tenderly curing it. Few things seemed to matter as much to her as her faith- when there was a sky full of stars and constellations, an open emerald field dappled with lavender, a lost temple- she was always there, praying. Praying to her mother, who she did not know. Who she had no memory of. Who rarely answered her when Shadowheart thought up a question. Praying to the Lady of Loss. That never changed. 

You watched her. The morning light rose over the horizon, then the deep maroon leaves circling overtop the camp. Although Shadowheart had prayed this morning- early- she had not stopped. The young halfbreed sat with bent knees and clasped hands since before the sun had risen. Her peach-y pink lips muttered repeatedly to herself again and again, only pausing when she looked… pained? Or perhaps deep in thought?

She opens them. 

Your gaze turns to the gauntlets you fit around your arms. They are heavy, though not as heavy as Shadowhearts' eyes. When you glance over upon her once more, she pushes herself to her feet and then locks eyes with the ground for a long time. 

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There was much of Faerun that you had neglected to see, as you came to find out. There were lands covered in blankets of deep shadow and physical fear, bogs that would take the appearance of groves simply to trick all those who enter. There were tears in the sky that melted every night, according to Lae’zel. Astarion had described the many gothic manors and mansions that he had visited and admired. Gale of Waterdeep took no joy in restraining himself from speaking of his many accomplishments- most of which involved seeing something so beautiful, so rare- that he risked the Gods smite. 

Your boots were from Baldurs Gate, and they were not necessarily made for the mud that you trekked through. They were scratchy and tight, but the laces were coming loose. If you ever saw the city again, you swore you’d get a new pair. What an ‘if’ that was. But you were no complainer. You swallowed dryly, shouldered your bow and sword and continued onward silently. 

“Need something, friend?” a voice called from beside you. A smile creeps over your lips at the voice. 

“Do you, Astarion?” you look at the elf now walking close on your left. He’s taller than yourself- mostly due to his long and prodding neck. You supposed he used such a feature for snooping and being nosey. 

Astarion scoffs out a chuckle, before his tone turns to defeat. “Oh, you caught me. I must admit, friend, I’ve grown quite bored.”

“Look at my shoes,” you sigh. “I’d rather be bored than inadequately dressed.”

“Mmm. Yes, how unfortunate. You know, I must say I would’ve thought you smart enough to get your own well fitting shoes by now. This little adventure hasn’t exactly been…”

“I know,” you tell him. “Say, what did we do with those boots from the Underdark? The red ones, with the little black and silver designs.”

Astarion is briefly silent in thought, though it’s not him that breaks it. 

“I’ve them.”

You and your elven companion turn your heads over your shoulders. Shadowhearts' face is solemn and gaunt- nothing out of the ordinary. Still, a certain regret lingered in her deep, dark eyes. Her beauty was matched only by the background behind her, which was nothing but darkness. Hair, long and inky, fell over her shoulder lazily. 

“Ah,” Astarion smiled wide, showing off his pointy canines. “I was just wondering when you would join our conversation. So tell us, what is it you’ve done with the things?”

Shadowheart stayed silent. Her pace quickened, her own greaves and boots were metal and solid in the mud- built for it. On your right, she materialized like a dream, though she did not turn to look at you. 

“I took the boots,” Shadowheart explains matter-of-factly. “They grant the wearer intense bouts of speed and pursuit- hardly a trophy to simply leave behind. I might loan them to you… should you require them.”

You blink, trying to find your words. “Might?” you settle on. 

One step, two step, three and four. The upward hill you battle to hike reaches its peak, slanting downwards once more. From up here, you can see only a bit more than you might’ve thought. The lands your party currently crossed through were completely devoid of light and life, and so although you could confirm the sight of a large lake, you (nor any other member of the party) was able to register the important details of the environment before you. You all continued walking downhill without skipping a beat, unbothered at the thought of imminent death. 

It happens in an instant. Your armored knuckles brush against the metal of Shadowhearts' own hand. No, not a brush- a touch. It reverberates up your fingers and straight to your brain, where it’s stored deep in your memory without you even realizing it. It even produces a soft, but undeniable noise. 

Your eyes snap to hers, wide and alert. “Apologies, my lady,” you urge quickly. “I did not mean-”

Shadowheart stops suddenly. She stands in front of you, Astarion and Wyll wandering onward seemingly unaware- or perhaps simply uncaring. Now shorter than you at the incline, the young woman looks up at you with her piercing orbs. 

“You need not worry on it,” Shadowheart tells you, and for some reason it seems, at this moment, that she is only ever talking to you. Your lips part, looking back at her. The Justiciar’s own light green gaze is flitting between your own eyes, and you can’t help but feel yourself growing distracted off her face alone. 

The woman’s face was porcelain pale, delicate but well put together. Her cheekbones were high and soft, dappled with freckles that Shadowheart hoped no one would notice. Her lashes were generous and thick- just the same with her eyebrows. Her lips were shaped like a heart. Gods, her lips. They were tantalizing, even chapped and chewed on like now. Not even the scar cutting across her cheek and nose was enough to deter from her otherworldly beauty. How were you supposed to resist such a temptation so close by?

You cared too much for the young woman to trample in on her faith. You had traveled with Shadowheart long enough to see it was one of the few things that she cared for. Shar this and Shar that… You were no Shar. What pain could you possibly alleviate of Shadowhearts’? What void could you introduce her to? The answer was simple: none. You were no match for the Dark Justiciar, and even if you were, she would not allow you to be. 

“I apologize again, my lady,” you tell her, a firm whisper. 

Shadowhearts' eyes shift between your own for another moment longer, brief and fleeting. “You might wish for some healing, if it is to be a while before we see those boots again.” She slips a glove from her lithe hand- you catch a glimpse of the plum wound buried in the center- and says, “May I?”

You swallow dryly again. Water, your brain wishes. Instantly, your prayers are answered as saliva flushes your mouth. 

Shadowheart presses the palm of her hand to the base of your neck, where your armor leaves a sliver of your skin exposed. Her hand is cold, colder than anything you’ve ever felt. Yet, your body warms as her lips begin to chant.

You can feel the blood rush to your feet. Blisters that have lined your heels and toes and soles for weeks diminish in seconds, leaving your feet to settle more comfortably in your wear. The two sore heaps previously referred to as your legs alleviate themselves instantaneously. Even the sweat, stinking and insidious, brewing beneath your armpits slips away silently to the wind. 

Eyes could not be torn from the half elf in front of you if they were taken straight from your head. Your gaze is locked and fixed on Shadowheart, though you cannot find the words. Shall you thank her? Ask for her hand? Attempt to engage in a heart to heart conversation? No, control yourself. You bite down on your lip, hard, but with Shadowhearts’ healing hand lingering over your sternum, the blood does not stay for long. You watch her finish her prayer. 

“There,” Shadowheart looks up at you once more through her dark lashes. “You just seemed a little… parched.”

The Dark Justiciar holds your eye for a few seconds longer. Then she steps away. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

Before Selune blessed the Earth with the light of the sun, there was nothing. Faerun, and everywhere else, was well a part of Shar’s domain of darkness. When her ethereal twin betrayed her by inventing life sustaining fire, the change was instant and could not be ignored. 

Shadowhearts story seemed the opposite. She had been close to the light once, she supposed- closer. She’d resented herself for it at the time; so, Shadowheart chose to bring herself closer to the dark. She chose to be as close as she could. She wanted to sit side by side with her mother, spear in hand, and quench her thirst on the blood of moonmaidens. Though, no such feat had come to pass. Shadowheart was not foolish. She understood it was a change that would take time to see such accomplishment. But had she not made it clear that there was no doubt? Shadowheart would slaughter a thousand nightsongs if it meant being Shar’s chosen. 

And yet, she felt more unhappy with herself than she had before. She resented herself. 

In the mornings when she’d wake early, Shar’s voice might whisper instructions in Shadowhearts’ pointed ear. 

“You are to suffer,” the low voice would guide. “To hate until you are released to loss, child.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

In the nights when Shar’s power rose strong, her Justiciar would feel Shar’s thoughts as if her own. 

“You are to breathe in the darkness,” the low voice would guide. “To ponder on your wrongdoings until you might see clearly.”

Shadowheart obeyed. 

It was what she had wanted. But now that she was alone, Shadowheart was lonely, and not even herself was reliable for comfort any longer. 

Luckily, there is always you. 

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

“Shadowheart!” you cry, lurching forward. “Wait!”

Alarmed, the cleric whips her head to yours. Shadowheart had not sensed anything more out there besides vague harm- certainly nothing close enough to warrant such urgency out of you. You need to catch up with the two boys, lest you end up hunting monster and monster hunter simultaneously. But your face shows no such concern for those things. Your eyes lower slowly from Shadowheart to the ground by her feet. 

Yes, there, beneath the greaves spattered in blood and leather soles reeking of death, was a flower. 

The thing was light, almost glowing, and a beautiful wisteria shade. It grew somewhat tall, with sharp leaves and petals like bells that only grew more midnight and lilac colored the deeper they went. Shadowheart let a small gasp slip from her lips. 

Slowly, as if you were dealing with a skittish, stray cat, you bend down into the dirt. As you pluck the flower from its stem, the smell of vanilla and musk swells the air. You stand eye level with the young woman in front of you, whose stare flits between the flower to your armor. 

“A night orchid,” you say. Shadowhearts’ favorite. “May I?”

The holy warrior looks at you sharply. 

You press it, holding her gaze with a soft and warming smile, to her palm. You can feel her heartbeat through her skin, excitedly in time with your own. Finally. 

“I…” she begins, but you turn your head to the side, waving her off. 

“It’s nothing,” you insist as you step away. “Wouldn’t want you to step on your favorite flower. I’m sure your Goddess would understand.”

Shadowhearts’ green eyes dance, though not with any emotion you’ve seen before within her. 

You smile again. “Let’s get you to Baldurs Gate.”

The young woman watches intently as you continue down the hill, clutching the purple flower tight in her hand. 

[kyberphilosopher]

I will genuinely write for baldurs gate

[kyberphilosopher]

Accepting cod requests

[kyberphilosopher]

will you be doing part 2 of ‘impact play’? if you don’t want to i understand <3

You’re so sweet thank you. I do plan on Doing a second part, I’m pretty deep into writing it. It’s more of a matter of when which could be a while. College has killed my motivation a little so everything I’m doing these days is done in very little parts from time to time. Thank you for being so polite

[kyberphilosopher]

Pass the Dutchie

Word Count: 7908 Requested: Nah Warning[s]: 4/20 special, so drug and substance abuse, crude language, crude humor, adult themes, not my strongest piece ever probably, long, Billy sticks to character sorry, general fanfiction cringe warnings. When Billy assumes you might sell to him, you get back at him by stealing his stash. But after you realize he's not so unbearable, your relationship with each other, and even yourselves, seems to change.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The summer months came quickly, even quicker than the actual summer. The crisp April morning, tainted with spring rain that left the reek of petrichor hanging in the air for the rest of the day, had given way to a dry and beating heat. Not enough to make you sweat, but enough to fill the school with shorts and skirts over the typical swarm of bell bottoms. You almost felt like you'd missed the memo that day in your own denim jeans, but you were comfortable, and that was what mattered.

You wouldn't miss highschool, you thought, but you might miss senior year. By now, everyone around you had almost completely grown out of bullying. Why continue it? Everyone was about to graduate. You were all adults now. There was no point in nastiness. Mostly, it seemed your class had a fondness for sex and drugs and rock n' roll and not much else. There wasn't much to complain about there. All the popular kids were too wrapped up in all that to harass you at work anymore, or to spread rumors that you were a drug supplier and addict. You're more than thankful for that as you stare at the bouncing, burnt orange basketball being dribbled up the court by Billy Hargrove.

A gust of outside air sweeps through the highschool gymnasium from the double doors to your left. Sunshine leaks through the gap, straining your eyes when you look at it. It makes the rest of the gymnasium appear shadowed in a darker and far more boring grey than it really was. It might've looked exceptionally creepy if it weren't for the few kids such as yourself who decorated the bleachers, and the group of boys playing basketball just a few steps away. The students gave the school a bustling, warm atmosphere that you were more than willing to admit to now that you'd outgrown a lot of your younger angst and cynicism. The air from through the doors smells like your childhood- and something else in the distance.

"Yo, Y/N," a voice from behind you calls.

You let your eyes fall closed in instant exhaustion as you exhale a breath. You already know who it is. "Yeah?" you practically wince.

Ronnie Waters slithers up beside your ear like a snake. You don't hate him- he's funny sometimes. Sometimes. What, with his mousy mullet and sparce beard hairs around his crooked teeth, but mostly he likes just yanking your chain. "Smell that?" he questions, chip breath hitting your nose like a freight train. "Smells like dope outside, man. You gonna celebrate the 20th this year? You selling?"

A common misconception. You'd first smoked pot in the girls bathroom sophomore year and ended up getting busted- without the three other girls who had been smoking the blunt with you. You were quickly labeled as a pothead since then, which snowballed into being a full blown dealer in junior year. Funny how everyone who had previously never spoken a word to you, now threw themselves at your feet for some bud. Sometimes you'd play the prank of handing them a bag of oregano, but for most people, the answer was the same: 'Not selling.'

"I don't sell," you tell Ronnie, not even bothering to look over at him. He still hovers by your side like a bee.

"Come on," Ronnie whines and prods. "I just need some flower for the 20th... please?"

You turn towards him, tone becoming firmer but not angry. "I don't sell."

Ronnie pouts a frog faced frown, mutters a "whatever bro", and slithers away back to his group of snickering friends at the top of the bleachers. Your eyes turn back to the basketball game ahead of you, not really invested, just in time to watch Billy Hargrove dunk a clean one over Steve Harrington's head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Ronnie Waters wasn't the only one who prodded you for an April 20th deal. Back in the locker room, Connie Rachel tossed her blond curls over her shoulder before batting her eyes and taking a 20 out of her bra. You'd felt bad about rejecting it.

Most seniors had partial days from completing all their required credits early on, leaving little classes in the days for them. You were one of the lucky ones who made the cut, which had honestly helped your fondness for senior year. The freedom you felt hopping in your car, waving a polite and quiet goodbye to your fellow classmates was a dignified one. Ronnie Waters, the little rat face, couldn't take it from you. Your feet pick up the pace as you exit the building, rounding the brick corner, converse to asphalt.

It did feel like summer. The sun, the wind, the scent of rain and flowers. The great boulder that jumped out at you causing you to flinch back.

You stumble a few steps, raising your head to see in front of you. Then your brows crease. It was no brick boulder at all, it was just Billy Hargrove. Well, you supposed that was the same thing. He certainly was a great rock of a man.

You weren't close by any means- you know each other by few interactions and by name. You don't hate him, you don't love him. You've seen him break Tommy's kegstand record and become Keg King, shove freshman to the ground in PE, and charm the teacher out of actually teaching the class through pure flirtation. So, he seemed fine in your book. A very upstanding young man.

"Woah," Billy smiles charmingly- a smile you've seen him use before on others- and an annoyance bubbles in anticipation. "Hey there. Watch where you're goin' much?"

You just want to get to your car. You can see the cherry red paint from here, glistening in the sun. But it won't be so easy. Billy Hargrove was pretty popular. Obeying to highschool politics, you couldn't really be rude to him without him using his influence to tarnish your reputation. In a small town like Hawkins, that was certainly something to consider. When Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington had called it quits, he'd plastered her name all over the Hawkins movie theater, complete with profanities. Not only that, but you were fairly unpopular. You didn't have any close friends who could come and save you out of nowhere, or even defend your honor. Now, you weren't hated by any means. But you were a loser. This was just one of the cons of being so.

"I'm just heading to my car," you get out.

Billy looks you up and down, still smirking. You hate it. You could tell what he's thinking from his mouth alone. "Red one, right? The 79'? Nice ride."

So, he's watching you in the parking lot now?

"Thanks."

A minute of silence. A breeze, similar to the gusts in the gymnasium earlier, sweeps through the air. It turns back to spring within the instant, rustling Billy Hargrove's cinnamon brown curls. His eyes light up in the sun like ocean water, rippling and dancing florescently with every movement. He looks nice for a moment, almost boyish with his dimples and muscle tee, still sweaty from the free period gym.

"I heard you might have something I'm looking for," he says. "I was hoping to maybe take it off ya', if ya' catch my drift."

Your eyes flit around the scene. You see the other seniors walking towards their cars ahead of you, pulling out of the parking lot, some disappearing into the trees nearby in walking groups. Did Billy have enough credits to be on a partial schedule? You could've sworn you'd seen him pull out of the parking lot at the same time as yourself a couple times, but he'd been a transfer student. He should've still been catching up technically.

You answer him very calmly, tiredly, monotone. "What's your drift?"

Billy's smile fades, his eyes returning to a wide shape as his face sinks. Another blow from the wind makes his curls dance. His maroon shirt ripples, tanned skin shining. You hadn't seen many men that were quite like him, you realized-whatever you meant by that. When Billy Hargrove doesn't answer you, you question again. "What's your drift, Billy?"

His face is stone, as you're reminded. Billy's tone is a little more annoyed, in his voice and on his face. He must never have been challenged, dared, outright shut down many times in his life. "I wanna buy some dope."

Should you give him a bag of oregano? Tell him you'll come by later and leave it out on his doorstep? Maybe drop a crumb of the real thing in it so it smells just right? You rub your palm up and down the strap of your backpack, thinking. Billy Hargrove sees as you look him up and down. He resembles an angry bull, you the matador. Should you?

"I don't sell," you say, looking down at the pavement under you. "You'd have bought from me already if I did."

You start walking once more, keeping your eyes down. You can hear the younger kids playing in the fields, the other grades practicing soccer, the cars leaving the lot blasting Scorpions and Madonna. Billy says nothing as you shuffle your way past him. He doesn't say anything until you're a few steps up the hill from him.

"I don't believe you!"

You roll your eyes and walk faster, worried suddenly that you may be run down by a familiar Camero.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove wasn't great, you knew that. But Billy was far, far from the worst. He was cool, you liked him. You wanted to be out of highschool as fast as possible, which kept you from holding grudges or holding hatred. Billy was probably the same way about it at this point. But man, man, oh man- oh, man- did you find yourself wanting to put Billy Hargrove in a room with no windows or doors alone. The little prick really thought he could charm his way into some weed- weed you don't even possess. You've been buying your shit from the super senior Eddie Munson since last summer. It's all based on one nasty rumor.

Billy Hargrove was smart enough to see that certainly. Yet, he chose not to for his own ideas. He knows it is a nasty rumor but plays into it anyway. Why? Because he wants to? Because he has to? Neither? Both? Maybe you should've knocked that smile right off his face. Once for thinking you'd be easily manipulated, and twice for really accusing you of dealing.

No, perhaps not.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The next day was smoother. Air conditioning wouldn't be brought into schools for another few years, making the school hot and stuffy, but the library was so empty it was cooler. You spent your free period there instead of the gym, doing nothing of great importance. The joint you had in your car at lunch break was mostly faded from your system. With 4/20 right around the corner, you would need more. It was in- what? A week? The nug you had sitting in a carefully wrapped napkin in the cup holder was a rather small nug.

Eddie would have a sale. You knew that much at least. Of course, that's what you're thinking of when you see him standing by your locker.

Not Eddie, of course. His hair is too light, arms too thick, body too tall. Eddie would never carry such a natural and tired smugness to his face. As soon as you see Billy leaning against it, you feel your heart drop to your stomach. An odd anxiety washes over you, one you're not quite familiar with. But Billy hasn't seen you yet- you could turn around and walk away. You can wait it out in your car and circle back for your things.

You don't do that.

"Locker," you only say to Billy after he notices you approaching. That's all you need to say apparently, as he slides his back from its position against your metal box.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?" Billy says sarcastically, a bored expression on his face. "Very chatty."

You open the door and slide your backpack from your person, twisting it around so you can switch out a few books and grab your jacket and keys. "What do you need Billy?" you ask tiredly, wrapping your oversized hunting jacket around your shoulders and adjusting the hood.

He looks you up and down, but not lustfully. Just observantly. Judgmentally, somewhere in there. Billy's eyebrows are creased in a dull annoyance you recognize on him. He is the stone man you think of. You wonder, are his lips always so ever so slightly pursed when he's thinking? Or is that just the natural, bitchy look of his face? His handsome doll face. "Can I help you?" you repeat.

Billy's ocean blue eyes land back on yours. Through the dark eyebrows, they create a strong contrast. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," the boy drawls out. But... he feels genuine. "Maybe I was a little too aggressive. With the 20th coming up I think it's easy to understand why I might be a lil' antsy."

You blink.

"Walk out to m' car with me. I'll treat you to a sesh."

You blink again, harder this time. Then you blink again, slightly faster. Billy's lips are in a thin and serious line. You realize, somewhere in the moment, that he has this disposition with you because you saw through his guise of charisma. He saw he couldn't get in your pants and let that way go. This must be the realest Billy's been to anyone since he arrived at Hawkins high.

Your fingers find the door of the locker, close, and lock it. Then you follow Billy, you slightly behind him at his side, to his car. The air smells like leaves and grass. "You're not stopping at your locker?"

Billy's tone is slightly more exasperated than usual. "Why would I?"

You say nothing.

Through the parking lot, you catch a few stares. Billy was just so popular- you should've known you'd see at least one pair of girls giggling. You watch as he unlocks his car- a blue 79' Chevrolet Camero, and the two of you bend inside in unison. Even your doors close at the same time.

Billy Hargrove's car smells like a mix of several, but very recognizable, smells. A musky cologne, the familiar stench of weed, cigarettes... sweat? Must've been old workout clothes littered somewhere in the car.

Billy Hargrove's head rolls over to you, the back of his pretty mullet getting mussed against the headrest.

"Nice car," you offer dryly.

Billy is still stone, offering no reaction to your words. "I apologize for yesterday. Open the glovebox."

An apathetic sounding apology directly followed by an order. How charming.

Still, curiosity overpowers everything else. Your hands do as the man says, undoing the glovebox and letting it fall open. It's stuffed to the brim inside, random papers spilling all over your feet. A single loose cigarette joins them. "Pick that up," Billy Hargrove tells you, though he doesn't sound so stern or demanding just then.

"The papers?" You begin to gather a few of them up- just a few statements about the vehicle and math papers that must've never found their way to the teacher.

"Nah," Billy gestures towards the white and orange cylinder. "Just the cig'."

You're slightly flabbergasted, but quickly muffle the feeling with, indeed, leaving the papers on the floor and instead offering him the cig between two fingers. Billy slips it into his mouth and lets it hang towards the side, as you're sure he's done a thousand times over already. "There's a lil' plastic baggie in there," Billy continues. "Get it."

Turning attention back towards the glovebox, you root around for a second or two before finding it. Instantly, you know what's inside. Pulling it out into the light only confirms your suspicions, if you could even call it that. You're careful to keep it low and out of sight through the windows, deciding to sit it on the surface between you two.

The bag has to contain two 1/8's, minimum. Inside, the bag does little to contain the stench of the dope, which is somehow strong enough to make you feel a little buzzed just looking at it. Most of the nugs inside are a dark green- but there's more colors than just that. Lime green, deep purple that's practically black. When Billy Hargrove picks up his bag of goodies after a classic man-spits-loogie-out-the-car-window move, the nug he picks out is a forest green with tiny orange veins running up it, spreading all around.

"Having a sesh?" you question, somewhat quietly, all while keeping your eyes fixated on the nug.

"Yeah," Billy rolls the nugget over in his fingers. His eyes are stuck on it too, making him sound just as far away as you are. "If that's cool?"

You mutter a response with only half a thought to it. "Reeks like shit."

Billy Hargrove's nostrils flare, and he rolls his head along with his eyes back over to you. It's brief, however, as he quickly rolls them back ahead. With his right hand, he leans forward to snatch a pack of rolling papers from the dashboard. "Fuck outta my car then," he mumbles.

Your reply is immediate: "No."

Billy Hargrove's mouth curves up into a smile as he scoffs. "Alright," he starts, his voice devoid of all anger. "Hold this. Now, this is the shit from California. All kinds of stuff up there."

He gives you the nugget, and takes the cigarette from his lips to place behind his left ear instead. You inspect the weed yourself now, noticing a faint sparkle from somewhere deep within it. The stench is certainly... potent. Being so close certainly can't help it. But there's something else you can smell too. Something fruity?

"Had no idea," you say.

"Here, you crush that up while I roll."

Your eyes switch from the dope in your hand to Billy in the drivers seat. Your brows crease slightly in shock and confusion as you look at him, and you realize in the back of your head that this is the closest you've ever been to each other. You know he's noticing your face- he has to. Something about that throws you off. Something about Billy Hargrove specifically noticing it- having this moment in his memory forever- makes the sides of your face feel hot. "You don't have a grinder?" you ask in disbelief.

Billy's orbs flicker between your own. His face is back to something like grumpiness again. "You talkin' about that little twisty thing?"

"Y... yeah?" you say. "It makes crushing up weed way easier. It catches the kief?"

Billy Hargrove somewhat resembles an agitated bull about to charge. You can see the gears twisting in his brain, however, and you know what he's thinking. He thinks you're playing a prank on him, or trying to make him look stupid. "I'm not shitting you," you say quickly.

With an annoyed breath he turns back to the paper in his hands. It goes quiet, uncomfortably so, so you turn back towards the nugget too. You take a paper that fell from the glovebox from the floor- an old science quiz that he'd managed to score a 79% on- and wrap it over the nugget. It's not the biggest nug you've seen, but it's more than enough for one joint split between the two of you. You simply begin smashing it carefully inside the paper, then opening it to pick out any loose pieces of stem.

It's once you've practically finished the task that you hear Billy's gruff voice from beside you. "You think you're so smart, huh?"

What?

You turn to him, catching the humored smile on his face as he continues rolling. He's shaking his head slightly all the while.

You're not upset. On the contrary, you're relaxed. You let the paper, now swarmed with little weed crumbs all piled messily towards the center, sit gentle on your lap as you lean back. "Not really."

Billy Hargrove does pause for a second, so fast you would've missed it with a blink, but you see it. "Could've fooled me," he mutters. Then he gestures for the substance in your lap. "Here."

You pick up the paper gently, with two hands, the way a child might hold a dinner plate. Billy Hargrove meticulously picks the crumbs between his two fingers, lips slightly pursed and brows furrowed in concentration, and lays it in the dip of the rolling paper.

"Promise it's not laced?" you whisper out hoarsely.

Billy freezes again, before a smirk takes up on his mouth. He turns to you, eyes wide, and leans forward. Although his hands are filled, he still finds a way to wiggle his fingers at you. "Oh, scared?"

Your face drops into sarcasm. Really? your face asks him. "You think so?"

Billy Hargrove turns back to the joint, and finishes packing after a few seconds. "Clearly," he snarks. He rolls his head back over to you, face suddenly very, very pretty. "You want the first hit?"

"If you're actually offering," you decide slowly.

Billy passes the joint to you as you reach into your pants pocket for a lighter. With a bit of wiggling, you manage to pull it from the fabric. "Here, I'll light," he says. So, you switch hands. Billy giving you the joint, you giving Billy the lighter. Billy fucking Hargrove.

With one final suspicious glance around the parking lot, you place the joint between your lips eagerly before leaning down. You can practically taste the hemp on your tongue. Billy Hargrove follows suit, leaning down out of sight of the windows and flicking the lighter to life.

"It's pretty strong shit," he tells you as his hand wanes closer toward the paper. You pray he doesn't decide to blue ball you right in that moment and fall back into typical Billy Hargrove fashion, and he doesn't. The end of the joint lights up orange and yellow, dancing and sparkling right before your eyes. The inhale is smokey and sudden, hitting the back of your throat like a train. You can only take it for two seconds before squeezing your eyes shut, at which point Billy grabs the joint right from your mouth.

You feel it fill your lungs, stilling yourself before letting it expel from you. It comes out through your mouth in a gentle stream, and when your eyes turn to Billy, smoke is pouring from his nose for a second longer than yours. Then you both lean back into the seats of the car.

Billy dips his head down and stares out into the parking lot before reaching down and rolling the window up. He glances to check if yours is closed before bringing the joint to his mouth again.

You watch him inhale. Already, you feel your eyes fall half lidded. You're certain the turning of your head is ungodly slow, more snail like than anything. But you don't care about that. You're watching Billy Hargrove's adam's apple bob once with the inhale, then your eyes wander up to his jaw. His nose shape isn't half ugly. Well, actually now that you're here, it's sort of cute. Has his hair always been so curly?

Billy Hargrove breathes this hit out of his nose again, eyes falling closed. He lets his head fall back against the car seat so that his face is pointed towards the roof, relaxed but still Billy.

Cautiously, your fingers dance towards the smoking joint still in his hand that rests on his lap. It's the closest you've been to physical contact with him, which would surely end in you getting your shit rocked if you make one wrong move, so you're sure to move slow. Almost comedically slow.

When the man feels the joint ease out of his grasp, his eyes snap open with a breath. Billy's blue orbs roll down to see your hand greedily try to snag it from his own, but he just lets it happen. He doesn't even look like he's going to rock your shit. Not even one little punch. His hand simply loosens until you pull the jay away for yourself.

"Light."

Billy side eyes you somewhat as he lifts the lighter up to the joint for you once more. "Good shit, right?" he lulls, face and eyes empty of emotion. He looks grumpy again.

You nod lazily, closing your eyes and taking your second hit. It's more bearable this time, and you manage to inhale for three seconds instead of two. You hold it for a moment in your lungs before letting it go, breathing out through your nose and mouth. "Can't remember the last time I hotboxed," you manage to drawl, though you immediately forget doing so. You're almost confused when Billy Hargrove responds.

"I probably do it..." he swallows and lets his eyes close again. "Probably every day."

"You're stronger than me."

"My tolerance is probably fuckin' crazy," Billy says as his eyes peel open. "My hit."

You pass it back to him.

"So you got any plans for the 20th?" he asks, and suddenly you're moved at the contribution he gives to continue the conversation.

You shrug. "Smoke."

Billy nods his head with a smirk, mid hit. "Yeah, that's the plan," he says after breathing out. "You gonna have any special deals that day? Any, uh, discounts?"

Your brows crease as much as they can through lazy senses, which isn't a lot at all. "I told you I don't sell."

Billy's eyes flicker between your own for a moment- again you can see the gears turn inside him. "You were serious about that?"

You nod. "Yeah, I'm not a dealer."

Billy Hargrove's eyes look you up and down for a second, again so missably quick, pretty and blue and distracting. (Distracting? How strong is this strain?) "So where'd you get your shit from then."

"Eddie Munson."

Billy's face splits into loud humor. Eyes light up, go big, mouth scoffing in disbelief. "The super senior?! You're fuckin' with me."

You playfully throw up your palms in mock surrender. "He has good stuff."

"But isn't that guy like, fuckin' crazy? He's always playin' that dumb nerd shit."

"He's pretty nice to me," you offer. "But, dude, he never plays Kill Em' All if we smoke?"

Billy takes the joint right from your hand, just how you did to him. His dark brows furrow much easier than yours as his eyes fall to you once more. "The Metallica piece?"

You nod.

"You're shittin'."

You shake your head.

"Jesus," Billy puts the joint in his mouth and holds the lighter to it. "What a fuckin' loser."

You can't help it. Really, you can't. Billy's words aren't that funny- probably aren't funny at all- but the laugh that escapes the back of your throat comes out in a scoff-snort combo that causes even Billy Hargrove to remove the joint prematurely to cough out smoke.

It's a nice moment. You don't find yourself resenting him or judging him and if he's doing so to you, you can't feel it. At all. You're just two idiots getting high in the car, being idiots high in the car. Billy's presence is welcomed by you, shockingly enough. It shocks you twice over- once, because it's Billy Hargrove. Twice, because for the first time in a while, you feel like you might just have a friend. Just for the moment- just for the moment.

"Ah, shit," you hear Billy break. "Fuckin' idiot."

You pull yourself a little closer to the present (as much as you possibly can as your body seemingly floats to the sky), and turn your eyes out the windshield. Through the hazy white mist that's settled in the car, you can make out a large and annoying figure by the name of Tommy, waving his arms over his head and grinning like a dull fish. His girlfriend, Carol, follows a few steps behind him, similar smile plastered to her face as her brown curls bounce.

"Damn," Billy Hargrove's face drops. "Just when I was startin' to enjoy it." He moves to open the door, and that's when you say something that makes him falter and look back to you.

"I gotta take off anyway."

Billy can't decide between taking a step forward or taking a step back it seems, almost like he's glitching. The boy leans down, turns his head to you. If you hadn't just smoked with him, you might not be able to tell he was high. His eyes aren't red, just pulled into that sarcastic, grumpy, pursed lipped look he's always wearing. "You sure?"

You shrug. "Yeah, don't worry about it."

Billy holds your eyes for a second more, jaw clenching. He decides not to say anything, however, and closes- a soft slam, really- his door closed. You watch him strut out to greet Tommy and Carol as Tommy points to you in the passengers seat with a grin you just loathe.

Quickly, you gather your backpack up from the floor. Out of courtesy, you find yourself quickly and inexplicably pulling the papers on the floor into a stack to place back in the glovebox. You click it closed without thinking, turning to leave when you stop.

The baggie still sits in the cupholder. Unattended, California bred and strong. You know how dumb it would be to take. You're not stupid enough to steal from Billy fucking Hargrove. But a few nuggets? Billy wouldn't notice. Especially not now, high off his ass, talking it up with Tommy about probably fucking nothing.

So, a nug or two wouldn't hurt...

Your brain convinces you you're a ninja. You swipe two medium sized nuggets, one dark green and one light, and cram them deep into your pocket. You're sure to zip the bag back into place to avoid suspicion as a rain of confetti seemingly falls around you.

The guilt is already washing over you somewhat, but it's deep, deep down inside. You almost can't even recognize it. You open the car door, sling your backpack over your shoulder, and watch the smoke ooze from the vehicle like a thick cloud. You must look like Zeus right now.

After the door closes, you're quick to walk away. Luckily, the lot is small, and you can see your car from here. Your foggy brain almost forgets about Tommy and Carol, who can somehow still see you even through your fast pace. "Hey!" Carol calls. "Hey, I'm talking to you!"

You just walk faster and keep your head down. You feel two things just then- Carol's laughter filling the air, and Billy Hargrove's eyes on your back.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Much to your own surprise, you do not grind up and smoke those two nuggets that night. Nor do you do so the day after, or the day after that. You highly consider it on the third day, though Billy Hargrove manages to completely deter your mind from it.

He doesn't do anything outright ruining- oh no. Billy just so happened to hold eye contact with you in the lunch line after rolling his eyes at something. It only lasts two, maybe three seconds. But it's enough to turn you off from smoking his-your- weed.

On day five, two days before the 20th, Billy Hargrove receives a test back in math that makes the right corner of his lips twitch up. You know, because you watch him very carefully from your corner of the room.

Billy tries to disguise it, of course. The man of rock and stone is always cautious to keep up appearances. Always frowning, always angry, always too good for something. But whatever he got on that test was, and is, worth more than that little mask. In your head, Billy Hargrove is proud of himself. He worked hard for something and he got a reward for it. Just like you, just like the people you admire, just like everyone else on the planet.

And you stole from him.

On day six, you find, once again, that Billy Hargrove has made himself at home against your locker. Again, you do not run away. From deep, deep in you, you're almost happy to see him. Almost.

"Billy," you greet flatly. The boy once again slides away from your locker so that you can open it, sly as a fox.

"Y/N," Billy greets back. He watches your face as you trade some books and binders, packing your bag to go home. You might be worried about him confronting you about his missing nuggets if you didn't know any better. No, Billy Hargrove was a hot headed bull. If he had noticed, he would've said something by now. Hell, you'd probably have a broken arm or something. "Still planning on smokin' tomorrow?"

God, don't bring it up. "Yeah, hoping to." You close the locker and clutch your jacket in your arms. Billy walks in time with you, neither of you acknowledging the accidental bumping of shoulders that's brought about through the crowded hallway. "Why do you ask?"

Billy Hargrove doesn't look at you. He looks straight ahead, almost as if he's in pain from what he's about to say. He looks like this is some great task for him, saying whatever he's about to say. Taller than you, you watch his sullen eyes as he speaks. "Was wonderin' if you wanted to smoke in the car again."

Your brows crease for a split second. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

The sun illuminates you both as you walk through the open doors and out the side exit of Hawkins High. The spring breeze dances with the summer air gloriously. "Any particular reason you're asking me and not Tommy?"

Billy wastes no time in responding. "Tommy's a fuckin' idiot."

The laugh almost spills out of your mouth, but you manage to catch it with a cough. "Oh, okay. Yeah, he is."

Your walking slows as you approach your car, which catches the glint of the bright, bright sun. Billy turns to you, watching with his usual casual swagger as you fumble to get your keys out. "So you in?"

I stole your weed! you want to blurt out. I stole it and I actually feel kind of bad about it!

Instead, you glance down at your shoes, instantly giving away your poker face. "Oh, uh, maybe."

Something washes over Billy's face, but only for a second of a second. Maybe not even. Disappointment? Whatever it is, it's replaced by his usual expression. Pursed lips, unimpressed eyes, and the feeling that he's cursing you in his brain. "Well," he glances around the parking lot. The sun bounces off of him too, but in a way that looks better than it does on your car. It looks like it's meant to bounce off of him. "Let me know. You've got a phone book." And then he's already walking away with his back to you before you can say anything more.

You don't like watching him go. Sure, Billy's ass did look fantastic in the jeans he typically wore, but it did little to negate the odd feeling of despair and loneliness you suddenly felt. But Billy Hargrove wasn't your friend. He wasn't anything- you weren't anything to him. He just wanted weed out of you anyway. Ironic, considering.

It was true, you could always look up Billy's last name in your home phone book and come clean. You think about this as you seat yourself in your car, which feels and smells like a microwave from the oncoming heat. You knew you should really just call him. Just take your beating and get on with it.

But there was a little voice in your brain that said otherwise. It was that voice that gave you the idea.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Billy Hargrove lived on 4819 Cherry Lane, in a little pale house. It was cute, only one story. Very family friendly. It looked like his mother had taken a great bit of care in taking care of the family's plants, which bloomed in shades of poppy red and cherry blossom pink in the bushes right outside. You felt some guilt in thinking that Billy didn't deserve this.

It looked too juxtaposing compared to him, even in the dark of night. It looked too quaint, too warm and nurtured. But you knew better. Even though you're about to commit breaking and entering- or preferably just entering- you know better. There's something in that house that hardened Billy Hargrove. His mother? His father? Something buried deep under his bed? Whatever it was, now wasn't the time to poke.

The leaves crunch under your shoes with every step, but the hum of the cicadas drowns it out for the most part. You round the house so you're at the right side, relieved that all the lights are off. You can see through the little half sliding window, covered in dust and pollen, that it leads to an empty hallway with more pale walls.

There's no doubt in your mind. You're already committed. One hand on the window and another against the house's siding for support, you push the window apart. It comes off easier than expected, wheezing from friction as you slowly ease the panel open. No going back, there is still no doubt in your mind. Returning Billy's weed is the best thing you could do for him. And would you look at that- can anyone really call it breaking and entering if you haven't broken anything?

Both palms clasping the edge of the window, you vault yourself up and over. Exiting the summer night air and entering the Hargrove home comes faster than expected, but your shoes touch down nonetheless. You'd say it feels like a dream, but it's too fast to be a dream. The wooden floors are too solid, and the smell of Billy is too strong.

Billy Hargrove's bedroom isn't far from the window you climbed through. It's a few steps forward from your position down the hallway and then to the left. You expect to see the door closed, probably locked, which was why you'd brought two long and thin hairpins to pick it open, but the door is open. Every single light in the house is off, and Billy Hargrove's room is dark.

Silently- and bravely- you peak your head into the room. Again, you expect to maybe see him in a limp heap on the bed, but yet again, it's empty. Better for you, you suppose. Easier to get in and out unnoticed.

You see the Metallica poster by his bed, the laundry shoved into the corner of the room. You see the plain blue curtains with the little tiny hole burnt into the fabric, the unmade bed, the bottles of cologne and hair product and combs. You see the closet, hastily left open. Even with the lights off, you see it all. You see Billy Hargrove's life.

It moves something inside of you. You're not sure why. But then you only use it as an incentive to not be weird, to not be a creep anymore then you've made yourself into. Hastily, eyes already adjusting to the dark, you pull the two nuggets of Billy Hargrove's strong California weed- one light green and one dark- and quickly walk over to the boys bedside table. There's nowhere to leave it organically really, so you opt for just placing it by the little table lamp. Not sure what Billy Hargrove has that for, you can't imagine he's doing much reading before bed.

And then it's done. The weed you stole is returned. All is well.

You back away slowly, almost as if the nuggets were cursed objects in a horror movie. Then you turn around, practically flying back down the hallway and launching yourself back through the window with ease. Maybe it's the anxiety, or the adrenaline, but you're quick as a cat and silent as a mouse. Your shoes crunch the grass once more and you feel the warm nights breeze caress your face, protecting you from any danger. You turn around and slide the window back shut until you hear the hissing turns into a final click.

Your shoulders soften, and you turn away from the house. The crickets are loud tonight, you realize, and the cicadas. They tell you that you did the right thing. They tell you that you did it out of something good instead of fear. It's enough.

When you come back to the front of the house, you expect to see the same emptiness you'd seen before. The street, some trees, the darkness and the moon. But you're met with the opposite.

Billy Hargrove stares at you. He leans against his blue car parked on the street right outside 4819 Cherry Lane. Cigarette in hand, he raises it to his lips and takes a drag, but his eyes never-not once- stray from your own. They're just piercing into yours yet again, daring you.

You are so fucked.

Billy takes the cigarette from his lips and breathes the air out. He reaches a finger out to you and pulls it back towards him in a 'come here' motion.

All you want to do is run away before he beats your skull into the dirt and breaks your arm. But if you imagine he's leaning against your locker instead of his car in the dead of night, suddenly it's not so scary. You swallow, and begin towards him.

When you're finally there, right in front of him, Billy's the one to speak first. His voice is low, but his face isn't outright fuming. You can't tell if that's better or worse. Billy Hargrove plotting doesn't exactly sit right with you, but you're not sure how much experience he has in that realm anyway.

"You broke into my house?"

"No. I didn't break anything."

Billy holds your stare. His face is the stone man once again. "You're funny," he says, in a tone that makes you believe you're not really all that funny at all. The pretty brunette takes another hit. From this close up, you realize it's not a cigarette at all, but a blunt. A skinny one sure, but the smell and shape is more than familiar. "What are you doin' in my house, L/N?"

Nope, don't say a word, your brain says. You obey. "Just browsing."

"Browsing?" Billy deadpans.

"Browsing."

It's silent. His blue eyes flicker back and forth between your own, digging out the truth. He'll find it sooner or later, you know that for sure. "You know, I've had some crazy girls do some crazy things for my attention," Billy Hargrove starts. "But this might just be the craziest."

The word slips out before you can control it. "Gross."

Of course, it wasn't gross. Billy accusing you of wanting his attention? It was half true. Maybe you cared for him just a little. You mean, he'd been sort of welcoming to you, hadn't he? That day in the car? And yesterday, at your locker?

There's another minute of silence. Billy Hargrove's eyes are still dancing between yours, and you're still holding it. There's no anxious pit in your stomach. There's no desire to take a step away. If he swings, he swings.

Instead, he says, "Want a hit?"

Your brows furrow in confusion. "I- I mean, yeah?"

"Take it." Billy takes a short hit himself before practically cramming the joint in your hand. "It's 4/20."

You observe the jay carefully, twisting it around in your fingers as your eyes scan it. It's not laced or poisoned, at least, given that it looks like Billy's been puffing on the thing for a while. But there's no reason at all for him to share with you. He did, after all, just catch you in a blatantly illegal act on his property. Simply informing you that it's April 20th isn't enough.

"You really want to smoke with me that bad?" you ask, tone genuine as you hesitantly raise it to your own mouth.

Billy shrugs.

"Thought you'd be more pissed," you only say instead. Then you accept your fate, inhaling the still light cherry.

It's much easier on your throat than the other time, not as harsh. It fills your lungs with peace, sucking up any last remnants of anxiety that might've lingered. When you open your eyes, Billy Hargrove is just as pretty as he was before you closed them. With all that effort going into his appearance, you guess he'd have to be. But Billy Hargrove probably would've been pretty no matter what. If he kept his hair long or short, messy or tamed, skin tanned or pale. Oddly enough, you really believed that. You really, truly did.

You pass the joint back to Billy. "Where's your parents?"

Billy shrugs once more, this time mid hit. "Hell if I know," he replies. "Vacation, I think? Little brat's off at a friends house til Sunday. Place is all mine."

His tone is easing up already, which you think to take as a good sign. When you open your hand, Billy passes the joint back to you with no hesitation. "Lucky," you offer back, taking your hit.

"Gonna need to light it again soon," the boy says. "Got a light here."

Sure enough, Billy produces a little metal lighter from his back pocket. Different from the one he used before, but smoother on the flame. He raises it up to the blunt, and you eye him for a moment before leaning in.

This hit is better than the last few. You want to smile after this one. "How'd you even know I was here?"

Billy Hargrove crosses his arms and settles back into his lean. "Divine providence," he drawls with a roll of his eyes.

"Don't be fuckin' lame."

"I'm sorry?" Billy's dark eyebrow quips up attentively. "Who just broke into who's house?"

You smirk a little- just a smug little twitch that you find you can't help. Whether it be the bud or the conversation, you stifle it best you can to no avail. "I already told you I didn't break anything."

"Mm," Billy hums. His face is full of sarcastic disbelief as he snatches the jay right out of your hand so fast, it burns the tip of your finger.

"I promise. I'd never."

Billy takes his hit. Both of his eyebrows raise in thought before he makes a point to blow the smoke in the exact direction of your face. Immediately, your eyes flutter close at the impact, which rivals that of a brick wall. Even your nose twitches at the force. "You think I'm going to trust the word of a criminal?"

You look at Billy Hargrove. Curly taupe hair. Big, blue, dollface eyes framed by perfectly full brows. A cute button nose. Tanned skin basking in the summer anticipation. He wasn't so bad, you supposed.

You can't help but dip your head as you smile, shaking your head as you find yourself growing shy.

Unknown to you, Billy smiles a little too, before raising the joint back to his lips and inhaling.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I HAVEN'T POSTED IN YEARS LMFAOOOOO. Hope everyone's doing well. This is just a little treat for you guys for the holiday if you celebrate. If not, just enjoy Billy. I actually kinda liked this pairing. I'd make a part 2, and I actually mean that. I do intend on getting back into posting but I need to do it at my own pace. I'm gonna close requests again so I don't get overwhelmed and just move slow. I am, as always, apologetic for any spelling errors I may have missed, and grammar errors, and I apologize if this at all feels rushed even though I've been working on it for the whole week. Sorta felt like I had to speed it up at the end since there is a word or paragraph cap on tumblr and i was getting hella nervous about hitting it. Anyway, stay safe, take care.

[kyberphilosopher]

Still here trying to push stuff out, just stressed and dying.

[kyberphilosopher]

U still alive?

Shockingly yes. Just slow in putting stuff out this year. Didnt realize life was gonna get busy

[kyberphilosopher]

Hi! Could you do a dialogue interaction with Kung Lao or Mileena sometime soon?

yes, absolutely. and i'll combine this with another request i got for kung lao recently too. the only reason i'm not putting anything out quickly is because i'm getting my ass kicked in college and my job, sorry

[kyberphilosopher]

Need advice for writing smut please

[kyberphilosopher]

Kabal Interaction Dialogues

All possible interactions between Kabal and Y/N.

Keep reading

[kyberphilosopher]

Updated

[kyberphilosopher]

im going to start utilizing the multiverse in certain parts of my works. for ex, different storylines, same characters. different possibilities. to start, i’ll be making an alternate (and better) part ii of Bite, the Jason Todd Robin x reader. dw all

[kyberphilosopher]

Noob Saibot Interaction Dialogues

All possible interactions between Noob Saibot and Y/N.

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Noob Saibot to Y/N

Y/N: Bi-Han! What happened to you? Noob Saibot: I ascended into a higher power. Y/N: You don’t look well, Bi-Han.

Y/N: Bi-Han! What happened to you? Noob Saibot: I ascended into a higher power. Y/N: And a darker one.

Noob Saibot: The dark calls to you. Y/N: Your memory fails you. Noob Saibot: I see more now than I ever have.

Y/N: Tell me, do you remember me? Noob Saibot: Memory is weakness. Y/N: That’s a lie.

Noob Saibot: I know you. Y/N: Yeah, I know you too. Noob Saibot: But now you must die.

Y/N: I don’t think I can kill you again. Noob Saibot: What is dead can not die. Y/N: But let’s try.

Noob Saibot: We knew you in a past life. Y/N: I don’t think I can control myself. Noob Saibot: Have you not changed?

Y/N: You are weak. Noob Saibot: I see more now than I ever have. Y/N: That’s a lie.

Noob Saibot: Become one with the shadows. Y/N: Don’t tell me what to do. Noob Saibot: Join us for eternity.

Noob Saibot: Become one with the shadows. Y/N: Not yet, thanks. Noob Saibot: You can not resist darkness.

Noob Saibot: Saibot has taken a liking to you. Y/N: Stay away from me, Bi-Han. Noob Saibot: You will never be free.

Y/N: I don’t trust this new you. Noob Saibot: What is to distrust? Y/N: Tell me you’re joking.

Y/N: Aren’t you looking lovely today. Noob Saibot: Flattery will not save you. Y/N: Just wanted to pretend.

Y/N: Do you have anything left to tell me, Bi-Han? Noob Saibot: Nothing you will like. Y/N: You’d be surprised, demon.

Noob Saibot: Your bones are strong. Y/N: Have to be to do what I do. Noob Saibot: We are stronger.

Y/N: Did you ever love me, Bi-Han? Noob Saibot: Love is a figment of imagination. Y/N: That’s it, give me my friend back, demon.

Noob Saibot: You no longer desire me in this state? Y/N:…Bi-Han? Is that you? Noob Saibot: There is only death.

Noob Saibot: Do you fear death? Y/N: You’re scaring me, Bi-Han. Noob Saibot: If only your fear brought me pleasure.

Noob Saibot: You still care for me. Y/N: Stay away from this, Bi-Han. Noob Saibot: We cannot.

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Raiden to Y/N

Raiden: What is this I hear about history with the shadow figure? Y/N: Trust me, just leave it. Raiden: That I cannot do.

Raiden: What is your relationship with Bi-Han? Y/N: Bi-Han is dead. Raiden: And yet something still burdens you.

Raiden: Where do your loyalties lie? Y/N: Wherever they take me. Raiden: That is what concerns me.

Y/N: Do gods understand love any better than humans? Raiden: We do not waste time on trivial matters. Y/N: A surprisingly helpful answer.

Y/N: What will you do about Bi-Han? Raiden: For the good of Earthrealm, I would see to it the shadow is gone. Y/N: Find a better way, Raiden.

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Sub-Zero to Y/N

Y/N: I knew your brother, once. Sub-Zero: What exactly happened between the two of you? Y/N: All you need to know is: not anymore.

Sub-Zero: How did you know my brother? Y/N: None of your business, usurper. Sub-Zero: Does the memory reign fresh?

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Kitana to Noob Saibot

Noob Saibot: I will give you the kiss of death. Kitana: You have somebody else who would like that more. Noob Saibot: Your insolence will not go unpunished.

Kitana: Your lover misses you. Noob Saibot: Death has no lover. Kitana: Their tears garden the ground you walk on.

Kitana: Y/N longs for you, Bi-Han. Noob Saibot: They long for release. Kitana: Then I will release the both of you now.

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Mileena to Noob Saibot

Mileena: I will devour your lover whole. Noob Saibot: You will do no such thing. Mileena: How tasty.

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Shao Kahn to Y/N

Shao Kahn: Your partner was stolen from you. Y/N: Yours ended her life to be rid of you. Shao Kahn: If only you’d been there to protect him.

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Shang Tsung to Noob Saibot

Noob Saibot: How do we return to our mortal body? Shang Tsung: Now, now, you don’t like this form? Noob Saibot: Allow us to share it with you.

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Shang Tsung to Y/N

Y/N: What is the cure for death? Shang Tsung: The same as the cure for life. Y/N: You and your riddles.

Y/N: Necromancy. Tell me about it. Shang Tsung: Tsk, Tsk, how demanding. Y/N: In the name of Bi-Han, I sentence you to die.

Shang Tsung: Why do I feel that we have been here before? Y/N: Your delusions control you. Shang Tsung: At least I do not believe I am loved by a shadow.

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Scorpion to Y/N

Y/N: You took my love from me. Scorpion: Sub-Zero must pay for what he’s done. Y/N: He was my friend!

Y/N: Any last words? Scorpion: Today is not the day I die. Y/N: I sentence you to death, Hanzo Hasashi.

Y/N: Bi-Han suffered for your personal gain. Scorpion: It was a deserved fate. Y/N: I sentence you to death, Hanzo Hasashi.

Scorpion: Will you ever stop trying to kill me? Y/N: Not as long as I live. Scorpion: That will not be for long.

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*Read* All ____ Interaction Dialogues can be updated and added upon at any time. Dialogues can be changed on whim, request, or added too appropriately. Return frequently for more dialogues.

This is shorter than usual, but I wanted to put something out. Noob Saibot interaction dialogues will be updated sometime soon and frequently.

[kyberphilosopher]

If you have time, would you do Bi Han / Noob Saibot interaction intros? With a player that was his soon to be lover / deep crush before his death

For shizzles. I can crank this out fairly quickly so you won’t have to wait long like other requests (sorry guys)

[kyberphilosopher]

Kabal Interaction Dialogues

All possible interactions between Kabal and Y/N.

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Kabal to Y/N:

Kabal: Fancy seeing you here. Y/N: This feels... unlikely. Kabal: Don’t act like you’re not feelin’ me.

Y/N: Speedy? Kabal: You could say that, yeah. Y/N: I’ll call you ‘hooker’ for hookswords next.

Y/N: Just how fast are you? Kabal: I’m sure you’d like to find out. Y/N: <sigh.>

Kabal: There’s a price on your head. Y/N: Mistakes finally catching up to me? Kabal: Happens to the best of us, sweetheart.

Kabal: Should I even offer my services? Y/N: Think Kano would have something to say about that. Kabal: I said my services. Not Kano’s.

Y/N: Wanna race? Kabal: I’ll wipe the floor with you. Y/N: Someone can’t take a challenge.

Y/N: Wanna race? Kabal: I’ll wipe the floor with you. Y/N: Not if I snap your legs.

Kabal: What’s this I hear about your hooksword fantasy? Y/N: You believe anything. Kabal: Care to prove me wrong?

Y/N: Do you do anything besides run fast? Kabal: Word on the street is I can handle my own blades. Y/N: Lots of people can do that.

Kabal: What makes you think I’m stealing your underwear? Y/N: I can see the purple light, Kabal. Kabal: Ah... shit.

Y/N: Do you do anything besides run fast? Kabal: I’ve got a tendency to be pretty damn romantic. Y/N: What’re you telling me for?

Kabal: You. Me. Fighting? Y/N: Surprised? Kabal: <chuckles.> Nah.

Kabal: You’re really this upset with me? Y/N: I thought we were friends, Kabal. Kabal: Thought we were more than friends.

Y/N: What’s the price for you to stop following me? Kabal: For you? I’ll settle for a kiss and a dime. Y/N: Me, and everyone else you’ve ever followed.

Y/N: That mask ever come off? Kabal: What’s it to you? Y/N: Meh, just curious.

Y/N: That mask ever come off? Kabal: What’s it to you? Y/N: It won’t be the only thing coming off.

Kabal: Can’t run from feelings forever. Y/N: That’s ironic coming from you. Kabal: Guess I’ll make the first move.

Kabal: You and I are going in circles. Y/N: What’s so bad about a circle? It never ends. Kabal: Love the optimism but I’m more of a ‘let’s do this’ typa’ guy.

Kabal: Always look forward to going at it with you. Y/N: Kano said the same thing to me earlier. Kabal: Don’t tell me you fight just anybody.

Y/N: You never leave me alone, do you? Kabal: You'd rather never run into each other, huh? Y/N: I’d rather put you out of your misery.

Kabal: You’re colder than Frost. Y/N: Do not put me in line with her. Kabal: It’s a compliment, sweetheart.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Kano to Y/N:

Kano: What’s been goin’ on between you and Kabal? Y/N: Nothing. You’re delusional. Kano: Now why so defensive?

Kano: What’s been goin’ on between you and Kabal? Y/N: Guess he’s funny. Kano: I’ve been around the bloke plenty. He ain’t that funny.

Kano: Have you and Kabal ever...? Y/N: Leave it alone, Kano. Kano: Then you wouldn’t mind comin’ home with me, eh?

Y/N: Go easy on Kabal. Kano: What’s it to you? Y/N: I’d rather look at his ugly mug over yours.

Kano: How’s the speedster treatin’ you in bed? Y/N: Wouldn’t know. Kano: You’ve got the same defiance.

Y/N: How much does that eye see? Kano: I know about you and Kabal. Y/N: There’s a price for that.

Y/N: How much does that eye see? Kano: I know about you and Kabal. Y/N: I knew there was a reason I never liked you.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Kano to Kabal:

Kano: Think I’ll send you after Y/N next. Kabal: So? Think I can’t do it? Kano: Think you’ve gone soft.

Kabal: Enough with the catcalling. Kano: Since when do you give the orders? Kabal: Since I got tired of your bullshit.

Kano: You’re chasing a fine piece of ass. Kabal: Which one? Kano: The only one.

Kano: Flirting won’t pay your bills, mate. Kabal: You’re talking to hooker the hookswordsman, funny you should mention it. Kano: This is what I’m talking about.

Kano: Hear you’ve got a new friend. Kabal: I don’t make friends. Kano: That’s exactly what Y/N said.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Johnny Cage to Kabal:

Johnny Cage: Glad to see you’re finally starting a family. Kabal: The hell are you talkin’ about, old man? Johnny Cage: I can see the headlines now.

Johnny Cage: Who do you think we should get to play Y/N in my movie? Kabal: I’ll make my own movie with em’. Johnny Cage: That’s just gross.

Johnny Cage: So, you and Y/N, huh? Kabal: I’m not allowed to have very near and dear friends anymore? Johnny Cage: I’m not heartless, Kabal!

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Skarlet to Y/N:

Skarlet: Your blood is still pumping. Y/N: Well I had to jog all the way over here. Skarlet: I think a visit with the black dragon thug is more likely.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Cassie Cage to Y/N:

Cassie Cage: Dad says you’re into Kabal. Y/N: Your dad’s been wrong about relationships before though, right? Cassie Cage: Okay, you’re asking for it.

Cassie Cage: How come you and I never hang out? Y/N: Maybe I’m worried you’ll shoot right through me. Cassie Cage: But you’re not worried about the man with the speed blitzing record?

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Cassie Cage to Kabal:

Cassie Cage: Got any cute pictures with Y/N? Kabal: A few, yeah. Cassie Cage: And you didn’t post them?!

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Spawn to Kabal:

Spawn: You and Y/N are the worst kept secret in hell. Kabal: You spyin’ on us? Spawn: I could hear you from the seventh circle.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Erron Black to Y/N: 

Erron Black: Never would’ve thought of you and Kabal. Y/N: We’re friends. Got any? Erron Black: Not those kind of friends.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Erron Black to Kabal:

Erron Black: Slow down, Kabal. Kabal: I’m startin’ to settle down. Erron Black: Sure you’re not getting ready to run away again?

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Kung Lao to Y/N:

Y/N: That hat’s ridiculous. Kung Lao: I’m not the one with the walking, talking, speeding handbag. Y/N: <gasp.> I can’t believe you’d forget about Jade like that!

Y/N: Dung Lao. Kung Lao: You and Kabal are just alike. Y/N: Alright, now you’ve taken things too far.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Sindel to Kabal:

Sindel: So you do slow down, Kabal. Kabal: I’ve only sped up. Sindel: Not for your lover, it seems.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

End of Round Taunts

Kabal: This hurts me more than it hurts you. Kabal: Want me to kiss it make it better? Kabal: What a view. Kabal: I know you can do better than that. Kabal: Kaball’s in your mouth. Kabal: Masochist. Kabal: Should I spank you? Kabal: Tell me if it hurts. Kabal: Oh, I’m sorry, did I cut you? Kabal: Knew you’d go easy on me. Kabal: Now I’ve got your attention.

Y/N: Slowpoke. Y/N: On your knees. Y/N: The Flash would’ve done better. Y/N: Catch me if you can. Y/N: What makes you think you could give me better? Y/N: Tell me if it hurts. Y/N: All talk. Y/N: Look who’s on bottom now. Y/N: You’ll be lucky I don’t tell Kano. Y/N: I’ll make this up to you. Y/N: Caught off guard? Y/N: Nothing personal.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

End of Round Actions

Never Late: [Kabal will speed away, speed back, and present Y/N with flowers before tossing them to the floor.]

I Heart You: [Y/N will bend two minor weapons in their arsenal into two halves of a heart at Kabal.]

Remind Him: [Y/N will blow Kabal a kiss]

Finish Them!: [Kabal will speed away off screen, return holding an ongoing vibrator, and smash it to the floor]

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Brutality Dialogues

[Upon preforming a brutality on Kabal] Y/N: He was a distraction.

[Upon preforming a brutality on Y/N] Kabal: I’ll miss ya.

[Upon preforming a brutality on Kabal] Y/N: There goes that third leg.

[Upon preforming a brutality on Y/N] Kabal: And you said we were just friends.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Character Endings

[Upon Defeating Kronika] Kabal:

Shit sounds cool, right? The power to control time, space, reality- hell, you name it. Until you realize you’ll outlive all your friends for all eternity, and you don’t even get paid for it. So I did the logical step, and gave the hourglass back to Kronika.

She didn’t complain much. All I asked in return was a chance at anyone who’d ever crossed me, minus one. And, well, after taking care of that business, I asked Kronika for something else.

With all the weekends you can bag, I got Y/N and I a nice house away from all that noise. No more Kano, no more Black Dragon, no more fuss. Kronika keeps offering me a truly normal life to live without the speed, but hey, Y/N seems to like it. They seem to like it so much, they scream it whenever I’m taking them down. [chuckles].

[Upon defeating Kronika] Y/N:

Beating the shit out of Kronika was probably the best thing I ever did. But with her out of the way, someone had to take over as Titan of time. There wasn’t too much I could’ve changed- wanted to change, at least- but then I thought’ve the perfect person for the job: Kano.

His disappearance made strides for the Black Dragon. That idiot, never using a logical thought. But Kabal did. Kabal… my friend. Taking over was so much easier than we thought. The rewards went beyond getting paid.

And then, well, I can’t remember. After Kano went on to become the time master, my memory started getting hazy. Black Dragon… Kabal… who is that? Why does it feel like somethings missing? [sigh.] In any case, whoever keeps leaving flowers in my room better reveal themselves shortly. Stressing over Kano’s next move can’t be solved with little unexplainable treats appearing around me. Whoever it is that I can’t see… they’re my best friend.

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.☆.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

*Read* All ____ Interaction Dialogues can be updated and added upon at any time. Dialogues can be changed on whim, request, or added too appropriately. Return frequently for more dialogues.

[kyberphilosopher]

GET OVER HERE

FINISH HIM! [4/2/2022]

[Player 1]

Scorpion Fatalities: 🡨🡫🡫 □, 🡫🡪🡨 △ Fatality. Scorpion Wins. Flawless Victory.

Scorpion v. Y/N Interaction Dialogues

Singe - Scorpion travels through the deserted road, but it is not so deserted after all.

Kabal Fatalities: 🡨🡪🡫 🡪X, 🡫🡫🡫O Fatality. Kabal Wins. Flawless Victory.

Kabal v. Y/N Interaction Dialogues

Skarlet Fatalities: 🡪🡨🡫X, 🡫🡫🡪O Fatality. Skarlet Wins. Flawless Victory.

Skarlet v. Y/N Interaction Dialogues

I Heart You- Skarlet’s skills in blood magik come in use when attempting to court.

Noob Saibot Fatalities: 🡨🡪🡨🡪□,  🡨🡪🡨🡪O Fatality. Noob Saibot Wins. Flawless Victory.

Noob Saibot Interaction Dialogues