#{don't leave I just need a wake-up call || visage}

[daniellaxrizzo]

tag dump!

[acid-ixx]

to you, my greatest passion (soft yandere! batfam x traumatized! reader oneshot)

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

tw: allusions to stockholm syndrome, flawed relationship (they have no concept of boundaries) and mild descriptions of injuries and torture (not by the batfam). read until the end for an author's note. happy 4k followers to me :)) uh leave comments if u like this type of analysis and want to see more. i had no direction for writing this. please don't let this flop huhu i might delete this since i don't like it

as much as i love my angst, we all need something soft at times, and moments with yan!batfam with a reader who is absolutely fucking broken from their past that the mere implication that someone could love them is enough to let them melt into whoever's chest they lay upon that night.

just, hurt/comfort. one that heals the soul in its overly possessive embrace. the same way chapped lips peck softly on your cheeks, muscled arms caress your fragile, shivering body, and legs tangle upon yours in a cacophony of warm, cozy blankets.

where as the longer time passes in the manor, the more you learn to love. to let go of the painful memories your tormenters left you. to allow past scars to heal into a mere visage of what once was streaks coated in blood. your family acts as your new abductors, yes, but how could you hold your freedom against them when it is them that comfort you from drowning through the deepest depths of your nightmares?

nightmares of the past, of the knives that break through your already gashed skin, or the ropes that burn through bruises and laceration— every time you wake up crying, with tears running down your cheeks and a pained cry; a recollection of the torture you were subject to, it is them that come running to your room not a moment after.

it's bruce's tall, domineering form that crumbles into soft, snug pillows for you. your father arms that punches criminals into prison become the shoulder you lean on. calloused fingers rub your cheeks, wiping away your tears, holding your face in his palms like you're the most fragile thing on earth— and you are. every time he looks at your dampened eyes and sniffling nose, he gets reminded of how lonely he was as a child, who lost his parent too young to the cruelty of the world, of gotham and her unyielding coldness. and when he reminisces, he begins to cage you in his arms a tad bit tighter, begins to comfort you longer and softer than he has ever done with anyone else, as if he is reassuring himself. it is with you that his vulnerability, that fear of loss becomes all too stronger. and every time you cry a bit longer, your hold on his sleeves becoming unyielding, does bruce become crueler in his pursuit of fighting crime, a lesson to himself that the people he punishes are those with hands capable enough to harm you, his precious, his pearl that glints throughout the moonlight.

whenever your father is unavailable, it's dick who runs to you, with all the intention to provide you comfort. it's him who calls you his baby bird, as he reassures you that you're no burden in his eyes every time you scream in terror as your sleep. it's him who loves to drown you in his affection, always near, always close, never far and never too much. physically, he's the most doting to a fault. tender, yet tight were his hugs. his kisses to your cheeks and your forehead always linger, as if hesitant to release itself from its rightful place. it's a testiment to how much he loves you, how he's incapable of separating himself from you. god, he loves you so much he wishes he'd just melt right into your skin, so that you actually finally realize how you're the most important thing in the world to him. you, his baby bird. if he had met you sooner, quite earlier, right after his parent's have died, then maybe he could've managed his anger better, could've learned to cope with you through the battles you both fought. it's with you that dick feel unbearably euphoric, ready to spill his love to the point where tears consume his eyes and his head laid on your chest refuses to detach itself.

jason isn't familiar with what warmth feels like, not anymore. but when he sees your hapless state, he sees a reflection of himself in that abandoned warehouse. broken, defiled, hurt. with nothing to comfort you from the cold other than the ropes that burn through your skin and the adrenaline that runs through your veins. he forgots what solace feels like, what it means, but through your shared trauma does jason learn. he learns to talk to you, with you, learns to pinpoint each and every emotion he felt at the time, what you felt inside that putrid basement. he learns to manage his grief because he doesn't want to anger himself looking at you, at just how much justice can only serve so many. the longer you talk to jason, the more he becomes softer, yet hungrier. he learns how to hold you in a way a brother learns to hold his baby sibling for the first time when conceived. he relearns the warmth he felt, like when he was finally able to be good enough to be the successor to the title of robin, when he felt you drool on his chest when you trusted him enough to sleep in his room. yet this time that feeling was accompanied with that ominous, distracting essence. one that makes jason's knuckles crack and have him prepare his guns, as he discovers that you can never truly erase the past. and even though it might take years for him to be your ideal brother, he could at least be your sole protector.

then there's tim, who never truly had the opportunity to develop that deeper sense of love he wanted to feel until he was officially adopted into the wayne family right after his parents' death. don't get him wrong, he loves his mom and dad, and so does he loves his current family— but it's obsession that drives him nonetheless. the need to prove himself, to gather information about everyone to know who they truly are; beyond that there's nothing more than shallowness, a neverending hole he can't satisfy. but with you? oh god, you. to tim, you're his everything. you devour his being whole. with you, there's always something new. the need to track every single thing about you leads him into this cycle of want and need that coagulates into desire, into drive. every time you smile, or laugh, or frown, he gains newer intel about you, one he loops into the deepest crevices of his brain at a constant, you are his constant. but staying right behind you can only do so much. and as he sits right beside you in bed, awkwardly comforting you through the ways he mirrored off from his brothers: a sloppy kiss to your knuckles, a joke cracked here and there, and wiping your eyes and nose with his sleeves; tim learns that stalking can only do so much. he learns what it feels like to be needed for emotional connection and nothing else and that only further motivates him to be perfect for you, and to be with you, his sibling, more often than to simply live right under your nose.

and damian, your baby brother, who's unsurprisingly the one who sleeps in your room, or has you sleep in his room, the most. damian tells himself he's incapable of love, of showing it or reciprocating it. but for you, he tries, and like jason, he learns. he discovers just how depraved both of you are when it comes to love. it enlightens you both and it makes damian feel a deeper sense of connection with you than anyone else. with you, he feels like a child: vulnerable, yet uncaring and free, like the true meaning of being a robin, one the soars through the skies with no grandfather or mother or league to watch your every step as their successor. all the times you cry, he silently sobs with you, holding your cheeks down to his level with scarred palms. silent, yet comforting, he'd allow his smaller form to simply become your teddy bear whilst he whispers consolations. about how strong his older sibling is, how precious you are for being comfortable with him to speak of your problems, how you're everything to damian just as he wishes to be the world for you. it makes you think you're more immature that him, it makes him grateful that he has you. even though he doesn't say it, he shows through actions just how truly important you are whenever he draws a sword towards his enemies, thinking about you and his unsaid promises.

nights where you're reminded of that solitary confinement, of the darkness that creeps into your vision and the voices that pierce through your ears. nights where you feel you've exhausted yourself of hope, where what was once warmth that hugs your heart is now that frigid, yet burning spikes that penetrates into the confidence that you'll somehow, someday, run away from that hellhole— those were nights you thought you'd never live with proper sleep. but as one or two of them holds you in their embrace whenever your nightmares consume your being, you're slowly allowing your established walls to fall apart, all for the mere implication of their love.

who would save you, if not for them? their hushed whispers of consolation, hands that wrap around your figure, and fingers that knead your cheeks provide you that deep sated comfort you always wanted. the sleeves they use to wipe away both saltine liquid and snot, to slowly silence your blubbering rambles, your inconsolable crying; it's warmer than the basement you used to be locked in as a child, with dripping faucets the only source of your water— they saved you once before, who's to say they won't save you a thousand times more?

every time you feel like crying, every time that familiar faulty tap in your eyes begins to dampen against ashen skin, it's them that asks you if you're alright. even if you grit your teeth, even if you seeth or bite or beat or punch or kick, to punish yourself, to cope through the trauma, to not feel nothing.

every time pain begins to sear through your skin, it's your grandfather, father, brothers and sisters that huddle around you and tell you 'you're safe here, in the manor, with us'.

every time they spend hours, ditching patrol nights, cooking your comfort food, reading your favorite books, watching movies for hours, ignoring your assigned sleep schedule, kissing your scarred hands gently, reverently, cuddling your form against their strong ones as a silent promise that with them, there's nothing to harm you no more— you'd feel lighter every time, a tad happier, even. slowly, but surely, melting against the confines of your adorned cage and the embrace of your loving captors.

every time they help you heal, it makes you forgive, and it makes you forget their prior kidnapping in return of building new memories with them, in a safer haven, with nobody to hurt you any longer, with nobody to bash your head against concrete walls, to punish you. you who is underserving of the circumstances bought upon you back then.

safe, a word you thought you'll never feel, a word you didn't even know existed in the crevices of your heart. but it is with them that you slowly start to associate safe with family.

the family that you've come to love and cherish in your own imperfect ways, the same way a stray dog becomes too loyal to a passerby when given bones for leftovers every day.

but you're not an animal, and you're not a pavlovian dog meant to be conditioned. no, you're their baby, their love, their treasure and their only one. the love they feed you exceeds beyond leftovers. only you can devour them wholly, the same way they cloak your world in the love that fills that neverending pit in your heart.

you're not biologically related to any of them in any way, too. yet it was all a matter of coincidence that they stumbled upon you.

but really, past is past.

then is then.

now it's just you and them.

it's you, with them.

just your family. overbearing, overprotective, overpowering.

but nothing is always over to you. their love isn't too much. how could you tell yourself it's too much? not when you were never given a basis of what is too much. how is one too much when you were never even given enough?

trust is built upon a foundation of connecting with others who can relate with you one way or another, who can see past through your flaws and mistakes— it's a bond that precedes mere acquaintanceship.

you might've met them later than everyone else, but it's you that completes them.

you're the puzzle that completes the family photographs, the goal for bruce to continue his legacy as batman and to ward off all evil, the inspiration for dick to be that aspiring hero everyone sees him to be, the reason jason begins to reform himself for your sake, the purpose for tim's endless pursuit of knowledge, the muse for damian's painting, the subject for his love he thought was no more, the ambition for steph's prolongation despite her countless of failures, the motivation for barbara to seek out all the criminals who have harmed you, the influence for cass to be stronger to protect you, the catalyst for duke to use his metahuman abilities for good, to take out those who walk in broad daylight, as if they weren't involved in your past tortures.

you're everything that they are.

their sunshine and moonlight, their companionship and loneliness, their pain and pleasure, their yin and yan.

their greatest passion.

a/n: hii guys erm. this is so sudden and also counts as a rant but yk... i feel like quitting this blog but at the same time not. it's just, i feel like writing has been more of an obligation than anything else. it doesn't help the fact that i've only been getting interaction if i were to actually produce something good. beyond that, it feels like people are expecting more of me. i get it, updates are sporadic, they appear in the blink of an eye when you least expect it, but at the same time it's just hard juggling what i want to write and what i feel like i need to write. this blog was primarily to post about my thoughts and to talk to people but lately, every time i open this app to write, i feel these plethora of thoughts and expectations telling me that if i don't do well enough then people would merely ignore whatever i post or it's just bad by standards. and yes i'm grateful for all the people supporting my writing, but at the same time i'm lead to a cycle of me losing my motivation to continue writing. ugh idk what im doing anymore help :((

tl;dr: will i stop writing? no, but at the same time i don't know. someday, i may deactivate this account out of impulse if i feel too much, or not. it depends hehe.

[neerons]

Some of Clavis Lelouch’s best quotes + Cyran's bonus quotes

"Tell me, Emma, what do you think is the best way to wake someone who's really bad at waking up? (...) That's right, you stab them." (—Clavis talking about Chevalier to Emma)

"Finding such a handsome man in your room is enough to leave anyone breathless. Take your time. I know I'm easy on the eyes. (...) Oh, nice reaction! There's nothing like a good AHHHHH to get me in the mood."

“I didn’t do anything. But next time, don’t be intimidated by these status-crazed nobles. You don’t owe them anything—not even a smile. If someone looks down on you, look down on them in return. Otherwise, your self-worth will start to plummet. Never abandon your self-respect just to calm the situation. I know you’re a wonderful person—I wouldn’t have chosen you as my wife if not.”

"You succumbed to delusion."

"You weren't paying any attention to me at all. I got so lonely, I almost died!"

"...I want to make love to you."

"I'll tell you a secret about Chevalier. You want to know right? I bet you do. (...) He likes romance novels, but the reason for that is... Me. (...) One day, I secretly added to his pile of books... I put a book that boasted its dewy, spicy romance in the pile."

"Haha! When you're as handsome as I am, you look good no matter what state you're in. You just need better understanding of aesthetics." (—Clavis to the "Obsidianite soldier")

"Haha! You don't need to apologize. Who says only kids are allowed to be bouncy? What's wrong with adults being genuine about loving the things they love?"

"Oh, the things you say! Don't you realize you threaten to unleash the beast that hides behind this gentleman's visage?" (—Clavis' thoughts about Emma)

"What a fool I was to think I was done falling in love with you. The depths I could fall for you seem endless."

“We can do it on the table, or by the windowsill again, if you like. Ah, but I don’t recommend the floor—not unless you’re into that.”

"I would never allow my lovely fiancee to live a life of fear. And so I must take it upon myself to indulge her in a life of joy." (—Clavis' thoughts about Emma)

"Wait, wait, wait! (...) Chevalier, you cannot possibly be trying to replace the words 'I love you' with that one kiss. (...) Why else would Emma have dressed up so beautifully? It's all so she can hear you say those three words! (...) Yes, not all things need to be said, but there is a purpose in giving words to feelings. That's how you can bring them into the real world. Chev, you can't let Emma guess how you truly feel forever. Just tell her. (...) The average person can't read minds like you do. Don't assume that Emma knows everything just because you do." (—Clavis to Chevalier, in Chevalier's route)

"I'm charming, aren't I?"

"Here you are, alone in a secret room with a handsome prince. Why are you only interested in those lifeless husks? (...) That's a little offensive, you know."

"Haha! Go to hell." (—Clavis to Chevalier)

"Goodness, I've never visited that bookstore, and to think it was hiding a gem all this time..." (—Clavis' thoughts about Emma)

"Dear me, it looks like they started running the second they spotted me. Haha! That's optimistic of them. " (—Clavis talking about Yves and Licht to Emma)

"You could at least call it artistic. My handwriting conceals talent that would surpass that of a genius artist. (...) It's readable. So long as you take the time to decode it! Haha!" (—Clavis to Jin)

"Ah... Hahaha! I can't believe you headbutted me! You should've slapped me, at least."

"There's no rule that says you have to drink alcohol once you come of age. That said, it might be more romantic to let you get drunk and then take care of you until you sober up. Wait here, I'll just get some—"

"Of course, I'm not trying to criticize your own personal standards for good and evil. But throughout our lives, we're constantly being confronted by our perceptions of good and evil. And there are times when we might regret it later, if we decide to be critical of something simply because 'it's evil'. Our own individual standards for good and evil may not always be aligned with the kingdom's standards for good and evil. And if that happens, wouldn't you want to remain true to your own standards? To what you believe is good and right?"

"So you're comfortable drinking. I'll keep that in mind." (—Clavis' thoughts about Emma)

"(...) I'm well aware that of all the princes, I was the one most loved by his mother. Although I suppose it's not really a surprise, given how adorable and cute I was. (...) Haha! Why are you apologizing? There's no rule that says we can't talk about the deceased. And there's no need to feel guilty, either. I'm not some silly child who gets all worked up just from thinking about her." (—Clavis talking about his mother to Emma)

"I love drawing attention to myself, you know that. I wanted everyone in the palace talking about me, so I made it seem as if I'd gone missing." (—Clavis to Sariel)

"...You're surprisingly sweet on Emma, aren't you?" (—Clavis to Chevalier)

"Well obviously, because I like rabbits. And from what I know of rabbits... They may seem aloof, but they're actually very sweet and loving, and if you're lucky, they'll even let you see that side of them. I think they're adorable. And despite being delicate and easily frightened, they won't run from anything—they'll stand their ground and put on a brave face. I can't think of any other creature that instills in me such an urge to protect them. You see? Everything about them is lovable." (—Clavis talking about Emma secretly)

"But that's why Rhodolite is so well-balanced. If we all agreed with Leon, the kingdom would constantly be in danger from outside. If we all agreed with Chevalier, it would end up a dictatorship."

"You're about the only person who willingly visits the brutal beast's lair."

"Just so we're clear, this doesn't even count as a setback to me. I've tasted defeat countless times at the hands of a brother more beastly than anyone in Obsidian. I've never once made the right choice. I'm a loser, constantly making mistakes, and constantly being laughed at for them. (...) When you fail, it's easy to give up. It's easy to think your ideas are wrong, and yield to the right choice. But this is what I do. Every time I fail, I get up again, and I fight even harder, so that next time, maybe I won't fail. I don't care about what's right for the kingdom. I stay true to what's right for me, and that's the only way I've found any meaning in my life. Even if what I believe to be right and true is actually wrong, and even if I'm called evil and wicked for doing what I do... I'll fight against the brutal beast's methods with everything I have in me. And I'm not going to die until I've made him kneel before me, and accepted that my beliefs are just as righteous as his are. (...) And since I've spent my life tasting nothing but defeat, I think I can declare this with some certainty. So long as you go on living, you'll never really be a loser. Because there is no such thing. Even if you lost this time, you just have to win next time to be the winner. And if nothing else, you'd be able to die a prouder man than you will now. (...) Today's failures will lead you to tomorrow's hope. Always, as long as you don't give up. And that's why I'm going to get up and try again. What about you? Are you going to die a dog's death here?" (—Clavis to the "Obsidianite soldier")

"What a shame... Were my hands not bound right now... I'd already be making love to you."

"Haha! Not a chance. I adore her." (—Clavis denying disliking Emma to Gilbert)

"I've always tried to be a gentleman, and live by the tenet that women are free to come and go as they please. But with you, I find myself wondering whether I should be using handcuffs, rope, or maybe a strong net."

"All right, then, I guess I'll just have to slip a few weapons into your luggage to help celebrate your departure. At the very least, I've already included a shovel." (—Clavis helping Emma escape from Obsidian)

"My brother is an absolute genius when it comes to angering people in just about every way possible. He outclasses us all in that, too." (—Clavis talking about Chevalier)

"Dearie me, don't tell me you're here for a secret tryst with my brother? I never imagined this unsociable beast might finally have his sexual awakening—" (—Clavis talking about Chevalier to Emma)

"(...) It's a water jet device designed to keep you cool in sultry summer evenings. I made it expressly for you. Isn't it brilliant?"

"The only people he could hold a proper conversation with were those who faced him head-on." (—Clavis' thoughts about Chevalier)

"(...) I don't care about me, but I don't think it's appropriate to be pointing guns at a woman, do you?" (—Clavis protecting Emma from 'someone')

"You really are gorgeous... I'm so captivated by you... that I feel I might forget how to be a gentleman for good."

"You could tie me down any day, my lovely fiancee."

"Ah. Hello, insecurity. I had not missed you at all. If I want to make my lovely fiancee happy, I'm going to need to start being more confident." (—Clavis' thoughts)

"You're so beautiful when you're watching something with rapt attention."

"How could you treat your kind little brother like this, when he worked himself to the bone trying to keep your library nice and tidy? I'm going to tell Emma on you." (—Angry Clavis to Chevalier)

"Well, first, I'd love to be able to pamper you in the bathroom. I want to wash your hair and gently exfoliate your skin so it's super soft. (...) Next, I want to hire a famous artist to draw a portrait of you than I can hang on my wall. I want one so big it'll cover the entire thing. Maybe I'll even get a bunch of you drawn. Seeing lots of you while I work would be good for motivation. (...) Also, I would love it if we could change up how we say good night. Every day, before bed, I want us to say 'I love you' instead of just 'good night'. (...) Oh, it's also my dream to go on a trip around the world with you! I just want to explore new sights with you and kiss and cuddle you in new places."

Cyran's bonus quotes:

"(...) Prince Clavis lies incessantly, so feel free to ignore everything he says. (...) Everything. You've no need to be worried about his feelings, or even keep him company. And it might be in your best interests to refuse to eat any of this." (—Cyran talking about Clavis and his cooking to Emma, in front of Clavis)

"You're still half-asleep, aren't you? You're a disgrace." (—Cyran to Clavis)

"When we finally catch up to him, I think we should team up and give him a good scolding!" (—Cyran talking about Clavis to Emma)

"Since you left me behind like that, I've decided to hold a grudge against you forever. (...) Do it again and I'll throttle you, master or no. Just so you know." (—Cyran to Clavis)

"My Lady, I'm afraid that Prince Clavis's plan is truly stupid. A prince in his right mind would never even plan such a thing, and the average person would recoil in shock at the very idea of it."

"Prince Clavis, you can't just go casually tossing your head in her lap like that. My Lady, you're more than welcome to slap him awake at this point."

"(...) despite all that, there was one fool prince who stormed into the camp where the prisoners were being held. Yep, I'm talking about the idiot prince currently sleeping like a babe in your lap."

"From the way he acts, it's easy to mistake him for a fool and a scoundrel, but... at heart, he's the kindest, most compassionate man I've ever met." (—Cyran talking about Clavis to Emma)

"...So where is he, this handsome man? (...) ...You're a total mess right now, you realize. You look dreadful. Want me to get you a mirror?" (—Cyran to Clavis)

"My Lady, I truly am sorry, but... I've been ordered to inform you that, and I quote, 'your prince is in grave danger and needs you to rescue him! Ahaha'! (...) ...He insisted I include the 'ahaha' at the end." (—Cyran delivering a message from Clavis to Emma)

"Very well. I'll inform him that you said to die in pain and agony." (—Cyran talking about Clavis to Chevalier)

"Really? Are you sure? Ahh, this is great, it means I can get away from my troublesome master for a while. I look forward to serving you, My Lady, and I'll do my absolute best for you!" (—Cyran replying to Clavis' order to be Emma's personal bodyguard)

"My Lady, you're the sort of person who worries constantly about other people, without ever thinking about yourself. Like at the party, when you tried to protect Prince Gilbert from that guy with the knife. That sort of thing."

"...Farewell, my peaceful days."

"...Stay strong, my lady. I know exactly how you feel, but know that I am cheering you on."

[wh1msic4lwasab1]

"𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐮𝐦?"

synopsis: it's finals week and you just need some quiet to work, but your roommate can't do even that for you. Somehow still managing to fuck you senseless after a heated argument.

tags: college au, rough, messy, vulgar, explicit, humiliation, creampie.

wrd cnt: 2.3k

a/n: repost/rewrite from first acc!

You were in your room trying your hardest to study, but that was constantly interrupted by the loud noise coming from the stereo. Angrily, you had about enough of that shit and walked out of your bedroom into the one Geto was in, your brows already furrowed in annoyance with him, who was in his room; feet kicked up onto his desk and a pencil twirling in his hands as the music shook the walls, now staring at you with a grin on his face.

"You look like a mess. What's wrong sweetheart, did I disturb your nap?" He could already see the lack of amusement appearing on your face after he called you that name.

Without a word, you walk up to his desk and turn off the device, folding your hands in front of your chest in response of his inconsiderate behavior.

Geto watched as you angrily stood infront of him, his laughter subsiding slightly "Oh, the music? Could have just said that y’know."

You roll your eyes and try to walk back to your room. "Do you listen to anything I say?"

Geto quickly got up from the desk chair and grabbed your arm before you could make it out the door, pulling you back into his room "You know, it's not very nice to walk away from a conversation."

"Oh is that what this is? I think it's over now."

"Oh cmon' y/n, If i'm waking you up from your beauty sleep just tell me next time."

Scoffing, you reply, "Geto...l have a test tomorrow, can you just be quiet?"

He was looking right at you but his gaze trailed over your outfit, a small smirk appearing on his face when he noticed how tight your t-shirt was, and in all the right places. How his chilly room seemed to have perked up your nipples, visible now through the fabric. How the length of it covered your little shorts so it looked like you weren't even wearing any, feeding into his imagination of what it'd look like if you weren't wearing anything at all. Were you eventually wearing bra!?

"Mmhm...right! Calculus yeah me too..." He said mumbling.

"You didn't hear a damn work I said huh."

"You're cute when you're pouty," he teased, letting go of your arm to lean onto his desk.

"Seriously? God..you piss me off sometimes you know that."

His tone shifted slightly, less flirtatious and much more direct in his retaliation.

"You don't seem to care at all about anything, the least you could do is be considerate and not make so much noise."

"Oh, sweetheart," Geto said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Im inconsiderate? I'm not the one inviting my fuck buddies over or your obnoxious friends. I'm just trying to enjoy my music."

Almost baffled, you take a step back and feel your body slightly hit the door.

"Look- whoever I chose to sleep with and bring to my room is my business..why do you care?"

"Because it's annoying," Geto replied simply, crossing his arms over his chest. "And besides, if you're not careful, everyone on campus might hear about how loud you can be in bed."

You feel your face heat up like lava.

"What- what are you talking about..."

Geto said with a laugh. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You moan so loud, it's like you're screaming for attention. Might as well be screaming my name instead of those other boring guys you lead on to make me jealous."

"I-I'm not doing anything that concerns you..."

"Is that so?" Geto raised an eyebrow.

"Then why do you always dress like this when I'm here, hmm? It's like you're begging for me." His smirk grew wider as he watched the mixture of anger and embarrassment flash across your visage.

You feel your face contort in a manner of rage. "You know what...l'm getting tired of your shit." You yell a little louder this time, attempting to leave the situation, but Geto just won't let you.

"Oh, so you do care what I think," Geto asked, his hand now grabbing your forearm as he's cornered you in his room. His big hands almost engulf yours on the cold silver metal.

"You just can't seem to escape me, can you?" He chuckled darkly, knowing that he found a way to push your buttons once again.

"I could care less what you think about me."

Oh, really?" Geto smirked. "Well, it seems like you care enough about my opinion to try and change it.

He stepped closer, his gaze burning into yours. "You might as well get used to me."

You breathe heavier at your close proximity "What about you huh? All you seem to do is...right! nothing."

"You really think that's all I do?" Geto asked sarcastically. "You have no idea how many nights l've spent alone wishing for your attention." He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours.

"Why? So you can piss me off some more"

"Because I can't seem to get enough of you." Geto whispered, his breath tickling your earlobe. "And, it's always been fun to see you so cute and mad."

You close your eyes shut slowly as you feel his breathe tickle your skin.

"You know, you look really good tonight," Geto murmured, his hand lightly resting on your hip, his other still holding your wrist tight on the knob. His lips brushed against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Geto...stop.." You say breathlessly.

"Why?" He asked innocently, his fingers tracing circles on your skin. "Don't you like my attention?"

You lay your head against the door as you feel both his hands grab your sides. His warm breath tantalized your neck.

"You know," he whispered, "I could make you feel so good if you wanted me to." His fingers dug into your sides slightly, leaving red marks on your skin. "But then again..."

"then again what..?"

"You hate me, right? So I guess you wouldn't want that at all," Geto whispered, his fingers tracing slow circles over your skin.

"You don't know what I think of you." You confess.

His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear. "Oh, really?" He whispered, his voice low and menacing. "What do you think of me then? Y/n?"

"don't- what are you doing..."

Before you could speak, he moved away from your neck and brushed the hair from your cheek, leaning in and kissing you, his lips firm against yours.

You melt into his affection while your hands land on his chest, his entire body almost pressing against yours.

Feeling your soft moans against him, Geto took advantage of the situation, deepening the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and exploring your mouth. His hands moved down to your hips, pulling you closer to him.

"Geto- we should stop..." You say, almost like you're trying to convince yourself more than him.

Why?" Geto asked, his voice rough with desire.

"Because we shouldn't be doing this.”

“Or is it because you want more?" He grabbed onto both of your sides, sandwiching you between him and the door.

"It makes everything too complicated..."

Geto leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear. "Things between us are already complicated.," he whispered. "Maybe this is just what we need to make things simpler." His hands slid up your sides, a swift motion as he picks you up with your back still pressed up.

"I can't believe I'm letting you do this..."

Geto smiled against your neck, the corners of his lips curling upwards. He whispered, his cock pressing against your crotch,

"Do your other fucktoys even make you cum?"

You moan at his kisses in your neck, avoidant to answering his embarrassing question.

"Suguru..."

Geto groaned as he heard your sweet voice. He slid his hands into the side of your shorts, playing with the band of your panties.

"Tell me you want it," he growled, his voice low and husky. "Tell me you want me to fuck you senseless."

"Geto...please-"

"Please what? make you cum?" He smirked, his hand moving to your crotch, feeling your arousal through your clothes. "maybe I should just stop and let you jerk off in your room thinkin' about me?"

"...you're such an asshole...you know what I want..."

“You’re exactly right," Geto purred, his fingers still teasing at the hem of the silky fabric. "And believe me, I'm going to enjoy giving it to you... even if it means being the asshole you so desperately crave."

You scoff at his response and roll your eyes.

"What? Not happy with my honesty?" Geto asked, feigning innocence. "Or perhaps you're just tired of me being the only one who dares to treat you like this?" He leaned in closer, his lips almost touching yours.”

"Just shut up and fuck me."

Geto chuckled darkly at your words.

"So impatient," he murmured, his hand slipping under your shirt to grope at your nipples. "But since you asked so nicely..." He stepped back, releasing you to pull off his shirt and tossing it aside.

You lean back against the wall and watch the show.

Geto's muscles were well defined, enticing you to roll your hands up and chest and feel every groove on him.

As he approached you again, his erection was clearly visible now.

"Now," Geto's smirk grew wider. "My impatient little thing, you ready?" He asked with a chuckle.

Stepping back to you, he turned you around so your face hit the cold surface. His hips lined behind your frame as he grabbed your wrists behind your back. You couldn't help but grind your ass into him, feeling his hard cock through his underwear.

"You're such a tease, you know that?" He whispers into your ear from behind you.

You do nothing but greet him with a sultry laugh, dripping with anticipation.

A mischievous smirk appears on Geto's face as he leans in, his mouth brushing against your neck.

He grips your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, and kisses it gently. "Spread your fucking legs." His voice gets more demanding.

"Sugu..."

"Y/n..." He repeats your name back to you, his voice filled with amusement. He slaps his cock against your ass, squeezing and slapping it too, hearing you whimper at his stringing touch.

"You like that? Make all those sounds I hear through your wall. This time you won't have to fake em. " Slipping your panties down to your ankles and staring at your now exposed, sensitive folds, his cock teases your messy lips as it slides under you, pressing your clit with his tip roughly as he slaps your cheeks red.

"Suguru... please stop teasing..."

"What did you say baby?" Geto purred, leaning in closer to you. "Can you put your cock in my dripping hole? Never thought you'd ask!" He murmurs, amused as ever as he lines his tip against into your entrance, splitting you open in one deep thrust.

You can't help but moan out his name.

"That's it princess, say it again." Geto groans, his body starting to move faster. He slams into you hard, his hips slapping against your ass cheeks as he takes you roughly, watching it bounce against him like waves.

"You're so fucking sexy."

"Sugu- fuck you're going too fast..."

Geto grinned against your skin, his teeth grazing softly. "You like it rough, don't you?" he asked, his voice low and husky as he picks up the pace even more. His hand snaked up to your throat to grip your neck from behind as he took you deeper, your wrists still bound.

“Geto- Fuck..yes-“

"You want me to fuck you harder?" Geto moaned into your neck. "You want my big cock to pound you?"

He pulled back, letting his hips smack against yours before slamming back into you, thrusting into you over and over.

"Yes- Yes please...l need you..."

"Tell me how much you need me," Geto growled, his fingers digging into your hips as he continued his relentless assault on your body. His cock throbbed inside you, demanding release as he took control of the situation completely.

In a harshly broken voice, "need you so much suguru... need to cum...”

"I'll give you what you need, baby," Geto murmured, leaning in to capture your lips in a bruising kiss as he started to pick up the pace, pounding into you harder and faster as your head turned back look at his pussy drunk face.

"Fuck- thank you~"

"Dont thank me just yet..." Geto whispered, as he continued to take you roughly, his hips slamming into yours in a punishing rhythm. "Gonna let me cum inside right princess? Yeah? Gonna let me fill up your little cunt? That's when you're gonna thank me."

His thick member throbbed as you desperately nodded. Letting go inside of you filling you up completely.

He grinned as he felt you shake, leaning down to capture your lips in another deserpate kiss as he continued to pump his seed into you. He was incredibly self-satisfied, knowing that he had reduced you to nothing but a needy, cum-filled mess.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.

[hexesandroses]

🎲 <333

Aaa mootie! I'm sorry it took me a while! This is entirely self indulgent, hope you don't mind :)

39. A tentative kiss

kiss roulette

"The rain is letting up. We should be able to head back to the city soon."

You gave a soft hum in response. Disappointment bubbled in your chest at his words; you'd found endless enjoyment in this moment shared with Dainsleif, all but forgetting about the rest of your worries.

The soft pitter-patter of the rain, accompanied by Dainsleif's steady breathing at your side soothed you more than you could confess. Moments like this were rare - the bustle of your daily life didn't allow for any peace - thus you wanted to savor it for as long as you could. Besides, when was the last time you had gotten to be with Dainsleif uninterrupted?

You looked through the gaps between the trees above your head, and saw the sky painted light grey. Water droplets fell on your skin, though they mattered little. The woods provided you with decent shelter and you had nothing to complain about.

Your eyes fell on Dainsleif. To your surprise, he had been gazing at you all along.

"Are you cold?" He asked. Dainsleif tentatively reached out to caress your face whilst you stared, mesmerized.

The feeling that you had known him in another lifetime followed you even now; it was easy to imagine a different version of yourself admiring his visage, smiling at the mere thought of him. Was it just your imagination, that hopeless romantic inside you?

"You're freezing."

You blinked, pulled out of your thoughts. "Oh. I didn't even notice..."

Dainsleif pursed his lips before making a move to remove his cape, to which you shook your head.

"What about you?" You asked.

"I'll be alright," he said, "the cold no longer affects my body the way it affects yours."

You chided yourself inwardly for forgetting as Dainsleif removed his cape and draped it around your shoulders. In an instant, you were enveloped in his smoky scent; the cape did very little to warm you but, at the very least, it made you feel as though you were wrapped in Dainsleif's arms - to which nothing could ever compare.

His hands lingered on your shoulders.

"You should have dressed in warmer clothes," Dainsleif murmured, not without fondness in his tone. It was becoming increasingly difficult to hear a word he said when he stood so close, when you could feel his warm breath on your face. "I will brew you some tea once we return. It would be a shame if-"

You interrupted, chuckling softly, "I won't get sick, Dain. There's no need to worry."

The corners of his lips just barely tilted upwards and Dainsleif offered you the tiniest of smiles - even that was enough to fluster you. You fought the urge to avert your gaze shyly.

"It's better to be safe than sorry," said Dainsleif. He turned his head for a moment and your gaze followed. The rain had ceased, leaving dew-laden grass in its wake.

The disappointment inside you that had laid dormant made itself known once more, clouding your joy with bitterness; this moment would end, you would return home side by side and then, come morning, Dainsleif would leave for another journey with naught but a promise to return as soon as he could.

It was easier to accept your fate than to dwell on it.

"Alright," you mumbled, stepping aside. "We should get going."

But then Dainsleif called your name, softly, almost unsurely, and you immediately came to a halt. Your eyes found his - brilliant pools of sea blue that entranced you, willed you to see only him.

"What is it?" You asked curiously, watching as Dainsleif approached you once more, taking your hand in his. He gave no warning before closing his eyes and pressing his lips to yours in a most gentle kiss.

Dainsleif kissed you slowly, savoring the taste of your lips like he would never kiss you again. You had never known that something as simple as this could be so sweet; you pitied those who had never known Dainsleif's tender touch, reveled in the fact that you were the only one who would ever know him like this. Sweeter than all the dandelion wine in the world - Dainsleif was yours.

He broke the kiss and smiled.

"Let's go home."

[novankenn]

Things Best left ... ALONE (14)

--== Table of Contents ==--

The being smiled at Pyrrha from her perch on her lap. Acting almost as if he/she was waiting for Pyrrha to praise him/her. Inside, Pyrrha’s thoughts rolled. This thing had been trapped in a sealed jar for who knows how long, and just openly admitted to hurting people that she was on… at least friendly terms with. Pyrrha scowled, causing the fae as she/he called her/himself, to scowl in return.

“Why? Tell me why you did that to my friends, especially Weiss.”

“They were not your friends… they were parasites, they took and took, giving nothing in benefit back…” he/she replied, taking a small step backwards on Pyrrha’s lap, “The white haired one…”

“Her name is Weiss.”

“The white haired one… is corrupt and diseased. Her soul blemished and tainted with desires and lust.”

“Wait, what?”

“She hungered for you. She upset you… as your friend… I could not… let her blasphemy continue…” she/he explained…” So now her mask is broken, her visage now echoes her soul.”

“You little shit!” Pyrrha hissed as she made a grab for the diminutive creature, only to miss as if flitted away into the air above her reach. “You had no right to do that!”

“Careful…” she/he hissed at Pyrrha in return, its voice dark and foreboding. “You’ll wake… her.”

Pyrrha grew stiff and slowly looked to her left, seeing the form of Ruby Rose nestled deep into the spare bed. Her head then snapped, her emerald eyes narrowing.

“Don't you dare…” Pyrrha whispered, her voice tinted with anger. 

/==/

Ozpin felt off. Something wasn’t right in his school. Currently, he was on his way to the stacks, in the library's basement. The report on the wounds Ms Schnee had suffered, causing his mind to dig through eons of memories. In a time long before, as civilization was just starting to embrace the boon of aura… there were beings. Malevolent creatures capable of inflicting great harm to those that angered them… even through aura. 

Vicious little creatures, that the natural laws didn’t apply to. Capable of causing hallucinations, vivid visions, and invading dreams. He knew the collective name of them, it was on the tip of his tongue, just out of his reached. Finding the stacks oddly dark, he flipped the switch, causing the nearly ancient fluorescent tubes to sputter, flicker and hum to life.

Looking about, his eyes were drawn to the layer of dust and the scuff marks that disturbed it. Ozpin’s brow eyes narrowed, and he made a mental note to speak with the library staff, to see if they knew who might have been down here. He was always temped to have the door locked, but had always pushed the task aside in lieu of more important matters. Hindsight was 20-20, and he was kicking himself for not taking that action, before now.

The lights continued to flicker and buzz as Ozpin took his time following the scuffed tracks. He noticed that the ones showing a return trip were much more pronounced, almost as if whoever had been down here was rushing to get out. Onward he continued, much deeper into the shelves lined with ancient tomes. Eventually he stopped. He had reached the end of the inward facing footprints.

He noticed an odd space between the books, as if something had been shoved onto the shelf… something round if the circle in the dust was anything to go by. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Quickly, he stood up, and dug into his pocket for an antique set of keys. There were objects in his very private, secure collection of oddities that could leave such a mark. He needed to take account, make sure they were all accounted for.

[e-m-p-error]

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V: I Was Made For Loving You Baby You Were Made For Loving Me - Ostello Lives Verse. Ostello and Valentino are still together, and Ostello lets Val do as he pleases with other people as long as he comes back to him at the end of the day. Their marriage is open and Val is free to do whatever he wants for the most part.

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V: I Am A Hostage To My Own Humanity Self Detained And Forced To Live In This Mess I've Made - Fallen!Adam AU - After he was killed by Niffty, Adam was thoroughly made unholy by his actions both leading up to his death and in Heaven knowing what he was doing behind the scenes in secret. He appeared in Hell unrecognizable enough that he can skate by without being noticed, but he is one of a very select few Sinners with wings that resemble angelic (but frayed) wings. VERSE DEPENDENT: He crashed, fully on fire, into Lucifer's living room when he spawned in Hell.

V: Tell Me Which One Is Worse Living Or Dying First? - Godhood AU - Valentino and Velvette-centric God AU based on This

AU Verses With @strangeandun-muse-ual

V: You Hate 'Cause I'm A Rockstar A Pretty Little Problem - Rockstar AU

V: I'll Be Your Cheap Slut Savior - Scamverse AU

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V: I Wanna Give You My Heart So You Can Beat It Up - Crime Husbands Bad End AU

V: Do You Love Me? Yes No Maybe I'll Be Seeing Hades Soon - Voxdes and Persephetino AU

V: Haunt Me Haunt Me Like You Used To I Love You Most When You Scare Me To Death - Ghost Husband Verse

V: Sin Was On His LIps As He Twisted His HIps - Incubus!Valentino Verse

V: The Smell Of Flowers Was So Thick And Sickly Sweet I Felt Like I Might Choke To Death - Hanahaki Variant Of Mainverse

V: Girls With Tattoos Who Like Getting In Trouble - Genderbent Verse

V: Took Them By Surprise Worked My Way Uphill - College AU

V: Sharks Green With Envy They Wonder What You See In Me - Mermaid!Valentino AU

V: Every Kiss And Every Word They Were Bullets Spraying Hazardly From Lips - Royal AU

V: If I Had Something To Say To You I'd Whisper It Softly - Smut Writer!Era AU

V: Bleed The Neon From The Bite Marks - Werewolf!Emil/Vampire!Era Verse

V: I Know My Girlfriend Is A Witch - Summoned Chaz/Human Velvette Verse

V: Do You Wanna Party Malibu Barbie? - Sugar Baby!Valentino Verse

V: I'm Going Crazy Little Tiny Hollywood Baby - Actors VoxTelloTino AU

V: I Tried On Your Lipstick I Thought I Looked Pretty But You Didn't Care No 'Cause You're Always Busy - Actor!Val, Producer!Vox Verse

V: Cast Into Darkness They Would Be Damned For Being A Man Holding Hands - Fallen Angel Adam AU

V: Push Me Along And Leave Me So Desperate And Ravenous I'm So Weak And Powerless Over You - Mobwife Valentino AU

AU Verses With @dont-take-shxt-from-other-demons, and @strangeandun-muse-ual

V: The Successful Removal Of You Would Probably Kill Me Too - Vox Dying Verse

V: Everybody Needs A Little Trouble - "Teenverse"/Humanverse

V: Tell Me Tell Me That We Will Never See Tomorrow - "Teenverse"/Humanverse Zombie AU

AU Verses With @dont-take-shxt-from-other-demons

V: A Psalm In Napalm Abandon All Hope But Try To Stay Calm - Velvette Abducts Lucifer Verse

AU Verses With @erthlyheavn

V: I Go Out Of My Way Everyday Just Hoping That I'll Catch You Walking Down The Street - Human Verse MothMaid AU

V: It's Not A Love Song But You're Alright - Human Verse

AU Verses With @helluvaxhazbin

V: I'll Tell Uncle Rocko To Call Off The Guys With The Crowbars - Moxxie stayed with the mob AU

AU Verses With @seven-circlllxs

V: Gotta Get Your Fix Down In Hollywood - Splitscreen Verse

AU Verses With @voxiiferous

V: See Every Time You Turn Around They’re Screaming Your Name - Modern Human AU

EVENT TAGS

E: On Thursdays We Break Up - Extended Break-Up Event With @strangeandun-muse-ual's Vox and Valentino

E: Down With Vox - Event Thread With @strangeandun-muse-ual, @winters-club, and @infernal-feminae

E: Aggressive Positivity - Flash Open Event With @dont-take-shxt-from-other-demons

E: The Great Moth Off - Should Valentino or Mothman be @voxiiferous' boyfriend? Open Event

MY BLOGS/MUSES TAGS

Say What You Wanna But I'm Here To Stay 'Cause I'm A Mean Ole Lion (Cash & Barbie)

It's Never A Whisper It's Always A Scream A Promise We Made To Kill The Time Between (Valentino & Legiondario)

I Hate The Way The Townspeople Gather Outside They Hang On Every Breath (Vick & Valentino)

They Let Ole Al Out Of The Jail And The Man Who Paid His Bail Was Waitin' On Al To Chop Some More (Alastor ♡ Angel Dust)

The Dinosaurs Will Turn To Dust They'll Die Because We Say They Must (Alastor ♡ Nifty)

There's Someone Lurking Inside Of You That Someone Is Me (Alastor ♡ Valentino)

I'll Be Damned If I See You With Some Other Man If I Cannot Have You Then Nobody Can (Athan ♡ Ozzie)

Candlelit Loneliness I Lay On Your Side Of The Bed (Baetyl ♡ Andrealphus)

We Keep The Party Moving Till We Drink The Last Drop (Beelzebub ♡ Ozzie)

Eat With Your Hands It's Fine I'm On The Menu (Beelzebub ♡ Valentino)

Just Try And Nibble On My Biscuits And My Rainbow Cake (Beelzebub ♡ Velvette)

She's Like What'd You Say? We'll Just Let Our Bodies Translate (Chazz ♡ Barbie)

The Whole World Was Watching And Laughing On The Day That I Crashed And Burned At Your Feet (Erasmo ♡ April)

Wait Your Turn You're Greedy I Hear You (Mammon ♡ Fizzarolli)

Don't Use Him Or You'll Always Need To Feel Ozzie's Loving Little Lamb (Mammon ♡ Ozzie)

You Give Me Your Number I Call You Up You Act Like Your Pvssy Don't Interrupt (Mammon ♡ Valentino)

But The Best Story That I Could Ever Tell Is The One Where I Am Growing Old With You (Ostello ♡ Valentino)

She Says She's Gonna Break My Nose If I Don't Behave Next Week (Paimon ♡ Barbie)

My Baby's Got A Fucked Up Head It Doesn't Matter 'Cause He's So Damn Good In Bed (Summer ♡ Valentino)

The Pill I Keep Takin' The Nightmare I Wake In There's Nothin' No Nothin' But You (Valentino ♡ Angel Dust)

Erase Me So You Don't Have To Face Me Put Me In The Ground And Mow The Daisies (Valentino ♡ Chaz)

Don't Take It Personal You Know It's Just The Way I Roll (Valentino ♡ Nifty)

You'll Fall Down A Hole That's The One Place In This World That We Both Know (Valentino 💔 Ostello)

Just Your Typical Hardcore Casual Sex We're Single But We're Lovers Crazy For Each Other (Valentino ♡ Ozzie)

Let's Dig Up My Ex (Velvette ♡ Ian)

You Will Pace Around Your Cage And Wait For Night To Come (Velvette ♡ Valentino)

You Provide The Envy And I’ll Provide The Spite (Velvette ♡ Vick)

He's Sweet As Pie But If You Break His Heart He'll Turn Cold As A Freeze (Vick ♡ Valentino)

Cocaine Can't Do It Like You Do It To Me (Vick ♡ Velvette ♡ Valentino)

Darling You Love All The Drama 'Cause You're Never Bored I Am Forever Yours (Vox ♡ Valentino)

& TAGS (SPECIFIC)

Friendship Tags With @trumpet-hah

DGAF's And No Regrets Happy Hour Starts At Five (Barbie & Fizzarolli)

Friendship Tags With @strangeandun-muse-ual

Just Tell Me That You Need Me And Stay Right Here With Me (Erasmo & Missy)

History Shows Again And Again How Nature Points Out The Folly Of Men (Zeezi & Vox)

Friendship Tags With @hisslord

Yes I Know Who You Are But I Just Don't Care (Alastor & Angel Dust)

Do Not Befriend Your Food (Alastor & Vaggie)

We Are More Alike Than We Think We Are (Angel Dust & Vaggie)

A Motherly Instinct (Mimzy & Vaggie)

She May Be Crazy But She's Fine To Me (Nifty & Vaggie)

Friendship??? Tag With @spidrboots

I Don't Want Your Cruel Melody (Valentino & Angel Dust)

Friendship Tags With @seven-circlllxs

Our Soul Is The Whole Of The Law (Adam & Lute)

SHIPPING TAGS (SPECIFIC)

[wewerehumansonce]

Just a little something

Now, I have nairy a clue how Tumblr works or if anyone will see this, but I wanted to share it with the world.

I don't think people appreciate the world as much as they should, especially in high school. Thinking about all of my friends and acquaintances and how they talk, only one of them I can ever approach with anything beyond the scope of the city we live in or even the state. This friend, whom I like to call my best friend, is the only person I can really connect with anymore. I've lost touch with my older friends because they don't see the world like I do. I want to share this poetic visage of the world with the world because I think it needs more appreciation.

The world is beautiful, no matter where you live, who you live with, or how you live. There are the obvious things I can say are beautiful, like the color of the sky, the soft ruffle of leaves in a forest, or the warmth of a dying campfire. No no, the most beautiful things are harder to notice. By your neighbor's trash, there is a box that once contained a cradle. A father and daughter are out eating fast food together, smiling and joking. A wife carries her husband around her neck in a locket. These small details and glimpses into other people's lives are why the world is so beautiful to me. We may live 5, 50, or 5000 miles away from each other, wake up at different times, speak a different language, hell we might not even be alive in the same decade, but one thing is certain.

We are all human.

[tenthgrove]

What if yandere la squadra had the nightmare? Sorry if it's too harsh bc I've read horror and sad stuffs. It's about he found his darling (who leave for nightshift work) sobs and cried, her body filled with blood, cuts and tears in the dark street. When he asking her what happen to her? Who hurts her? She's looks at him and said.

"Don't fret. I love you. I've done my best to lived and be strong for you. I bet I've done my best, but I'm too weak. I want to stay but I have to leave for good. I'm sorry..." As she blew away like dust in the sky.

He suddenly woke up and found his darling sleeping near him and gets hurt but less than his nightmare, she woke up and looks at him.

"Hey don't cry. I'm sorry, I dunno know that you're worried about me."

Okay I couldn't help myself and now I'm doing a short drabble for each of them from the perspective of darling when they wake up. Only did four but if you want me to write the rest let me know.

Formaggio

You’ve become so accustomed to his smile when you wake up. The sight of Formaggio sat cross-legged next to you, staring dead ahead at the end of your bedroom honestly scares you more than anything he’s ever done. Are you still dreaming? You blink. The mirthless expression on his face doesn’t disappear.

“Maggi?” you call, praying the sweet nickname he adores will placate him. He turns over to you, a warm hand coming to your chest as his smile returns. But there’s a sadness behind it.

“Heya kitten,” he responds.

“Is everything okay? You’re kinda scaring me. Never seen you like this before,” you admit.

“Aww I’m sorry,” he apologises. “Nothing’s wrong I promise. I just got myself worked up over something but it’s all fine now… you’re fine.”

His smile becomes warmer and he lies down next to you again.

“You get back to sleep now. Let’s do something nice tomorrow. I’ll cook you something sweet for breakfast. Yeah, we’ll make it our day.”

Prosciutto

There was a time you never could have fathomed Prosciutto looking vulnerable. It’s a visage of heartlessness he likes to put up a lot, but ever since he took you to his home it’s become a common sight. He paces. Hair dishevelled, breathing heavy. Only you can see him like this.

“Oh, you’re awake-” he mutters, marching back over to the bed as if to pretend he never left it. “I didn’t disturb you did I? Apologies, Darling, if I did.”

“No, no… you didn’t disturb me,” you lie. Prosciutto nods and slides a little further down the bed, though nowhere near enough to get back to sleep. He is quiet, for a minute, as are you.

“Bad dream,” he finally confesses.

“Oh?”

“Yes. About you.”

Maybe it’s cruel, but the admittance warms your heart a little. It’s moments like these that are making you accept he really does care about you, as much as first impressions suggested otherwise.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him.

“Why? I should be thanking you,” he chuckles. “You bring so much joy to me, don’t ever forget that.”

He rubs your hand under the sheets. “Get back to sleep,” he tells you. “You know how much your health matters to me.”

Risotto

“Bedda! Bedda wake up!”

Risotto’s course breath tickles your ear as he whispers you back to consciousness.

“Huh? What is it? Are we in danger?” your murmur, the nature of your captor’s occupation always keen in your mind.

“No sweetheart. We’re fine. Just… are you alright?” he asks sensitively.

“Uh yeah? Was I wheezing in my sleep or something?”

“No, I-” Risotto shuffles into a kneeling position, shoulders hunched shamefully. He looks almost like a child. You’ve never seen him like this before. “I’ve been a fool,” he sighs.

“Why, what have you done?” you ask, confused.

“I had a nightmare,” Risotto finally admits. “That’s why I woke you up. I’m sorry, it was very stupid of me.”

“Oh Ris that’s okay,” you tell him, without needing to think about it. You shuffle closer and hug him. “It’s okay, I can tell you’re shaken.”

“No… I should be the one protecting you from your fears. I don’t like you seeing me like this,” he ruminates.

“Well tough. I’m here now,” you smile, resting your weight against him.

Gelato

You wake with a jolt as you suddenly feel a great force on top of you. Instinct takes over and you claw at whatever it is, flinging them off of you.

“Hey hey hey! It’s only me sweetie!” a voice assures. Gelato, you should have guessed.

“That doesn’t help much!” you shout defensively.

Gelato scurries away from you, putting up his hands in a show of peace. You notice he’s almost fully dressed, though the warmth in the sheets next to you suggests he was sleeping there a while before you woke up.

“Sorry baby, just instinct. I had a bad dream about you and my first reflex was to jump on you to make sure you were okay. Sorry about that one honeybee,” he shrugs lightheartedly. “So… can I get back into bed with you?” he tries his luck. You sigh. You admit you do feel a little sorry for him being so shaken.

“Sure. But I’m telling Sorbet you jumped on me.”

Gelato tuts, but smiles.

“Okay. Fair’s fair.”

[bunchofstraydogs]

Dazai Osamu character breakdown as I understand him

Meaning that this might be inaccurate and your opinion and visage of him might differ from mine, which is just fine. We perceive the world and the people around us through our experiences and expectations. I'm curious to know how you guys see a complex character like Dazai, just please respect everyone's opinions.

Warning: Manga plot mentions, s2 spoilers, BEAST light novel spoilers, Dazai Osamu

Dazai Osamu was introduced into the scene of Bungou Stray Dogs at 14 when Mori found him.

Even at that young age, Dazai had suicidal tendencies and had been wrapped in bandages similarly as he is in the present. Already dealing with too much trauma for a child his age, the fire is fuelled as he was forced to bear witness to the death of the Port Mafia boss at the hands of Mori, the person that took him under his wing. To use him; which was becoming very apparent to Osamu if he hadn't been aware since the start. Now, I'm not saying that death of the previous boss left a particular scar on Samu, he even agrees with it and is something he himself would have done. But that that is the scene that bore fruit of the following quotes:

"Or could it be that you're afraid, Mori-san? That one day i will slit your throat and take over as the boss?"

followed by

"Everyone seems suspicious to those who have an axe to grind."

This tells us right away that he can tell what type of person you are just from the way you perceive your surroundings, which is logical, but not something many think too deep into.

Even less who have their evaluations of others on point like he does. And he has to, since Dazai's plan is always to understand his allies, his enemies, possible allies and possible enemies. He also takes into account important neutral parties that can still, in one way or another, affect the outcome of his plans or decide to align with one side out of common interest. After comes realising the main goals, along with side achievements (just in case some of those maim his allies or ruin the future plans he made) of every party. Taking in their morals and motivation, and being familiar with the ground the confrontation will happen on, he now has the view of the whole chess board and it's pieces in his head. He moves his allies in the right places, knowing how they'll react in the situation to come, and awaits the enemies with open fire arms. He was tought to think like that. At all times. Mori made sure of it. You know how specialists never really stop thinking in their areas of expertise, like doctors, for example, will naturally notice people's posture and look for scoliosis or whatever? How your foot hits the floor, if you're walking straight, your knees and shoulders, etc. Same for Dazai. His brain maps out person's expressions, reactions, choices, personality, etc. in great detail. I'm pretty sure he has eidetic memory, if his conversations in manga with Fyodor are anything to go by.

Another thing his brain does is think of worst possible outcomes.

Not in a fear of what if things go wrong, but as a possible route. He uses it to determine how big of a threat the opposing force is and what steps they'll have to take to achieve that. Knowing that, he'll know how to intercept them. Also, like everything else, it's not something he can control since we're talking about thought process here and that's just how his brain works. Can't magically turn that off. It's especially annoying to him when he's genuinely enjoying himself with, let's say, ADA members and then his brain goes brrr.

•"A lot happened recently and we're a torn in many people's eyes." *Tanizaki and Atsushi drinking punch* "There's a possibility, while a small one, about 8% at this very moment, but as time goes on will increase, that an organisation outside of Yokohama decided we're an unavoidable threat and poisoned the drinks. Don't drink that. Nothing will happen, they'll wake up tomorrow in pristine condition don't drink th-"

Yeah, i feel bad for him too.

He has PTSD and insomnia, besides the hectic brain,

so he's not getting proper amount of rest. Actually, he drinks almost every night by himself at home. Pretty sure it's canon as well, because if you search for a picture of him in his room, you'll see him surrounded by multiple bottles. Two of the PTSD symptoms are hallucinations and night terrors (no, that is not the same as a nightmare). What people usually do is use opium to cause hallucinations in a safe environment so that there's little chance of them happening uncontrolled. He's probably using alcohol to numb himself while he's reminiscing, since if he does still have hallucinations after years having passed by (which isn't impossible), they're probably few and far between. Not saying there's no chance he isn't using opium. He would know where to get what he needs, after all.

Osamu's haunted by his own actions as well, not just by trauma caused to him.

At an uncountable amount of occasions, he found himself looking into a mirror and not really comprehending his image. It was like dissociation. Looking through a fog at what's supposed to be your carbon copy, but not knowing all of your features perfectly, so whatever you're seeing could only be an impostor, yet you're not sure because that would take comprehending physical proof of your life to the fullest and how it works and he just... can't. He can but he doesn't want to. He already knows he's despicable and broken, doesn't really feel the need to see just how much. He can't, for all his perfect memory, remember the faces of the people he has killed. He hadn't even seen all of them, but he was responsible for their demise. Causing havoc and misfortune in general through other crimes besides murder as well. We've seen his expression when he listened in on Atsushi talking to Kyouka over the earpiece how the 35 deaths don't matter anymore. He knows they do and he knows that the change of heart won't justify what he's they've done. Ango thought him to value each life. But he also knows that even murderers can change and become good. Oda did that. It's also what's keeping him in the agency.

When Oda died, his last words mentioned that Dazai doesn't care about good or bad and that was correct for Dazai Osamu back then. I genuinely think that his present self does mind the difference.

He believes in necessary evil and will do dark shit to get the good outcome he's envisioned.

He doesn't separate outlaws and lawful people, however.

He knows that generally speaking, the line is thin and easy to cross and that many were born or forced into the situations they are. Those that fight the life thrown at them are an exception, not a rule. That's also why he likes Atsushi, probably the main reason. The boy has every right to hate the world and yet. Dazai is envious, he doesn't really have the same capacity.

I want now to talk about why does Dazai Osamu do what Dazai Osamu does.

The reason he attempts suicide, joined the mafia, made friends at all, is because for all his intelligence and observations, ability to understand others, he doesn't really understand himself.

He doesn't understand his worth. He doesn't understand his purpose. In all of that confusion, he finds no reason to live. He laughs but can't get the high, he bruises but can't fully heal. In all of the things people find happiness in he can't feel joy from. He is emotionally stunted. He thinks too logically. He doesn't understand actions out of emotions because to him, it doesn't make sense. Emotions cloud your mind and when you're not thinking straight, you make mistakes. Plain and simple. He just accepts it, that most people simply cannot control themselves and prefer lashing out instead of methodical approach. All the better for him, he has leverage. Even when he does act on impulse, which is incredibly rare and not as explosive and dramatic, his brain rationalises it as to why his actions were a good way to go. And if his reaction was one that bore fruit, than it was a tactical one.

"If you place yourself somewhere close to raw emotions, where you're exposed to raw violence and death, instinct and desire, you can brush against man's true nature. I though that way i could find a reason to live somehow."

From this, i can tell that he was hoping that, in a situation where he's pushed far enough, he'd realise what's important to him, what he wants to protect or destroy, what's one thing he wouldn't want to leave unsettled before dying. What is that one thing he'd regret dying before achieving? What should he fight death for. What is worth living on for? To him, it doesn't matter if that something is good or evil as long as he gets to keep it in his life.

It seems he hadn't found it exactly, but is satisfied with what he has for now, in the agency, to just keep going. But he still tries to commit suicide, hoping that one day, when the clear picture of the world around him is fading away, when he's becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen, when he's loosing control over his body and thoughts don't seem to flow well, there will be one thing, anyone, screaming at him to fight it. New day new chances. It didn't happen today, better luck tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomo-.

Now, like Mori, Dazai feels the need to, at all times, be in control of the situation. Including people.

That means no one, but perhaps Ranpo due to his own abnormal intellect, is aware of their own role. They know their mission, but they're not expecting to be given that particular one because they'll come across an obstacle they would react to in a way that would satisfy Osamu's plans.

Dazai Osamu is more of a chemist, than a chess player, if you ask me.

Throwing different people into the mix, under different conditions at different times and is noting down their reactions in safe surrounding if possible, so that when the time calls for it, he'll be able to make a perfect concoction for the predicament. A chemist and his substances; A chess player and his pawns; A puppeteer and his puppets. Now, Dazai is meticulous and never rash, but like everyone else (except effin Lovecraft what is he even) he's only human and he bleeds when he falls down and humans aren't perfect. He isn't always right. That means he makes mistakes. The issue with big shot players that control the board is that, when they fall down, everyone on their side crashes and burns as well. So the day Dazai fucks up everyone else will follow because of lack of insight on their part that's completely out of their control. All it takes is for him to underestimate or overestimate one person and chaos ensues. There is no such thing as happy little accidents small mistakes for someone like him. I have crippling anxiety and a sole thought that one hiccup could blow up in everyone's face... damn. I would try committing suicide myself. But it's his fault, he brought upon himself an obligation and pressure like that. To be fair, it was Mori that drilled that type of thinking where no one should know what you plan because they can't ruin what they don't know If they turn against you, they can't stop you.

For his own sake, and everyone else's, Dazai needs to learn how to show his cards and share the burden.

Again, going back to the emotionally stunted guy that has commitment issues (where he either can't commit or can't let go) trope.

He never outright does something good for someone where people would acknowledge it, he uses his underhanded tactics here as well.

He casually makes himself look like a bad guy, an asshole, to conveniently move attention from the inner turmoil a person is struggling with to a present problem at hand that they can fix and let their frustrations out on. But he hopes that, one day, someone just might notice his intentions for what they are and do the unspeakable- see through him.

"I'm a very private person. You don't ask, i don't tell."

Yes, and your whole existence is just a huge cry for help. He wants to be asked. He's begging for attention. A specific type of attention. One that will see him without making him feel imposed on. One that will understand his sins without making a big deal out of it. Accept him as a person he is, makes him feel like one as well. Makes him feel alive. Makes him feel... period.

The day he finds that thing is the day he completely turns his life around and fully dedicates to it. It's where the part of not being able to let go commitment issue ensues.

Since Oda's death he's been secretly keeping an eye out on possible ways to bring him back. If you've read Beast AU you know that when Dazai gets his hands on the book, he'll create a universe where Oda doesn't die. Should he find an ability user that can bring back the dead, just tell him what it will take, he's ready to destroy his own soul for it and if that isn't enough, well, he'll have no hesitation ruining theirs. After all, BEAST!Dazai Osamu never actually met Odasaku, he just had the memories he'd gotten from his canon self and that was enough for him to do everything he did.

He's incredibly selfish and has a weird come in but the door is a wall dynamic he rolls with in his self imposed solitude.

It's like the walls of the space in my brain are ugly and terrifying, so i closed off the entrance to keep myself in. I'm doing you a favour but please break the wall down and tell me it's okay to come out i don't want to be here-

Happy little thoughts woah woah yeah~

That's what i got from what I've seen of him. I may have missed some things, some things might prove to be wrong as the series progress further, but yeah.

There is, however, one more thing i want to put out here. Since Dazai was already like this before Mori found him, that begs to question as to why? What happened to him?

Now, since the characters are based on real people, is it crazy to say that Dazai Osamu has had a horrible childhood because of his father? Real life Dazai was terrified of his dad and was very intimidated by him. He always tried to stay in his good graces out of fear of punishment. Neither of his parents felt like a parent to him, actually. His father didn't care and his mother was often ill, but did care for him when she could. Both of them died eventually.

This could be the plot Kafka based Dazai's background on, but we'll have to wait and see.

[gossip-girl-of-middleearth]

A Leap of Faith (Fellowship x Reader)

This is the result of binging macha tea, Lilo and Stitch and Brooklyn 99 simultaneously. Another crackpost. Enjoy.

Pairings: Legolas x Reader—if you squint, and consider pulling on his pigtails as “romantic”, which I, personally, do. Some nice paternal! Aragorn x Reader energy going on in there too, for your comfort. 

“Cartography” is the study of maps, btw. 

Peering eyes and stolen glances, both riddled with skepticism and doubt—that was all to be found among Aragorn and Gandalf.

They each sat on a log, and warily observed the Fellowship as a whole. Both were situated within the dimmed forest by the glowing and flickering campfire.

Each of the eight fanatic Fellowship members before their eyes all naively gallivanted about in their usual bickering antics—nothing short of tomfoolery.

Merry and Pippin snickered loudly, as they each used their smoking pipe's spouts to press in a snoring Gimli's nostrils. He abruptly woke with a snort, and a Dwarvish shout of anger. 

As Merry and Pippin each ran away with boyish giggles—a stumbling and yelling Gimli hot on their tails—Sam and Frodo were sat against the thick trunk of a tree.

The raven-haired Hobbit wistfully sighed, and spoke of the Shire, whilst Sam adamantly comforted the sentimental Ring-bearer. 

Y/n and Legolas stood by the crackling fire, bickering, as usual. 

The girl held out a dirty worm towards the recoiling prince, who shouted at her to stay back. Thoughts of germs and his hygiene were on the forefront of his alarmed mind. 

As Y/n grinned and continued handing the wriggling, pink worm out towards a disgusted Legolas, Boromir bemusedly watched on.

"It's just a mere worm!" Y/n chuckled, eyes alight, and brows raised. 

"Stop touching me! Stay back!" Legolas squealed.

He promptly brought his closed fists in close to his chest, as he trained his wild eyes on the wriggling worm. 

"I'm not touching you!" Y/n childishly countered, moving the worm closer and closer towards the prince's chest. 

Fanatically gesturing both hands out at Y/n, Legolas pleadingly turned to a staring Boromir, and shouted in alarm.

"She's touching me! She's TOUCHING me!" 

"I'm not touching you!" Y/n laughed, waggling the worm back and forth. 

"AH! TOUCHING ME!" Legolas yelped in alarm, pointing one finger, held above the worm, down in gesture. 

"NOT touching!" Y/n corrected in a taunting tone.

"TOUCHING ME!" Legolas adamantly replied.

"It's free air!" Y/n countered, throwing the wriggling worm at a gasping Legolas' chest. 

The prince frantically swiped at his tunic with both hands, before he snapped his enraged eyes back to Y/n. He then took to chasing after her with a large stick—promptly leaving behind a guffawing Boromir.

Aragorn and Gandalf both winced their eyes, and curled their lips in disdain. 

These were the comrades they were tasked with to the save the world? They might've quit and let Sauron win right then and there, just to save the headaches alone. 

"It is as apparent as the hidden conditioner within Legolas' satchel," Gandalf began to muse, capturing Aragorn's idle attention, "that not all among us, though I'd much prefer to believe otherwise, can be trusted on this journey."

With a prolonged sigh past his nose, Aragorn lowered the spout of his wooden smoking pipe from his mouth, and responded. As he did so, he continuously dragged his wearied eyes along each and every member of the Fellowship—each one now a suspect. 

"You are worried one of them will try to take the Ring," Aragorn lulled, his voice more knowing than curious. 

"Worried? Indeed," Gandalf drew out, paying particular attention to Boromir. "I cannot dismiss the warning in my heart, or that of Elrond's."

As Aragorn slowly ran his calculating eyes along the Fellowship, paying particular attention to his apprentice, Y/n (of whom still cackled loudly with a fleeing Merry and Pippin—both an angry Elf and Dwarf hot on their tails, as they ran rings around the fire) he took a moment to respond.

"What would you have me do?"

Inhaling in a wearied manner, Gandalf lowly spoke. He threw a heedful glance down at the ranger sat beside him, who in turn met his urging stare.

"We are to conduct an investigation," Gandalf began to declare. “In my stead, you shall thoroughly examine each and every member."

"Every member?" Aragorn repeated, raising his brows, before his conflicted gaze ran on over towards Y/n.

Catching the ranger's torn visage and trusting eyes, as he studied his younger cartography apprentice, Gandalf flickered his own attention on over towards Y/n.

She was now barricading herself behind a log with Merry and Pippin, laughing, as she and the two Hobbits threw worm after worm at a shouting Legolas and Gimli. 

"Well..." Gandalf lulled in amusement, "perhaps not all are to be investigated."

"Perhaps not all, indeed," Aragorn gently smiled, huffing in amusement, as he studied the girl's questionable antics. 

Slowly studying Pippin next, who bore similar qualities to the chuckling girl sat beside him, Aragorn quirked a brow up in Gandalf's direction, and spoke in a slightly bemused tone. 

"If we are following that logic, then Pippin, too, should be exempt from the investigation."

"No, absolutely not. I want him thoroughly investigated. In fact, examine him first."

~

A few grueling weeks had passed the Fellowship by, and a few more taxing days afterwards had since also passed. This was all following the harrowing ordeal within the Mines of Moria, of course.

Gandalf was now gone, which left a wearied Aragorn alone to conduct the investigation. 

As the Fellowship trekked in a silent line through the thick, mossy forest, Aragorn spotted a small clearing up ahead.

The meadow in question allowed sunlight to finally stream down in open rays—a much needed privilege for the wearied Fellowship.

It was also the perfect location to thoroughly examine each and every member of the Fellowship. 

After Aragorn had pushed the Fellowship a little further, so that they all emerged into the grassy, wild flower-strewn clearing, he had called for them all to stop and take a rest.

In response, Boromir and Gimli seized the chance to light a small fire, and prepare a stew.

As the Hobbits all collapsed onto the ground in a sighing heap—relieved to grant their shorter legs a break—Y/n, too, made a move to join them on the floor.

"Not you, Y/n," Aragorn gently instructed, inspecting his sword within the glinting sunlight. 

Sharing a glance with the Hobbits, Y/n knitted her brows. She nonetheless obediently rose once more, and walker across the grass to meet with the ranger—her teacher. 

"You're in trouble..." Legolas teasingly sung out.

"I know where you sleep at night," Y/n, in turn, sung back, mimicking his melodic tune.

As she strutted by the Elf, whose face contorted in fear, she steadily made her way on over towards Aragorn.

"What is it?" Y/n questioned him. She now stood a few yards away from the rest of the curious Fellowship.

Sheathing his sword, Aragorn placed a hand in the small of Y/n's back. She was the only person there he trusted above all else, as he and her had stood the test of time together—the ranger having been training the young cartographer since she were merely ten. 

With their backs now turned to the indiscreetly glancing Fellowship behind, Aragorn quietly spoke to Y/n. 

"It has come to my attention that someone within our company is not to be trusted with the Ring," he warily began, paying a skeptical glance backwards at the seven curious members. “They could be leaking information to Sauron. The entire Fellowship is under investigation."

Knitting her brows, Y/n lightly recoiled her head, responding. "That's ludicrous! No one here is a traitor!"

"Do not take this the wrong way," Aragorn began in a wince, half over what he had to say, and half over the girl's louder than necessary voice, "but you are a cartographer...what makes you so sure of their intent?"

"Ah!" Y/n started, holding up one finger. “But it is BECAUSE I am a cartographer that I am so sure!" 

Knitting his brows dubiously, Aragorn took a moment to respond. He was quite used to her antics.

"I don't like where this is going—"

"You see," Y/n interjected brightly, "because I am good at reading maps—”

"Please don't finish that sentence-"

"I know how to find my way into someone's heart!" she finished, drawing a love-heart with her fingers.

Aragorn winced his eyes shut, taking in a deep breath.

Studying his mannerisms, Y/n pressed on—panning and open hand out behind her at every Fellowship member.

"Look, what I'm trying to say," she began defending herself and her friends, "is that I know these gentlemen—I know everything about them."

Seizing the moment to teach his apprentice a valuable lesson in the ways of being a survivalist ranger, Aragorn threw on his lecturing face—one she knew all too well.

"Well, you're a poor ranger if you don't think that people can surprise you," Aragorn tutored. 

"Not these people!" Y/n affirmed.

Finding that Aragorn merely, and rather doubtfully, quirked a brow, Y/n tutted her tongue. She turned to the side, so that she once again faced the Fellowship.

They, in turn, quickly averted their eyes—some striking up lazy conversations, and others idly whistling.

"Here, watch this," Y/n started again, scanning her eyes along the Fellowship, causing Aragorn to do the same. “I know what EVERYONE is going to do tonight."

As the Fellowship warily glanced between each other—concerned over their nightly antics being exposed aloud—Y/n began gesturing towards each and every member, demonstrating that she indeed did know her friends quite well. 

"Frodo is going to go to sleep early, so that he can wake up first," Y/n began rattling off, raising her brows at a gulping Frodo. “Simply because he enjoys having five minutes alone."

As Frodo lolled his head from side to side, considering her words—ultimately deciding that she was correct with a hum—Y/n pointed at Sam, promptly continuing on. 

"Sam is going to count each strand of rosemary within his herb container, as a way to fall asleep," she pressed on, earning a slow nod of concord from Sam. “Reminds him of home.”

Dragging her hand across to Merry and Pippin, Y/n spoke again. 

"Merry and Pippin are going to whisper weird things into Gimli's ears, because they're trying to subliminally teach him to give them both piggyback rides—”

"I'm sorry, what?" Gimli interjected. He snapped his glare across at a sheepish Merry and Pippin, who each rubbed a hand at the back of their necks.

"AND Gimli will say he's going to take the nightwatch, but promptly fall asleep," Y/n pressed on, dragging her pointed finger away from Gimli to land on a very wary Legolas. 

"Legolas is going to sneak off, and crack open his conditioner he thinks we all don't know about," Y/n exposed, causing the prince's gaze to widen. “And then he's going to douse all his locks in it to collect moisture overnight."

Humming in begrudging agreement, Legolas flickered his gaze up towards the sky in loving thought of his fragrant conditioner—nodding his head once in admittance. 

"That is correct," Legolas shamelessly confessed. 

As Boromir stoked the fire, he began lifting a silver pot of stew from the ground, so that he could place it over the fire on the suspended wooden spit. 

"AND," Y/n brightly began in conclusion, pointing at a preoccupied Boromir, "if I run, and leap at Boromir, he will most certainly catch me in his arms."

Before anyone within the temporary camp could comprehend the girl's words, she had immediately begun sprinting on over towards Boromir, who still held the pot of soup in his hands. 

"COMING IN!" Y/n hastily announced, darting towards an alarmed Boromir with fast movements.

"NO, I'M HOLDING THE STEW—”

With a crash and a clatter of the stew falling to the grass, Y/n had promptly leapt from the ground, and landed in Boromir’s arms, bridal-style.

Grinning, as Boromir stumbled backwards, Y/n sent her beam on over towards Aragorn.

"See?” Y/n began in glee. “I told you! I know each and EVERY member inside and out!"

As Aragorn bit down on his lower lip, Y/n patted Boromir on the chest thrice.

"Nothing to worry about at all! This Fellowship is legitimate!"

Promptly scurrying out from Boromir's arms, like a skittish cat, Y/n met the ground below again with a soft thud. She dusted off her hands, ignoring the sighs from her mentor.

Possessing all the confidence in the world, Y/n placed her hands on her hips and spoke one more time.

"We're going to be just fine!"

If only her words remained true. 

[coffee-n-bagels-comic-universe]

Bloody, Beaten, Bruised or Maximum Effort

Quick Tag List: @kuruumiya @spacelizardtrashboys @enigmaticandunstable @nattinngrst @amyofaquitaine

This passage contains potentially: scenes of one (or more) characters swearing, blood, self-harm (unintentional) and scenes of a violent nature. whump content and potential tear-jerking moments.

Summary: In this 'chapter' Kirby has her first fight in New Jersey, and stay in New Jersey for a week, leading to some heavy whump content by a certain someone.

Kirby's POV:

Standard match, one on one with a ten minute time limit. Not much for a debut but it's made into a big deal upon learning the opponents were male and female and not the standard male on male.

Jobber VS Newcomer.

Andrew Strong VS Kirby 'Gluttony' Lucifarian.

The bell rings and the fight starts.

"Strong throws the first punch and misses."

"The Ogress capitalises and hits him with a Feeding Frenzy."

"Strong is backed into the turnbuckle but the Ogress continues her attack."

"The referee is forced to separate them and Strong gets The Ogress in a lock-up."

"A swift knee to the stomach and Strong is staggered."

"The Ogress hits Strong with the Organ Grinder and it looks like it's all over."

"She covers Strong and … one … two … three. She's done it! The Ogress has won!"

Walking back to the locker room, I caught a glimpse of Moolah as she sneers at me and I shrug her off, focusing on getting into some clean clothes and going back to the hotel. I change and walk out of the dressing room with my bag slung over my shoulder.

"Good work out there, Kirby."

I recognise the voice and turn to see André, "Thank you, Drey."

"Moolah, doesn't seem to like you girls."

"We're stealing the hag's time in the sun. She always hates people who do that, even if she brings them in. I'll see you soon Drey."

"See you soon, Kirby."

I start walking back to the hotel when I start hearing a voice behind me, gradually getting closer.

"Hey, Miss, I think you dropped this." A distinctly masculine voice called out.

I turned around to see what the person wanted. To my surprise they had picked up my wallet, "Huh, I didn't feel it fall out of my pocket, thank you."

The man handed it to me before introducing himself, "Paul Orndorff. I saw your match earlier, you're fast for a giant, tough too."

"Thank you, Mr Orndorff."

He looked over his shoulder, "Oh, well, I have to go, Piper's waiting for me."

"Uh well, bye Mr Orndorff."

He left without another word and I unzipped my bag slightly to place my wallet inside, zipping it back up and continuing back to the hotel. I spent the night in a cramped hotel room and went to the gym the next morning.

Setting myself up at a heavy bag and practicing as per usual, no interruptions, no one else near by to talk to.

It was as if my mind just drifted away and I went into this mental fog, no gloves on but punching as if I did, breaking through the skin on my knuckles and only stopping after I noticed smears of blood on the heavy bag.

I wiped it down and bandaged my knuckles before moving on to doing push ups, lunges, squats and other exercises that wouldn't leave me covered in blood.

I was alone for the rest of the day, so I ordered some pizza (simple, pepperoni) and relaxed in the hotel, I pulled out a sketch book from my suitcase and began sketching.

I didn't plan on sketching anything too important so I just went with what was on my mind, which happened to be Roddy, Jeez it's like I'm becoming emotionally attached to this idiot.

When I see him next I'll give him the drawing if I have it with me. I close the sketchbook and go back to the gym for around an hour, before coming back to the hotel and getting some rest.

I woke up the next morning (January 9th) and had a day much the same as the last, got up, did my morning routine, went to the gym, came back, ordered Chinese food and started drawing. It was just a shitty little thing, but once again, the Rowdy one came to mind.

What is it with Scottish men and me, is it because I'm a quarter Scottish, is it maybe because I believe in the folk tales and stories of old, of knights on white steeds, saving fair maidens and living happily ever after, while the monsters they kill or maim lie in a pool of their own blood and wish they could've had a different life?

I have no idea, and the idea of my own mind comparing me with those monsters makes me regret ever reading those stories while growing up, rather I should have stuck my head into scientific textbooks instead of tales of heroism and fantastical ghouls, then I would have never become and wrestler or met the amazing people in my life.

I look back down at the paper and decide to let Roddy have two final full page drawings on the other side of the sketches I've already drawn of him, I add in a small note on the page under a picture of Roddy that Sam had found.

The more I looked at the drawings and that lone picture, the more I realised the small details of Roddy's features, the strong jaw with a cleft chin, his hazel eyes? or are they dark blue? either way they intrigue me. And that musculature, Roddy's not slim but not a big man either, he's at that almost perfect weight to body fat ratio. Good lord, listen to me calling … Piper, Roddy, Him, perfect. I think I want to be sick, just to be rid of those thoughts.

Right as I run into the small bathroom I hear a commotion in the hallway and someone being thrown or more accurately, hurled into the other side of the bathroom wall. I take a deep breath, re-fix my mask into it's usual position and dart out into the corridor, right as the commotion ends.

The obvious victim of the bout was on the floor face down with a long, not to deep cut down the back of their left leg and was breathing heavily when I reached them.

"Woah, hey, hey buddy." I whispered to them in an effort to calm them.

"Kirby?"

FUCK

…

That Glaswegian accent, fuck, He's not even supposed to be in town, or is he?

"Piper?!" I whisper-yelled, more to myself than to him.

"Hey…" his voice trailed off, I heaved him over my shoulder and went back into my hotel room, tossing him down on the only bed and grabbing his left foot, reaching over to my suitcase and getting my personal first aid kit, nothing too fancy, some bandages, plasters, the bare essentials. I cleaned the cut and bandaged it, taping the bandage in place.

I glanced up from Roddy's leg and saw that he had passed out, "Shit." I muttered to myself, louder than I thought and his eyes flickered open.

"Kirby? Is that you?" His voice weak but still understandable.

I stood there, frozen to the spot, unable to move, I wanted to cry as I realised how badly he had been beaten up, his eyebrow cut, coming close to his eye, his hairline a mix of matted brown hair and blood that was starting to coagulate and then I started to notice more things wrong with Roddy's visage.

His shirt (a Piper classic, yellow with a wild cat graphic) was torn in several places, showing bruises and nicks in his flesh. His kilt, however, was fully intact, including his belt and sporran, though all of it was scuffed with little scratches, but no cuts.

"Kirby? Kirby talk to me, please?" He spoke so carefully and it broke me.

I dropped to my knees, weeping, and Roddy shot to his feet, before dropping down on his left side and leaning on the bed, getting only a couple of steps closer to me.

"Kirby, are you okay?"

"Roddy, look at ya," I took a deep breath in, "How can you be so beat up and worried about me? How is that possible?"

"Kirby? look at ya, you're crying over me? I thought you didn't care about me that much?"

I wiped the tears from my face and got Roddy back on the bed.

"Stay there, Piper."

"Oh, feisty."

"Roddy! Stay on the bed and don't move."

"Yes Ma'am."

I trudged into the bathroom and ran a long cold shower, and I heard him move off the bed before swearing and sitting back on the bed.

"I thought I said, DON'T MOVE Roddy!"

"Alright, alright. … feisty"

After the shower, I dressed in the bathroom after drying myself off and exited the room. I instantly noticed a sleeping Piper.

"I guess I'll sleep on the floor then."

"C'mere." He lazily waved his arm to try and beckon me over.

"No, Roddy, get some rest."

"Come here and get in the bed." He rolled over and picked up the duvet, lackadaisically blowing a joking kiss in my direction.

"Jesus, Roddy, fine."

I climbed into the bed and felt Roddy's arms curl around my waist and his face between my shoulder blades.

"Rod, get off."

"Wha'?"

"Get off of me."

"Why?"

"Aren't you married, get off."

"if I was married, there would be a ring on my finger," He waved his left hand in front of my face, "No ring, no wife."

"Oh. Still, get off."

"Now, would that be 'get off' in the, leave me alone, way or the 'get off' in the, I love you take me now, way." The latter a clear joke but it annoyed me even more.

"Leave me alone, Roddy."

He slid his arms off and rolled to face the other way.

"Small bed, Kirby."

"I wasn't expecting company, Piper."

"Your tattoos are nice."

"Sleep, Piper."

"I'm just saying."

"Roddy, you are injured, sleep."

"I looked through your sketchbook earlier, y'know, when you were in the shower, just flicked through it, and wow, you're a great artist."

"For the love of God, Roddy! would you please just get some sleep."

"Alright!, alright. No need to yell."

"One more word and I'm chucking you out the nearest window."

We both fell silent and managed to get some sleep, it wasn't until sunrise that either one of us awoke. As I stirred from my slumber I was face to face with the Scottish idiot. I yelped and, without realising his legs were intertwined with mine, fell off the bed with him falling on top of me, waking Roddy up in the process.

"Oh, well, morning sweetheart, did I wake ya."

"Rod, get ya damn 'Loch Ness Monster' away from me."

Rod's cheeks turned pink and he quickly looked down between our bodies before sheepishly standing up and hurrying to the bathroom, I took the chance to change into a graphic tee and some black jeans, not noticing that Piper had left the bathroom door wide open, until I heard his voice.

"Woah, so uh, all of you is bigger than normal?"

I yelped and threw one of my shirts at his face, before realising that I had thrown the shirt I was planning on wearing at him, "Wait, Roddy, I need that shirt."

He laughed before handing me back my shirt, "Uh, thank you … for …saving me last night."

"Were you even supposed to be in town?"

"Well no, but I …" He trailed off

"I can't hear you, Roddy?"

"It's nothing, really."

I continued on with my normal routine, mindful that Roddy was in the same room as me and injured. It wasn't until the phone rang that I had a problem, before I could reach the phone Roddy had already answered it.

"Who is this?"

I could hear a loud, angry voice on the phone and Piper got defensive.

"You think you're a hard man do ya?!"

Damien. That's got to be Damien, which means I am in some real trouble now. Thanks Piper, ya dafty.

"I'll get her to call ya back once you've calmed down."

He slammed the phone back into it's place and breathed out a hefty sigh.

"Kirby, is Damien your boyfriend?" He seemed instantaneously calm

I almost choked on air for a moment, "No! He's my manager, and he's like double my age. He's Vic," I paused for a moment, "He's my dad, as well as the other members of the D.O.D. We're not all his biological daughters though, just Vickie."

"So, he adopted you?"

"I guess you could say that." I avoided looking him in the eyes.

"Tell me the truth. Now!"

"Promise you won't tell anyone first."

"I won't tell a soul, now, why are you so, uptight, about who he is to you."

"First things first, my name isn't Kirby Lucifarian, it's actually Kirby Trevor."

"Oh, so Damien's not you're adoptive father, either?"

"No, my real parents are Heaven and Eric Trevor. Damien's Vickie's dad and only Vickie's dad."

"Are either one of your parents giants? or is it just you?"

"Just me, the closest person to me in height, family-wise was my uncle Rory. He's the reason I have the tattoo on my wrist."

I walked up to Piper and showed him the 'R' tattooed on my right wrist.

"So, he passed away?"

"Yeah. He died, eleven, no no, twelve years ago now, when I was Seventeen, My uncle Vaughn died a couple months later, he's why I have the lighter on my left arm, my uncle Vaughn was best known for being, in the nicest terms, a layabout smoker, and the smoke took him in the end."

"So, you have a lighter to remember a man who died by smoking?"

"Dark, I know, but uncle Vaughn would've laughed at it. Erik laughed at it when I explained it to him."

"Eric, your dad?"

"No, no, Erik, with a 'K', my old tag partner before I joined the D.O.D. I think you would've liked him."

"Really, now why would I like a guy I know nothing about?"

"Well, Erik's Scottish, He's from Edinburgh. He's tall-ish, then again I am a giant, so who am I to say what's tall, he's six-foot-five. He played the bagpipes when he was younger, he quit playing when he was twenty-three, same year we lost the tag titles."

"Rough," He interrupted "Continue, please."

"Uh, well. Erik's strong, very strong, he would compete in the Highland games and well, … I guess back then I thought I'd never leave him, until Damien gave me an offer I couldn't refuse and I left him. I had a whole life with him planned inside my head and I left it all behind, for what, cramped hotel rooms and breakfasts with André."

"You had breakfast with André the giant and you didn't tell me … You, You had a good Scottish man, and you left him, for," He gestured to the room, "all this?"

"Well I jus-"

"No," He held my jaw and looked me straight in the eyes, "You had a life, a man who obviously a close relationship with you, and you gave it up for breakfasts with André and shitty hotel rooms."

"I know I'm stupid."

"But you're not stupid, you saved me, I could have died in that hallway and you brought me in here, you stopped that bastard from killing me. I could kiss you."

"Please don't."

Sorry for cliff-hanger ending, but … END OF BLOODY, BEATEN, BRUISED or MAXIMUM EFFORT.

[sophi-s]

After three days. Three freaking days.

It is finished.

A kiss to die for

By: sophi-s (me)

Words: 4,531

Franchise: Darksiders video games

Characters: Fallen!Astarte, Abaddon

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, near death experience, angst, necromancy, I changed the storyline just a tiny bit for the purposes of this, Abaddon gets his ass handed to him by his ex :P.

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

Eden. The first gift from the Creator himself to the Humanity. A home for the First Ones. Once, an indescribably beautiful place full of grand trees and fresh, soft grass, flowing with cool, crystal clear waters. Colorful fruits growing in the trees, a delight to eye and tongue. Within, no danger could reach Humanity's ancestors. Truly a paradise the first humans rightfully called it. But now, after a great war that took place here, seemingly not that long ago, the great garden was left scarred and burning. Made into a tomb for those who sought to claim it. Bodies of Nephilim were left to burn and decay, forgotten and abandoned.

However, something has changed. A dark shadow passed over the sacred graveyard, leaving only madness and corruption in its wake. Those who perished picked themselves up from the ground and lashed out at Eden's guardians. Surprised and unable to respond with a coordinated defensive, the Faneguard had to call for retreat after their leader, Malahidael fell to the blades and arrows of the living dead. Amongst the scattered angels was the general of Heaven's Legions. Trying his best to keep his brethren focused and plan a tactical escape.

At least that's what he was trying before. Before he saw the cause of this nightmare. Now, outstretched on the ground in the dust, he forced himself up onto his elbow as he crawled towards his discarded blade, clutching at his chest that felt as though it had been caved in after a charging monstrosity trampled him in full speed.

How could this happen?

Fighting with his chaotic thoughts, he finally got a hold of the hilt but when he turned around, it was already too late. A large paw armed with razor-sharp claws landed on him, pinning him down and successfully immobilizing his lower half. And then his own blue eyes stared up into a pair of white ones, the same eyes that doomed him from the moment he met their gaze for the first time. The eyes that occupied his thoughts when he was awake and his dreams while he slept. Eyes of Astarte.

But what stood above him… this thing, this monster was Astarte no longer. From the waist up, the woman was stunningly beautiful as she always was, with her pale white eyes and long flowing, platinum blonde hair. But her legs have been replaced by a body of a feline beast with wings coated in blackness of corruption, feathers shimmering with red glyphs. A wicked smile was twisting her petal like lips and wherever her clawed paws fell, the dead bodies shivered and rose, called back into the accursed unlife. Utter insanity shone in her eyes.. Keeping his stone façade was no longer possible as inwardly he was falling apart. Astarte. The same Astarte who would kill and die for him, the same who he trusted more than anyone. The same Astarte he dared to love. Her smirk grew wider as she chuckled.

"Who do we have here? The great general of Heaven's Legions Abaddon himself!"

The unfamiliar taunting tone of her voice sent a shiver down his spine, as did the way she bared her teeth in a disturbing grin. Giving the large paw a tug to try and wriggle free, quickly realising it's pointless as the damned thing didn't even budge, Abaddon took a struggling breath, pretty sure his sternum was damaged if not broken.

"Astarte…"

His voice came out as a broken, pleading whisper. He still couldn't… or maybe he didn't want to… cope with what he was seeing clearly like on the palm of his hand. Astarte, his most formidable soldier, the strongest of them all, and the only woman in the Universe he felt something special for… Fallen into the vice-like grip of Lucifer's corrupting influence. Gone was the gentle smile that crawled its way up onto her face whenever she spotted him. Abaddon swallowed thickly when he noticed the spear in her hand poised to strike and carve his broken heart out from his chest. Astarte would never harm him…

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

She scoffed and used her other paw to press his right arm to the ground should he try to take a swipe at her. But they both knew far too well that he couldn't have, even if he wanted to. Astarte leaning over him was still the one his heart yearned for, still beautiful just… in a different, more horrifying way. Through the ringing in his ears after his head cracked against a rock, he could hear someone call out to him but whoever it was, they were successfully pushed back by the horde of undead Nephilim.

"Astarte, don't do it.."

He quietly begged, even though he never begs. Seeing her like this, twisted and bestial, did something to him he couldn't quite comprehend. Touched that part of his soul he didn't even know about. Strangely enough, even in her madness, Astarte must've sensed something in him that gave her a pause as she curiously tilted her head to one side. All the moments, even the shortest ones, he'd spent with Astarte in the past were flashing before his eyes. Every time they had one another's back in battle, every time one saved the other's life, every time they spoke about the things they would never tell anyone else whenever they were alone. And that memorable moment when they stood together, away from the prying eyes that moonlit night. Abaddon was listening to her as she asked him if what she feels is right, if there's any possible way he feels that way as well. He almost laughed at her obliviousness and the fact that his love was there before she even realised her own. Of course.. He took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes, absolutely mesmerized, waiting for permission to finally grant her the proof of his love and devotion, one which she silently gave him with a nod and a smile.

"I would walk through the fire of Nine Hells for you."

He said before leaning down to place a chaste kiss on her lips. A kiss, stolen kiss he was dying to receive. It was very brief but still felt like his first flight over the White City. Liberating, wonderful and equally as intoxicating. Those were the most beautiful memories he'd ever made but now they were like a parasite buried deeply into his brain, one that refused to leave his head, reminding him of better times and cackling maniacally at him as the present was coming undone before his very eyes. He wanted those memories to go. But there was no escape. Neither from them nor from Astarte herself.

"Look at me.."

"I am."

"Please, come to your senses. It's not you.. You need to fight it, I know you have it in you. Don't leave me like this… Don't you remember everything I'd done for you? Everything you'd done for me ?"

For a second, Astarte's grin fell, making place for a thoughtful expression and for this short second Abaddon dared to hope that there's still light in her. That he somehow managed to get to her. But all these hopes were taken away when she shook her head and looked at him… not with anger. It was pity, plain and simple as she spoke in a condescending tone.

"Fool. So loyal and righteous. Look around! The war had ended long ago, yet we remain stranded in this forsaken tomb! We've been abandoned and no one will set us free if we don't do so ourselves! Don't tell me you cannot see it."

He couldn't believe his ears. It wasn't the honorable and just angel he used to know. The Astarte he knew was gone. This was a twisted monster bearing the visage of his dearest, taunting him with her beauty that was always keeping his hand paralyzed whenever he tried to strike her even though his life depended from it.

"I have chosen my path, Abaddon. And you can walk it with me.."

Abaddon eyed her hand warily as she stretched it out to him, offering him help in standing up. He was torn. On the one hand, he so, so wanted to accept and be with Astarte as he used to. No one would take her from him ever again. But taking her hand would also mean slipping into the hateful darkness. Welcoming the sullying blackness inside and succumbing to madness. Straying from the light and forsaking his duty in favor of the same accursed power that destroyed her.

It was a dangerous thing, this love.. Pushing even the most reasonable people to do unthinkable and dangerous things in the name of it. More often than not at costs that rarely make it worth it. Lucifer knew this. And he used it as a weapon against Abaddon by turning Astarte. He knew not what the Dark Prince offered her but it must've been worth losing oneself. Astarte was now Lucifer's servant, not the love of Abaddon's eternal life. He couldn't… he couldn't end up like her. His already bleeding heart screamed out with anguish when he finally gathered himself to speak.. and refused.

"I… can't do this, Astarte. Not even for you…"

"That's a pity…"

Abaddon grunted in pain when the pressure on his wrist increased to the point when he could feel his bones beginning to crack. And then as suddenly as it appeared, the crushing weight was gone, both from his arm and his chest. But he wasn't free. His breath was abruptly cut off when Astarte's slender fingers, which often fiddled with his hair when he had a moment to lie down and rest after a hard day, looking up at her sitting beside his head, before all this, mercilessly curled around his throat and lifted him up to her eye level until his toes could no longer reach the ground. She was strong. Stronger than he remembered. His left hand grasped Astarte's wrist as he tried to struggle free while he raised his sword to attack. But… looking deep into her eyes, at her face, mouth curved in a poisonous sweet smile, the silken skin of her cheeks… His hand trembled. Once again he proved her and himself he doesn't have it in him to do this. Damn it all. This one, seemingly harmless emotion was what ultimately led him to his own doom. If he'd never fallen for Astarte he wouldn't be here, flapping his wings madly in an attempt to wriggle out of her hold. But he couldn't command his heart. It would not listen to him.. Abaddon couldn't simply stop loving Astarte. Her eyebrows furrowed in a gentle frown and he felt the tip of her gilded spear press insistently against his abdomen, right under his ribs. Cold sweat began to bead around his brow. Oh Creator…

"Fret not, love.."

Astarte purred, making him finally stop beating his wings and look her in the eye again only to see an unsettling spark in there. Despite the obvious danger, hearing her call him her "love" in this deceivingly sweet voice still made his racing heart skip a beat.

"It won't be long.. And when you die, you'll be forever at my side. Just as you desired."

As a monster, not unlike her. A living corpse that defiled the natural order by its existence itself. He didn't want to go like this. What an end it is for a general of Heaven? Killed by his own lieutenant and brought back to life as a shambling husk of what he used to be? Preposterous. Cold lump of fear settled into the pit of his stomach. He could only count seconds. One.. two… it didn't even come to three when the blade sunk deeply into his flesh, piercing the armor as though it wasn't even there in the first place and running him through. After all, the spear was created specifically to fight armored opponents… Abaddon wanted to scream out in pain but the wail of agony was cut short by the firm grasp on his throat that stopped the air escaping his lungs. Pain clouded his vision but did not silence his racing thoughts. He was weak. He couldn't strike Astarte down as his enemy, denying her the well deserved rest and falling to her blade like a fool he felt like. He struggled to breathe and keep his eyes opened when he felt Astarte loosen her ironclad grip on his neck and move her hand to his face, oh so gently pulling the strands of his hair, matted with sweat, to the side and behind his ear before placing the same hand on the back of his neck to keep his head still. He gasped for air through his opened mouth as blood was beginning to well up in his throat and dribble down his chin. And then Astarte unexpectedly leaned in and decisively captured his lips with her own, granting him the final kiss for a farewell.

Abaddon's eyes widened in fear and shock but even though the pain of the spear through his side, he found himself going slack in Astarte's arms. His ornate blade clattered to the ground when his fingers unfurled and let it slip out. No strength remained within him to even try and respond to Astarte's lips, even if he wanted to. But what he hoped to be his last comfort turned out to be nothing more than a cruel torment with how cold and meaningless the kiss felt. It was nothing like the one back in the White City. Hollow seconds ticked by. It tasted only of the blood flooding his tongue and the bitter defeat. No love, no passion and no feelings remained in her black heart. Only the empty void and tasteless ashes… Monster. Astarte no longer… She would never hurt him…

Astarte knew him and all of his weak spots all too well. She knew how and where to strike to make it hurt. And this last kiss was only a tool to her. There wasn't any physical pain anymore when she finally pulled away with his blood painting her lips in deep crimson and let his body slip down the spear to collapse onto the shriveled grass. The last thing Abaddon saw before numbing darkness swallowed him was Astarte delightedly licking his scarlet life essence on her mouth and teeth before she hummed contentedly

"Farewell, my love. I'll see you again soon enough…"

She stood close, gazing at the distant stars shimmering in the black sky.

"The night sure is beautiful."

"It is. Even more so with you around."

"Tsk. Sweet-talker…"

In the impenetrable black, Abaddon heard nothing, saw nothing and felt nothing aside from the dull ache within his chest. Betrayal… Every beat of his heart was a torture. He couldn't even tell if it was really beating or not anymore. It bled ceaselessly. Craving for the lost love. Crying out to Astarte as something started to tug at the strings of his very soul. Trying to pull him free from his still body that refused to move no matter how much he wished to stand or at least sit up. Memories were passing all too quickly through his head. Eyes shining with uncertainty, a relieved smile as he staggered upright with a pained grimace that was supposed to be a comforting smile..

" Are you certain everything is alright? For a moment there I was afraid you were gone.."

"Never, my light. I would never leave you."

He wasn't going to the Kingdom of the Dead, he was certain. Astarte would make sure of it.. Curse Lucifer.. curse this wretched feeling still coiled in his chest, like a festering plague. Warriors of Heaven are people of unbreakable steel. Calm and collected beings of logic. But when it comes to honest feelings, there's nothing in between. They either don't care or love to the death. And when they love and it all falls apart, their hearts break like no one else's. No, they don't even break… they shatter to a million pieces like a frozen flower. And even if they are ever put back together, they're never the same. Those scars run too deep to ever disappear. Curse everything… Soft hair he tangled his fingers in, a heartbeat right beside his… warm presence next to him and a misleadingly delicate cheek pressed to the skin on top of his chest..

"What happens now then?"

"Doesn't matter. As long as we stay together."

"We will, Abaddon…"

He tasted the copper tinge of blood again as Astarte's voice echoed in his head when she swore to him. When he believed her..

I  P R O M I S E .

Those two words… They meant a world to him. Even after he saw what Astarte had become… Abaddon desperately clung to those words like a drowning man holds onto the final breath until the very last second. And that was his downfall. She promised me…

The last memory of Astarte before all this chaos wormed its way into his mind. A less pleasant one. He could see there was something wrong with her back then. This was the first time they had a true falling out. Well.. can this really be called a falling out if it was just him being yelled at? Astarte was changed already. Something happened to her after the Nephilim slaughter. Something he had foolishly overlooked. Maybe he was just too preoccupied with his own grief? Blood tumbled down from her wound, painting both her and his armor in vibrant red from where a crude spear met her body… 

It didn't take long for the last of the Nephilim to fall when this happened. She held onto life tightly as he led her deeper into the garden where healers would take care of her. Abaddon waited outside the tent, pacing back and forth until Azrael, who'd been tending to Astarte himself, walked out. A slender hand fell onto his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks and making him look at his old friend bearing a sullen expression. He'd never been so terrified in his life like in this short moment when he waited for Azrael to inevitably tell him that it was too late to help her but he merely asked Abaddon to come with him inside. Somehow, it was even worse. He saw her sitting on the edge of a cot, face pale, lips pressed into a thin line, staring at nothing. Eyes of other angels were on the three of them as the two archangels walked in. It was a relief to see her alive but there was no doubt that something was wrong. The patches of fresh crimson staining her trousers on her inner thighs only confirmed his suspicions. And Azrael didn't keep him waiting for an explanation.

"She was with child.."

The news hit him like a slug to the face. With a sack of bricks no less. Astarte, his beloved, bearing his blood in her womb. By all means he should feel ecstatic. He should rejoice. But this one word, this tiny word filled him with absolute dread. Was.

"The blade went deep.. There was nothing I could do. I'm sorry."

Who knows how long he stood there like a wooden stake? There was nothing I could do. Azrael was inarguably the best healer in the White City. He knew what he was saying. And yet… Abaddon found it difficult to believe his words. A child. His child. Died before they even had a chance to live.. It hurt more than any wound he'd ever received. When he finally could move, he approached Astarte and sat beside her, reaching for her hand to give her something to hold on to. But her violent reaction caught him off guard. She jerked away, her words dripped like acid.

"It's your fault. Get away from me!"

"Astarte, listen.."

"No! It never should've happened! Why would you do this to me?!"

This was the first time she called him per "you" in the presence of other angels. He knew not what she was truly going through but if his own sorrow was any indication, it must've been a nightmare. They'd lost something they didn't even know they had and it felt like the end of the world they'd built together. In a way, it was... Abaddon tried reaching out again but Astarte batted his hand away and leaped up to her feet despite the pain.

"Don't touch me! Do not speak to me, get off!"

"Astarte!"

He managed to call out before she stormed out of the tent, wrapping her wings around herself as a barrier that could protect her from the world around. Were it not for a firm grip on his arm, he would've gone after her. It was Nathaniel who stopped him. Abaddon looked at his friend, the right side of his face wrapped up in bandages just like his side he was keeping his hand over.

"It's not going to help. Let her go for now."

It's been a long time since he felt this lonely. He left the tent without another word, ignoring whatever it was Azrael was saying, and walked away from the camp like a wandering spectre who lost its way to the Well. And when he was far enough, he found himself collapsing on the ground, angrily hitting it with his fist as though it was the culprit here. They died without so much of a name.. Abaddon knew that what Astarte said wasn't true. He had no idea, it can't have been his fault… and yet this thought kept bothering him.

I should've protected you better. I have failed you.. both of you…

It took a couple of shaky breaths to collect his thoughts. Unable to do anything else, he pulled himself to his knees, clasped his hands together and started to whisper a prayer, seeking compassion in the Creator and his silent presence.

Astarte was already slipping after that and the prolonged stay in Eden only made it worse. She became distant and irritable, constantly itching for a fight, be it with words or blades. He thought she needed time to grieve. But this was something else. Something more sinister. Perhaps if he noticed it earlier.. done something… If only…

The odd tugging suddenly ceased and moments later a wave of comforting warmth washed all over him, gathering in his side where he was impaled. Deep within his chest, he felt his heart quiver, desperately fighting to keep beating. At first he thought he was merely waiting for Astarte to pull him back into the land of the living as a detestable abomination but no.. He yet lived. His thoughts were abruptly dispersed when he heard voices, very familiar and concerned voices, break through, the buzzing in his head.

"Did that do it?"

"Is he even alive ?"

"Hard to tell. It doesn't look good.."

"No, it doesn't.. Do you think we got to him on time?"

"I do not know. I'm not even sure if- Wait, I think he moved."

Abaddon indeed stirred, prying his eyes open with no small effort, immediately regretting his choice after a far too bright light intruded underneath his eyelids, and descending into a fit of uncontrollable coughs, spitting out all the blood that remained within as soon as he took a deeper breath. Pain. Horrible, excruciating pain filled his chest. He had been right. His sternum was definitely broken.

Damn all of it. Damn Lucifer, damn the Nephilim and damn the blasted air that hurt his lungs with every breath. Mist eventually fell from his sights, revealing to him familiar, tired faces of angelic soldiers leaning over him with distressed looks. His men. The Faneguard. They survived. Some of them at least… Malahidael wasn't so lucky.. One of them, Fariel if his memory doesn't deceive him, was holding up Abaddon's hand in his, and held between his curled fingers, Abaddon noticed an emptied crystal, a used up healing shard glimmering in the sunlight as the energy that was channelled into his body began to close the torn blood vessels.

"Lord Abaddon. Can you hear me?"

Gasping for another bit of air, horribly weakened but still very much alive and likely to stay that way, Abaddon gurgled out a disturbing sound that was supposed to be a miserable chuckle. In honesty, it sounded more like a dying demon than a laugh.. It only served to agitate them even further until he breathed out with relief and nodded as no coherent word could form in his mouth. What happened to Astarte when he was on death's door, he could only guess. But one thing he was sure of. She was still out there. Raving mad and dangerous to all who step into Eden. The law was clear. Astarte had fallen into darkness, defiled the dead and raised her weapon against her brethren. This was not an easy decision but after what he'd seen and lived through, Abaddon was certain now. He tried to bring her back, save her from the hate that grew within her like a malicious weed. But she was clearly too far gone. He couldn't help her.. Too late. As always, he was too late. Whether Abaddon likes it or not, Astarte needs to die. There was nothing more he could do for her. But he won't be the one to play the executioner and the hand of justice. He knew he couldn't. He'd failed twice already.. It will be done, just… not now.

Perhaps another time… They were safe for now. And he needed to think… Abaddon lifted his free hand to his mouth. It was still there, this horrid sensation.. and he knew it won't go away for a long, long time. Resting his head against the ground, he exhaled heavily as blessed unconsciousness started to take a hold on him once more. He needed to rest. They all did…

Even as he was falling into the dark again, he could still feel Astarte's venomous kiss upon his lips. Burning like fire and sinking cruel claws into his chest. Would he ever forgive her for tearing his heart apart? Probably. It wasn't her fault after all. It can't be, can it? Would he ever forget, though? Unlikely.. Abaddon couldn't help but wonder… if it was all his fault? He couldn't command his feelings and order them to leave him. But still, he felt guilty. Not even for Astarte's fall anymore but for ever letting this infatuation control him. That's where this love had gotten him so far. It left him weak and vulnerable. It was beautiful while it lasted but now? Only suffering remained.

No wonder Heaven has such a disdain for love. It causes naught but misery and ruin. A dire thought invaded his hazy mind. It matters not what Astarte had done. He still loved her. Soon, she will be put to rest. And him? Well.. Every, even the greatest warrior has to fall in battle. Eventually… And when that day comes, he will be ready to embrace his end. When that day comes.. they will meet again. Maybe... But until then… His heart hastened even still as he took another breath and silently told himself…

…Never again…

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

It.. it was supposed to be short? I did say short fic, didn't I? Uhh.. Whoops 😓

Also, Gimp 2 has nearly succeed in driving me nuts. In Poland we say "stand on eyelashes and clap one's ears" when something is nigh impossible. Yeah. That was that.

Btw, I take back everything I said about Abaddon's shoulder pads , they're mf'ing gorgeous 👌

[cagestark]

Hi I saw you wanted some prompts and how about Hades!Tony and Nature God! Peter fluff. Them Meeting for the first time and falling in love. Them in Tonys Dark castle having dinner. And Then Tony Not going to be so Peter has to make him. Maybe even some smut ;) ALL OF DIS IN ONE. ( Some Daddy Kink. ) P.S I saw you dont write Dark!Tony so just make Tony normal but he's still Hades. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ cause you don't need to be dark and mean to be the king of hell.

You asked for *some* smut and *some* daddy kink but it really just…jumped right out. It got carried away with itself, I was just stuck along for the ride. I hope this is remotely something that you asked for and that you enjoy! Leave a prompt anytime, this was a joy. And it definitely needs a pt. 2… 

Hades!Tony is dying. He picks up Dionysus!Peter, because that’s the perfect cure. Or at least, the best way to die. Some notes here: I know little about Greek mythology, but I do know that everybody is everybody’s relative. Not in this. Consider familial relationships to be explicitly stated, and if not stated, then non-existent. No incest here. Peter is, like, ancient too. Probably still too young for the antis. I really made the mythology my own too lmao. Sorry.

Read here on AO3.

5k. Daddy Kink, ahoy!

-

Everything comes to an end, and thinking that he would be the exception had been a very mortal move.

Tony, who is sometimes called Hades, stands looking into an ornate mirror. The room is dimly lit, but the evidence is impossible to overlook: there is gray in his beard and at his temples. He turns his head this way and that to see it from every angle, frowning deeply. When had those lines begun to bracket his mouth when he smiled or frowned? It must have happened gradually for him to have not noticed before, subtle like sands slipping down an hourglass.

He’s been in this general form for five decades now. Being nearly as old as time itself can get dreadfully droll if stuck with the same appearance. Like most of his divine kin, he likes to switch it up every century or so. Illusions can help, but even without the extra influence, a deity’s appearance changes over time. Humans evolve in that way, their brow bones receding, noses thinning and figures lengthening. In many way, the gods evolve too.

This carefully cultivated visage contains no illusions and was the result of centuries of time leaving their influence on him, an amalgamation of his preferences and his personality. The eyes, dark, as he prefers. The hair, soft and thick and (previously) black. His lips are full, fit for seductive smiles and sinister snarls. And even if, as the years had past, this face had grown—not older, he won’t say older, let’s say more mature—it was just a reflection of his changing disposition. Even the god of the Underworld had to put away childish things sometime, he told himself.

Except now, something about his disposition is turning him gray. It’s giving him crow’s feet and joints that ache. Some part of him, even if subconscious, is getting old.

He is dying.

-

When he steps out of the ground at the base of Mt. Olympus, it is hot and dry and so fucking bright. The tinted glasses he wears do nothing to diminish the sunlight that blinds him for several long moments, no matter how he tries to blink himself used to it. Illusions are firmly in place to disguise his aging appearance.

The acropolis is visible once his eyes have stopped stinging: it’s large and ugly, and the stables smell like shit because even immortal horses defecate. The horses in the Underworld don’t—they’re dead and lovely.

Everywhere he goes in the palace, someone tries to stop him. Seeing his brother in the flesh is an entire affair, and he hasn’t sent any message announcing his arrival. It’s been centuries since he’s even set foot above ground, so he tries not to sniff indignantly that no one recognizes him. Sick of being interrogated, he makes himself invisible (it’s a crime though—he looks so cut and handsome in his three-piece suit) and strolls leisurely all the way to Zeus’s chambers.

Zeus has a handsome mortal man in his bed, as he is wont to do. They make a lovely picture, both muscled but one blond and the other dark and long-haired like mortal women prefer. Tony is jealous, standing over their naked, entwined forms while they slumber. It looks comfortable. But how ever do they keep from sweating all over each other?

The snap of his fingers ends his invisibility and startles Zeus into wakefulness. The last time he saw his brother, the god looked nothing like this. Now he is the picture of mortal desirability: blond with cornflower blue eyes, a well-shaped face. Is it an illusion he wonders—but no, not possibly. They can’t maintain illusions while they sleep or lose focus.

“Must you break in every time you visit?” Zeus asks. He stands to dress himself, and Tony gives him the privacy by seating himself on a solid-gold armchair and unashamedly ogling the brunet still sleeping in his brother’s bed.

“Did I break in last time? I distinctly remember knocking—”

“You knocked the door off the hinges.”

Tony scoffs. Nearby is a golden platter of grapes. He knocks the grapes to the floor and tucks the platter into his suit jacket, all while Zeus’s back is turned.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company? I like the facial hair, by the way. You always were a quirky one.”

He waves away his illusion. Zeus flinches as if instead of a middle-aged mortal there is now an ancient hag sitting in his bedroom. Tony hates this. Hates the blow to his ego and vanity. He attempts to conceal his embarrassment with sensationalism: “I am dying.”

They sit together, knees nearly touching. The room is quiet though all the windows are open letting in a breeze and endless sunlight that is beginning to give him a headache. Despite all they have been through together (and trust him, it is a very long and sordid history rife with jealousy and violence), they are brothers. This is familiar. It is comfortable.

“Why, Hades?”

“It’s Tony. I go by Tony.”

“You and your aliases. Tony is positively mortal.”

“You should try it. Shall I call you Steve?”

“I’d rather you didn’t. Quit avoiding my question.”

Tony sighs. He uses a trembling hand to rub at his eye beneath the glasses, trying to stave off the growing headache. There isn’t any clever quip he can give, so he just tells the truth. “I have no idea.”

“No idea,” Zeus mocks flatly. “The only way we can die is by choice.”

“I am aware.”

“You are killing yourself then. Slowly. Dramatically—though I’d never expect you to do anything expected. So tell me why you want to die.”

“To my knowledge…I don’t know. Whatever this is, it goes deep. I haven’t made any conscious decision. I have of course been bored. Doing anything for a millennium could take the joy out of it. It’s not necessarily a happy job, the one that I have. But I don’t—I don’t think I want to die. And yet,” he waves a hand at himself.

“We have healers here, well versed in magic too. Maybe you’ve been cursed. Spend some time here, we will get to the bottom of this.”

“I’d rather not spend a moment more in this sunlight than I have to,” Tony says honestly. “But it seemed responsible, to tell someone. To get my affairs in order. Someone else will have to rule the Underworld when I’m gone.” The thought gives him a strange relief.

And maybe that is why he’s dying.

When he goes to leave, Zeus catches his arm. Despite his own reputation as the drama queen of the family, Tony can testify that Zeus is a close second, proficient in tortured expressions. “Brother. Please stay.”

“No. But thank you for asking.”

“Then—take some time off. Something!” Zeus calls after him.

On his way out, he doesn’t bother turning himself invisible again, only replacing the illusion of youth—let the guards know that he slipped past them. It’s good for their egos to be taken down a notch. Just as he’s passing the stables, he nearly collides with a smaller figure. Looking up at him, nearly drowned out by the sunlight, is a lovely mortal-looking boy with a wreath of gold curls, skin golden and freckled. He’s dressed in typical Olympus fashion, a light and loose tunic secured by a belt around his trim waist.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry—” the boy says, turning red as a pomegranate. His voice is fragile and cracking. “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”  

“A bad habit,” says Tony. He licks his lips. “Tell me you aren’t on your way to my brother’s bed. He’s already got a lovely little cock warmer up there, and I’d hate for your feelings to be hurt.”

The boy’s mouth opens and closes several times like a fish. “Your—brother?”

“Tall, blond god? Always looks to be on the verge of tears?”

“You’re—Hades.”

“Tony.”

“That’s a mortal name.”

“Nothing about me is mortal kid.”

“Oh—I didn’t mean to insult you,” he says. “I quite like it. To be—well, honest. I like the name Peter. It’s much less of a mouthful than Dionysus.”

Tony nearly removes his sunglasses. This sweet, soft little creature hardly looks like the god of nature—but to be fair, they have run in different circles for, well, ever. “My apologies, Peter. I mistook you for a mortal.”

Peter’s smile is beatific, bright as the sun. “That’s alright. It’s the curls, isn’t it? I can’t quite get rid of them. I’m not very practiced at illusions, really. I spend most of my time alone or with the animals, and they don’t quite care what I look like. To be honest, I’m just glad to be rid of the horns I had eight hundred years ago.”

“Horns are so twelfth-century.”

Peter laughs, and no wonder this boy is in charge of all the cute woodland creatures. Tony’s pretty sure that there are butterflies—at least, a particularly large species of moth, something with wings—fluttering around in his gut just as the sight of him. In the back of his mind, he still sees Zeus and his lover, pressed chest-to-back, sleeping peacefully. Peter looks like he’d be easy to hold: a head smaller, thin and willowy.

“Peter, not to be annoyingly cryptic, but I’m a little short on time to properly woo you. How would you like to slip through a nice cozy hole in the ground and come home with me to warm my bed?”

The young-looking god looks aghast. One finely-boned hand clutches at the neck of his tunic. “You mean—to the Underworld?”

“That’s the one. Great garish gates, lots of unworthy souls lying about. Not in my castle though, I keep a clean place for a bachelor—”

“I. Well. Yes. I’ve seen nearly all there is to see above ground. Are there plants, there? What is the geography like?”

They link arms. Peter’s skin is warm from the sunlight even through Tony’s suit. They could not look more unalike in dress, and the looks they receive from other patrons and deities as they leave Olympus are wary at best and malicious at worst. Tony isn’t fazed: most creatures hate him. Animals. Mortals. Gods. It’s a tough line of work.

And he feels so tired.

The kindness of Peter’s touch rejuvenates him though. They make small talk that Tony can barely concentrate on. He’s too busy contemplating the positions he might bend Peter into, the noises he might make, how Tony might spread him out over the massive bed in his estate and worship him. Pun intended.

They reach the hole Tony sprung from. Here is where Peter gets nervous, trepidation naked on his face. The boy bites his lip rosy, crossing his arms like he is cold in the sunshine.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Tony says. He winks. “Bit of a tight fit though. Might have to hold on to me.”

They wrap their arms around each other. Peter is nearly the perfect height for Tony to rest his chin on the boy’s crown on curls, and up this close he sees its absolutely threaded with flowers and clovers. The pollen makes him sneeze, but he hardly minds when there is an attractive body pressed against him from chin to chest to hip. He can’t even remember the last time he was touched—when Zeus grabbed his arm in passing, but before then? Ages. Lost in his thoughts, he hears Peter muffle his gasp against Tony’s suit as they sink underground.

It is much cooler here, where the sunlight doesn’t reach. All light is dim and flickering. From the earthen ceiling hang a myriad of roots reaching their tendrils down towards the sprawling domain of the damned. They are just outside of Tony’s castle—more of a mansion really, much more modern and stylish than those gaudy human monuments of stone. A river, water like ink, runs around the perimeter, silent.

Peter stands looking all around. He is very handsome when lit by flame, skin even more golden, eyes so dark they look black. The roots from above absolutely tickle him and he reaches a hand up absently as if he could grow tall enough to reach them. The flesh on his bare arms and legs prickles from the cool temperature, nipples pebbling under his thin tunic.

“Is this the Styx River?” Peter asks, mouth agape.

“Sure.”

“Really?”

“No. This is actually the Lethe—don’t touch the water.” His stern voice has Peter snatching his hand from the surface of the river, clutching it to his chest. Tony softens. “I’m sorry. But while you’re here, it’s safe to say that most things aren’t good for you to touch. Or drink. Or eat. When in doubt, just ask me.”

“As you wish,” Peter says. Even in the flickering light, Tony can see he is blushing, head hanging like a scolded child.

“Would you like to go inside?”

-

If Peter was awed outside, he seems even more floored by the interior. The ceilings are vaulted. There is artwork from every era in solid gold frames to decorate the walls, because Tony considers himself a patron of very nice things. The floor is of black marble that glistens in the candlelight. The general opulence is probably excessive, Tony thinks, especially to a god who lives simply in nature.

“This is incredible,” Peter breathes. “It’s nothing how I thought it would be. There are stories, you know. About how the Underworld is a terrible place and Zeus will banish you here if you misbehave.”

“To be fair,” Tony says, guiding Peter up the winding staircase. “You’ve only seen a fraction of the domain. It is probably just as terrible as all the stiffs up-top make it out to be. But—to be honest—”

The words catch in his throat. He’s never found himself wanting to be so honest before.

“Yes?” Peter prompts.

They are stopped outside Tony’s bedroom door. He decides he has nothing to lose by opening up to the other god, and if he doesn’t, it’s entirely liable that when he dies, no one will ever have known him. “To be honest, I try to avoid it. Tartarus, the Mourning Fields. Places where the souls suffer. It gives me no pleasure. I guess I’m a poor excuse for a god, here.”

“Not enjoying someone else’s suffering—that doesn’t sound like a bad thing to me,” Peter says. They are standing nearly chest to chest, Peter staring up at him with huge, naïve eyes. His thin lips curve into a soft smile. When Tony reaches up to tuck some curls behind his ears, the ears are just barely pointed at the tips. Peter shivers, like it tickles.

“You’re wrong,” Tony says lowly, turning the doorknob and throwing open the door. “But I appreciate you saying it anyway.”

Tony’s bedroom is befitting a dark prince. The bed instead is a huge four-poster, golden, with silks and a canopy so fine and sheer it looks like black spider silk. When Peter sits there in his tunic, flowers in his hair, he could not look more like a lamb being willingly led to slaughter. He looks fit for debauching.

Underneath is there is a sense of urgency for Tony. He thought he had all the time in the world, but now he knows he doesn’t. If things were different, he could take his time. Woo the nature god, win his affection and then his body. But now things are different. It calls for boldness. “Are you interested in sex with me, kid?”

Face red: “You keep calling me that. I’m thousands and thousands of years old, Tony.”

“You’re right—would you like to have sex with me, Peter?”

Peter’s blush deepens but he nods, already half-hard. Divine libidos.

Tony loosens his tie. His honey eyes track the dark god’s every movement. “Can I tell you how this is playing out in my head?”

Peter nods again.

Tony removes the tie and folds it gently over an armchair with four chimera feet sculpted out of onyx as the legs. “I want to take my time and take you apart. I want to taste you, suck on your hot little tongue, leave bruises on your neck. I’ll kiss and mouth every last inch of you except for your cock. Then I’ll put you on your elbows and knees and eat your little ass.”

Peter is panting silently, eyes half shut while he examines every inch of skin exposed as Tony unbuttons his shirt. The tunic does nothing to disguise how hard he is, and one soft hand reaches down to palm himself, to Tony’s immense pleasure. He undoes his cufflinks, tony gold seeds, sitting them aside. “I want to tongue you open until you’re wet and soft, until your cock aches so much it’s fit to burst. I’m going to worship you. Destroy you. I will be your god, all before I even get my cock inside you. How does this sound so far, Peter?”

“Goooood,” he breathes, tilting his head back. His eyes close but then open, wider, like he’s afraid to miss a single moment of what’s in front of him. So fucking adorable.

“Then I’ll open you up with my fingers, very carefully. Slowly. I won’t lie to you Peter, it will be very hard. For me. Having my fingers inside your tight little ass will probably have me wanting to blow my load as it is. It’s going to take incredible self-restraint, but don’t worry,” Tony says, unbuckling his belt. “I think I’m up for the challenge.”

Peter groans, dropping down to recline back on one elbow. His other hand is no longer jerking himself off through his tunic, is instead just clutching at himself, face twisted in the sweetest pain. “Please don’t stop,” he begs so sweetly.

“The same goes for you. Keep touching yourself, Pete. It’s turning me on.” Like it pains him, Peter whines as he resumes, much slower than before. The sound Tony’s belt makes as it comes free from the loops is almost sensual and then he sets it aside. “Once you’re ready—past ready—I’ll put my cock in you. Maybe I’ll let you decide how you take it, whether it will be on your hands and knees or maybe on your back, pressed in half, nowhere to run or hide from me. Maybe you’d like to ride me. Could you be brave, darling? Could you sit on my cock?”

Peter says something unintelligible. Tears slip from his eyes, glinting in the candlelight.

“What is it?” Tony asks, tender.

“Can—May I please cum?”

Tony coos. “You sweet boy, asking daddy for permission. Lift your tunic, rose. Let me watch you.”

Face burning, Peter lifts his tunic. Beneath is his cock, of decent girth and length, flushed and wet, the head nearly purple with desperation. One soft hand reaches down to cradle his balls, and the other resumes jerking himself off, moaning unreservedly at the first touch of skin-on-skin.

“Go on. Cum on yourself.”

Peter does, reclining flat on the bed, back arching into a lovely bow. His cock spurts endlessly, the god’s mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy, toes barely long enough to touch the floor and scrabbling to find purchase as he shakes and shivers.

It’s the most beautiful thing Tony can remember seeing, and he’s seen almost everything. By the way the boy is panting, Tony wishes he had some water to offer him; however, he knows that anything he eats or drinks will tether him here to this dark world. And if there’s any other thing he knows besides, it’s that Peter belongs above in the sunlight.

“I’ll never tell you no,” Tony admits, shedding the last of his clothes as the boy recovers, body jerking belatedly. “But I have to admit, I do enjoy the way you ask to cum so prettily. Can you ask me in confidence, darling? Could you ask your daddy, your god, to let you cum?”

“Anything,” Peter pants. His long fingers scramble to undo the belt at his waist and then he sheds his clothing in one fell swoop. Underneath he is all golden skin and tight muscles. His cock is half hard, cum glistening on his abs like the tears on his face.

“A terrible thing to promise,” Tony says, kneeling up into the bed. Hand flat on Peter’s chest, he ducks down to lick a flat line through the cum on his abs, groaning at the taste and the way Peter’s cock twitches. “Where did I say we would start, little rose?”

Peter doesn’t even blush, eyes half lidded with pleasure. He rises up onto his elbows, mouth open and ready.

The kiss is absolutely filthy, tongues entwining, the taste of cum between them. Tony licks into the softest, sweetest mouth he’s ever known, tangling his fingers in dark curls. He tugs a little and Peter’s head tips back with a soft whispered groan, the pliancy going straight to the dark god’s cock. It’s like all the strength is sapped from the boy who just holds his mouth open obediently while Tony explores it with his tongue, running it along the teeth, pulling back to suckle and nip at his lips.

Tony takes his time, as promised. He kisses and sucks at every inch of Peter’s golden body, tonguing the nipples into tight, pleasurable points and sucking at each abdominal that appears when the boy tenses. Lovingly, he cleans the stiff cock of its previous load of cum, perfunctory, before moving on. He sucks bruises onto the tanned thighs and kisses the delicate inside of his wrists.

“Roll over, darling,” Tony says. “Up on your knees and down on your elbows, for me. Spread your legs—a little more—yes just like that. Show me that pretty ass.”

Peter rolls at the first spoken word, movements languid. The expression on his face is blissful, and Tony might mistake it for sleepiness if the hard cock hanging between his thighs wasn’t dripping down onto the black sheets. His submission is so lovely and complete, Tony falls in love with him a little.

Then he spreads the god open and licks a broad stripe over his opening, letting the saliva pool in his mouth to lubricate his journey while he tongues at the tight little opening, coaxing it to submit as sweetly as its owner. The noises Peter makes go straight to Tony’s cock: whimpers and whines and breathy exhalations. Tony lets one thumb rub at the boy’s hole, barely slipping in while he ducks down further to mouth at the sensitive balls. He lets his thumb massage and catch on the rim, tugging gently, while he pulls back briefly. The puddle beneath the god is obscene. Peter’s cock looks downright painful.

“Why aren’t you touching yourself, little rose?” Tony asks. “Your little cock looks like it hurts.”

“I—May I?” Peter asks, turning his neck so that he could flash his dark eyes towards Tony’s.

“It’s your cock, Peter, you don’t need to ask me. Or is it mine now? Does your cock belong to daddy?”

Peter rocks back, fisting at the sheets. “Yes,” he groans. “Yours, daddy. May I touch it? Please?”

Tony shuts his eyes. He has never been lucky. In his first game of chance, he got the losing lot, receiving domain of the Underworld. But what luck he must have had today, to bump into this sweet doe. He can hardly believe it to be true. “Please, touch yourself. As fast or slow as you like.”

Peter chooses fast as Tony’s goes back to licking him open. His hips don’t know what to do—fuck into his fist or press back towards the hot tongue inside of him. Tony sinks a finger inside, and it slips in easily. The god under him keens high in his throat, deciding yes to arch his back more and give the dark one more access, content to just grind into his own palm.

The second finger doesn’t go in as easily, but it seems that Peter enjoys it more. Perhaps he likes the burn of being stretched open. One soft crook of those fingers has him nearly shrieking, asking for permission.

“Of course,” Tony says. He wants to shut his eyes, it all feels so good, so overwhelming—but he doesn’t want to miss an instant of the boy beneath him. He leans back to watch Peter’s mouth slacken in ecstasy, breaths stuttering as he grinds to completion against his own hand, hot cum slipping through his fingers. “Beautiful,” Tony says, pressing a kiss to the boy’s back. “Absolutely beautiful.”

This time, Peter draws his own hand to his mouth and licks the cum away, humming contentedly. Tony’s own cock aches, desperate for the slightest pressure, but he ignores it, softly fucking his fingers into Peter, drawing them apart to prepare him for a third. When he presses in, Peter sighs joyfully, looking absolutely fucked out, smiling at nothing and no one.

“How do you want me, Peter?” asks Tony. “I promised you that it would be your choice.”

“Let me ride you,” Peter mumbles. Tony’s cock jumps—just the answer he wanted to hear. He’s not sure however that Peter has the strength; he’s looking more asleep than he is awake.

“Are you sure? We can rest now.”

Peter perks up, a little alarmed. “What? No—please. Please, may I ride you?”

Tony groans, smiling. His heart feels soft, like a fruit left to rot. That gentle, cracking voice could ask anything from him, and he might be obliged to agree to it. As it is, he lays prostrate, watching with greedy eyes as Peter climbs above him. The god’s golden thighs are shaking already, but his expression is still blissful as he kneels up, reaching down for Tony’s cock. The first touch after such lengthy neglect has him hissing, pressing his head back into the pillow. Then he feels the unbearable warmth, the wet pressure as Peter lowers himself.

The nature god’s face looks wrecked, mouth open, eyes squinted shut. He presses down but then rises up, chest hitching with breaths before lowering himself again, taking just a little more at a time. By the time his ass touches Tony’s thighs, Tony feels liable to burst, and Peter is hard again.

Then he begins to move, thighs flexing. From his mouth come the most pitiable little sounds: breathy gasps, chants of yes, yes, yes daddy, thank you—please!

“So polite,” Tony says through gritted teeth, trying to prolong the moment. The sleeve around him is so tight it borders painful, but it is a line that Tony loves to skip along. Most arousing is Peter, the obvious pleasure he’s experiencing, the openness in his face and body. He is beyond censorship, beyond self-doubt, and it is the most beautiful and honest thing the dark god has ever seen.

It is exactly what drives him to the edge, and he barely has breath in his lungs to give Peter a warning before he is cumming, head pressed back into the pillow, groaning deep in his chest. Peter makes a wrecked noise, like Tony’s orgasm feels good as his own, pressing a palm on the other god’s chest to give himself more leverage while he rides the cock inside him.

“May I?” Peter pants, legs shaking.

“Yes,” Tony breathes, his eyes closed. This way, he focuses on the sensation: the warmth and wetness around his cock as it pulses with Peter’s orgasm, the hot splatter of cum on his abs, the way he feels warmer in this bed than he ever has before.

He never wants Peter to leave.

He wants to leave with Peter, and never return.

He does not want to die—

And then, Peter is gasping, a sound that can’t be mistaken for pleasure. The warm body on top of him moves away swiftly, and when his eyes crack open, he sees the horror on Peter’s face. Tony sits up, chest tight. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“You—you’re—” A golden hand comes up to stroke beside one of Tony’s eyes, fingertips brushing his temples. And oh.

Oh. His illusions must have fallen when he came.

The younger, more attractive persona is gone. Instead, his true form is left: hairs turning gray, face lined. It’s obvious why Peter is horrified. It can’t be pleasant to go to bed with someone and have them turn into—well, the same person, only twenty years older. Surely, Tony must be a terrifying sight. Or at least ugly.

“Tony, you’re older,” Peter says. His face is softer now without the fear.

“I’m—dying.”

“That—no. You can’t be. You’re—like my god.” The large brown eyes fill with tears that balance there only for a moment before tripping down his cheeks. The sight makes him feel like Charon has taken his ferryman’s pole to Tony’s chest, striking him as he is wont to do with leisurely souls. The tears are white hot when he brushes them away. “Tony, I don’t want you to die.”

He swallows, gathering the smaller god into his arms where he curls and weeps against Tony’s bare chest. Tony runs his fingers through the curls, flicking away a clover with far too many leaves that clings to him. There is a lump in his throat, like he might cry as well—only he knows it’s honesty.  “I don’t want me to die either. Except for when I’m here.. The Underworld is no place to spend eternity. I feel—like one of the damned.”

“Then come away with me,” Peter cries. “You don’t need to stay here. The whole earth is my domain, and I say that you are welcome there. Please, Tony. Come and stay with me.”

His hand pauses its ministrations while the cogs in his mind whir. What would they do…what would anyone do if he disappeared? The souls would continue to filter in—but Tony isn’t the one who decides the unworthy from the worthy, and he isn’t the one who determines punishment or delivers it. Without him there, the Underworld is likely to continue on just as it has since the beginning of time.

And maybe he can continue on, too. Elsewhere.

“You know,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to those curls. “My brother did say I should take a sabbatical.”

[quinxtm]

❛ here , ❜ a sleeved hand is presented to her , visage all sunshine and smiles as he awaits for her to take it into her own . ❛ hold my hand as we cross the street , yeah ? i don't want us getting separated in the crowd . ❜

     She feels like a goddamn traitor. It wasn’t her intention to grow fond of the Quinx squad, let alone Haise Sasaki. It’s a strange feeling his words leave behind. The way he speaks it sounds like he cares for her. Moko doesn’t know if she likes it. Lips part slightly as if she’s going to speak, yet she chooses not to, eyes darting to the left. Fingers lace together with his, her eyes looking down at her feet before she brings her head back up to look into the oncoming traffic. What if she had gotten lost in the crowd, the mass sea of hundreds of people, each one living their very own life, one different from the next. What if she had disappeared into this very crowd, the way her father did when she was younger ( she can see it, his shadowing figure leaving her alone at the park all over again ) ? What if she had faded into nothingness like the memories of having a loving mother? There was that lingering peculiar desire to become a ghost in the fog, to be… forgotten.

     I DON’T WANT US GETTING SEPARATED IN THE CROWED I DON’T WANT US GETTING SEPARATED IN THE CROWD I DON’T WANT US TO GET SEPARATED IN THE CROWD. The sentence played over and over in her head, AS IF WERE A BROKEN RECORD! Mind removes and replaces words within, a bad habit of her’s, something she needs to fix. It changes, and now panic sets in. She’s hearing it all wrong, all fucking wrong. He wants to lose her in the crowd right? He wants to get rid of her right? He doesn’t want her to take hold of his hand right? Doesn’t Haise Sasaki just want to never see her again? To throw her away as if she were a bit of trash? 

     To leave her in the mob of strangers, isn’t that one’s dream? It was what Shini, Teaser, and even Yoshi had wanted. HELL, when Moko had first got to that house ( THAT FUCKING HOUSE OF HORRORS, something she wouldn’t ever dare admit it was! For her love of those monsters was much too strong for her to ever reveal what happened behind those doors! ), hadn’t Shini offered the poor girl as a snack to her friends?

     What a naive girl she was, a stupid girl, a girl stuck in a land of make-believe. WAKE UP BABY AND SMELL THE ROSES!  To think that those ghouls gave a damn about her was PATHETIC on her end. ( Pathetic: Arousing pity, especially through vulnerability or sadness. Example 1: ❝ Moko’s so fuckin’ pathetic, I can’t even belieeeeve we can’t fuckin’ eat her! ❞ )  There’s a sudden feeling of nausea. Eyes look on ahead, the pair had made it to the other side of the street. Her hand quickly lets go of his, and she’s running over to the public trash bin. Hands grasp the metal rim, she leans forward and lets everything fall through. Vomit emits from her mouth and the only thing she can think of is how disgusting she is. To hear such horrible things said about her by her abusers the people she loved, it left scars on her heart. 

     SHE WANTS TO GO HOME. But where was home exactly? Was it the house that held the Quinx Squad? Or was it the apartment in the fourth ward? Or was there no home, rather a person she could call home? She can feel the tears drop down, rolling down soft cheeks. She doesn’t want to cry, no it’ll make her look weak, and that’s not something she wants. 

     Maybe she would’ve been better off if she had been eaten alive by Hiro, or even if he let the three rip her to pieces. If she were dead, she wouldn’t have to deal with any of this, these emotions, this heartbreak, she wouldn’t have to go through any of it. Yet if she had died that very day she wouldn’t get to experience life with the Quinx, her family it wouldn’t have been possible. If she had died that day she wouldn’t witness Sassan Haise run from those dreadful roombas, the very same ones she would rush to turn off and remove from his sights. She wouldn’t have witnessed Ginshi jumping onto the couch to fight with Urie who would hold nothing more than a stoic expression as he threw each swing. She wouldn’t have gotten to experience staying up a bit later than she should just to bake with Saiko. She wouldn’t have gotten to bond with Mutsuki over something so odd like knifework.

     The back of her right-hand drags across her mouth, wiping away what bit of vomit had gotten onto her face. Her body spinning around to face Haise. Before she even knows it she’s throwing herself into him, arms wrapping around his torso and her face pressing into his chest. ❝ I-I-I would like to tha-thank you… ❞  Words are almost forced out, this is something she never thought she’d ever say, ❝ …for everything, Sassan. ❞  

[alola-imagines]

Hello! Can I have an imagine where Red's SO is really sick in the hospital and he finds out? Turns out she needs an organ doner. I need a bit of angst lol (but please let her survive, don't want to be crying all night lol)

(Your wish is my angsty command.)

The doctors weren’t insane. They knew what they were doing, they were professionals. They could figure out every single thing wrong with someone, and make sure that they could fix it.

Which is why they made damn sure they got out of Red’s way.

The Elite Trainer was dashing into the hospital, running straight for the receptionist. His usual angry visage was changed into one of both sadness and worry. The lady behind the counter, her rounded glasses on the tip of her nose, looked at him and immediately knew who he was here for.

“Room B81,” she said, “Third floor.” Red nodded in thanks, and went as fast as he could to the elevators. He knew running in a hospital was frowned upon, even for a trainer as powerful as himself, so he speed-walked. And that made all the difference.

It was only a few days ago that you told him you felt strange. Something in your stomach, you said. You reassured him, even when he got worried, that everything was fine, probably just something you ate. You didn’t tell him about the shooting pain, or how you collapsed at home once, when he wasn’t there. 

You didn’t tell him about calling an ambulance alone. Because, in a stroke of horrible, horrible luck, he was out.

The elevator can’t lower fast enough. Red stamps his foot, angrily trying to do something, anything. The cheap, tinny elevator music is painful to his ears, and he grits his teeth. Even now, he can’t speak. He can’t muster the words to be angry.

The nurse didn’t have to think twice about letting him know where to go. Red is the most famous trainer of all time, practically. He was known around the world, especially here. And it was no secret that you were his significant other. Red made it very obvious wherever he went and you followed. Yes, he had adoring fans, but he made it very clear that he only had eyes for you. 

Now, those eyes were filling with tears. The moment the elevator dinged, signalling the arrival on the third floor and the end of the godforsaken elevator music, he was out the door faster than a Ninjask on steroids. His entire mind was focused on one thing: you. Making sure you were okay.

“Red!” 

A familiar voice causes him to stop. Blue, his longtime friend and rival, waves to him from a doorway. Red trots to him, and he waves him in. Inside, behind a glass window, he sees an operating theater. The actual procedure is blocked behind a wall of surgeons and equipment, but the tag on the clipboard shows your name. His eyes widen in shock.

You don’t hear them. You don’t hear anything. 

“The docs said it’s kidney failure,” Blue said in a hushed tone, arms crossed over his chest as Red leaned against the railing, “Both of them. She’ll need a transplant, just one kidney.” Red turned to his friend, and Blue shook his head.

“You’re not compatible, pal,” he answered, “Different blood types. And she needs a donor soon. This surgery right now is temporary.” 

Red closed his eyes. He felt faint….and then he felt the floor. And yelling. And nothing.

His mind felt something. It felt the smell of your hair. It felt the sight of your eyes. It felt the taste of your lips. It felt your first date. Your first argument. Your first roadtrip. Your first double battle.

Your first time you told each other “I love you”. 

It felt himself waking up. It felt a chair underneath him.

“Morning, handsome.”

Red looks up from where he was sitting. You’re in a hospital bed, laying back. There is an empty cup of water next to the bed, along with an empty plate that used to hold waffles. The TV is on. The host talks about the latest in fashion (”Buy your Magikarp Earrings before they’re gone!”). Red groans and rubs his eyes, then notices the bed next to yours.

“Hey there, pal,” Blue says, smiling at Red. The trainer stands, shocked. You smile, beckoning him to take your hand. He does so.

“Blue was a match,” you tell him, “How about that?” Red blinks once. Then twice. Blue laughs, followed by coughing.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he says, “I knew I’d get something over you someday, didn’t I?” Red pays no attention. He’s focused on you. He leans over, kissing your forehead. You hold his arm, and look into his eyes.

“I’m not leaving any time soon.”

~Mod Sun