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spider-stark · 7 months ago

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EVERYTHING

Kaz Brekker x Reader

Summary - Kaz Brekker doesn't make any sense—and trying to understand him is getting to be exhausting.

Warnings - fem!reader, reader worked at a brothel, subtle hints at past abuse, some major dog / master symbolism idfk, mentions of blood/weapons, close proximity, could deviate some from canon, based more on book!kaz than show, NOT EDITED SO IF THERE'S A TYPO IDK

Word Count - 3.8k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Touch me.”

You’ve only just slipped inside Kaz Brekker’s room at the Slat, and you’re convinced you’ve misheard him. The door’s still cracked, after all—and the mindless clamor of those playing cards down in the foyer is loud enough to play tricks on anyone’s ears.

You push the door shut, habit making you click the lock into place before spinning around to face him. “Pardon?”

The lanterns burn low, dim light chasing shadows across the spacious attic. Kaz stands over by his desk, leaning his weight against the edge in lieu of his cane. He’s dragging a gloved hand through his hair, looking uncharacteristically flustered.

“Don’t act like you didn’t hear me,” he snaps.

Your laugh comes out breathy and awkward. “We both know I’m a shit actor, Brekker.”

It’s why you’re never picked when the Dreg’s need a decoy—some girl to saddle up next to a sleazy merchant or another hapless mark, distracting them with batted lashes and a well-timed hand on their thigh. In Jesper’s words, you’re so socially inept that you’d probably blow the operation before it even got started.

To your dismay, Kaz doesn’t repeat himself. With his gaze carefully pinned to the tops of his black boots, he demands, “Why are you here?”

Your brow quirks. “At the Slat?”

“In my room.”

The answer eludes you. Why did you come up here? It’s not like tonight was the first time Dirtyhands has ever skipped out on playing Blackjack with the rest of the group, and yet he’d caught your attention when he slipped from the foyer and went limping up the stairs.

Then again, that’s not so surprising. Kaz always catches your eye, doesn’t he?

In the year since you joined the Dregs, you’d earned an unfortunate nickname for yourself around the Barrel: The Bastard’s Pet. Wherever Kaz Brekker goes, you’re sure to be hot on his heels, following after him like a dog, loyal and clingy.

You tell yourself it’s because that’s your job—to keep Kaz safe, to watch his six. But the devil’s got eyes in the back of his head, and you know Kaz Brekker doesn’t really need protection.

So, it begs the question: Why are you here? In his room, at the Slat, as a member of the Dregs? Why does he keep you around?

Unsure of the answer, you simply avoid giving one.

“You should play games with them sometimes,” you tell him, giving a subtle nod over your shoulder. Their voices are muffled now, but you can still hear everyone downstairs exchanging jeers as they shuffle another round. “It makes you look like a recluse, always sneaking off to be by yourself.”

Kaz drums one finger against the desk. It’s an erratic beat, following no set rhythm. “I am a recluse,” he grinds out.

You almost snort. Clearly.

It’s not like anyone joins a gang with the hopes of making friends—and none of the Dregs are dumb enough to think they’ll find a buddy in the infamous Dirtyhands, anyway. Still, you don’t think it’d kill him to try being a little more sociable.

The others would like having him around.

You like having him around.

“I’ll ask one more time.” Dark eyes flick up, heavy as stones when they land on yours. Suddenly, the large attic feels awfully claustrophobic. “Why are you here?”

A lie comes easily enough, slipping right through your teeth.

“I got bored playing,” you tell him. “And Jesper’s cheating, anyway.”

“They’re all cheating,” Kaz points out.

“But Jesper’s bad at it,” you argue. Lifting a shoulder, you add, “It ruins the fun.”

His finger falls still against the desk, ceasing its rhythmless beat. Warm light flickers all around him, dark shadows dancing over the harsh angles of his face. You watch his jaw tick, note the subtle curl of his upper lip. You’re overcome with the distinct feeling that you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun.

Probably because you are.

You’ve seen this face before. Been the one to clean the bloody mess left behind by whoever was unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of it. Now, as the one standing in the line of fire, you feel your stomach start to twist.

You tell yourself it’s dread. Anxiety for what’s to come.

“From where I was standing,” Kaz grinds out, his stare unflinching, “you looked to be having plenty of…” A sharp breath, his tongue gliding over pearly teeth. “Fun.”

There’s something hidden in the word. A meaning that goes well beyond its dictionary definition. Is it a challenge? A dare, maybe? Or—perhaps the most unlikely of the options—some sort of plea?

“And what is that supposed to mean?” you ask, finally daring a step closer, slowly drifting from the closed door.

Kaz shakes his head. “It means what it means.”

As you draw closer, he moves around the desk and takes a seat. He stretches his bad leg out in front of him, mindlessly rubbing a hand down toward his knee. It’s always bothering him by this point in the night.

“Go back downstairs.” An order—not a suggestion.

Across from him now, you place both palms on his desk. The smooth wood is cool against your skin, though the rest of you feels impossibly warm. It’s a side effect of standing too close to him, you think. The flushed cheeks and the vice around your lungs, always leaving your mind fuzzy and your pulse erratic.

You hate him for it, sometimes. For the effect he has on you.

“Why?” you ask, riding out your little bold streak. “So you have a reason to gripe some more about me having fun?”

“I’m not griping,” Kaz shoots back, very evidently griping.

“Griping, carping, quibbling, or complaining—doesn’t matter how you word it, all of 'em fit you to a T right now, Brekker.”

He’s not looking at you anymore, focused instead on the swirling patterns of the wood grain or the neat stack of papers or anything else that gives him an excuse to keep his head low. A month or so after you joined the Dregs, Kaz told you that you had a talent for getting under his skin. Maybe that’s why you don’t need to be able to see his face to know just how annoyed he looks.

“Go downstairs.”

“I will,” you vow. “After you explain what you meant.”

Frustrated, he insists, “There’s nothing to explain.”

“What did you say when I came in?”

“Go downstairs.”

You throw your hands up. “If you won’t tell me what you said, then at least explain why ‘fun’ is such a problem!”

“Go. Down. Stairs.”

“Make me.”

Wood screeches, the chair flying back as he shoots to his feet. The stiffness in his leg makes the movement a little clumsy, and you don’t miss the subtlest flash of a wince before he leans against the desk.

“Do you know why I brought you in?”

For a moment, it’s all you can do to blink at him. Because, no—you don’t know why Kaz offered you a place with the Dregs.

You’re not a sharpshooter like Jesper or a trained Grisha like Nina, not as smart as Wylan or as silent as Inej. You’re decent when it comes to sleight-of-hand and slightly above average with a blade, but even those skills are ones you’ve only learned since joining the gang.

Back when you first met Kaz, you were nothing and no one. An unlucky girl roped into an indenture with Pekka Rollins, forced to work out of the Sweet Shop—the nastiest, most dangerous brothel in all of Ketterdam.

“Because you’re secretly a big softie with a heart of gold?” You hope your sarcasm is enough to mask the twinge of shame brought on by your past.

But Kaz is too good for that. Nothing gets past him—evident by the tiny wrinkle of concern that forms between his dark brows, instantly picking up on the faint dip in your tone.

Fortunately for you, being observant doesn’t equate to being consoling, and so he doesn’t mention it.

“Because you didn’t make me sick,” he answers, low and even. You’re not so sure if it’s an insult or compliment, and before you get a chance to ask, Kaz continues, “It was late. And raining. I’d just finished teaching a Razorgull lackey what happens when you breach parley. He was a real bleeder—made a mess of my suit. I ended up leaving him for Jesper to deal with. Thought I’d avoid eyes by sticking to the shadows, walking in the alleys behind the brothels.” Your eyes must be betraying you, because you almost think that’s a smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Imagine my surprise when a runaway harlot nearly knocked a helpless cripple like me off his feet.”

You bite your cheek, still deciding if you want to slap him for calling you a harlot or laugh in his face. In spite of his limp and cane, Kaz Brekker is far from what you’d consider helpless.

“So, what? You had me join the Dregs because I nearly bulldozed you in an alley?” That whole night was spotty for you, the panic you’d felt having rendered your memory foggy and incomplete.

“Inej had told me about you,” Kaz says. “That Pekka Rollins got a new girl—an escape artist, always trying her luck at running away.”

You didn’t know that, but maybe you should have. Inej isn’t the best spider in the Barrel without reason. She knows everything—and all she knows is reported directly to Kaz. Even so, you’re not sure you’re catching his point with all this.

As if he can see you trying to mentally connect the dots, Kaz says, “Maybe I had another purpose in walking behind those brothels. Maybe I wanted to see just how quick on her feet Pekka Rollins’ escape artist was.” His head tilts slightly. “Or maybe I just didn’t want anyone to see me when I wasn’t looking my best. Either way, I left that alley knowing you’d be a part of my crew.”

Your memory of that night may be spotty, but the one after is still crystal clear. A Suli spider had crawled through your window at the Sweet Shop, told you that Per Haskell was willing to pay a very hefty sum to buyout your indenture if you agreed to work for the Dregs. To this day, you’re still unsure of how Kaz managed to convince him you were worth it—or why he bothered.

“You’re not making any sense, Brekker,” you admit, rubbing at your temple. A headache burrows there, seeming to grow worse with every minute. “Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then? Cause I’m… fast?”

It sounds stupid. It is stupid.

You’re no faster than anyone else—and you certainly hadn’t been fast enough to outrun Pekka Rollins’ goons. Everytime you made a run from the Sweet Shop, they dragged you right back, kicking and screaming the whole way.

“No.” Kaz sighs. Drags a hand through his hair, tugging at the dark locks. “I wanted you-”

Kaz doesn’t finish that thought.

A violent CRASH! steals your attention. Both of your heads snap toward the closed door, listening intently for any sign of danger.

Instead, you hear Jesper’s boisterous cackle chime. Wylan starts shouting about something indiscernible—vase, shattered, and moron among the words you catch.

A smile sneaks up on you.

But, when you turn back to Kaz, it’s promptly wiped away.

He looks like he’s had a lemon rind forced into his mouth, scowling at the door. “What’s going on with you and Van Eck?”

You blink. “What?”

“You heard me.”

You did—but hearing him is a far stretch from understanding him, and it’s seemed like Kaz has been talking in circles since you came in. What’s Wylan have to do with any of this?

“I don’t get what you’re asking.”

“Stop making me repeat myself.”

“Then stop being so confusing, Brekker!” you huff, crossing your arms. “I don’t understand-”

Kaz cuts you off with a look. Cold as death, he grinds out, “Are you fucking him?”

Shock. Confusion.

They course through you in equal measure, coupled with slight amusement. The latter must show on your face, because Kaz’s scowl deepens before he looks down at his desk, pretending to fiddle with something.

“I have work to do,” he says stiffly. “Go downstairs.”

Your feet stay firmly planted, the desk’s width all that separates the two of you. “Why would you think that?”

Of all the assholes and degenerates in the Dregs, Wylan’s probably the closest you have to a real friend. It came with the territory—both of you having become newbies around the same time, trying to learn the ropes and fit in.

You’re not fucking him, though.

Kaz sinks back into his chair. His usually-squared shoulders curve slightly, as if some weight is pressing down on them. “Go downstairs.”

“I thought you didn’t like repeating yourself?” you ask, almost taunting.

“Go.” The word strains between his teeth. “Now.”

For no good reason, you make a stand. Stare down the barrel of the gun, unafraid and unrelenting. How strange, you think. The tightness in your chest has never once been apprehension.

It was excitement. Anticipation.

You’ve always liked getting under his skin. Finding out what makes him tick, figuring out which words earn the sharpest glares. You want him to pull the trigger, if only because it means you have his attention—and like a dog waiting at its master’s feet, you could care less if it comes with an open hand or a closed fist.

So long as it comes. So long as he notices you.

“What did you say when I came in?” You uncross your arms, make yourself stand up tall. “Tell me.”

Dark eyes shoot up. Kaz almost looks shocked, the dull echo of emotion creasing the lines of his face, parting his lips. You wait, but no sound comes out.

Dirtyhands is used to giving orders. Not taking them.

“You’ve heard what they say about me.” You wave a dismissive hand toward the shoddy window overlooking the Barrel. “Brekker’s Pet. Always with you, always following you around! Ask any sod in Ketterdam and they’ll say the same—the only way I’d have time to fuck someone is if you were in the room!” And even then, it wouldn’t be Wylan.

A steel rod takes the place of Kaz’s spine, turning your words over in his head. “Fine. Maybe you haven’t,” he relents. “But you want to.”

It’s a gamble. An unusually shitty one, at that.

You blow out an exasperated breath. This whole thing is getting old. “Saints, Kaz. What’s your deal?”

He opens his mouth. Shuts it. Then opens it again.

“I saw you downstairs,” he says. “Touching Van Eck.”

Your brows lift, fists clenching. You don’t know what you expected from him, but it certainly hadn’t been a bold-faced lie!

But then you start thinking of the moments before you saw Kaz head upstairs, laughing and playing Blackjack before you folded your hand to follow after him. You’d been sitting cross-legged on the threadbare rug, wedged between Wylan and Raske, when you noticed—Shit.

Kaz is right, and that makes you want to scream. Why is Kaz always right?

It was after you noticed Jesper was cheating, that he’d poorly marked the deck with daub; a sticky, ash-colored substance. You’d leaned in close to point it out to Wylan—your hand against his forearm, your lips dangerously close to the Merchling’s ear. After he noticed the marks, you both exchanged quiet giggles over just how bad Jesper was at swindling.

Still, there had been nothing sexual about it. Nothing between you and Wylan.

But, even if there was, why would Kaz care?

I saw you—touching Van Eck. His words race through your mind, pulsing in time with the dull ache in your temple. Touch me, touch me, touch me.

All of a sudden, the fog begins to clear. Something in your memory clicks.

That night behind the brothels—when you were running from the Sweet Shop, when Kaz had been drenched in the blood of some Razorgull. Barefoot and frantic, you really had almost knocked him off his feet. Gloved hands had held your arms tight, keeping you still. His hair had been messy and your mind a blur—and when you’d seen the crimson smeared across his cheek, you hadn’t thought twice before wiping it away.

You’d done what so few have. You had touched Kaz Brekker, skin-on-skin.

Because you didn’t make me sick.

When you don’t speak, Kaz shifts in his chair. Straightens an already-neat stacks of papers. “You won’t try and deny it?” he asks.

Maybe you imagine the quaver in his voice. Or maybe you don’t.

Either way, you start around his desk. Your every step is slow—cautious.

You stop beside him, and Kaz shifts again. You’re standing closer than you’d usually dare to get, so close that you can hear it when he swallows.

“You should go downstairs,” he tells you, lower than before.

Your head tilts, hair shifting over one shoulder. “Is that what you want?”

His answer hides in silence so thick it’s a tangible presence. It curls around you, makes gooseflesh prickle along your skin. Your mouth feels dry, your stomach like it’s tied in knots.

Suddenly, you don’t need him to repeat what he’d said.

As always, Kaz was right—you'd heard him the first time.

“Ask me again.” The words drip from your tongue, an order and a plea. “Ask me and I’ll do it.”

Kaz gives you a look, one you’ve never seen before. Dark eyes rove over you, brimming with worry and stress and—and Saints, a sense of desire so strong it makes your toes curl in your boots, a feeling like lightning coursing up your spine.

In a voice like stone on stone, raspy and urgent, Kaz breathes out, “Touch me.”

So you do.

You cup his face, graze your thumb over his cheekbone. Kaz stiffens, swallowing once more—but he doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to pull away.

“You know, to be such a bastard,” you start, a note of teasing in your voice, “you’re awfully pretty, Brekker.”

Heat blooms against your palm, a deep blush crawling over his pale cheeks.

“Shut up,” Kaz grumbles.

You grin. “Want me to go downstairs?”

A gasp rips from your throat as a gloved hand clamps around your wrist, Kaz pulling you down toward him. Anxiety still tightens his features, but beneath it he looks all too pleased with himself when you stumble clumsily into his lap.

For the sake of comfort, you adjust your legs—careful for his bad one—and settle your arms over his shoulders. Then, when it fully settles that you’re straddling Kaz-fucking-Brekker, it gets a lot harder to breathe.

“Should I take that as a no?” It sounds like a pant, your lungs constricting.

He lifts the hem of your shirt, the feel of leather cool against your skin as Kaz jabs a finger into your side. “Do I always have to repeat myself around you?” he asks. Dark eyes dip past your jaw, his tongue gliding over his lips. You don’t think he actually cares to hear your answer, which is good—because you’re pretty sure you just forgot how to speak.

Kaz drags his finger up the curve of your waist, his touch tentative and featherlight. It feels a lot like being studied—the way his dark brows knit together, staring at you as if you’re a magic trick he’s yet to master, a puzzle he hasn’t quite figured out.

“It’s not because you’re fast,” he says, somewhat distracted. It takes a minute for you to realize that he’s referring to your earlier question—Is that why you wanted me for the Dregs, then?

“Good,” you manage. “Because I’m not.”

The slightest twitch of a smile. “No.” He takes his time tracing over every divet in your ribs, slowly trailing up, up, up. “You’re not.”

“But I didn’t make you sick.” You’re not prepared for the wave of sickness that comes with the reminder, stomach roiling.

The Bastard’s Pet. Is that truly all you are? All you’re worth to the Dregs? Useless at saddling up next to sleazy merchants, but good enough to curl up at Kaz Brekker’s feet.

As if he can read your mind, Kaz’s hand goes still against your side. “Wipe that sour look off your face, would you? If I only wanted you to touch me, I would’ve just come to the Sweet Shop instead of getting my ass chewed by Haskell.”

You wiggle just enough to knock one knee into his hip, glaring at him. Both of you pretend not to notice the catch in his breath—or the growing hardness straining against his trousers, pressed against your core.

Gruff, Kaz continues, “You were in an alley and saw a man dripping with blood, and your first thought was to reach out and clean his cheek.” His head shakes, a strand of coal-black hair swaying near his temple. “It was ignorant,” he tells you. “And… decent. Innocent.”

You almost laugh. Innocent. That’s hardly a word you’d use to describe yourself. Especially right now, your every muscle straining in an attempt to keep your hips perfectly still, hands folded at the base of his neck.

“I didn’t know innocence like that could survive in the Barrel.” His hand starts again, tracing little shapes against your side. “Even if you never touched me again, I wasn’t gonna let Pekka Rollin’s crush someone like you between his grimy little fingers.”

“So that’s the answer?” you ask, nibbling on your lip. “I’m in the Dregs cause I’m innocent?” What a reason to have someone join a gang. Hey, you seem pure! Wanna get corrupted?

“You’re in the Dregs because you know how to persevere,” Kaz answers, holding your gaze. “How to get up and try again, no matter how many times you’re knocked down.” The sensation of smooth leather drifts higher. “Because you’re a survivor.” Your eyelids flutter, sucking in a breath as he palms the plump curve of your breast. “Because you’re loyal,” he starts, and it’s almost reverent the way he almost whispers, “my perfect little pet.”

The world grinds to a halt.

Outside of this room—this moment—nothing exists.

Too quiet, you ask, “What do you want from me, Kaz?”

You want him to feel in control, to be the one that decides how this is gonna go. But your self-restraint is a fraying cord, mere seconds from snapping in half.

If it were up to you, how far would you go? How much of Kaz Brekker would you explore? As far as I could, you think, desperate. As much as he’d let me.

That’s the trouble with dogs. They’re loyal and clingy, forgiving and insistent. They want for everything and take whatever they’re given. They’ll spend hours begging at your feet. Lick scraps from the floor until their tongues begin to bleed.

When it comes to Kaz Brekker, you’ll take whatever he has to give.

And you’ll never stop begging for more, more, more.

“Everything.” His breath is warm against your lips, the leather cool on your breast. “I want everything.”

a/n - just in case anyone couldn't tell, i obviously just finished reading six of crows (yeah ik i'm very late to the party). i randomly started writing this while i was stuck in traffic and it just sort of spiraled over the past 24 hours and now here we are! this was born! idk if i'll get anymore kaz ideas, but it was fun writing something more dialogue heavy (dialogue has my heart<3)

#kaz brekker imagine #six of crows imagine #shadow and bone imagine #s&b netflix #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x fem!reader #kaz brekker x you #six of crows #shadow and bone fic #grishaverse imagine #grishaverse #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows x reader #shadow and bone

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n0tamused · 3 months ago

Note

Could I get fluff prompt 28. Braid hair with Thranduil please?

˖ ࣪⊹Thranduil x Reader

Contents: Thranduil x GN!Reader, fluff

Words: 524

Ko-fi | 1.5K followers event

There is a pause and a heavy sigh that fills the air as the strands between your fingers nearly go untangling themselves. It’s been a while since you had asked Thranduil to let him braid your hair, and a while since you started to braid his long, long, long…long hair. Perhaps you overestimated your braiding skills, or perhaps you felt like you were being too hard on yourself by aiming to make him the best hairstyle you could, even if it meant being out of the scope of possibility.

King Thranduil has always worn his hair down, rarely doing small braids at the side or to move the front part of his hair from his face when he went on rides, but overall - his choice in hairstyles was plainly simple. Once, Thranduil had told you how he had been the practice doll for Legolas’ own braiding skills, and you couldn’t help but imagine him, in all his excellency and elegance, wearing messy little braids throughout his entire head. It made you giggle at the time.

“Something has you distracted, beloved, what is it?”

You looked up at him through the mirror positioned before you both, a small, barely noticeable pout on your lips as you flexed the fingers of your free hand.

“It is nothing, I’m simply thinking of which way to take the braids..” you told him as you pinched the strands in both hands and began to weave them through one another again,continuing the thin braid. It began from his temple, and you planned to join it with another twin braid from the other side of his head. You had planned more, but perhaps it would be best to keep it simple for now.

“What are you thinking so far? You’ve been awfully quiet” you inquired, focusing on the braid. His shoulders rose and then fell, relaxed all the while.

“I am simply giving you space and time to do what you set out to do” He replied, sharp blue eyes watching you, the mirror giving him a bit of the view of the braid in the making. “You need not stress over your skill, meleth nin, you are doing well”.

You huff a chuckle, pressing your lips tightly together before responding “It would be a lie if I said I was not disappointing myself, I had planned a braid more fitting for a king” you told him easily, he had already sensed your want to impress from before, and could probably see the focus and tension in your eyes the more you worked.

“And what kind of braid is that?” He was quick to counter, one side of his lip rising, it almost looked like a sneer wishing to be a smile. “Any braid is a king’s braid if a king wears it”.

“I know, I understand. I just wish I could have been more skilled in the craft”

“After you’re done with these braids, I’ll show you some more ways to braid strands. You’re already skilled as it is, but if showing you some more techniques might ease your mind, I’d be more than glad to demonstrate for you”

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dontmakemechooseanli · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter One- When the World Ends

Poly! Love and Deep Space LIs X MC!Reader

Words: 2.1k

Major Character Death, Grief and Canon Divergence (kinda you’ll see)

Okay after a pretty great reception on the imagine I spewed from my brain last night I wrote I have put together a better more edited version of the idea. Plan is for this to be more romantic than depressing but I love angst. All the comments are read and loved and your reblogs bring me immense joy and writing power so I appreciate you!!!

When the day started there had been no hint that the world would be ending. But when was there ever? The citizens of Linkon had lived through the apocalypse once and while that should prepare you- it hadn’t prepared them.

Jenna had given you a last minute assignment to check out a small metaflux disturbance in a residential park not far from the Bloomsdale district.

“It’s probably nothing but better safe than sorry. Xavier has left for the evening but I am sure he wouldn’t mind to come back if you want me to call him-”

“No worries, Captain. I’ll call if it gets to be too much- promise!”

You hadn’t even gotten the chance. It was a small metaflux disturbance. Nothing too difficult to handle and quickly dispatched without incident. You had even been excited to text your loves about how your weekend stretched out in front of you. That the last thing you had done at the end of a long week was settle an easy disturbance- safely and, more importantly in their opinions, without getting yourself hurt.

You could picture them so clearly: Xavier already camped on your couch- head lolling to one side, delivery app open and forgotten on his phone as the text pinged him. Rafayel spamming pictures and videos of the newest seagull choir demanding your attendance at the Concert of a Century tomorrow. Caleb’s reply- delayed but excited for you- “My ever capable Sunny Apple- protecting the peace! Proud of you Pips- don’t stay up too late! :)” Sylus always called immediately- the man always preferred hearing you but you knew it was also his way of making sure you made it home safe. You could practically see the subtle eye roll Zayne would give you over video call later that evening- “You have to stop rushing into these things, what if something happened?”

But you never made it home that night.

The last thing you felt was the strong buzz of energy and a sharp pain in your chest. You clutched your chest and choked on your air- you couldn’t breathe. You panicked.

“Distress Activated Emergency Protocol Engaged. Abnormal Vitals Detected. Emergency Services Deployed. Please Wa-”

The world went dark.

Zayne had been on his feet for 9 hours when his pager began to beep the code blue signals.

Friday’s were a heavy surgery day for the cardiac surgeon- the last day of scheduled surgeries and preparing mentally for a weekend of emergencies. The residents were almost always exhausted and antsy by this point in the week so Dr. Zayne had to be in perfect form to ensure all his patients were receiving the best care possible.

He was finishing his floor rounds with a small bounce in his step. Dr. Greyson was on call Sunday meaning that he was looking at a glorious day off with you. It would be the first in a while that you both had an entirely free day together and in normal fashion it was booked with restaurant visits and a trip to a newly opened arcade to “scope out the competition” (aka you needed to get a lay of the land to figure out who you would need to beat to ensure you had the high scores on the fps stalls).

He was strolling into his office- phone already in his hand to text you about your day when the beeping began.

Code Blue: Y/N L/N

Li Room SR 2A

He didn’t even think he just moved.

If you asked him what the next fifteen minutes of his life had entailed he would have no answer for you. He had, run (probably- he was panting by the time he) scrubbed in (probably- his hands were gloved and taped, his hair capped and his gown on when he) held your heart in his hand.

He had never done this before.

No, he had.

He had.

He had never done this successfully.

He was only a man. A man with a needle and thread and tears in his eyes. Greyson was home and there was no time for ethical considerations that would come later. Would come after.

8:52 PM

He doesn’t know when he ended up on the floor. His breaths coming raggedly through his mask, his hands shaking tugging it off, his gown slipping and his evol slowly spiraling out of his control.

The air frigid as Yvonne leans her hand down to attempt to help him up.

He doesn’t even see her.

He sees you. Small, missing teeth- words slurring as you cry. Your popsicle had melted. He had never felt the need to help another like he did at that moment. His small hands had grabbed yours and with a single touch the blue sweet treat had refrozen.

You had looked at him like he saved the world- like he was a hero.

He hears you- slightly bigger now, all your teeth grown in, swinging gently on the swing explaining to him why your family was overbearing.

“It’s a heart thing. It’s weird? When the world ended my heart should’ve stopped. It didn’t though. Takes more than that to stop me.”

“Isn’t it scary?”

“Not really. I mean it makes me cooler I think. At least that’s what Caleb says.”

You- grown and beautiful and smiling- meeting him again. Demanding his time, his attention, his care. He feels himself falling for you.

Over and over and over again.

“Dr. Zayne. You need to call it. We’ve passed the standard time of care. I can call-”

Beep…… beep….beep…beep

Everyone in the room stilled. Then in a blink of an eye Zayne was up.

When the time for questions to be answered this would be the only thing everyone could agree on. Your heart had stopped. Your brain function has ceased. You had gone a full 30 minutes without breathing on your own when it happened.

Your eyes flew open. A blinding light, a sterile room, and a teary face loomed over you.

You smiled, eyes widening feeling sad for this sad man. You raised your hand which he quickly grabbed.

“Don’t cry. It’ll be okay.”

“Y/N- do you know where you are? Do you know what happened?”

You hummed in response. “Hm? No. I don’t know. What is going on Mister? Don't be sad.”

The man’s eyes widened and you heard the others bustling around and the man was taken from your side. A kind eyed woman slipped a mask over your face-

“It’s okay Honey. Everything is okay. Now count with me. One… Two… Three”

The consult room looked like the punch line of a terrible joke.

Xavier- usually nearly glowing- had his shirt on backwards and no shoes on. He had simply appeared outside the hospital moments after the initial alarms on his Hunters Watch began. His presence seemed to darken the already dim room.

Rafayel was pacing and had been a flurry of movement since the sharp pain in his chest that was accompanied by a slight glowing red that still peeked out from under his unbutton shirt. Normally he was content to sit and stew (you had always called it pouting but he was contemplating thank you very much) the nervous energy that flowed through him was only going to be extinguished one of two ways and the only socially acceptable version was to allow the man to pace the perimeter of the room.

Sylus was a barely contained ball of rage- all the money and influence in the world and no one would tell him what was happening. The doctor will be in there soon. The nurse had not taken it well when he had tried to explain that half of his soul was ripped out and he would make it everyone’s problem very soon if someone didn’t fucking answer him.

Caleb was the last one to arrive at the hospital. His sleek black Colonel uniform and steady footsteps passing through the doorway in a manner that seemed to suck the air from the room. His eyes wide and frantic, the vein directly under his purple irises jumping in time with his frenetic pulse.

The room was silent- even Rafayel’s ceaseless pacing was halted momentarily. The men were all aware of each other. All aware of how entangled each other were with each other through you. When imagining how they would inevitably meet most had pictured a dinner table or a brawl not an Akso Hospital Patient Consult room.

Caleb, always the force to be reckoned with, broke the silence first.

“Where is she- I swear I’ll-”

The door abruptly opens, knocking directly into the Colonel’s outstretched hand. Zayne- looking uncharacteristically shaken and haunted- peers at the strange group. Faces he had seen through Moments posts, had heard stories of, had always known he would meet (or see again in the case of his once dead childhood friend) all stared at him in various stages of grief, duress and anger.

“Zayne.”

“She’s alive.”

There is an exhale.

Xavier relaxes slightly into the pleather chair he is sat in- rustling his legs which had become nearly molded to the fabric as he had sat as still as a statue for what felt like centuries. The chaotic energy that buzzed around Sylus dissipates slightly. Air returns to the room on Caleb’s exhale. Rafayel’s shoulders release and his pacing shifts into an unsteady sway back and forth like he may pass out.

“Great.” Sylus purrs, standing to his full height, his practiced facade snapping securely into place, taking a steady step towards the door. “Where is sh-”

“She doesn’t remember who she is. She doesn’t know where she is. She died. And then she- well- she came back. We don’t understand.”

Zayne feels detached. He feels a million miles away. He was trying to stay strong- to find a logical explanation for everything. But deep down he felt his entire reason for being crumbling. He had spent his whole life working so he could save you (from melting popsicles, from himself and his unstable evol, from your own heart) and he failed. He had worked for over a decade so he could hold your heart safely in his hands. And he failed. The only test that ever truly matter and he failed.

Xavier has lost her again. He had waited over 200 years to see her again. He was able to love her openly and freely only for her to be stripped from him again. Was the cosmic justice for leaving? Was this the timeline righting itself? How many times can his tired soul bear the brunt of watching you fall in love with him again? How many more times can he take it?

Sylus felt the wound in his chest reopen. He had not ever allowed himself to think of the pain you must have suffered after killing him. After he had changed your fate- he had taken the choice from you because it was not one he could make himself. Better to take himself from the equation altogether- to rewrite fate himself. He had only just gotten you back- his little sorceress with fire in her veins and spitfire on her tongue- and now he would start over again? Would you be able to forgive him again? Would you be disgusted by him again?

Caleb bends at the waist and falls to his knees, clutching his stomach. He is going to be sick. He feels the bile tickle at his throat as he fights his own mind, as he wrestles for control of his emotions. He has to be strong- but he doesn’t know if he can be strong for the both of you anymore. Can he hold on with his fractured and broken mind to the memories of you happy and free and in love? If he forgets will there be anyone who remembers left? He has done this before but he has forgotten what this feels like- this nauseous grief that nearly resets him. But he can't because you need him. Don’t you? You need him right?

Everyone is so solidly grief stricken for a moment they don’t pay attention to Rafayel’s easy smile and his lack-a-daisical saunter out of the room, passing a kneeling Caleb and a wheezing Zayne. They were only brought into focus when they hear a soft scoff and quiet words:

“Amateurs. What, like it’s your first time? Expected better from the others her heart had chosen but looks like I’ll take the lead on this one. Thanks guys.”

He is out of the room and down the hallway before anyone can stop him; humming softly to himself.

“Hi, cutie. It’s gonna rain tonight better grab another blanket for ya.”

A/N: wrote this in 2 long sessions so the next part will hopefully be up soon as I sort of already know what the plan is for that.

If you don’t like lead X lead or polycule situations heads up that is where this is leading sooooooo

In this house we know all of their hearts are big enough for all this love

#love and deepspace #lads x reader #zayne love and deepspace #lads zayne #zayne x mc #love and deepspace angst #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne x reader #love and deepspace imagines #rafayel x you #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb x mc #caleb x reader #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x mc #lnds sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace x reader

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sugar-crash · 8 months ago

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🍬King Candy (Wreck-It Ralph) x (gn) Reader👑

(Confession Edition!)

(Section two everyone!!! When I have enough posts for both I’ll make a masterlist! I’m kinda surprised how quick it took for people to like the previous one— Thank you so much to the people who have reblogged/followed me!!!)

- Those years of hiding away from the rest of the arcade after his major fuck up gave him lots of time to think, and mellow himself out even, though that violent impulsiveness is still there when he gets frustrated enough.

- If you catch his eye, whether it be due to you being from Sugar Rush, an older game, or newer— Or if you two were a thing before the whole RoadBlasters disaster, he isn’t nearly as stubborn with his feelings as he used to be.

- He handles it far more smoothly, though his reach is more limited (I like the idea that he can’t necessarily leave Sugar Rush due to his disguise slipping without it so this will apply here), probably getting Sour Bill to invite you to the game after hours so he can commune with you more.

- If you belong to Sugar Rush it is a bit of a different story; it's more convenient for his intentions to pursue you romantically.

- He tries and more or less succeeds in being classy in his attempts at courting you, having a kind of classic way of doing so— Giving you various edible gifts he reprograms to your liking.

- Pet name galore, all candy themed. I don’t make the rules they just come to me in dreams/j

- Naturally keeps various things from you, including the mistreatment of Venallope by him and the rest of Sugar Rush, making sure everyone plays nice in front of you so you don’t notice how lonely the little girl is.

- Sugary as all hell, which is something one would expect from King Candy, who seems to never run out of ways to try to woo you whenever you come to his game.

- After like a year or two he steadily makes his intentions more and more apparent before going out and saying it out front after inviting you to a nice dinner at the castle.

- When you accept, my god is he delighted by the result of his patience and hard work (with a good degree of manipulation, knowing him.) Much like the life he was able to carve himself into this game, he has a sense of pride about your relationship.

- His over dramatic personality comes into play, whenever someone takes interest in you in front of him he’s ready to scuffle, raising his fists up to “defend your honor”.

- It’s silly, but endearing, backing his actions up with saying his intentions are true, giving you an overly heartfelt and mushy response that gets an eye roll from Sour Bill, well deserved.

- The way King Candy loves is… Cartoonish at times, over the top, oozing that jolly and wondrous persona he’s so desperate to display in front of others, especially you.

- Though he does have moments where he lets you in, those moments where vulnerability cracks through that hard shell sugar coating he’s put on himself.

- His self-absorbed tendencies are there, no amount of time could ever take that away from him, it’s basically hard coded into him, in and out of his disguise.

- He’s quick to explain himself every time there’s a slip; either from himself or one of the many Sugar Rush subjects.

- He doesn’t let his frustrations out in front of you if he can help it, leading you away from whoever messed with his plan, placing a kind hand on the small of your back and giving the guilty party a brief yet annoyed glare before softening his face up for you.

- In many ways, he treats you right— But there's always a nearly imperceptible wall between you two, which always has him on guard in some way.

- There’s a yearning he wants to indulge in, but there's far too much risk for him to do so— He can't possibly know how'd you react if you knew his little, well, not so little secret.

- As much as he loves you, it isn’t enough to truly fill you in on everything, though unfortunately for him, the term “lies always come to light eventually” definitely fits his situation as his unwillingness to let things go (literally) inevitably does him in.

(Pa'z ZHSTVU)

#Spotify #king candy x reader #king candy #wreck it ralph turbo #wreck it ralph king candy #x reader

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iridescent-flowers · 5 months ago

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A "Sickly" Feeling

Lucifer x Fem!Reader

⚠️CONTENT WARNING: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT⚠️

Tags: sex toys, face sitting, oral, masturbation

Word Count:

Summary:

You can surely say it was just another typical day at RAD. It just so happens today you were appear to feel a little “sick” and struggled to focus a lot more than usual thanks to the demands of a certain demon of pride.

[✨Likes, Comments & Reblogs are supper appreciated!✨]

Extending some apologies in advance for any errors, im kinda loopy rn so I might edit this again in the future.

ONCE AGAIN, ONLY 18+ YEARS OLD ARE ALLOWED TO READ BEYOND THE CUT. PLEASE DON'T READ FURTHER IF YOU ARE NOT OF AGE.

Your eyes look around wearily at all the classmates that you are seated with, including the seven demon brothers who shared every class with you. As a lucky result of sharing the same class schedules with them, you—at least— feel a bit of relief in knowing that the they wouldn't hear you as much if you did or say anything.

Much more so, you were grateful that the professor had yet to enter the class. In fact, everyone took this as an opportunity to be as rowdy as they could be. Papers are being tossed around, some people are drawing, others were sleeping, snacking, or using their DDDs to pass the time.

Vrrrr….

You, on the other hand, were passing time with much thanks to the little “accessory” Lucifer asked you to wear as you made your way into the 4th period. In fact, it graced you with immense disorientation during your classes, break periods, and even, way before you ever arrived on RAD grounds.

He had you test it out first thing after waking up together, giving you both an energetic start in the hours to come. You knew for a fact that Lucifer was bound to play with it somehow, maybe out of boredom while doing some paperwork. You can only assume he’s delighted by the idea of being able to control your body’s reactions with a vibrator he had custom made to hit your pleasure spots just right, from inside you and your clitoris. Simultaneously, the idea of reacting in public, and in front of Lucifer no less, made the heat and embarrassment in you rise.

At the very least, the vibrations were quite mild—probably on it’s lowest setting— allowing you to tolerate the tickling feeling without appearing too enthused about what's happening underneath you. Secretly hoping that there would be more “risque”, you wondered if that was it for the rest of the day, a simple device to keep you awake in class.

That is until you receive a notification ping.

Taking out your phone you silently read the message. Seeing Lucifer’s ID pop onto the screen causes you to shift your legs slightly just o fight the tingling feeling between your legs:

‘Has the excitement dulled for you, my love? Don’t worry I’ll make sure you’ll keep entertained.’

You intended to send a question mark to showcase your curiosity, but it seemed no longer necessary upon hearing a set of footsteps gradually overpowering the ruckus of the entire room. You let out a breath as your heart began to thump.

“The professor has urgently expressed a need to take the week off and tend to some personal issues. But given the extremely sudden nature of his request, we were short on time to address the situation. Which is why, just for today, I'll be holding this week's discussion”

You eyes are fixated on his phone, which emits the private conversation between you two— a sight as easy to miss as his thumb pressing “send” before swiping away into a different app completely.

The message you receive comes in silently, and you read:

‘Under no circumstances are you to cum during my class. You are not to excuse yourself either.’

Almost as if on cue, you felt the intensity spike, the height of it almost making you jump. Thankfully, you were able to play off the feeling as it turns back to normal. In a now quiet classroom, it was only you who could hear the extremely faint purring of the vibrator. You greatly hoped that no one had a special gift of super hearing.

You made sure to make eye contact with Lucifer as you quirked an eyebrow tauntingly. Part of you did it feeling intrigued that he now chose to raise the stakes. Despite your poker face, you feel a pleasant chill running down your spine. It didn’t help your indecent thoughts to take one last look at the message with his voice in mind.

With the help of muscle memory, you pull out your notebook and pen to do the usual routine of taking down notes in class, but your mind and eyes drift towards Lucifer’s broad back as he takes his time to write a list of topics he intended to discuss today. While doing so, your mind switches up. As exhilarating it is, to say the least, you wondered how Lucifer can enjoy a scenario like this unfolding if he himself can't see your reactions.

You shake off these thoughts once again and decide it might ease your feelings to sway your legs slowly. It wasn’t unusual for you to want to get your legs moving during lectures, after all. It was one way of keeping the legs awake and active, with a new additional benefit of masking your own indulgence.

But much to your dismay, your eyes dart upward to see Lucifer's eyes almost immediately looking at yours with a well-hidden scheme running through his mind, something only you knew and were not ready for.

“Let's start, shall we?”

You feel the intensity increase, and with it, your muscles begin to tense to accommodate the feeling.

You suddenly stop moving your legs, deciding it might be better to stay in place, squeezing them as tightly as you could to stop the feeling of your wetness pooling out of your underwear.

Part of you wanted him to look at you, slightly annoyed that you’re probably visibly struggling to fight having an orgasm in class and he can’t even see it. Lucifer could delight in this all he wants but you of all people knew damn well he’d rather see it live, front and center.

Thoughts race back and fourth, all of which you try pushing down, trying to regain focus and rationality.

You begin to wonder if it was ideal to secretly try to remove the vibrator, luckily you were in one of RAD’s lecture halls, a bit different from the usual classroom given that you were a relatively larger class. You look around, only seeing Asmodeus faced away from you and the actual board and staring at a compact mirror he hid behind his pencil case so Lucifer wouldn’t confiscate it. The others around you were too focused on the lecture to notice, perhaps they feared for their life to do anything other than focus… well… save for the brothers of course. But even they were merely minding their own business and letting the lecture pass through their ears as if it were nothing.

Taking a chance, you place your bag on your lap to make it seem as if you were trying to get something. But as your hand reaches your crotch, the vibrator shakes your insides more vigorously. You inhale sharply as it continues to jolt inside of you, letting a little grunt escape your mouth as you find your grip against the side of your chair.

The external tip of the vibrator plays with your clit more intensely, you feel yourself turning red from using all your muscles to stifle a moan from coming out.

You wanted to do so many things, cursing loudly, walking up to Lucifer to take him away from class and fuck him inside the first empty room you see, not caring about what anyone in that classroom would have to say. At the same time you also wanted to run away and deal with it yourself without anyone knowing any better about these mischievous circumstances.

Your thoughts all seem to go against each other all the while you continue to hold back the urge to convulse or make any noises during class. Somehow since trying to move it around, you felt your urge to release worsen tenfold. It was as though you needed to go to the bathroom just to relieve yourself both ways.

You wanted to yield, screw this little challenge of his. You were going to go to go find yourself a place to masturbate in, but you were still a bit scared to be questioned by the demons that were inside the classroom with you. Instead of charging forward on impulse, you raised a hand up politely before calling out to him.

The sudden switch That’s when a different sensation greets your clit, it was almost similar to being eaten out, with the tip being sucked and soothe by a makeshift tongue.

“Lucifer! I—Ah…!” You finally let out, but your mind was quick enough to feign a worsening stomach ache. Your lungs heave slightly and your purse your lips tightly

“Are you okay babes? You're not looking too hot over there.”

You realize you were doomed to embarrass yourself the moment Asmodeus— of all demons— leaned over to you and whispered his concern. By the look on his face, he had yet to catch on, and you could only pray that he never would.

This new feeling was made worse with the vibration from inside you shifting, if you were all alone right now, you might’ve drooled at how amazing it felt.

“Yeah, Asmo… I just felt something sharp in my stomach, but I’ll be fine.” you kept the conversation as concise as possible but another jolt comes in making you dig your nails into your thighs.

“Is there something you and Asmodeus wish to share with the class?”

“N-no.”

You look up to Lucifer, watching as his eyes stare at yours with such intensity. Surely not out of frustration but something else. You continue to eye his back while he continues writing and babbling about the lesson at hand. It seems that the clacking of chalk against the board was more aggressive than usual, but it could simply be your imagination.

“Are you sure you’re alright, that sounded like it hurt.”

A hint of luck must have surely graced your day, you thought to yourself. Asmodeus seemed none the wiser of your circumstance despite being of great approximation with you.

“No… no… I'm fine, I just need to listen in on this lecture…”

You lean against the table to steady yourself and avoid showing any struggle. But it seems too late because you raised Asmo’s attention.

“Lucifer! MC really needs to go to the clinic.” Asmo calls out with his own hand raised.

Lucifer turns around and gives you another stare for a single moment, and you feel as the quiet increase of pleasure comes in, it was Lucifer trying to see if you'd react any different amidst this tense moment. Even as he goes over to you, he is almost clearly unphased.

A quick idea comes into mind and you follow along Asmo’s concerns. A moan comes out of your mouth, one that sounds as painful as possible, and hopefully, not obviously fake.

“Fine, yes, my stomach is hurting. I think I need help from the nurse over at the clinic.” You made sure to just so that the act sells while the vibrator eggs on a bit more of your moaning. You clutch the skin of your lower stomach, playing with the vibrator a bit to keep yourself going. You maintain eye contact with him, giving your best doe-like gaze.

You watch the muscles of his eyelids shift, causing you to form a mental smile in victory. But to clearly, avoid suspicion, he raises an eyebrow and shifts to showing “concern.”

“You do seem pale, MC. Take the hall pass and drop by the nurse's office.”

The prideful gaze you see as you make eye contact was something you knew too well.

Asmodeus squeezes your hand out of worry. Ironically, the idea that you were sick seemed to sell well to the avatar of lust.

You feel all eyes within the class follow you from the moment you stood up until the moment you disappeared behind the doorframe. Admittedly, your steps were a bit awkward due to the vibrators intensity, so you made sure to be in and out and avoid making eye contact with anyone, especially Lucifer, else everyone starts picking up what’s going on.

With legs nearly transformed into jelly out of numbness, you couldn't be bothered with the way you looked walking hurriedly down the hall to the nurse's room. You simply knew you had to lock the doors with a strong spell and find your climax once more.

You rush to the next bed you find, closing the curtains to have a hint of privacy. The vibrations came off stronger as you drop your pants and underwear to the floor. You don't think about the droplets you've made as you strip.

Spreading your legs, you try to find a position that elevates the sensation even further.

Gradually louder moans break free from your lips as your chest throbs to the rush, making a gateway for more pleasure that you find yourself helpless to.

Your mind prays that things would go quickly, not wanting to spend another second in the clinic doing such bold actions.

With heaving breaths, your stomach feels as though it's finally about to grab hold of the orgasm your mind was desperately seeking for. But before it could reach it, you were alarmed by your sixth sense, telling you that the spell you had in the lock had. Not even a second later, the door swings open and your almost nirvanic mind descended into panic. You scurried to put on your pants and hide any evidence that you masturbated on a clinical bed, of all things.

You kept yourself alert for the million scenarios that would happen when the nurse shows up. Yet, you find yourself frozen upon seeing the very same person that put you in this awkward position.

You stared up at Lucifer, and he stared down at you, well masking his amusement. But you knew, from the movement of his shoulders that he was trying to remind himself to take a few breaths. His pupils dilate at the sight of you, before trailing away from your figure.

Watching meekly, you see him crouch down to pick something up from the floor. And it is by this audacious action that, in a haste to cover up everything, you'd forgotten to put your underwear on. You sat on the bed silently, blushing furiously at the idea that he caught you in the act.

He feigned a sigh.

“It seems you don't need treatment, seeing as you've already done that to yourself.”

Clicking his tongue, he waves his underwear tauntingly as he slowly turns around. With your still heated cheeks and steam practically emanating off your head you scoffed, letting a silver of your frustration be known to him you grab his sleeve and use your strength to pull him backwards, even if you knew he was stronger than humans and pulling him would've been pointless. You were surprised your mind was clear enough to even say the words your brain could barely put out:

“Take responsibility for this! I would’ve finished my own treatment if you hadn’t disturbed me.”

Lucifer froze. Then, unlike the composed and chaste man he was to the public, he wasted no time in turning around getting rid of his belt and unbuttoning the cuffs on his shirt the moment the blinds shut and the doors locked. Still a bit dazed and dumbfounded, you simply stare at his bare chest after watching him toss away the fabric.

It dawns on you quickly, that he intends to have his way with you on RAD premises as per your order. You turn redder at the thought, but it’s not as if you weren’t guilty for planning to nip this feeling in the bud on your own moments ago on the very same nursing bed.

At an unfathomable speed, he then walks up to you and greets you with a kiss so hungry you swear that he intends to swallow you whole right then and there.

You gasp for breath after the long kiss you share momentarily eyeing his lips for a moment before gazing into his wine-like eyes.

“My mind begs me to torture you more, to stave you away from this ‘treatment.’ Consider yourself extremely lucky that my desire to serve you is more powerful than my many other urges.”

His hands take in yours, directing them to hold his face with a gentle touch, his entire aura shifting with a simple stroke.

“Tell me what it is that you need, I will give you everything I have.”

His fingers slide nuzzles himself into your hands kissing and licking your now sensitive skin until he reaches the side of your neck. He flipped your positions and huffed, you were now on top of him, very unsure of what he was planning.

He smirks slightly, almost as if he was invited to an eager challenge. “I knew you would sulk after our little game. After all, I left my poor darling soaking wet during my lecture.”

You haven't noticed his hands creeping towards you behind, some of his fingers reached down to your heat. You mouth gapes open slightly feeling the callouses on his fingers run across the opening, covering itself slightly in your wetness before moving over to your now achingly sensitive bud.

His eyes never leave your face, not wanting to miss your eyebrows furrowing as they found their way to your wetness.

The words he spoke earlier came into your mind, and with confidence, you stop his hand from trying to tease you.

“I don't want your fingers, I want your tongue.” you didn't expect to sound sultry as you spoke, yet your voice let out your neediness in such an effortlessly seductive manner. Your eyes had a fire in them that stirred his mind. You watched his eyes shift from surprise to his all-too-familiar cool expression within milliseconds.

“Hmph… don't let me do all the work now. Come towards my mouth.”

“I was just thinking that.” He responded while pushing you lightly upward.

A bit awkwardly you waddled to where his head was, positioning yourself so that you faced the wall and hovered over his face. Immediately, like an alcoholic eagerly uncorking an expensive bottle of wine to quench his thirst, Lucifer removes the vibrator, causing some of your wetness to drip onto his face, but he pays no mind. He licks clean he residue from the small machine right before closing off whatever distance was left to position your vagina right against his lips.

The speed almost caused you to lose balance, but you were lucky to catch yourself and press your hands against the wall for balance. The hinges of the bed creaked loudly at the sudden movement and you immediately felt the need to pray that your misdeeds wouldn't cause damage to the poor bed, otherwise it would be hard to describe the incident to Diavolo.

Your hands find themselves entangled between his hair strands as he licks the juices that have been stopped by the vibrator. The feeling tingles, reminding you of how sensitive you've been the whole time you were trying to get off. You push him down further, gripping his hair tighter — perhaps out of pleasure and a hint of pettiness.

The one arm which you had prompted up on the wall began to sink, wanting to grab hold of something…. Anything they you were physically able to with how aggressive Lucifer's tongue was becoming.

Your legs were shaking, knees growing weaker with each moment he entangles his tongue with your clit. Your stomach clenches, preparing for release, oh the feeling never ceases to drive you mad.

He read your mind, he knew you well. With Lucifer you could never hide a secret for too long, and so the secrets of your body is something that became a privilege for him and him alone. Almost in sync with your body language, he reaches for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours and letting you hold onto him tightly.

“Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” he said flicking his tongue playfully against you sweet spot. You only grunt in response, rocking your hips against his mouth to try shutting him up.

The act doesn't go unnoticed, he takes the hint and allows his lips to linger against your clit with a harshness your heart could not take. Your toes curl as orgasm reels itself closer and closer.

“Lucifer!” You let out, any other words you wished to say beforehand got caught , your whole back attempts to bear the feeling as it arches upward. It takes a lot of strength in you to avoid sinking into the wall or clumsily bumping against the metal bedframe, but thankfully you are able to do so and slide down by his thighs. You are now well aware of the heat he emanates and the beads of sweat which have formed

As your senses return to you, you shake off Lucifer’s hands

You squeezed him a few times as you rubbed him teasingly

“If I had a toy on me I’d manage to get back at you right now.”

It was now his turn to let out a groan, “Should I consider myself to be lucky, then?”

“At my mercy even.” You lift his chin to kiss him tenderly, with your eyes closed you do not notice his eyebrows shift as you align your thumb right at the tip.

“…At your mercy even.” He repeats in a conceded whisper so gentle, you felt that his words could caress you. Steadying yourself, you place your hands, now, behind his neck you lean in to kiss him further as you guide his shaft inside of you. His size never fails to outstand you, filling you deep enough that the moans that emerge as your lips play with his almost seems sensationalized.

You sway your hips in a rhythmic manner, thought quite awkward at first, you pick up a pace that felt comfortable.

“Don't move,” you order him, dragging your lips away to bite down on the crook of his neck. He growls in response to the gesture, yet his hands were on your hips making sure you were steady as you bounced. His own brain filled with all sorts of devious thoughts as your warmth and scent continues to envelop him repeatedly.

Mischievously disobeying, his hands explore your body, labouring to deliver you both the pleasures you loved so much. His eyes fall shut trying to focus on his own emotions, his own thoughts. But he can't think of anything, only your lips on his neck, your skin colliding against his, and this heated moment. He could never focus under these circumstances. Why would he anyway? All he wants is you, and your thoughts were just the same.

Your hands drop down, in an attempt to try and pry his hands away from touching you. The creaking of the bed begins to slowly drown out as needy moans and kisses take over.

“Don’t turn down my touches, darling. I am simply asking my master to give more opportunities to worship her.”

You shake your head, responding with an unspoken “no” and failing to hide a smile.

“You’ll give me everything you have, right now?”

“…Anything you desire.”

Lucifer smiles leaning down to kiss you. It was a lot sweeter than you expected— and of course— when you are in love, a couple is bound to have those moments.

You look down at his cock, it which stood out and twitched, as if it had a life of its own. Your own private area reacted, as if longing to feel the way he would fuck you once more.

“I want you, switch with me.” He does instantly without any hesitation. You swiftly find your head laying by the edge of the bed and your legs, which he wrapped around his waist.

He inserts himself into you without much effort, it was too smooth to your liking, but it didn't matter. His thrust were gentle but his pants were heavy. He was holding back for your sake, but today you needed more than that.

Remembering your failed attempts to enact your secret revenge against him, you pettily grip his ass, feeling the almost moldable softness of his skin as he plows into you desperately.

“Thrust it harder, Lucifer.”

At this point steam was emitting from both of your colliding bodies, you try your best not to sound like you were begging as you gripped his behind, not caring whether they'd leave scratches by the end of the day.

Obeying you well, he repositions the both of you so he could slam farther into you, the sound of skin clapping becomes more intense at an instant. You continue to pray that the bed you were both using had enough strength to hold both of you up with how aggressive you both were becoming. Deep thrusts accompanied by harsh marks that are sure to bruise for the next days to come, lust-filled gazes, and heaving breaths that cause the room to become hotter and hotter— it was practically animalistic the way you two desired each other.

“Am I to you satisfaction, my love? My cock? My voice? …My fingers?”

Unable to keep his hands in one place, his fingers find their way back to your bud as if it were magnetized to the delectable moans you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Do you perhaps need help stifling those moans from how excited you feel?”

You don’t give a coherent response. You simply keep a hand by the back of his neck, keeping his upper body in place while the other continues to grope him, holding on to feel the movement of his lower body.

“How nice of you to offer, my love.” You shove your tongue into his mouth, it never fails to amaze you how insane his way of pleasuring you was.

It was then that you felt him twitching inside of you, signaling his climax nearing you try to push his fingers away from playing with your clit, but it was as if they would latch onto them further if you did.

“Lucifer please, I want to cum with you!” Your voice was whiny this time around, making you lose face completely.

“Don’t worry, darling. You will.”

As he spoke, a climax arrives against your will. You felt a bit shy to sound like a lost puppy at this very moment. For Lucifer, you reaction to unexpected feelings was worth getting off to. It was beautiful in and of itself.

You swear you can hear his grunts become more and more monstrous. But rather than slowing down or stopping, his fingers didn’t let up even after you came. Tears begin to form in your eyes and your nails claw at his back in hopes of keeping your mind in tact. You were blushing crazily as your brain tries to pick up every single feeling that your senses received, you can only focus on his body warmth and how slick his skin was with sweat.

“Do it again, MC. I want to see the faces you tried so hard to hide in my class. Properly this time.”

Jumbled words leave your mouth in response, for a moment you couldn’t help but think it was unfair how articulate he seemed to be no matter how disheveled he appeared.

He was close. You could tell he was the moment your eyes land on his which had gradually become wilder and wilder the longer you two went. Now, they were glowing with passion as his thrusts move in a near inhumane speed.

You shared grunts and pants pick up with the pace, you could feel yourself grow dizzy with euphoria as he continues to fiddle his fingers against your practically pitiful clit. In a flash, three of the deepest thrusts he could muster have caused him to release inside you.

He lets out a moan louder than either of you could anticipate, but at this point you forgot to even watch out for anyone or anything that could break you apart from your shared peak.

You cup a weakened hand against his cheek, silently asking Lucifer to keep his eyes on yours before you both smile and shake your heads. Just what kind of mischief were you both getting into?

Lucifer’s eyes and fingers trace the curves of your body for the last time, as if looking at a sculpted masterpiece. His mouth was open, almost as if he was awestruck. It wasn’t long before he spoke up once more:

“I quite enjoyed the show you put on for me earlier in class. If it were up to me you you'd get bonus points in your grade.”

You huffed and pulled away from his gaze, even though you were exhausted, it was always fun to play with him. “You barely looked at my direction being way too focused on the blackboard to notice.”

Lucifer holds a finger to you chin, redirecting your gaze to where it once was, his passion-lit eyes.

“Oh don't worry, I saw everything. In fact, it's quite cute how you tried to hide your discomfort… or… well… your delight, you look so tormented.”

Your surprise was genuine and you could only stammer questionably and blush on how Lucifer had actually seen everything, only assuming his imagination was taking helm at the time.

“The board is enchanted to act as a mirror for all RAD teachers and substitutes to prevent misconduct and cheating.”

You quickly compose yourself your fingers pushing lightly against his chest while pouting.

“You—! You're dirty for using school property for inappropriate matters.” you smile and don't fight to hide your blushing.

“It seems you and I are alike that way.” He gives you a peck on the lips, which you responded to by giving a deeper kiss. Your hand squeezes the inside of Lucifer's thigh, dangerously near his cock which was still relatively sensitive from orgasm yet standing in anticipation for whatever comes next. Cheekily, you decided to squeeze it with just enough pressure to make Lucifer’s mouth gape open and inhale sharply.

“I should teach you a proper lesson for making me go through that in class. Consider it an after school lesson from your favorite student.”

Leaning in closer, the corner of your lips curl into a sly smile.

“…What will it be, Lucifer?”

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

Author's Note: I suddenly remembered that Lucifer rigged the chalkboard so he can see what's going on behind him every time he instructs the class so I'm gonna use that as an advantage for him.

#obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me x reader #obey me imagines #lucifer x reader #lucifer x mc #obey me lucifer #lucifer obey me #obey me smut #obey me nb #obey me fanfic #obey me scenarios

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sirenscradle · 8 days ago

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this is my special series masterlist, gods of the old and forgotten world (ateez edition) the series will consist of various mythology centered works that i’ll be releasing! this masterlist will be regularly updated as time goes on and i get more ideas on the whim. ( ◠‿◠ )

behold the eyes of old gods as they watch you, dear reader.

͙͘͡★Genre: Cosmic nostalgia, fantasy, fluff, cosmic deities, 1980's Hong Kong, episodical. non-linear story telling. Centered around the Chinese myth of “三星” Sanxing, The Three Star Gods

.͙͘͡★Pairings: Cosmic spirit/ Star child! San x Weary soul! childhood friend reader ͙͙͘͡★WC: 3.4k

͙͘͡★Summary: It’s the year 1982–Hong Kong’s once awe-inspiring neon lights are now a dull visage of what it once was for you in your youth. Drained and dreamless, you find yourself bawling in a telephone booth after every unanswered call until an old imaginary friend visits you at your lowest. You’re then thrusted into a strange and cosmic reality where the dreams of your youth weren’t so imaginary at all. (released, read here!)

ৡ Genre: Mythology, mythos horror, dark romance, hard smut, two-part series. Inspired by the Scythian sacrifices to the war god, Ares. (Ἄρης”)

ৡ Pairing: Fire god! seonghwa x sacrifice! reader

ৡ Summary: Seonghwa abhors humanity. The duality of his nature is apparent and it's more often than not that Seonghwa exposes his innately war-bound spirit. When he begins to craft an intricate plan to incite war upon humanity, a sudden sacrifice sent in dedication of appeasing the fire God disrupts the entire trajectory of his pointed sword.

.༄.° 𓃦 Genre: Mythology, angst, reincarnation trope, smut, tragedy, ambiguous era, one-shot. Centered around the Korean folklore myth of the "구미호”, the nine tailed fox and trickster spirit. (pronounced as ku-mi-ho)

.༄.° 𓃦 Pairings: Fox God! Wooyoung x reader

.༄.° 𓃦 Summary: The Fox Gods' temple has long since been abandoned by mankind. Wooyoung is a jaded God who’s slowly fading from existence amongst the overgrowth of his once lively and beloved temple. When he meets you, a human with an uncanny ability to connect with wildlife, he is tested by the red string of fate as your life falls into his hands—unaware of the fact that this is not the first life he's known you.

author’s note:

hi guys… siren, yet again. i’ve been on a creative high and have been actually making a lot of progress with both my new series and on the final chapters of all the others. this is the first multi-group fics series i’ve released. as always, since i’m the most comfortable with writing ateez this will be their designated masterlist as i start the series with them! next up will be enhypen and bts. somehow, i feel like writing a manuscript for a children’s story book after writing a faint signal! haha i keep writing new stories and my google docs looks like an emporium of some sorts now. such is the life of an insomniac and until i get meds—y’all will probably be getting lots of updates.

super psyched to write this and i am currently working on blood of the fire god. if anyone would like to be tagged when i update any of these, feel free to comment or send me a message! please like, comment, or reblog. <3

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l0stfoster · 8 months ago

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I desperately want to know more about the cursed tulsa au! Is it ok to ask you for more headcanons about it/details from the au?

Anon you have probably asked me the question that’ll give you the longest post I’ll ever have on my account because I was born to yap about this. Nothing super detailed or written out, but a lot of little things about the characters and the world around them! Take some of my written 'headcanons' with a grain of salt!! Although I'm kinda one of the writers, I don't want to call stuff canon without input from the others.

You can VERY clearly see who we talk about the most. Any additional fun facts or info will either be mentioned in reblogs or put in a new post and linked here!! EDIT: Added a read more bc it's so long I'm so sorry

TULSA

200 years ago, the area of Tulsa was cursed by a witch. This witch stated that the poorest born will be shown just as the rest of society views them. Freaks.

A majority of, if not all, of the greasers are cursed. They have to be born in Tulsa for this effect to take place. There are very few socs who are also cursed, but it's a very spl

Those born in Tulsa can leave, but their powers are weakened (or they lose them in full until they return)- this may not be an issue for the human passing ones who just want to live life normally, but folks like Fae and Harpies will likely be hunted down by the government, as their kind isn't seen around. (At least, not to the public eye.)

(Already stated this but I'll say it again) Follows the canon plot excluding Johnny and Dally’s deaths. Johnny ‘dies’ (heart stopped, declared clinically dead— gets resuscitated though) and Dally still snaps and loses it, bolts the second after he ‘died’. Dude gets shot (non-fatally on contact) by the cops, but the gang gets him to the hospital and he lives thank god.

Animalistic traits are pretty common amongst the cursed. Some have horns, others have tails, the harpies have wings, fae have pointed ears and tails, and many of them have sharp teeth.

DARRY

Fae, his power is Emotional Augmentation/Negation & Mind Manipulation. - He can calm people down, elevate their emotions, or clamp down on people's power if they're getting too out of hand. This makes it really hard for him to identify his own emotions. He also has a bad habit of using his power when he's upset, which means it pretty much rubs off on others. He's usually pretty good at keeping it down, but he struggles. - His manipulation is pretty much a workaround for the fact that the fae cannot lie. It pretty much makes him VERY convincing, mind manipulation does that. He'll tell someone something and they'll believe it. Master Gaslighter. That comes with its own issues-- he can't tell if the relationships he's made are authentic due to his manipulation, meaning they might just be telling him what he wants to hear. It bugs him really bad, and he worries that a lot of his friendships aren't as solid as they seem to be.

He had a very messy situationship and falling out with Paul. One-sided crush on Darry's end for a while throughout their friendship (Paul was in HEAVY denial of his own feelings, while Darry knew damn well he loved Paul.) Paul, being the soc he is, didn't like that Darry was "one of those freaks". That was sort of where their friendship shattered, and everything that happened after Bob's death made it beyond repairable.

REALLY hates being fae, and has done a lot of shit to try and prevent himself from being easily identifiable as something not human. He tried cutting his ears off ((due to paul's comment calling them freaks) got caught, and one ear is fucked up now), continuously tried to get his tail injured enough to be amputated (that also didn't work, but now he's got a disabled tail that hurts to move too much), and even gave filing his teeth down a go (also didn't work- made them sharper if anything.)

He doesn't wag his tail, and the gang can’t tell if it’s because he’s never happy or because the range of motion is limited due to his injury. If you’re lucky the tip of it will flick around but he also does that when angry so you can’t tell what the fuck dude is actually feeling

Fucked up his vocal cords growling all the time as a kid when trying to be intimidating, so now his growl sounds like a broken wolf's growl; he can't do it for too long or it fucks up his voice and he'll sound like a chain smoker. (Speaking of, I headcanon he used to/does smoke, just hid it well from Pony n Soda)

Purrs very rarely but when he does, he purrs like a motherfucker. Whole ass jet engine. It is LOUD and you will vibrate if he's hugging you.

His boss is the only one unaffected by his power. "You should give me a raise" 'Not gonna happen, Darrel' "FUC-"

Stole Darrel Sr's name. It's why he's junior /silly

Literally just anxiety personified, tbh. He cannot catch a break and hates himself so bad. He's equally as feral as his brothers but is just VERY good at keeping it lowkey.

All the fae are nature-linked in some way. Darry really likes the sun and warm weather. He's got Disney princess energy too, and animals adore him. (hence Two being drawn to him as a perch /silly) He gets followed home by neighborhood strays and keeps having to tell Soda that no, they can't keep them.

Not even specifically an AU headcanon but when he cracks any bones they pop like forty gazillion times. Cracks his back and it's just a solid 5 seconds of snapping.

Speaking of, he's one of the only people who can hold Two's weight because his wings are heavy. Dude's strong as fuck here for obvious reasons, he's also a little too fast compared to a human, so.

Bites his nails to high heavens. He stopped doing it for a while trying to break the habit but accidentally clawed up someone in the gang wrestling and hasn't let them get long since.

Likes to preen Two's wings, it's the repetitive nature that calms him down. If he's stressed and Two notices then he offers.

Like all the other power havers, he gets super fucking weak and a bunch of other drawbacks when overusing his power. Still developing said drawbacks but I personally imagine he either just gets overly emotional or goes completely robotic and stoic.

Jumped Paul with Dally once bc they were trying to get back all the feathers stolen from Two-Bit. Dally didn't even finish asking who was first before he answered a very flat "Paul."

He's very friendly with Ms. Mathews. She helps them a lot throughout the years and he deeply respects her-- he also finds it very funny to see all the photo album bullshit she's got for her kids. Laughs his ass off at the stupid baby photos of Two n his sister.

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO DIE ON HIS BIRTHDAY. This will be further explained in Johnny's little section but long story short, they were supposed to get into a car accident before the train tracks and Darry would've died. He's got survivor's guilt, to an extent, as his parents wouldn't have died in the crash. Only him.

Had heightened Pony's anger during their confrontation. The guilt still eats him alive.

Unlike the other greasers who's powers weaken while they're sick, Darry's power gets very unstable due to how he's commonly repressing them. The gang knows he’s sick no matter how hard he tries to hide it physically because they’ll be around him and suddenly they’re weirdly emotional, or he’ll say something and they’ll believe him even if they know better.

In alliance with my headcanon for the normal story, I personally imagine he got jumped after his friendship with Paul ended before their parents died (since that friendship breaking apart kinda ruined his alignment with any socs)

Generally just a normal hc but he's got Autism, BPD, PTSD, and a few other things like anxiety, major depressive disorder, and sensory/eating issues. Very financially insecure too.

Used to bite as a kid. That's it. Send tweet.

SODA

Fae, his power is pretty much just a Siren Song. - He can get people to do what he wants with his voice, it's as simple as that. He used it to get Sandy to confess to the fact that the baby wasn't his, uses it to get Darry or Steve to take breaks if they're working a little too hard, etc.

Used his power to get extra cake after dinner or to get teachers to lighten up on him or his friends when they got in trouble. It works very similarly to Darry's manipulation, only Soda's is physical and makes them very compelled to follow what he says. In certain circumstances, people can tell if he's caused them to do/say something. That doesn't stop him, though!

When their parents died, everyone's powers went haywire. Soda had to either scream himself mute or force himself to be quiet so he wouldn't accidentally make anyone do something. He didn't want it to be fixed.

If he overuses his magic then he can't talk for a good few days without it hurting, voice gets very raspy.

Thinks he's a bad person due to the nature of his power. I personally like to think the only time he doesn't mind using them is when it's for the benefit of his friends. He's had to coax Two down from the roof after his jumping because watching all the harpies fly just makes him feel worse. He's stopped Steve from overusing his telekinesis after too many close calls with dropping a car.

Absolutely LOVES his ears and tail. Has a ton of piercings and tries to accessorize them a lot. The polar opposite of Darry in that regard. Likes his sharp teeth too.

His claws are probably the second sharpest, as they get sharper with age IMO.

He's probably the most expressive of the fae; constantly doing stuff since he can't sit still for the life of him. Tail's either swaying, tapping, wagging, or doing something.

Has the growl of a leopard. it is terrifying, when he growled at the socs during the rumble they almost pissed themselves. It scares the shit out of Two-Bit LMAOAO.

Soda has arguably the most average purr out of his brothers, it's basic, simple like a cat's is. He purrs super hard and at pretty much any physical affection sent his way.

When asked for his name by Mr and Mrs. Curtis, he pointed at a Pepsi bottle. Eventually, he swapped it for Soda.

He was jumped by the socs once, and they gagged/muzzled him so he couldn't use his power against them to defend himself. The gang was fucking destroyed when he came home with it, they knew they weren't perceived as equal, but that's beyond cruel.

Also slightly nature-linked. I like to think bees flock to him <3 He's also very good with botany, pretty tied with Pony.

He makes little healing pastes/oils for Darry using Pony's plants when he massages his back.

Soda learned many of his extending-the-truth-to-avoid-lying tricks from Darry, so he's very good at it. Darry is one of the only people who doesn't fall for Soda's shit. Steve doesn't either, just because he feels too bad lying to his best friend.

Soda pretty much gets zoomies. He'll be practically bouncing off the walls and going batshit bonkers. It's insane. Sometimes he's on all fours too, no one knows how he can do it so well.

Arguably the most fae-linked of the brothers; a lot of the little things that don't affect his brothers get to him. All three of them are properly burned by iron, though.

Doesn't like being thanked, as it not only implies being owed something, but he also just feels that he shouldn't be thanked for being kind/having basic empathy.

He absolutely hates salt. Too white for it /j (It's another fae thing, Soda's just most impacted by it)

He's weirdly flexible and moves in super uncanny ways sometimes. No one's sure if it's a fae thing or if he's just.. built like that.

Soda's a smooth talker when using his magic but cannot for the life of him start a conversation without it.

When he found out that Steve's dad was abusive, he nonstop asked for the fucker's full name for DAYS because he was so upset that someone was hurting his best friend.

Stevepop is canon in the writer's eyes, but if you want to you can absolutely read their dynamic as platonic (won't stop us from drawing ship art of them so whoops). I try my best to keep most of the dynamics/relationships open for interpretation (On that note, no shipping the mfs who are family coded I'll actually maim you)

When he snores it rumbles off with a purr. Also sleeps halfway draped over Pony like a bigass weighted blanket.

Yet another normal headcanon thing but he's got ADHD, Dyslexia, PSTD, and DPD. Yeah all of them are a little fucked up.

He collects rocks and crystals. It's a stash he can't bring around Two-Bit because it WILL be stolen.

PONY

Fae, his power is Nature Manipulation - It's honestly just what it sounds like. He can create plants, manipulate them, etc. He's very commonly using them, and they're heavily emotion-tied. Cacti and Venus fly traps when angry, wilted plants and dead bushes when sad, etc etc. The plants he grows most are vines, as they're super useful for him. He can use them offensively or defensively as needed. They have a huge tree in their backyard that he grew.

He's benefited positively from bright sunlight and water. He's incapable of drowning, so when Bob tried to drown him in the fountain he was kinda just,, chillin'. (Unfortunately for these fuckers, Johnny did NOT know that.)

Alternatively, he gets super weak and sluggish during the winter and cold seasons. It's misery for him, he thrives on sunlight and warmth. He's got these greenish-grey eyes when it's the summer/spring and they get super dull during the colder months. Groundhog Day is for losers, the gang knows when spring's coming once Pony starts perking back up.

Plants grow in his hair, mostly little sprouts and flowers like that. Magical flower crowns!! He makes them for Johnny every now and then.

Gets followed by bees and bugs. He both enjoys and despises it because what the fuck dude why are HORNETS chasing him.

Liked to grow flowers to give their mom as a kid, he was a little gift giver to her.

On that note, a motherfucking GOBLIN as a child. Literally, chaos incarnate, absolutely horrible to try and raise because he was so fucking wild.

Does not have spring allergies, lucky fucker.

When their parents died, the house was wrapped in vines for days. Sometimes they still start to overtake and infest due to how many there had been, but Darry usually trims them down went he notices (or when he's got the free time, busy ass)

Has the fattest beef with Steve still. Will trip the guy with his vines and he bites.

He's got a squeaky purr and a squeaky growl due to being young. He growls like a snow leopard cub.

Responds really well to physical affection just like Soda, doesn't always purr to it but does really enjoy it. Avidly avoids it from Two bc the stupid bird will try to preen him and he thinks it's goofy /silly

QPR with Johnny. Pony represents life and Johnny represents death. They hold hands, are the besties ever, and are extremely codependent. Do not romanticize their relationship I'll eat your knees.

Pony knows a lot about flower meaning, as he should. He's also very good with botany too.

Instead of Tim stepping on him in the rumble, he ate shit and got smacked really hard by harpy wings. Two and Tim still aren't too sure which one of them did it.

Very little thing but he has a tooth gap.

Pony tried doing a Darry n attempted to cut his ears to look more human while at the church. It didn't work, so now he's got two little rips that look similar to if you had a piercing torn out. He's generally got mixed feelings about his features.

Tries to keep his emotions on the down low for the sake of looking like a tuff adult, but his tail is constantly giving him away.

Pony made them a fairy around the house with his plants, and it serves as a little thing that lets any of the Curtis' know if someone enters the hours whether they're at home or not. If Pony doesn't want someone at the house while they're away then his vines will yoink them out.

Choosing his name was just him saying a random word in a very ominous voice. Darry added the 'boy' to the end of it.

He makes flower crowns for the hell of it, just likes having his hands moving. Either the gang gets them or they get tossed in a misc pile.

He is SO fucking bad at trying to extend the truth, absolutely miserable at it. He cannot gaslight at all.

Due to his power being weak at Windrixville, he had tried and failed to save Johnny with his vines. Instead, they were pulling him back in a subconscious effort to save himself; plants don't go well with flame, after all.

Had to quit smoking post-Windrixville because the smell bothered him really hard. His voice was kinda fucked up after too due to the smoke inhalation as well.

He's got little burn scars on his hands from grabbing the iron gates at the cemetery where their parents are buried too many times. Darry thinks he's a moron for it.

Clings to Ace like a motherfucker during the winter because she's naturally VERY warm.

Darry has to hold this bitch down to cut his nails when they get too sharp because he'll scratch a bitch while wrestling and play dirty.

Mental stuff again; Autism, PTSD, and Sensory Issues. Also kind of an addict.

He hasn't reached the full potential of his powers because he's still going through puberty.

Poy thrives off sugar, being plant-based and all.

STEVE

Human, but his power is Telekinesis. - It's very simple to explain. He's capable of lifting this with his mind and little physical action. There technically isn't a weight limit, but if he lifts something too heavy for too long it'll drop and he'll be REALLL fucked up, it's exhausting to use too much. Alas, that doesn't really stop him. If he gets pissed off things start floating around him.

REALLY likes to throw cars. It's just showing off honestly. He likes doing little things like that for the hell of it.

His dad makes him float beers to him and he'll very bitterly do it. One time he did it a little too fast 'on accident' and held back smiling as his dad bitched about getting covered in beer.

If substitute teachers are unaccommodating assholes he hucks desks at them. Detention is very worth it.

His telekinesis makes him seem physically stronger than he actually is. When it came to Two-Bit perching on the group, the people who could do it were Dally, Darry, and Steve-- until they found out that Steve was just using his telekinesis to hold him up. He dared to do it once without and long story short they ended up on the floor.

Steve isn't super affected by Soda's magic, but he does stuff for him just 'cause Soda's his best friend.

He uses his telekinesis to fly around with Two sometimes. That sort of stops after Two's wing ends up fucked. Every now and then, though, he'd use his power to give Two-Bit the feeling of flying again. They both go home bummed, Two because he’s no longer ‘flying’ and Steve because he hates knowing he can’t actually help

He did most of the work making a prosthetic for Two, and Soda helped a hell of a ton too.

He can't lie to save his life, just 'cause. He also can't whistle.

Arguably even more autistic for cars like this because of how easy working on them becomes with telekinesis. Floats them up himself to work under them.

Speaking of that, he'll float Soda up to the ceiling if he pesters him too much while he's working on a car. Needs to be absolutely locked in and Soda interrupts that.

He may be human passing but he doesn't... look right. His limbs and fingers are too long for a person.

Was STRUGGLING after the rumble. Had to deal with the pain of bones being too stretched plus broken ribs and fucked up knuckles.

He's got a complex that he's only good for his powers. It's a big sense of insecurity for him. It doesn't help that his powers tie to his mood sometimes too. He's had too many close calls dropping a car he's underneath and almost crushing himself because something gets to him. "You good, Steve?" (literally shaking) "Yeah I'm great"

Soda has to use his magic to force him to take a break, cause Steve doesn't want to stop because he thinks they're all he's got that makes him good at what he does.

His dad was born poor and in Tulsa. Steve isn't too sure what his curse is, but he doesn't want to find out.

He's got a crush on Soda that he, for a while, keeps mistaking for a heavy amount of admiration. You don't want to be him, Steve, you want to be WITH him.

He's got fragile bones like the harpies, the only difference is that his isn't biological and is due to his telekinesis stretching his bones out.

Yeah also mentally ill. Autism, PTSD, and CDD.

Idly floats himself for the hell of it sometimes. If Soda calls him short he'll bitterly float up to match his height or be taller.

TWO-BIT

Crow Harpy. No power besides that I think

He's got all the mannerisms of a crow and of birds in general. He likes to give his family and the gang shinies; flies by and drops bottlecaps or random little trinkets and dips. Sometimes physically throws them at people.

He dives at people in the street sometimes if they have something shiny. He’ll also dive-bomb friends and just pick them up like a claw machine. Dally’s the most common victim of this.

He's very intertwined with the bird instincts too. Nests, preens, chirps, whistles, etc. Very fucking loud and will not shut up. Clicks when he's all angry and shit.

Two’s mom is a harpy and his dad is human. Neither of them took after him, and he wasn’t happy about that. Two-Bit constantly had his needs and habits as a harpy repressed by his father; this included having his feathers clipped and not being allowed to preen or nest. His mom wasn’t able to do anything about it for a while, as she was too busy working to keep a roof over their heads.

He knows she is doing her best, and he doesn't blame her for not being able to protect him from that. Two's a huge mama's boy. he used to hide in her wings when he was little.

He taught his sister to fly and had taught himself by jumping off the roof. It’s why he’s got his tooth gap.

His mom has a photo album of him and his sister as they grew, including their feathers as they molted. "Baby's first molt!" and he looks like a blended-up cotton ball. Darry loves these photo albums.

Dally calls him Songbird and Freckles. Two calls him Dimples

He likes to bleach the tips of his feathers and dyes them with his sister, since her feathers are still light enough to dye without bleach.

He preens with the gang and will also try to preen the gang. It’s a bonding activity but bc they don’t have feathers it’s usually just him fucking around with their hair. It usually ends with them wrestling a pissy bird that by god NEEDS to get that knot out of your hair or he will tweak. Pony hates it the most, Darry and Soda are the only ones who don't resist.

If Darry whistles around him he'll shoot over and perch on the guy.

Even bigger kleptomaniac in this. Always has something, Dally's been given at least six switchblades over a week.

He can mimic voices and sounds really well. Uses Johnny's voice to get Pony's attention once. "Oh so you'd get up the second Johnny calls BUT WHEN I DO YOU IGNORE M-"

Horrible flier when drunk, it's hilarious to watch.

If you throw a piece of cloth thick enough to block out light over his head, he falls asleep.

Cannot for the life of him get through doors on the west side because they aren't friendly for wings.

His heart beats like 200+ times per minute. Everyone thinks he's having a heart attack or something when they first hear it.

Alternatively, he thought Dally was dying when he first heard how slow his heartbeat was.

He goes into torpor during really cold winter days or if he's super fucking exhausted. Went into torpor right after his jumping and Dally was convinced that he was dying.

Two gets very territorial and defensive of the gang because they're "his flock". Gives people death stares if they're getting too close. He looms threateningly over the shoulders of his friends if he doesn't like the person they're talking to. It usually scares them off.

He likes to take the gang and his family for flights. Scoops em up and just goes, most of them enjoy it, the ones with a fear of heights? Not so much.

If the younger members of the gang get sick he WILL shove them in a nest and pretty much hover over the person. He gets mama-bird traits from his mom.

Alternatively, even if Darry gets sick Two will hover over that motherfucker. He will wrap that man in a blanket and not let him leave. Just swaddles all the fuckers.

He's got good timing with dive-bombing people. Darry fell off a roof once and BAM suddenly he's in the arms of a very energetic harpy.

Was a really small kid and just shot up overnight. One day he was up to Dally's chest and the next he was at his nose. Dally hated it.

He's docile by nature but when he gets violent it's HELL. He's got sharp claws and talons along with sharp teeth, my guy can do some damage.

Two hates cats and has absolute beef with them. He and the rest of the harpies are scared shitless by Soda's growl too, if Soda growls he whips his head around 180 and looks around frantic. Soda both feels bad but laughs his ass off.

Two (and the other harpies) can't see glass. He's walked into the glass at the DX and slams his head against car windows trying to look outside. He's absolutely mesmerized by glass cups because why is the water FLOATING?

He has to sit in the bed of Darry's truck because his wings don't fit.

The gang went to a mirror maze once and Two got stuck in it for 2 hours. Came out with a busted nose all pouty because those mfs left him in there how dare they.

The Curtis boys can mimic bird sounds really well, they whistle at Two-Bit and his head shoots up at attention.

He's afraid of ceiling fans.

Harpies generally don't like eating bird meat due to etiquette and cultural stuff, but Two's dad would force him to eat chicken as a kid.

He adores seafood and goes fucking bonkers for it.

He got struck by lighting once. Walked into the Curtis' house singed and just went "So I might've made a mistake." Somehow he wasn't too hurt.

He tries to puff up to look intimidating but people just laugh because it's fucking cute. If he wants to look scary all he has to do is smile, yet he doesn't.

He emotes a lot with his ear feathers, they're constantly moving.

Like most birds and other harpies, his bones are hollow. They're arguably made of stronger bone material but the insides are hollow so you can snap 'em with ease if you put enough force behind it.

His neck is like a chicken's, if you move his body his head will stay in one spot if he wants it to.

He liked to just sit and linger on Dally's shoulders when they were kids. Dally didn't mind.

His feathers travel up to the back of his neck and hair; the ones up top closer to his hair are a bit curlier.

The gang can play one-sided fetch with him if they want to. Toss a shiny and he dives after it; he just won't bring it back.

He's got a whole drawer that's just full of the shit he collects. Bones, bottle caps, coins, broken jewelry, glass, etc.

He gave everyone in the gang one of his feathers. All of them wear it on their person.

There's a rumor going around in soc society about Mothman. It's just Two-Bit in really bad lighting. He got moth man status because a soc was closing a shop one night and turned and just saw these BIG ol glowing eyes staring through the window in the darkness of the evening.

He goes after rodents and small bugs. His mom used to have to wrestle mice out of his mouth and he'd cry after.

His baby photos are 90% blurs and heaps of feathers because he ALWAYS had zoomies. The only photos he's peaceful in are the ones where he's snoozing.

If they were invented in their time, Darry would put claw caps on Two if he's resisting having his talons cut. They'll watch him try his damn hardest to just tolerate them before eventually relenting like "oKAY FINE I'LL CUT THEM."

In terms of a specific species, he's a Fish Crow.

TWO-BIT CONT.

His jumping went REAL fucking bad in this. Bev took a lighter to his wing and put her cigarette out between where they met on his back (alongside still burning his face). They didn’t go for both wings, because something was much more cruel about taking one rather than both.

That shit fucked him up for so long, not only was he unable to fly, but there was all that physical and psychological pain that came with having his freedom torn from him. He was made for the skies and now he’s forced to wander the ground with the same people who hurt him.

He self-isolated up until the rumble because he couldn’t stomach the idea of the group seeing how ‘gross’ his wing looked. His mom cried her eyes out when he came home after being jumped, even though he tried hiding the damage from her.

She tried to preen him to make him more comfortable but they couldn't get more than halfway through before he broke down sobbing. “Why couldn’t I have just been normal like dad” when his mom’s preening him bc he doesn’t want to keep feeling the pain in his wings. For a few days after he hesitated even letting her near just because the pain scared him.

HATED Marcia for a good bit after his jumping. She didn't partake in it, sure, but she watched and did nothing. It took months before he could even stomach looking at her.

When his wings recovered, he used to climb on the roof and watch the other harpies fly. He'd feel the breeze through his feathers and against his face and try to convince himself that just maybe, he was up there with them. Soda has to coax him back down with his power because he is only making himself feel worse. Two was bitter at the other harpies for a very long time.

Can't handle the smell of smoke from cigarettes, though. Fire itself in some cases (mostly Ace's fire) is fine, it's cigarettes that bother him.

School was hell on earth for a good while because tight spaces and sensitive wings don't go well. He usually ended up late to classes bc he had to wait for the halls to clear to leave. He would've dropped out over it if he wasn't afraid of upsetting his mom.

His balance was fucked up for a good while due to the difference in weight.

Steve and the rest of the gang made him a prosthetic for his wing. He cried, and it fit like a glove.

Despite getting that freedom back, though, he kind of hates it. He has to relearn to fly, and it's frustrating it causes a lot of resentment because he used to be able to fly perfectly and now he struggles. He hates that he needs to rely on this prosthetic to be free.

Two-Bit and Johnny bond over having had a part of their freedom taken and now needing aid to regain it.

There's no canon ship for Two in this but the writers fuck with Dar-bit and Mar-bit hard lmao. I'll probably be doing a lot of Dar-bit stuff for them.

AuDHD and PTSD, send tweet. Maybe ODD but I'm still thinking about that one. Major separation anxiety.

JOHNNY

Human, he's what we've been calling Death Tied - He's got a sixth sense where he can tell if, when, and how a person will die. If a person's death is coming up, he'll get flashes of the event; what killed them, their corpse, etc. It freaks him out sometimes, depending on who it is. I like to imagine he gets ‘death chills’; which is a similar thing to impending doom, only he feels it for others.

His curse was NOT biological. As a kid his parents almost killed him; Death saw this, decided it was fucked up, and decided to take in this small child as its own.

Johnny's teeth are just a little too white and his eyes a little too black sometimes. He’s got something akin to vitiligo after he received death’s blessing, and it outlines and mirrors the shape of his skeleton.

Butterflies follow him since he's death; unlike Pony, who has beef with the bees that follow him, Johnny enjoys their presence.

Doesn’t like to use his power much but (pre-jumping) absolutely will tell a soc with a flat expression when and how they’ll die.

He’d saved Darry from dying at the cost of Mr and Mrs Curtis’ lives. Initially, Darry had been planning to join their parents on the car ride to get the chocolate frosting; and Johnny had come over early to get away from home as they were getting ready to leave. He’d barely gotten to walk past the fae when he got the flashes occurred. Johnny watched everything— saw the crash, the way windows broke and metal crumpled inwards; watched the life drain from Darry’s eyes— and it freaked him out. He couldn’t for the life of him explain what he’d seen, but he wouldn’t let Darry leave; clung to him and wouldn’t let go.

Darry tried using his manipulation to get Johnny to let go, but it didn’t work, and that’s what stopped him from leaving. Their parents went alone, and it was the delay in waiting for Darry to come to the car that caused them to be on the tracks that day.

Johnny hasn’t forgiven himself for it. He thinks that maybe, he could’ve done something different and saved them all. He apologized for weeks— and still apologizes sometimes nowadays.

Johnny has never feared death, it’s hard to when you’re related to it yourself. When Bob died, he didn’t feel remorse until a few minutes after he was stuck there with the corpse. He's the boy of death, this is his normal- it’s only when his humanity returns that he realizes what he’s done.

The only time he's feared death was during/after the church fire. His power practically disabled itself due to how weak he was, and he was terrified. This was going to be it, he was going to lose his life at 16-- and then he woke up in the hospital.

While he was clinically dead, he spoke to Death. It was a simple interaction, just a reassurance that it was not his time to go yet. There was a feeling of comfort in their words, too.

Sometimes, when he sleeps, he sees Death again. One of the first times they'd spoken was when Darry was supposed to die. "Hey bud, that fae was supposed to die-" "No."

Before they could afford to get him mobility aids, Steve and Two helped him get around.

He's got a really uncanny feeling about him, people do not usually like it- Dally enjoyed it, though, 'cause he's fucking bonkers. It doesn't help that he doesn't blink.

He can easily float on the surface of bigger bodies of water because corpses float in water after they begin to decompose.

He's unnaturally cold like a corpse, the cold doesn't bother him because of that, but he does like feeling warm.

GAD, C-PTSD, and Autism. He's also selectively mute but is very vocal with the gang

Johnny still smokes, but being around the smell of smoke for too long makes him panic.

DALLY

Human, he’s the only one of the gang without a curse. However, he’s recently discovered a bit of an,, unsettling change to his daily life.

Dally's been seeing things. Apparations, spirits, whatever you want to call them. He'll see them in the corner of his eye and in certain circumstances can engage with them directly. He's not a fan of it.

Born in New York, moved to Tulsa when he was around seven; Two-Bit welcomed him with a stupid amount of enthusiasm and they’ve been buddies since.

He doesn’t talk about his birth family, no matter how much prompting there is. As far as he’s aware, Buck’s probably the closest thing he’s felt to an authority figure— at least until he grew older and colder, ignoring the role the adult had in his life.

He’s only capable of holding Two’s perching weight because he’s been doing it since they were kids.

He's very good at coping with his chirps too. Likes to whistle and watch that bitch shoot up and stare.

Dally tries his damn hardest to downplay how much Two (or any of the other greasers) mean to him. Vulnerability like that makes him feel too weak, and after having shown that weakness once, he doesn't plan to do so again.

Met Death while unconscious after being shot by the cops. The only reason he's alive is because Johnny would've been destroyed, and Death didn't want to deal with that shit.

Sometimes he feels a little weird about being the only human, but it's more out of a sense of not necessarily belonging there. It's an unconscious thought, one that only manifests in the rare moments when he realizes he feels just as out of place as he did in NYC. Dallas Winston is merely a boy who has never felt at home.

Dally, funnily enough, doesn't pass well as a human. Everyone outside the gang is convinced he's a vampire because he's so pasty and his canine teeth are naturally sharp.

He successfully convinced the gang that he could talk to and control rats. Two is the only person who knows he lied because he bought him a rat once and nothing happened.

He finds out through Two-Bit and Ms. Mathews that Fae can't lie and uses it to blackmail the Curtis bros, since nobody else knows that.

Yknow how he can see ghosts? One time he woke up on the Curtis' couch to Mr and Mrs Curtis in the living room. It freaks him out so bad that he unconsciously blocks them out right after. Blinks really hard a few times until they're gone.

He's the most feral of the gang. It's the New Yorker in him. He's not supernatural, sure, but he will fuck shit up. Absolutely off his rocker, launches people, and rocks their shit.

Dally's the one who found Two-Bit after he got jumped. He's so pissed ab what happened with Pony n Johnny that he wants some sick gratitude by seeing exactly where Bob took his last breath, so that’s where he finds him. He didn't know how to react, panicked HARD.

He's arguably the closest with Johnny and Two-Bit, he's just more open about that connection with Johnny. He's also pretty good friends with Darry, as there are a lot of little things they've found mutual ground on.

He's got claw scars littered around from the harpies. The ones from Two are due to the fucker dive-bombing down to grab him with his talons a little too fast, and the others are from fist-fighting Tim.

He called Ms. Mathews mom once and has not walked physically into the house since out of pure embarrassment. He doesn't even stand on the lawn that's how embarrassed he is by it all.

More general headcanon stuff fuck you but BPD, PTSD, intermittent explosive disorder, and ODD too.

Also a general headcanon but Two-Bit convinced him to get a tattoo during one of his own sessions for his sleeve, so he's got a little switchblade on the back of his leg.

He thought Two-Bit was having a heart attack the first time he heard how fast his heartbeat was.

Non-Canon but a fun fact. If he did die to the cops, he would've come back as a ghost.

ACE

Human, arguably the least passing as one, and she's got pyrokinesis - As usual, it's very self-explanatory. She can create and control fire with the mind, but there are a few limits to it. She can't produce large flames from her hands, and so she usually has to carry a lighter to kickstart her power if needed.

Ace can make very small fires on her fingers but they're not usually big enough to be manipulated. She can go larger as needed, but it'll drain her out. Likes to just light people's cigarettes and make the flame jump from finger to finger.

When she gets super pissed off, her hair sets on fire. The gang uses her to roast marshmallows sometimes.

Ace is unofficially adopted by Ms. Mathews. Shit's been reprised, it follows her canon backstory via Tilly, but she's still very very close with Two and is practically Ms. Mathew's kid.

On that note, has a very familial relationship with Two and his sister. They grew up together, how could they not be? They're absolute fucking chaos when paired, though. She likes to call him any bird other than a crow to see him puff up all annoyed.

She used to threaten to turn him into Thanksgiving dinner if he kept pestering her.

Absolute fucking goblin. She has tried so hard to convince Cherry to help her burn half of the soc's houses down. "We'll spare yours don't worry!!" "N..No."

She can't really swim and it could arguably kill her if she's in water for too long, but if she's mad the water will boil away.

VERY warm by nature for obvious reasons, literally a space heater. Pony flocks to her in the winter because she's so warm

Looks the least human of the humans. She's got horns underneath her hair that are still growing more, and her hands are coated pretty permanently in ash. She gives off a subtle glow and her eyes/teeth look way too bright in the dark. Her eyes burn brighter when she's upset.

Normal headcanon but arguably has the second-worst criminal record in the gang.

She feels very guilty about her power due to how much trauma the others in the gang have gone through relating to it.

Unrelated to the AU itself but she's a lesbian. IDGAF what anyone says.

Ace infatuates Two-Bit by putting on a ring and waving her fire fingers in front of his face. The fire's light bouncing off it makes it look extra shiny, she uses it to get him to do stuff for her. "Oo oo you wanna buy me a Pepsi soooo bad"

Literally just bullies him. They have no clue who's older because Ace doesn't know her birthday but she's self-titled him as her little brother.

Couldn’t control her powers as a kid, the gang is quite literally the first group of people who understood that and didn’t isolate her because she kept accidentally burning them when she got too excited (its emotions tied to an extent, hence why she’s started only channeling it by bottling up her anger until she needs to burst)

If Ace uses her power too much she quite literally burns out. Can’t use any part of it for days and is super fucking exhausted. Winter is her absolute beloathed because it’s a pretty similar feeling she gets. She's very susceptible to frostbite.

She used to make jokes about burning Two’s wings off whenever he’d bother her. For a good while she’s way too afraid of even being close to him after his jumping because she doesn’t want to hurt him with her flames. Two trusts her in full even after the accident but her ass is NOT taking any risk, he thinks he pissed her off somehow for a while until it clicks when he watches her extinguish whatever little flame she’s fidgeting with on her fingers the second he walks in. “I trust you." (wearily) “Should you?”

PTSD and ADHD, along with some pretty bad sensory issues & maybe Pica.

Had a really toxic situationship with Bev. She couldn't see the red flags until Bev harmed one of her own. Their relationship was broken off the mere second she found out who hurt Two. Literally blew up at Bev and burnt herself out due to being so fucking angry. It parallels Paul's "Why would I like a freak like you" towards Darry with Ace telling Bev "I can't believe I loved a monster like you."

Rarepair/Crackship time. Ace x Cherry is canon. We call them Fireworks. They're very slow burn. Cherry needs to come to terms with her feelings and Ace needs to trust another soc again after what happened with Two n Bev.

OTHER CHARACTER THINGS

All of the Shepards are Vulture harpies.

Paul and Cherry of two of the only socs with powers. Cherry's got something akin to electrokinesis and makes little sparks with her hands similar to the way a bomb with a lit fuse would behave. Paul's a witch, but his manifested pretty late; probably post-rumble.

Cherry's fingertips are calloused from her sparks, and she's got a bit of resistance to fire. Her hair sparks like a bomb/fireworks when she gets super pissed off. Ace has tried to weaponize this for the silly.

She tries to hide her sparks. Wears gloves to keep them down and if she has to have them off will clench her fists, even if it burns her.

She's desperate to be good enough to her parents. They're ashamed of her due to her sparks, and all she wants is their approval.

Cherry's got major internalized homophobia for a while, very comphet. Eventually, she comes to terms it.

Paul tweaked the fuck out at first and had a panic attack before realizing he kinda fucked with it. Still has a huge bias against the greasers, though. It's something close to a god complex, but he just thinks he's superior due to his financial status as well. He's just got basic shit like rituals and spells.

Was convinced Darry was using his power on him when he confronted him about the Fae having loved him, cause he cried. It wasn't a heavy cry, just a bitter stare, "Why would I like a freak like you?", and silent tears. Darry still doesn't know how to feel about that.

(9/18 Edit: Take the Paul stuff ab his relationship to the greasers with a grain of salt, we’re changing stuff)

The only reason it's tolerance and not raw hate is because Paul was NOT in on Two being burned 💀Turned around to see Bev with her light and was just like "Well I guess we're cooking chicken tn????"

The socs who jumped Two wear his stolen feathers. The only socs with neat feathers are Cherry and Marcia.

Two's little sister (who I call Molly) once asked their mom (who I call Carolyn) why they couldn't give Two-Bit their molted feathers to 'fix his'

Ms. Mathews has pretty much adopted the entire group emotionally by now. She tries to help Darry with financials but Darry is. Darry.

MISC STUFF

Two-Bit used to get caught in and fly around tornados and Pony always caught sight of that shit. They liked to play a game where he tried to catch him while Two avoided his vines. If they couldn't get him down, Pony would get Soda to ask Steve to use his telekinesis bc Steve would say no if Pony asked.

They also play a game where Steve will fling a member of the gang as far as he can and Two dives after them. It's like fucked up football; Dally offered to be thrown and it was the most fun the three have had-- until they had to stop 'cause Darry caught them and almost had an aneurysm.

The DX windows used to be blank and empty but Soda and Steve started putting stuff up on them so the harpies don’t slam into the glass.

Steve puts Two-Bit in air jail if he tries snatching anything shiny from himself or Soda.

Two, Johnny, and Steve bond over having shitty fathers. Two n Steve do it the most since Johnny doesn’t like to talk about it, but Steve and Two will bitch to hell and back. Johnny's a part of the conversation but just nods and listens. If they have a rough day with their dads, the three of them end up hanging out together.

Johnny, Dally, and Two make people the most uneasy. Johnny's got these blank, dead eyes, Two's smile feels predatory, and Dally's Dally.

All the greaser Harpies look out for one another. It doesn't matter if they're not from the same gang, or if their gangs have tension; you look out for one another. They may necessarily not be each other's flock, but it’s natural for them to stick together.

The harpies love to play fight. They will absolutely beat the shit out of each other and then grab lunch as if nothing happened. All of the harpies have bird habits. Most of them sleep on their stomach.

Dally took something shiny out of Two's hands when they were kids, and Two cried.

Ace makes fun of Two-Bit's choice of men because they're lesbian and bisexual solidarity. "Thoughts?" "And prayers, you'll need them." The only time she ever was like ‘Wow you made a good pick’ was when he jokingly said it about Darry. "Thoughts?” “Your only good pick, He’s got my blessing.” ">:0"

During the real cold months when Darry has to decide between heating or food on the table, Two and Ace practically move in bc a walking blanket and space heater.

{ Tags List: @nova-drawzz @timewing06 }

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lightdancingwords · 4 months ago

Text

Second Chances - Part Fifteen of ?

Pairings: Beau Arlen x Y/N Female reader Series Summary: A chance meeting in a grocery store brings a second chance for you and for Beau. The only thing standing in your way are your respective pasts... and a tiny little roadblock. Word Count: 5,172 Tags/Warnings: I actually don’t think there is any beyond SO. MUCH. FLUFF. And I guess babies and kids. Implied smut. A/N: Comments, Likes, Reblogs, Kind feedback are always highly appreciated. Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!

Note: I've several of you comment this, so here's official statement: I am likely to never end this story at this rate! I'm loving Beau and his relationship with Y/N! So until I'm burnt out on Beau or run out of ideas... consider this story ongoing! Additional Note: I feel bad. Emily somehow slipped my mind—probably because she’s in a whole other state, full grown, in her own life. But that made Beau look bad because she’s his firstborn, his daughter. So any errors in not mentioning her is on me and I apologize for that. I was called out on it and it’s a fair thing to do. I’ll try to incorporate her more often in his thoughts and story. Too late to edit this chapter but in the future I will be sure to include her.

Divider: credit to @sweetmelodygraphics

Chapter Fifteen: How To Love

The days following Caleb’s birth were a blur of healing, adjusting, and overwhelming gratitude. Y/N remained in the hospital under the careful watch of the doctors, recovering from both the accident and the emergency C-section. Beau barely left her side.

He took paternity leave without hesitation, knowing there was nowhere else he needed to be. The department could manage without him for a while—his family couldn’t. Jenny, though initially skeptical that he’d actually take time off, had practically forced him out the door with a smirk. “Don’t even think about checking your email, Sheriff.”

Meanwhile, Y/N’s mother had been taking care of Eliza, keeping the little girl busy and making sure she didn’t feel left out with all the excitement surrounding the new baby. But Beau knew Eliza missed them. Every time they video called, she would grab at the screen, squealing “Mama! Bo-Bo!” in delight before her little brows furrowed in confusion, clearly wondering why they weren’t coming home yet.

Finally, after five days in the hospital, Y/N was cleared to go home.

Beau wheeled her down the hospital hallway, his hand on her shoulder, the other carrying Caleb’s car seat. The tiny baby was bundled up snugly, sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the life waiting for him outside those hospital walls.

Y/N sighed, tilting her head back slightly to look at Beau. “I’ve never been more ready to be home.”

Beau chuckled, squeezing her shoulder. “Darlin’, I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready to take you home.”

Outside, the truck was already waiting—Jenny had dropped it off for him earlier in the morning, making sure the car seat was properly installed. Beau helped Y/N into the passenger seat, buckling her in gently before carefully securing Caleb in the back. He checked the straps twice, his jaw tightening with focus.

Y/N smiled softly, watching him. “Beau, he’s not going anywhere.”

He exhaled, glancing at her. “I know. I just…” He hesitated before shaking his head with a faint smile. “Can’t help it.”

She reached out, squeezing his hand. “I know.”

With one last check, he climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, pulling out of the hospital lot and heading home.

Y/N’s mother was waiting on the porch when they arrived, Eliza in her arms. The moment the truck pulled up, Eliza’s little hands clapped excitedly, and she wiggled to get down.

Beau barely had time to unbuckle his seatbelt before Eliza was racing toward him, her tiny feet pattering against the wooden porch. “Bo-Bo!” she shrieked.

Beau laughed, scooping her up in one fluid motion. “Hey there, wolf-child,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her curls. “Did you miss us?”

Eliza nodded enthusiastically, her little hands patting his face before she turned her big, curious eyes toward Y/N. “Mama?”

Y/N smiled, carefully stepping out of the truck. Beau was already there, offering his arm to steady her. She sighed happily as she stretched, then crouched down to Eliza’s level.

“Hi, my love,” Y/N said softly, reaching out for her.

Eliza practically leaped from Beau’s arms into Y/N’s, wrapping herself around her mother with surprising strength. Y/N winced slightly, but her laugh was full of joy as she held her daughter close. “Oh, I missed you so much, sweetheart.”

“Baby?” Eliza asked, looking around, her little nose scrunching in confusion.

Beau chuckled, moving to the truck to carefully unclip Caleb’s car seat. “Right here, kiddo.”

The second he lifted the car seat out, Eliza’s eyes widened. “Baby!” she gasped, her tiny hands clapping again.

Beau set the car seat down gently on the porch, kneeling beside it as Y/N shifted so Eliza could see.

“Meet your baby brother, Caleb,” Y/N murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

Eliza peered into the car seat, her face filled with fascination as she took in the tiny bundle inside. Caleb stirred slightly, his little mouth forming an ‘o’ as he stretched his fingers.

“Baby,” Eliza whispered reverently before glancing up at Beau and Y/N with a huge grin. “Mine?”

Beau let out a deep laugh, ruffling her curls. “Not just yours, wolf-child. Ours.”

Eliza nodded solemnly, as if accepting her important new role in the family.

Y/N’s mother chuckled softly. “Looks like you’ve got a little protector already.”

“Good,” Beau said, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s waist. “Caleb’s gonna need all the love he can get. And this family? We got plenty to give.”

Y/N sighed, leaning into him, her head resting against his chest. “Yeah. We do.”

Beau pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his grip tightening around her. For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was finally as it should be.

Home. Whole. Together.

And as he watched Eliza gently pat Caleb’s tiny hand, introducing herself in her own little way, Beau knew with absolute certainty—this was the life he had always wanted.

And he wasn’t letting go of it for anything.

Life with a newborn was both beautifully fulfilling and utterly exhausting.

Days blurred together in a mix of diaper changes, sleepless nights, and the soothing lull of Beau’s deep voice murmuring to Caleb in the early hours of the morning. The baby had a strong set of lungs, that was for sure. Every few hours, he let the entire house know he was awake, demanding food, warmth, and comfort with the kind of relentless determination that made Beau both admire and fear how much like his mother he already was.

Eliza was adjusting, too—curious, excited, and sometimes a little frustrated when her baby brother took up too much of her mama and Bo-Bo’s attention. But Beau made sure to keep their special time, setting aside moments where it was just the two of them, whether it was playing in the backyard or letting her “help” him cook breakfast in the mornings.

Y/N, meanwhile, was running on fumes, and Beau saw it.

She handled Caleb like a natural—her love infinite, her patience unwavering—but there was a heaviness in her, too. The exhaustion weighed on her shoulders, the sleepless nights dimming the light in her eyes. She barely had time for herself, always putting their children first. And Beau? He refused to let her forget that she wasn’t just a mother—she was his, too.

It was a particularly long night when they both found themselves collapsing into bed, barely able to keep their eyes open. Caleb had finally settled after what felt like hours of rocking, feeding, and humming softly to him. Eliza had gone to sleep without a fuss, blissfully unaware of the symphony of cries that had kept her parents up.

Beau groaned as he flopped onto the mattress, running a hand over his face. “I think my back’s gonna give out.”

Y/N chuckled, though it was weak, her body sinking into the bed beside him. “You and me both.”

He turned his head to look at her, taking in the sight of her—her hair a tangled mess, her body wrapped in one of his old T-shirts, her skin glowing despite her exhaustion. She was so damn beautiful, and she didn’t even realize it.

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You okay, darlin’?”

She let out a slow breath, rolling onto her side to face him. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Just tired.”

He nodded, understanding more than he could put into words. He scooted closer, wrapping an arm around her waist, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You’re incredible, Y/N,” he murmured. “You know that, right?”

She let out a tired laugh. “I don’t feel incredible.”

“You are,” he insisted, his voice steady. “The way you love our kids, the way you take care of everyone—hell, the way you still manage to laugh even after the longest days. I don’t know how you do it.”

Her gaze softened, her fingers tracing small patterns on his chest. “Because I love you. Because I love them. That’s how.”

Beau swallowed past the lump in his throat, his grip on her tightening. “I love you, too, darlin’. More than I got words for.”

She sighed into him, their bodies molding together as exhaustion pulled at them both. It wasn’t just about sleep—it was about feeling safe, wrapped in the warmth of each other, knowing that no matter how chaotic life got, this was home.

It was a couple of weeks later, in the quiet of the night, when things shifted between them again.

Y/N had just finished putting Caleb back down after a late feeding, her body moving on instinct now, even though she was half-asleep. She climbed back into bed with a soft sigh, stretching out beside Beau.

He turned, watching her in the dim glow of the nightlight from the hallway. “C’mere,” he murmured.

She hesitated, but he reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

“You don’t have to,” she whispered, her voice laced with uncertainty.

Beau frowned, leaning down to press a soft kiss to her temple. “Don’t have to what?”

She swallowed, shifting slightly in his embrace. “I know I don’t look the same,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know I’m different now.”

Beau’s heart clenched. He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, really look at her. The soft curves of her body, the faint traces of exhaustion in her face, the quiet vulnerability in her eyes.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle but firm, “you think I don’t want you?”

She looked away, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. “I just… I don’t feel like myself yet. And I don’t know when I will.”

Beau reached out, tipping her chin up so she had to meet his gaze. “You gave me a family,” he murmured. “You gave me Eliza. You gave me Caleb. You gave me a reason to come home every damn day. And I swear to you, there ain’t a single thing in this world that could make me love you less.”

Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “Beau…”

He kissed her then, slow and reverent, his lips moving against hers like he was rediscovering her, like he was reminding her of everything they had. His hands roamed gently, no rush, no urgency—just love, just worship.

“You’re still my Y/N,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re still the woman I fell in love with, the woman I’m gonna marry, the woman who drives me crazy in the best damn way.”

She let out a shaky breath, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I love you, Beau.”

“I love you more,” he murmured, kissing her again.

And as they melted into each other, the world outside faded. It didn’t matter that they were parents now, that their lives had changed, that exhaustion still clung to them.

All that mattered was this—Beau and Y/N, their love as fierce and unshakable as ever.

And as they lay together, wrapped in each other’s arms, Beau knew with absolute certainty that nothing—nothing—could ever come between them again.

The last few weeks had been the best of Beau’s life. Days spent holding his son, laughing with Eliza, stealing quiet moments with Y/N—they had settled into a rhythm, one built on love, exhaustion, and the small joys that came with having a newborn.

But now, his paternity leave was coming to an end, and Beau hated it.

He sat on the edge of the bed one evening, rubbing a hand down his face, his jaw set in a deep frown. Y/N was in bed beside him, their bedroom cast in soft, golden light from the bedside lamp. Caleb was already asleep in the bassinet beside their bed, Eliza down the hall in her own room, and the house was wrapped in a rare, peaceful quiet.

Y/N glanced up from where she had been running lotion over her arms, her eyes catching the tightness in his expression. “What’s wrong, cowboy?”

Beau sighed, running his hands through his hair. “Tomorrow,” he muttered, like the word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Y/N tilted her head. “Tomorrow?”

Beau looked at her then, his green eyes filled with something vulnerable, something rare. “I gotta go back to work.”

Y/N softened, setting the bottle of lotion aside as she shifted closer to him. “Oh, Beau.”

He exhaled sharply, looking down at his hands. “I know I have to. I know the department needs me. But damn, Y/N… I don’t wanna go.”

She reached for his hand, intertwining their fingers. “I know.”

Beau swallowed hard, his jaw tensing. “Feels like I just got you back. Just got time with my boy. With Eliza. And now, I gotta leave for most of the day, every day, and—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “What if I miss somethin’? What if I miss his first word? His first step? What if—”

Y/N squeezed his hand, stopping him mid-spiral. “Beau.”

He met her gaze, his breath unsteady.

She smiled, soft and knowing. “You are not missing anything. We are right here. Waiting for you every single day. We’re not going anywhere.”

Beau let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “I just love you so damn much,” he murmured. “All of you. And I hate the thought of leavin’ this.”

Y/N reached up, cupping his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over the beard he had let grow in during his leave. “Beau Arlen,” she whispered, her voice thick with love, “do you know how much we love you?”

His breath caught, and she leaned closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“You have taken care of us so well,” she murmured against his skin. “You are the best father, the best partner. And just because you have to go back to work doesn’t mean that changes. Doesn’t mean you stop being ours.”

Beau closed his eyes briefly, exhaling as she kissed his cheek next, then his jaw, then finally his lips—soft, lingering, full of reassurance.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I love you more,” she breathed, pulling him down with her as they sank into the bed, their bodies molding together.

The house was quiet, the only sound the occasional soft coo from Caleb’s bassinet. Beau lay on his side, Y/N tucked close against him, his hand tracing slow, lazy circles over her hip. The earlier tension had melted away, replaced with something tender, something deeper.

Y/N rested her head against his chest, her fingers absently playing with the hem of his T-shirt. “You are so loved, Beau,” she whispered.

His fingers stilled for a moment before tightening around her waist. “Yeah?”

She lifted her head slightly, enough to meet his gaze in the dim light. “Yeah.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “You sure?”

Y/N smiled, shifting so she was straddling his lap, her hands pressing against his chest. “I have never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Beau’s hands slid up her thighs, gripping her like she might disappear. “You always know exactly what I need to hear, don’t you?”

She leaned down, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. “Because I know you,” she whispered. “I know your heart. And I know that you are everything to us.”

Beau exhaled sharply, pulling her down into a deeper kiss, pouring every ounce of love, of gratitude, of devotion into it. His hands moved up her back, fingers mapping the shape of her, rediscovering every inch of her in the dim light.

Y/N pulled back just slightly, her breath warm against his lips. “We’ll be waiting for you every day, Beau. I promise.”

He cupped her face, his green eyes filled with nothing but love. “And I promise I’ll always come home to you.”

She smiled, resting her forehead against his. “Then I guess we have nothing to worry about.”

Beau chuckled, rolling them over so he hovered above her, pressing kisses along her jaw, down her neck, whispering between each one, “Damn right, we don’t.”

And as the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and love, Beau knew—no matter where life took him, no matter how many hours he had to spend away, his heart would always belong here, in this home, with this woman.

And that was all he would ever need.

Life had finally settled into something steady, something warm. Caleb was growing fast, filling out with chubby cheeks and strong little legs that kicked with excitement whenever he saw his parents. Eliza had adjusted beautifully to being a big sister—sometimes a little bossy, sometimes a little jealous, but always full of love.

Beau had never been happier. His days at work were structured, his evenings filled with laughter and bedtime stories, and his nights spent wrapped around the love of his life.

Y/N, meanwhile, had thrown herself into planning their wedding. She had lists, swatches of fabric, guest counts—things that overwhelmed Beau but made her light up with joy. He let her take the lead, offering his opinions when needed, but mostly just soaking in the happiness she radiated whenever she talked about the future.

But even in all the joy, Beau noticed the way Y/N would sometimes grow quiet when she thought no one was watching. He noticed the way she avoided certain dresses when trying things on, the way she hesitated before letting him see her fully unclothed, as if she was waiting for him to notice something wrong.

And tonight, he caught her.

The house was still and quiet, the soft hum of the baby monitor the only sound filling the air. Caleb was sound asleep in his crib, Eliza curled up in her bed with her stuffed rabbit. Beau had just finished locking up for the night when he paused outside their bedroom door, catching sight of Y/N standing in front of the full-length mirror.

She was wearing only her slip, the dim glow of the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over her skin. She poked lightly at her belly, smoothing her hands over the soft curves that hadn’t been there before pregnancy. Her expression was unreadable, her lips pressed into a faint frown as she traced the faint lines on her stomach.

Beau leaned against the doorframe, his heart tightening at the sight. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, watching her, memorizing her—the way she bit her lip, the way her shoulders slumped slightly as she exhaled.

Then she caught him in the mirror’s reflection.

Her gaze lifted, meeting his, her body tensing slightly. “What are you looking at?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

Beau pushed off the doorframe, stepping closer, his green eyes never leaving hers. “Just thinkin’,” he said softly.

Y/N turned slightly, her brow furrowed. “About what?”

He stopped behind her, his hands sliding over her arms, wrapping her in his warmth as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “How damned lucky I am,” he murmured against her skin.

She let out a breathy laugh, but it lacked conviction. “Beau—”

“No,” he interrupted, tightening his grip around her, his voice gentle but firm. “Let me say this, Y/N.”

She swallowed hard, but she didn’t pull away.

Beau leaned down, pressing a slow, reverent kiss to the side of her neck before meeting her eyes in the mirror again. “You carried our babies here,” he whispered, sliding a hand over her stomach, his fingers splayed wide. “You gave me our family. And you think for one damn second that I’d ever see anything less than perfection?”

Her lower lip trembled slightly. “I just don’t feel like myself anymore,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I love them, I love what my body did, but… I look at myself, and I don’t know who I am.”

Beau turned her in his arms, his hands cradling her waist as he met her gaze, his green eyes filled with nothing but love. “Then let me remind you,” he murmured.

His lips found hers, slow and deliberate, his touch gentle but firm as his hands slid up her sides, memorizing every curve, every change. He kissed her like she was something sacred, something precious, something irreplaceable.

When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her lips. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered. “Every single inch of you. Then, now, always.”

Her eyes shimmered with emotion, and she exhaled shakily. “Beau…”

He pressed another kiss to her forehead, then trailed soft kisses along her jaw, his hands never leaving her. “You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured against her skin. “And I will spend every day of my life makin’ sure you know it.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though this time, it was real. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”

He grinned, his fingers brushing over the curve of her hip. “Nah, darlin’. I just tell the truth.”

She sighed, melting into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. “I love you, Beau.”

He kissed her slow and deep, pouring every ounce of his love into her. “And I love you,” he whispered against her lips. “Always.”

And as they sank into the quiet of the night, wrapped in each other, Beau made good on his promise—to love her, to remind her, to make sure she never doubted just how perfect she was in his eyes.

Now and always.

Beau had spent the past few weeks planning the perfect evening for Y/N. He wanted to give her a night that wasn’t about the kids, wasn’t about exhaustion, wasn’t about adjusting to life as parents of two. No, tonight was about them—just the two of them, the love they had built, and the future he was ready to cement.

He had it all arranged—Y/N’s mother would be watching Eliza and Caleb overnight, giving them an evening free of responsibilities. The reservation was set at the finest restaurant in town, a place neither of them had taken the time to visit before. And in his pocket, tucked securely in a velvet box, was a ring—a ring that had once belonged to his mother, resized and polished, now meant for Y/N.

He planned to propose to her again—not because he thought she needed a third proposal, but because he did. Because the first time had been in a hospital room, after she’d told him she was pregnant. It had been emotional, sincere, perfect in its own way, but this time? This time, he wanted it to be something just for them.

He wanted her to feel cherished.

Y/N stepped out of their bedroom in a fitted emerald dress that took Beau’s breath away. The fabric hugged her curves in a way that had his fingers twitching to touch, and the way she smiled at him—nervous, flattered—made his heart thud in his chest.

“Damn, darlin’,” he murmured, his green eyes raking over her. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I should be asking you that. A fancy dinner? A date? What’s gotten into you, Beau Arlen?”

He grinned, stepping forward to press a slow kiss to her lips before whispering, “Just want to spoil my girl.”

And spoil her, he did.

The restaurant was elegant, dimly lit with candles flickering on each table, the soft hum of a jazz band playing in the background. Beau pulled out her chair for her, ordered a bottle of wine, and made sure she didn’t lift a finger all night.

He watched her as they ate, admiring the way her face lit up when she tried the dishes, how she laughed easily when he cracked jokes, how she kept stealing glances at him like she was trying to figure out what exactly he was up to.

Halfway through the meal, she set her fork down, tilting her head at him. “Okay, cowboy. Out with it.”

He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out with what?”

“This,” she gestured vaguely around them. “The fancy dinner. The wine. The lingering stares. You’ve been romancing me all night, Beau. And not that I’m complaining, but…” Her voice softened, her eyes searching his. “Why all the effort?”

Beau’s heart swelled at the way she looked at him—like he was her whole world.

He reached across the table, taking her hand in his. “Because you deserve it,” he said simply. “Because I love you. Because I want to remind you just how damn lucky I am.”

Her lips parted slightly, emotion flickering in her gaze. “Beau…”

He stood then, reaching into his pocket. Y/N blinked, watching him in confusion as he moved around the table. Then, realization dawned as he slowly lowered himself onto one knee.

Her hand flew to her mouth, her breath catching. “Oh my God.”

Beau flipped open the velvet box, revealing the most stunning vintage ring—a delicate band with a diamond nestled in intricate filigree. It was timeless, classic, perfect.

“This ring belonged to my mama,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I had it resized, polished, made new again—because that’s what I want for us, darlin’. A fresh start, a lifetime together.”

Y/N let out a soft, choked laugh, her other hand clutching her chest as tears welled in her eyes.

“I asked you twice before,” Beau continued, his green eyes never leaving hers, “but I didn’t do it the way you deserved. And after everything we’ve been through, I wanted to do it right. So, Y/N…” He took a deep breath, his grip steady on the ring box. “Will you marry me?”

Y/N let out a half-laugh, half-sob, nodding frantically before she even found her words. “Yes,” she whispered, then louder, “Yes, Beau. Yes.”

A grin split across Beau’s face as he slid the ring onto her finger, his hands shaking slightly with relief. The moment the band was secure, Y/N launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing him fiercely as the restaurant erupted in soft applause.

He laughed against her lips, his hands firm around her waist as he held her close. “I love you, Y/N,” he murmured.

“I love you too,” she whispered, her voice full of joy, of love, of absolute certainty.

Beau kissed her again, deeply, fully, sealing the promise between them.

This was it.

Their forever was just beginning.

Beau wasn’t done spoiling Y/N. Not even close.

After their unforgettable dinner, he drove her to a luxury hotel in the heart of Big Sky, one of the finest in Montana. The moment Y/N saw where they were, she let out a surprised laugh, glancing over at him as he parked the truck.

“Beau Arlen,” she teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you trying to seduce me?”

Beau smirked, turning off the engine. “That depends. Is it workin’?”

She bit her lip, pretending to think. “Hmm… jury’s still out.”

Beau leaned closer, his lips grazing her ear. “Well, darlin’, let’s see if I can win you over.”

With that, he stepped out of the truck, coming around to open her door like a true gentleman. He held her hand as they walked inside, checking them in under a reservation he had made weeks ago. When Y/N saw the suite he had booked—complete with a fireplace, a massive bed draped in silk sheets, and a grand marble bathroom—she turned to him with wide eyes.

“You really did go all out,” she whispered.

Beau shrugged, grinning. “You deserve it.”

She reached up, running her fingers along the edge of his jaw, her voice soft with love. “You are something else, Sheriff.”

He kissed her knuckles, his green eyes filled with adoration. “Come on, darlin’. Time to unwind.”

Beau had already thought of everything. A warm, luxurious bath was drawn in the grand soaking tub, bubbles and fragrant oils turning the water into something truly decadent. Y/N let out a slow, happy sigh as she sank into it, closing her eyes as the warmth enveloped her body.

Beau knelt beside the tub, rolling up his sleeves, his hands skimming lazily along the water’s surface as he watched her.

“You’re starin’,” Y/N murmured, her eyes still closed.

“Can’t help it,” he said, his voice thick with admiration. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her cheeks flushed, and she let out a soft laugh. “Smooth.”

Beau chuckled, dipping a washcloth into the water and slowly dragging it over her shoulder, down her arm. His touch was gentle, reverent. He washed her with slow, deliberate care, massaging her shoulders, kneading the knots from her back. Y/N melted under his hands, her body sinking deeper into relaxation with every stroke of his fingers.

“Beau,” she sighed, tilting her head against the edge of the tub. “If you keep this up, I might fall asleep on you.”

He smirked, pressing a kiss to her damp shoulder. “Not yet, darlin’. I’m not done spoilin’ you.”

After the bath, he wrapped her in the softest robe he could find, guiding her to the bed. He sat behind her, his strong hands working their way down her spine, massaging every inch of tension from her body.

Y/N let out a breathy moan, her head lolling forward. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Beau chuckled, his lips ghosting over the shell of her ear. “That’s the plan.”

His hands roamed lower, kneading the small of her back, then down to her hips, tracing the curves he loved so much. As he turned her to face him, his eyes darkened, filled with something deeper than desire.

“Let me love you, Y/N,” he murmured.

She smiled lazily, stretching like a cat beneath him. “That’s how we ended up with Caleb, you know.”

Beau grinned, leaning down to kiss her neck. “No regrets.”

She laughed softly but quickly lost her breath as his lips traveled lower, his hands following, mapping every inch of her body. He took his time, exploring her with slow, reverent touches, as if memorizing her all over again.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N shivered, running her fingers through his thick hair. “Beau…”

He worshipped her, loving her through the night with a tenderness that spoke volumes. He made sure she felt adored, cherished, his. Every touch, every kiss was a promise—a reminder that she was his whole world.

And as they lay tangled in the sheets, her body still humming from the love they had shared, Beau pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse but full of warmth.

She smiled sleepily, snuggling against him. “I love you too, Beau. So much.”

He held her close, breathing in the scent of her, feeling the steady rhythm of her heart against his. He had everything he had ever wanted—his woman, his family, his forever.

And he wasn’t letting go. Not ever.

Tag List: @spxideyver, @deadlymistletoe, @bitchykittenconnoisseur, @aarpfashionvictim, @stoneyggirl2

@foxyjwls007, @katastrophicmind, @globetrotter28, @deansimpalababy, @daisychaingirl

@nancymcl, @deans-baby-momma, @kickingitwithkirk, @kmc1989, @ozwriterchick

Want to be a part of this tag list or others? Comment here and I'll add you! And check out my other stories that are currently being written!

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cherrirui-official · 5 months ago

Text

Friendlocke Violet Gijinkas (Part 6/7)

Chat I am locking tf in I am locking THE FUCK IN

I plan on posting them in order by groups of three, so there’s gonna be seven parts in total, all of which I’ll be linking here when done vvv

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Seven)

!! These will contain personal headcanons I have for the cast, little fun facts, and also spoilers for Friendlocke Violet (for both the edited vids and the streams) !!

@saltydkart-reblogs

Designs under the cut!

XKENBAGELX:

Ken has done multiple types of art in his lifetime. Paintings, Graffiti, Tattoos, Sculptures... you name it, he's probably done it at some point.

Ken has gone by many aliases in an attempt to avoid being caught by authorities. One of those fake names was "Cl@ir33"

He needs glasses, but chooses to wear his mask instead. To compensate for this the glass on the mask was changed to help him see.

Has beef with Joe after he swindled some money out of them during Joe's olive oil business days. Joe has never forgotten that.

He was the one who did Mykyie's Miku tattoo!

Actually earned a lot of money with "Do or Die", but he... ya know... DIED before he actually was able to receive that money. Joe took that money in his place out of sheer pettiness (he was so real for that tbh).

444̴̱̃̈́͐̽̄̾͘͝ͅ4̶̫̗̘̝̺̩͔̿̽̔̚4̴̛̛̛̲͉̤̈́̈́̏̊͘͝E̵̙̝͙̼̭̔̊͝E̷̱͉͒̓̑̄̓̇̋͘E̴͕̞̞̗̤̱͎̣̮͋E̵̡̲͐͑͐̔̑̃͛̾͝-̸̢̧̦͙̪̻͍͆͗́Ẹ̸̺͈͙̙̪̭̲̕͘͝-̷͖͙̹̪̮͉̉̄̔̔͗̓̇̚Ē̶̠̝̼̬̟̫͙e̷̘̘̜̮̥͐È̵͔̻̥͕̓Ë̷̤̳͖̟̬͕̲̤̈́̆͠ͅ-̸͖̥͕̺͑̌̊͘͝É̶̟͔̩͈̯̥͖͒̾̇́͊͜͝e̸̛̹̾͂̔̆̊̑̕ë̶͕̖͒̄̅Ė̷̦̟̪͚̳̟̱-̶͔̈́́̋̓s̷̢̰̘͚̃̾̏͌͑͂̕͘͝s̷̼̗̭͔̋̇̍̈̈̆ͅ-̵͕̱̝̟̪̝͔̎́̐̀̉̅̽͠Ŝ̶̡͇̖̲̖̗͘̚-̵̝̐T̵̓͜t̸͇̘͚̺̔̑̇̓t̵͎͝T̴̳̰̝̦̾̀̓͒͋̕͝͠-̶͈͚͇̳̗̘̅͋͒̓͊̓͋̿͝T̴̙͂͋͆͂̌̅͛͝͠ť̶̲̇͐͒̐͝T̵͚͔̰̼̏́̊T̷̞̹̳̜̭̣̬̈́̊̈̄͑͆͘-̴͔̘̏̂̿̆͘T̴̖̳̬͇̗͑-̷̠̳̺͕̯̝̮̍̈̄͂͘Ṭ̷̎̇͆̋̀̋̇t̵̰̫͖͝-̷̺̦̱̣̐̂̿͆T̸̡̧̰͎̟̭͎̩̀̋͝Ṱ̶̢͓͖̯͎̰̇̑̆̒T̵̳̳̻̭̫̂-̷̥̑̽͗T̶̡̮̝̹̙̀͗̊̄:

WHAT WAS THAT??? Uhm... anyways... 4est!

4est was a lab accident made by Turo, and overall the third person on the team who has been inside Area Zero in some way before the events of Friendlocke Violet, along with GrAce and Gerbicycle 2.

Speaking of which, Grace, Gerber, and 4est were close friends at one point. After the former two left Area Zero, 4est started to get bored of the place and decided to leave too.

Has a LOT to say, but sometimes don't know how to formulate their thoughts into words, so they have others close to them speak for them sometimes.

4est does not actually have hands! They struggle with forming proper hands. Regardless, they're still able to pick stuff up...

They're banned from at least 9 different places in Paldea. You can probably guess why.

They also know where you are. However, unlike Jay, they are already at your location. It is your job to find them. Good luck!

BLORPOIDO:

Blorpoido doesn't HATE her job, she just wishes she had more free time. That's all. In all honestly she doesn't even remember WHY she became a mechanic in the first place.

Her apron was hand made by her dear late mother, it's one of her most prized possessions. If you tear it in any way shape or form then be prepared to be tossed into the deepest pits of hell.

Blorpoido was the one who made Mal's prosthetic leg.

The shirt she wears underneath her apron is merch from one of her favorite Ponyta shows.

Blorpoido likes to take long walks when she's really stressed out. She fell asleep on one of those said walks when she was caught by Peppy.

Surprisingly enough, She doesn't actually have a lot of experience in pokemon battles, for better or for worse...

THATS IT YAYAYAYA, huge shoutout to @laertive for the inspo on 4est's art.

#U can TELL which one i had the most fun making lmao #as SOON as i started planning out 4est's bio in my head i thought “man... i gotta make it as fucked up as i can”#gotta make 4est the fucked up man made horror they deserve to be A M E N #I was gonna add more eyes and teeth but tbh i got lazy and it looked cool already soooo smiles #oh and the other two bios are there i gueeeess #JK JK THEY WERE FUN TO MAKE #I had designs for Blorp's gijinka and Ken's pokemon waaaay before i started these so it was fun to revisit them finally #cherris canvas #friendlocke #friendlocke violet #violet gijinka au #saltydkdan #INHALES...#cw body horror #cw eye contact #cw unsettling #< thanks 4 eastern standard time

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achromatophoric · 4 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/museaway/746766290005508096?source=share

2,3,4,7,8,9,10,14,16,17,19,22,24,25,26,28

-🤔

[Warning: This is stupid long. Yikes.]

2. Character’s POV being explored:

Oops. My Incorrect Quotes don’t really have a POV. 😅 I think at most, I’ve explicitly removed a character from the end of a couple, to emphasize the joke through only the remaining character’s dialogue.

3. Feelings about current WIP:

I’m not happy with the end, so it might just sit there for a few more days until I figure it out.

4. Unwritten story idea:

I have a very rough outline of an actual fic! Future Wenclair, post college. It’s… super dark. Just a torrid angst spiral from Enid’s POV, where she begins to unwittingly choose her work and social life over her wolf and Wednesday, with terrible consequences.

I put it together last year, before I actually started writing anything. It’s unlikely to see the light of day, because I honestly don’t have the energy, attention span, and sequential periods of uninterrupted free time to try writing anything in long format. 😢 Maybe someday!

7. Preferred writing font:

Something san serif. I’d prefer one with a bit more letter spacing, but I’m stuck with Tumblr’s default font, Favorit-Tumblr.

8. If I had to sequel one:

Probably this old one, about Wednesday and her pet blog. I have ideas about reblogs and blog reproductive cycles.

9. Elapsed time for the last one:

Today’s took maybe 10-15 minutes from start to posting. I needed something short since I wanted to do my daily post before answering this Ask. My notes only read “Hard to swallow” and it basically wrote itself. It took just as long to find the right animated gif as it did to write it out. 😅

10. Longest rest for a draft before completion:

Intentional rest? I guess this one at 5-ish days, where the gang takes turns answering the question: What’s the best thing about dead bodies? I just wasn’t feeling the gang’s banter, so put off fiddling with it until it felt interesting again.

There’s normally scant delay between writing and posting. If I’m lucky, I might have 1 or 2 completed IQs waiting to be posted. I try to post at least 2 per day and I’m terrible at not posting one the moment it’s completed, so… yup. 😒

14. Inspiration source:

Primarily the fandom! I wouldn’t be able to write these if I hadn’t first read so many Wenclair fics that parodying the characters became possible. I really do rely on the community-created tropes and personalities to act as the skeleton upon which meaty puns are anchored.

16. Favorite place to write:

In my home office during work hours, where I can go mostly undisturbed, have a super comfy Steelcase Leap to relax in, music, and a tablet at the ready.

Yes, work hours. I tend to do my job quickly and well, but nothing gets those creative juices going better than having something else you should be doing. 😅

17. Writing and editing process:

Idea? Jot it down. Keep a list. Time to write? Check ideas. Pick one that looks fun. Write it. Nothing interesting? Uh. Do one of the following:

Look through animated gifs of dogs doing derpy things for wolf Enid (tedious AF)

Search idioms based on words that Wednesday can take too literally

Wonder what would piss off Bianca > Yoko > Weems > other character (ordered by favorite)

Think up a bad joke for Enid to tell Wednesday so she gets mortifyingly aroused

Find slang for Wednesday to misinterpret

If all else fails, dive into that gutter humor 😬

Etc?

With an idea in hand, I just start writing it out straight in the Tumblr app. Totally rawwolfing it. When it’s done, I review and check for (and fail to find) errors. Sometimes I’ll run it by my SO, who isn’t a Wenclair fan, but can confirm if a joke makes sense.

After that, I tag and release the thing into the wild, so it may derp free of my fragile little skull.

19. Most interesting fic-related research topic:

The historical material composition of hanging nooses and the strength differences between traditional hemp and modern Manila hemp, which is actually made from a specific Filipino banana tree as opposed to Cannabis plants.

All that for a joke about thread count. 😗

22. Worries about public reaction and how to get past it:

It hasn’t really come up. Honestly, I’m just happy that people read my stuff and can enjoy a laugh. It helps that I haven’t received much criticism, but I’ve also worked for years in a graphic design-related field that forced me to be able to produce (often dumb) fruit even when in an inhospitable environment near barren of sincere appreciation and/or constructive criticism. 😬 Kinda like a creative extremophile.

For advice to get past it? Keep at it. Find your audience(s) if you care to and focus on them. Keep in mind what you enjoy about the hobby and nurture that sucker. Learning how to shrug off negativity takes experience, but when in doubt, take a break! It’s a hobby, and even if it may at times feel otherwise, remember that it does not define you.

24. Recharge method when not creative:

Reading Wenclair fics and listening to audiobooks. I always have a book queued up and jump between fantasy, urban fantasy, lit rpg, cozy fantasy, sci-fi, bio-terrorism thrillers, queer romance, queer horror, and queer coming-of-age. 😅

25. Hobbies other than writing:

Drawing and semi-regular D&D. There’s other stuff I haven’t had time to enjoy lately, like computer games, clay sculpting, mask making, dancing, juggling, fire spinning, etc.

26. Writing around others:

I am always around others outside of work, so I make do. It’s usually fine, unless said others are those who are prone to toddling. Trying to write around one of them is often a lost cause. 😭

28. Least favorite part of the writing process:

For me, it’s transcribing posts from Tumblr to AO3. Particularly posts with a lot of styling, like small text and Chat. Not everything copy/pastes 1-to-1 and some chapters have to be manually edited as html, which is stupendously tedious doing on the phone. And if it has an image? Uuughghghh. 😖

OMG I’m done! I’m free! FREE! FR—

#wenclair #my fics #my fanfic writing #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #writer thoughts #writing struggles #answered asks #asks answered #asks #not an incorrect quote

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nekoannie-chan · 12 days ago

Text

I’ll take care of you

Title: I’ll take care of you.

Fandom: Marvel, Captain America.

Ship: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 672 words.

Square: 1, 3 y alt 2 “In vino veritas, whumper turned into caretaker, too quiet to sleep”.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Sometimes Steve can be mean.

Major Tags: Flff, angst.

Additional tags: My entry for the @fandom-free-bingo Plural Edition.

Links: Wattpad, Ao3, Spanish version.

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish, so I wanna improve my writing skills in English. Please let me know if you notice any mistakes, and I will correct them.

I don’t grant permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or in other languages (I translate my work) or for the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this). I created them exclusively for my fics; please respect my work and refrain from stealing it. Some people here make dividers that anyone can use; mine is not this type, so please look for the other people's dividers. The only exceptions are those I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. Please let me know if you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @sinceimetyou @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @real-fbi @caplanbuckybarnes @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @azulatodoryuga @endlesstwanted @patzammit @kmc1989

Night was falling on the shelter that S.H.I.E.L.D. had improvised in the mountains. After a disastrous mission, too many losses, and too much pent-up tension, you found solace in a corner of the old library; it was the smell of damp wood, old leather, and the cheap wine you found in a dusty box in the basement. It came from the 1950s. Years later, Steve froze. Almost a jock.

You were sitting on the floor, your back leaning against a bookshelf, legs outstretched, and a half-empty bottle in your hand. The world felt heavy. Your thoughts, even more so.

The door opened noiselessly. You didn't look up. You knew who it was.

Steve Rogers.

You could recognize his presence before he spoke, before he approached. “Since when do you drink alone?“ He asked in that soft voice he didn't use with anyone else. Only with you.

“Since you started to keep everything, you feel as if it were something you had to protect me from seeing,” you said, without filters. The wine had already done its job. Steve sat across from you, crossing his legs slowly. He was no longer wearing his uniform. Just a dark gray sweater, loose-fitting, and pants that were probably training pants. He didn't say anything for a moment. He just watched you.

“I don't want you to think that I don't trust you,” he finally said, lowering his gaze. But sometimes... sometimes I feel that if I show you everything I'm carrying, I'm going to end up breaking you too. I was hard on you on that mission,” he lowered his voice even more. I pushed you. I yelled at you. I made you feel like I didn't trust you. And when you got hurt... “He swallowed, looking you straight in the eye, “I thought I was going to lose you. And it was my fault.

It was the first time I said it out loud.

“You yelled at me in front of everyone. You told me I was useless. That I was a distraction,” you whispered, barely audible. And yet... I went for you when you fell. And I covered you with my body when you started shooting. And do you know why?

He shook his head, his lips quivering.

“Because despite all that... I love you. And that doesn't go away if you yell at me.”

The confession slipped from your lips without a filter, without time to hide it. Maybe the wine. Maybe it was tiredness. Maybe you couldn't pretend anymore.

Steve approached you slowly. He took the bottle from you with a delicacy that made you close your eyes. Then he put his forehead against yours.

“And I love you too... That's why it hurts so much. That's why I hated myself when I saw you bleeding and knew that I brought you to that point. I don't deserve to be cared for anymore.”

“I'm not the one who needs care anymore,” you muttered.

But he had already tucked his arms under you, lifted you, carried you to the small room you used to rest in, and laid you carefully on the bed. Then he sat down beside you, took your hands, and began to massage your wrists with slow, gentle movements.

“I became something I swore I would not be.“ His voice was barely a whisper. Someone who hurts what he loves. But if you let me... if you give me the chance, I want to make amends. I’m going to take care of you as you deserve.”

You nodded slowly, letting your fingers intertwine with his.

“It's too quiet,” you said suddenly, staring at the ceiling.

“What is it?”

“Everything. This place, the night, even you. I can't sleep with it so quiet.”

Steve got up and went to an old record player. He put on one of the vinyls he had brought from his apartment.

“And now?”

You turned to him and hugged him. “Now I can sleep.”

And Steve, with his face buried in your neck, whispered. “Me too.”

#fandomfreebingo #fandom free bingo: Plural Edition #steve rogers x reader

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namazunomegami · 1 year ago

Text

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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tomatoluvr69 · 8 months ago

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Brief check in re: Helene. TLDR I’m alive but my world has been upended and I’ll be off this website for awhile, even if I wanted to we barely have communications in our flood ravaged city. Don’t read this if you have any sort of disaster trauma I guess, I probably should’ve kept this shorter but it kind of got away from me. I may delete/edit later but I don’t really have the capacity for self censorship At the moment, i guess it was good for me to get some of it out stream of consciousness style? Lol idk guess I’m just using my blog as a blog. Anyways I lived bitch

Hi guys, thanks to the couple people who messaged me checking if I was ok, I don’t really have capacity or time to reply to them all, but I’m doing ok all things considered. Basically I live in Western North Carolina and our city has been utterly shattered by flooding after Hurricane Helene. We made it safely to Durham but we are going back tonight with a car full of mutual aid supplies like childrens medicine and chainsaw fuel and cooking oil. I don’t really have the words to describe what I’ve been going through, being cut off from all communications and information for days and have no way to reach your loved ones, to walk through a friend’s house to try to reach their water and food stash and look up at the tree in the ceiling, to stand on a railroad bridge and look down at an entire neighborhood swept away, to know that your family back home hasn’t heard from you in four days and has no way to know if you’re dead. Five people with one degree of separation to me drowned in flash floods, including two children. A college friend had his entire home swept down the river. It’s just all so uncertain. I cry at nothing. Wandering around unscathed Durham and watching people mow their lawns and go to brunch has been a surreal dream and I can’t believe I am going back. But we got some clean underwear, our first shower, and I even got my favorite taqueria order, a torta de lengua and Jesus Christ you can’t imagine how good that tasted

We’ve been without power for 10 days and the water is likely to be out for weeks, the groundwater people are using to drink and bathe may be contaminated by chemicals from manufacturing plants and you just have no way of knowing, and because the city’s water and septic systems were obliterated there is going to be untold amounts of human waste and waste-borne diseases threatening public health, we just don’t know yet. My brain and body have been wracked by it all, there are times when I am somewhere safe and feel mentally calm but note with this weird sense of detachment that my body is trembling. It’s just indescribable to have your city be unrecognizable and underwater, I’m really shaken. Before we got some texting capacity back, if your roommate just failed to come home one night, you had no way to know that she wasn’t killed out there. We will be without drinking water for weeks when all this is over but that’s peanuts compared to the cars you pass by with the search and rescue symbol for “we found a body here” painted on them.

All of which is just to say I’m alive but things are still very bad and I’ll be without reliable communication for the foreseeable future, not to mention no water, and so obviously I’ll be off here awhile. I’ll be back soon enough complaining about mundane inconveniences but frankly it’s difficult to even talk to anyone outside of Helene’s destruction, I’m going to be reeling for a long time. Don’t reblog this because I won’t have the capacity to monitor this post but I guess donate to the Asheville Survival Project if you have the inclination, that’s a way for people like me who are relatively unscathed to get direct needs like formula, insulin, underwear, and shelf stable goods directly into people’s hands who fared worse, without jumping through the impossible hoops of things like FEMA. But I’ll probably be stepping back from mutual aid stuff to support my best friend who is now responsible for arranging the burials of a family of four, including his friend/coworker and her two boys, whose upcoming wedding he was going to will now be their combined funeral date. It’s really insane out here and leaving the stability of Durham with its electricity, grocery stores, toilets, and internet is honestly a bit devastating. But weirdly it will also be a relief to be back in a place where the grimness in your heart is not at odds with your surroundings and you talk to people without preface, with dirty hair and dirty clothes and break down in tears in any given conversation with a stranger, if that makes sense? I also can’t really imagine evacuating cause that’d be incredibly jarring in a different way. It’s so hard to explain. I’m so irritable and angry and numb all the time. I’m yelling at the person who loves me most in the world, so many of the emotional issues I had before this exploded to a boiling point in shocking and unpredictable ways. I go around floating in a daze.

But I’m very, very lucky to be alive and none of my loved ones killed, I just don’t really know what the next few weeks will hold and if, like, cholera is gonna break out, or people I know will die of things like food allergies because they can’t get a new epipen. There’s absolutely no way to convey what this survivor’s guilt is like, of having survived through sheer random luck of the draw. And the things I have seen with my own eyes will never leave me, and the gruesome phone calls I sat with my friend as he received, with the trauma unfolding in waves as the family’s bodies were identified one by one, and all the graphic details we absorbed of the eyewitness account of their panicked attempts to escape the floodwaters before they were swept to TN. I did not witness it but I cannot shake it. I can’t go more than a few minutes before the phrases ring through my head again. And I work at a school and I have no way of finding out if all my students survived, because they are children without their own contact info, until the school is able to contact me with any deaths. That uncertainty is weighing tremendously on my shoulders right now and I can’t believe I’m sitting in a cafe and I still don’t know the extent of the death toll or if the kids I’ve known and worked with every day for so long we’re able to escape their homes.

I guess just keep Western NC in your thoughts, the devastation is going to take years to crawl back from, but also keep paying attention to Gaza, the trauma and devastation there is so much more unimaginable and this has given me a new perspective on what it’s like to watch from afar as people continue their lives while yours is unrecognizable. Idk how much longer I’m gonna have the capacity for mutual aid stuff here but I’m going to try. I may yet decide to evac, but you must understand this is my home and my community, and I want to be here to support my closest friend through this unimaginable loss, and the fact that he is responsible for arranging all four of their burials. Unless the city orders non essential personnel to leave then I will probably stay.

And there are of course moments of levity and fun, especially before we found out about the people, like breaking into a NC state extension agricultural experiment field and stealing some veggies off the vine, or cooking up big giant feasts of whatever we could save from the fridge.

I’ll check back in when I can and if any of you guys also live in southern Appalachia and need to be put in touch with aid I’ll check my DMs here when I can, we can get people out to you with whatever you need. But yeah just keep us in your thoughts I guess, things are still really bad. I’m going back to shop for more mutual aid stuff but then we’re leaving again but I’ll check in when the internet’s back I suppose

Eat a nice hot meal for me, don’t take ice cubes or your shower for granted, and watch something pretentious. xoxoxoxoxox ur favorite natural disaster survivor, tomato lover sixty nine

#don’t reblog

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extrashotodepresso · 2 years ago

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Hawks X Fem!Reader:

Blurred Lines

Warnings: SMUT DNI if not 18+ , somnophilia if you squint, unprotected (please don’t do this guys), some red flags here (but when you’re wearing rose colored glasses red flags look like flags)

As always, comments and reblogs welcome. If you don’t have anything nice to say- say it to the wall. Not my wall, the one in your room. Go to the corner and think about what you want to say to a stranger on the internet and what’s driving you to take out your ick on them.

Alright so I really wanted to write Hawks as not a dirtbag but just as like the cute lovable weirdo he is. Honestly… I struggled with this. I really just wanted to get this one finished and I just did what I could but if I can be honest- I struggled part way through and I’ll probably edit this eventually. It eeees what it eees.

Summary: Reader is neighbors with Hawks. They start a friendship that leads to more over time until they cross that final line. That’s it. That’s the fic.

The first time Keigo landed in your apartment, it was an accident. Actually, that’s how you found out you were neighbors with the number two hero. You wouldn’t have expected it; with his ranking, he was bound to have a fancy upper side Mustafu apartment, why was he renting in your shitty little neighborhood?

But questions you had at the sudden encounter would have to wait; he had rolled in from your open patio window missing feathers, covered in grime and blood. You had been cooking dinner at the time, and all you could do was stare dumbly at the man on your floor, tongs raised in your hand casually.

“Uh… you okay?” You asked, cringing immediately at how stupid you sounded. Thankfully, you heard a laugh before his arm slithered out from beneath him and he pushed himself halfway off the floor. He looked around your apartment for a moment, seemingly puzzled before his eyes landed on you.

“Just peachy, thanks for asking.” He groaned as he brought himself up to stand, feathers falling out of his wings and littering your floor among the rest of the debris. “Uh…” he stepped up and down carefully, his boots crunching in the grime. “Sorry about the mess.”

You shrugged. “Happens. Do you… um do you need any help or…?”

“Nah, I’m good.” The two of you stared at each other, neither really knowing what to say, the popping of fried chicken sizzling away in a pan being the only sound for a few moments.

“I think I live next door.” He said, looking around, the slight flush on his cheeks darkened as he reached for the back of his neck. Bad move, he immediately winced. “30C.” You nodded slowly, then returned to your chicken.

“It would appear you do.” You flipped the pieces in the pan, frowning a little at the bits that had burned while you were distracted by the hero hurdling into your living room. “28C.”

“Hawks.” He offered, gesturing to himself and seeming to wince afterwards at the obvious introduction.

“(Y/N).” You turned as you introduced yourself, moving the cooked chicken into a serving bowl and finally turning back around to face him when you were done.

“You don’t seem all that bothered, (Y/N).” His voice was light and pleasant and despite the strangeness of this encounter, you couldn’t help but feel comfortable in his presence. Must be a hero thing, you figured.

“Of all the crazy things in this city that could have crash landed in my apartment, a top hero is probably one of the better options.” You smiled wryly and he offered a sharp laugh.

“Fair enough.” He studied you for a moment. “I uh… I should get going then. Do you need any help cleaning up or…” you glanced at your floor, considering the state of him, it was pretty minimal.

“I can handle it, it’s fine. Seems like you had a rough day.” You offered a short sort of smile at this. He put his hands in his pockets, then after another awkward moment, walked towards your door. “You can come back for dinner if you want.” You offered as his hand closed on the doorknob. You didn’t know why you had offered, this was probably already the weirdest day of your life but something in you forced the words out before you could stop them. His face lit up, and you felt your heart thud thickly in your chest.

“That would be awesome! I’ll be honest, it smells amazing- just uh- give me a bit to freshen up, okay?” You nodded and he practically ran out of your apartment, before poking his head back in. “Don’t clean that up- I’ll get it, it’s the least I can do.” He pointed at the mess on the floor and you nodded before you heard him hastily enter his own apartment.

“Welcome to the neighborhood.” You muttered to yourself before setting up another serving of chicken to cook.

When he came back, he cleaned up the mess on your floor and even set the table while you finished cooking. It was strangely domestic of him. Your brain was still working to process the information of the past half hour. The nation’s number two hero had crash-landed into your living room and now the two of you would be having dinner. You chucked to yourself as you finished cooking and brought the food to the table. Weirder things had probably happened before, though you couldn’t imagine what.

“Thanks again for your hospitality.” Hawks offered with a stunning smile. You had been moving to sit down across from him, and your entire body froze for a second at the brightness of his expression.

“N-no problem.” You offered, lamely. As the two of you began eating, he seemed like he wanted to talk more, but your own shyness and hesitance to conversation made it difficult not to stagnate. You felt the sweat on the nape of your neck. Leave it to you to be unfazed by the bizarre yet challenged by the basics of conversation.

As he took a bite of chicken, his eyes grew wide.

“This is so good, (Y/N)!” He exclaimed. You thanked him, then couldn’t hold back the snicker that had been threatening to escape you. “What’s so funny?” He said, words partially muffled as his mouth was stuffed full of chicken.

“Bird hero, eating chicken.” You managed to explain. “Just… made me laugh.” He stared at you before bursting into laughter himself.

“Despite the bad PR it might get me, I’ll admit, it’s one of my guilty pleasures.” You smiled, glad you hadn’t offended him as you took a swig of your beer.

Conversation flew by a little easier after that. It seemed like Hawks was just as down to earth as his reputation would reflect. You learned that he had been your neighbor for about a month, but because of the nature of his work, you wouldn’t have really seen him around. Besides, he really only ever entered his apartment through his patio. That’s why he had landed into your living room; normally his door was the only one left open. You asked him why he didn’t live in some fancy huge building since he could clearly afford it and he shrugged, explaining that he wanted to be closer to the neighborhoods he actually served.

He asked you about your work, you explained that you worked from home; data entry, nothing nearly as exciting as his job. He politely nodded as you explained your work, he was even kind enough to ask questions and act like it wasn’t entirely boring. The two of you talked for a while about a myriad of things; favorite movies, heroes, books, restaurants- it seemed like you both actually had a lot of common ground. It was nice, you usually lived a pretty secluded life, having someone to talk to was more than pleasant.

After dinner, the two of you parted as unlikely friends and his visits over to your apartment became relatively frequent. He would stop by after patrols without any sort of announcement, and while the average person would be annoyed, you really didn’t mind except for that one time he barged in and you had just gotten out of the shower. Months like this passed, and you and Keigo made a habit of spending practically every night he wasn’t working together.

It was on one of these evenings that he came over and the conversational tone shifted.

“Why don’t you ever have any guys over?” He asked, suddenly. You had been distracted by the movie on the screen, some detective flick that had just come out, so it took you a minute to process the question. When you finally did, the mouthful of popcorn you had suddenly became stuck in your throat, leading you to practically choke.

Keigo’s eyes widened with concern as he pat your back, urging you to breathe before offering you some of the beer that was on the table. You gulped it down, panting before you responded.

“What?”

“I didn’t mean to startle you. Is it that strange of a question?” You looked at him incredulously, trying to search his face for any hint as to what he was thinking.

��I mean… it’s a little left field, Kei.” You offered before taking another drink.

“Why? You’re a beautiful woman, I’m surprised that you don’t have any other guys coming around here.” You felt your face flush red, your brain sputtered to find any sort of response.

“What?”

“Unless… you’re not into men?” His face grew serious. “I am supportive of whoever you want to love, I need you to know that.” You shoved him.

“Oh my God, Kei, what’s wrong with you?”

“What, there’s nothing wrong with being gay-“

“Of course there isn’t!” You practically shrieked. “But where is this sudden interrogation coming from?”

“I was just curious if you were seeing anyone.” He was pouting. “You never talk about it.”

“Of course I’m not!” You hit him with a pillow. “Why? Do you have some secret girlfriend you’ve never shared with me?” You stopped hitting him, for some reason the thought made you feel nauseated.

“No. You’re the only one I ever see.” He said, studying you thoughtfully.

“Well then, there you have it.” You hugged the pillow you had been using to hit him against your body. “We both have no life; love or otherwise so there.” You muttered, dragging your attention back to the TV.

“Guess so.” He said, thoughtfully. The two of you finished the movie in an awkward silence. You didn’t know quite what to say or do moving forward, so you stood with a stretch.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.” You said with a little yawn. “You can let yourself out or crash here. Whichever.” You tried to sound as casual as possible, but didn’t know if you quite succeeded.

Lately, there had been more and more nights when Keigo would stay the night at your house. The first time was unintentional, the two of you had fallen asleep on the couch after an impromptu movie marathon. The next time had been intentional, he asked to crash on your couch because he didn’t really want to go back to his empty place. In the morning, he had complained about his back hurting like hell, so the next time he wanted to stay over, you suggested you both share your bed. You justified it, saying that it was just like having sleepovers with friends in childhood- which led to a conversation about how Keigo had missed all sorts of things as a kid. You had been dedicated to giving him the experience, staying up late with snacks and Manga until the two of you crashed over the covers.

Since then, you hadn’t needed to do the entire sleepover experience, he just helped himself to your bed and the two of you had relaxed into your own routine with it. It seemed your relationship seemed to frequently evolve in a way that felt natural, no matter how blurred the lines were becoming.

Because of those blurred lines, and the conversation from earlier, your brain couldn’t focus as you showered. It didn’t help knowing that possibly in the next room was your insanely hot hero neighbor, waiting for you to come to bed. You definitely didn’t use your best body wash, or take the extra time to use a salt scrub on your skin, or spend a few extra minutes deep conditioning your hair while you shaved for the first time in months- that would have been insane. *cough*

By the time you left the shower and entered your room clad in a nightgown (also definitely NOT strategically picked over your normal tattered T-Shirt) ; you were pleased to see he had decided to stay. He was laid out on your bed, head towards your side, seemingly passed out. You crawled into bed carefully, sitting up for a moment simply admiring him before you snuggled under the covers.

As you studied his face, you reached out and caressed his cheek. Your thumb found his scar, tracing the flesh gently before it came to his lips. His mouth was so soft, softer than you would have thought and an impulse you couldn’t control took hold of you.

Your breathing had stopped. Almost in foresight of your plan- you had to know. You leaned in and softly brushed your lips against his in a gentle kiss. He didn’t move, but just the feeling of his lips on yours made your heart leap out of your chest.

When you pulled away, prepared to look over his face with satisfaction, your heart sank. His eyes were wide open and he was staring at you. Not just staring, his eyes practically burned into you. Your cheeks flushed, heart racing and you tried to speak but all that came out was a squeak.

“What a naughty little bird you are.” He said to you darkly. You felt the suffocating weight of your shame, and tore your eyes from him as quickly as possible.

“I-I’m sorry I just-“

“You what?” His voice was cold. You had fucked up.

“I wanted to know what it felt like… to… kiss you.”

“Well that isn’t gonna help you.” His voice was dripping with condescension. You looked at him in confusion before you felt him roll on top of you, grabbing your chin with his hand before taking your lips in a bruising kiss.

That flipping, over the moon feeling came back as his lips glided over yours, and when you felt his tongue drag across your bottom lip you groaned into him, happily obliging the escalation. His fingers tangled themselves in your hair, his other hand slowly finding its way to your back to pull you in impossibly closer.

When you felt like you couldn’t breathe, he finally parted from you.

“How was that?” His voice was raw, husky and you swallowed before shaking your head.

“No good.” You managed to let out between panting breaths. He looked almost hurt until you kissed him again. “Now I just want more.” You whispered into him and you could feel him shudder over you- the fluttering of his wings showing his pleasure in your statement.

“I can do that.” He growled into your open mouth, his tongue exploring yours just long enough to leave you breathless again before he moved his kisses lower. He kissed along your jaw, then down your neck and over to your ear, licking at your earlobe before biting it gently.

“Did you know-“ he whispered into your ear before moving his kisses lower. “That our bedrooms share a wall?” He licked the juncture of your neck and collarbone before taking a bit of flesh into his mouth and sucking on it. Your hands made their way to his back, clawing at his shirt helplessly.

“Oh yeah?” You tried to follow the conversation, but the heat from his every touch was beginning to be quite distracting.

“Mmhmm. And did you know that I can hear everything happening in this room?” You could feel the flush spread to your chest from your cheeks as his fingers deftly slid down the straps of your nightgown.

“Is that so?” You tried to sound casual, but you knew what he was implying.

He groaned again into your skin in response as his tongue explored the flesh of your newly exposed chest, slowly nudging the fabric down until your breasts were exposed. “Beautiful.” He said almost to himself before he sucked at your breast, tracing his tongue along your peaked nipple before biting down softly. You gasped, arching into him as your hand found his hair and your fingers laced into the roots.

“Keigo-“ you were panting, but his mouth continued its ministrations.

“Do you know how much self control it took for me to not come over here some nights? Hm?” He spoke into your skin again, then brought himself back to your lips, allowing one of his hands to continue the work his mouth had been doing. “Hearing you moan out so sweetly- never quite able to reach what you were looking for?” His hand traced down your torso, over the bunched fabric of your nightgown to between your legs.

As you felt the silky fabric drag up your thighs, your pulse quickened- you were simultaneously mortified and thrilled by the decision you had made getting out of the shower- when his hand touched your bare mound and his wings stretched out like they did whenever he was excited, you bit your lip.

“Nothing underneath?” His voice was feral. “You are a naughty bird.” His fingers wasted no time in spreading your lips, finding your clit with ease, he rubbed the bundle of nerves before sliding down to your entrance. “Soaking wet too.” He let out a little whine and the sound of it made you clench around nothing. “It’s like you did this all f’me.” When his fingers entered your twitching core, you thrust into his hand, urging him deeper, faster.

“I did-“ you managed to mewl as his fingers curled up inside you- “It’s all for you.” You were quickly becoming an unraveled mess, your breathing labored as you felt yourself nearing your release. Keigo kissed you again, all consuming passion and sloppy need and you felt a tear rolling down your cheek. The hand that had been at your breast came up to your face, his thumb wiping it away as he spoke into your mouth.

“It’s okay little bird, let go.” You nodded, kissing him again as you finally felt yourself break.

Keigo stroked you through your orgasm, gently caressing your thighs when you had control of your breathing again. You pulled back from him, looking into his face. His pupils were completely blown, looking fucked out already. His expression, which had been one of puckish excitement moments before, was now solemn. He kissed you once more, softly, before rolling away from you with a sigh. He laid flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling and you didn’t quite know what to say or do now.

The silence, though it lasted mere seconds, felt like a vast expanse of space in which nothing but your own anxiety existed.

“Keigo?” Your voice came out louder than you had anticipated, inadvertently causing you to cringe. He turned towards you then, bringing his gaze to yours before his eyes dragged down your half dressed body, nightgown still scrunched to expose most of you. A groan left him as he pulled his gaze away, his hand that had brought you to pleasure moments previously was now covering his grimacing face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’, angel.” He said, though it was entirely non convincing.

“Kei.” You repeated, rolling towards him, resting on your arm to look over his face. You pried his fingers off his eyes. “Look… I-I’m sorry.”

His eyes widened at you, but he said nothing. You worried at your lip, teeth pulling the tender flesh nearly to shreds. This was the first time you felt uncomfortable around Hawks. You didn’t just feel uncomfortable, you felt terrible. Like you had taken advantage of a friend, like you had finally crossed one of those blurred lines that was supposed to be sacred and unscathed.

“Sorry?” He repeated softly. “Sorry for what?” You tasted copper in your mouth- you licked over the flesh you had chewed open, trying to will yourself to stop the nervous habit.

“I shouldn’t have- I mean I wanted to, but it was wrong and-“

“Wrong?” Why was he just repeating after you? You suddenly felt too exposed, pulling back on your nightgown, you sat up and protectively covered your chest. “Did it really feel wrong to you?” Your eyes snapped to him.

“Of course not!” Your outburst ripped through the quiet that had been momentarily reestablished. “But- I- I shouldn’t have just- without asking- if I lost you I don’t know what—not that I have you- I mean-“ he leaned up then, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you towards him to kiss you again. You whimpered into him, a relieved sort of sob threatening to leave you at any moment. He licked over the rim of your lips, clearly he had noticed your habit too.

“If you want me to stop- you need to tell me.” He spoke into your open mouth. “But … I’m not going to be able to stop if we keep going and once we…” he readjusted, tensing, “there’s no going back, (Y/N).” He was severe again, pulling himself just far enough away that his gaze could transform from one big eye into two amber pools, threatening in their intensity. You said nothing, swallowing hard. “If we keep going, I’m never going back to what we were. I can’t.” You might have imagined the way his voice broke on the last word, the way he hitched his breath and let it out with a sad sort of groan, but it didn’t matter as your lips sought his again. You offered your acceptance to his terms, trying to show him with each glide of your lips just how you felt.

Hawks eagerly met each movement, descending with you into a new subspace, recently discovered but yet to be explored. His hands reached for your nightgown again, pulling it from your body before pushing you rather roughly back down. He peeled off his own shirt awkwardly, you hadn’t ever seen him maneuver in or out of his clothes before and despite the mood of the moment you couldn’t help but giggle a bit at how urgently he wrestled out of it.

“Hope you enjoyed laughing, little bird.” When he was finally freed, he looked down at you with a dark expression, a smirk playing at his lips clearly promising more than you were prepared for. “You won’t have time for that soon.” He lunged for you again, kissing you with a demand for compliance. His tongue bullied its way into your mouth, deftly exploring your taste. You could hardly keep up with his movements, his hands were all over you, claws raking down your back and pulling across your ribs before sliding up to grip your breasts. His fingers bullied your flesh, though you had never been handled so roughly you couldn’t say you minded at all.

“Kei-“ you tried to pant into him, his kisses moving towards your neck while your hands grasped for his sweats. You tried to pull them down, but his hand batted you away.

“No.” He spoke firmly and you bit your lip. The hand that had slapped yours came up to your chin, pulling your lip away from your gnawing teeth slowly. His tongue grazed over the wounded flesh again before he sucked at it, letting it fall from his mouth with a satisfying pop. He then moved down your body quickly, spreading your thighs open wide. There was not a part of you left unexposed; the thought that you were the only one in that position suddenly made you feel vulnerable.

You didn’t have to meditate on that thought for very long though, as Keigo lowered his head down to your core and immediately used his mouth to mercilessly drag you towards orgasm. It was too much too fast; the hero was known for his precision and speed- each pass of his tongue proving just how hard he worked to earn that praise. Your head crashed into the bed below you, back arching unnaturally as you let out a noise that could hardly be recognized as belonging to you. You exploded, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids, and though he could not have missed the fact that he had just brought you to your second orgasm that evening, his oral assault continued.

“‘S too much—“' you squealed, “K-Kei-g-g—ugh!“ you cried but he continued to spell his name over you, branding you with it, the burn almost too much to handle. When you truly thought you would die, he pushed his fingers inside of you, curling the digits up and hitting the spot he had found earlier so expertly that without you being even slightly prepared, another climax was ripped from you. He still didn’t give you a moment's rest, lapping up every drop you offered to him until he was satisfied. Finally, he stopped for a moment, sitting on his knees with his wings flayed out, casting a shadow over what seemed like the entire room. Your eyes shut, heavy with exhaustion as you attempted to collect yourself.

When you could breathe again, you realized he was now laid between your thighs, arms on either side of your face. He wiped tears you didn’t remember shedding from your cheeks and kissed you gently, slowly bringing you back to his plane of existence.

As your consciousness slowly reentered your body, you noticed the way his skin felt against yours. All of it. The realization that he had undressed completely finally dawned on you when you felt a twitch of hardened flesh at the apex of your thighs, prodding you as if requesting entrance. A high pitched whine left your throat and entered his mouth, the ridiculous sound causing him to grin into your kiss. Finally you understood his frustration earlier at your flippant laughter.

“You ready, angel?” He spoke into your mouth as he lined himself up with your core; you nodded dumbly into him though you weren’t even quite sure if you were in fact ready. You felt like a million exposed nerves; every part of you was hyper aware of every touch, stray breath and every bead of sweat gliding across your skin.

Keigo began to thrust inside you, exhaustingly slowly, his entire body over you shuddering. Your hands, which had been clenching themselves in the sheets before, came up to his shoulders, dragging down to the base of his wings. When you allowed your fingers to trace the fine feathers at the base of them he let out a sharp hiss before burying the rest of his length inside you in one sharp thrust.

There was no sound, at least not that you could remember after that, just the feeling of his tongue running against your throat while his hips ground into you. His movements were shallow, as if he was too afraid to leave you, like all he wanted was to figure out how to make the two of you one. Desperately, you tried to move in tandem with him, but every bit of him was so distracting. You felt every muscle in his back, tried to grab at his thighs and pull him closer to you. Seems you agreed that nothing felt close enough.

So lost in your own little world, you didn’t notice he had been talking to you until he bit at your ear to get your attention.

“Hmm?” You were delirious with contentment, never had you felt so absolutely complete.

“I’m close, angel- are you?” He panted into your flesh and you just turned your head towards him, looking at his flushed, fucked out face with a groan. You shook your head no, then tried to lace together words; something like ‘It’s okay, let go’ or ‘I’ve already been fucked stupid, I’m just a plaything now.’ But in the absence of further response, Hawks took your no as a challenge.

He readjusted his body beneath you, moving to sit on his knees, draping your legs on either side of him. The new angle hit even deeper, and you let out a high-pitched moan of his name. Keigo moved his hands to your hips and he began to pull and push your body, effectively using you like a living flesh light. The way he arched your back and manipulated your body had you nearing your final release and as you opened your eyes to see the way he was studying your every movement you felt yourself clamping down on him.

“Fuck-“ he groaned, head flying back, crimson wings splaying out again. He looked so angelic- so inhumanly beautiful. You grabbed your breasts, pulling at your nipples, just following every urge you had. “Sh-shit angel, just like that-“ his hips faltered for a moment. “Play with yourself- that’s it-“ one of his hands holding your hips rested on your lower belly, pushing down while he brought a thumb to your clit, adding the most delicious pressure until you found yourself unable to hold on.

“Fuck!” You screamed as you felt yourself finally let go- clenching him for dear life, trying to milk him of every last drop. Distantly, you heard the symphony of sound the two of you were creating; the accumulation of whimpers and grunts emphasizing your crescendo. When he felt you cumming around him, he collapsed over you, blindly pounding into your flesh before letting out a final groan of your name. A pleasant warmth spread through you, his hips continued to pump into you slowly until finally he fully stilled, offering you a slow, sensual kiss. His arms slithered beneath you, holding you tight in a hug before rolling onto his back, taking you with him and laying you on his chest.

The two of you were still connected and you distantly noticed that your breathing had synchronized. You were spilled over him like jello, unable to move but enjoying the gentle caress of his hands on your back and your hair. You felt yourself dozing off, feeling completely and irrevocably satisfied.

“That was well worth the wait, angel.” He let out finally. You simply hummed in response, eyes growing heavier with each passing moment. “We should really get you cleaned up.” He added when you didn’t respond. To this, you groaned.

“No. No move. Only sleep.” You spoke into him, words muffled with the way your cheek pressed into his chest. You felt the roll of laughter he let out through his abdomen, jiggling you with it.

“Come on.” He didn’t seem to be willing to give you a choice, giving a short slap to your ass before lifting you off of him without much ceremony, leaving you feeling empty. You whined at the absence of him but didn’t have the opportunity to protest when he swooped you into his arms and princess-carried you to your bathroom.

He sat the two of you into the bath, his wings draped over the back of your tub and your back pressed into his chest. It was a tight fit, and as he leaned over to turn on the water, he scrunched you forward and you let out a groan at the stretch on your sore muscles.

“Sorry, baby bird.” He whispered into your ear softly and you whined, the sound of his voice eliciting a pleasant flip in your tummy. He sent a feather to grab the washcloth you had hanging on your shower caddy and grabbed the bar of soap you had resting on the ledge of the tub before lathering it and moving it over your skin.

You melted into him, letting out a gentle sigh of contentment while you snuggled into him as close as humanly possible. Despite your protests, this was heavenly. Hawks kissed your hair as he continued to clean you, dragging the soapy cloth over your chest and down to your thighs. You ignored the way your body reacted to him, refused to acknowledge the way your hips raised subconsciously to his touch. You could feel his smile against your neck but neither of you spoke. This was tender intimacy.

When the tub was full, he turned off the tap and the two of you simply laid there for a while. Your hands found his and you played with them, admiring the way his fingers slotted between yours, dragging your touches over the dozens of tiny scars and calluses. It was a solemn reminder of the reality of his situation ; how vast the difference between a civilian like yourself and a hero like him actually was.

“Are you sure?” You asked him, abruptly.

“Hm?” He questioned you sleepily.

“About this, I mean.” You tried to figure out what it was you wanted to say. “I mean- where does this leave us? You said you couldn’t go back, so where do we go?” You tried to look back at him, but the stretch was too uncomfortable, so you simply laid the side of your face against his chest.

“What do you mean where do we go?” His hands, which had been limp in yours allowing you to explore squeezed your fingers, and he brought his arms in to hug you. “You’re mine. I’m yours. Simple as that.” You couldn’t help the furrow of your brow, you were thankful he couldn’t see it.

“But why me?” You asked, recognizing how insecure you sounded.

“I knew it was you the first day we met.” He said, with finality. You let out a giggle.

“It was the fried chicken, wasn’t it?” You joked. He laughed into you.

“That definitely helped. But I knew even before that.” The way he said this was so confident, so finite.

“What if- what if this doesn’t work out?”

“Not an option.” Again, he was so sure.

“What do you mean?” His grip released you and he didn’t offer you a response.

Instead, he leaned forward and pulled the plug on the bath, then picked you up again before resting you on the bath mat. Keigo wrapped you up in a towel before grabbing one for himself, then he disappeared into the other room.

“Kei?” You called out, awkwardly, not really willing to move. When he came back, he was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and had brought you your normal sleep T-Shirt.

“Yeah?” He asked as he stripped the towel off of your body and wordlessly dressed you. You felt like a kid but still complied with every silent request he made to lift your arms or move your hair. He picked you up again, apparently to him, you no longer had the need to walk, and he rolled the two of you into bed.

He had laid you down beside him, tucked you in snugly, and was leaning his head on his hand as he gently caressed your face, studying you like he was debating something. You were still awaiting his response to your earlier question, trying to compel him to answer with a slight glare.

“When I told you that I can’t go back…” he started, finally getting to the answer you needed, “I meant it. You’re absolutely everything to me.” He closed his eyes, laying down fully while he looked up at the ceiling. “You’re home to me, (Y/N). The only one I’ve ever had.” He faced you again. “I’m never going to let that go. Even if you wanted me to.” His face was a little frightening as he said the last bit, and while somewhere you recognized you should be concerned by his sentiments , you couldn’t feel anything but joy. You smiled, despite yourself and didn’t miss the confused expression on his face.

“Okay.” You simply replied.

“Okay?”

“I’ll be your home, Keigo.” You rolled the top half of your body over his chest and kissed him. “For as long as you want me.” You kissed him sweetly, then snuggled into his chest and closed your eyes, noting the rapid thumping of his heart in his chest and allowing the tempo to guide you to sleep.

When you woke up in the morning, he was gone, but he had left a single feather behind to keep an eye on you. You weren’t worried, or offended that he hadn’t said goodbye. You knew he would always come home.

#hawks x reader #bnha smut #mha smut #keigo smut #keigo x reader #keigo x you #keigo x y/n #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #bnha fanfiction #romance #hello neighbor #hot neighbor

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ladykailitha · 2 years ago

Text

Royal Pain Part 9

Hello! Thank you so much for the out pouring of support last time. I love that everyone loved the tattoo idea. If you want to see a basic idea of what it would look like, check the reblogs of part 8 (though if I had the energy I would throw into an editing program I’d skinny up the sword a bit and make the wings wider).

We meet the candidates for the apprenticeship and we learn the history of Jeff’s tattoo (warning for racism and bad cops) and Eddie’s reason for the wings.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Steve walked back to the front the little paper in his shaking hands.

“I’ve already had a couple people this morning asking about the apprentice gig,” Robin told him. “When should I have them come in?”

Steve rubbed him bottom lip thoughtfully. “I don’t have to go to Dustin’s until 5pm on Sunday, so have them all come at 10am then.”

Robin nodded. “He choose a design then?” she asked, nodded to the paper in his hand.

Steve nodded back his lips pressed together as he handed it to her to scan.

She looked down at it in shock. “He picked this one?”

Steve nodded again, unsure if he could trust himself to speak.

“This is going to take a long time and a lot of money,” Robin whispered. “He’s aware of that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve croaked. “He knows. He was very insistent and is able to pay for it. All of it.”

Robin nodded. “Then let’s get this bad boy printed for him then.”

She printed it into three pieces. One for each wing and one for the sword.

When he came back into the room, Eddie was laying on his chest with his shirt off. Steve licked his lips as his eyes trailed down the plains of Eddie’s back to where it dipped into the man’s jeans.

This was going to be a lot harder than he thought it was going to be.

“Okay,” Steve said after taking a moment to compose himself. “What we are going to do is trace the outlines and then we’ll spend two to three hours each week, working on it. It will probably take about ten to twelve weeks, doing it once a week. So if you want to move it up two days a week, I would recommend that.”

Eddie twisted to face him. “Yeah, I figured it was going to take some time. When I set up my appointments with Robin, I’ll make sure to do twice a week.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said, pulling on the latex gloves and sitting down. He scooted as close to Eddie as he could and picked his gun.

“You know,” he murmured over the sound of the gun. “I don’t think you ever said why you wanted the tattoo so badly you waited to find the right person to do it for you. And thanks for trusting me with it by the way.”

“You’re welcome,” Eddie said. “The work you did on Jeff’s tattoo was phenomenal. It was a very personal tattoo for him and you made it special. Did he tell you how got the scar he wanted you to cover up?”

Steve hummed, placing the first stencil down. “Yeah, something about how when Miranda and him first starting dating, someone called the cops on him, thinking he was kidnapping her. And how despite both of them saying they were on a date and Jeff having his hands up, the cop still fired, hitting his right arm.”

Eddie nodded. “It was messed up. He thought for sure Miranda was going to book it, but they stayed together and it’s been five years now.”

“So he got it for the fifth anniversary?” Steve asked, concentrating on the outline.

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “It was Miranda’s suggestion, actually.”

“They seem like great people.”

Eddie smiled fondly. “The best. I think he’s still working up the courage to ask her to marry him.”

Steve laughed. “He better hurry up otherwise Robin might try and steal her from him.”

Eddie laughed too. “Well considering they both swing for both teams, she might actually have a chance.”

“Oh god,” Steve said as he finished the first wing. “Don’t tell Robin that. She might actually try. And I don’t want to mess up a good thing, you know?”

“Fair.”

Eddie chewed on his bottom lip a moment. “But, yeah, the tattoo. It’s to commemorate a poor boy from the trailer park making it in the big city to play music for a living. Actually fucking making it.”

Steve smiled. “And the bat wings were for the aesthetic?”

“Hell yeah they are,” Eddie replied with a grin. “But, holy shit, Stevie. The sword of fucking Kas...it’s like you read my mind or some shit.”

Steve lifted the gun as he laughed. “Nah, I just listened when you and Dustin talked about it.”

Eddie adjusted himself in the chair and loosened the muscles in his shoulders a bit. He settled and nodded. “You did really good, sweetheart. I love it.”

They just fell into conversation as easy as breathing and far too soon Steve was done with the outline.

Steve pulled off his gloves, having set aside the gun already. “Go on, it’s not much to look at right now, but the bare bones are pretty fucking all right.’’

Eddie immediately bounced to his feet to go look in the mirror. He turned every direction and after a moment of watching him Steve stood up with a large hand mirror and tilted it until Eddie could see his back.

Eddie let out a gasp. “Holy fucking shit. This is going to be so epic. I can’t wait!”

Steve smiled fondly. “I’m glad it’s starting out okay, at least.”

Eddie grinned at him through the mirror. “It’s absolutely wicked.”

“Do you have someone who can rub the lotion on your back?” Steve asked, biting his bottom lip.

Eddie nodded. “The guys have offered to take turns helping me with it until it’s done.”

Steve hummed. He was a little disappointed. He was going to offer to do it for him. But it was a bit of a relief, knowing Eddie had such good friends that were willing to take care of him.

“That’s sweet of them,” he murmured, taking the time to gently wrap the tattoo the best he could in Saran wrap to protect it on the way home.

Eddie scoffed. “They only offered because they’re excitable children who want a sneak peak at the tattoo before anyone else.”

Steve huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, okay. That sounds like what I’d seen of them.”

Eddie turned around once Steve was done and grinned at him. “Am I going to see you at Nightmare Holes again this weekend?”

Steve winced. “I want to but I can’t this weekend. I’m meeting a couple people on Sunday morning morning and I cannot be hungover for that.’

Eddie huffed out a small chuckle. “Maybe.”

Steve shoved at him playfully. “I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you come over again next Monday and I’ll make dinner for us again.”

Eddie’s eyes lit up. “That sounds great, wha’cha making?”

“What do you like?” Steve asked as he cleaned up. “Italian, Chinese, Mexican? Something else? I’m sure I could find a good recipe in time.”

Eddie tapped his lip with his index finger thoughtfully. “Can you do sesame chicken?”

Steve grinned. “Oh, I knew there was a reason I liked you. I love sesame chicken and have a kick ass recipe, I think you’ll love.”

Eddie grinned back. “Can’t wait pretty boy.”

Steve flicked his cleaning rag at Eddie’s ass. “Now go on, some of us poor schlubs have to work hard for our living, rock star.”

Eddie laughed in delight as he skipped away from Steve’s deadly aim with his rag. He got to the door and saluted, before turning on his heel and walking back to the front desk, shirt in hand.

Steve picked up a dozen donuts and coffees for him and Robin. Robin had already gone in to open the shop for the interviewees so he felt he owed it to her to at least get her coffee and donuts.

When he got to the shop he was a little surprised how many cars were out front. They couldn’t all be there for the apprenticeship, could they? He walked into see the entire waiting room filled with applicants.

He turned to Robin and she looked as shocked as he was. He set the donuts in front Robin’s desk and handed her the coffee.

“Hello,” he said turning around to greet the...he quickly counted, the six hopefuls. “I’m Steve Harrington and welcome to Royal Pain. You’re all welcome to have a donut and we have water and paper cups over to the side.” He gestured to where it was and most head turned to see where he meant.

“Is this really a tattoo parlor, man?” one of the applicants asked. He was what Steve would have stereotyped a California surfer boy. Bleach blond hair that fell to his shoulders, tanned skin, dark blue eyes that were currently glaring at Steve.

Steve let his shoulders roll back as he regarded the man in question. “What? The bright, colorful design precludes it from being a place people come to get tattoos, how?”

The guy leveled another glare at Steve and then leapt to his feet. “Whatever, this blows. I’m out of here.” He stormed out, pushing the door so hard it clanged against the wall harshly.

Steve looked at the remaining five. “Anyone else have a problem with the aesthetics?”

There were people that exchanged glances, but they ended up all shaking their heads no.

“Good.”

A pretty blonde girl with bright green eyes and a sparkling smile raised her hand.

“Yes?” Steve asked pointing at her.

“Not to be lumped in with the asshole that just left,” she began shyly, “but I really don’t see any tattoos on you and, well...”

Steve grinned. “And it makes it a little hard to trust me as a tattoo artist, right?”

She nodded, her high pony tail bouncing as she did.

Robin rolled her eyes, but wisely said nothing. Steve showed her his right forearm. “I didn’t do this one, this is the first tattoo I got though.” It was of a small vanilla ice cream cone. “I got this after my first real job at an ice cream shop that burned down.”

A lot of eyebrows shot up at that, but no one uttered a word.

He pulled at his collar showing a female robin on his shoulder right below the clavicle. “Got this one when my best friend turned twenty-one. She has a matching tattoo in the same place.”

He pulled up his shirt to show a lion devouring a bloody heart on his right side. “My friends called my lion-hearted, my detractors called me a bleeding heart, so I got this.”

Steve put his shirt down. “Yeah, I don’t look like your stereotypical tattoo artist that has their whole body covered in tats. But I’m one of those weirdos that only gets a tattoo if it means something to me. But make no mistake I’m good. I have had this shop for three years and only been a tattooist for five. And I’m taking on apprentices because this shop is so busy I need the help to lighten the load.”

The girl blushed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he said, heaving a heavy sigh. “People who look like me don’t usually become tattoo artists and I think that’s stupid. It shouldn’t just be a certain kind of person that has dyed black hair, piercings, and their body of work all over their body.”

She nodded. “I get what you mean.”

Steve smiled at her. “I figured you would.” He knew that if she was any good, he was going to pick her, hands down.

“Right,” he said turning his attention back to everyone. “I wasn’t expecting so many of you and I realize that isn’t fair to you. If you have somewhere else to be today, make an appointment with Robin,” he cocked his head her direction, “and I’ll meet with you personally at another time. But otherwise, I’ll have Robin call you in the order you arrived and we’ll talk in my room.”

He clapped his hands. “First, let’s give you a tour of the place and if you decide it’s not for you. No hard feelings. Except that guy.” He winked at them and they laughed.

He showed them his room and the other rooms that would be for the apprentices to practice in or once they got their own chair if they stayed, it would become their room.

One of the other guys decided that it wasn’t for him and Steve was left with four remaining hopefuls.

And what a strange bunch they were, too. He had the prep girl, but he also had a native boy that while he didn’t look the part of the surfer dude, embodied it with his very soul. If the guy got brought on, Steve would have to pull him aside and make sure he didn’t do marijuana at work, because the guy looked a little baked at the moment. He also had a Goth chick complete with the tattoos and piercings, and dyed black hair. She stuck out like a sore thumb, if Steve was honest. And the final hopeful was this squirrely looking guy with dark wavy brown hair.

All of them had more tattoos than Steve did.

He sighed to himself. He wasn’t sure this was going to work out. He knew he shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, better than most, but still as he looked at the remaining applicants he felt a little disappointed.

He sighed and went back to the office to wait for Robin to call the first one in. It was going to be a long day.

***

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Epilogue

Look, I love Robin with all my heart, but we all know the reason she didn’t ask Vickie out wasn’t that she had a boyfriend, but that her partner was a boy. She would 100% back off if told to, but she would so go for it if she thought had a chance. (Looking at you Ronance shippers, if you think that Robin was flirting with Nancy in the Upside Down, Nancy was still with Jonathan at the time.)

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