#IS THE WORLD A BETTER PLACE WITH HIM DEAD AND ME ALIVE.

[joshriku]

at any and all times i'm thinking of this

[summer-sapphic]

Hi I'm mad

[seventh-district]

CW: mention of death and health issues (but it’s in a relatively positive light, for once!)

[ariseur]

hi love!! i saw that your requests are open and im here to help🫡

can i request some red dead headcanons/blurbs? maybe what their affection/kisses are like? arthur, john, javier and charles are my pookies (especially charles oh my god i love him so so much) but i would love to hear your thoughts on anybody really!!

hope you’re doing well <3

AFFECTIONATE - VAN DER LINDE BOYS

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes - for some reason i cannot post rdr2 with my manga headers or cutesy pink dividers it feels so off to me i have no idea why 😭 but thank you for sending this request in, i love it sooo much!’ it’s nice to see another charles lover in this fandom lolol— you take care as well!! 🫶

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ warnings - mentions of injuries in kieran’s and charles, kisses and kissing (?), hispanic!reader / spanish speaking!reader in mind for javier’s, intended lowercase, alcohol and drinking in sean’s, lmk if i missed anything!! 🫶

ARTHUR MORGAN who will put calloused hands around your waist when you’re alone in your tent at night, burrowing his nose in your hair as he lays behind you. you can smell his musk, the scent of the outdoors and faded linen, as it clings onto you with its tight grip and lingers. you don’t mind though, and neither does arthur; simply basking in your warmth as the crickets chirp in harmony with your soft exhales.

“‘ve missed you.” you say, your right hand crawling to interlock itself with his own draped over your waist as it fiddles with the soft skin there.

“missed y’too, darlin’.” you can feel his chest rumble with his voice, tone deep and gravelly from the lack of use. you let your eyes close as you savored the feeling of his hands caressing the small chub that gathered itself in his hands when he squished too much. you would give anything to have moments like these with arthur whenever you could.

JOHN MARSTON who’ll scoff as you pressed kisses along his face, sitting on his lap as the campfire graced your bodies with its warm glow. his affections held a more stand-offish tone to them but on the off occasional that he got a little too tipsy, you could never pry him off of you.

“if i’d’a known any better, i’d have thought you was in love wit’ me,” he huffed. regardless of his dumb comments, his hands never failed to find their way upon the dips of your hips, rubbing circles over the fabric of your clothes.

you bumped your head into his head as he chuckled, raspy voice rumbling throughout his chest as you halted your kisses and instead rested your head on his shoulder. your foot, bare and tapping against the ground in tune with the distant strums of javier’s guitar and karen’s drunken singing kept you grounded — kept you remembering that this was real, this was all real; and you were alive.

“why? you complainin’?”

you felt john’s cheeks widen with his grin. “naw,” was all he said.

two things that JAVIER ESCUELLA cherished most in this world were family and freedom; and he knew that he felt at peace knowing he had both of these things in that moment. you by his side, as neither of you had a care in the world. the sun glimmered and lazed around, taking its place on your backs and replacing the cool, dawn air with its heat. affection with javier is passionate and it’s scary, you never know what you’ll get or suffer the next day but it doesn’t matter — you persevere knowing you’ll find home in his arms a night more, you’ll live long enough to seek refuge and if you died in the process; it’d be okay knowing you died with who you loved.

deft fingers came to slide up and down the wooden fretboard along with his other hand plucking on the strings. you hadn’t realized you’d been staring until he peeked one eye open from under his bowler hat, a teasing smirk on his face as he mumbled, “no me miras con esos ojos, corazón.”

you rolled your eyes, “que quieres decir, javi?”

he hummed, he knew you knew what he meant — and you knew that he knew. but for now, you’d continue to stare, admiring your beloved that sat so prettily on that log; simply playing his guitar. he had his freedom, and he had his family right here.

loud laughs erupted from the obnoxious irishman known as SEAN MACGUIRE, a jug of alcohol in his hand and his darling in the other.

“i’m tellin’ ya, luckiest man alive—! they said they loved me, can y’believe it?” his accent only got thicker by the minute as he raved to everybody that walked by about how you had suddenly professed your love once more as you two sat on the barrel circling the rounded, wooden table. you smacked his arm to which he let out a rasping cackle. “shut up, will you?”

“ah, never. y’know ya love me,” he puckered his lips dramatically as you scoffed. giving him a chaste kiss, he groaned as you pulled away too quick before you went in deeper, seeing his eyes widen in shock before yours fluttered closed. he laughed out the side of his mouth before his hand, ever so gentle, buried itself in your hair. sean was a loud lover, one you’d typically be embarrassed by — but that only meant he loved you more than anything. a drunk man’s words is a sober man’s thoughts and he had you on his mind all the time.

CHARLES SMITH who’ll treat your wounds silently, as he always did except this time would be different. a tense silence would fill your tent other than murmured hisses and apologies due to the peroxide and other various natural remedies he preserved for your care. charles would always keep a level head, warning you not to go on jobs that micah would egg you on yet charles would always wait for you to return.

he never said anything during these times, charles loved silently. instead of telling you he loved you every second or having you on his lap like others, he’d bring you a trinket you remembered wanting from a storefront window or he’d take you out hunting with him; teaching you how to properly set up bait ( not in the reckless way that sean or bill would attempt to mansplain about ). he’d take care of you and he’d listen to you. so when you’d gasp and bite your fist from how badly he had to stitch your leg up, his hand would grab yours and bring it down to rest on your thigh — intertwining fingers as his thumb grazed over the crescent shaped marks your teeth left.

you really did love KIERAN DUFFY, seeing the way he’d try to puff his chest out when the guys at camp would look at you when really, he’d get all shy and blushy when you babied him. he wasn’t so used to this sorta thing, you know, relationships. everybody in camp looked at you like you were crazy, but they knew better than to tell that to you ( or him ), knowing they’d only get an earful from you about how sweet kieran really was.

you’d dress his wounds and in return, you’d find your horse prepped and groomed all pretty in the mornings — already fed and provided with water. and when you’d ask arthur or tilly, they’d always shrug and say, “must be that o’driscoll boy.”

you treated him with care, like no one had ever had, and that was the greatest gift in itself to kieran. he saw you as an angel, he’d even try telling you sometimes although backtracking a bit just to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable. kieran duffy’s affection was careful and nervous, stiff gestures presented to you although all of his worries melted away once he heard your sweet laugh. he didn’t know much about this stuff but that was okay, he’d learn just for you.

𐙚 taglist ; @ch3rryfiles @maskedteaser

𐙚 requests are closed — june twenty eighth, 2024

[fangdokja]

In the world of the dead, he was the only thing keeping you alive—and tearing you apart.

♡ Book. A Heart Devoured: A Dark Yandere Anthology

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Zombie Apocalypse! Survivor x Reader

♡ Oneshot. #1

♡ Word Count. 886

The world had gone to hell long before he found you—a blight of rotting corpses, the stench of decay clinging to the air like wet fabric. He’d watched cities crumble, mothers devoured by children, lovers split apart by jaws that once kissed. Humanity reduced to a desperate scramble for survival. He’d survived because he was better, stronger, smarter. Not like the others. Not like you.

The first time he saw you, it was through the jagged slats of a broken-down shack—you, filthy, trembling, a pathetic little thing clutching a rusted knife like it could keep the monsters at bay. You didn’t know it then, but the real monster wasn’t outside that door. He let you run, let you think you’d slipped away. He liked the chase. Liked watching your frail little body collapse from exhaustion after days of running. He followed your trail of broken twigs, discarded scraps, bloodied rags. You bled so easily. It excited him.

When he finally cornered you, it wasn’t with the blunt savagery of the infected, but with the calculated precision of a predator. His voice was honeyed, deep and soothing in a way that made your legs quiver despite the terror clamping your chest. “Easy, little one,” he murmured, stepping closer, his towering frame casting a shadow over your crouched form. “I’m not here to hurt you.” A lie, but you didn’t know that yet.

You screamed when he grabbed you. Oh, how you screamed. His hand clamped over your mouth, thick fingers swallowing your cries. “Shh,” he cooed, dragging you against his chest. The muscles there were hard as steel, his arms unyielding as they pinned you to him. “You’re safe now. No more running. No more fighting. Just be good for me.”

You fought, of course you did, but he liked that about you. Liked the way your nails raked against his skin, the fire in your eyes even as tears streaked your dirt-smeared cheeks. It made breaking you all the sweeter.

The place he kept you was dark, damp, a bunker carved out of the earth’s rotting guts. Chains rattled when you moved, the heavy metal cuffs biting into your wrists and ankles. He made sure you couldn’t escape. You’d tried once, crawling like a desperate animal through the narrow tunnel he left unguarded. He found you before you reached the surface. You still remembered the taste of dirt and his boot on your back as he dragged you, screaming and sobbing, back to your prison.

“Disobedient,” he’d called you, his voice like a father’s scolding a wayward child. Then he’d smiled, and that smile was worse than any snarl. “But you’ll learn.”

The days blurred together. He fed you, bathed you, kept you warm with his body when the nights grew cold. “You’re mine now,” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot and heavy. “No one else will touch you. No one else can. They’re all dead, you know. Out there in the dark. In here, it’s just us. Forever.”

Sometimes he was tender, brushing the hair from your face, pressing lips to your forehead like a lover. Other times, he was cruel, tightening his grip around your throat until you saw stars, his teeth sinking into your shoulder as if he wanted to devour you whole.

“You’re so fragile,” he murmured, running a calloused hand down your trembling arm. His fingers stopped at your wrist, pressing just hard enough to feel the thrum of your pulse beneath the paper-thin skin. “So easy to break. But I won’t let you. I’ll keep you safe, even from yourself.”

When you cried, he mocked you for it, his laughter echoing off the stone walls. “Tears won’t save you, my little prey. You’re mine, whether you like it or not.” And yet, when your sobs subsided into quiet sniffles, he cradled you against his chest, rocking you like a child. “Good girl,” he’d croon, his hand stroking your hair. “Good, obedient girl.”

Escape was impossible. He made sure of that. Shackles bound you when he wasn’t there, and when he was, his watchful gaze never left you. Those eyes, sharp and calculating, missed nothing. You learned to fear the tilt of his head, the narrowing of his gaze when you stepped out of line. His punishments were swift and brutal—a backhand that left your cheek throbbing, a hand around your throat until you gasped for air.

And yet, there were moments when he was almost kind. When he brought you clean clothes, when he stroked your cheek and murmured promises of a future where you’d thank him for saving you. “You’ll see,” he said, his voice a low, rumbling purr. “I’m the only one who can love you like this. The only one who will.”

The infected were the least of your worries. The true horror lived in the man who kept you alive, the man who smiled as he reminded you that you belonged to him, body and soul. You learned quickly that resistance was futile. He thrived on your defiance, twisting it into something dark and intimate.

And every time he whispered in your ear, every time his hands claimed you, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—he was right. That in a world gone mad, there was no escape. That he was your salvation. Your damnation. Your everything.

[meyhew]

“WHAT WE MOURN FOR THE DEAD IS THE LOSS OF THEIR HOPES.”

I never thought I’d make this post. Any time I imagined a One Direction member dying, I pictured myself weathered and grey. This was an eventuality that wasn’t supposed to be actualized until the boys and I had lived full lives. To have to come to terms with Liam’s death—his perpetual absence moving forward—in my mid twenties feels absurd. I wrote a long thing the day after I found out, so I’ve already gotten some thoughts out. I’m going to try and keep this short. I likely won’t succeed.

Liam was kind. If he’s remembered for anything, I hope it’s that. I know he helped out with food banks in London during lockdown because there were photos of him packing boxes, but I didn’t know until now how much money he gave them. £80,000 without any publicity. And it wasn’t a one-time donation. He kept working with various orgs to help food insecure people. In the week leading up to that unfortunate Wednesday, he gave away thousands to fundraisers—primarily set up to help people with severe illnesses. He’d been part of Soccer Aid for years. He was involved with anti-bullying campaigns. He worked with Rays of Sunshine to make hundreds of sick children happy. Over the years, he also donated to nonprofits that help children in Gaza and other places. The T-shirt he designed for Choose Love has garnered nearly £200,000; Choose Love has been working with the Palestine Children’s Relief Fund and Medical Aid for Palestinians to provide desperately needed aid in Gaza. Liam understood the value of his wealth, and what his social responsibility was. He did his part to make this world better.

All that without taking into account everything Liam did for us. The youtube videos he started during quarantine because it was a way to distract people, give them something to look forward to. His comedic timing was something special. The discord server where he talked to fans and highlighted their creative endeavors. His livestreams, the endless culture-defining tweets he made. I still see people laughing about his tweets. We all remember Mrs. Horan, yes? I mean, go all the way back to TwitCams. Just google the phrase and one of the first videos you get will be Liam’s. From day one, he took it upon himself to make sure the fans were happy. That we felt seen, heard. And he kept One Direction alive for us, on occasion at a great personal cost. He performed deep cuts we’d never seen sung live, he was always so enthusiastic about everyone else’s projects, he never shied away from talking about the band—because it made us happy. He knew what the band meant to us, the blend of hope and nostalgia many of us clung to, and he held on with us. For us. The masses ridiculed him for his clinginess, and he didn’t let go—for us. I’m sure he knew there are those of us for whom the name One Direction still means everything. And how right he was. Look at the global charts for the past two weeks. We’ve made history again. Because of Liam. He had been the glue holding a lot of the fandom together, whether people realized it or not. He brought us all together again in the most heartbreaking of ways.

One Direction came into my life at a time when I was becoming lonelier by the day. I had moved to a new country two years prior, and I didn’t yet have many friends because I knew only enough English to get by at school. Outside of school, I had no friends. They were all back home in the place I’d left. All I had was my two siblings—and when you’re 13 years old, your 14 yr old sister is hardly the person you want to spend all your time with. I didn’t have space for me, to do and to be something that was just mine.

Then I found 1d through a girl at school and they became that something for me. I bettered my English by watching them talk. I found this community because of them, and I have learned so much from being a part of it. So many wonderful people have touched my life because of them over the years, some I’ve fallen out of touch with and some I hung out with just this month. They—and, by extension, Liam—have made me wealthy in friendship.

Claudia, Ingrid, Mery; Thank you for putting up with my insanely specific demands and making headers for me. Ingrid, you’ve been so patient about teaching me how to gif. Mery, I still have your rec list for learning Spanish saved in my notes app. The TPWK print you gifted me hangs on my wall. Cloudy, do you remember that lineart you made of me? I still have it. You’ve all been so kind to me.

Rafa; You have no idea how much you’ve helped build my confidence as a writer. Lyab is a thing of the past now, but those hours you spent fleshing out the details of that fic are priceless to me. I’d never written anything so ambitious before. And, frankly, I don’t think I would’ve attempted a novel if I hadn’t written a 100k fic—which I couldn’t have done without your encouragement. I think this is my first time telling you I finished the first draft of my novel in September. Thank you <3

Yas; Beloved you are so dear to me. You have shown me such kindness over the years, at times I wondered what I had done to deserve it. Not many people check in with me the way you do. I value your presence in my life beyond words. You have so much love and affection to give, and I’m glad I get to receive so much of it.

If I wrote a personal note to everyone who’s in my life because of Liam we’d be here for hours and hours. Jess, Bella, Alex, Jack, Hayley, Hope, Soni, Kayla, Sara, Arsh, Tina, Ola, Cristal, Kylee, Hana, Ali, Antonise, Clare, Abby, Nina, fnh, mert, people I don’t follow anymore, everyone who’s come into my life because of liam—I love you. Literally every single person I follow should be named here because I wouldn’t even be on this website if it weren’t for 1d. You’re all so special to me.

I still can’t believe Liam is gone. I was at the grocery store and it hit me that it’s real, and I thought, no, there’s no way. It feels so fucking weird having this invisible hole in my life that’s never going to go away. But I’ll always be grateful for everything Liam brought into my life. I know I’ll grow old with a whole bunch of you in my life—I’ve already spent a decade with some of you in my life—and I wish Liam got to grow old and weathered with us all.

This is such an inadequate goodbye. I think I’ll keep coming up with things I wish I could tell Liam, or things I want to say to you all. There’s so much history here, so much to reminisce about. He took a piece of my adolescence with him. I’ll miss him forever. Too many of my memories are intertwined with him and I’ll miss him forever.

Sleep easy, Liam. I hope, in time, you’re remembered for your limitless capacity for love and your desire to do better, be better. You deserved more. 🤍

—————

tagging 1d people here because i know many blogs aren’t active on a regular basis. apologies if i missed someone (i’m sure i did). hugs for everyone

@1dclowns @hrrytomlinson @sandiazucar @fookinfreezin @hoeranghae @wlwmermald @tomlinsun @epubgf @heyangel @fireproofs @90sgrungelouis @lirry @iconichalo @itsnotreal @aquickstart @roguecurls @harryscuddles @hoteyelinerguy @babyy-honey @goldencereza @kindathoughtprovoking @kindofsharethat @fuchsiasea @queerbloodyangel @tofiveohfive @aboutmetamorphosis @wastelandbabyblue @delicatepointofview @twentybiqueen @girlcrushau @chaoticsue @chimnation @akasakasads @icouldbeluckyagain @alloutshirt @half-lightl @halohamilton @willowfey @meltedwings @softandslow @loustyles @onedirectiom @pop-punklouis @pridesobright @finexbright @femstyles @baawree @iamnathanscott @avocadolouie @userautumn @niallerer @itsnothesameasitwas @usignedupforthis @svpportive @svncourt

[coco-loco-nut]

Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?

Pairing: None

Summary: Being a woman in F1 has it's challenges, especially when you are constantly seen as a threat

A/n: McLaren history revision, actually, a lot of it might not make complete logical sense, just ignore that. i’m not great at angst

requests open masterlist ttpd masterlist

_________

You've scared everyone in the F1 world since you started driving in 2014 for McLaren, more dominant than Max Verstappen, the only driver other than Lewis Hamilton to challenge you. Your aggressive driving style and ability to get the most out of your car has lead you to three championships. Men don’t like that.

You are in a bit of a slump this year after moving to Mercedes, not having won one of the first three races, but you are poised for attack, ready to take your place at the top.

“Daddy, who’s that?” you hear a little girl ask as you walk to the paddock.

“Y/n L/n, we don’t like her,” his fragile masculinity practically yells the comment into your ears. With a smirk you look at the pair, walking over and bending to the little girls level.

“What’s your name?” you ask, your voice bordering on being sickly sweet.

“Sarah,” she squeaks, eyes wide with fascination. You remove your team hat and pull out a sharpie from your pocket, signing your hat.

“Don’t let any man tell you you can’t be better than the boys. You can do anything, you’re a girl,” you smile, putting the hat on her head. You wave over your assistant. “Get her sizes and buy her some team gear, charge it to me,” you tell the assistant, who eagerly nods. Of course, the F1 social team caught the incident and posted it.

“Y/n! How does it feel to be in a slump, as some are calling it? Some fans are even calling you washed. Quite sad isn’t it,” one reporter asks.

“You guys keep saying I am in a slump, or I’m being replaced by younger drivers. My bare hands paved their paths, you don’t get to tell me about sad. If you wanted my career to be dead so bad, you should’ve just said so,” you roll your eyes. Nothing makes you feel more alive than driving, but annoying the media is a close second.

“What about your move to Mercedes next year? Why switch?” another reporter asks. Couldn’t you just get to your motorhome without being hounded by reporters for once?

“It was a mutual decision, it was time for us to part,” you walk away, reflecting on the last few months.

You hadn’t planned your exit from McLaren to Mercedes, the scandal regarding your exit being contained by NDAs. You had punched one of the engineers who made a sexist joke at your expense. You promptly decided you didn’t want to be there anymore, especially when they didn’t fire the engineer.

“I feel bad that this is how it has to happen,” Zak said at the end of last season.

“You don’t get to tell me you feel bad, if you actually did he would’ve been fired and I wouldn’t have to leave,” You told him, visibly upset.

“It was one joke and he was reprimanded. You don’t have to leave,” Zak says, you sharply inhale.

“It wasn’t one joke. It had been ongoing for years, it’s a wonder it took me this long to break. What did you want me to do? Laugh until I cry?” you asked Zak, who seemed shocked.

“Then I truly am sorry, I’ll launch an investigation to see why it wasn’t reported to me before. You will have always have a friend here,” Zak tells you, a small comfort.

“Thank you,” you give him a small smile. You spend the whole offseason steeling yourself and working to be the best driver you can be. You stayed longer at the gym and sent more time on the sim.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Daniel asked one day over a glass of wine, he’s known you since you both were karting, and he’s watched you spiral the past few years. Daniel is your best, and one your few friends.

“It’s so hard being a woman in F1. I am a completely different person than I was before I joined,” Daniel doesn’t comment, he knows you felt like a caged animal so you acted like one.

“Why did you leave McLaren?” Daniel asks, knowing you wouldn’t leave unless there was a good reason.

“I signed an NDA, so you can’t share any of this. After I started at McLaren, an engineer was hired who would say sexist remarks all the time. Over time I stopped being nice and just got mean back, and I finally snapped. I gave him a nice right hook to his face,” you sip the wine, giving the shortened version. “Zak didn’t know, no one had reported the engineers behavior, so we signed NDAs and I left.”

“I’m sorry, That plus the media circus of being a woman in F1 can’t be easy,” Daniel sympathizes.

“That’s why I forced myself to be like this. If I can make myself seem untouchable, it doesn’t hurt as much. Being the villain is easier,” you tell him.

“So how will you approach Mercedes?” Daniel keeps you talking, knowing you need a good trauma dump.

“Lay low for the first couple weeks, let the drivers think they took out my claws, hung me to dry. It won’t be enough to ruin my season, but enough to catch them off guard. During the fourth or fifth race, I’ll leap from my gallows and crash their party, exposing the sexism within Formula One,” you smirk.

“The old ‘who’s afraid of little old me’ tactic,” he smiles, enjoying your plan.

“They should be afraid,” you say, explaining your interview with Suzie that is going to break the internet, after all, the NDA only kept you from talking about the punch.

Just like you predicted, the media and fans were divided. Some called for a public apology from McLaren and the FIA for the treatment of female drivers, most called you over dramatic, and said you only wanted to attention to distract from your poor performance and waning stardom. They said not everything is about you and the people who hurt you didn’t do it to hurt you.

You wanted nothing more than to argue back and show the media and fans just how disturbed they had made you, but Toto told you to let your driving do the talking. That race you said one thing to the media, “you wouldn’t last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.”

“Chills, your interview was phenomenal. Thanks for citing me as one of your biggest supporters by the way. Scooch over, let’s see what insecure men are tweeting,” Daniel hands you a glass of wine and sits beside you on your couch, air playing his phone screen.

“I like that one, I’m always drunk on my own tears,” you laugh. Daniel logged into his spam account, letting himself reply to the haters.

“I like this one. Y/n L/n is the kind of person to sue you for stepping on her lawn,” Daniel laughs.

“The reply is better: she’s fearsome, wretched, and most importantly, wrong,” you both think of a funny reply.

You show up to the track and win, and win, and win, until you are holding the trophy for your fourth world championship.

In your post-championship interview with the F1 media team, you make what may be your biggest announcement yet.

“In the wake of people calling me crazy after sharing my experiences as a woman in motorsport, I’d like to make a very special announcement. I am who I am because you trained me to be like this, so to make sure no other girl has to go through what I did, I will be sponsoring two F1 Academy drivers with added mentorship and sponsorship opportunities. I’ve seen the work that Susie Wolff has done, and I cannot wait to help grow the presence of women in motorsport,” you say, sitting beside Susie.

“We will make sure she doesn’t terrorize the girls too much,” she jokes at your request.

“Who’s afraid of little old me?”

[bandsofmarv]

Cutting Ties (Ghostface Bucky)

Bucky becomes dangerously obsessed with you even going as far as eliminating those around you.

warnings - murder, obsession.

The first time you noticed him, you thought it was just a coincidence. A dark figure at the edge of your vision as you walked home from the coffee shop. A fleeting shadow that seemed to disappear the moment you turned around.

Brooklyn was always alive with people, even at night, so you chalked it up to paranoia. But it wasn’t long before the coincidences became harder to ignore.

A knock at your apartment door late at night. No one there when you checked.

Your name written in the condensation on your bathroom mirror.

The faint feeling of being watched, even in your own home.

And then the killings started.

The first victim was your coworker, a sweet woman named Rachel who’d always made an effort to check in on you. You found out through the news the next morning. Stabbed in her apartment. No sign of forced entry.

The police called it random, but you knew better. Rachel had just been at your apartment two nights before, sharing wine and gossip. She’d been your only real friend in the city.

Her death left you shaken. But the city didn’t stop, and neither could you.

A week later, it was your neighbor, Marcus. He’d offered to help fix your leaky faucet the night before he was found in the stairwell, his throat slit.

The pattern was impossible to ignore now. Everyone who got close to you seemed to end up dead.

That’s when you saw him.

It was late, and you were walking home from work. The streets were unusually quiet, a thin fog rolling in from the river. The air felt heavy, suffocating.

And then you saw the figure at the end of the street.

Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a black cloak, the Ghostface mask gleaming white under the streetlights. He didn’t move, just stood there, watching you.

Your heart pounded as you froze, clutching your bag like it could protect you.

“Who are you?” you called, your voice shaking.

He tilted his head, the mask turning slightly as if amused by your fear.

When he finally took a step forward, you bolted.

————————————————————————

You spent the next week barricading yourself inside your apartment, refusing to answer the door or your phone. Sleep was impossible. Every creak, every shadow set your nerves on edge.

But no matter how hard you tried to shut the world out, you couldn’t escape him.

A package arrived at your door one morning. No return address. Inside was a single black glove and a note scrawled in messy handwriting:

“You don’t need anyone else. You have me.”

Your stomach twisted, bile rising in your throat. This wasn’t random. He was obsessed with you.

The next time you saw him, it was in your apartment.

You woke up to find him standing at the foot of your bed, the Ghostface mask blank and staring. You couldn’t even scream, your body frozen in terror.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, his voice muffled by the mask. Low, gravelly, almost familiar.

“Who are you?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He reached up, slowly pulling the mask away.

Your breath hitched.

“Bucky?”

James Buchanan Barnes—your quiet, brooding neighbor who always seemed to linger a little too long in the hallway. The man who had offered to carry your groceries up the stairs, who had fixed your squeaky door without you asking.

“I’ve been protecting you,” he said, his blue eyes soft but unrelenting. “They didn’t deserve you. None of them did.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your face. “You killed them… Rachel, Marcus… Why?”

His expression darkened, the softness replaced by something far more dangerous.

“They were getting in the way,” he said simply. “You don’t need anyone else. I’ve been here the whole time. For you.”

You tried to scramble out of the bed, but he was faster, his Vibranium arm pinning you in place.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and almost pleading. “I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you. But I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

The days that followed blurred together. Bucky didn’t leave. He stayed in your apartment, always watching, always nearby. He cooked your meals, cleaned up after himself, even smiled at you like none of this was horrifying.

But the mask stayed, perched on the table like a silent reminder of what he was capable of.

You tried to escape once, when he was in the shower. But the moment you opened the door, he was there, dripping wet and furious.

“Don’t make me lock you in,” he warned, his grip on your wrist firm but not painful. “I don’t want to do that.”

You realized then that there was no reasoning with him.

Bucky Barnes wasn’t just a broken man. He was completely unhinged. And you were his obsession.

One night, as he sat across from you at the table, you decided to speak.

“Why me?” you asked quietly.

He tilted his head, considering the question.

“You were kind,” he said after a long pause. “The only person who looked at me like I was more than… this.” He gestured to his Vibranium arm, his lips curling into a bitter smile. “I couldn’t let you slip away like everyone else.”

“Bucky,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice calm, “this isn’t love. This is—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted sharply, his jaw tightening. “Don’t say that. I love you. I’ve done everything for you. I’ve made sure no one else could hurt you.”

You didn’t have an answer for that. What could you possibly say to someone who believed their obsession was love?

All you knew was that you had to find a way out. Before he decided that even you weren’t enough.

[veala2]

“ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴇɴᴀɴɪɢᴀɴꜱ.”

☀︎ luffy, zoro, sanji, ace, sabo. ☀︎

SYNOPSIS - Some mornings are the same, some change for the better or the worse. But being with your boyfriend will always be something different. And definitely something stupid. ft. Izou in Ace’s!

CW - nothing but silliness and fluff, as per usual. gn! reader, mentions of throwing up (as a joke), some perverted- ness (sanji), and that’s it.

A/N - when I tell you this idea was so random. My aunt gave me this idea after telling me about how she almost died on her own acid reflux when she woke up. Anyways, enjoy!

Holy SHIT when I tell you how messy this man’s morning routine is, it.. well, it won’t shock you ‘cause it’s Luffy.

The moment you open your eyes, you're hit with Luffy snoring, drooling, and hot breath right up in your face.

Not to mention he’s practically turned himself into a pretzel cuddling you. You have to detangle your stretchy boyfriend every morning.

He wakes up, confused on how he managed to get on the floor.

A series of giggles followed in pursuit of Luffy gargling mouthwash in his mouth, proceeding to then shoot it out like a spray bottle into the sink. Whether day or night, your goofy boyfriend always did manage to make you laugh.

“Luffy! You got mouthwash all over the sink!” You said, trying to stay serious, a smile on your face despite your efforts to scold him. He shot you back a toothy grin. A shiny grin, you threw in, from all the cleaning you forced him to endure.

“Wasn’t my fault. My tongue felt like it was on fire!” He retorted, sticking his tongue as if to show legitimate fire, hot and blazing.

The night before, your boy feasted himself on the meat of an extremely large animal he caught. He gobbled the thing down, and it was too little too late before you realized how rank his breath was from it.

He passed out, leaving you exasperated and annoyed.

“Well, captain, next time brush your teeth before you head to bed. Your breath reeked, it’s a miracle I’m still alive right now.” You retorted, pinching his round cheeks. Luffy let you stretch his face out and play around with his features, causing you to giggle. Letting go, you place a chaste kiss on his lips, before going back to brushing your own teeth.

“But… you can get away with it this time ‘cause your cute.”

Zoro is a late sleeper and an early riser on most days. But, when Nami say’s the skies are clear and there isn’t a single marine in sight, he will take this slim opportunity to sleep in for hours.

When you wake, you're not greeted with his face. Rather, his sculpted back and a strong arm around your torso that he kept for the entire night.

He snoozes into his pillow, face first. As if he’s completely dead to the world.

Well… there have been times you thought so.

Literally.

Rays of the morning sun hit your face as you wake up from a night of well deserved rest. Being a pirate is a tiring and thankless lifestyle, so a night’s rest feels like heaven. You think this, silently laughing to yourself as you slept next to the ‘king of hell’, ironically enough.

Zoro’s out cold. His effortless back on prominent display, embraced by the sun’s glow.

You smile to yourself, admiring his features that aren’t so obviously impressive to some. Surprisingly, you couldn’t hear any snoring from the swordsman. Almost as if he was actually dead…

“Zoro… honey, wake up.” You whisper, hands grabbing both of his shoulders to wake him. He give’s no response in return, causing you some worry. “Zoro, c’mon, it’s time to get up.”

Yet again, nothing. The worry was starting to take over, so you leaned down to check for any signs of him breathing. In the blink of an eye, your swordsman boyfriend lifts his upper body up, knocking you in the nose.

“Yawn, ‘morning. Babe, what are you doing holding your nose like tha-“ Before he could finish the question, he was greeted by you with a loving pillow to his face.

At the start of your relationship, the idea of being near you all the time already made him all heart- eyed and cheerful. So, when you suggested sleeping in the same bed, this man was over the moon and beyond!

He’d stay as still as a plank, not wanting to move or disturb you in your realm of slumber.

Sanji would be so happy, he’d make you bed in breakfast when you woke up!

Now that the two of you have been together for a while, he’s gotten used to cuddling you and being the big spoon.

But, that doesn’t stop him from surprising you now and then.

“Sanji, you really don’t need to keep doing this.”

You say to him, as if it would stop him from setting the lovingly decorated tray in front of you with a giddy smile.

“Nonsense! I insist on taking care of my precious partner. A man can show his love in many ways, and I’m no ordinary, greasy and gross man. Mine is just a fraction of what I can do for you, my love!”

His proclamation of love made your cheeks turn red, a dreamy sigh escaping your lips. It didn’t take you long after your relationship with Sanji started that you realised you were in for the long haul. Through thick and thin, young and old, the strawhat chef is honestly and inexplicably in love with you.

He sat beside you, placing his head on your shoulder and sighing lovingly. You brought a spoon up to your mouth and took the first bite, eyes lighting up.

“Wow,” you gasped, “you remembered my favourite breakfast!” You happily munched down on the hot meal, cheeks stuffed and nose hit with the delicious aroma. “You tend to remember all my favourite things, huh?”

“Of course! I know your favourite meals, favourite smells, music, clothes… under garments. Like your favourite underwear you’re wearing right now-“

“SANJI!”

It’s a 50/50 chance with your hot boyfriend if your morning is gonna be filled with passionate kisses, cuddling, maybe some extra time in bed…

Or having him come back from an early morning mission, stinky and sweaty (like his brother), and absolutely, positively, drool all over you.

Unfortunately, you let it slide. ‘Cause he’s a hottie with an even hotter body.

Nevertheless, there are some days when you just want to kick him out and get a couple hours of sleep without the need of throwing up yesterday’s dinner. Thatch would be pissed!

“I’m telling you, Izou, he just keeps doing it! Next time it happens, and I smell it-” You stop yourself, before bringing a free hand up to make a slashing motion near your neck. The sniper got a quick chuckle out of that.

“Precisely the reason pirates should avoid intimate relationships.” He stated, taking a sip of his morning tea. You scoffed.

“Well, that’s boring. And besides, it’s no use on me, his puppy- dog eyes always bring me back to why I love him.” You sigh. As if on cue, your goofy boyfriend comes bursting through the door. Scratches on his face and body, in one hand he carries a large bag of jingling gold, and the other hides behind his back.

“Baby! I’m back from my mission, hope I didn’t keep you waiting! Oh, ‘morning, Izou.” He greets you and his friend. You pout, looking at his muddy and dirty outfit.

“Hope you don’t expect to come back to bed with me like that.” You mumbled, taking a sip of your drink. Planting a kiss on your head, he gets down on one knee and looks you in the eye.

“I know you don’t like it when I come home dirty, and I promise I’ll try my best to clean up for you. On my way back, I passed by a hill and thought you might like this.”

Ace pulls out a bunch of pretty flowers, making you gasp. You couldn’t help but feel cheery, smelling the flowers and giving him a big ‘ol smooch. Izou tsk’s and walks out of the kitchen.

“Kids these days.”

You wouldn’t guess it by looking at him, but Sabo takes pretty good care of himself.

His seamless, flawless skin is not entirely genetic. The countless skincare products scattered among his bathroom sink is the answer to that question.

Didn’t take long for you to start using it as well, leaving him to catch you in the act. He’d come busting through the door like SWAT when you put on his moisturiser.

They were just sitting there, ready to be used! Was this really your fault, though? Sabo definitely thinks so.

Like thunder, the mahogany door slammed open, leaving you to scream and jump. You turn your head, eyes wide and freightened. Not at the thought of who it might be. Oh, no. Rather, who you already know and what he might do.

“I knew it! Love, you gotta stop using my products, I’m running out twice as quickly and it’s a bitch to get more.” He sighs, eyebrows furrowed, already grabbing a towel to wipe down your wet face.

He gently ran the fluffy material all over your face. Making sure to not poke your eyes. Even when your boyfriend is mad at you, he can’t help but take care of you. Kind of weird considering he was trying to be mad at you, getting a chuckle out of you.

“I’m sorry, hon. I just felt really gross when I woke up, and thought how nice everything you have looked.”

He huffed, puffing his cheeks out and placing his hands on his hips. You couldn’t help but laugh again, grabbing his face and placing a long kiss on his cheek.

“‘Tell you what, I’ll go out today and get you more stuff. And, I’ll keep buying you this stuff if you let me use it. We got a deal, sweet thing, mr. love-of-my-life?”

Sabo sighed, grabbing you by the waist and giving you a proper kiss.

“Sure, baby, sure.”

[lordgrimoire]

Alright a little thing.

It’s not the Justice League that comes to help Danny protect Amity Park after Pariah Dark is felled, well not technically the League.

The new Ghosts that walk the streets, that spar with the living and dead, that haunt the Fenton Portal in such numbers that the town approved an expansion for the Fentons’ Lab. These Ghosts are Kryptonian, Martian, Thanagarian, they Gail from every world with a concept of protection and kindness, they wear the colors and uniforms they served in while alive, whether that be with the crests of Kryptonian houses, Thanagarian warriors, or the Martian Military. They all now bear Phantom’s seal, and it’s during one of Phantoms attempts to get away from Superman somewhere above Pennsylvania that Superman meets one such warrior.

——————————————

The field he follows Phantom into is marred only by the Ghost Boy’s impact crater, he hadn’t meant to hit him that hard but anything less would not have stunned him.

“Surrender Phantom, there’s no where to run.” The boy looks terrified as he scrambled to get up, staggering and falling twice.

“No, no I’m sorry please, just, just leave me alone!” Superman approaches, caution in mind as he closes to get the inhibitor cuffs on Phantom, only for a pair of figures appear between them, the taller one, wearing a HAZMAT suit crouches and collects Phantom while the second stubs Superman.

It’s a soldier of Krypton, with matte white painted armor of a militiaman, and the House of El’s crest displayed on their chest. “What? Who are you?”

The soldier turns, and the helmets sight being focused on him gives him pause. “Will you pursue him?” Superman blinks at the question.

“What? Yes, he needs to come to the Watchtower to- URGH” The soldier was faster, Clark realized, faster and better trained. Before Clark could even argue he’d been thrown hard enough to break the sound barrier, and when he twisted in the air, trying to recover, he was smashed again, and he realized they had flown out over the Atlantic.

Who was this guy?

As Superman turned to face the direction he’d last been hit from he noticed that the Soldier hadn’t followed, he was gone, but in his last place was a fluorescent green balloon with a box tied to it. When Clark opened that box on the ground it had two items in it, a patch, obviously a military one from Krypton, and a note.

[Leave the boy be Kal-El, we dead do not take kindly to him being harassed by a government that wants him vivisected]

Clark knew one thing, he had to bring this to the League, and tell them of the Soldier.

[ajortga]

timeless

pairing: wednesday addams x fem reader

word count: 1k+

a/n: originally this was supposed to be a completely different story with a happy ending so if you like reading fluffy stories, maybe skip this one? pls let me know if this makes u sad!!

summary: wednesday visits the room that held all her favorite memories, bringing back a reminder that you two were so close to being timeless.

-

Wednesday didn’t know how she felt so different in this place, even though everything was the exact same.

The room she was in felt cold, empty, unknown. It was like a piece of coal that was once an ember, it was stale. 

It was all so strange, looking around and knowing that everything was like how she’s always seen your room. The way there were fairy lights and vines everywhere, the guitar that Wednesday learned how to play because of you, the random knick-knack animals that hung upon your display case.

She would’ve never felt like what she’s feeling now. That feeling was you, she had always thought your room had brought her so much comfort and a sense of tranquility.

Maybe it was the way she could hear the faint wind chimes when you told her all the things you wrote about in her journal, or the way you turn on your lamp at night, illuminating a soft glow in your room.

Or maybe it was just you.

Everything was the same, except you. And Wednesday tried to convince herself that you weren’t even a part of the room itself, yet some part of her felt as though you were the biggest piece. 

Because why did she feel so empty when she looked around? Why did it feel like a wilted candle that no longer burned?

The braided girl looks where Thing was at, his hand movements sad on your bed. She would’ve rolled her eyes, but she doesn’t feel anything when she sees it, just opens her mouth, “I feel more anxiety when I’m in here than the haunted houses I explore.” 

And though it was lingering, Wednesday knew that your perfume was fading away. Because no longer did your sweaters smell like the sweet musk of your skin and a faint hint of flowers, it smelled washed. 

And sometimes Wednesday wished that your parents had saved unwashed ones for hers, for that it would’ve comforted her when she slept at night now. For that it would've kissed her goodnight like you would’ve instead of Wednesday laying on an empty, cold bed in the days to come.

A deep exhale escapes her lips, her hands cascading over a journal that she knew all too well.

Thing tries to ignore the way Wednesday’s chin quivers as she bites on the inside of her lip, turning away from him to somehow make her feel better. She opens the journal, tons of photos falling out and onto your desk.

Photographs of you and her.

Us, Wednesday thought. It would’ve been us. Our lives against the world.

And instead it was a car against yours.

And it felt like all the spirit that the places those photos had captured were now dead. Wednesday’s heart and feelings were dead. You were dead.

But some part of you was alive somewhere in Wednesday’s heart, and it kept it beating. All these different shards and sides of you were all stored in the souls you knew.

The photograph was wrinkled, and as much as the girl was brought with negativity, your smiling face made it all better. Like you brought the light that she felt when you both were in that photo.

God, you had always found a way to make Wednesday feel the emotions she was so unfamiliar with. The happiness that came with what love was given. She was always an emotionless person.

But now the traces of you linger, and she no longer feels emotionless. Where in the past she would’ve felt the feeling of you. The feeling of happiness, a sense that she was at ease, that you were always there to catch her when she fell.

But she wasn’t there to catch you when you did. And now you were gone, and she was stuck with feeling the emotions she never felt when you were by her side. Stuck with knowing that she had never told you she loved you.

And Wednesday couldn’t handle that thought. In every other lifetime you would’ve been exploring mysteries that were unsolved, sharing unspoken and sacred kisses. 

Wednesday couldn’t bear to know that in this lifetime, it was different. 

Because she wasn’t there when you breathed your last breath, she wasn’t there to comfort you when someone had crashed straight into your car. She wasn’t there to hear your last words, or for you to see her for the last time.

She hated the fact that she slowly saw the people around her move on from their grief. She hated the fact that she was still stuck to you. She hated the fact that people didn’t feel the grief she did, because you deserved everyone staying at your grave till night. Why did other people move on so easily? 

Why didn’t they see you in the eyes of Wednesday?

Everytime she was in bed, she’d turn and see you, nuzzled up to her. Her hands would run through your hair as your lips slightly parted, your peaceful face resting as your cheeks were flushed with warmth. She would pull up the blanket to your neck so she could quietly press her lips to your forehead.

She always found it so endearing.

The reason she fell asleep with a small smile.

Then in the blink of an eye, she’d remember running up to the stretcher, seeing your peaceful face and a cover being draped over you. And this time, she remembered screaming, “It’s not sweet now Y/N! Open your eyes!" The tears that she fought back drizzled down her cheeks.

Wednesday never cried.

"You can't be gone."

For the first time in her life, she was scared. She was terrified. It was no different to how you looked when you might have slept, but oh it did. It terrified her knowing that you were sleeping and not waking up anymore to her brown eyes, to her kisses.

You were so cold, and as Wednesday stares at the journal, she knew it made her her heart cold again too.

“We had so much ahead of us,” Wednesday says, voice raw and a crack hiding underneath. She tucked the journal with your photographs into her bag. It served as a reminder on how your smile looked, and then your smile brought back how your laugh sounded, how your voice sounded, your smell, her memories of you. “We were so close to being forever.”

You two were so close to being timeless.

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM SHREK *  assorted dialogue from the 2001 film, adjust as necessary

two things, okay? shut... up.

you didn't slay the dragon?

some of you may die... but it's a sacrifice i am willing to make.

they judge me before they even know me. that's why i'm better off alone.

how will you kiss me?

that wasn't in the job description!

what is so funny?

let's just say... i'm not your type.

pick me! pick me!

i've got a dragon and i'm not afraid to use it!

now really, it's rude enough being alive when no one wants you, but showing up uninvited to a wedding?

it's a compliment! better out than in, i always say.

you can't tell me you're afraid of heights.

let's do that again!

what's that? it's hideous.

only a true friend would be that cruelly honest!

well, technically, you're not a king.

the battle is won.

so where is this fire-breathing pain in the neck, anyway?

hey, don't look at me. i didn't invite them.

it's on my to-do list!

you're meant to charge in, sword drawn, banners flying!

that's not the point!

huh, celebrity marriages. they never last, do they?

that'll do, [name]. that'll do.

you're going the right way for a smacked bottom.

well, that's not very nice. it's just a donkey.

where are you going? the exit's over there!

i have to save my ass.

what kind of a knight are you?

i was talking about the dragon.

man, this would be so much easier if i wasn't color-blind.

we can stay up late, swapping manly stories, and in the morning... i'm making waffles!

whoa, look at that. who'd wanna live in a place like that?

that... would be my home.

i think i need a hug.

you're a monster!

we were forced to come here!

you know, you're really quite a decorator!

it's amazing what you've done with such a modest budget!

i like that boulder. that is a nice boulder.

you know, not everybody likes onions.

everybody loves cake!

i don't care what everyone likes!

have you ever met a person, you say, "let's get some parfait," they say, "hell no, i don't like parfait."

end of story! bye bye! see ya later!

parfaits may be the most delicious thing on the whole damn planet!

it talks?

i'm not the monster here, you are!

now tell me, where are the others!

eat me!

i've tried to be fair to you creatures, but now my patience has reached its end.

all right then! who's hiding them?

oh you're going to love it there.

men of his stature are in short supply.

it's getting him to shut up that's the trick!

hey, what's your problem [name], what you got against the whole world anyway, huh?

i'll find those stairs.

look, i'm not the one with the problem, okay? it's the world that seems to have a problem with me.

do you think he's maybe compensating for something?

hey, where're you going?

oh man, i can't feel my toes!

take a look at me. what am i?

doesn't that bother you?

man, i like you. what's your name?

you're so wrapped up in layers, onion boy, you're afraid of your own feelings.

there you are, doing it again!

oh... oh this is all my fault.

you can't do this to me! i'm too young for you to die!

you gotta warn somebody before you just crack one off, my mouth was open and everything.

believe me, if it was me... you'd be dead.

i steal from the rich and give to the needy.

man, that was annoying.

i was sent to rescue you.

i'm supposed to be rescued by my true love!

your job is not my problem.

you love this woman, don't you?

i don't want to rush into a physical relationship.

like that's ever gonna happen!

why are you following me?

stop singing!

it's no wonder you don't have any friends!

[poweringthroughthis]

birthday cake | lee sangyeon

nsfw, mature content, mdni

desc: (name) isn't a big fan of his birthdays, so his friends decide to cheer him up with a particularly handsome gift this year.

warnings: oral, rimming, anal s*x, fluff

Birthdays are no easy feat for (name). Between corporate slavery, a horrendous economy and a dead love life, there really isn't much to celebrate. Well, maybe except for his friends. With New constantly reprimanding him for his bad decisions, Changmin being the sweetest guy ever, Juyeon raising his standards in men and Kevin teaching him all the naughty things of the world, (name) appreciated those little troublemakers deeply.

So, despite not being the biggest self-lover on birthdays, the male did expect his friends would, at the very least, come over to his place, watch horror movies and build pillow forts as they bitch about anyone and everyone. Being far away from family made (name) cherish the boys' efforts all the more.

However, with no one even replying to his texts, let alone showing up at his apartment, he was more than a bit confused. The male was just about to call New and demand the reason behind their sudden silence when the doorbell rang.

(name) was more than relieved to hear the chime and was quick to open the door, not wanting the person to ring it again. The man's mouth opened, a bright smile already on his lips but before any words could leave him, a cake was shoved into his face and his vision was obstructed by the sugary mess.

The male was still blinking in surprise when the candles were blown off and someone clapped happily, a voice exclaiming, "Happy birthday!"

(name) finally managed to pry the cake away from his eyes, looking at the group of four that stood before him. They were all holding gifts and smiling widely at him.

"You're here," he mumbled, not even bothering to hide the happiness in his voice.

"Of course," Kevin exclaimed, stepping inside the house and taking off his shoes. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I'm surprised you guys are here, to be honest," the birthday boy mumbled, still wiping the icing from his eyes and nose.

"And why is that?" Changmin asked.

"You weren't answering your phones."

"Oh, those..." Juyeon mumbled, looking at the other three for a brief second before continuing. "We left them in the car. You know how the signal sucks here."

(name) nodded. He didn't believe a word of it. "And who brought the cake?"

"Me," the black-haired male replied. "You said you loved that cheesecake so I decided to surprise you."

"Thank you, Chanhee." (name) smiled.

"No problem, dude. Now let's go and open your gifts!"

"Yes, please. I have a present too and I've been dying to give it to you!" Juyeon added excitedly, pushing past his friends and into the house.

The others followed him, leaving their shoes at the door.

(name) was feeling like the happiest person alive. His friends came to visit, brought him gifts and baked a cake for him. They didn't have to, but they did it anyway.

Chanhee noticed (name) and gave him a small smile. "It was a pretty last minute decision. Sorry, we couldn't do better."

"I think this is already amazing," the male replied, mirroring the other's smile.

"Hey! Stop flirting and get your asses in here," Juyeon called out.

Chanhee rolled his eyes. "We should go and stop him before he does something stupid."

The younger one nodded, following his friend into the living room.

They did all that (name) had envisioned. Watching horror movies(The Amityville franchise this year), eating the cake Chanhee baked and talking smack. Like clockwork. The smile didn't leave (name)'s face the entire night. A few drinks in and the guys were still sober, but way more relaxed.

"Guys, I have to say something." (name) began, the boys turning around to look at him with fond smiles on their faces.

"Thank you. Thank you for doing this every year. And on days when it's not even my birthday. Life is a lot less shittier because I have you all."

Perhaps it was the soju talking, but (name) felt like he needed to make it known how grateful he was for his boys.

"Aww you cutie, c'mere.." Kevin cooed at the male, making kissy faces as he tackled him into a hug, the birthday boy yelling for him to get away.

"Ewww cringe!" Chanhee fake-gagged as he made a disgusted expression.

"Shut up, Chanhee. We know you're the biggest crybaby deep down" Changmin shushed him.

"I think it's time to give you your gift," Juyeon whispered into (name)'s ear, his hot breath sending shivers down (name)'s spine.

"O-okay."

Juyeon smiled, standing up and walking towards the door, leaving (name) confused. Why didn't Juyeon bring the gift inside with him initially? He glanced over at the others who were looking into space, avoiding his gaze. Alert number 1.

"I swear to god y'all if this is something stupid like last ti-"

"Hello."

(name) stopped dead in his tracks as a deep, matured voice interrupted him. He turned around to see: Lee Sangyeon. His very attractive, very charming and very well-spoken neighbor, though (name) had barely exchanged anything past normal greetings with the man.

"So, remember how we were late? We were hastily searching for a good gift shop as the old one recently closed, and ran into this guy who was kind enough to help us navigate to a new one. Guess who it was?" Juyeon explained the last bit in a sing-song voice. "Exactly! Sangyeon hyung."

"And when we left for the same way, we talked a little more and realized he's your neighbor! What a small world." Changmin added.

Hyung? Damn Juyeon and his extroverted nature. And yes, Changmin, (name) is well aware of his hot neighbor. Thank yew. He's been purposely treading carefully around him in order to NOT make a fool of himself, which you've kinda defeated the whole point of?!

"Happy birthday! I hope you don't mind me. I was free and your friends insisted I join." Sangyeon offered a charming grin.

"Thank you. And ,N-no, no, not at all! I don't mind. Please, feel free to join anytime you'd like. I mean-" (name) rambled.

"Oh boy. I knew he was gonna shit himself" New sighed.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. It's kinda cute. YOU'RE kinda cute." Sangyeon chuckled, and if the sound of it didn't send an electric jolt down (name)'s spine.

"So are we done yet or..?" Kevin yawned, leaning onto the couch. Everyone scurried off back to their places in the living room, continuing the movie they'd paused to drink. For a while, the boys made small talk with Sangyeon, (name) getting to know the man better. As time passed, they all became increasingly sleepy, but (name) and Sangyeon hardly ceased talking to each other, now cuddled up with each other. They clicked rather well.

"So, I think there's one last gift left. For both of you." Chanhee smirked.

"I agree," Sangyeon whispered.

Before (name) could blink, he was pulled into a warm embrace and his lips met Sangyeon's. It was gentle, yet firm, and (name) felt like he could die and be satisfied. The latter tasted of sweet wine, and the older's scent filled his senses as he pulled him closer, a soft sigh escaping him. Sangyeon's lips were soft and warm, and his tongue moved confidently against his own, making (name)'s toes curl.

As Sangyeon pulled back, a smile appeared on his face. (name) had been crushing over him for 2 weeks now. So is it safe to assume his feelings are somewhat reciprocated?

"How was that?" Sangyeon asked, his fingers stroking (name)'s hair.

"Amazing.." the latter breathed.

"I'm glad." The elder smiled, a soft chuckle escaping him. "Well, I hope you had a good birthday."

"Yes, and I have you to thank for it."

"Then perhaps we should do this again?"

"Definitely."

And (name) was sure his heart was about to burst with joy.

"Ahem."

New's voice caught their attention.

"Sorry for the interruption but it's getting late and we should leave," he announced, gesturing at the other 3 who were already gathering their belongings.

"Alright. You guys have fun and behave yourselves." Kevin grinned, bidding them a goodbye.

(name)'s eyes widened. "Yeah, bye Kevin!" he offered a tight-lipped smile, mouthing "I.will.Kill.You", knowing fully well it must have been the Canadian's idea to pull this stunt. "You needed this babe" Kevin whispered in the other's ear. "Thank me later", he left after blowing (name) a kiss, Chanhee and Changmin dragging him.

"Sangyeon, we hope we can see you around soon." Juyeon said.

"Definitely."

The birthday boy's eyes met with Sangyeon's, and (name) didn't miss the way the man's pupils dilated. He wasn't alone in his feelings.

"Happy birthday, again." The eldest of the 4 leaned forward and placed a tender kiss on (name)'s cheek, the gesture sending warmth throughout his body.

The moment the 4 left, (name) plopped onto the couch, still dazed from what had transpired.

"They really thought of everything."

"It seems so."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes, very."

"Good, that's what matters."

"Can I...can I kiss you again?"

"Of course."

Sangyeon cupped his cheeks, bringing their lips together. It was gentle and slow, yet there was a hint of hunger behind it.

"I've been thinking about this for a long time," Sangyeon admitted, his thumb brushing over (name)'s bottom lip.

"So have I."

"That's good to know."

The eldest captured (name)'s lips again, this time with more urgency. He sucked on his bottom lip, drawing a low moan from him. The sound spurred Sangyeon on, and his tongue slipped into the younger's mouth, eliciting another moan.

"I'm not quite finished yet. There are many other things I'd like to do to you."

"Such as?"

"You'll just have to wait and see."

The next thing (name) knew, he was being lifted up, the male's legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. Sangyeon carried him to his room, and the two fell onto the bed in a heap of tangled limbs. Their lips met again, the kiss becoming more passionate and urgent.

"Do you want me to keep going?" Sangyeon whispered against his lips, his fingers brushing the younger's cheek.

"Yes, please," (name) whined.

The older one wasted no time and started undressing the male beneath him. After he had stripped him down, the two kissed some more, their hands roaming each other's bodies.

"I'm going to make you feel good," Sangyeon breathed against his ear, his fingers trailing down his abdomen, causing him to shiver.

(name)'s eyes widened as the elder stood up and stripped down his lower half, his thick member on full display. The birthday boy swallowed nervously, his cock throbbing at the sight.

"You're already so hard." (name) breathed.

The latter was about to apologize, but his words were caught in his throat when he felt a wet heat envelope his length. He couldn't hold back a moan as he threw his head back.

(name) continued to suck on his length, eliciting a chorus of moans from the elder.

After a few minutes, Sangyeon hurriedly pulled (name)'s mouth away, biting his lips to stop himself from cumming.

"Mmh, I think you're ready," Sangyeon mumbled, and (name) let go of his member, wiping his mouth with his hand.

He reached the hem of the birthday boy's underwear, tugging it down. The cool air of the room caused the latter's member to twitch, and Sangyeon smiled. He laid (name) down face first on the bed, spread out. Kneeling between the younger's legs, he leaned down and spread his ass cheeks apart using his hands, licking his lips at the sight of the male's pink, puckered hole.

(name) gasped as he felt the wet heat of the elder's tongue circling his entrance. He gripped the sheets tightly as he felt the sensation of being stretched.

The younger male could only moan in response, the feeling of being penetrated by the elder's tongue was intoxicating. He could feel his orgasm approaching, and he arched his back, pressing his hips against Sangyeon's face.

"It's your birthday, but i'm the one eating the cake," the elder chuckled, and (name) whimpered, feeling the latter's tongue slide in deeper.

"Oh fuck," he moaned, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

Sangyeon continued to fuck (name) with his tongue, and the younger male couldn't help but cry out in pleasure.

"I-I'm gonna cum," (name) whined.

"Go ahead, baby," the elder encouraged, and the younger male could only gasp and shudder as his orgasm ripped through him.

Sangyeon sat up and grabbed the bottle of lube on the bedside table. He squirted a generous amount onto his palm and spread it over his length.

"Ready, baby?"

"Yes, please," (name) nodded, spreading his legs wider.

Sangyeon lined himself up with the younger's entrance and pushed inside, eliciting a loud moan from the younger.

"F-fuck, you're so tight," the elder moaned, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Feels so good," (name) panted.

The elder started to thrust in and out of the younger male, and the latter could only moan in response.

"You feel so good around me," Sangyeon moaned, and (name) could only whine in response, his eyes rolling back in pleasure.

The older one leaned over, capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

The elder started thrusting faster, the sound of their skin slapping filling the room.

"Fuck, I'm close," the elder moaned, his eyes screwed shut.

"M-me too," (name) gasped.

Sangyeon gripped the younger's hips tighter and increased his pace, causing the latter to moan loudly.

"Fuck, I'm cumming," the elder growled, and he spilled inside the birthday boy.

"Holy shit," (name) breathed, his orgasm rippling through him.

The elder pulled out, the latter's cum coating the tip of his cock.

"Happy birthday to you," Sangyeon breathed, leaning down to kiss the birthday boy.

(name) sighed contently. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Making my birthday special."

"I'll make every birthday special, if you'll let me," the elder smiled, and the two kissed once more.

When the 4 were far away, New's voice broke the silence.

"Hey Juyeon.."

"Yes?"

"Do you think he'll actually thank us for setting him up with his crush?"

"Probably not.." Juyeon answered.

"Should we start running?"

"Yup."

"We're doomed."

"Well, it was worth it."

"Definitely."

"Happy Birthday, (name)." Kevin yelled into the night, wishing nothing but happiness for their friend, as the 4 walked home.

[shadowandlightt]

Of Nightmares and Memories | nine | Azirel X reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

A/N; *to the tune of Britney Spears* OOps I DID IT AGAIN. Also I'm more nervous about this part than I have been for this entire series, so be nice and kind and I hope you enjoy <3

Mor showed up a few days later. She appeared as you were lounging in a chair, attempting to read some random romance novel you’d come across. 

“He’s taking her to The Weaver,” She stated in lue of a greeting. 

“Well then he’s a fool,” You snorted, not looking up from your book. 

“YN,” She warns, “He’s taking her to The Weaver.” 

“Yes I heard you,” you roll your eyes and look up, “What difference does it-” 

You stop upon seeing the look on her face. The worry and the pain hidden there. You swallow the lump in your throat at the sight. She looked at you like you would break at any moment, and maybe you would. Maybe she saw the truth in you. 

“They’re mates, aren’t they?” You question, voice sounding strange. 

She only nods and moves to sit on the couch across from you. You nod slowly in understanding. You wanted to be happy for them, but somehow you couldn’t feel it. Like there was something wrong with you. Like you were broken. 

“I had a feeling,” You tell her, “From the moment she became Fae and he came for her the first time. I had a feeling.”

It was true, you did have a feeling. Something deep within you told you that they were drawn to one another in ways that neither of them could explain. You often wondered if that was the same with Azirel too. If you were secretly mates, you used to pray for it as a child. Because you couldn’t imagine a better mate than him 

To this day you still couldn’t imagine a better mate. But how could he want you now? Mate or not. You’d never have the same relationship that you had before. Nothing would be the same. How could you pretend to be the same person you were when you were taken when everything around you was different? You weren’t sure how you were going to do any of this. 

“Please come home,” Mor begged. 

“I can’t,” You try to keep your voice from breaking, “I can’t go back there.” 

“Why?” She demands, standing from the couch, “Why are you denying yourself this? It’s Valaris! Your favorite place in all the world! You hate being here, you always have.” 

“Maybe I deserve to be here,” You mumble, “Maybe I deserve to be away from all of you.”

“What are you talking about?” She questions. 

“I didn’t try to run when I could have. I gave up. I fucking gave up and accepted my fate there,” You explain, slamming your book shut, “I let myself become Tamlin’s little play thing, I allowed him to strip my powers away. I let him do everything to me and I never fought back.” 

“You never deserved what happened to you,” She shook her head, “I’m not so sure that I wouldn’t have given up either, if I’d been in your shoes.” 

“I spent fifty years thinking all of you were dead.”

“Oh, Y/N.”

“I really did give up then. Because I realized Rhys wouldn’t be able to come for me. Up until that point, up until she took him, I was convinced he would come save me. That all of you would somehow find out I was still alive and come marching into the Spring Court and raze it to the ground.” 

You shake your head, trying to clear the thoughts that were swirling about. Your back ached along the two big scars. Everything about you just hurt. Your skin, your head, your chest, your heart…everything. You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop. 

Mor sat back down and reached over to take your hands in hers. There was nothing but love in her eyes, no sign of the pain that you saw when she first arrived. You want to pull away from her, pull away from the tender touch that reminded you too much of your mother. 

“You survived,” She swore, looking deeply into your eyes, “You made it out. You were brave and cunning and you survived. That’s all that matters now.” 

Your head shakes again, “No, it’s not all that matters. You can’t understand, none of you can.”

“Then help me understand,” She begs, “Help me understand what’s going on. Help me help you.” 

“You can’t help me, Morrigan,” You said, standing up and ripping your hands away from hers. 

You walked to one of the large widows, wondering how bad it would be if you flung yourself from the Palace. How much would it hurt when you crashed into the mountain below? Would it be enough to bring you the release you so desperately craved? Would Mor be able to stop you in time? 

You thought long and hard about it, but in the end you turned away from the window. Hating yourself for even thinking such a thing. It would destroy Rhys to get you back only to lose you again. You couldn’t do that to him. That was the only thing stopping you. 

“Azriel knows we’re hiding something,” She says from her spot on the couch, “I’m not sure how much longer we can hold him off.” 

You nearly cringe at the sound of his name. Cauldron, what is he going to do when he finds out about you? How will he react? Will he even want to be in the same room as you? Will he be able to stand to look at you after everything you’ve done? 

“I don’t care,” You lied, “I don’t give a fuck if he thinks you’re hiding something. You don’t tell him about me.”

“Yes I know, Rhys’ order was very clear,” She rolls her eyes. 

“You should go,” You tell her, “Before they wonder where you are.”

She sighs and gets up from the couch. You can tell she wants to say something else but decides against it. You watch as she disappears into darkness. You finally felt that you were able to breathe once she left. 

You fell deeper and deeper into the darkness as the days went on. The feeling in your chest only got worse with time. You wondered what would happen if you went down to The Hewen City. What would they do if their princess suddenly reappeared after so many years. 

You wondered if they’d kill you, just to spite Rhys. Or if they’d bow down to you like they used to. But then you remembered one of the last conversations you had with Azriel, and how he hated the way so many of the males talked about you and you felt sick. 

Everything surrounding Az seemed to make you feel that way these days. You could feel it deep in your chest, the sort of ache you always seemed to feel whenever you were away from him. After all of these years it still hadn’t subsided. In fact it seemed to be getting worse as each day passed by. Like being back in the Night Court and being so close to him was making it worse. Or maybe it was the fact that the Faebane was finally starting to wear off and your powers were coming back. 

No matter the reason, you weren’t sure that you could go on like this any more. You didn’t know how you could live with the constant ache forever. Because you never planned on going back to Valaris, you couldn’t face the city you loved after what you did. After how you allowed your mother to be killed. She loved Valaris, and loved flying over the city. And it was your fault she was dead, no matter what anyone else said. You were to blame. 

You didn’t expect Rhys to appear several days later. He looked tired. You wanted nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and tell him that it was going to be okay. But even you didn’t believe that. You couldn’t believe that it would be okay. Too much had happened. 

“We’re going to the Summer Court,” He tells you, “Feyre, Amren, and myself.”

“Enjoy.”

“Little Star, tell me what to do,” He begs, stepping closer to you, “Tell me how to help you.”

“I’ll tell you like I told Mor,” You sigh, “You can’t help me.”

“Come back to Valaris, be with your family.” 

Your head shakes. You couldn’t bear to face Cassian and Azriel. Not now, maybe not ever. It’s something Rhys could never understand. He was able to readjust easily after Amerantha. But he hadn’t spent hundreds of years being beaten and mistreated. He wasn’t starved and drugged every day. You couldn't be mad at him, as much as you wanted to be. Because you knew he suffered too. 

“I can’t come back.”

“You keep saying that but you never say why,” he challenged. 

“Because it’s all my fault!” you finally broke, tears streaming down your face, “It’s my fault, Rhysand. She could still be alive if I had just done something. Anything. But I didn’t.”

“If you’re to blame, then so am I,” He countered, “It should be just as much my fault. I told Tamlin where you would be. I’m the one who didn’t come to meet you as I promised, I left you undefended.” 

“It’s not your fault, Rhys,” You felt anger boiling up in you now. 

Because you didn’t blame him. You never did. He had duties to attend to that day, you understood that he couldn’t get away. He trusted Tamlin. The son of spring had him fooled, and that was not Rhys’ fault. Not in the slightest. 

“Then it isn’t your fault either,” He gently argued. 

You can’t help but shake your head again. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. He wasn’t there. He didn’t hear her. He doesn’t see her every time he closes his eyes, he doesn't hear her screams in his nightmares. 

“You don’t understand,” You cried, “She didn’t even beg for herself. Even as they cleaved her wings from her body, she only begged for my life. Begged for them to set me free. Even as they hacked her to pieces, she cried for me.” 

“Y/N-”

“I’ll live with that knowledge forever,” You sob, “Do you have any idea what that’s like? To know that you failed your mother? That she died for nothing, because you are nothing?”

“Don’t say that.”

“Why? It’s true. I have nothing left to give,” You shrug, fighting back the tears, “There’s nothing left for me.”

He surges forward and grabs your shoulders, “Don’t say that. Don’t you even think about it. Never think about something like that. There is so much left for you in this life.”

“It doesn’t feel that way, Rhys,” You feel numb all of the sudden. 

The void is back. And you’re once again a shell of yourself with no fight left to give. You sag against Rhys’ hold on you, wishing you could just crawl back into your bed and forget that this conversation ever happened. 

You wish he would just leave already so you could just disappear within yourself again. You wished he would just leave you alone to waste away. It seemed to be the only thing you could think of doing these days. 

He looks into your eyes and goes silent for a moment. You know the look he has, he’s speaking to someone, mind to mind. You feel anxiety well up within you, because you have no idea who he’s speaking with and what he’s telling them. 

You can only hope that it’s Morrigan and nothing else. You can only hope that he’s trying to ascertain how serious you are about having nothing left. But then shadows ripple in the room, subtly at first, but enough that you realize it. And it’s not you calling to them 

“You promised me,” You cry, hitting his chest, “You fucking promised.” 

��I won’t let you wither away to nothing,” He says sternly, “Not when there’s someone who can stop it.”

The shadows take form. You rip yourself from Rhys’ grasp and try to run but you hardly make it out of the room before the man is then flesh. You know the second he’s here, because you can feel it in your very bones.  Like a song in your blood. You try to keep moving but your body betrays you and stops. You think that maybe he won’t take notice of you. Maybe he’ll be too focused on Rhys. But then you hear footsteps. So hesitant, so light you hardly hear them. 

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, or maybe it’s his. You think you might drop dead here. Right in front of both of them, and then where would they be? Your hands are shaking, just like the rest of your body. But you keep your back towards him, too afraid to turn around. 

A hand reaches for your shoulder. His touch is featherlight, but you can feel his scars through the thin material of your shirt. You knew it was him, long before he touched you. You could smell him better now though. Could feel that void in your chest slowly starting to fill. 

As if his very presence was enough to bring you back to life. 

Hesitantly, he speaks. Voice so silky and deep, just as you remembered it in your dreams. Only now it’s a dream made real, and he’s here. You’re alive and he’s alive and suddenly he’s gently spinning you around to face him. 

There are tears in his eyes as he opens his mouth, “Y/N.”

It’s the only thing you hear as he studies your face. Your lip trembles as tears fall anew. You can feel the air filling your chest, nothing but the scent of him filing your nose. For the first time in years you want to smile, because he’s here. And more devastatingly beautiful than you remembered him being. 

“Az,” you cry out softly. 

He pulls you into his chest, holding you there tightly. For the first time in a couple of hundred years, you felt complete. You nuzzle into him, still crying, getting his leathers wet with your tears. You couldn’t bring yourself to care though, because it just felt right. You could feel it deep within your chest, the part of you that always seemed to connect you to him. 

“You’re alive,” You can hear the disbelief in his voice, and the wonder too.

“You’re alive,” You cry, finally allowing the words to sink in. 

He was alive, after all of these years. He was untouched during Amarantha’s rule. Valaris was untouched. Everyone that you loved was okay, and so were you. Somehow, for the male holding you and your brother, you would fight to be okay. 

He pulls away from you and cups your face. You watch as he looks you over, carefully scanning your body. Any of the lingering bruises from Tamlin had faded away into nothing. There was nothing to prove that anything happened at all besides the two long scars on your back. 

“Y/N,” He whispers again, “Oh my Y/N.” 

Then he leaned in to kiss you and it was as if your whole world shifted to just him. He was the only thing that mattered. Just Azirel. Always only Azriel. Your Azriel. Your perfect, beautiful, scarred Azriel.

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[detachedminxsfics]

Motel

Masterlist

Characters: Negan (Dead City) x F!Reader

Summary: You've grown particularly close with the Motor Inn's personal walker killer and decide to pay his motel room a visit.

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: NSFW - Oral (m receiving), vaginal sex, hair pulling, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, negan's usual foul mouth, gentle dom negan

A/N: If you're from my tiktok (which spawned the chaos that motivated me to finish most of this bc you guys are crazy), hello! This is my first time managing to actually finish and upload a oneshot in months, so I apologise in advance. I was also extremely tired when I wrote most of this, but I hope it was worth the wait for the handful of you bombarding my comment sections for the past 24 hours. 😂 I knew what I had to do the moment I saw that shower scene...like damn.

You downed your third shot of the day before slamming it back down onto the counter and wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, your eyes idly following the neon lights on the sign hung proudly behind the bar. The Easy Stay Motor Inn. It was a shithole. It only served as a way of keeping four walls and a roof over your head, and walkers off your ass. Speaking of, there was only one guy you'd grown particularly fond of during the month you'd spent working for the lady who owns this place and lapping up the amenities of their accompanying motel, Negan. He wasn't from around here, that much you gathered just by taking one good look at him, but then neither were you. You were both drifters. Heading from one place to the next, never staying anywhere long enough to see it through and find out whether it'd go to shit or hold out long enough before eventually falling to pieces. You just kept moving. That mentality had served you well so far and had kept you alive long enough to say that you'd made it well over a decade into the apocalypse now, not that you had much to show for it.

"Want another?" The guy behind the bar asked, half expecting you to agree to it as you had with all the others and making his way over to the bottle of vodka you'd been chipping away at.

"No thanks", you shook your head with a small smile and slid off the bar stool, "I'm gonna go try to entertain myself someplace else, but don't be surprised if I come back and finish that off later." You gestured to the vodka with a tilt of your head, and the certainty in your tone had the bartender smiling.

You headed towards the backdoor that led to the motel out back, the harsh change of lighting making you squint and shield your eyes to adjust for a moment, the dim vivid hues of the neon-lit windowless bar you'd been sitting in for the past hour or two being snuffed out once you stepped into the natural sunlight. Visual disorientation aside, you made your way down the row of motel rooms lined at your side, your interest only lying with the idea of arriving at one motel room in particular, and you stopped in front of the door when you found it. The door was a stark black to match the wooden panels sitting on either side of the window not too far from the right of the door, vines having wrapped around some of the slats in the wood from the overgrowth of shrubbery on the floor beneath it. It was run down and uncared for like just about anywhere else in this world. You tested the handle to see if the door was unlocked and to your surprise, it was. Twisting it fully you pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind you as you began to observe the interior of the room. It was generically decorated like just about any other room in this place, and he didn't seem to have left anything behind for you to snoop through. The room was so empty that if you didn’t know any better you might have thought that he'd moved on already, packed up all his shit and hit the road. You figured that this was on purpose and probably explained why he didn't care too much when it came to keeping the door locked since he didn't have any shit to steal. Smart.

Negan hadn't been around for too long now, in fact, he'd only arrived about a week after you, but he left a lasting first impression. He was useful. He pulled his weight by taking care of any of the walkers that roamed or wandered into the perimeter of the motor inn, and was never bad company on the occasions that he'd sat on the bar stool next to you and made conversation. As time went on you'd gotten closer and more comfortable with one another, and you quickly found yourself noticing that Negan was the one person you'd opened up to the most in the duration of your entire stay here, better yet felt the most comfortable doing so with. Your vulnerability wasn't one-sided, either. He never went into an awful load of detail, but he had a bad past. He wasn't on the run per se, but there was a group of people that he was hoping to avoid the possibility of encountering for the rest of his days, a community that he had a difficult history with. He alluded to what seemed to mostly amount to horrible shit that most people had done by now just to stay alive, the kind of things you see at night when you close your eyes, haunting you from the backs of your eyelids. You paid it no mind, and you told him that too; he seemed to appreciate your lack of judgement. Gradually, the conversations grew more personal and not so casual, things got flirty. It was subtle, but Negan would make small coy comments on things that you say, or little compliments now and again that toed the line a tad too much for what could be considered harmless flattery or him shooting his shot. You were able to keep yourself humble up until the night when he had jokingly mentioned how good your ass looked in your jeans after more than a few drinks, not that he needed it to let you know just how much he was checking you out. Your thoughts were interrupted by the twist of the doorknob and the sight of it being pushed open afterwards, revealing a rather sluggish and slightly dishevelled-looking Negan. Negan had a silver beard that he seemed to keep well-maintained, the hair decorating his top lip thicker than the rest. His dark hair was always slicked, though it seemed to have transitioned to more of an ashy brown over time with grey tinging at the sides of his hair. He was ruggedly handsome, that was for sure. A grin crept onto his lips when he noticed you standing by one of the beds, closing the door behind him and running his hand through his hair, slicking some of the strands that had fallen out of place in the process.

"Just letting yourself into my place now, huh? We graduating from drinking buddies to whatever the hell this is?" He quipped but was amused by how bold you were to just waltz on into his motel room.

"It's not like you don't want me here." You remarked with a knowing smile as you sat on the end of one of the double beds, to which Negan chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, a seemingly small mannerism of his that always drove you wild.

"Touché."

He sauntered to the bed next to you until he stood at the foot of it and started to shrug off his leather jacket with a sigh.

"Well whatever it is honey, it's gonna have to wait. I have been out there cracking rotting skulls for who knows how long, and now I need a damn shower."

The checkered flannel shirt he'd been wearing open underneath it was next, him tossing it on the bed in front of him before his fingers brush over the hem of his black tank top. He glanced at you with the material still pinched between his fingertips, a cocky smile creeping onto his lips as he noticed the way you were shamelessly staring at him and didn't seem to plan on stopping anytime soon.

"You gonna watch me strip now too, darlin'?"

You playfully shrugged and let your eyes wander down his torso, an eye movement Negan most certainly followed judging by the way his smile grew, as did his ego.

"I can turn around if you're too shy, Negan."

The throaty chuckle he let loose was almost immediate, his eyebrows raised as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Me, shy? Fuck no. You can stare your little heart out, and you would most definitely be staring."

Well, you certainly hadn't expected him to take it with such pride, so you caved and turned so you were facing the wall next to the bed. You could hear the sounds of clothes falling against the sheets and the clinking of metal as he undid his belt, and then the zipper on his leather pants.

"You still thinking of sticking it out here for a bit longer? I know last time we spoke you weren't so sure." Negan muttered as he got his pants down to his ankles and started to try to shake his ankles out of them.

You thought for a moment, then sighed a little.

"I think so? I don't know, I'm just trying to go day by day. Why, would you miss me?" Your tone picked up towards the end as did the enthusiasm in your voice, the suggestion making Negan's sudden laughter start in the form of a snort.

"Miss you? Shit, course I would. I'd probably move on from here after that."

You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself unable to form the right words. He made it sound like you were the only reason he was still staying here, and that without you there'd just be no point. You didn't ask him to elaborate though, just silently rolled the thought around in your head.

"Well, time to take that shower. I'll be right back, and I don't know maybe we can grab a drink or some shit afterwards?"

"Sure." You mumbled in response.

After that all you heard was the soft tread of his footsteps as he made his way past you and into the bathroom, then the sound of the water being turned on and beginning to crash against the floor of the shower for a few moments before it became more muffled with Negan's body interrupting the stream, and you turned back to face something other than the blank yellow wall you'd be staring at whilst he was stripping. You did your best to focus on the small details of the room to occupy your head, the peculiar framed pictures decorating some of the walls, and the hideous design choices when it came to the taste of the room, but it was no use. All you could think about was what Negan had looked like underneath all those clothes when he was a mere few feet behind you, and what he looked like right now standing in the shower in the very next room, the image of water droplets trailing down his torso and body making it harder to stay seated with every passing second until you just couldn't take it anymore. You stood to your feet and made your way to the bathroom, standing in the doorway for a moment as you stopped in your tracks. The shower had a sliding door that Negan had slid shut, the distortion of the glass still allowing you to be able to make out the sight of him with his head tilted town and one of his palms pressed up against the wall, and the tattoo decorating his shoulder blade. There was no turning back now, you had made up your mind. You approached the glass and gave it a soft knock, the sound startling Negan a little as he turned and slid the glass just enough for him to lean into the gap he'd made.

"Everything okay?" He asked, concern tinging his voice as he used his other hand to sweep some of the hair that had fallen into his face back in place.

Your only response was the sight of your fingertips grasping the hem of your top before you pulled it over your head, holding the top in your hands for a moment as you gazed at him, trying to gauge Negan's reaction to your now exposed breasts. He seemed taken aback for a moment or two, and then his eyes darkened with lust.

"Can I join you?" You asked, fingers teasingly dancing along the waistband of your jeans as though you could tell by just the look in his eyes that he wasn't going to deny your offer.

He didn't.

"Fuck yeah you can." He rasped with a shit-eating grin, leaning back and pushing the sliding glass all the way open to make room for you to join him.

You stripped until there was nothing left, discarding all of your clothes into a pile on the tiled bathroom floor and stepping into the shower with him. The first thing you noticed was the heat. The steam from the hot water, the heat coming from Negan's body, all of it swarming your body with warmth. Then, him. All of him. From the water droplets falling from the scruff of his beard, the dark hair decorating his chest and trailing down the centre of his torso, and even the skull tattoo inked on the right side of his chest. The man was gorgeous. Your eyes dragged down his body, drinking in every inch of him until you got to the part you'd been anticipating most, but were interrupted. He cupped the underside of your jaw and urged your head back up, his thumb brushing along your chin as the tip of his thumb traced just along the edge of your bottom lip.

"You like what you're seeing, huh?" He seemed to be making more of a statement than genuinely asking, but you entertained him nonetheless.

"A lot." You replied simply, the intense and lustful look your eyes were lit with corrupting your stare as your eyes bore into his.

"Good."

He used the hold on your jaw to guide your lips to his, his lips claiming yours. The hand that had been cupping your chin moved to grasp the nape of your neck, his other hand gripping your hip and drawing your body against his. You could feel him hard against your thigh as he groaned into the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth so you could taste him and his hands keeping you pressed firmly against his body, your own hands beginning to wander from the top of his chest down to his abdomen. The water cascading down his shoulders caressed along your fingertips and down your breasts, the warm water trailing down your body whilst he continued to move his lips against yours until you couldn't breathe, and you were forced to pull back for air. The moment you did Negan dove his head into the crook of your neck and pressed his lips against your pulse point, gently sucking the skin there and occasionally teasing it between his teeth in a way that was sure to leave marks, his beard scratching along your jaw as he did. The attention he paid your neck had your hand rushing up the nape of his neck and into his hair, combing your fingers through the back before taking a fistful of his wet strands. The slight tension on his scalp and the way your breath was shaking right by his ear made him pause for a moment to smile against your skin, a hoarse chuckle following shortly thereafter. The warmth of his breath from the laugh felt hot on your skin, and you used the strands of hair you'd taken in your palm to urge his head back until his face was inches from yours again. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip when you found your voice.

"You've thought about this before haven't you, fucking me?"

His brows raised at your boldness, the corners of his mouth fighting a smile.

"Damn right I have. I'd have to be blind or crazy not to, you are easy on the eyes, darlin'."

"Oh?" You tilted your head as you feigned mock surprise, his eyes looking you over like you were good enough to eat, and you might just let him.

Slowly you leaned in and seductively ran your tongue over his lips, finishing with a small kittenish flick at his top lip before leaning back. You soaked up the wanton look in his gaze when you sank to your knees, your eyes locked with his all the while. Now kneeling on the floor of the shower you reached up and closed your hand around his shaft, the way his breath caught in his throat once he felt your touch giving you the encouragement you needed to lean in and run your tongue over the swollen tip, beads of precum gathering along your tongue as you did. As you licked at it you felt Negan's fingers stroke over your hair before he started to gather it in his hand, all of your hair soon clutched into his fist like a makeshift ponytail.

"Don't be a tease." He warned as he slid his free hand underneath your chin and cupped it, allowing him to use both the grip on your hair and your jaw to urge you forward.

Willingly your lips parted, his cock sliding past your lips and into your mouth.

"Fuuuck, there we go." Negan slurred as he slid further into your mouth, stopping just before he reached your throat.

He grunted once you flattened your tongue on the underside of his shaft and leant forward, bracing one of his hands against the tiled wall of the shower when he lowered his head to look at you.

"Shit, you look so good with a mouthful of cock." He rasped crudely with the dirtiest smile before pushing himself down your throat, and you fought the urge to gag as he did.

He started to move his hips, the motion prompting you to place your hands just above his knees for support whilst he slid in and out of your throat. Soon enough tears began to well in your eyes, the urge to choke too great as you finally gagged on him, the sensation making Negan momentarily screw his eyes shut before sliding out of your mouth. He let you breathe for a moment or two before he was already pushing down your throat again, his groans getting louder and deeper with every thrust.

"Ohh, good girl." He cooed, his sounds of pleasure gradually turning into a blatant string of curses as he repeatedly thrust down your throat, and you shamelessly took every single inch.

Eventually, the movement of his hips got slower, his moans getting louder until finally his hips stuttered and his abdomen began to tense. He tightened his grip on your hair, the harsh grasp burning your scalp, and then you felt the hot wet spurts of warm liquid coating your tongue. You waited until you knew he'd spilt every last drop and then carefully removed him and swallowed his release, your breath a little laboured whilst Negan hovered above you with totally ragged, uneven breath, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to come down from the high of his orgasm. A few tears had escaped your waterline and slid down your cheeks as he fucked your throat, but it had mixed with the occasional stream of water trickling down your face from the shower.

"You did so good, baby. So good." He praised as he finally released your hair from his hand and started gently running his fingers through it instead, his touch soothing some of the pain he'd inflicted upon your scalp.

You stayed like that for a moment just listening to the sound of the water until you felt his hand leave your hair and the sight of him extending it out in front of you for you to take, which you did. He helped you to your feet and wrapped his arm around your waist the second you straightened your back, his mouth crashing against yours and allowing him to taste himself on your lips, the urgency with which he kissed you making you moan into the kiss a little. Whilst he stole your air Negan guided you backwards until your back came to press against the steamy tiled wall, the condensation pooling on the tiles smearing against your skin, and the faint coolness to it making you gasp. You wrapped your arms around Negan's neck to draw him in closer, your hips subconsciously moving to bring your groin against his and allowing his still proudly hard cock to brush against your inner thigh. You broke the kiss to try to regulate your unsteady breathing, leaning back just enough so that your lips were practically still brushing, the hot heavy pants Negan breathed against your lips making you need him all the more.

"Negan?"

"Yeah?"

"I need you inside me."

He couldn't hold back the dangerous look his eyes filled with when you whispered exactly what you needed, an arrogant look in his eye as he leaned back and cockily smiled.

"Your wish is my command, sweetheart. C'mere."

He slid his hands all the way up the backs of your thighs, towards your outer thigh, and then took hold of your hips. The gesture prompted you to do a small jump that allowed Negan to hoist you up and trap you between the wall and his body, your legs wrapped around his waist as his hands moved to cup your ass. In one calculated movement Negan lined himself up and sank inside you, the way you stretched around him eliciting a filthy moan from your lips almost immediately.

"That feel good, baby?" He purred, his voice full of arrogance.

He knew it did, he just wanted to hear you say it.

"Yes, god yes." Was all you could manage as he set a hard and intense pace, drawing all the way out before slamming back inside you, the feeling of fullness with every thrust making your mouth fall open.

One of your hands slid down his chest, his dark chest hair brushing up against your fingers as you did, whilst the other slid up his shoulder and moved to rest on the nape of his neck. His fingers were digging into your skin with the grip he had on you, strands of your hair clinging to the condensation of the tiled walls as you slightly threw your head back, uncontrollable sounds of pleasure spilling from your lips from the way he roughly fucked into you. The overwhelming sensation caused you to idly weave your fingertips in the hair at the top of his neck and run your hands through the back of his hair, occasionally tugging at it when he buried himself especially deep and you could do nothing but squirm in his grip. The water was still running just off to Negan's side, the hot water wasting onto the floor and creating a small pool at his feet. With the way you'd angled your body it allowed him to lean in and lick a stripe up the valley between your breasts, your skin feverishly hot against his tongue as he gathered some of the water droplets and left nothing but a trail of spit before beginning to kiss up your throat. He littered your neck with kisses, moving his affections to the side of your neck before planting a few kisses along your jaw, his stubble scratching along the side of your face all the while. It felt like heaven. You couldn't think about anything other than his touch, the way his mouth shamelessly marked your skin, the sounds of his heavy breath and the guttural groans spilling from his throat like music to your ears. By this point your sweet moans grew to resemble sobs, your legs slightly shaking in his hold as Negan thrust into you over and over, and a feeling started to burn in the pit of your stomach unlike anything you had ever felt before.

"Negan." was all you managed to choke out, practically in the form of a cry.

All you felt was his lips claiming yours, and the occasional parting of your lips just enough for him to whisper into the kisses.

"I got you, I got you, baby." He swore over and over, his gentle reassurance paired with his hard thrusts tipping you completely over the edge, and your whimpers getting lost in his heated kisses.

You feel the knotting in your abdomen just before everything comes crashing over you, waves of pleasure ripping through your body and making you clench around him as Negan continues to fuck you throughout your high, your mind hazed with overstimulation. Eventually his movements began to stutter, his abdomen clenching amidst the deep v-lines framing his hips, and a string of gravelly curses poured from his mouth. Carefully, Negan unwrapped one of your legs from his waist and urged you to set it down on the floor of the shower, the other still wrapped around his hips as he held it there. His free hand moved down to his shaft, wrapping his hand around it and giving it a few quick strokes until he finally came. His hold on your leg became more of a firm squeeze as he threw his head back a little and grunted, liquid splashing over the top of your inner thigh and beginning to gradually trickle down your leg. The bathroom was full of steam now, the air thick with humidity and both of your chests rising and falling rapidly as you both tried to catch your breath. After a few moments you felt Negan place your other leg down, his release still dribbling down your skin as you tried to come down from your incalculable high. His breath evened out a little, his eyes still half-lidded when his hazel eyes locked with yours, his gaze capturing you amidst the knowing grin playing on his lips. You were totally fucked out, and the sight made him chuckle.

"That good, huh?" He teased with raised brows, his tongue dragging over his bottom lip making you playfully roll your eyes and manage a small laugh.

"Shut up."

You'd give credit where credit is due, the man knew what he was doing, but you couldn't allow yourself to stroke his almost nauseating large ego any further. He shook his head with a smile, both of his hands smoothing over your waist and then taking hold of it, using it to lead you towards him. You let him coax you to the space closer to the shower head, the water now splashing directly against the back of his neck and trailing down his body, droplets of water simultaneously forming along Negan's jawline and repeatedly falling from his wet beard. He kept one hand on your waist whilst the other held one side of your face, his eyes boring into yours. His head tipped forward so he could rest his forehead against yours, water sliding down his neck when he started to speak in almost a whisper at first.

"If I hit the road, I want you to come with me."

You thought you may have not heard him right at first and leant back with slightly wide eyes, shock etched into your features.

"Really?" You muttered.

"Yeah."

A moment of silence passed, the stare you shared serving as more of an answer than any words you could utter, but you parted your lips to speak and did anyhow.

"You've got yourself a deal."

[ghostieblr]

Another AU that lives in my head rent free about Sterek is a time travel au.

In the canon timeline (i'm not counting that movie), which picks up at the S6 finale, things unravel fast. Monroe wages war against the supernatural, and Beacon Hills is ground zero. Except, surprisingly, 80% people support the supernaturals.

So Monroe spreads the war. She learns of the 13 Nemetons from Gerard, and sets out to destroy them all. Stiles and Derek are the first to put together what she's doing based on her traveling pattern; Derek tells Stiles about the legends, and Stiles deduces what she's about to do.

They cannot save all. Beacon Hills' "dead" Nemeton is the only one saved; Beacon Hills has also become a refuge for those now hunted without mercy. At one point, the war turned into a purge. There's no limitation to killing, no law strong enough to hold anyone accountable. There is only bloodshed.

It is the apocalypse brought by Monroe's hatred and people's prejudice, and world ends not because of the monsters, but because of the humans.

Stiles and Derek have grown close over the years. Their feelings are complicated, but they're shared under the moonlight beneath the Nemeton that has slowly but steadily grown over the years; Stiles is 30 now, and Derek is about to turn 36 next week (he's forever a Christmas baby to me idc). The war as it was has been over for a couple years, and Stiles has become the leader/mayor of the town. He knows how to protect and provide, and Derek is always by his side, an Alpha of his own right, the alpha spark ignited in him by the hand of fates and his own will power. Stiles' Spark dances, the silver of thunder against the glinting, ruby jewel of Derek's own.

They've become soldiers. They're surviving together. They're the only ones left from their original pack. Even Peter is dead, and for final this time.

Scott had left in the middle of war because in his dreams he'd seen Allison, alive and beckoning him, and nobody has heard from him since. He had no regard for the war, or the people who had wanted to take guidance from the "true alpha." Even his mother's pleas had fallen on deaf ears, the allure of his first love blinding him to everything and everyone.

Point is, the world has gone to shit. It would be better to restart.

Stiles confesses to Derek, "I wish we could turn back time."

Derek huffs out a laugh, one that speaks not of how absurd the wish is, but how much he needs it. "Only if we could."

Behind them, the Nemeton hums. They both feel it. They're both on the same page, and Stiles does what he does best: impulsively invades the Nemeton's insides. He has no clue how he does it, but he does it, and inside he finds that same white room, except now there's a humanoid shape floating in it.

When he comes out of that place, Derek asks him what they have to do.

Stiles tells him, and that's how they go back: Nemeton's power, fuelled by its rage and grief at having lost the other 12, and channeled through the strongest sparks existing, A True Alpha and The Spark; they conduct a ritual, their blood soaked in the roots, and then they wake up.

Stiles was 30. He is now... 9.

Derek was almost 36. He is now almost, a week shy, of 14.

It's December of 2003. (Stiles' birthday is April 08, 1994; Derek's is December 25, 1989). This is nearly a year before Claudia dies (which is Nov of 2004) and before the romance with Paige (it happens in the summer of 2004) and before the Hale fire (January 25th, 2005, exactly a month after Derek turns 16).

And guess what? They get to change everything.

They have their memories, and their powers. The Nemetons are alive — they help these two hide their powers. They help these two whenever needed.

Claudia's condition (which i can never spell right so i'm not even attempting it) cannot be healed by the bite, but Stiles' belief, his Spark, wills it so that she doesn't get worse. So, when the Stiles and Derek find a way to make them part of the Hale Pack, Claudia becomes Talia's beta.

Derek kindles a friendship with Paige. Stiles tells Derek he can try again with her — these time they'll never let anything happen to her.

"You want me to be with her."

"Yes. If you want it. She was your first love," Stiles says, all soft and honest. "And I'm... I know you love me. But I can't ask you to wait for me."

The tension in Derek eases. "Idiot," he chastises, Stiles' small hands in his, "I might be going through puberty but I'm not a teenage asshole who thinks with the wrong head. What we have isn't about sex either. If you worry that I'll resent you for me not being able to have sex till I'm 23, then you're an idiot."

"You already said that. And you've counted how long you'll have to wait."

"I am going through puberty, Stiles."

In short. Yes, their first time will be with each other — in this new timeline. (if i didn't explain it properly: they are rewriting everything. their past timeline technically will never exist, not even as a branched timeline).

So, yeah. Paige never dies, Claudia never dies, Kate is found dead 5 states over and it looks like a suicide; Gerard is killed before he can blind Duke, so Jennifer/Julia/The Darach and The Alpha Pack are no threats; Deaton is detained by the mysterious "Red" for violating the code of Druids and executed soon after; it takes some time, but Stiles & Derek manage to locate the dread doctors and they kill them, too.

All of the threats from canon are killed by the time Stiles is 16 again and Derek is almost 22.

Except, a faction of hunters are finally able to pin point that those who killed Gerard are from Beacon Hills. They're prejudiced because of Gerard's teachings, so they target the Hale Pack.

And it is because of this attack — during which Stiles gets heavily injured while protecting his mom — that Derek roars loud and ferocious, eyes red, as Talia's own alpha eyes stare back in shock, just like the rest of the pack. Stiles' wound is deep, and Derek orders one of the others to take him to the Nemeton.

It doesn't take long for Derek to almost kill every hunter, except he's hurt now, too, and even the Nemeton can't heal this new blend of wolsbane's wound.

Stiles is healed by magic, by the Nemeton, and he feels the bond with Derek weaken by the second. At once he finds himself back at the clearing of the fight, teleported, and lashes out at the remaining hunters with a fury that raises the hair on everyone.

Then he screams and begs at Derek to not fucking die and as everyone watches, manages to save the idiot with sheer belief.

Because that's who Stiles is.

And then well... I just imagine that the two of them have to provide context to their pack, which they do, and then there's gasps of awe and sorrow; of not being there and of not realizing that they were ghosts to these kids; that Laura had (and of course Peter too) suspected something was off with Derek and Stiles but not this.

(also i love to include snippets of John being equally horrified at finding the truth out and of realizing that his baby boy is essentially tied up for eternity with Derek Hale, whomst he apparently also arrested for the murder of his favorite deputy???)