#Light source? Whats that?? LIGHT EVERYWHERE!!

[eternitariant]

Rattled

cw//tw//~ none, just mention of a wanker u worked with - non descript xx

You were at the front counter of the auto shop finishing a write up for a customer when two tall men came in. They looked like the typical type to hassle you but that wasn’t anything new so you pasted on a smile and welcomed them in,

“Good Afternoon, Can I help you two with anything?”

“Oh, I’m counting on it sweetheart.” The shorter of the two drawled with a charming smile as he looked at you like you were a candy bar and you rolled your eyes,

“Ignore him.” The other one said, offering you an apologetic puppy dog face and you kicked up the tiniest nod, “We were hoping you’d be able to tell us a bit about a guy who was working here. He-“

“Why?” you interrupted, shifting your gaze between them both in suspicion and the puppy awkwardly smiled,

“We’re working on an article for the local paper and were just hoping to shed some more light on what he was like… you know, day to day.”

“He was a misogynistic, self-serving pig. Anything else?” you jabbed, flashing a sarcastic smile at them both and the charmer’s eyebrows raised in something between surprise and impressed,

“So, he wasn’t a good boss I take it?” he sarked and you laughed,

“He wasn’t a good employee, sunshine. I’m the boss.”

“Wow, that is so ho-“ he was cut off by the other one clearing his throat aggressively and he swerved, “awesome.”

“How long had you worked with him?” Floppy hair asked,

“3 weeks.” You were curt, these two were definitely not journalists, “Look, I have a soft spot for misfits and strays but don’t tolerate people like him.”

“People like him?”

The taller one kept talking to you whilst the other was wandering around your reception area, fidgeting with all of the parts and knick knacks you had everywhere and then he dropped something. He jumped back and then scrambled to pick it up and put it back like no one would notice, despite your eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. As he turned back around he made a face like a caught child and you almost let yourself giggle.

“Thank you very much for your time, Miss.” He wrapped up as his clumsy sidekick made his way back to the desk and flashed that same butter wouldn’t melt smile at you,

“May we, uh, have a name? You know, to source for our article.” He slied, tilting his head at you as he leaned over the counter,

“Y/N.” you stated plainly,

“Thank you, Y/N.” he husked and you nodded. You followed his eyes as he realised that your name and number were in fact on a stack of business cards right in front of him and he sounded like a cartoon character,

“Aha, right. Well, I’ll just take one of these in case we have any follow up questions.” And punctuated his sentence with a wink

“Knock yourself out.” You sang and went back to work.

“Dean, you gotta stop with that whole heartthrob routine. It clearly doesn’t always work.” Sam chastised his brother as they walked back out towards the car and Dean scoffed,

“Dude, come on. It was totally working. She’s just more…” he gestured vaguely as he tried desperately to find the words, “restrained.”

“Uninterested is the word I think you’re looking for.”

“Not a chance Sammy.” And then as if on cue, you came out of the shop after noticing what they were about to get into,

“This is your car?” you asked, trying to stifle your excitement but it wasn’t really working,

“Yes, yes it is.” He nodded before turning to Sam and giving him an ‘I told you so’

“Sweet ride.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” He rasped and you very subtly raised an eyebrow at him,

“You should definitely call me…” you started and he perked up, “a klutz like you can’t be trusted with a beauty like this.” You teased and Sam could’ve sworn he saw Dean’s heart thumping out of his chest like a giant valentine. While his brother silently laughed to himself, Dean scrambled to find another line,

“What about a beauty like you?”

You scoffed out a brisk laugh and rolled your eyes, “Wow… you don’t give up do you?”

“Nope.”

“Okay boomerang… what’s your name?”

“Dean.” He smiled brightly with a smugness in your eyes that you wanted to smack out of him,

“Well Dean, you have my number. Use it wisely… if you think you can handle it.” You whispered the latter half of your invitation before turning your head to Sam and simply waving him goodbye.

Sam returned your gesture and then got into the Impala, waiting for Dean who was awestruck by you. It took for Sam to hit the horn and jump scare Dean into a little frightened dance for his daze to be broken.

“You’re a real jackass, you know that.” Dean grumbled as he got into the driver’s seat,

Sam was laughing out his whole response, “She rattled you. This is my favourite day.”

“Shut up.” Dean snapped before further muttering to himself, “no she didn’t”

But he knew full well that you had and it was a feeling he was ready to chase.

part 2??

[pippasop]

Them>> 🫶

[hirazuki]

Seeking shade in Gondolin. Maeglin's design is based off of this art!

A little something for @ruiniel, for being so kind and supportive and always leaving both the sweetest and the most amusing tags on my art, cosplay, and headcanons ♡ Also, I love your Maeglin, in case you couldn't tell; he's beautiful! ^^

[rapidhighway]

girl help i had two light sources in the scene not realizing that im going to introduce another light source later on and now i have three strong different colored lights how tf do i draw that

[saisiprincessa]

ANGELIC AURA - A VAUNT 🪽

Being a real-life angel…

I’m beautiful, like so so beautiful. And everyone can see it, and sure my looks play a role i have a face some can dream of and a body that looks like it was sculpted by the gods. But there’s something about my aura that is so angelic, people describe me as a real-life angel. I’m often complimented on how much more surreal I look in person and how angelic I am. I am such a sweetheart, people wonder how I’m real when they meet me in person.

When people speak of those perfect girls who are breathtakingly beautiful on the inside and out, they are talking about me. Those who are jealous of me can’t even rally a strong army against me because i’m so loveable and so beautiful, it’s hard to hate me.

There is a subtle almost otherworldly energy around me, as if I’m always connected to something higher and spiritually uplifting. And it’s why people treat me with such respect and kindness, pretty privilege comes easy to me because of how beautiful I feel to others. I radiate warmth and light, and people often say there’s something beautiful about my presence that makes them feel safe and accepted.

It doesn’t help that I smell immaculate, ask people what their favourite scent is and they will just say my name. My scent and aura attracts people and gives them an obsession with being around me

I’m often a source of light and guidance, and people view me as a beautiful presence that inspires them to bring out the best in themselves, which is why so many people fall in love with me unprovoked. I’m treated like such a princess everywhere I go, even when I try not to be the spotlight, it’s impossible not to be because everyone is obsessed with me and the vibe I bring .

It’s not hard to fall in love with an angel like me

[rxmye]

" 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇 𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — pristine and perfect, filled with grace and elegance, yet tainted with greed . . greed for you . .

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / slight religious themes?, I suppose it's a fictional religion, I'm still world-building / pathetic and submissive yandere / suggestive content? / he paints the reader as a source of comfort / stalking, which is conveniently described as 'adorable' and 'innocent' behavior /

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: ok so the person mentioned is supposed to be the God of this world, their introduction will also be out soon enough . . currently dropping hints here because world-building fun!!

Takamoto was an Arch-angel, one of the highest ranked angels in heaven—he was pure and truly the definition of elegance, he was never greedy, and he was almost always seen smiling or happy. For he, was truly contempt with his life, and position.

Takamoto was always someone who had truly been satisfied with all that he was given, he never craved more—he always thought and frankly believed, that he had received all that he deserved and that he should be contempt with what he has. He never really had any passion or desire for anything more—he was grateful with everything—he believed all his hardships had reasoning behind it, and that it will all eventually be solved. In fact a part of him believed he deserved any hardship he came by.

Many would believe he was naive for that sort of mindset, and many angels did truly believe him to be just that, yet against all odds he rose up the ranks fairly quickly for this sort of mindset, and of course his loyalty to his beliefs. Takamoto was sweet, he'd help everyone out, and would introduce new souls, and angels throughout the lands of heaven on his free time, he'd help guide souls and his fellow angels everywhere he could . . yet things slowly changed when he first met you . .

Takamoto was visiting, what could only be described as the countryside of heaven, with vast green fields, cozy homes, acres of farmland, etc . . He was checking in for this years harvest, as per high courts orders . . when he saw you, you were so graceful, your wings sparkled in the light, you were radiant, you're eyes glimmered as both of your eyes met for a brief moment . . he felt his heart skip a beat. . his face was heating up slightly, his face dusted with shades of bright pink.

His mouth hung slightly open, as his gaze lingered on you figure, taking in the sight—your wings were lovely, much smaller than his . . were you a new soul? Perhaps you were a lower ranked angel and hence why you both never quite met . . He wanted to know more about you—he need to know more about you—where were you going? . . . and before he knew it, he found himself following you, trailing behind you silently.

He found himself frequenting areas he last saw you, it was all so innocent at first, many of his fellow coworkers described him as a young schoolboy in love, teasing him for his oh so adorable behavior . .

Takamoto didn't notice how much you were invading his life, he hadn't even been able to hold a proper sentence with you yet . . . but even then his thoughts consumed of you, whenever he did paperwork, he'd doodle your face, his room was filled with various portraits of you . .

He found himself overtime growing desperate, impure thoughts flooding his mind, greed sinking its claws into his sensitive and naive hurt—he was the utter picture of perfection, just look at him, he was everything an angel . . a human, anyone should be!?!? Why aren't you looking his way!— . . he took deep breaths, his own fingers digging into his skin, as he tried calming himself.

Gold drips from his arm, the bruise left from his fingers still fresh—golden blood stained his pretty pale fingers—pupils dilating as he took deep breaths, a ruined portrait of your face on the aisle, paint splatters surrounded him, tainting his legs, as a mirror lay broken on the floor.

"Fuck", he cussed softly, tears threatening to spill, his usually well-kept hair was a mess . . "why can't I draw them . . ?", he asked, his voice hoarse, as he tried his best to contain the anger he felt at that moment, "why can't I fucking draw them??", his nails dig into the floor, as the door creaked open.

You need to love him, you need to see him. He had never craved someone's validation, he deserved this, he deserved you! He could offer you everything, he was perfect! Everyone he knows, envied that about him . . surely you'd notice, you have too . .

He turned to face the person at the door, tears now dripping down his cheek, he mumbled something under his breath, before he started begging, "Please, please, help me . . my lord"

want more, buy my limited time only advent calendar?

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[ohproserpine]

iv. dolly

see all chapters here tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago

˚୨୧₊♱

"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.

With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"

"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"

Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"

A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.

"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"

Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.

"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."

"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"

Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"

"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.

As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"

Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"

Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."

˚୨୧₊♱

The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.

Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.

Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.

Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.

"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."

"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."

"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"

Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."

A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"

“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"

With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.

Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."

"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"

"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.

"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.

"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."

"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.

Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.

As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.

"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"

With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"

As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.

On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.

Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.

Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.

"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.

The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.

In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.

"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."

"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.

It was a look he knew all too well.

"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"

Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.

Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.

The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.

"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."

"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.

"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."

"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"

Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."

Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.

The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.

"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.

"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"

"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.

"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"

Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"

"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."

"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"

Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."

Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"

"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."

Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"

The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.

"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.

"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."

"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.

"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.

Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.

˚୨୧₊♱

You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.

You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.

"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."

Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.

A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.

You missed your husband.

With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.

"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸

A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.

Alastor.

Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.

With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.

"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.

Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.

"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."

Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.

From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.

Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.

The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.

You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.

In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.

Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.

The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."

A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"

"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"

"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."

Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.

To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract

"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"

"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"

As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.

"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.

"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.

"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.

"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.

"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."

"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.

"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."

A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."

Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.

"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.

"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.

Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.

“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”

"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."

“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”

Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.

"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"

Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.

A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "

Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.

"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"

"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."

Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.

The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.

The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.

Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.

"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.

"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."

˚୨୧₊♱

[tragedy-machine]

Genuinely can't express how heartbroken I am over the cancellation of Dead Boy Detectives after just 1 season. It's become such a source of joy and inspiration in my life even though it's been released only a few months ago.

It's been a light during sad and bleak times, and I don't know how to deal with the news other than by saying - tweet at Netflix. They don't care about tumblr, use other platforms to bug the absolute hell out of them. Be polite and don't make multiple social media accounts since it can make you look like a bot.

@netflix everywhere you can, email them, make noise wherever you can. Make #RenewDeadBoyDetectives trend on Twitter!!!

And please, if the show meant something to you, don't stop engaging with the fandom!! I'm truly emotionally destroyed rn, but I don't want to give up what this community has given me so far 💔

Support each other and let netflix know they've made a mistake!!

[comicaurora]

If you were a sci-fi writer, how would you solve the Fermi paradox? That being the discrepancy between evidence for alien life, versus the likelihood of their existence? (basically. If alien so likely, why we not see?) The Dead Space series has an amazing cosmic horror solution, but i'm curious what you're brain could come up with!

There's a lot of possibilities, some more interesting than others.

The speed of light and the distance between inhabited stars makes it prohibitively slow to detect, make contact with, or reach any star with alien life. It doesn't matter if we're not alone, our corner of Space Reachable Within A Human Lifetime is so comparatively small that we may as well be. We're all blindly wandering through an infinite desert, calling into the void. Space exploration is a long game, and on that timescale, even whole civilizations blink out very quickly. If we manage to catch a signal and follow it, we might find nothing on the other end but ruins - or an asteroid field where a planet's orbit used to be.

The universe is too young for us to find anyone else out there. We're the first. How will we shape the galaxy to make life better for those who come after us?

The life that formed on Earth is terrifyingly invasive. The atmosphere and ocean is choked with monocellular life, and its surface is coated with a mass of multicellular organisms finding new ways to devour one another. Even extinction events don't keep down the biomass for long. If life on other planets looks anything like us, the problem isn't going to be detecting it. It'll have gotten everywhere. The problem is going to be not immediately getting colonized and eaten alive by it. And if life on other planets DOESN'T look like us, our whole planet is probably a class 1 biohazard and contamination risk. Multicellular earth organisms contain microcosmic ecosystems that proliferate explosively when they die. If anything inside them can find ANYTHING to eat, it's over.

Life evolves frequently, but always in oceans. It is extremely rare for any alien life to leave that ocean and adapt to life on land. Without this step, the jump to space exploration - even space contemplation - becomes infinitely more unlikely.

Monocellular life is seeded on planets from an outside source and allowed to self-cultivate and grow until the biomass reaches a certain volume. Then the farmers return to harvest it.

There is not a single other species on our entire planet that humans can actually reliably communicate with. It takes tremendous amounts of training to make an animal capable of recognizing even a handful of words, and very few of them can use them. Humans can't even communicate with other humans with 100% clarity, even if they're using the same language. When we find alien life, if we even recognize it as anything resembling life as we know it, we have absolutely no way of communicating.

Space colonialism has been disallowed by the space geneva conventions due to massive past tragedies, parasitic exploitation of worlds and senseless loss of life. Human expeditionary efforts are being watched warily through targeting sights.

We've known about radio communication for less than 200 years. We haven't yet figured out the medium through which all advanced civilizations communicate.

Alien life exists in abundance, but the vast majority of it is extremely tiny. We wouldn't spot an anthill on a satellite photo, and none of their ships are large enough to survive passage through our atmosphere.

Earth's oxygen atmosphere is an anomaly, and our first and most enduring extinction event. The explosive proloferation of cyanobacteria and their oxygen photosynthesis irreparably altered the planet's prebiotic atmosphere and wiped out everything that couldn't handle the sudden massive increase in a highly reactive and flammable gas. Earth is considered highly toxic and unstable, though recently detected increases in methane and CO2 might signal that nature is finally beginning to heal.

[angelkhi]

Sevika x f!reader

rushed as fuck i'm not entirely happy with it and i actually don't know what it says okay bye. minors/men/ageless blogs dni or i'll fuck your mom 😘

your eyes are barely open yet they still focus on her, the way her body looms despite its distance, her own half hooded eyes intently watching the less than subtle motions of your fingers. she had disappeared for a few moments, riled you up and left you to stew in an uncomfortable heat and wet underwear. your whimper is quiet, high pitched as your fingers sink inside your wet cunt once again, focusing on her. on the way her chest rises and falls with each laboured breath, the way her stomach dips and her hips jut, catching nothing but air. Her surprisingly soft hands cover your own, an arm pressing into the mattress as she leans over you, lips nipping against your warming skin. that small bit of contact alone is enough to make your motions stutter, but only for a moment as she pushes her hand against yours, thrusting your fingers for you. 'baby d'you know how pretty you look right now.' her hand pushes against yours a little harder, delivering harsh mind numbing thrusts and you feel yourself clench down in your own fingers, body jolting, a languid whine spilling from your open lips. 'yeaah, this slutty pussy takes whatever i give her huh?' her words vibrate against your skin and you feel her smile as she sinks her teeth into you ever so slightly. She's mean with it, marking you up and moving at her pace, her teeth nipping at your stiff nipples and back up along your shoulders, small purple marks noting her path. your quiet whimpers turn to louder moans and your head tilts towards her, cheek resting against hers, mouth agape, a small, warm trickle of drool running from your chin into your neck. her chuckle is dark, low, and entirely comforting when it reverberates off of your skin. she makes quick work of running her tongue along the path, straight to the source. at first you think she's going to kiss you, but she doesn't. just brushes her tongue against your lips, her hot breaths mingling with your own, her eyes glinting mischievously. your own tongue flicks out, the wet muscle sliding over hers. it's a messy, obscene image, one you wish you could see. your broken moans grow muffled as you suckle on her tongue, your free hand unclenching from the sheets and grip at the band of her jeans. she indulges you for a little while, those icy eyes catching yours, a languid smirk on her lips as she pulls back. it's embarrassing to admit, that you can't get yourself off like she can, and she knows it. There's a frustrated edge to your whines as you try and emulate her movements, try and make yourself come. All the while she just watches, stomach flexing at each messy squelch, each shift of the light across your pretty wet thighs making her eyes gleam. 'need me to fuck you properly huh? can't fuck yourself as good as i can.' she kneels back on her heels for a moment, hands sliding across your hips and down your thighs, pulling your hand from where it draws lazy circles on your clit. her eyes meet yours, never leaving as she inspects the glistening, wrinkled fingertips in a debased display. she's quick to slide them into her mouth, tongue sliding over them, between them. She's suckling and savouring the taste, languid movements that shoot straight to your core. your hips flex and thrust against the air, searching for friction, gaze never leaving her, the quiet pop and guttural groan as she releases your fingers like music to your ears. her eyes dip to your glistening folds, spreading them open, watching your clit jump under the slightest touch, your weepy hole clenching and leaking. the pads of her fingers touch you everywhere but where you need her to, skimming the hood of your clit, sliding around your clenching cunt. you cry out, a frown etched onto your pretty face, one that makes her chuckle as she slides one, two fingers into the warm and waiting heat. god she feels so good, her slightly thicker fingers stretching you out just right. 'such a greedy fuckin cunt, god she's swallowin me baby.'

she hooks her fingers ever so slightly, that cocky smirk on her lips driving your hips against her. when she drops a quick swat your clit you're pretty sure not even the concentrated power of the sun could match the heat of your skin, ears buzzing, your clenching heat pulling her another groan and chuckle from her lips. you can't decide what you need the most, hands torn between rigid muscles along her abdomen, that trail of hair begging to be tugged, or her exposed tits, dark and pebbled for your attention. the soft curve of her calloused fingers, harsh thrusts against your gummy walls, palm open just for you to grind your aching clit on. she's a woman on a mission and you're pretty fucking sure that mission is to kill you. she shows no mercy when she pushes a hand against your lower stomach, not even an inkling when a particularly hard thrust goes to your head, your walls calming down on her, hands gripping at whatever they find first. when your eyes roll closed, she just chuckles, and you can imagine that proud ass smirk on her beautiful face. ‘thaaat's it baby, c'mon, come all over my fingers. fuck- so fuckin beautiful.’

—

she's gentle when she slides her fingers from your twitching hole, dirty when she licks them clean. she lays down next to you, softly brushing a few stray hairs out of your face, kissing your cheeks, your forehead, your nose and lips.  she tastes like her, but hints of you come through each time she brushes her tongue against yours. it's soft, unlike the needy exploration she'd allowed you earlier. her fingers brush against yours stomach, the ticklish touch stirring that quiet hum beneath your skin. she secures the harness with expert precision, her muscular body looming over you, the small trail of her on her stomach beaconing you closer. her hands find your hips again, all but dragging you to the edge of the mattress, the slight brush of smooth silicone over your sensitive nub making you shiver. 'we're not done yet pretty, c'mon, spread that needy pussy for me'

—

new year. i'm not getting railed physically or emotionally so there's nothing happy about it.

[gingermintpepper]

YOU!! OH MY GOD YOU!!!!

Okay for once I don't have anything strictly academic to add to this conversation. I don't have a link to pull out of my pocket or a specific paper to reference but following your latest saga of posts - you've given voice to one of the most pressing things I've had trouble explaining to a lot of people very eager to be 'correct' when it comes to interpreting greek mythology without realising the inherent oxymoron of that line of thinking. Greek, especially Ancient Greek, is not English. There are, in fact, very few languages that are as literal and directly referential as modern English. Whenever you read an English telling of a bit of Greek writing whether that be a poem, hymn, tale or plaque, you are reading a translation. You are reading an interpretation. Translators work very very hard to try to capture the essence of the original text by using cultural context and language tools to inform their decisions but that kind of information is usually ignored by people who read casually. How many people read footnotes at the bottom of an academic paper or the robust translator's notes at the beginning of some of our favourite compilations of Greek works, after all?

The effect of this is that very often, due to a myriad of reasons, people tend to get very stuck on the idea of a Greek Mythology 'canon' or the idea of a 'true' version of the gods, their stories and their lineages and dedicate an awful lot of time and energy to debating these various versions instead of understanding the underlying reason for all of these disparate versions and scattered visages of the gods and all their faces. Ancient Hellenism and all its related religions were oral first and foremost and each orator had his own home, region, beliefs and interpretations of the gods which would colour their tales. The language of the greek gods is poetry - you must, at some point, come to terms with the fact that there are simply not clearly defined answers for every question because not every word that was written down was recorded and no god remained the same from territory to territory.

The only way to gain an understanding and appreciation for these myriad gods and their myriad faces in an age and culture which so values empirical data, 'truth' and strict, followable guidelines is to read. You must read as many versions of your favourite myths and tales as you can possibly and reasonably find. Find the points about a figure that stick out to you, pay attention to the way different translators describe their features and qualities, read translator notes and footnotes and glossaries! Question and compare translation decisions!! But never stop reading.

Happy interpreting everyone <3

The word οἶνοψ (oinops), of which proposed reconstruction of [οί]νώ[πα] would root, is a headache to translate. You can find a lot of academic discussion surrounding it and the multitude of conclusions on what this comparison of color to wine means. As of current, it's possible that:

it implies a specific color (reddish, purplish, blueish), or

it implies glittering/glistening (as the dark surface of wine), or

it implies particular effects of wine, or

it implies Dionysiac traits, or

it implies connection to frenzy (as 'wine-eyed') and so on

More on the topic of color in Ancient Greek texts:

Synaesthesia and the Ancient Senses, S. Butler, A. C. Purves

Studies in Greek Colour Terminology, v. I, Maxwell-Stuart

The semantics of colour in the early Greek word-hoard, M. Clarke

Lastly, no, I do not mind the idea of dark-haired Apollo at all. Like I mentioned before, both "dark hair" and "golden hair" could be examples of either literal or non-literal perception of color. I simply find jumping to conclusions a-la "it says 'dark' means he was a brunette" or "it says 'golden' means he was a blonde" an unnecessary simplification, especially when we talk about a transcendent idea of a God and not a human. It's a matter of interpretation and separation from preconceived literal notions of color as we currently perceive it.

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

I love ur writing sm, like I would worship you if you wrote this request, basically, you are the 9th member of skz, yall are all dating, and today, they all had a concert. The first half of it went fine, but somewhere in the second half, you all heard gunshots, you reacting the fastest, saw them heading to (member of your choice) so you shove them out of the way while you take the bullet (chivalrous ikr). The members all immediately stop the concert despite u reassuring then you could finish (with blood everywhere) then the ending is just comfort and angst bc they didn't sallow u to do anything, and you got bored. Plsss take ur time if ur going to make this, I will literally cherish this with my heart if you make it

𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕥𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕒 𝕓𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕞𝕖?

Warning: Angst

Summary: Request!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It happened so fast.

One second, Y/N was standing next to Felix and Han, laughing and joking around with them, and the next, there was a blood-curdling scream that shattered the lighthearted atmosphere.

"Guys, duck!" Y/N screamed, her voice sharp and urgent.

She barely had time to process what was happening before instinct took over. In a split second, she shoved Felix and Han out of the way, her hands landing on their shoulders with enough force to knock them off balance. The world seemed to slow as they stumbled back, confusion still clouding their faces.

"Y/N—what—?" Felix started to say, but his words were cut off by the deafening sound of something heavy crashing against the floor.

The moment she pushed them away, Y/N’s eyes darted to the source of the danger. She had been watching them—Felix, Han, and the rest of the group—having fun, playing with the toys and gifts they had gotten from STAY. It was supposed to be a lighthearted day, a sign-meet with fans, some laughter, and silly moments. But something had felt off all day. The atmosphere felt thinner, like the air itself was stretched too tight, and Changbin had been out with a stomach bug, so the energy was lower than usual. They didn’t want to do the event, but it had been scheduled. They had no choice.

They’d gathered so many toys and gifts from STAY that it seemed like they were almost swimming in them. But right now, they were just strolling on stage, talking casually to the fans in the crowd. Y/N had been teasing Chan all day—playfully, of course. Then she had moved on to teasing the members of the Racha subunit—Felix and Han—just like she always did.

"Y/Nnie, look," Felix giggled, suddenly putting a pair of bunny ears on her head.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head in amusement as she grabbed a pair of oversized sunglasses from one of the gifts. "I look ridiculous," she said, still smiling.

"Let's take a picture!" Han beamed, grabbing the selfie stick and clicking a few shots, each one more ridiculous than the last.

Y/N held up a tiny pony plushie in front of them, laughing at how tiny it was. "Look what STAY got me," she giggled, passing it to the two of them.

The pair squatted down, completely entranced by the toy, their faces lighting up with genuine curiosity. Y/N snapped a few pictures of them, capturing how adorable they looked. She smiled softly, feeling a deep warmth in her chest. These were the moments she treasured—the small, quiet seconds when everything felt perfect.

Her gaze shifted over to Hyunjin, who was laughing with his usual carefree energy. She raised an eyebrow, confused, before her eyes landed on Chan.

The sight that met her eyes made her stifle a laugh. Chan, their leader, was wearing a tiara. It was completely ridiculous.

"So silly," she thought, shaking her head with a grin. She opened her mouth to call out to the crowd.

"Stay, don't you think our leader is a little too old to be a princess?" she teased, her voice light and playful.

Before she could even finish her sentence, she heard Chan yell, "Hey!" into the microphone, and a few giggles escaped from the crowd.

STAY responded with loud, drawn-out "nooo's," their laughter ringing out. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully at them but kept her focus on Han and Felix, who were still deeply engrossed in the tiny pony toy.

But something didn’t feel right. A strange sense of unease settled in her chest, making her skin crawl. She was on high alert now, her body rigid as her eyes scanned the surroundings. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong.

And then it happened.

A sound.

It was faint at first—a click, barely noticeable over the laughter and chatter around her. But it was enough to make Y/N freeze. The sound sent a jolt of adrenaline straight through her, and her military training kicked in. She had been through safety drills before debut, and she knew exactly what that sound was.

A gunshot.

Before she could react, a blur of motion caught her eye. A figure—clad in a large hoodie, with Felix’s SKZOO merch clearly visible—stood up from the crowd. The person’s face was obscured, but their intent was clear. The girl was shaking, tears streaking down her face, but her hands were steady as she raised the weapon in their direction.

Her heart hammered in her chest. Y/N didn’t have time to think. The world moved in slow motion as she lunged forward, adrenaline flooding her body.

"NO!" Y/N screamed, her hands pushing Han and Felix out of the way just as the girl pulled the trigger.

The loud bang of the gunshot reverberated in her ears as Y/N threw herself onto the ground, the sharp, metallic scent of fear thick in the air. Felix and Han hit the floor in a tangle of limbs, their faces contorted in confusion and terror. But Y/N barely noticed.

Her eyes were trained on the girl. The gun had been aimed at the boys, and Y/N’s body had moved before her mind could even catch up.

Everything happened so fast. One second, they were all laughing and smiling, and the next, Y/N had just saved their lives.

But the danger wasn't over. The moment her body hit the ground, she heard the sound of people shouting, running, and chaos erupting all around her.

Security was swift, moving through the chaos like trained professionals, their hands outstretched to clear the crowd and usher the members away from danger. But in the chaos, Felix crawled toward her, his face twisted in panic. His hands grasped at her arm, pulling her closer as he let out a strangled yelp of distress.

"Y/N! No, no, no!" he cried, his voice breaking.

She could barely move, her body feeling heavy and unresponsive. The adrenaline rush was fading, and all that was left was pain. As security worked to move her out of harm's way, Y/N’s side felt like it was on fire. It stung with every movement, sharp and unbearable. She forced her eyes open, her vision hazy, and that’s when she saw it.

Blood.

It was seeping through the fabric of her crop top, dark and spreading quickly. Her breath hitched in her throat.

"Y/N?!" Han’s voice was frantic, barely audible over the chaos, but she could hear the terror in his tone as he tried to reach her. His voice cracked. "Oh my God… Y/N!"

Through the blur of bodies and flashing lights, she saw Chan, Hyunjin, I.N, and Seungmin being pushed away, separated from the group. But even from a distance, Y/N could hear Chan's voice—loud, desperate, shouting for them.

"Do something!" Felix screamed at the security guard who was already dialing 911, his voice thick with panic.

"Y/N? Can you hear me?" Han sobbed, his hands trembling as he tried to pull off her tight clothes to check the wound, his movements erratic in his panic. Felix had moved to her side, gently cradling her head in his hands, trying to keep her conscious.

"We need backup!" the security guard shouted, his voice tense as he spoke into his radio.

Y/N could barely register what was happening. Everything was moving too fast, and she felt too much, too much pressure, too much noise, too many people around her.

"Guys? Where are you?!" I.N shouted, pushing through the commotion, his voice filled with alarm as he searched frantically for his friends.

"Get Chan, I.N!" Felix yelled, his eyes wild with fear. "She got shot! Get him now!"

I.N froze for a second, stunned by the reality of the situation. His gaze swept over Y/N’s body, the blood staining her clothes, and his eyes went wide in shock. "What the hell?!" he gasped, his voice shaking as he took a step back.

"Get Chan, now! Go!" Han shouted again, his voice hoarse from the panic that was threatening to consume him. He reached down, trying to stop the bleeding, but his hands shook too much to do anything useful. He was a mess, just as terrified as Felix.

"Ow..." Y/N gasped, the pain intensifying now that the adrenaline was wearing off. A sharp, searing ache shot through her abdomen, and she couldn’t stop the scream that tore from her throat. It was raw, desperate, and filled with a pain she couldn’t even understand.

Everyone was crowding around her, too many hands, too much noise, too much pressure. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She wanted them all to stop.

"Felix? Han?" she gasped, her chest rising and falling in shallow, panicked breaths. She felt like she was suffocating. "Please... please, let me go." Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper. She couldn’t stand it—everything was too much. She wanted space. She wanted air.

"Baby, we’re right here," Felix’s voice was soft, but there was desperation in it. He was cradling her head, his fingers gentle against her skin. "We’re not going anywhere. We're right here, okay?"

"Chan... Chan..." Y/N whimpered, her hands trembling as she reached out for anything, anything to grab onto. Her fingers found nothing but air. She could feel the pain growing, spreading through her body, and she knew she couldn’t last much longer without him.

"Chan..." she repeated, her voice breaking as she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to hold on.

The paramedics were on her now, their hands moving quickly as they hooked her up to various machines, pushing IVs into her arms, trying to stabilize her. Y/N barely felt it. The sharp prick of the needles was nothing compared to the agony she felt in her abdomen.

"We need space!" one of the paramedics barked, his voice cold and professional, as the others worked to stabilize her. The security guards, looking frantic themselves, began pushing Felix and Han away to give the paramedics room to work.

"No!" Felix shouted, struggling against the security guard’s hold. His heart was hammering in his chest. "I need to be right here! She’s claustrophobic—don’t you see? She’ll panic if you take us away!"

"Please, we need space to work!" the paramedic insisted, his voice hardening as he tried to maintain control of the situation.

But Felix wasn’t backing down. He twisted in the guard’s grip, desperation clear on his face. "No! You don’t understand! She’ll freak out! She needs us! She needs me!"

"Where is she?! Where is she?!" Chan’s voice rang through the air, raw with panic as he shoved his way through the crowd. His eyes were bloodshot, his face streaked with tears, and his entire body trembled with rage and fear.

I.N had reached him, breathless from running, and before he could say anything, Chan’s eyes locked onto him, wild and frantic. "Where is she?!" he demanded again, his voice breaking.

"She’s over here! She’s over here!" I.N shouted, pointing through the crowd. "They’re working on her, Chan. They’re trying to save her."

The scene in front of him was like a nightmare. Chan’s heart stopped for a moment as he caught sight of Y/N, bloodied and pale, surrounded by paramedics, with Felix and Han still hovering anxiously at her side. His chest tightened, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe.

He had to get to her. He had too. He couldn’t lose her.

With one final push, Chan broke through the crowd, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. "Y/N!" he cried, reaching for her.

His hands gripped hers with a desperation that didn’t care about the blood soaking into his clothes. The warmth of her skin, so pale and lifeless, felt like the last connection he had to her.

"We need to transfer her now," the paramedic said, his voice steady but urgent. "I’m sorry, sir. You can ride with us if you’d like."

Chan barely heard him. His focus was on Y/N, on her cold hand slipping from his as the paramedics gently lifted her onto the stretcher. His grip faltered, but he didn’t want to let go. Please don’t leave me, his mind screamed, but reality was moving too fast.

“Y-yeah, I’m coming,” he whispered, wiping his face with the back of his hand, trying to clear the tears, but it didn’t matter. They kept coming. He took a shaky breath and stood up, his legs feeling like they might collapse beneath him. He had to move.

“I need Lee Know. Where is he?” Chan asked, his voice hoarse as he searched frantically for a familiar face.

One of the managers, still on the phone, glanced up from her conversation. “His changing room. He doesn’t know anything’s going on right now,” she said quickly, cutting off the call. “Go get Lee Know now,” she ordered another staff member, who immediately ran off in search of the missing member.

Chan nodded, turning to go after Y/N’s stretcher, but a shout stopped him in his tracks.

“Hyung!”

His heart skipped a beat. He turned, finding Felix in I.N’s arms, his face streaked with tears, his body shaking violently. Han, still in a state of panic, had managed to get through the crowd and was now crumpled into Chan’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably.

“This is my fault, hyung! This is all my fault!” Han choked out between gasps for air, his voice thick with guilt. “She won’t forgive me, she won’t forgive me…”

Chan’s heart broke for him. He pulled Han closer, trying to soothe him, even though his own chest felt like it was being crushed. “Hey… shh,” he cooed softly, brushing his hand through Han’s hair. “Stop. It’s not your fault. You hear me? None of this is your fault. Don’t think like that.”

Han’s sobs only grew louder, and Chan, desperate to calm him, took off his sweater and wrapped it around Han’s shoulders. He was only wearing a vest, and Chan could see how shaken and cold he was. “Let’s go to the hospital, yeah?” Chan said, his voice firm but gentle.

Han nodded slowly, wiping his face with a trembling hand. “Yeah… yeah, hyung.”

Before they could move, another voice cut through the commotion, sharp and full of rage.

“Hyung?! What the hell?!”

Chan turned to find Lee Know standing at the edge of the crowd, his face flushed with anger and confusion. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes—bloodshot from lack of sleep and stress—were scanning the room in disbelief.

“Why wasn’t I told before? Where is she? What the hell happened?” Lee Know was seething, his voice low but furious, and Chan felt his stomach drop.

“She’s with the paramedics,” Chan said quickly, trying to keep his voice steady despite the chaos. “I need you to take the kids and meet me at the hospital. Please.”

Lee Know barely seemed to hear him. His eyes were still darting around the room, searching for something, anything, that could make sense of the mess. “Okay, but if she dies, I swear to God…” His voice trembled with emotion, a dangerous edge creeping into his words. “I’ll sue this company. I don’t care about my image. If anything happens to her…”

“Lee Know, not now, please…” Chan interrupted, his voice pleading as he grabbed his phone from the assistant who had been trying to help him. He needed to leave. He needed to be with her. “Just take care of the kids. Get them to the hospital.”

Lee Know nodded sharply, his face tight with a mix of anger and worry. He didn’t say anything more as he reached for Han, pulling him gently out of Chan’s arms. “I got you, Han. Let’s go.”

Chan didn’t have time to process it all. He was already rushing through the crowd, trying to catch up with the paramedics. His mind was a blur, thoughts racing too fast to make sense of them. All that mattered was Y/N. He had to be with her.

As he finally caught up with the paramedics, his heart skipped again. He sat in the back as he watched them work. He could hear them talking to each other, medical jargon flying over his head, but he didn’t care about any of it. His eyes were fixed on Y/N’s pale form, her chest rising and falling with the aid of an oxygen mask. Her face was still, and the blood on her clothes haunted him, more than any words could.

"Y/N…" he whispered, his voice cracking. "Please, stay with me. Please."

One of the paramedics glanced at him, then at Y/N. "We’re almost there, sir. We need you to stay calm. We’ll do everything we can."

But Chan barely heard them. His grip on his phone tightened, his thumb brushing over the screen as he dialed Changbin, his mind only focused on one thing: whoever did this had to pay.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you @galaxy4489!

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[ellastone-olsen]

Would it be possible if you could do a g!p wandanat x female reader with sex pollen?? Its okay if you cant, just an idea if you have nothing else to write🫣🤭

Blue glow - WandaNat

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: Curiosity and alien flowers work wonders.

Pairing: G!PWandaNat × fem!R

Warnings:NSWF,SMUT SMUT SMUT, handjob, blowjob, breeding kink, threesome, cockwarming, dirty talk, after care

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

Word count: 1.7k

AN: hi anon! I’m glad to see my first request thank you! honestly, until that moment I didn’t know what sex pollen is and I had to turn to google lmao

"What is that?." You asked looking at the strange plant in the pot. "Have you decided to take up gardening? Tony, I thought you weren't old enough to act like my grandma." You stop laughing when the man looks at you sternly, apparently not appreciating the jokes about his age. “This, by the way, is a plant unknown to science (at least on Earth), which I personally grew from seeds strictly for research and not what you just said.” “Okay let’s say it’s like this, let me take a closer does it smell like something?” You also kept a couple of cacti in your room at the Avengers headquarters, which recently bloomed by the way. As soon as you stood up and approached to the pot, a man blocked your way. “Are you crazy, what did I just say? Don’t touch this thing, I don’t know if it’s poisonous or not.” You looked at him sternly and muttered under your breath so that he could also hear, “You said not to touch, not to smell.” The attempt failed.

late Friday evening. Everyone went to their rooms or left the headquarters altogether. There was silence everywhere, only the sounds of Wanda’s steps were heard somewhere in the corridor. The woman had almost reached her destination when she saw some kind of blue glow in the darkness, “What the fuck...”. She came closer and examined some kind of plant that vaguely resembled a flycatcher, but with more spherical “traps.” Then she suddenly remembered...

“Y/N, Natasha, come here let’s hurry up. Y/N, you told me about something in Tony’s office. Check it out, Natasha take a look too.” Apparently the witch was very impressed by the flower, because she excitedly pulled both of you by the hands towards the light source. And where did she get this passion for flora…

“Wanda, we were already getting ready to go to bed, what did you see there?” Nat suddenly fell silent, looking at the strange light. “Did you seriously drag me out of bed for this succulent or what is this?!” She clearly did not share the witch's interest. “Oh, you’re right, this is the flower I told you about. Tony takes such good care of it, and apparently it’s...bloomed? Let’s take a closer and look, it’s cool,” Nat rolled her eyes but followed you two. You raised your face to the flower, wanting to look at it, when suddenly... the ball of the bud opened releasing pollen into the air, apparently from which the light came.

There is absolutely everything around in this stuff, you can hear Natasha’s exclamations: “Don’t breathe in this, it can be poisonous. Damn it, I told you not to come here.” The three of you cough, covering your faces, and go out into the corridor, shaking yourself and each other from the remaining dust. “Now you make me need to take a shower again.” The woman grumbles something else while Wanda calms her down, you also want to answer, but suddenly this feeling comes.

If there was a mirror in front of you right now, you could appreciate how quickly your pupils are dilating, as if you were a drug addict on a high (technically you were), beads of sweat are rolling off your forehead and this pulsation between your legs is as if you were given a dose of an aphrodisiac multiplied by five times. Oh no this is definitely not normal, you need to tell Wanda and Natasha what is happening apparently because of this cute glowing flower. While you were in your thoughts you didn't notice how the swearing died down and both women also noticed the changes.

When you turned your head, you saw two women looking at you with hunger and tents in their pants. Your mouth watered at the sight of the obvious bulge on both of your girlfriends and you impatiently walked over to Wanda, clinging to her like a lifeline. "Oh God, I don't know what it is, but I need you both so bad." Natasha came up from behind, pressing her rock-hard dick to your ass, her arms wrapped around your waist and the redhead’s whisper was heard in your ear. "Oh don't worry baby you'll get what you want.Damn I'm going to die if I don't fill your pretty pussy at least twice. What do you think Wanda?"

You feel the soft material of the sheets as they throw you on the bed, watching as they take off their clothes and look at you as if you were their prey. Your own panties are already hopelessly ruined, lub flows down your thighs at the sight of your girlfriends.

You quickly take of your clothes after which Nat takes you in her arms, pressing a kiss on your lips, you feel her cock poking into your stomach and dripping with pre-cum. Wanda, meanwhile stands behind stroking her length at this spectacle. "Mmm..Nat please." You rock your hips to rub against her cock, but you are suddenly pulled to your feet and forced to your knees.

"No no, first you're going to take every inch of my dick into your mouth, baby." The tip of her cock pressed against your lips and you obediently open your mouth and shake your head along entire length. Wanda can’t just watch anymore and comes up to you, takes your hand and places it on her pulsating length. "Come on baby, jerk off Wanda you can't leave either of us needy. Damn Wanda her mouth feels so good around me. That's such a good cocksucker." You move your hand and rub your thumb over Wanda's sensitive red tip as she begins to rock into your hand. Tears well up in your eyes when Natasha grabs your hair and shuts your mouth. Wanda helps you jerk her off and grins, “What is it baby girl? Is Nat’s dick too big for you? You’re so beautiful, now I want to cum all over your face.”

Natasha began to shamelessly fuck your mouth, running after her orgasm, the head of her dick hitting the back wall of your throat every time. "That's itmbaby, I'm going to cum in your beautiful fucking mouth and you'll swallow every drop. Wanda, are you close? Cum with me." Your hand was thrown away so that Wanda could jerk herself off, cumming all over your face, ropes of Natasha's cum hit your throat and you breathed through your nose as you swallowed every drop as you were told.

You took a deep breath as the redhead pulled out of your mouth and wiped Wanda's release off your face. When you were lifted from the floor, a small puddle of your arousal remained on it, your legs did not obey and your knees were red. You were already dripping and the pitiful whining and pleas left your mouth without hindrance. “Please it hurts so much, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

"What do you think Wanda, I think she deserves to have you fill her pussy." The witch got off with a simple nod as her two strong hands forced you onto all fours on the bed, allowing her to position herself behind you so she could start pounding into you without warning. "God Nat, her pussy was made for my cock, so greedy and tight. You need to see how well she takes me." Nat, meanwhile, spat on her hand for extra lub and stroked her red sensitive tip, appreciating how good the two of you looked. The long-awaited feeling of filling and Wanda’s quick thrusts drove you crazy, you put your hand under you, stimulating your swollen clit. "Yes yes thank you thank you so good fuck I'm gonna cum can I cum?" You know that with the tip of Wanda’s cock deliciously hitting that nice spot inside you, you wouldn’t last long, and having received approval, a minute later the orgasm hit you with incredible force. "Oh yes Y/N you squeeze my cock so well. Oh my God, cum for me like that, cum all over my length." The witch praised you.

You were turned over again and your back touched the cool sheets. Wanda pounding into you hearing a cute whine from your mouth, "Too sensitive. It's too much." "Oh baby girl you can take it. I need to filled this tight pussy so badly. You want my cum inside don't you? Do you love this cock?" "Yes yes I love so fucking much!". Natasha continued to jerk herself off when a cute little idea popped into her head that she only bothered to tell the witch about. The women looked at each other and Wanda nodded in approval of the plan.

The witch's thrusts became faster and she exploded, releasing her load inside you. “Oh yeah baby fuck take all my cum!” The feeling of fullness and how good it was, was the only thing you could think about. Wanda, meanwhile, pulled out of you, giving way to the redhead. Natasha turned you around, taking you by the hips and jerking off her cock, she stuck only the tip inside you, filling you even more. "Oh fuck fuck I'm so full fuck Natasha!" “That’s it my little greedy girl, I know you love it when I fill you up .” The only sounds in the room were heavy sighs and Nat's little whining as she pulled out and looked at the beautiful picture in front of her.

You were lying on your shared bed, Wanda took napkins from the nightstand and carefully wiped all the liquids from your thighs, kissing you and telling you how good you are and how much she loves you. When the witch finished, Natasha threw a robe over your naked body, picked you up, kissing your cheeks and carried you to the bathroom so they could both take care of you the way you truly deserve.

Sitting in a hot bubble bath, you asked, “How do we tell Tony about the pollen effect of his science experiment?”

[theonottsbxtch]

HAUNTED - OP81

an: i went and visited the notre dame of reims not too long ago and was listening to power by isak danielson and had this idea pop into mind, obviously heavy religous themes so be warned! this is not for everyone!

wc: 5.3k

The cathedral loomed against the dark sky, its spires clawing upward as though trying to reach something infinite. Oscar stared at it from across the snow-dusted square, his breath a pale cloud in the cold night. He shouldn’t be here. He hadn’t stepped into a church since moving to the city, hadn’t prayed properly in months, and yet his feet carried him forward as if tethered by some unseen force.

Inside, the air was heavy with stillness, thick with incense and the faint echoes of the choir that had long since gone home. He walked past empty pews, his steps faltering as he approached the altar. Candles burned low in their holders, their flickering light casting long shadows on the vaulted ceiling above.

He sank to his knees, the cold stone biting through his trousers, and clasped his hands together. For a moment, he said nothing. He only closed his eyes, his pulse loud in his ears.

“God,” he finally whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if you’re even… there. I’ve tried. I’ve tried so hard, but…” He trailed off, swallowing back the knot in his throat. “I can’t feel it anymore. Not like I used to.”

He thought back to his childhood, to Sunday mornings spent in stiff pews with his family. Back then, faith had felt easy, like breathing. Now it felt like dragging himself through quicksand. Ever since coming to university, he’d found it harder to reconcile the things he’d learned—the questions about the universe, about suffering, about people—with the quiet certainty he used to have.

He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the altar, and whispered, “If you’re listening, show me something. Anything. Please.”

The silence pressed down on him, thick and unyielding. For a long time, there was nothing—just the distant creak of old wood and the faint rustle of wind outside. And then—

A voice.

“You don’t sound so sure about that.”

Oscar froze. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes snapped open. The words hadn’t come from his head; they had echoed, faint but clear, around the cavernous space.

“Hello?” he called out, his voice unsteady.

Nothing.

He turned his head, scanning the shadows that stretched along the cathedral’s walls. No one was there.

“You’re not really expecting an answer, are you?”

It was the same voice, low and feminine, almost teasing. It came from nowhere and everywhere all at once, threading through the silence like smoke.

Oscar’s pulse raced. He pushed himself to his feet, his knees trembling. “Who’s there?” he demanded, though his voice wavered.

“Funny,” the voice said, light with amusement. “Shouldn’t you already know? Isn’t that the whole point of all this?”

Oscar clenched his fists. “What—what do you mean?”

“You came here looking for God,” the voice continued, ignoring his question. “You kneeled at his altar. You asked him to answer you. And yet, you doubt the second you hear a voice. Typical.”

“I—I don’t…” He faltered, his throat dry. His heart pounded as he searched the shadows, but no figure emerged, no source revealed itself. He felt dizzy, his mind torn between disbelief and something he couldn’t name.

“Maybe,” the voice mused, growing softer now, “the problem isn’t that you can’t hear him. Maybe it’s that you don’t want to.”

Oscar stumbled back, his hands gripping the edge of a pew for support. “This isn’t real,” he muttered under his breath. “I’m imagining this. I have to be.”

The voice laughed, a sound both soft and sharp, like silk sliding over broken glass. “Oh, you poor thing. You’re not imagining me. But don’t worry—I’ll be here. After all, you came to me, didn’t you?”

The air grew still again. The weight that had settled over him lifted, leaving behind a suffocating silence. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring into the dark corners of the cathedral, his body trembling with unease.

And yet, as he finally turned to leave, the voice lingered in his mind, curling around his thoughts like smoke.

Oscar told himself he wouldn’t go back.

For three days, he avoided the cathedral, telling himself it had all been a fluke, a trick of his exhausted mind. Exams, late nights, too much coffee—surely that was all it had been. But the voice lingered, curling around his thoughts, a ghost that wouldn’t let go.

“Maybe the problem isn’t that you can’t hear him. Maybe it’s that you don’t want to.”

Her words played on repeat, eroding what little resolve he had. By the fourth night, he found himself standing in front of the cathedral again, his breath fogging in the cold air. The weight of the day had followed him here, the questions he didn’t have answers for pressing down on his shoulders.

He stepped inside.

The same heavy stillness greeted him, the faint scent of candle wax and incense wrapping around him like a shroud. His footsteps echoed, the sound almost too loud in the empty space. He made his way to the altar again, his heart thudding in time with each step.

When he knelt, he hesitated. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, “Are you there?”

Silence.

He closed his eyes, his hands tightening into fists. “If you’re real, if you’re not just… something in my head, talk to me. Please.”

“Back so soon?”

His eyes snapped open, his heart seizing at the sound. The voice was richer this time, less distant, and carried a hint of mockery.

“You’ve been thinking about me,” she said. “Haven’t you?”

Oscar’s breath quickened. He stood abruptly, looking around, his eyes darting to every corner of the cathedral. “Where are you?”

“Right here,” she said, but there was no source—just her voice, echoing faintly. “Though you don’t really need to see me, do you? You came for my words, not my face.”

“Why do you keep… doing this?” His voice cracked, frustration creeping in. “Why won’t you just tell me who you are?”

“Why does it matter?” Her tone was light, almost playful. “You’re not here for me. You’re here because you’re lost. You’ve been lost for a while, haven’t you?”

He opened his mouth to protest but couldn’t find the words.

“Look at you,” she continued, her voice softening. “You don’t even know what you believe anymore. You ask for answers, but you don’t really want them. You pray, but only when it’s convenient. And when you don’t get what you want, you turn your back on the one you claim to worship. Isn’t that what’s been happening?”

“That’s not fair,” Oscar said through gritted teeth.

“No?” She laughed quietly, the sound low and smooth, filling the space like smoke. “You’re angry because I’m right. You don’t need God—you need someone to blame. You always have.”

Oscar staggered back, the words hitting him like a blow to the chest. “That’s not true,” he muttered. “I—I’ve tried.”

“Tried?” Her voice hardened, the edge of a sneer creeping in. “Tried to what? To follow rules you don’t even believe in? To pretend that the rituals mean anything to you anymore?”

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Stop it.”

“But it’s the truth,” she pressed, unrelenting. “You don’t feel God anymore. You don’t even know if he’s there. And deep down, doesn’t that make you wonder—doesn’t that make you furious? What kind of God would leave you like this, empty and doubting?”

Oscar stumbled back to a pew and sat down heavily, burying his face in his hands. He wanted to scream, to shout her down, but her words had opened something raw and vulnerable inside him.

“I just want to believe again,” he said finally, his voice breaking.

The silence stretched. He thought she might have gone, but then her voice returned, softer this time.

“Belief isn’t enough,” she said. “It’s never been enough. You’re chasing something that doesn’t exist anymore—not for you. The question isn’t whether you can believe. The question is, what will you do now that you can’t?”

Her words wrapped around him like a noose, pulling tighter with each syllable. He wanted to argue, to say something, but all he could do was sit there, staring at the altar, the flicker of candlelight reflected in his wide, unblinking eyes.

And then she was gone.

The air felt heavier in her absence, the weight of her words lingering long after the sound of her voice faded.

Oscar sat there for hours, the cold seeping into his skin, until finally, he stood and walked out into the night.

But he knew he would come back.

The next evening Oscar’s heart raced in his chest as he made his way back to the cathedral. The questions, the doubt, the unbearable weight of it all had settled into his bones. He hadn’t felt so lost, so unmoored in years. Every time he closed his eyes, her voice echoed in his mind—taunting, coaxing, pulling him deeper into something he didn’t fully understand.

“You’re not here for answers,” she had said. “You’re here because you’re lost.”

And she was right. He didn’t want to pray. He didn’t want faith. He wanted the answers she promised, the ones that could make everything clear again, the ones that would release him from this suffocating uncertainty.

The cathedral was empty again when he entered, the cold marble floor stretching endlessly beneath his feet. He walked down the aisle, each step heavier than the last. He couldn’t fight the urge to kneel again. It was like he was drawn here against his will, but not by God—by her.

“Please,” he whispered into the quiet. “Just… tell me what to do. I’m begging you.”

Silence.

He felt ridiculous. He’d prayed to an absent God and now he was pleading with a voice that wasn’t even real. Or was it? Was he losing his mind? Was he hearing things?

And then, just as before, a voice slithered into the silence, its warmth familiar now, like the touch of an old lover.

“You’re so desperate, Oscar.”

Her words slithered under his skin. He clenched his fists, his pulse quickening.

“You keep asking for a sign,” she continued, the voice low, coaxing. “But what if the sign is right in front of you? What if all you need to do is stop pretending that you care about what’s right and wrong, that you care about what they told you to believe?”

His stomach churned. “What do you want from me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?” The voice was near now, a breath against his ear. “You’re asking for freedom, Oscar. Freedom to choose. To feel something, anything, other than this hollow ache.”

He turned sharply, but there was no one. Nothing but empty pews and the altar bathed in candlelight.

“I don’t know anymore. I just… I don’t know what to believe,” he confessed, his voice faltering. His hands tightened into fists, knuckles white. “I can’t do this. I can’t live this way.”

“You can,” she purred. “You already are. You just haven’t accepted it yet. You’re not some saint. You’ve been waiting for sin, Oscar. You’ve been craving it.”

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head violently. “That’s not true. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to hold on. I don’t want to let go.”

“Why?” The voice was full of dark amusement. “Why not? What are you so afraid of? The truth? That you’re already lost?”

Her words gnawed at him, scraping at the edges of everything he believed, everything he had held on to. It was like the air itself had thickened, turning oppressive with the weight of his own thoughts, his own doubts.

“Please…” His voice cracked, barely audible. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what’s real. Please…”

And that’s when it happened.

A rustle of fabric. A step.

And then, from the shadows of the altar, she emerged.

Oscar’s breath caught in his throat. She was real. She was there.

Her feet were bare, the cold stone floor seeming to do nothing to her as she moved effortlessly, gliding toward him. Her dress was tattered, torn at the hem, the fabric clinging to her like it had once been something much more whole, now undone. Her hair was tangled, falling in waves around her face, but her eyes—they burned into him.

Her smile was a slow curve of satisfaction. She was the embodiment of temptation, of sin. Every movement was deliberate, seductively graceful, and Oscar couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

She stood before him, just out of reach. Her eyes flickered over him, a knowing glint in them, as though she could see right through the fragile walls he’d built around himself.

If there had to be an embodiment of sin Oscar thought, his mind awash with overwhelming clarity and an unsettling recognition, it was her.

“You’re here,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I thought you were…”

“A figment of your imagination?” She laughed softly, the sound like music in his ears. “Oh no, Oscar. I’m very real.” She took a step closer, her bare feet making no sound on the cold floor. “And so are you. You’re real in a way they told you not to be. But it’s okay, you’re safe here with me. Don’t you want that?”

Oscar’s breath hitched, the raw frustration spilling over as his heart raced. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

She reached out, just a fingertip’s distance from his face, and her touch was like fire. Her eyes locked on his, never wavering. “Stop fighting it. You know what you want. You don’t have to be afraid of it. You don’t have to keep pretending.”

His pulse thundered in his ears. Everything in him screamed to walk away, to turn his back, but his body betrayed him. He felt the pull of her presence like an anchor, holding him in place. He felt his walls crumbling, each word she spoke eating away at the last bit of resistance he had left.

“I’m not afraid of what I want,” he whispered hoarsely, staring at her trembling hand so close to his face. “I’m afraid of what you’re asking me to do.”

She smiled, that dark, knowing smile, and leaned in just enough for him to feel the heat of her breath.

“You already know,” she murmured. “You’ve been begging for me to show you the way. Now let go. You don’t need God to tell you what’s right or wrong. You already know what you want. You’ve always known.”

Oscar stared at her, a sick mixture of desire and fear building inside him. His breath came faster now, his hands shaking. “And if I do it… If I let go… What will happen?”

She gave him that smile again, the one that felt like a promise. “Everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Oscar’s hands hovered just short of touching her, the heat radiating from her skin a warning and an invitation all at once. She didn’t move, didn’t flinch, only watched him with that unshakable smile as if daring him to take the final step.

He pulled back at the last second, his breath trembling in his chest. “I—I can’t.”

Her laugh was soft, almost pitying. “Of course you can. You’ve already crossed the line, Oscar.” She tilted her head, her hair catching the dim light like a halo twisted in shadow. “You’re not here for salvation. You came back because you want this.”

He stumbled backward, his hands falling to his sides. His heart pounded as he turned his gaze to the altar, the flickering candles, the cold stone beneath his feet. This isn’t who I am, he thought, but the words rang hollow even in his own mind.

“You’re still clinging to the idea of being good,” she said, taking a slow, deliberate step toward him. “But why? Look at where that’s gotten you.” Her voice softened, a whisper that seemed to seep into the marrow of his bones. “You’ve spent so long trying to be something you’re not, denying what you feel, what you want. And for what? To please a God who won’t answer you? To follow rules you don’t even believe in anymore?”

“Stop,” Oscar said weakly, his voice cracking.

She stepped closer, closing the space between them with agonizing patience. “You prayed to God, and I answered. Isn’t that what you wanted? Isn’t that why you keep coming back—to hear my voice?”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. He didn’t have an answer for her because the truth of her words was unbearable. She was right. He had come back for her, and the realisation was like a dagger twisting in his chest.

“What are you doing to me?” he asked, his voice shaking.

“Nothing you didn’t already want,” she replied, her voice velvet smooth. She reached out and traced a finger down his arm, the contact electric, sending shivers through him. “You’re not fighting me, Oscar. You’re fighting yourself. But you don’t have to anymore. You don’t have to be afraid.”

Oscar closed his eyes tightly, as though shutting her out could silence the turmoil inside him. But her voice was still there, pressing against his thoughts, filling every crevice of his doubt.

“I don’t want this,” he said, though the words felt empty, forced.

Her laughter was soft, haunting. “Don’t you?”

Oscar turned away from her, his hands gripping the back of a pew for support. The air felt thick, suffocating, and the weight of her presence pressed down on him. He thought of his childhood, the simplicity of belief, the comfort of prayers whispered in the dark. He thought of his family, the faith they carried like a torch in the darkness, the certainty they seemed to possess. And then he thought of her—the way her words cut through him, the way her presence made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t in years.

“I just want it to make sense,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I just want to understand why everything feels so empty. Why nothing I do is ever enough.”

She stepped beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her body. “Because you’re searching for something that doesn’t exist. The world isn’t black and white, Oscar. There’s no grand plan, no divine reward waiting for you at the end of all this suffering. There’s only the here and now, the choices you make, the things you take for yourself.”

He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for something—an answer, a reason, anything to hold on to. But what he saw there was something untamable, something wild and free, and it terrified him as much as it drew him in.

“You make it sound so easy,” he said bitterly. “Just give in. Just forget everything I’ve ever believed in.”

She smiled, her lips curling in that maddening, knowing way. “It is easy. The hard part is letting go of the guilt.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “But once you do, you’ll wonder why you ever held on to it in the first place.”

Oscar’s breath hitched as her words settled over him like a heavy fog. He felt himself unraveling, his carefully constructed walls crumbling with every moment he spent in her presence.

“What happens if I give in?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Her eyes glimmered, and her smile widened. “Then you’ll finally be free.”

He didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath his feet. He wanted to pull back, to retreat to the safety of everything he’d known, but the pull of her words, her presence, was impossible to resist.

Without thinking, he reached for her, his fingers brushing her wrist. Her skin was warm, impossibly so, and the contact sent a jolt through him.

“See?” she said softly, her voice carrying both triumph and tenderness. “It’s not so hard, is it?”

He wanted to answer, but the words caught in his throat. All he could do was stare at her, his mind a swirling chaos of fear and desire.

In that moment, he knew he was no longer asking for forgiveness. He was asking for damnation.

Oscar’s hand lingered against her wrist, the warmth of her skin pulling him closer even as a small voice in the back of his mind screamed for him to stop. But that voice was faint now, drowned out by the thrum of his heartbeat, by the way she looked at him—calm, confident, and utterly unrepentant.

He felt his resolve crumbling as she stepped closer, her breath mingling with his. “This is what you want, Oscar,” she whispered, her voice low and smooth, wrapping around him like a shroud. “Not what they told you to want. Not what the rules demand. Just this. Just us.”

He shook his head, though his fingers tightened around her wrist instead of letting go. “This isn’t right,” he said, but the words lacked conviction.

“‘Right.’” She said the word like it was a joke, her lips curling into a small, knowing smile. “You’ve spent your whole life chasing what’s ‘right.’ And where has it gotten you? Alone. Miserable. Doubting everything.” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Isn’t it time to stop chasing something that doesn’t exist?”

Her other hand brushed against his chest, and he froze, every nerve in his body igniting at her touch. She tilted her head, her lips only a breath away from his. “You’re free now, Oscar. Don’t you feel it?”

He wanted to argue, to push her away, but Oscar didn’t have to think twice. With a broken, desperate cry, he closed the gap between them, his hands reaching tightening—longing for whatever she would offer him.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, and overwhelming. It wasn’t tender—it was consuming, like she was claiming him, drawing him deeper into her world with every second. Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, and his arms found their way around her waist, pulling her closer despite the warning bells ringing faintly in his mind.

“This isn’t happening,” he thought. But it was.

The kiss deepened, and with it, the last vestiges of his guilt began to dissolve. He wanted her—needed her—and the need drowned out everything else. The cold stone walls of the cathedral, the flicker of candles, even the faint ache of doubt faded into the background.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, “You’ve wanted this for so long. Don’t deny it now.”

“I…” His voice broke, and she silenced him with another kiss, her fingers tightening in his hair.

They stumbled together toward the altar, his back hitting the edge of the marble as she pressed against him. Her torn dress shifted with her movements, and he caught glimpses of skin that made his breath hitch, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“This is freedom,” she murmured against his lips, her hands tugging at the fabric of his shirt. “This is what they never wanted you to have. To feel. To take.”

Her words blurred into the haze of sensation as he gave in completely. There was no thought, no hesitation now—only the press of her body against his, the taste of her lips, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands.

Time seemed to warp, the sacred space around them turning into something altogether different—no longer a place of prayer and penance but of raw, unrestrained passion. The flicker of candlelight cast their shadows against the walls, their movements slow and deliberate, each touch and kiss erasing another piece of the life Oscar had clung to for so long.

When they finally took a minute to breathe, the silence returned, thick and heavy, but it was no longer oppressive. It was a silence filled with her presence, her lingering warmth, and the faint scent of sweat and incense that clung to the air.

She sat beside him on the cold stone floor, her dress slipping off one shoulder, her bare skin glowing faintly in the candlelight. Her eyes gleamed as she watched him, her smile triumphant. “Now you understand,” she said softly, brushing her fingers against his jaw.

Oscar didn’t respond at first. He was staring at his hands, trembling slightly, the enormity of what he’d done crashing down on him.

“I—what have I done?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“You’ve finally done something for yourself,” she said, her voice full of satisfaction. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And it felt good, didn’t it? It felt right.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers, filled with a storm of guilt and confusion. “It wasn’t right. It wasn’t…” He trailed off, his voice faltering as the weight of her gaze pinned him in place.

“You’re thinking too much,” she said with a soft laugh, running her fingers through his hair. “Stop trying to fit this into their rules, their expectations. You’re free now, Oscar. You don’t have to answer to anyone—not God, not anyone. You finally took what you wanted. And doesn’t that feel better than all the empty prayers and hollow rituals?”

He wanted to deny it, to tell her she was wrong, but the words caught in his throat. Because she wasn’t wrong. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel empty. He didn’t feel numb. He felt alive, every nerve in his body humming with the memory of her touch, her kiss, her presence.

But beneath that, deep in the pit of his stomach, something else lingered—a quiet, gnawing fear.

“Am I free?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

She smiled, her eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite name. “Of course you are.”

But as she leaned in to kiss him again, the thought echoed in his mind, louder this time, impossible to ignore. Then why does it feel like I’ve just been chained?

Days passed, but Oscar couldn’t shake the heaviness that clung to him. It wasn’t guilt in the way he thought he might feel—it wasn’t clean, wasn’t purifying. It was sickening. His chest felt tight, his skin hot and clammy. He spent hours staring at the ceiling of his small dorm room, unable to sleep, haunted by the flicker of candlelight and her touch.

Every time he closed his eyes, she was there.

Her voice. Her smile. Her bare feet against the cold stone floor.

He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the memory of her laughter echoing in his ears. He had stopped going to class. He barely ate. Nothing seemed to matter anymore—not the rules he had once clung to, not the promises he had made to himself, to God.

And yet, the weight of it all pressed down on him, suffocating.

Finally, he couldn’t take it any longer. He needed to go back—not to her, but to the cathedral. Maybe the quiet would bring him peace. Maybe confession would bring him clarity. Maybe… something, anything, could make him feel clean again.

The cathedral was dim and cold when he entered, the faint scent of incense lingering in the air. He glanced at the altar, his stomach twisting at the memory of what had happened there. He couldn’t even kneel. Instead, he turned toward the confessional, his legs shaking as he approached the wooden booth.

Sliding inside, he closed the door behind him, the faint creak of the hinges echoing in the silence. For a moment, he sat in the dark, his hands trembling as he pressed them together in prayer.

When the screen slid open, he startled, staring at the shadowed outline of the priest beyond the latticework.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Oscar whispered, his voice raw and shaky.

“How long has it been since your last confession?” the priest asked, his tone calm and steady.

Oscar hesitated, swallowing hard. “Months. Maybe longer.”

The priest nodded, waiting.

“I… I don’t even know where to begin,” Oscar admitted, his voice cracking. “I feel sick. I’ve done something terrible. Something unforgivable.”

“There is no sin that cannot be forgiven, my son,” the priest said gently. “God’s mercy is infinite.”

Oscar laughed bitterly, shaking his head even though the priest couldn’t see him. “I don’t think even God would forgive this.”

“Tell me,” the priest urged.

Oscar’s breathing grew uneven, and the words spilled out of him like water from a cracked dam. “I gave in to temptation. I let myself… I let myself fall. I’ve broken every promise I ever made to God, to myself. I sinned, Father. I sinned in the worst way.”

The priest was silent for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was calm, measured. “Do you repent? Do you seek absolution?”

“I don’t know,” Oscar whispered. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

The priest let out a soft sigh. “It is not unusual to feel lost, my son. To question your faith. But know this: sin does not define you. It is what you choose to do next that matters.”

Oscar opened his mouth to respond, but the priest slid the screen shut, his voice cutting off.

Moments later, Oscar heard the door on the priest’s side open and shut, the soft echo of his footsteps fading into the cathedral.

Oscar stayed in the booth, his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing.

And then he heard it.

Her voice.

Soft, lilting, and full of mockery. “Oscar. Did that make you feel better?”

His blood ran cold. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head. “No, no. You’re not real. You’re not here.”

Her laughter filled the booth, low and rich, curling around him like smoke. “Oh, I’m here, Oscar. I’ve always been here. You can’t run from me.”

He slammed his fists against the wooden walls, his voice breaking. “Stop it. Just stop. Why won’t you leave me alone?”

“Leave you alone?” she repeated, feigning innocence. “You’re the one who came back here, remember? You’re the one who begged for my voice. For my touch. Don’t act like this isn’t what you wanted.”

He covered his ears, shaking his head. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t want to be a sinner.”

Her voice softened, almost tender. “But you are, Oscar. You always were. You just needed someone to show you.”

His hands dropped, and he leaned forward, his voice raw with desperation. “You made me do this. You made me… You made me ruin everything. I’m a sinner because of you.”

She laughed again, light and airy, like he’d told her a joke. “I made you do this? Oh, Oscar, no.” Her voice turned sharp, cutting. “I never made you do anything. You’re the one who kissed me. You’re the one who touched me. You’re the one who begged for it.”

He clenched his fists, tears streaming down his face. “You lied to me. You said I’d feel free.”

“And don’t you?” she countered, her voice curling with amusement. “You’re just afraid to admit it.”

“No,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “No, I’m not free. I’m broken.”

“Broken,” she echoed, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “No, Oscar. You’re not broken. You’re finally whole. You just don’t know how to live with it yet.”

Her laughter faded into silence, leaving him alone in the darkness of the booth, shaking, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

He didn’t leave the confessional for a long time. When he finally stepped out, the cathedral was empty, the air cold and heavy. But he could still feel her there, lingering in the shadows, waiting for him.

And he knew—no matter how far he ran, no matter how many times he prayed—he would never escape her.

[miiyas]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MIYA !!

little birthday moments with him.

wc: 482, 401, post-ts, fluff, gn reader, may be ooc, slight proof read

ATSUMU MIYA loves his birthday. he’s very vocal about it, bragging to everyone about how he gets to have osamus homemade vanilla-yuzu cake and how he was going to get absolutely wasted with him today. and as much as he loves all the attention and gifts, he also loves you.

everywhere he goes, there always would be a reference to you. your favorite drink, the restaurant you so desperately want to go to, favorite shopping brand, the bundle of smiski blind boxes atsumu always finds himself buying for you— everything reminds him of you.

now, despite his actions towards you, atsumu isn’t one for cheesy sentimentals. he thinks he’d rather suffer through sakusas earful lecture of cleaning his room and which sanitizing products are best for his shared home with you then admit that he’s soft for sweet affection and care. so when you give him his small birthday present after his actual party, he’s a caught a little off guard.

“savin’ best fer last, huh ? what’didya get me ?” he hums, leaning against the bed frame. he watches you crawl back atop of his waist, big hands coming to rest on your hips as you hold the small wrapped gift. it’s dark in your shared bedroom with the only source of light being from a lamp by your bedside.

atsumu almost reluctantly slips his hands off your sides and gently takes ahold of the present. it was no bigger than his palms, maybe a bit smaller, and it lacked weight. with sleep on his mind, the blonde carefully peels off the wrapping with blunt nails, tired eyes widening as he sees a small golden locket drop onto his stomach.

“it’s a keychain.” you whisper to him, picking it up and handing it back in his bigger hands.

“i wanted to get you a necklace so we can match, but i figured because of volleyball, you wouldn’t be able to wear it around as much.”

as you explain, you could see your boyfriends eyes prick up with tears ever so slightly which only engulfed panic in your system. the blonde brushes it of, telling you that he ‘ain’t cryin’ !’ and thumbs the tears away, opening the locket with a hand with a soft click.

“.. there’s nothin’ inside..” he mumbles, a little disappointed to not see your pretty face already displayed. that’s when you tug out your matching necklace already looped around your neck, opening it up to show its similar emptiness.

“i wanted to print stuff out with you tomorrow. y’know, i have your face on mine and—”

“i have yers on … mine.” atsumu finishes the sentence for you, his words a little drifted off as his thumb grazes along the intricate lines on the metal.

atsumu knows for a fact that he fell first and harder, and he can’t help but feel it happen all over again.

OSAMU MIYA doesn’t wish for a lot of things on his birthday.

the only few things he wishes for are for the prices of onigiri ingredients to go down, find a bigger mattress for the two of you, and maybe get sponsored by a good kitchen utensil company and get some free goods. other than that, he likes to think that he’s content with the things already given in life.

he also wishes for people to stop teasing him for taking the second slice of his own cake.

there’s been a small birthday ritual the twins had been doing since they were younger— to give the first and second slice they cut to the people they care about the most.

first slice would always and forever belong to their ma, no matter what. that much would never change. second slice normally was given to one another, but osamu had soon gone irritated with the fact that his brother would always purposely make him take the best slice, only to hand it off later. so overtime, osamu had began to claim the better slice for himself, saving it and giving the third slice to his twin.

he doesn’t think he’s being greedy, just reasonable and fair.

but after starting to date you, he subconsciously sees himself handing you the first bite to all his meals, sharing a bento box when normally he would glare at those who want a bite, and letting you enter the kitchen whenever he’s at work in it which is a surprise in itself.

so when greedy-glutton osamu hands you the second slice to his cake, you’re a little taken aback.

“.. want me to hold onto it for you ?”

you sit right beside him by the table and osamu shakes his head, sliding the plate closer in front of you. there’s a soft look behind his pretty hooded eyes that makes your ears burn red, the atmosphere around you growing quiet until it was just your boyfriend voice you could hear.

“i wan’cha ta have it.”

you blink, eyes wide as you watch your boyfriend continue to slice through the cake with his twin before handing the slice to one another. your lashes flutter as you look down at the plate, you realize how generous of an amount you had received.

osamu likes to say ‘i love you,’ but he loves to show it more.

[fattystoriez]

Daddy is Different

Content Warning: Incest, Weight gain

Trent was an only child raised by just his father. His mother had left his father for a richer man when Trent was only 8 years old. Trent and his father were very close before Trent left for college right out of high school on a basketball scholarship. Trent hadn’t visited for the holidays, which made Trent feel guilt for leaving his father all alone, with only a little communication back and forth. So Trent decided to go back home for Spring break, his father had presumably found a partner who really wanted to meet Trent, he was excited to see his father was doing well.

Trent arrived home and walked right in, announcing himself. “Hello? Dad?? Anybody home?!” As Trent walked in the house was a mess, junk food trash everywhere. Trent’s father was usually healthy… Trent couldn’t imagine his dad ever touching any junk food. There was a smell of musk and piss, stained jockstraps all over the place.

Trent makes it to he living room which was a major source of the smell, his dad was sitting in a chair in the living room. He looked wildly different, his healthy average hairless body seemed to have ballooned into a fat guy topped by a set of tits. He was bald now, a spotted a heady beard. He has a cigar in his mouth, one that seemed to have just been lit.

“Welcome home Piggy, I’ve missed you so much.” Trent’s dad opened his arms stretched out for a hug.

Trent was taken a back… how could this be his father? This man was a fat disgusting slob, the complete opposite of his dad. “Dad? What happened to you?”

“So this is the Piggy I’ve heard so much about!” A giant fat man walked in, wearing only his camouflage underwear. He was graying, definitely older than Trent’s father. His bulge was massive, the tip soaked in pre-cum. He walked right up to Trent and put his hand on his arm “You’re quite the skinny guy, not nearly plump enough to be a pig.”

Trent pushed away “What the fuck? Dad what’s going on here… who is this disgusting man?!” Trent’s head started to feel light, he was starting to get dizzy.

“It’s daddy for now on pig, and this is your paw. I met him at the bar a couple months ago” Hiw could these changes happen in a just a few months? “He told me he could make my life better and help me get you back home.” Trent’s father blew out a plume of smoke into his son’s face.”

Paw got behind Trent and pulled his shirt off “this will give you some room piggy” Trent was so confused, but oddly getting very horny. Paw got Trent in his knees, whipped out his fat cock and huge balls. “I’m so full piggy, time to fattened up this hog!” Paw forced his cock into Trent’s mouth.

After not a few pumps down Trent’s throat Paw was ready to bust his load into Trent’s mouth. It was like his balls has gallons of cum, causing Trent to feel full.

Trent’s body filled out with lard covering his once slender, lean body. His stomach pushed out and jiggled with soft fat, starting to form rolls on his body. “Ughnnnn” Trent moaned as he groped his fat body. “What’s are you doing to me?!” Trent was starting to get hard. Trent was trying to fight away, stop this from happening, but he was beginning to give in.

Paw and Daddy began to play with Piggy’s fattening body, they start to push into his soft rolls. Daddy began to shove junk food like pizza, doughnuts and shakes into Piggy’s mouth.

Piggy’s underwear started morphing into a black jockstrap, his blubbery body hanging over his waist. Piggy grew a full beard that showcased the milkshake staying around his mouth. Piggy’s body had become so huge, so far from the lean body he had moments prior.

What was once a college basketball player, is now a Piggy for his fat slobbish daddies to force to grow fatten and fatter. Trent sometimes makes it to the surface, his horror of being so huge and disgusting later turned into a grotesque horniness. There was no more Trent, only Piggy.