#OF LATE I THINK OF ROSEWOOD

[bluemoon1331]

Thinking so hard about that unnamed AU where the boys are three types of creatures. Eclipse will be so fun in that one. His fae ass have four f*cking appearances for the seasons. Demon Sun be reminding me of Bam's blaze king Sun. And either another vamp Moon or lich. And then Y/N is just an absolute mental mess. Like, there's three different versions of how they meet one of the boys to start, but they all stem from the same way and just...oof. The Moon meeting is the most fleshed storyline, but oh so many heavy topics. Anyway, I really need to stop making f*cking AUs

[catsconflictscopicsandchamomile]

Just almost tripped over some rosewood branches I have lying about for Art Reasons and my legit first thought was "oh geez, stray sticks... or is that 'oh Styx, stray Jesus?"

[theostrophywife]

okay for fluff prompts with Eris I would love to see something where Eris is touch starved and desperate for affection from his mate/significant other

like you wanna be loved.

author's note: i've been listening to a ton of ed sheeran lately hence this request being inspired by this song.

eris vanserra never learned how to be soft.

for his entire immortal existence, he was taught that affection was synonymous to weakness and to crave such things were beneath a future high lord. even after beron's demise, it was still hard for eris to admit that he desired that connection just like everyone else.

eris didn't realize how starved he was of affection until the first time you touched him. it was during the day of his coronation, in the great ballroom of the forest house. a crowd had gathered to see the high priestess place the rosewood crown upon his head. despite the fact that he had plotted and schemed his way into this exact moment for centuries, eris was terrified.

what if he was a terrible high lord? what if he failed his court? what if his greatest fear came true and he turned out to be exactly like his father?

eris would've spiraled into his thoughts had he not felt your fingers intertwining through his. the warmth of your hand anchored him to the present and his heart squeezed in his chest as he found you smiling up at him. the mating bond hadn't snapped yet, but at the back of his mind, eris had always known.

it was you. it had always been you.

"you're going to be the best high lord the autumn court has ever seen, eris."

"how can you be so sure?"

you tilted your head, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. "because i believe in you."

you had spoken with such conviction that it chased away all of his doubts. as he assumed his responsibilities as high lord, you became his constant. you were the anchor that brought him back to the present.

when he found himself frustrated during tense council meetings, you were there to squeeze his hand underneath the table. when he forgot to eat while toiling through the court's budget, you curled up on the couch with him, resting your leg atop his lap as you shared freshly baked bread and strawberry jam. and when the nightmares came, he let you hold him all through the night, focusing on nothing but the soft cadence of your breath and the warmth of your arms around him.

"you're always taking care of everyone," you said softly, brushing the hair out of his eyes. "it's okay to admit that you need to be taken care of too. let me be that for you, eris."

eris blinked, drinking your words in. he didn't think you realized what this moment meant to him. you were giving him permission to be vulnerable. you were teaching him that desiring love wasn't weak. in fact, it might have been the bravest and strongest that eris had ever felt.

vulnerability was uncharted waters, but for you, for his mate, he was willing to dive in headfirst. slowly but surely, your mate let you in and eris felt the sunlight of your love fill the dark corners of his calloused heart. before he could talk himself out of it, eris reached for you.

eris had kissed others before, but it had never been like this. his hands shook as he cradled your cheek. when your eyes met, there was such tenderness in his gaze that your chest tightened at the sight of him. his expression was raw and unguarded, like he was holding his heart in his hands and offering it up to you.

when his lips touched yours, eris felt like he had finally come home. your kisses were soft and tender, full of pining and yearning. he gently cradled your face and the thought that he was holding his entire world between his hands struck him just as you sighed in satisfaction. eris held you like he was afraid you might disappear. he kissed you again, long and deep this time before pressing his forehead against yours.

"you have to know," eris murmured, his voice full of passion and emotion. "surely you must know what you mean to me."

you smiled as tears blurred your vision. "i may have an inkling," you teased. "but it wouldn't hurt to hear you say it."

"i love you," eris said plainly as though he was reciting the infallible truth. as though his love for you had always been and will always be long after the world ceased existing. "i love you in a way that i never thought myself capable of. i love you as surely as the rising of the sun. i love you because you taught me that i could."

the tears fell as you looked up at eris. before you met him, love had always seemed like a vast concept that you would never be able to grasp, but now the word itself seemed inadequate to describe the gravity of what you felt for him.

"i love you too, eris." you placed his hand over your heart. "i love you so much that i don't think there's enough room in my heart to contain it."

eris closed his eyes and released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding. "i think you're my best friend."

you smiled in return. "i know you're my best friend and the love of my life."

"and the love of my life," eris repeated. "and every other life that i've ever existed in."

that four letter word—love. it hadn't been enough to describe whatever this was between you, but there was another that could. you and eris felt the exact moment that golden thread snapped between you.

mate.

[plldaily]

S01E01 - Pilot S04E01 - 'A' is for A-l-i-v-e S06E11 - Of Late I Think Of Rosewood

[silverflqmes]

your writing is my everything omg...you say you're quite new to the ff7 fandom, but you're so insane at writing the characters, its amazing. AHEM ANYWAYS <3 I was wondering if you could write some sephiroth x reader (who's love language is physical touch, and is quite energetic, and loud. However, more soft-spoken and gentle with him.) Knocking on his door at 3am only to find him awake, and it turns in to a cuddling session 💗

໒⦂ 𝐒𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐍.

notes. anskwjsdj anon, that’s so sweet to hear🥺 i swear i’m new, really!😭 i got into it back in february so it hasn’t been very long.. but i appreciate your words, they’re very reassuring since i doubt my portrayals a lot :’) i hope this post is to your liking!<3

genre. fluff + comfort

sephiroth x gn!reader.

shinra was ever quiet into the late evening as you tiptoed down the corridor of suites, careful not to stumble or make a ruckus. after all, normal people were asleep around this hour, even if you weren’t one of them.

but.. neither was your boyfriend, apparently, and you were about to make that his problem.

reaching the end of the hall, a soft breath spilled from your lips as you raised your fist to gently knock, grinning brightly. “sephirothhh.. it’s meeeee, your beloved y/n!” you sang as quiet as can be, suppressing a giggle before adding in a whispered yell, “open up before i freeze my ass off!”

it was a known fact that he, like his other peers, was graced with enhanced senses. which included hearing — among many other qualities to detect your presence, of course.

that being said, sephiroth had to be aware of your arrival, and by the pattern of footfalls echoing behind the door, it seemed he was!

liquid mercury framing a pale, ethereal face emerged through the crack of the doorframe, lips pulled into the tiniest of smiles. “apologies, i wasn’t aware i would be receiving company at this hour.” he finally spoke, sidestepping as an unvoiced invitation. “to what do i owe the pleasure of your lovely presence?”

with a quick kiss to his cheek, you threw your arms around him after twisting the lock, humming softly. “well, i must confess that i was suffering of boredom, lingering caffeine and a horrid lack of sephitonin.. so i decided to do something about that!”

a soft peck was placed on the flat of your temple in return, a noise of amusement following. “sephitonin, you say? and a lack of it? my, that sounds terrible, it simply won’t do.” sephiroth murmured back, cradling your body close to his by the hips. “what is your solution, if i might inquire?” there were several things that came to mind, but somehow you always had a way of going beyond his assumptions.

this was no exception. “a kiss for every minute that we have been apart sounds promising.. or a cuddle session until dawn, that sounds very appealing too.. then again, a goodnight’s rest on your thighs sounds lovely as well.. is ‘all the above’ an option here?”

a chuckle tumbled from his rosewood appendages, eyes crinkling at the corners. “hm.. just for you,” he paused, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. “i’d be willing to allow all of your suggestions. however, dawn is not far off.” the general warned, tracing his thumb over your warm skin. “we’d better get started.”

leaning into his cold, yet soothing hand, you allowed yourself to enjoy his touch for only a moment before letting out a tiny gasp. “you are so right. i should have infiltrated your apartment much sooner.” you concluded, pulling away to slip your fingers through the crevices of his pale ones. “it seems we have four hours at best and many, many kisses in dire need of compensation.. think you can handle this job, SOLDIER?”

though he knew the answer already, sephiroth fed into the silly act and made a contemplative sound, tapping a finger on his chin. “it will be a great feat, but i would not be a SOLDIER first if i could not accomplish this for my beloved.” he answered finally, smiling at the way you beamed up at him. did you always have to be so adorable?

“great! then it’s settled,” you giggled, tugging him forward. “to the bedroom we go!”

and to the bedroom you both went, laughter echoing all the way to the threshold where you fell back onto the collection of pillows with a bright grin.

the feline eyed male was quick to fill the spot beside you, pulling your body into the shape of his own as his nose buried into the crook of your neck.

kisses were peppered in his wake, snickers eliciting from your lips at the moonlight colored strands brushing over the curve of your cheek. it was utter bliss, being in his arms as you were, the signature rose and vanilla clinging to the air surrounding you both. somehow it was more prominent than normal; perhaps he had washed his hair after arriving home. either way, the scent put you at complete ease, as always.

“comfortable?” velvet cut through the silence, a gentle murmur against your ear.

you couldn’t help your giddiness at his affections, smiling like a teenager in love as you nuzzled against him. “incredibly, i’m about to have the best sleep ever.”

bemused, sephiroth shifted to tuck your head underneath his chin, allowing his eyes to flutter shut. “truly? well, i’m happy that i can provide you with such. i’ll certainly be sleeping nicely tonight as well.” a slumber devoid of the usual nightmares? with his beloved? he’d take it any day, no matter the timeframe in which you ask.

“good,” you muttered back, pressing your lips to his collarbone as your legs tangled with his own. “i want you to rest well too, i know it’s been harder as of late.. so i, y’know, wanna accommodate as best as i can.”

for a moment he fell quiet, though his arms- they spoke volumes of gratitude when they tightened just slightly around your form.

eventually, he found his voice again. “thank you, my love.”

notes. kinda short but i offer you a dose of sephitonin🤲 i’ve been adjusting to uni life so i haven’t been able to get to requests but i will do my best to gradually put out! just bear with me until then pls!🥺🫶

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GUARDIAN ANGEL! GOJO x FEM READER 

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray. 

God, please send me another guardian angel. 

A blast of static from the TV behind you. 

The one you sent me- 

“Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence. 

He’s strange. 

wc — 3.7k

tags — religion, Gojo has to reckon with the consequences of being the strongest, domesticity, attempted (failed) mugging/attack, Gojo kills a man for you (non graphic), Shoko’s a good friend, bs angel lore, I think of this like a prequel to reader’s villain arc lol,  title from closer by nine inch nails 

You wake up to a man standing over your bed. Understandably, you scramble backwards, hands over knees over legs over feet, all your limbs tangled together, until you bump into your headboard. 

“Hi!” He says cheerily. “Wow, haven’t gotten that reaction in a while, not since- Anyways. I’m Gojo Satoru, your guardian angel. Please make breakfast, it’s 12 pm already and I’m starving. Your sleep habits are terrible.” 

You shake, terrified. Nothing he said has gone through your brain.

“Um, hello? Deep breaths now. It’s really not that serious, can you stop that? Hellooooo,” he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, trying to get through to you. 

You panic and bat his hand away, but if you can touch him, that means he’s real. You’re not dreaming. There’s a strange man in your house calling himself your guardian angel. You try to pull yourself together enough to make a coherent sentence. What comes out is: 

“Um. Guardian angel. What?” 

“You don’t believe me,” he says. 

You’ve heard it can be dangerous for people suffering from delusions to be forcefully brought out of their dreams. “No,” you say carefully. “I’m sure this is all a big understanding.” 

“No, that’s okay,” he laughs. “I love getting to do this.” 

Massive wings unfurl from his back. It’s a strange sight. The air seems to ripple around them, iridescent ebbs and flows of the universe to make space for the impossible. They seem to sprout right out of his shoulder blades. 

It’s undeniable, irrefutable proof. Your brain can’t process this. It goes back to sleep. 

You wake up to the smell of bacon burning in the kitchen. 

Gojo hums as he cooks, his wings out. You’re almost worried they’ll get caught in the flames when suddenly you have something much more real to worry about. 

“Ow!” He’s about to stick his finger into his mouth when you intervene, scolding him without even thinking about it. 

“That’s dangerous! Don’t put your hands in your mouth, especially not if you’ve been cooking. Come here,” you tug him over to run his hands under the faucet. 

“Who's the guardian angel again?” He teases, amused. 

You answer him with another question. “Why are you cooking, anyways?” 

“You’re starving me! It’s so late and you haven’t made breakfast yet - you know I could report you to the authorities for angel abuse, right?” 

Somehow, you don’t believe him. There may very well be a division in heaven’s bureaucracy dedicated to looking after angels, but something about Gojo is just on the edge of unbelievable, like if you blink too hard, it might disappear without a trace. It’s the wings, probably. 

You’re good at compartmentalizing, so you ignore all of the normal reactions someone would have to an angel randomly appearing in your apartment to instead make breakfast. Gojo already burned your favorite pan, so you stick it in the sink to soak while you rummage around for your second best set. Then you check the fridge. You’re out of butter and eggs. There are just two pieces of bacon left. Is it presumptuous to ask your angel to run errands with you? 

You poke your head out of the fridge to look at Gojo, staring remorsefully at the burnt remains of his once-was-an-egg. He’s nursing the cut on his finger. 

“Do you want to go grocery shopping?”

He smiles at you, slow and syrupy and- 

He can’t do that. He’s beautiful as it is, as if God took extra time crafting him. Smiling only makes his beauty all the more painful, tugging at the strings of your heart. His snow white hair curls against the nape of his neck, a ruthlessly cute detail you notice when he tilts his head at you. 

“I would love to. What’s grocery shopping?” 

Introducing Gojo to the modern world is an exercise in both patience and childish wonder. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He tells you the last time he’s been on Earth was somewhere back in the 90’s.

“Like 1990? That’s pretty recent,” you remark. 

“Like 90 CE.” 

He’s delighted by everything, even the simplest of snacks, and begs you to add them to your cart. Ramune impresses him to no end. He’s enthralled by the taste of ice cream after the nice worker gives him a sample. You might really be reported to the Bureau of Angel Abuse at this point - all he’s interested in is junk food. It takes a while to finally wrangle him away from everything. In a way, it’s your fault because you hesitate to refuse an angel anything, and Gojo wants it all. You only manage to get him to agree to go home once you’ve tired him out. 

There was a sense of reverence, at first. 

There’s an angel living in your home. It’s hard to imagine getting used to that. Walking into the bathroom to the sight of Gojo brushing his teeth shirtless, his wings out, is a sight that will never get old. He manages to transform even the mundane into the divine. The sunlight strikes his hair at just the right angle to glow, giving him a faux-halo. 

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I think I used up all your toothpaste.” 

By day seven, you’ve wised up to Gojo’s tactics. If you don’t say no to anything, he’ll steamroll right over you, so you have to grow a backbone. 

“Oh, Christ? Yeah, we’re old pals. We go wayyyyy back.” 

“Please be quiet while I’m trying to pray.” 

“We’re in the same therapy group, actually. He texts me all the time for advice-“ 

“Gojo. Shut. Up.” 

He’s silent for all of a minute before he pipes up again. “I don’t think capital G up there would appreciate that.” 

You have never missed a day of prayer in your life. No temptation has been able to sway you from your duties. Hunger, thirst, and pain all were swept away in the face of your faith. Were you seriously about to start now, being annoyed to death by a particularly useless angel? 

The best solution to Gojo is always to ignore him. He needs attention like flowers need water. 

Without it, he stalks off to sulk. 

It’s night by the time he returns. He’s flying, which you usually don’t allow him to do, but you’ve driven out to a more remote, private church to pray. It’s owned by an old family friend, who handed you the keys without question. Half of this is for you, to experience god in the sanctity of nature, and half is for Gojo. You hate seeing him cooped up. Part of you feels like you’ve chained him down. You’re a trap in the form of a human, made to keep him grounded. 

He touches down next to you, hair slicked to his forehead in sweat. When he stretches his arms, his wings move simultaneously. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look more alive. He loves nothing like he loves flying, and you’re inclined to agree. 

Maybe you’ll let him take you for another ride tonight. You love the feeling of the wind against your face, the sight of the landscape beneath you when he takes you up, the feeling in your stomach when he tucks his wings in and free-falls for fun. You’re not scared. Gojo would never let anything happen to you. 

You might ask, later. Now, you send him off to the car ahead of you while you lock up. He’s cheerful as he heads off, whistling merrily. You’re glad flying has improved his mood. It’s equally painful for you whenever he’s upset with you. Perhaps it's simply a side effect of being a guardian angel .

The key is in the door when you feel the first hint of danger. 

“All the money in your pockets, ma’am.” 

Polite, for a thief. 

“You’re not from around these parts.” He says as you spin around. “Should’ve known better than to go wandering around these woods alone. Whatever happens next is on you, sweetheart. If only you’d been a little more careful.” 

He has a knife. 

“What do you want? Money? You can have it.” It doesn’t matter much to you. As long as he leaves before Gojo comes back. 

“Sometimes, ma’am, men don’t want anything but a thrill.” 

Then he lunges at you, presses you against the wall, and pins you with a knife to your throat. 

“Don’t scream now. No one would hear you anyways.”

He’s wrong about that part. 

You hear him coming up the path before you see him. 

“What’s taking you so long?” Gojo whines. “I wanna go home and watch Love Island already-oh.” 

“Run!” Gojo might be an angel, but you’ve seen him cut himself making toast. He can bleed like any other man, gold ichor, yes, but blood still. You don’t want to see him hurt. 

Instead, he sizes up your assailant, unfurls those beautiful wings - they always take your breath away - and in one swift move, simply tears you from his grasp. It’s faster than you can blink. 

The man makes a muffled sound of fear and shock as Gojo seems to blink back into existence. You know he’s only moving too fast for your brains to comprehend. 

“Stay here,” he deposits you on the grass behind him. It’s scorched, burned black from the temperature of his wings. 

He turns up the heat. You didn’t think it was possible, but he was clearly holding back. The air seems to melt around him, heat waves shimmering off his skin, his white feathers. They glow with an otherworldly light, radiating heat. 

You didn’t know true glory until this moment, and it frightens you. All other versions of blue fade in favor of Gojo’s eyes - a single, unyielding truth. He is a piece of heaven on earth, burning up. His anger is righteous. Holy. His true nature melts away his human appearance. 

He’s a seraph, one of the highest order of angels.  

You’ve never seen him fight before, don’t know how he gets his weapons or where he puts them. It just appears out of thin air. He carries a flaming sword in one hand, its pommel is white marble, its blade glass. Contrary to common belief, his voice doesn’t boom. In fact it’s all the more threatening because it is soft, a whisper so clearly heard it defies the laws of the world just because it can. 

He raises the sword like an executioner and judge all in one. 

You barely have time to close your eyes in horror when you realize what he’s about to do. 

Real angels are not like the watered down, commercialized ones you can find today in any young adult TV show. Real angels are bloody. Real angels are the hand of God, ruthless and violent.

Real angels have no mercy. 

You open your eyes again when you feel the now familiar heat on your skin. 

He’s standing before you, beaming. It’s clear he expects praise. In heaven, it might’ve been given to him. 

You can only stare at him in fear, not awe.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He steps closer, his burning wings flapping. “It’s okay. I got rid of him. You’re safe now.” 

You’re ashamed a split second after it happens because it’s so pathetic, but you can’t help it. Your animal instincts react instinctively to the threat, sending you skittering back on your palms and ass away from him. 

He freezes. His wings remain moving. Perhaps, like a shark and its gills, he simply can’t stop. 

“You’re afraid of me,” he says, stunned. “Why are you afraid of me?” 

The heat from his wings is baking your face. You’re afraid if you speak, your skin will crack. Still, Gojo shows no signs of leaving you alone. If anything, he’s about to get closer. 

“Stop,” you squeak. You throw out your hands in front of you like the world’s most useless shield. Your eyes are watering from looking into his radiance. 

Helpless, Gojo does something he hasn’t done since he was just a newborn angel. 

He asks for help. 

Shoko Ieri looks nothing like him, so that answers one question you’ve always had. Gojo tells you she’s another angel, although you don’t see her wings past the first minute you’ve met. After Gojo summons her to the scene and she catches the way you look at him, she keeps them carefully folded in. 

She helps you into the passenger seat when you can’t make your legs move to walk back to your car. You won’t let Gojo touch you, feeling torn at the look on his face when you flinch back from him. 

He’s sitting on a stool at the island while Shoko checks you over for injuries in the kitchen. There’s no major damage, just the after effects of shock and adrenaline working through your system. 

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” He says, hurt and confused. 

“You fucking idiot. You colossal blockhead. You-“ Shoko pauses, not because she’s run out of things to say, but because she has too many. “It’s not about you, right now, okay? I know it’s hard for you to get your head out of your ass, but can you at least try to be supportive?” 

Gojo makes a noise like he wants to protest, but you shift your weight and that draws his attention back to you. The look on your face makes him fall silent.

Shoko leaves after she’s completed her examination, though she doesn’t leave you helpless. 

“Do you want to come with me?” She says, carefully. “I understand if you don’t want to be left alone with him right now.” 

You shake your head. 

“Listen, I know Gojo scared you. I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have. He’s always been too reckless - ugh. The stories I could tell you. But I promise you, he will never hurt you - not just because he cares about you, but because he’s literally not allowed to. He’s your guardian angel.” 

“I know,” you say, and that’s the end of that. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence after Shoko leaves. You’re not sure how to navigate the once easy relationship between you and Gojo now. Always unable to keep still, he breaks the silence first. 

“Do you want to talk about it now?” He says softly. Everything about him is dulled, even the gleam of his brilliant hair. He’s back within his human skin, even more modestly than before, as if he has taken care to seal up every crack that his true nature could spill out of. 

You choose your first question carefully. “Why has the lord sent a seraph to watch over me?” 

Seraphs are the highest level of the hierarchy of angels. They maintain the order of the world, fulfilling God’s will. For one to have come to you- 

True horror is sinking in. You love your saints. You worship them devoutly, knowing each story by heart. You could trace a path through the church library of all the books you’ve read on them, giving the history of each spine. 

You do not want to be one of your saints. 

Joan of Arc died at 19. Saint Agatha was canonized for being tortured violently.

By sending you such a strong protector, your lord may be condemning you to die young, but that’s not why you cry. You cry because you are too weak to fulfill his command. 

Life is sweet. You don’t want to give up the taste of tart oranges on your tongue, the feeling of the babbling creek over your feet, the songs of the birds in the morning. You don’t want to give up Gojo’s wake up calls, or the feeling of flying. 

All these selfish, worldly pleasures should mean nothing to you when faced with the lord’s call, and yet- 

You resent it still. 

You’re so confused by it all. Why were you given such a burden and told nothing about it? What does any of it mean? 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. We don’t get told anything but who we were assigned to.” 

“Okay,” you say. 

“That’s it? Okay? I scare the shit out of you, and all you have to say is okay?” 

“Gojo, I don’t want to fight anymore. Let me just go to bed, please.” 

You’re woken up not by the light of Gojo’s halo, as you’ve gotten used to when he comes to your room demanding breakfast, but by the sun. The curtains are open, and sunbeams stream in over your pillow. 

Gojo is in the kitchen making - not burning - breakfast. He doesn’t turn when you pad into the kitchen on slippered feet, but you know he knows you’re there. You’re feeling much better. Sleep has refreshed you from the major shock to your system last night, and now you feel almost half bad for your reaction to him. He only wanted to help you, after all. 

It’s not his fault he’s strong. At the end of the day, he’s just another gear in the universe, like you. Neither of you are important enough to be privy to the greater, divine plan, not even a seraph. You shouldn’t have snapped at him. You’re in this together. 

You stand on tiptoe behind him to peer over his shoulder into the pan. 

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says. Is it just you, or does he seem almost shy? 

What an impact you’ve had on him. Your heart breaks. You’ve only known him to be bold and uncaring of human customs like politeness. You didn’t think it would upset you to see him learn manners, and yet- 

It’s a consequence of your rejection last night, as if he’s worried you’ll pull away again. This isn’t what you wanted, ever. 

“We should talk,” you say. 

“Yeah. We should.” He still won’t turn around, avoiding eye contact. 

Before you can speak, he blurts out, “ Do you not want me to be your angel anymore?”

“Of course not,” you say, reaching out for him. He’s hesitant to let you pull him closer, take his hands in yours. “Gojo, why would you think that?” 

“You’re scared of me,” he says, almost petulantly, like a sulking child. “You don’t like me anymore.” 

“Gojo,” you can think of nothing to say but his name. Sweet Gojo. Selfish Gojo. Gojo, who you’ve gotten used to having around. Gojo, who has infiltrated your life and now thinks to leave like you can kick him out like that. Like you would. Gojo, who you’re fond of in a way you can’t articulate, despite the way he takes and takes from you. Gojo, who you’re willing to keep, despite everything. 

Gojo, who you care about, enough to want him to stay. 

Gojo, who cares about you, enough to want to leave. 

He takes this like a rebuff and wrenches his hands out of yours. 

You grab his face and forcefully drag his attention back to you. His eyes are wild like a trapped animal, but there’s no sign of fire. He’s carefully dampened any kind of godliness in him.

“Oh, Gojo. Please don’t. I want you with me, I promise. I would never ask you to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” he says grimly. A soldier to the end. He knows how to do the hard things. Sometimes, you have to cut the rot out before the wound festers. 

“I am scared of you - please don’t make that face. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Your heart? What about mine?” He bristles. 

“I trust you. Let me prove it. Take your wings out again. Show me your true self.” 

“After seeing how you reacted?” He scoffs, turning defensive. You’ve exhausted his goodness, and now his emotions are getting the better of him, making the situation ugly. But you knew this would happen. 

You know him. 

And you know how to deal with him. 

“Come on,” you say.  “Think of it like exposure therapy.” 

“I don’t want to see you look at me like that again,” he admits.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you say. “Please. Do you trust me?” 

He ends up on the ground cross legged, his wings spread, back to you. His wings are fiery, but carefully controlled. He won’t burn you. 

You start small, running your hands all over his wings. They rustle underneath your touch like startled animals. When you tug gently at the ends, extending them to their full length, you realize how monstrous his wingspan truly is. From tip to tip, they’re larger than a grown man is tall. Your fingers creep along the thin ridge of his radius, deceptively thin beneath your fingers. If you didn’t know better, it would snap easily with just the barest hint of pressure. 

He makes a small noise. You jerk back, worried you’ve actually bent the bone, but he’s fine. He pushes his wings back under your hands like a puppy seeking attention. 

From the radius, you trail along the top edge to his metacarpus, then down to his feathers, all the way back to his scapula. From there, it’s only a few inches over to his actual shoulder blades. He shudders when you touch him there, your fingertips lightly grazing over the bone. You press down gently. His muscles flex under your skin, tense and wound up. 

You realize that he's been suspiciously quiet for a while. He’s too still, as if he’s purposely holding himself in place. Have you hurt him without knowing? Would he tell you if you had?

“Gojo?” You pull your hands away from his wings and he shudders as if he’s been burned. “Look at me.” 

He won’t turn, so you grab him by the chin and force his head up so you can look him in the face. Even down on the floor like this, he’s tall. His face is pink, his eyes wide like he’s been stunned. He looks almost like he’s in pain.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you say anything? Does it hurt?” You fret over him. 

“Doesn’t,” he says hoarsely. “Feels too good.” 

You freeze. It’s this sight of an angel in all his celestial grace wrecked by your touch, brought down by just the brush of your fingers, that makes you realize it. 

It feels good to have an angel at your feet. 

[residenthughes]

starting afresh

pairing: leon kennedy x gender neutral reader

word count: 1.3K

tags/warnings: fluff, domestic fluff, re4r leon with re2r haircut/hairstyle

summary: it's been six years since the raccoon city incident. some things change, and some things stay the same (where re4r leon cuts his hair as short as it was in re2r for the first time)

notes: whoever made the mod(s) for leon to have his re2r hairstyle in re4r, no words. just take my money. I'm begging. but if y'all have seen those screenshots/played with the mod yourself, you just know how good he looks with his hair short :((( makes me so soft! hehe

feel like i kind of stepped up my dialogue here, thanks to all the fics I've been reading as of lately 😈 couldn't be more thankful, haha! hope y'all enjoy this and please feel free to let me know your thoughts on this!

“What do you think?”

You’re at a loss for words. Jaw slack and eyes wide. You’re overreacting, you know you are but this quite literally came out of nowhere. It was an uneventful, slow Sunday. As per yours and Leon’s routine, the leisurely day was spent draped in a citrus scented duvet and immersing yourselves in cosy cuddles to recharge for the long week ahead. It was only when your lips ghosted over the rosewood marks of love peppered across the expanse of Leon’s clavicle, hands feverish and wandering that your actions ceased upon the growl of your stomach.

Leon can only laugh, kissing away the flush of your cheeks as he mumbles against your forehead. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s make some food.”

You pout, wanting to beg for five more minutes (like you hadn’t before), bones aching for the pamper the cloudlike bed provides, but Leon’s already leaving you, arms extending up to the ceiling as he stretches. The sliver of afternoon light peeking through the curtains basks his toned body in all kinds of flattering light, muscles expanding and contracting. 

Leon turns to look at you, lips plump with love as the duvet drapes your body like some fine ballroom gown. He swears his heart beats out of his chest. There really is no one as beautiful as you. 

“Race you to the kitchen?” A teasing eyebrow is raised and even though Leon sets himself in motion to sprint, you don’t budge. Not even an inch. 

He deflates, eyes rolling as he pads over to your side of the bed.

“Don’t wanna,” you mumble as you attempt to bury yourself into the bed, cocooning yourself with the dark shadow grey duvet. “Too lazy.”

Leon sighs. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride?”

Your attention is grabbed. You remove the duvet from your face, sly smirk positioning itself amongst your features.

“I’m listening.”

You cupping behind your ear is what does it for Leon. Dramatic as always.

A huff of amusement sounds from him. Considering the extent as to which the man spoils you rotten, you should be babbling for him to recant his offer, carrying yourself to the kitchen before you two move in a synchronised dance practised all the years you’ve been together as you make food. But Leon’s already perched up on your side of the bed, back towards you with his hands behind him.

“Of course you are,” he beckons for you with the flutter of his fingers, an easy smile sent your way over his shoulder. “Now, hop on before your stomach eats itself.”

You follow his lead, as you always do. Hooking your legs around his waist and circling your arms loosely around his neck. You don’t forget to show your appreciation, peppering his nape with kisses that have laughter pouring out of Leon like honey. Once you’re in the kitchen of your shared apartment, Leon sets you down on the cold countertop with the squeeze of your thighs and opens the fridge.

“Shit,” you crane your neck to look into the fridge too. Much like your stomach, it’s pretty empty. “Need to head to the store if we want something edible for dinner.”

“Is there anything for now at least?” You really can’t be arsed to wait to go get some groceries, make a meal and then eat.

“Kind of, but we definitely need to go shopping after this.” Leon states as he brings out the remnants of the fridge. You go to grab the spices from the cabinet and the last of the eggs and stare at your ingredients.

“Let’s get this party started.” 

You groan. 

Leon can be so lame sometimes. Yet so lovable all the time.

-

Once the appetising brunch made with nothing but the utmost of love settles in your stomach, you reluctantly begin to egg yourself on to completing the rest of your weekend’s work and preparing for your Monday back at the office. Blue light glasses perched against the bridge of your nose, you gnaw at the end of your pencil, legs crossed in the way Leon always jokes in the shape of a pretzel. You’ve left quite a bit of work for yourself to complete tonight, so you don’t see yourself leaving your workspace anytime soon.

Leon understands, he always does. Kisses your forehead delicately and murmurs something about getting some stuff from the grocery store for dinner. He’s out the door before you can get a word in. You now understand why he left in such a hurry, understand why he took longer than usual. 

Before you, your longtime partner, with long dirt blond locks that framed the angles of his cheekbones, sports a new hairstyle. Or should you say old. You haven’t seen him like this since you first started dating - bashful young adults about to embark on their journey into adulthood, sweaty palms linked and heart beats in sync. Ever since the ruinous events of Raccoon City, you noticed that with all the scars and burdens Leon carries with him that he never once looked the same. Face gaunt and eyes sunken in. It took a long while before life returned to his eyes. And though you were beyond ecstatic that Leon was seemingly getting better, you couldn’t help but take note of his hair. He never cut it like before. Never. 

Opting for longer strands of his gorgeous hair, Leon always gave a chuckle and said, “thought you always wanted me to grow my hair out,” whenever you asked. It was sweet of him to do so, sweet of him to say, but you and him both knew that wasn’t entirely true. However, you never pried - that was not in your nature, and certainly not evident in all the years you’ve been with Leon. So, you didn’t ask again and when the time came that Leon’s huffs of annoyance filled your ears as he struggled with keeping the strands out of his face, he departed with a smile and cut a mere two inches off his almost shoulder length hair. It remained that way for the next six years.

Now, having grown into his rugged features, the short hair length from all those years ago conjures something else in you. It feels nostalgic but new -  feels right and looks that way too. But more than anything, you feel proud. Proud of Leon and all that he is, all that he’s become despite everything.

“Barber went a bit crazy, didn’t he?”

Oh, bless him. He’s so awkward, so endearing it hurts. Pools of blue avert your gaze, the floor apparently more interesting, fingertip scratching the surface of his cheeks that burn with ruby red. This is a big moment for Leon, you think, but you know better than anyone that he doesn’t want it to be. Just wants your reassurance and all the calmness that comes with it.

Your hands against Leon’s cheeks shift his eyes to yours, getting an eyeful of the absolute fondness that swims in your eyes. He simply drowns in it - knows the glimmer in your eyes signifies the pride that swells in your chest, the tenderness of your touch loving and reassuring. He did well, has always done so well. Deserves his flowers and the whole damn garden. 

“Maybe,” you giggle and your joy is contagious. Smiling with you, Leon feels you twiddle the strands of his hair between your fingers. Slow and gentle - like your love is. It’s so sweet. “But, I’m not mad at it. Not one bit.”

In all the time you’ve been with Leon, there hasn’t been any more than a handful of times you can recall where he willingly leaned on you for support. Not because you lacked the capacity to do so, but because the solitary nature and secrecy of his job kept him from doing so. Facing his nightmares as much as he could by himself, meeting his new nightmares on missions by himself - everything by himself. But in moments like these, where the significance of his trauma can be lost in translation, he surrenders himself to you. Altogether. Unabashed and brave. He couldn’t be more dashing than he is right now, all versions of himself served to you on a silver platter. 

You fall in love all over again.

[ceridescent]

sweet reconciliation — m., wanda.

wanda maximoff x female!reader

summary: “what? you came here thinking i would make you feel better?”

she plasters a sinister smirk on her enthralling face, condescending. 

you stutter, “y-yes,” meekly answering her question, never as humiliated as tonight, along with a delicious throb nesting in between your thighs. 

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, humiliation, degradation, mommy kink, hair pulling, slapping, dirty talk, praise kink, & double-ended strap-on. 

word count: 7,079

18+ only. men and minors DNI.

masterlist | navigation

you reluctantly press your fingers onto the buzzer for the fifth time, nibbling into your lower lip in hopes your pride won’t eat you alive. 

it is past 10 in a tuesday evening, and you are weary — your blouse unbuttoned to the third, your handkerchief wrinkled securely inside your rosewood slacks, gripping onto it to halt yourself from collapsing against her door — two hours after your shift ended. 

the artificial golden light streaming in the hallways outside of her apartment has nothing to do with calming your anxiety down. in fact, it paints a bolder stroke of panic coursing through your system, these very walls a pathway to memory lane, laced with midnights and knaveries. 

howbeit you stay put, your feet numb from standing up for the first thirty minutes, observing the gleam in the slit of her door. and the next thirty minutes, including now, waiting for her to notice you. 

you opt of surrendering, not the one that makes you leave her home defeated and unscathed, but to introduce yourself back into her space like you didn’t beg her to leave you in the first place. 

“…” starting something, you barely try, and you do not have to because you hear the thud of footsteps, and the familiar presence you yearn for inching closer as she opens the door. 

a sigh escapes your lips before you could stop it — your body seems to lose its control whenever she is around. 

you have rehearsed this inside your head multiple times. along the lines of 

“what are you doing here?”

“i wanted to see you,” 

“do you know how late it is? i don’t have time for this”

“i’m sorry, but i want to let you know i can’t stop thinking about you,” 

“for f–“

and then you kiss her fiercely, just as much as you miss her.

yet none of those scenarios came to life. 

wanda stands still behind the midnight-colored door, shielding half her body away from you. 

you’ve become an exile.

you think so — no, you are. the clear disinterest drawn all over her gorgeous, jaded face. the condescending look in her green eyes as if she knew you’d come back to her. 

frozen in your spot, you can’t decide if her body language — blocked by the door with her right hand against the jamb whilst the other clutched tightly around the knob, twisting it — wants you to stay or go away. 

wanda is exasperated at your behavior. unknowingly checking her out as she stands by the door, ready for bed, biding your reason for visit. 

“w-wanda,” this the first time you stutter in front of her, after a long time, excluding the moments she is in you. “i-i, i…” you start, try to, again, execute the lines memorized inside your dwindling brain.

wanda keeps her smirk contained, amused at most. she nags at herself so she won’t be saying anything that would make you beg for her. because it is too soon. that is for later. 

you take your lip in between your teeth in hopes it will draw blood, your fight or flight response aiding you to never pursue her again. your lip does not bleed. the blood seems to stream its way into your cheeks, circulating there with mocking bubbles, feeling how heated they are the longer she stares at you with those viridescent eyes. 

ravished by them, you pokily release your lower lip with your teeth, busily fishing out a thought in your brain to throw something at the woman before you to notice the way her body shudders at the movement. 

wanda begins to latch the door after that, exhausted at the lack of response from an uninvited visitor. as she does, you scream, stopping her. 

“i miss you!” you confess, panicked and distorted. wanda tilts her head to the side and stares at you, her pupils dilating. 

“you do?” she smiles sluggishly and you know what a hoax it is. 

staring at your tapping red kitten heels, you mumble, “i do.”

“what was that?” she asks again, and when you look up you can fully see her. the door is wide, revealing a cream nightgown hugging the dips and curves of her figure. openly you stare with wide doe-eyes, uninnocent, especially at the hardened nubs on her chest. a sly grin pokes out of her mouth as a dimple sinks into her skin. she tilts her head motioning you to come in. 

“i miss you, wanda.” she says nothing, pulling you in her apartment complex with a loose grip on your right wrist. 

“how long have you been standing there?” she knows. 

“for a w-while,” you reply in a weak voice as you trudge towards the living room. 

excruciating it is to stand in the side of the room, in an awfully quiet space, with no hospitable owner to welcome you; unwelcome and uninvited. you are, truly. it’s a shame you’re making it obvious for yourself. 

“what, you’re gonna stand there like you don’t have a mind of your own?”

you jump, appalled, shaking your head in embarrassment, the brunette peeking through the kitchen. 

you mutter an apology and sit by the closest couch to you, like an obedient girl. you knew wanda wants you like this, yet it was your own reflex that had you thinking for yourself, right when she only tells you to. 

it’s a painful five minutes of quietness. in that duration the sounds of the humming water boiler and the glide of the spoon inside a ceramic cup full of matcha green tea was only heard by the both of you. 

and then wanda comes back into the living room with one cup of tea, staring at you patronizingly. cozying herself across the cabriole sofa from you, perfectly encapsulating the owner of the house. she absolutely is. 

“you look like a mess.” she says before sipping her tea, not breaking the sight of you. she lets you stutter a response before she hushes you, “came here all the way from work?” filling the overbearing silence she simply adores. she likes you quiet, a reminder. 

you nod your head, mute. wanda repeats the same question and you nod your head again, disappointing her. 

“mmm”

you’re not sure if she’s relishing the taste of the hot liquid in her cup, or filling the silence of your response, embarrassed that you did come to her all the way from work, an hour drive, desperate and disheveled. 

you fidget with your fingers, head cast down, not knowing where to go from here. 

wanda is so mesmerizing, she’s here in front of you. blinding, her presence. a fiery look you feel yourself melt as if icarus. 

you crave for her. 

“what exactly did you miss about me?”

you cuss, a heavy sigh loading out of your lips. she leaves you speechless yet again, having your brain cloud over thoughts, torn between keeping them to yourself or handing over the hazing thoughts to her for crushing or soothing. 

your mind, particularly, stuck with one question: not even a pet name?

wanda still has control over you, that’s utterly obvious by now. you weren’t aware, you had forgotten, because you could never measure up to your own desires (caused by her), and it has been so god damn long since you’ve felt her. you think you possess the upper hand

as she almost begged you to stay. 

“you’re mine, please?” were the last words you heard from wanda before you pushed her away, mocking how needy she has become over you, and other mimicking related to that. 

was it really that serious?

jokingly, you say, “your colorful set of ceramic mugs,” and you wish to bury yourself alive, having it come out seriously. 

“you can have them.”

you try to retort, say it was a joke, yet you catch sight of her swaying hips and you fall silent yet again. 

catching your lower lip in between your teeth, your focused eyes glued to her backside, backless, the dip of her spine painstakingly thorough. the bounce of her ass, graceful. and when wanda reaches for the drawer beneath her height, her silk clothing climbs up her thighs, milky and broad, her feet on tippy toes. 

you gulp down your saliva at the memory of coming apart with her thigh in between your legs — your lips, circled around her nipples. 

a smile suddenly lights up from you, her shriek from reaching the boxes and wrappers she hoards in the cabinet finally in contact with her hold. wanda entertains the possibility that she would need it someday. you’re not sure if you subconsciously applied that to the circumstance you put yourself in right now. 

shamelessly you rake your eyes all over her body as she comes back into the living room and to you. fuck, you think, she looks so stunning looking you down like that. wanda is not happy, and she is barely keeping her snark together. that must mean you really hurt her. and you’d do anything to make it up for it. 

you take the set, reluctant, your lie attached to it prolonging the reason for your visit. you think wanda knows, but what doesn’t wanda know?

“be careful with them. make sure your teammates handle it with care.” 

you touch her fingers in the process, “i will, w-“ until she pulls her hand away, as if stung by a snake. 

okay, you decided. you’ll say it. you should. that’s part of the reason why you came here in the first place. 

“i’m sor-“

“zip it.”

“wan-“

“that’s not my name.”

“please-“

“what are you really here for, huh?” that completely shuts you up. 

you avoid her gaze looking around the living room, noticing how it was five months ago. wanda’s stare is a killer, your face burnt thoroughly with lasers. you bite your lip at that, unable to let it go, afraid of what sounds might come out of them. 

it’s awkward. 

wanda sighs, “go. since you’re just wasting my night away. i have better things to do than spell out the words for you.”

she tugs at your blazer, taking the ceramic set in her grasp to make your bearings lighter. 

“no, wanda, don’t.” you pull yourself into the seat.

the brunette stops, looking at you like that again. like she would swallow you whole after another wasted second in her life, and you wouldn’t oppose. in fact, you’d push her buttons to get her to do so. 

but you don’t, the slick in between your thighs becoming unbearable. 

“i need you,” you mumble almost incoherently, not intending to frustrate her even more with the lack of noise. 

wanda shakes her head and tosses her ceramic set onto the empty couch next to you, releasing your blazer from her hold. she combs her hair with her fingers having them fall like curtains, her brown hair tangling in a disheveled mess. a snigger bubbles out of her throat. a chuckle. and then a laugh. 

“what? you came here thinking i would make you feel better?”

wanda plasters a sinister smirk on her enthralling face, condescending. 

you stutter, “y-yes,” meekly answering her question, never as humiliated as tonight, along with a delicious throb nesting in between your thighs. 

“who says you can?”

“i’m sor-“

“you come back here ‘cause he couldn’t please you, isn’t it? he probably doesn’t know how much of a whore you can be.” wanda pulls away, walking farther distance from you. 

“or maybe he knows, that’s why you came back to me. he finds you dirty, i bet. a dirty, good girl pretend bitch.”

wanda’s words sting, hitting the bullseye, and god she is always right. her precision inducing you to throb harder after all the months your sex life was spent apart from her. 

you seem to ignore a question, as wanda’s stare is more stern, sitting back down on the same couch across from you. “you’ve lost your manners too, i see.”

“i’m sorry, what did you say?” the brunette only waves you off, her viridescent eyes intent, deciding what to do with you. 

you wish for her command to kneel in front of her paramount position — head held high with the detrimental glint in her eyes, her upper limbs resting above the joints of the cabriole sofa, digits clapped around the edge, legs casually spread apart against the wool, her creamy flesh laid out, inviting you in. 

wanda’s body is sculpted by the gods, and you’re one lucky girl to be this close. 

“crawl up to me.”

a suppressed moan bubbles out of your throat, wide-eyed, jaw slacked. 

“go on,” wanda encourages, “don’t be shy.” she licks her lips and parted them. “crawl up to me like a bitch in heat that you are right now.”

you let loose a bit, moaning softly, closing your lips. it’s been so long since you’ve been commanded to do something this humiliating; you feel convulsed. 

“or else?” you taunt, not willing to briskly give up your submission. you wish to push wanda’s buttons first, missing her wrath and the sting of her touch. 

“don’t get me started with that, bitch.” wanda’s growl rattled something within you. “whoring around doesn’t give you permission to talk back to mommy that way. remember, you’re the one who knocked at my door to get fucked.

“yes, make it up to me.” wanda moans, “what a needy bitch.” she licks her lips in approval as she watches your body crawl, eyes up on her, not breaking the contact. your legs hurt at this position from your shift at work, but that’s to be forgotten for pleasing her pleases you. you’d do anything to get that praise. 

wanda halts your movement with her foot pressed against your right shoulder, and god damn, the pressure jolted you. 

“mmm,” you hum. fuck, that felt good. the pad of her foot, a reward you didn’t know you needed. you’re thirsty, pushing yourself against her restraint. your heat pooled at that, the slight ache she’s bearing down on you. 

“eyes up,” wanda orders snarkily, her husk riling you up in shivers. you obey her almost immediately, your orbs stuck at her breasts spilling out from her nightgown. 

“eyes up.” she growls with a push of her foot against your shoulder before tugging your hair by the scalp, the stinging pain causing you to face her with an angered expression. taken aback by the enraged dilation of her pupils, you back down, gulping. since you couldn’t drop your head low, you squirmed and sat more properly, an apology. aghast. 

when wanda was satisfied with your tamed behavior, she took a sharp intake of breath, then tossed your head like some useless thing no longer serviceable. you squeak and reflexively grind your core against the floor, thrilled being treated this way. no ounce of neglect occurred to your dwindling, little brain. not once that man gave you what you wanted; a loverboy he was. 

he couldn’t even spank your back for goodness’ sake. but with wanda, the goddess above you, you know she’s doing this because you love it. you both love it. you both love it very much. 

which leaves you wondering why you chose him over her, when she was so good to you all the time. you weren’t serious with wanda but him, and even then, after leaving you unsatisfied, you still had faith it would work out. 

leading to the point where you vocalized your preferences, which he only responded with a bewildered look and a shake of his head, rather aggressively. (the most violent act he had made.) he touched your arm and said he couldn’t do that—couldn’t hurt you. made it up to you by making love, and that was the last straw. thus left him alone with his favor of missionary and unattended blue balls. 

it was the least of your concern, the heartbreak. you think back further and realize you have lost your feelings for him the third time he came and you haven’t, laying under him like a corpse, unmoving. although you praised yourself for the acting skills, it was torture. 

and wanda, fuck, fuck, fuck, she’s otherworldly you can do nothing but breath.

wanda knows how to treat you best. 

she has ruined you for everyone. 

wanda dirtied you like a rag doll, molded you into a satyric bitch, and reduced you to a brainless whore. 

she could tell you to jump into a lake in the peak of winter and you would. 

“stop flaunting how naughty you are. don’t remind me. instead, i suggest, use that stuttering tongue of yours and fuck me with it.” wanda tightens her grip in your hair before releasing them, at the same time pulling her feet away from your shoulder. she pats your cheek with her hand and you wish she’s impatient enough to slap it just because. 

you mewl in excitement and content, smiling cheekily at her until she reprimands you to take it down. whores don’t get to smile until they’ve satisfied their mommies. 

you get to working then. 

you begin by gliding your hands through her overflowing thighs, the smoothness of her flesh against your skin causing you to let out a loud moan, loud enough to mask her own. she notes of your neediness and you bite your lip, keeping quiet. as much as you love being humiliated it pains you that it’s the only thing she could do for now. 

“we don’t have the time in the world, you brat. stop savoring it.” she tugs your hair, a deadly look in her viridescent eyes, “get to work.”

you nod with a whimper and push the lace aside, just how wanda likes it. 

she’s dripping, fuck. you miss this. 

“already wet, mommy?”

“i get wet thinking of ways to tame you, slut.” she barks, bucking her hips in the process. 

“always so vulgar,” you mutter in a chirpy tone, her clutch in your hair tensing as you swipe your tongue against her pussy. you groan at the sweetness of her cum, flattening your muscle in the roof of your mouth. 

“fuck, baby,” wanda moans, her orbs shutting momentarily before she opens them again, unable to tear her gaze from you. you grin as you flick the tip against her clitoris, acknowledging your success in teasing her. 

you look back muttering a curse, watching the sight of her wet parted lips, the column of her neck, and heaving, spilling breasts. you drool, accidentally biting her. wanda hisses, a slap echoing throughout the quiet room. 

groaning as you relish the sting on your cheek, the hands that were once resting upon wanda’s thigh slithering, circling her sides, making their way onto the swell of her breasts to deal with her puckered nipples. wanda swats them away, pushing your head further in her pussy before you could breathe through your nose. “focus on fucking my pussy, greedy bitch. you’re not that smart to deal with two at the same time.” she starts pinching the nipples of her own. 

“mommy,” you mewl, muffled, betrayal clouding your thoughts. but with her thrusting, hungry for more, her panting, and “just like that,” with how you’re going up and down her slit, pulls you back in your space. you belong here, under wanda. you’re just a greedy slut pleasing her mommy, giving her what she wants. 

watching her play with her tits drenched your panties. you’re soaking through your slacks, you can feel it every time you move. you’re fidgety, more and more as seconds pass by, grinding your lower body against the heel of your foot to lessen the ache. 

wanda’s own slender fingers pull at her own nipples, her palms attached to her breasts, gripping and playing with them, cries leaving her mouth as she throws her head back. “good girl,” she praises, your moans vibrating through her pussy as she screams, stimulating her further into her apex. she screams once again when you moan at the pleasure of her praising, finally acknowledging that you are starting to be good enough to be hers. wanda clamps her mouth shut with her lower lip in between her teeth, patting your head. “good girl, keep going. you’re doing so good for mommy.”

“yes, mommy,” you respond on purpose to keep stimulating her bundle of nerves, tongue flicking in and out of her dripping walls, eyes set on the massage of her breasts. 

you want wanda to ruin your tits. god, you want her saliva coating your nubs, your mouth drooling from crying out from the pleasure. you want to be fucked so rough that when you sit you are reminded of how well she stretched your hole. 

“you want me deep inside you baby?” you cry and nod your head, moving your tongue faster, the squelch of her cum making it easier to curl against her spot. “f-fuck! want your pussy clenching around my cock, slut? want it stretching you open like a dirty bitch?”

“please mommy please!” you purred, mouth full of her pussy, wet and squelching. 

“yes, my good girl–fuck! fuck me!” wanda screams, her hips rising above the cushion, chasing your mouth whilst you suck her whole, your thrusting tongue meeting her high as she yelps, her legs shaking. gripping the mane of your hair  to steady herself, your wet eyes watching her figure blur from the sting. 

whilst you focus on catching your breath, a smug grin slithers onto wanda’s lips as she stares at you. she licks her lips then, bitten red and swelling, brushing the loose strands of your hair away from your face. 

“you look so pretty with my mess on your face.” wanda pats your blushing cheek with her slender hand. 

it is a compliment. one you haven’t received in five months. your heart flutters in validation as well as the throb in between your thighs. wanda just called you pretty. 

“all for y-you, wanda.”

“now stand up.” wanda commands, her smile no longer present, back to its stricken countenance. she notes the small pout protruding on your lips and pulls you towards her, inspecting your body. you feel so small even though you’re the one standing. 

lusciously sitting on the couch below you, wanda’s nightgown bunched up revealing her thick thighs, her soft flesh, her puffed up pussy. it looks like it wants more of you. 

“you wet your slacks,” she chuckles after calling you out nonchalantly. “take them off. all of them.” she adds, pulling back the fallen straps of her nightgown. she leaves her lower body exposed, knowing it’d get you more pliable than normal. 

taking off your suit leaves you whining from the stimulation the fabric rubbing against your skin gives you. the plan of touching yourself as you do so gets noticed by wanda, receiving a spank in your ass, her gaze reprimanding. “did i tell you to touch?”

“n-no mo-mommy-“

she slaps your face. a resounding thwack flies through the living room. fuck, you think, my cheek is probably red right now. 

“stop talking.”

“just because you’ve been whoring yourself away from me for months doesn’t give you the excuse to forget my simple rules that your whorish pussy agreed with.”

you fall down to your knees, not to beg for an apology, but because what she said was too much. you’re so wet, your knees are wobbling, unable to hold yourself upright. you bow your head down in shame. 

she strokes your crown, light and soothing. it must be false to hear her coo at you, “oh my baby.”

“how pathetic,” she pats your head, like a pet, “i haven’t even touched you yet.”

“i’m sorry for disappointing you, wanda,” you cry, your fists held together. she clicks her tongue and disagrees. 

“oh no, baby. you shouldn’t be sorry for disappointing me. you should be happy, because i’m giving you one more chance. my girl did a good job pleasing her mommy that i’m feeling generous.”

“one more slip,” she calls you by your name and you shudder, fearful of what’s going to happen if you’re below her expectations again. “and you’ll walk out my door.”

nodding your head vigorously with your lips clamp together, wanda glues her stare at your cowering frame, rising from the cabriole sofa. “come with me to the bedroom.”

you follow like a dog desperate for a bone, clambering onto your hands and feet, catching up to her steps, rather shakily. wanda looks back at you and stops, her incredulous glance providing you news that you’re doing something wrong. 

you get the answer as soon as she rolls her eyes. “on all fours. walk on all fours until you’re laid down on our bed. i want you crawling below me.” wanda’s back is turned, confident you are doing as you are told. after all, you need her this much to walk willfully like a dog, desperate to please her master. 

letting out a silent exhale, getting down on your hands and feet, you crawl behind her. she looks back with satisfaction, saying “next time, i’m giving you a collar and a leash.”

“so that you won’t leave me again.” she whispers the last part to herself.

wanda tells you to stay put in the middle of the bedroom, her king-sized bed just in front of you. patiently waiting to finally lay on her mattress, you remain bent over against the marble floor, waiting for her command. 

wanda circles around you like a predator, you turn shy, almost crumbling down from your stance. you keep your head bent down to avoid wanda’s laser eyes, running all over your body like a hawk ready to strike. 

“crawl up the bed.”

and you do, padding the soft crimson sheets with your scorching flesh, still on all fours for wanda to decide if you could lay down or linger into a different position. 

you shudder as wanda hums, not used to her approval. “sit on your knees for me, princess, and face mommy.” her tone turns gentle and saccharine that your body loosens, turning around to face her beautiful smile. you squirm until you think you’re sitting the way she admires you for: legs bent with your bum on your calves, hands on top of your thighs, spine erect, and head held high. 

wanda approaches you with her smile intact, reaching for your face to fit the loose strand of hair in your ear, caressing your cheek, and leaving a kiss on your jaw. that’s the closest to your lips. 

the brunette holds your shoulders and smoothly lays you down, her kisses peppering lower, giving her whole attention to your neck. she sucks on it. you hiss and thrash when she gropes your chest, humming with a light chuckle. 

a chesire smile unfolds from her lips, her frame on top of you. “your body is so responsive, it is just towards me?” she hums as she waits for an answer, massaging your breast whilst leaving your nipple untouched. 

“yes, mommy.” wanda relishes the title, so turned on to you have you wrapped around her finger again. “yeah?”

“he couldn’t treat you right, could he? poor baby, replacing me with a boy toy who couldn’t please her slutty pussy. that’s why you’re begging for me, isn’t it?”

you refuse to speak, humiliated to the bone. 

wanda stops her ministrations and slaps your face. you gasp, opening your eyes to see her jaw clenched, unimpressed. but you selfishly delight yourself in it. “please mommy, hurt me. i miss how you handle me.” 

the brunette growls and bites your lip, leaving spots of blood on both your mouths. she slaps you again on your cheeks, each echo following a moan from your bruised lips. hungry for more of her treatment, wanda smacks your breasts, watching it bounce by the impact before suckling them. 

“w-wanda!” you yelp, getting your nipples dealt with, her sucking pleasuring you through. she hums in her own pleasure for filling her mouth with your breasts, fitting her hands and kneading them. 

“what do you miss about me?”

it takes you a few seconds to register her attention for answer, blinking, your eyes focused on her face. curious, yet still very much domineering and unstirred. 

“the way you feel,” you gulp, avoiding her gaze, hot all over enough. the knot of her brown hair you stare, the desire of running your fingers over taking in thus you blink, looking back at her maintained eye contact. 

“how do i make you feel?” wanda doesn’t move, her viridescent eyes glued to you. if you weren’t so horny you would’ve noticed the softened gaze she gave you.

“alive.” 

that was enough response, you assume, as she lets an exhale you didn’t know she had been keeping. 

“he can’t do it for you?” 

you shake your head, guiding her hand to your chest — not necessarily for her to knead your breast — but to feel your heart hammering for escape from your ribcage. for a moment she falters, surrendering — missing how you feel too.

you lower her hand down to where she (you and both) wants it, in your thighs, bringing back her role for control. anything wanda wants to do with you she could.

a smirk curls into her pink lips then, “here?” you nod. “tell me, what else do you miss about me?”

“i miss-“ you gasp when wanda squeezes your inner thigh, an inch away from your sopping core, massaging the muscle. “go on,” wanda acknowledges, “keep making those little noises for mommy.”

“mommy, thank you.” you shiver and squeeze her wrist gingerly for a second before pulling away. “i miss you inside me, mommy. i miss that it’s the only thing i want to feel whenever i’m empty.”

“yeah?” wanda chuckles, pulling your thighs closer to hers before slapping it once, engrossed with your dripping clit, licking her lips as if licking yours. her eyesight trails from your throbbing clitoris upwards to your abdomen and your hard pebbled nipples, raking until your parted lips, sighing in content and in agitation. 

the brunette ghosts her fingers against your clitoris, her piercing gaze set to yours — “don’t blink” — watering at the tortured sight. 

“this one, you miss, malyshka?” wanda gives you a gentle smile as she thrusts two fingers into your opening, quick and direct, deep and punctuating. you scream at the sudden intrusion, instinctively reaching for wanda’s body to anchor on. she knows you well, because she pulls away, chuckling at you with your face contorted and crying. she starts moving her digits in and out of your hole, the loud squelching causing shame to breed onto your cheeks. at that, you cover your face. 

“is this what you like mommy to do, princess? fucking your sopping cunt, enjoying how dirty the sounds it makes?

“but you love that, don’t you? hearing yourself sucking me in, making mommy’s fingers dirty as well,” wanda presses her thumb against your clit, resuming her thrusting. “what a fucking whore.”

she pries your arms apart to unshield your face from your hands. a keen yelp comes out of you as your juices flow past your pussy. wanda shakes her head, “for someone embarrassed, your pussy seems to have a liking for what i’m doing to it,” giving another slap to your core yet again. you arch your back at the impact, so fucking turned on. 

“i miss being treated like a toy by you, mommy. use me, please.” 

you thought wanda would resume her fucking yet a cry leaves past your reddening lips, watching her shove your limbs away, leaving you alone in the bed. 

“stay still, detka. mommy will be right back.”

you take your time collecting your sanity there on her king-sized bed, regulating your breathing, and internalizing the ache in your abdomen. 

you wouldn’t oppose whatever wanda had said, and although you had the bravery to disobey her sometimes, you can’t do so because you could barely move. 

it was another five torturous minutes before wanda appeared in the bedroom, face slicken with wicked intent. 

raking your eyes downwards to her nude frame, you’re moaning again by the sight of her. 

her breasts are luscious and heavy with her nipples hard as rock, her flat stomach sinking in and out as she inhales, and mmm fuck, her protruding cock standing proud and thick for the taking. another moan tumbles out from your lips when you realize she has the other end tucked already inside her. 

you squirm in your position, thrilled that you have earned this reward from her. 

wanda agonizingly walked towards the bed, standing at the edge, her eyes glued onto yours. she makes a little show of pumping her cock as the tip faces you, silent groans coming out of her mouth, feeling the shaft shifting inside her walls. 

what a fucking tease. 

you watch her breasts bounce whilst she gets on the bed in front of you, holding her cock. she hovers forward, using your knee for support as she guides the dildo onto your dripping pussy. a moan ripples out of wanda’s throat when she slides her cock against your clit squelching at the contact.

“oh, my baby.” was all she said before gripping your sides and flipping you over. 

“wanda!” you scream, dizzy at the sudden movement. a ragged cry echoes through the room when she forcefully thrusts herself inside you, her hands tight around your hips. 

multiple curses alongside moans tumble out of your mouth, gripping the sheets tight, your back arched to the touch. 

wanda spanks the side of your ass, “stay still,” hard and quick with her pounding. she purrs when you squirm even more, uncomfortable at the sudden intrusion and the intensity of it all. 

“stay still!” she yells and goes harder with her rutting, jackhammering into your pussy, leaving no mercy. 

“wanda! wanda! it hurts!” you yell back and try to wiggle out of her hold; you could barely remain in your position, your legs shaking and sensitive from the previous edging and foreplay. 

the brunette lets out a frustrated grunt when you fall onto the mattress, the shaft sliding out of you but not entirely, the tip snugged in your soaking wall. a muffled scream comes out of you, feeling sensitive and empty. 

wanda takes care of it, grabbing your chest and shoulder and hoists you against her front. you shudder, mewling at her hardened nipples against the swell of your back, a tingling sensation entertaining your slit caused by her wrist around your neck, pinning you against her. 

“i thought you wanted this?” wanda starts snapping her hips again, driving your body forward with each hit. “do you not want this, detka?”

you shake your head as you bounce off at her filling, your pussy splitting open at the stretch by how wanda drives her cock inside you. 

“i love it, mommy!” you choke out a response with fervor and desperation, clamping your eyes shut at the avalanche of pleasure being given to you. 

“mommy, please don’t stop!” you stutter as she jerks your body forward, keeping you locked in her hold as her other hand is palmed against the mattress, holding you both in a slope. 

she chuckles, breathless. “of course you love this, i’m treating you like a slut.” wanda proceeds on nipping your shoulder, sucking on the skin, leaving marks. 

your back arches with a shrill cry, your body molding into a pliable yet fragile form. you wail and thrash as wanda sputters at the same time, her thrusts getting sloppy. 

“fuck,” she mumbles and lets you go, the sudden action causing you to fall face flat onto the mattress. you yell wanda’s name and before you can even nag at her she flips you over, facing her. 

silly noises erupt from you at the sight of wanda, your needy clitoris pulsing yet again. 

red and perspiring, wanda’s chest heaves up and down with the veins in her neck and forehead popping out. not a moment was spent looking away from you. 

“god, princess, mommy’s close.” she grips your ankles gently and bends your knees towards your sides, “you’re such a good girl for mommy, malyskha,” whispering in your ear, her hot breath causing your body to stutter. you mumble “thank you, mommy” and whimper when she nips and cooes at the lobe, giggling at your begging. 

“you can take it, yes?” she lines her shaft in front of your slit and looks at you for approval. “you’ll make mommy come with you, right, my baby?”

nodding your head, you hold your legs apart, waiting for her. wanda licks her lips, “that’s an obedient pet, keeping her legs open for mommy,” burying herself in you. 

she immediately starts at a merciless rhythm, desperately rutting herself inside your tightness. 

“take it. take it all. this is what you wanted. being filled by me, being used like a toy, being a slut for me!” wanda grunts and spasms her hips into drive, penetrating your pussy into oblivion. 

“wanda, ah!” you whine when she slaps your face, pinching and groping your breasts roughly, alternating between that and scratching your stomach and waist with her nails. wanda’s solely using you for her own pleasure now, unconcerned of how you feel. 

“you’re nothing but a hole mommy uses, aren’t you? nothing but a dumb whore, taking anything mommy gives her. 

say yes and i’ll make you come.”

“yes yes yes yes!” you keen as you reach out for your mommy. 

wanda complies and leans her body forward, her hips stuttering uncontrollably, her coil finally stopping. she whines and buries her face into your neck, her moans filling your hearing. you’re almost there, wanda can feel it. 

“oh detka. you’re getting so tight around me. are you gonna come for mommy?”

with palms on either side of you, wanda pulls herself up, thrilled to watch you come apart for her. it’s like a reward, doing this all for you, and getting to see your pleasure-struck face, knowing she could kiss and smack it for her liking. and that she would feel your cum sliding out of this pussy of yours, her pussy, having the power to just push it back in you and make you carry it until you’re begging to be empty.  

whimpering in desperation, you meet wanda’s pounding, your muscles tightening, reaching your orgasm. you sob whilst your legs tremor aggressively, coming apart with wanda inside of you. 

her thrusts slows down gradually to ride out your high, making sure she milked everything inside you. 

“my good girl came so much,” she smiles cheekily and pulls away, slowly and steadily out of you. 

“mmm, mommy,” you whine and pull her close, gasping at the slap of her faux cock against your pussy. wanda mutters an apology and nudges her cock away from your sensitive flesh, kissing your neck and collarbone to soothe you. 

keeping her hand above your abdomen, she takes off the strap-on, groaning when the glossing dildo clamped around her pussy the whole time slides out. 

“baby,” wanda purrs and rests beside you, taking your upper limbs and hugging them. her viridescent eyes soften as the hoods of her eyes droop, exhaustion creeping through. “are you okay?” she asks and you sigh in contentment, a subtle smile on your lips. 

“‘m fee’ing very be’er, mommy,” you respond incoherently and kiss her shoulder, the closest to her lips you could reach. 

“i’ll let you rest for a bit and then we’ll take a hot bath, okay? mommy won’t let you sleep so sticky; you’re going to complain how icky it feels tomorrow.”

you nod your head, unopposed to anything wanda had said. “mommy knows best,” you whisper and bring her closer to you, the last strength in your body pulling her flush against your body. 

wanda grins, “that’s right, my smart girl,” kissing your forehead. she hums a tune you know so well, a favorite. the one she plays on her vinyl record player on days she turns into a beam of sunlights. 

“i’m sorry for what i did, wanda.”

you refuse to mention you left her, nevertheless remind her that you did. however, coming all the way here for an apology without apologizing was never your intention, so you’re coming clean while you’re still conscious, although drowsy. 

wanda’s hands momentarily stop from caressing your crown before she rests them below your neck, tracing the trajectory of your locks. 

“i know, malyshka. i know you are regretful,” wanda pauses when you wince, “and i know it took you long enough to realize that i will always cater to you, no matter what.

i love taking care of you. and you love being cared for. as long as i am still useful-“

“wanda-“

“i will always be here.” 

she keeps you hushed with another kiss on your forehead, this time longer. she presses her lips against the skin of your temple, bearing her devotion to you. fluttering your eyes close, you savor the tender contact with wanda maximoff.

“i won’t leave you again, i promise.” you take wanda’s hand and stick her pinkie finger out with yours, intertwining them together. 

wanda stares at your eyes intently before kissing the back of your hand. 

“i won’t let you go without putting up a fight, detka. that is something i am capable of vowing for now.” wanda promises, her touch sending shivers down your spine. one which you have not felt before.

she pushes your hand lightly against the mattress and soon her weight follows, straddling your lap and grinning down at you. wanda tilts her head to the left, her curtains of hair falling like dominoes on the side, freeing her face. she then leans forward to claim your lips, peppering pecks to tease you until you whine. she locks her lips with yours, using her tongue to widen your mouth.

“the only thing i regret was not fucking you against the door before you left, darling. i thought that would have made you stay.”

you realize you let a wanton whimper, and that was even before wanda slides a digit against your clitoris. she slaps your left thigh once she pulls away on top of you, giggling like a little kid. 

“rest up! i’ll get us some snacks while we wait for the bath to fill. don’t sleep on me, detka! we have a long way to go with this one.”

wanda doesn’t leave the room without winking at you, beaming.

[acircusfullofdemons]

DAYDREAMTOBER 2024 [01 / HOME]

╭──→ 💭 ──  DAYDREAMTOBER 2024

│ 🌫️ PROMPT ❞ 01 / home

│ 🌫️ PARAS ❞ n/a

│ 🌫️ PARACOSM ❞ eternal labyrinth

│ 🌫️ WORD COUNT ❞ 733

╰──────────── 🤍

There is one consistent location in my paracosms that shows up time and time again. That being, RoseWood Manor. I have made a post talking about it, though it’s a bit old and slightly outdated, so consider this a re-introduction of sorts. 

OVERVIEW

RoseWood Manor was built in the late 1600s for a wealthy vampire by the name of Richard Irvine. To assist in managing the house, Richard employed Emory Warwick and Myriam Travers. This proved to be a horrible mix, as the two quickly caught on that something wasn’t right with the house or their boss. Unfortunately, they ended up turning their suspicion on each other, leading Emory to become a cat and Myriam to become a poltergeist. 

With those two out of commission, Richard continued to employ anyone who was willing to work for him over the years. Most were merely servants, tending to the various guests the manor had and making sure it didn’t fall into disrepair. 

Due to the nature of his job — nobody truly knows what he does — Richard has to travel frequently, causing him to leave the manor in the care of a handful of trusted employees. The current caretaker of the manor is Daniel Hayward, with assistance from Emory Warwick. 

The manor’s location is…questionable. To sum up, it varies. Not like it actually teleports — I don’t think so, anyway — it just…exists in a lot of places at once. Notable locations include: 

Earth IV [Florida, USA]

Arcadia [Dustlosa, Nidre, Verona]

Earth I [Tulgey Wood, Heart Kingdom]

LAYOUT

On the surface, RoseWood’s layout is nothing special. It is your typical old mansion, complete with a basement, three floors, and an attic. Also on the property is a greenhouse, pool (with an accompanying pool house), stables, and an infirmary. Of course, renovations have been made, and this was built for a vampire, after all.

Note that some rooms have been assigned different purposes over time.

Basement: Divided into two layers. Layer 1, the lower part, is hidden from most residents. It is full of old torture equipment. Layer 2, the upper part, is the layer that is accessible to all residents. It’s a normal basement, and where the laundry room is located. 

Floor 1 [Necessities]: Includes the lobby, dining room, kitchen, living room, training room, and a half-indoor pool that leads outside. 

Floor 2 [Rooms]: Where most bedrooms are located. All rooms have a built-in bathroom. Other than that, there isn’t really anything special here.

Floor 3 [Entertainment]: Full of paranormal activity, which is unfortunate as this is where most of the entertainment is. Includes a music room, office, med bay, library, art gallery, and an investigation room. 

Attic: An oddly normal attic. I mean, there’s probably weird ass shit up there, but the space itself isn’t anything special. 

TERRORS

As if RoseWood wasn’t a nightmare enough, there are also “Terrors”: supernatural occurrences that cannot otherwise be explained. They also can’t be avoided or prevented. 

Shifts: Every night the layout of the house changes. It’s usually small differences, often feeling like you just went down the wrong hallway. Sometimes, though, rooms will change floors completely, leaving guests lost and confused. It is recommended you do not leave your room past 11:00 PM. 

Mirrors: If you look into a mirror for a long period of time (the exact time seems to vary/is unknown), then there’s a large chance of getting possessed or accidentally creating a Doppelganger. Said Doppelganger will then try to kill you and take your place. 

Rain: Sometimes it will rain blood. Thankfully, this only happens during a blood moon, so it’s not as bad as the others. 

Woods: The surrounding woods are full of various dangerous fauna and flora. They can mostly be avoided by staying on set paths and knowing where you’re going. Still, it's best not to wander too far.

RESIDENTS

Due to its nature, RoseWood has many rotating residents that largely depend on the time and location. However, there are a few that are tied to the place, whether they like it or not. 

Emory Warwick: Mysterious stray cat that somehow knows everything. 

Delilah Warwick: Emory’s sister. Haunts RoseWood as a ghost. 

Myriam Travers: Poltergeist that haunts RoseWood’s mirrors. 

Claude, Cyril, Céleste Aydelotte: Siblings that worked for Richard in the 1790s. The twins (Cyril & Céleste) died, then later drove their brother to insanity. All three haunt RoseWood as spirits, Claude as a ghost & the twins as poltergeists. 

Willow Murphy & Connor Wolfe: Ghost girl & cannibalistic werewolf that live in the surrounding woods. 

At least two ghosts in the music room.

At least one ghost in the interrogation room.

Just a lot of spirits in general.

[eleanorwolfson]

Rosewood Readathon Day 8!!

Chapter 21

- Lottie getting the Portman job is supposed to be a scene that’s so exciting for her but it just kills me to think of Jamie wishing he could save Lottie from it

- And of course Lottie taking it as Jamie not thinking she’s good enough. He’s trying to protect you!!!

- Portmans are this big royal secret but making Lottie a Portman is basically giving up that secret forever because they all know she’s going to eventually have to be revealed as a Portman ??? Did that make sense

Chapter 22

- Can Lottie not get access to melatonin or something??

- Princess lessons!! Anyone else remember that rwch animatic of the Barbie song about being a princess? Did I hallucinate that?

- Raphael being Jamie’s first friend outside the castle is so important to me

Chapter 23

- I would do anything to go to the Rosewood library are you kidding me.

- Lottie immediately being jealous of Ellie getting along with Saskia, this girl is in love

- I feel like they make the not sleeping thing into a bigger deal than it is??? Lottie could’ve easily gotten some sleeping pills or something weeks ago and fixed it. Insomnia is common especially in students but to Ellie and Jamie this is the end of the world

Sorry I’m a day late! I’ll get today’s posted as soon as it’s done

[bluemoon1331]

Me, rereading my writing: OMG I wrote this? Why did I write this? Oh me, oh my. Jesus. He did what? Good Glob. Hahaha.

[inviisiiblelee]

Vintage

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Word Count: 2,224 Rating: Teen and Up Audience Relationship: Alastor/Vox Additional Tags:

Mentioned Valentino (Hazbin Hotel), Mentioned Velvet (Hazbin Hotel), Vox is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, Lost Love, Alastor is Bad at Feelings (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Vox (Hazbin Hotel), Soft Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Fluff, porting from AO3, link included above if prefered.

Notes: An entry for Tumblr RadioStatic Week Day 2: Vintage. I'm late by a week, but I will be writing for each prompt anyway. This definitely falls much more under the unrequited vibes. Vox is obsessive.

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

Glowing red eyes focused on the blueprints on the table. Vox’s hands were deft, gentle with the small pieces he was fitting together in front of him. The blueprints were as detailed as he could think to make them, but he rarely worked with wood products anymore. It had been years, maybe even decades since he had touched the material, especially a rosewood as beautiful as this. He usually worked with metals, able to use his power to work holes of good sizes and engrave himself. But he also hadn’t worked anything by hand in years just as well. The factories produced everything now, and while he often made prototypes of certain products, he still didn’t usually work the material himself anymore. He would put it together and handle the tech parts and the programming. 

But this was a simple wooden build, with only a few moving parts for a reason. Of course, those parts were metal, shiny and well polished brass. Recreating and making things a little more efficient was something he was good at, even if he didn’t do it often. He could cut out a few in between parts in favor of newer, modern pieces, while still maintaining the original effects. He had hired someone especially to make sure the music piece would play properly, and he was able to make those pieces himself with clear instruction. His fingertips could get hot and were easily sharpened, and he was more than familiar with ensuring holes in metal were an appropriate size. Plus, he had several sheets of brass ready in case he did need a few trial runs.

His work bench was covered in wood shavings and dust, the smell of burning fibers. But a few screws, several hours, an infuriating amount of time spent bent over into the light, engraving into the wood with red-hot fingertips and listening to the same little tune over and over again until it was perfectly placed. Vox stepped back to look at the completed box, closed and fully varnished and dried, something he’d done to the pieces days before assembly. The outside looked about the way it should have at the time of the original designs, in the late 1890's or so, clean corners and raised layers. A shiny little keyhole for a simple lock and key to turn and open it. The top lifted up, Vox had taken time to engrave the image of a deer on the inside in the unvarnished wood, grazing on some grass between trees. The inner parts of the box were otherwise everything they needed to be, the disk of brass meant to spin and pluck along a musical comb underneath. It looked perfect, and it put a smile on Vox’s screen, before it fell slightly. He tipped the box over, and there was the false bottom.

With the hollowed space opened up, he picked up a small sheet of paper that he folded into fourths before tucking it in and placing the bottom over it. A screw in each corner and it was hidden away. It was … unlikely to ever be found. But that was fine. 

Another quick set of checks before Vox gathered the music box, tucked it away in a bag, and left his little workshop area. He didn’t use the room often, it branched off of his office, something he’d built into the VoxTech building but hadn’t used almost at all since the early 2000’s. Sometimes he would build a thing or two, but that was typically at his desk, not in there. It was fairly late in the night, nothing unusual for him to be up at, but a time he knew the majority of the building would be shut off, Valentino and Velvette probably having already retired to bed. So it was very easy to make his way out of the tall towering office without any incident. He walked with purpose, entered one of his smaller vehicles that would garner almost no attention, and made his way to the inner city. 

Vox parked a few blocks from the destination, intending to walk the rest of the way. He didn’t have a clear idea of why he was really doing this. He didn’t … have a good reason. This was silly, a ridiculously sentimental impulse to have indulged for the last week. He supposed he thought he would give it up halfway through, and even now, he thought maybe he would make it to the front door, and then he would abandon ship. He could still go back. Destroy the thing, or repurpose it. 

But no, he was walking his way right up to that stupid Hazbin Hotel, and stood at the double doors for a little while. It was two in the morning, and it was unlikely anyone was in the lobby. He didn’t want to risk leaving the thing out on the steps, it would be far more likely to be destroyed before ever even being spotted. Or stolen. He pressed one hand on one door and pushed, feeling it give and open with slight pressure. It was quiet and quick, and he peeked inside. The worst that could happen was … well. A confrontation, he supposed.

But he was lucky. The lights were low, only a few around the bar left on to illuminate the area, which appeared to be empty. No patrons, no staff, and that was perfect.

A few steps in, closing the door behind him. The remodel had clearly gone smoothly, and it was definitely for the better, given what glimpses of the interior he had gotten before. It helped that Lucifer had led the efforts seamlessly, it took them all less than a day to construct. Lucky bastards. But as he idled in the lobby, he noticed a television set around the sitting area on the other side. Perfect.

A quick approach over to the tech, and Vox dug the box out of his bag. He placed a single note card on top, bearing the name to whom the gift was for.

Alastor.

Single spaced, typed out, using the basic Arial font. He didn’t want to be connected to this. The back of the card bore a simple set of lines. Enjoy. Hand-made for your listening pleasure. He didn’t think hand-writing the note would be a good idea. Signed or not, he was sure Alastor would remember what his penmanship looked like, given it had hardly changed in over fifty years. So typed it was. A soft sigh left him as he stepped back, looking at the gift left on the television for a long moment before turning and making his way out.

“Alastor! There’s something down here for you!” Charlie called out excitedly from the lobby. Alastor was not really in the vicinity to hear, but he did quickly appear at her call, as he always did, emerging easily from the shadows, smile wide. 

“Oh? What do you have for me?” he asked smoothly, glancing down at the wooden box that she was holding. He read the card bearing his name, and his brows furrowed slightly. If it were a gift from Charlie, why would she bother with a card as such?

“It’s not from me, and no one else is owning up to it either,” she said, also looking a little confused. “It was just sitting in the lobby when Husk came to open up, and he gave it to me when I came down.”

“Well, let’s take a look together, shall we?” Alastor said simply, placing his microphone in the crook of one arm and taking the box in his hands. It didn’t seem to be anything inherently dangerous.

“I did open it,” Vaggie admitted as she approached out of curiosity. “It doesn’t look like anything too weird, or like any sort of weapon.”

“Vaggie! It’s just a gift!”

“Oh, it’s quite alright, Charlie. Vaggie has the right idea, triple-checking things.” Meanwhile, he turned the card around and read the few lines typed out on the back. For his listening pleasure? Hand-made? Odd.

The key taped to the card – or rather, re-taped by Vaggie – was clearly needed to open it, so he pulled it off and opened the box, peering at the inside. The scene of a grazing deer, engraved by some sort of heat into the wood, greeted him first, and he found himself blinking in some surprise. There was no signature, no name anywhere inside, and he wondered if the hand-made comment was simply a lie. But there was a certain amount of humanity in the lines, flaws here and there that convinced him more that it wasn’t the case. It was clearly a music box. There was a crank left on the music disk, and he inserted it into the hole it was clearly meant to fit into. Setting the box down, he went ahead and turned it to allow the box to begin making its music.

The song began to play, and Alastor felt something shift in his heart. It was a song he recognized, a song that he was most familiar with in the 70’s, and his mind was left trying to figure out who would make such a thing, or send such a thing. His smile wobbled, but he forcefully kept it up, as a single name arrived as a possibility that he quickly shook away. There would be no reason he would do any such thing, surely. Charlie and Vaggie both appeared entranced by the music, and Alastor seemed stuck in place, so the song played in full and eventually stopped to leave them in silence. Alastor stepped forward and snapped the box shut, tucking it under his arm.

“That’s such a nice gift, do you know who- oh. Where did he go?” Charlie spoke to Vaggie, realizing Alastor had disappeared amongst the shadows again.

The Radio Demon was back in his room, and the box was back in his hands, opened and being examined. He was searching it for just about any semblance of information on who had sent the pesky little thing. He shook it a little in his hands in frustration when he found nothing at all. But he heard something seem to slide against the wood inside of it. 

He paused. Was it just a mechanism piece? Another shake gave the same noise, but it didn’t sound like anything that should have been in there.

He sat down with it, examining the well-crafted item, noting the screws on the bottom of the box after a closer look. He produced a small screwdriver and worked the metal out of their holes, finding the hollow spot where the folded paper resided. 

“Ah-ha!” 

A triumphant little noise and he withdrew the folded note, placed the music box gently down on his desk, and read it. 

Alastor.

Today marks it being officially eighty years since the day you saved me from Hell, in every literal and figurative sense. Technically, a total of a hundred years since meeting you for the first time. Things are weird and different now, and I wish that wasn't the case, but hopefully you have fond memories about this song, that maybe it can remind you of what we used to be. Who I … used to be. And maybe it'll bring you a little happiness, too.

With love, Vox.

Oh. 

So it was Vox's doing as he first thought. Somehow, it was almost relieving. That no one else seemed to be aware of that part of him, or that it ever existed. There were really few who remembered that once they used to be close, but … truly Alastor had thought that Vox was one of those people. There was a mix of feelings boiling in his chest, he felt like, and he couldn't begin to sort out what was more prominent. Anger? Rage? Something … softer? Sentimentality? Regret? 

His fingers pulled the box back into his lap, flipping it back over. He cranked the handle and let the song play again, his expression softening. He thought he'd buried most of this decades ago. He thought Vox had buried this all decades ago. Alastor was more than aware of the date, though he had no intention of being so actionable on it. It meant Vox came during the night, and Alastor hadn't noticed. For once, he had been able to sleep, and it appeared it had been conveniently during the time he had arrived. Stepped right into his domain to drop off a ridiculous gift that he made plenty of effort to be unattached to. 

He could remember the many times they'd danced to this song. It was an original piece by someone more local, Vox had been enamored by it, and Alastor had agreed that it was very good. Vox bought the record without question and when they lived together, back in the 70’s, they would often play it. 

Alastor shook his head, trying to dispel the memories. It hadn't been like that for so long. Vox moved out a couple decades later, abandoned him for work and profit and frivolity. Lost himself to the corporate world somehow, though it was frankly surprising he'd managed to go so long with any individuality in the first place. 

But he couldn't seem to harshen the smile on his face as the song played. 

Thank you, old friend.

[vivian18042011]

!!Hazel!!HumanAu!! & !!Liam!!HumanAu!!

-So I was thinking lately of these two in their Human Au would be like and here they are!! :D Somehow I did style Hazel’s hair in this Au pretty fire! And Liam, I don’t know if others hair style would fit him so I keep the usual but yet iconic of his style hair c:

-Explain: Liam is the CEO of The Rosewood Company and ‘Rosewood’ is also his surname, Liam Rosewood. His company is one of the most powerful and successfully companies in the city, even the country. Like y’all see, in the Original Au or any others Au, Liam will always be the stoic and serious person but there still some exceptions 😃, we’re not going to talk about it today, back to the main stuffs! So if Liam is the CEO, running one of the most powerful and successful in the whole country, he must be a very wealthy man and you’re right if you thought 💭 that :D Congrats!

One day, Liam sitting in the back seat of his fancy car as the driver driving him to the company but Liam decides to stop by a small coffee shop. As the car stop near the sidewalk, everyone near there got their eyes catch by how fancy and luxurious the car is, Liam steps out of the car, fixing his tie and starts walking toward the coffee shop. Everyone’s attention is on him, he opens the door of the coffee shop as the bell upon the door make a ring sound, Liam’s eyes immediately land on Hazel, a waitress who is behind the counter, serving the other customers. Liam never believes in love at first sight or even feeling is importing in life but that will change from the day that he met Hazel in that coffee ☕️ shop

[ethanlandryluver]

ethan landry dating headcannons ☆

+ no spoilers!

lowercases are on purpose

it’s just cutesy sfw stuff

i love it when ethan’s a soft lover boy :c

this is all over the place btw

i’ve been contemplating posting this so ik it’s not that good LMAO

relationship : ethan landry x fem!reader +

enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

♡ ethan’s very touchy (he never wants to take his hands off you)

♡ if your in class or studying in the the library around your friends he has his hand on your thigh / holding you hand secretly under the table

♡ he doesn’t want to or even think about telling your friends because he likes the private, uninterrupted relationship he has with you

♡ he doesn’t have his own, but he takes little drags from your vape when he wants to

♡ he prefers when you have vanilla and strawberry kinds of juice flavours in it

♡ ethan has a hand on your knee or thigh when driving 90% of the time

♡ he got his license just so you two can drive around late at night

♡ he always offers the aux to you first because he loves listening to and learning about your music taste

♡ he asks if you want to go to a drive thru when your on the road

♡ he puts his other airpod in your ear when he can

♡ he smiles when he hears you sing along to the tune, even when you sometimes try to sound off-key

♡ he hasn’t taken your hair tie off his wrist since you put it there

♡ when he’s holding your hand often he kisses the back of it, breathing in the smell of your lotion

♡ he coddles you when you have your panic attacks, kissing your forehead, wrapping his hands around your fist and telling you to stay with him

♡ he loves tickling you when your both in the right mood (he really, really loves the sound of your giggles)

♡ he likes comparing hand sizes with you because your hands are so small against his

♡ when you guys are in a bus or a subway train he puts his arm around your shoulder and pulls you closer to him

♡ he lets you lay your head in his lap when you watch scary movies together, playing with your hair and covering your eyes when you get frightened

♡ if you aren’t laying down, your head is on his shoulder (or vice versa) and he lets you squeeze his hand when the scary parts come on

♡ he’s just a tiny bit possessive -

- ♡ he really hates when someone that’s not in your friend group touches you for a long amount of time

- ♡ he also hates when other people use the nickname he has for you

- ♡ sometimes you catch him death-staring guys that are obviously flirting with you

♡ he loves seeing you wear his clothing, especially his sweaters

♡ he also loves you in tight sweaters which you sometimes wear to get his praise

♡ he likes to buy you snacks and chocolates all the time

♡ he asks if you want to draw on his hands/arms when your nervous and need to calm down

♡ he also draws little imaginary pictures with his fingers on your face or thighs

♡ he likes to leave little reminders that he was there: hickies, bite marks, scratches etc.

- ♡ he loves seeing you blush when someone else points it out and asks if you had a fling

♡ he loves finding lipstick kisses from you - especially on his neck and under his jaw

♡ when your cuddling he loves to put his head in the crook of your neck with your arms wrapped around the back of his head, usually fiddling with his curls

♡ he also likes to let you rest your head on his chest or smushed into his chest

♡ he nibbles on your ear to make you giggle

♡ he will literally cling to your legs, begging you to go to work a little bit later

♡ he might occasionally visit the coffee shop where you work so he can check in on you

♡ he finds something so relaxing in holding your face and cheeks

♡ he asks you to pick out his cologne, preferring scents with things like rosewood and soft rain

♡ ethan makes paper rings out of napkins and gifts them to you when you eat at restaurants

♡ he has a little collection of flower crowns you made him from when you went on dates in the park

♡ he has a gorgeous photo of you in stashed his wallet

♡ i cant get over this but he for sure whimpers

♡ when he gets cuts or skims, he puts his head on your shoulder and breathes heavily into your ear to see you blush

♡ he doesn’t like when you try to pull an all nighter, but he’ll do it with you anyways, most likely falling asleep with his head in your criss-crossed lap, playing with your bracelet

♡ he reads you his comic books, sometimes one’s you like such as spider-man or calvin & hobbs but also his dorkier ones like star trek

♡ ♡ ♡

[the-real-couchrat]

IF YOU HAVEN’T READ “THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH” STOP NOW!!! SPOILERS AHEAD!! IM SERIOUS, THE ENDING ISNT NEARLY AS GREAT IF ITS SPOILED!!!

I’ve been thinking a lot more about Al-V lately, and I want to make a playlist for him bc I think it would be fun. The problem: WHAT DO I PUT IN IT?!?

I’m thinking the kind of stuff you hear in animations, techy, fast paced, and a little bit embarrassing to admit you listen to it(THIS IS A NO JUDGEMENT ZONE)

The problem arises when it comes to lyrics. His depictions vary based on what fic he’s in. In most of them, he’s a playful but harmless computer boi who loves his dad, but in The Valley of the Shadow of Death, he KILLS THREE PROPLE AND FRAMES ALCOR SO HE’LL LOSE HIS JOB AND GO CRAZY AGAIN, SO HE’L SPEND MORE TIME WITH ALVIE. So should I have songs abt robots taking over the planet? Even if they don’t fit his mood AT ALL? I think I could get away with it if I add them later on in the playlist. I know at some point in the TAU in space arc he possessed a drone, so should I put space themed music in it? Alvie’s aroace but in the rosewood affair he dates a guy named Dennis so should I include relationship songs?

Honestly, I think I’ve figured it out but I spent too much time planning this post before that for me to just abandon it, so have a list of fics that center around or include the little havoc wrecker:

Centered:

A Quirk of Programming

Alcor 2.0

The Rosewood Affair

Execve

Digital demon

My Battery is low, and it’s getting dark

Attack of the Virus

Included:

Season finale

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

They howl at night

Incandescence

I swear there’s a fic with him in a drone the “Transcendence AU in space Arc”but I can’t find it.

Please let me know if you have song suggestions, fic recommendations with him in it, or you have what fic I couldn’t find!

[reusedtvseriescostumes]

ThIs Black Dress is worn on Lucy Hale as Aria Montgomery in Pretty Little Liars: Of Late I Think Of Rosewood (2016) and seen on Susanna Thompson as Moira Queen in Arrow: Lian Yu (2017)