#She should probably be more feathery

[hyenabeanz]

It's cute how much they adore each other. :)

Couldn't decide on a palatte. So you get both. Embiggen for quality.

[jasvtsc]

dean winchester x angel!reader — family feud.

warnings! mentions of drugs, violence, abuse, bad parenting, neglect, john winchester, mary winchester, implied prostitution, fem!reader

word count! 1.5k

you didn’t hate.

sure, you disliked some things more than the others. but hate? that was a strong word.

however, when it came to john and mary winchester?

you fucking despised these two to the point it made you want to hurl.

and that’s a lot, coming from an angel. leaves some space to think about things, y’know?

anyway.

john and mary ‘the worst parents of the century’ winchester.

you could write the whole bible on their parental mistakes and how they both neglected their children, basically scarring them with lifelong traumas—especially dean.

of course, you didn’t want to belittle sam and his trauma, since he got the fair share of john’s bullshit himself. but dean was the one who had to step up and be both a father and a mother while only being a kid. and that’s not fair—for both of them.

dean was the one starving himself, so sammy had food, since john forgot about his kids or took too long on some hunt. he was the one who earned money in ways that were more shameful than one could’ve imagined. he was the one getting roofied and…

yeah, you were livid.

and you didn’t even get that from the brothers themselves. before coming to earth you got a solid debrief of what you were getting into. and that meant knowing about the shit they went through from a to z. that was probably the main reason why you were so nice to them instead of acting like a complete jackass like most of your feathery siblings.

you had compassion that some of them massively lacked. you were the literal example of an angel supposed to help humanity and heal troubled souls. you were the epitome of purity and goodness.

but to older winchesters? yeah, you were a little bitch.

ever since they came back to life—a family thing apparently—trying to redeem their mistakes and be this happy and loving family, there wouldn’t be a minute without you sending daggers with your glare or scoffing at every word that left their mouths.

not only did they break the rules of the living and undead (sam and dean didn’t count), but they acted as if they didn’t do anything wrong. as if they could make up for their mistakes. well, too fucking late for that.

you simply couldn’t watch them together nor could you understand why they forgave them so easily. why did dean forgive them. you were baffled, but for the first time, you didn’t feel like asking questions.

no, you were having too much pent-up anger that you began slowly turning into castiel. not that it was bad, but considering your usually bubbly and happy personality now so doom and stern? yeah, it was concerning. especially for dean.

but when he tried to confront you, you brushed it off and disappeared. just like cas. and you were disappearing more often, without telling anyone and god knows where. and dean began to think what had he done to upset you to the point where you couldn’t even stand being in the same room as he was. cause he was always ready to blame himself first.

he sighed, sitting in the library, sipping a beer while mindlessly staring at the wall. he was debating whether to start praying so you’d come, but then his father entered the room, startling him out of his thoughts. john put a hand on his shoulder, making him jump up in his seat and visibly tense up—a response that a true soldier should have. what a fucking bullshit, just another trauma response.

“come on, son. stop brooding over that angel. you know how they are. they don’t give a shit. we’re just humans for them. toys they can play with and then dispose of as soon as we’re old and cranky and without much use. they’re immortal. they’re getting bored quickly,” john sighed with a small chuckle, patting his son’s shoulder, which only made him flinch more.

“you don’t know her. she’s not like that,” dean muttered, rubbing his chin. you weren’t like that…right?

of course you weren’t. why did he even think that? you were his whole world, and he pretty much thought that he was yours. you weren’t like other angels—you were actually angelic and pure and all the other schmancy shit. but yeah, no, you weren’t like that, and his dad was fucking wrong.

“she’s an angel. a supernatural creature. that says enough. they shouldn’t be here anyway. their place is up there where they can be all high and mighty with those pretentious stares.”

“she’s not like that,” dean said more sternly this time, his voice strong and leaving no place for a discussion. you were his little birdie, and he wouldn’t let anyone badmouth you. not even his own father.

“you’re defending her now?” john scoffed in amusement, looking at his son in disbelief. “you’ve gotten soft,” he hummed.

“and? is it so bad now? i’m sorry to disappoint you. again,” dean stood up, ready to leave, when his father grabbed his arm and looked at him with those eyes that dean knew too well—those eyes that meant he was about to get his ass beat.

“don’t be a brat now. show your father some respect. i don’t think i taught you to run your mouth—" dean swallowed thickly, preparing himself to get a blow to his face or at least try to dodge it, perhaps.

however, before john could finish, suddenly his hand on dean’s arm was yanked away and painfully bent backwards as if it was going to break any moment, the angel blade pressed dangerously to an artery in his throat.

“touch him again and i’ll make sure to drag your ass to hell myself, you fucking deadbeat,” you hissed with so much venom and hatred in your voice that it honestly made dean speechless.

you had the deadliest expression dean had ever seen on your face. he felt goosebumps on the back of his neck, suddenly feeling as if he was frozen in place. to be honest, you looked pretty scary and intimidating for such a small and inconspicuous creature.

“oh, look who’s back from heaven,” john chuckled darkly, clearly pissed off by your presence. “tell her to back off,” he almost growled while shifting his eyes from you back to his son.

dean stood still. honestly? he didn’t want to help. he wanted to let you do your thing. he wanted you to protect him.

but it was his father. and he felt that he couldn’t just let him be treated by you like that.

“birdie, come on. drop it,” he sighed, coming closer and wrapping his arms around you, gently pulling you back. he knew you wouldn’t protest, and you knew that as well—you’d never hurt dean or even try to do something that would possibly hurt him. you’d probably cut your own wings off if he got even the smallest bruise because of you. “relax, okay. don’t do anything stupid, birdie,” he rubbed your arm, trying to calm you down.

with a huff, you turned around and looked at dean. “i don’t like him. and i don’t like your mother. these people are weird and had hurt you and i don’t trust them,” you hissed, keeping your voice a whisper so john wouldn’t hear as he tried to scramble himself up from the floor.

“birdie, they’re my parents. i—” but he cut off and raised his brow. “how do you even know what happened? i never tol—”

“angel stuff. doesn’t matter. i just don’t like it when you’re hurt and upset and feeling sad. and these two make you upset, sad and hurt!“ you tried to resonate. “i just want you to be happy. i can’t give you your childhood back nor i can undid every awful thing that happened to you. but i can try my best to make it better and give you what you missed out on. if you want to feel childish for a minute, we can do that together. i’m already considered to be one apparently,” you huffed with a small eye-roll.

and dean was speechless. he looked at you in disbelief, and all the other feelings that he couldn’t quite name. he felt his heart squeeze painfully in his chest, tears gathering up in his eyes. he tried to say something, to think of something, when john’s mocking chuckle echoed through the walls.

“are you kidding me? crying? what kind of soldier—” before he got a chance to finish, you sent him on the floor with a solid sucker punch to his face. john groaned and blinked hazily before losing consciousness.

you shook your hand with a small huff and then looked at wide-eyed dean.

“i’m not going to apologize for that,” you said in that direct and indifferent tone, pointing at john’s unresponsive body.

dean just blinked and then looked at you, his expression slowly softening. he smiled at you and pulled you closer.

“honestly? i don’t want you to. thanks birdie,” he hummed and kissed your temple, letting his lips stay on your skin for a moment, while you leaned into his invitingly warm touch. “i love you so much, my little angel.”

“i love you, too, deano.”

god, he was so glad to have you.

a/n: i’ll drop the drabble tomorrow cause i didn’t think i’d finish this shot faster lol😭

༄♡ tags: @frosttbitessam @beausling @deanswidow @titsout4nicholas @a1ecmcdowell @aileenunfiltered @figthoughts @fitxgrld @angelicp0etry @hrtsoldierboy @deansbite @artyandink @10ava01 @abellmunsonmovie

[takumasheisty]

It’s been 2 months since your beloved boyfriend had left to attend Blue Lock. Of course you miss him greatly, but it makes you happy to know that he’s pursuing his dream.

You two don’t call often, mainly due to the fact that it’s very busy in Blue Lock, but when you do it’s always a great catch up conversation. Exchanging stories and “I love you’s” before he has to leave to go play another match.

One night, he feels particularly needy, wishing he was back at home with you. Once curfew hits, he goes to bed, but he can’t stop thinking about you. Your beautiful eyes and beautiful lips. The way you hold him in such high regard as a boyfriend. He just misses you so damn much and can’t wait to go back home to see you. He thinks about the time you spent together, and the things you do together alone. Leading him to realize that he hasn’t engaged in any sexual activity since he left home. Including masterbation.

The innocent thoughts of you soon become more lewd and horny. He thinks about the way you take him so well, and how good you feel, and well, before he knows it, he’s hard.

“Fuck.. if only Y/N was here with me.. she always takes care of me so well.” Your sweet boyfriend thinks to himself. He can feel the precum leaking from his hard cock, and knows he has to do something, or else he’s really in for it tonight.

“Ah… shit..” he palms himself through his shorts and squeezes his eyes shut, eliciting moans and whimpers from him.

He takes his cock out from his shorts, and starts moving his hand up and down, slowly. It’s so hard it hurts. How he wishes he was with you. You’d make the pain go away.

He starts to pick up the pace, focusing on the area right below his leaky tip. It felt good, but it would never feel as good as your hand.

“Ngh.. f-fuck..” the thoughts of you were getting more vivid, images of you bouncing on his cock were flashing through his mind, and he began to desperately chase his release.

He increased the speed and pressure he was using on his cock, trying so hard to cum, but he just couldn’t. It felt like he was right on the edge, but he just couldn’t get there.

“C-cmon.. n-eed to cum.. please..” he’s so needy, and it seems his hand isn’t doing the job.

He stops yanking on his cock, panting and out of breath. He didn’t even get to cum.

“Fuck..” he brings his hands up to his face, placing his hands on his forehead. He needs another solution, and he thinks he has one but he really doesn’t want to have to resort to such a thing.

He turns the the extra pillow on his bed, and groans in embarrassment.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this.. so pathetic..” he scolds himself as he mounts the pillow. The soft and feathery contact makes him wince. As he adjusts the pillow, he begins moving, dragging his angry cock back and forth against the white objet.

“A-ah..! O-oh shit..” this seems like it’s working. He grips the sheets and speeds up the pace of his thrusts. Once again, he desperately chases his release, but fails to catch it. He’s right there. Right there, and he just needs something to tip him over.

“Damn it!.. why can’t I cum..? She’s probably fast asleep while I’m over here… humping a damn pillow to get off.” He sighs, leaning forward, to rest his head against the mattress.

He reaches over to grab his phone, hoping, wishing that you would call him right that instant. He scrolls through your past messages, wanting to cry. He misses you so bad. But it was late, and you were probably sleeping.

But what if you weren’t?

What if you were awake, thinking about him too? The thought of that sparked excitement in your needy boyfriend. Should he call you? Ask for your help? How would be even ask you?

He stared at the dial button for what seems like an eternity, and something in him tells him to call you.

The phone rings twice, when you pick up.

“Hey baby! What are you up to? It’s pretty late you know.” The sound of your voice alone almost makes cum, and he knows he has to tell you.

“Hey.. Y/N. I’m sorry for calling so late.. I was just thinking about you.. and.. and I-“ he mumbles on the phone when you cut him off.

“You need me to help you with something, hm?” His heart skips a beat. How did you know? Was he that obvious?

“H-how.. how did you know?” He asks, concerned.

“You’re my boyfriend? I think I’d know when somethings up. Anyways what is it?” You question.

He pauses for a moment before spilling everything.“I need you. I can’t.. can’t cum. I’ve tried just about everything I could and I still can’t.. n-need you to talk me through it.” He squeezes his eyes shut, anticipating your response. After a while and no response he feels he made a mistake.

“N-Nevermind sorry! Goodn-“

“What have you tried, darling?” You question, in a tone laced with seduction.

He takes a second and can’t believe you’re actually willing to help him. “I-I tried jerking off.. even focusing on my sensitive areas… and it didn’t work. I also tried.. um.. I tried..” he starts out rambling and slows down, not able to say what he’s trying to.

“Spit it out, love. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.”

“I’ve tried using a pillow.” He thought it was bad before but saying it out loud is even worse. His face flushes red with embarrassment and he goes quiet.

“What did you do with the pillow, my love?” You question, trying to get him to use his words.

“I.. I humped.. it. I was humping a pillow.. I’m sorry I feel disgusting.. like a damn animal in heat.”

“No my love, you’re not disgusting. You’re just needy, that’s all. I’m really happy you came to me tonight. You know I’ll always do what I can to help you, right?” You assure your shy boyfriend.

“Y-yeah.” He whispers, looking down at his leaking cock.

“Okay. You tried both those things and you couldn’t cum?”

“I tried, Y/N. I just couldn’t. I don’t know why.” He gets quieter each word that he utters.

“My poor baby… over there suffering. Let’s see what we can do okay?” He nuzzles his head into the mattress, closing his eyes and imagining that it’s your chest.

“Do you have headphones, love?”

“Y-yeah..”

“Put them on for me, okay?”

“Yes ma’am.” He rushes to grab his AirPods, fumbling to put them in.

“O-okay. They’re in.” He waits for your next instruction, eager to obey.

“Sit back, love. I want you to take your hand and masterbate.” He complys, breathing raggardly.

“Slowly, don’t rush it, alright?” You can tell he’s extremely eager, doing everything as if he’s being timed.

“M-mhm. Okay.” He continues rubbing up and down his shaft, just like you told him.

“Now take your other hand, run it down your torso, and I want you to focus on your nipples especially.”

“H-hahh.. f-fuck… feels.. f-feels so good.. s’ much better then before..” He moans out, doing both actions simultaneously.

“I.. I like when you tell me what to do.”

“Mm yeah? You’re being such a good boy. Keep doing that okay? So good for me.” He whimpers loudly at the obvious praise, slightly arching his back up off the mattress.

“I-I think.. ‘m getting close. Can feel it coming..” He slowly speeds up his pace, and gets a little rougher with his nipples, pinching them rather than grazing over them.

“F-fuck Y/N.. h-help.. getting c-close.. really close..!” His leaky cock was leaking even more precum now, twitching with every stroke.

“Yeah, you’re close? You got it baby. You’re almost there. Just a little more.” He moans at your sultry voice, visioning you stroking his cock for him.

“A-ah.. a-shit! C-cumming! I-I’m cumming! F-fuck fuck..!” He orgasms, his cock pumping a continuous flow of cum down his hand and wrist. He stops his movements, the orgasm is too strong for him.

“Baby, did you stop? Don’t stop. Keep stroking yourself. You want the orgasm to last a little longer.” He listens to you, and picks up the pace again, his body twitching every few seconds.

“C-can’t do anymore Y/N, sensitive, really.. really sensitive.” He has to stop, and try to regulate his breathing. Now he was sweating and shaking out of pleasure.

“Alright. Good job, my love. You did so well for me. Did that help you with your problem?” He turns to his phone to look at your photo.

“Y-yes. Thank you s’ much.” He’s still coming down from his high, and his first thought is still you.

“Thank you.. thank you Y/N.. you’re so.. good to me.. what did I do to deserve you?” He’s so genuinely grateful to have someone like you to love him.

“It’s really okay, baby. It was nothing, that was all yo- love? Are you.. crying?” You ask after hearing some sniffling in the background.

“I just.. I miss you so much Y/N.”

“Aw.. my poor baby.. you know how much I miss you too? Maybe you can come visit home soon?”

“Yeah.. I hope.” The call is quiet for a minute, until you break the silence.

“My love?”

“Mhm?”

“It’s quite late, I think we’ll have to call again tomorrow.” You did have work early in the morning, and staying up this late couldn’t have a good effect on you.

“Oh. Y-yeah.. sorry. It was a little selfish of me to keep you on the phone like this so late.”

“Don’t even worry about it. Get some rest okay, I know you work hard every day.” You acknowledging his hard work warms his heart. What an amazing girlfriend you are.

“Thank you, again. Goodnight.”

[ghost-proofbaby]

kissing lessons, pt. 2

summary: you and robin face the music that maybe the kissing lessons aren't just lessons after all.

pairing: robin buckley x fem!reader

warnings: even more sapphic yearning than the first one (in my opinion), lots of religious imagery scattered sporadically, and a lots of hints/passing mentions of homophobia (no talk of violence, etc.) that was normal in the 80s. there's even more discussion of reader conforming to the usual and dating a boy. once again, reader is explicitly female.

wc: 3.3k+

a/n: i cannot explain how healing writing this has been. shout out to younger me for surviving the way my own experience ended with a lot more heartbreak - you deserved a robin buckley, baby ghost. and thank you to everyone who read the first one and was so very kind. i am eternally grateful <3

part 1 here

It was your own damn fault, probably. 

Robin may have been the one to ignite the fire, so prettily asking to start having those godforsaken kissing lessons, but you’d be the one clutching a bottle of gasoline. You’d been the one fanning the flames with each arrangement you’d insist upon, Saturday after Saturday always being spent one predictable way: kissing your best friend. 

In your bedroom, in her living room, behind the slide at the park. 

Mid-afternoon, early mornings, in the dead of night. 

Any time that you can find an excuse for it, your lips were attached to Robin Buckley’s, chipping away at your own demise, and it was all your fault. 

There wasn’t a handbook for this, though. There was no pamphlet to explain all the butterflies that would erupt in your stomach every time she’d smile at you slyly just before she’d lean it to initiate the kisses, no how-to for stopping the shake in your hands as you’d cradle thighs and cheeks alike as if they were the most sacred of sacrifices, no survival guide for all the heartache that now haunts your every waking moment when you think about the smell of her perfume. You had no one who could explain away your obsession with the taste of passion fruit lip smackers these days. 

You were in love with your best friend, and it sort of felt like some type of terrible shipwreck done by your own recklessness. 

And if she felt even an ounce of the same way, you couldn’t see it. You simply couldn’t allow yourself to read any further into the brushes of her hand in the hallways that had grown more consistent. If you daydreamed too long about the way she’d been so overly supportive of you wearing skirts to school more often these days, you’d quite possibly self-implode. It was all a dangerous game, a hopeless drowning in the middle of the Atlantic, and you were just letting it happen. 

“Why was that Connor guy talking to you in the hall today?”

And if you read too much into what you so desperately wanted to describe as jealousy in her tone right now, you’d certainly combust in the blink of an eye. 

It wasn’t even a Saturday – it was a Friday. Saturdays were the holy days, the days in which you could guarantee you’d taste her all over your tongue and be allowed to gather all your offerings in the form of worshiping whispers and guiding movements as she straddled your lap. The rest of the week, the two of you were nothing more than the best of friends. On Fridays, you should be nothing but two girls who find innocent and platonic solace in one another. 

It’s just hard to do when all you’re capable of thinking about is how soft the skin of her neck was nearly a week ago, when your lips had trailed down to her pulse point in such feathery light brushes. 

“Oh!” you sit up from where you’d been spread out on her bed, looking up at her with sudden excitement as you watch her spin in her desk chair, “I forgot to tell you! Holy shit, you’re going to love this.” 

The moment it had happened, you’d started mentally counting down the moments until you’d have the chance to tell Robin of the awkward conversation. You can’t believe you’d forgotten about it so easily once you’d gotten the girl alone. 

She pauses her spinning immediately, blinking rapidly as she was clearly dizzy, “What do you mean? Why am I going to love it?” 

“He asked me out to milkshakes.”

You wait. And wait. And wait. Nearly quaking with all the anticipation for your best friend to burst out into laughter with you over the irony of it all. 

You just keep waiting. 

The laughter never escapes Robin, her face stoic as she doesn’t even smile. All the giggles and rolling of eyes you’d expected to share is completely erased with that look on her face currently. A look you almost mistake as hurt, a look that reaches far beyond jealousy.

The look of someone standing amongst the wreckage of an abandoned ship. 

When she finally speaks again, with deflated shoulders and the corners of her mouth down-turned, it’s soft enough you almost miss it. “Did you say yes?” 

It was the one question you hadn’t been expecting – you’d assumed it had been a given that you’d turn the poor boy down. 

“Obviously not,” you snort, uneasy as you rifle through your mind, a sudden desperation to make Robin smile or to lighten the mood immediately rearing its head. 

“Obviously?” 

This conversation is very much not going the way you had seen it play out in your head. Robin’s missing all of her lines, none of her expressions lining with the directorial vision you’d been gifted with when the moment had happened. 

No saccharine laughter, no sweet joy. None of the sugared reactions are rotting your teeth out. 

Instead, there’s just a strange and hollow ache. The vacant expression of Robin’s face that twitches ever so slightly with something more below the surface, and a tension in the air that wraps around your throat tightly. 

“Yeah, I mean,” you choke out, trying to stave off your discomfort, “We both know how I feel about milkshake dates. And besides, he wanted to go tomorrow, and we already have plans-”

“You could’ve said yes,” she blurts out. As soon as the words fall in the space between you two, she’s wide-eyed, staring at you like a scared deer caught up in your headlights, “Our plans- They-” she pauses, and takes a deep breath that almost looks painful, “You could have said yes if you wanted to. I’d live. Plus, it’d give you a chance to put our lessons to use.” 

No sweetness, only a sour on your tongue that makes your face twist. “Why would I use our lessons on Connor from pottery?” 

Why would I ever want to kiss somebody that isn’t you? 

The thought easily makes you sick to your stomach. The lips of someone who isn’t Robin Buckley pressed to yours, the hands of someone who isn’t your best friend tracing the curves of your body. You think you’d rather die. 

“I dunno,” Robin is mumbling now, almost looking ashamed. The last thing you’d wanted to do was shame her. You’d just wanted to share a laugh with your best friend, “That was sort of the point, right? You wanted to get good at kissing-”

“We,” you correct her.

“What?”

“We wanted to get good at kissing. You can’t tell me there’s no boys in the band that have asked you out or you’d have a chance to kiss. You’re…” Even as the words are ash in your mouth, sticking to the roof of your mouth and making it hard to breathe, you force it all out. The only words left are the truth, anyways, “Beautiful, Robs. You’re fucking stunning, and funny, and so kind. Who’s your Connor from poetry, hm?” 

It’s a dagger to the heart. It’s alcohol on a paper cut, salt in a throbbing wound. Every cliche and morbid pain in the books is racing through you at what you’ve just said. Asking her about boys is worse than simply accepting it as a hypothetical. Having to actually hear about boys chasing after the girl that’s occupied you irrevocably is worse than imagining them all. 

At least in your imagination, they could all be fumbling over their feet, falling to the dirt as Robin cackles and arrives straight to her original destination – you. At least in your imagination, you stand a chance. 

“God, no,” she scrunches her nose up, immediately standing from her chair, “Oh my God, no. Ew. I don’t- I’d never-” 

“You’d never?” you raise an eyebrow, watching as she nearly starts to pace. 

“We were talking about you!” she bursts out, arms flailing out beside her, spinning so she was stood right in front of you, “You and Colton-”

“Connor.”

“-and how you should go get milkshakes with him! You should’ve said yes, okay? You could say you have a boyfriend when you get to college if you’d said yes.” 

Boyfriend. A word that will never, ever leave your lips. Not just when it came to Connor – when it came to all the boys in your school. All the boys in your town. All the boys in the goddamn world. 

That word doesn’t fit. It’s too tight, too confining. Strangles you in all the wrong places and makes your chest constrict in the worst way. 

You don’t want a boyfriend. 

You want your best friend to stop pacing, you want your best friend to hold your hand, you want it to be Saturday and for your best friend to kiss your fucking face off.

Pathetic, only because you don’t think you’ll ever find the nerve to say it to her out loud. 

“Who cares if I have a boyfriend when I go to college?” you spit out, struggling to even say the damn word, “I could give two shits if I-”

“I care!” Robin is turning erratic, wild as she tugs at her hair and looks at you with such misplaced desperation. You don’t know what she wants from you – you can’t give her what she’s asking of you, “I care, because you deserve to have that normal experience. You should be out there, kissing boys and going on dates to share a milkshake and- and- and… not spending your Saturdays with me, hiding away and kissing me and sharing chapstick and making me feel all these stupid feelings-” 

She cuts off roughly, a small gasp leaving her lips as she realizes what she’s just said. 

Making me feel all these stupid feelings. 

“What do you mean by that?” you whisper, sharing at her, shocked, “What do you mean by stupid feelings-”

“Forget it.”

“No.” 

“Yes,” she pleads, taking a step back when you stand up in front of her, “Dear God, please forget I ever said that. I’m literally begging you.” 

Stupid feelings. 

What does she even define as stupid feelings? 

Is it that her heart races whenever you suggest another lesson? Is it that warmth that spreads head to toe every time you grab her hand casually? Is it all that pain with nowhere to go at the end of the day, when you bury your face in a pillow and scream out all the what-ifs you assume you’ll never explore in this lifetime? 

You think about your parents. The ones who are never home, or are oblivious in the kitchen as you shut your door and quickly return to your bed, where your best friend is awaiting you eagerly just to get her tongue down your throat. You think of Robin’s parents, who force her to go to church every Sunday, never realizing she can still taste the strawberry chapstick all over her lips come morning. Whispering all their prayers in the same tone she’d whispered your name the night before. You think about all the peers your age who spend their Saturday nights in diners, sharing milkshakes and planning their futures – their normal futures. 

White picket fence, a mid-size dog to run around the yard. Two and a half kids, and a wedding ring gleaming on the finger on their left hand directly connected to their heart. The same one that Robin always fiddles with while the two of you sit and do homework together, the same one Robin once slipped an old coin-machine ring onto as a joke when you were thirteen, cackling about some sort of marriage pact that had every adult in vicinity glaring at the two of you. 

All the things you can’t dream about. Because when you do, it’s never the nice boy your father points out at the grocery store. It’s never that boy your mother finds absolutely darling, who lives two houses down and has offered to mow your lawn numerous times. 

Every time you try to picture it, it’s with Robin. 

Her with a matching ring you’ve bought for a quarter, her lipstick staining the matching mug on your kitchen counter during a quiet morning. Kids with her freckles, kids with all her spunk. A dog she’d name something incredibly niche, and that you’d fight her on endlessly, but end up giving in simply because you love her. 

Whenever you try to look to the future, it’s with the girl before you, who has tears gathering in her lash line now. Embarrassment painting every inch of her exposed skin, and her chest stuttering with every gasping breath. 

Stupid feelings. You’d become entirely acquainted with stupid feelings, you just hadn’t realized that Robin had as well. 

“What do you mean by that, Robs?” your voice cracks, begging all but on your knees at this moment. Everything you could possibly want right in an arm’s reach. 

You don’t even need the picket fence or the dog. Kids could vanish right from the dream. The house could become a quaint apartment in the city. The morning coffee could be traded for peppermint tea. As long as the thing that never changes is her, you don’t really care where the visions lead. 

She says your name so softly, you nearly break down entirely. You want to hear it for the rest of your days. The way the shape of your name curls around her tongue and falls from her lips, “You should just forget I said anything, I mean it. Go home and call Connor-”

“Fuck Connor!” you suddenly raise your voice, so entirely done with all the boy talk. All the expectations and all the definitions of normal. Your finger on your left hand, connected directly to your heart, throbs. “I don’t want to share some half-melted milkshake with that… with that… idiot! I want to share it with the idiot in front of me right now. I don’t want to practice kissing on him, I want to practice with you. I don’t want him, and I don’t want that boy who bags groceries at Melvald’s, and I don’t-” 

Robin Buckley is the brave one. She shuts you up about all the ones you don’t want, by giving you the one thing you do want. 

Soft palms, soft lips. Gentle hesitation to soothe the scars of a future you never really cared for. Fruity lip balm that somehow perfectly matches airy perfume. 

She’s kissing you like her life depends on it. Like she’s feeling an ache in the joints of that finger connected to the heart, and she just can’t take it anymore. Like she loves you. Or at least likes you. 

And you’ll take what you can get when you reach up to grab onto her anywhere you can find. Bunching her shirt at her hip with your first, fingers curling around her forearm that’s connected to the hand cradling your cheek. You can’t possibly lean into it all enough; can’t press your lips any tighter against hers, can’t have any more of your limbs bumping into hers as you stumble backwards and onto her bed. 

She’s crawling over you, little puffs of breaths escaping between kisses, hovering above you with a halo of sunlight leaking in through her bedroom window. 

She looks like a God you don’t believe in, and one she can’t be spoon-fed to worship anymore. All holier notions are focused on you. Fingers trailing their way up under your shirt and hips bumping against yours as you both try to learn what to do with this new position. 

It’s better than your best friend seated in your lap, timidly moving her tongue. It’s nicer. 

“Stupid feelings,” you breathe out when she moves to pepper kisses on your cheek, on your jaw, on your neck, “Stupid fucking feelings.” 

“Sometimes, I wish we’d never started the lessons, you know?” she whispers when she pauses at your collarbone, peering up at you with those glossy blue eyes. Oceans deep, ready for your ship to roll right into. Ready for your ship to crash in. “It made all of this so much harder and complicated.” 

Your fingers slide into her hair, tugging at the sporadic pieces that you’d helped cut a year ago. The saddest excuse for layers ever, “Made what harder?” 

You want to hear her say it. You need to hear her say it. 

“Liking you.”

If hearts could burst, yours would be fluttering shreds behind your ribs. Nothing more than the aftermath of finally, finally, hearing those words fall from her lips. 

“You like me?” your cheeks ache immediately from your grin, so wide it occupies your entire face. You swear you can see its reflection in her eyes. 

Her head lifts and you see some of the fear still lingering behind her own smile, “Yeah, doofus. I like you. A lot, actually. And I just always assumed you liked that Cooper boy-”

“His name is Connor.”

“I know,” she laughs, face contorting as she bites back more giggles. It’s no use though, as her head falls forward and her forehead lands on the center of your chest, “I just- God, I sort of hated him. I heard him ask you out for the milkshake and I just wanted to punch the dude-”

“You heard?” you’re laughing now, head thrown back, “I’m sorry, you knew why I was talking to him, and you still tried to play all coy and ask me?” 

“Can you blame a girl for trying?” 

No. No, you really couldn’t. You can only imagine the ridiculous plans you’d elaborately conjure if you’d ever overheard a boy asking Robin out on a date. All the jealousy ploys and childish schemes, born out of all the sunshine she’s been instilling in you since the first day you’d met her. 

And imagining that is fine. But what you no longer have to imagine is a Robin who chooses you, the scenario in which you can simply grab her and kiss her until you’ve run out of breaths and your lungs have shriveled into nothing more than feathers in your chest. 

So you do. 

You tug her back up to you and kiss her, far more languid than she’d initially kissed you. The slow movements of lips with all the time in the world. The steady movements of hands that belong as you run them over her shoulders and down her back, bring them to those hips you’d been adoring every Saturday. 

You kiss Robin Buckley on a Friday, simply because you can. 

Nice, your mind rings out. Nice, nice, nice. 

This was nice – this was right. None of that discomfort at the thought of letting Connor kiss you, no strangulation at the word boyfriend. You feel like you can breathe for the first time in your life as you kiss your best friend serenely and let all of that love seep out of your skin when it presses to hers. In the background of it all, a new word forms, a soft blanket of comfort rather than something to wrap around your throat. 

Girlfriend.

Now that? That sounds nice. 

“Hey,” Robin says when she pulls back slowly, tip of her nose still bumping yours, the weight of her still between your thighs, “Do you want to…. I don’t know, go get a milkshake with me or something?” 

You don’t think about either of your parents, or any of the self-righteous vipers who might be prowling the town on a Friday night. You know it won’t be the same as going to the diner with a nice boy – you know you won’t be able to kiss her on the street or cuddle up quite as obviously, keep her quite as close as you so desperately ached to, but it was okay. 

It was enough. For now. 

“Only if we can get strawberry,” you quip, unable to help yourself as you lean up for another brief peck. 

The peck isn’t enough. You don’t think any amount of Robin’s treacly kisses would ever be enough. You’d probably spend an entire lifetime just trying to get your fill. 

“Deal,” she rasps, clearly sharing the sentiment as she leans back down, kissing you right back. Eager lips not quite satisfied. 

There would be no screaming or crying into pillows tonight. 

ghost's taglist: @emmaisgonnacry @figmentofquinn @bebe07011 @barbedwirebats @ayooooo0

@neverlearnedcivility @munson-enthusiast @digwhatudug @wow-cam @daddysmodifiedprincess2

@cancankiki @gothmingguk @nix-rose @thesesuggestedblognamesbegreat @chevelle724

@madaboutjoe @take-everything-you-can @josephquinnsfreckles @thebanisheddreamer @water-loos

@dailyobsession @whenshelanded @happy-and-alone @alwayslindie @royale1803

@onegirlmanytales @whyamiheresomeonehelp @mrsjellymunson @live-love-be-unique @hazydespair

@gothvamp1973 @kennedy-brooke @kittydeadbones @hollysleeps @hellojameshowyadoin

@munsonzgf @browneyes8288 @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @siriuslysmoking @mandyjo8719

@d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @acenby-weirdo @hazydespair @royale1803 @batkin028

@ninejlovebot @charliewb1996 @imwaytoolazyforthis @definitionwanderlust @idkitsem

join my taglist!

[impyssadobsessions]

DPxDC idea/prompt Pen Pals

(Probably more idea but you can run with the concept... im so srry XD) Basically Danny and Damian are pen pals- until Damian receives a letter with Lazarus Water and Blood smeared on the page.

WHAT IF Danny and Damian were pen pals before Danny's accident. A school project for 8th grade. Damian was reluctant to participate but due to it being a grade and being pestered by his siblings that he would just scare the kid off anyways, he deciding to partake in this pen pal. Danny whose not suffering at school, just living a normal life at the moment, is being teased by Dash saying his pen pal could smell loser before even opening the letter. Asking Danny if his parents even let him open the letter or blast it thinking its a ghost. Which makes Danny who wasn't into this idea of writing a stranger more determined to do it. Besides they might only get one letter and teachers drop the subject. They might not even get it. So what the heck. Turns out they become the only ones that constantly wrote each other- even mailing it in person once the school ended the program. (Damian having a post box set up for letters)

At first it was awkward. Danny commented/asking if Damian really was their age or some teacher pretending to write back instead of sending out the letters. If so. He sucks at it because what kid writes perfectly grammar letters and big words to convey something is cool. Guess its better than pretending he knows slang. Damian furious writes back, offended! Also asks if he isn't younger, because everyone with basic english should know to capitalize their letters! This goes back and fourth. Danny writing back every chance he got, and Damian doing the same, even being told not to at the dinner table. It goes from offended at each other to being curious. Danny asking Damian more advice on english because it isn't his favorite subject. Damian asking more about how to sound like his age. Then it devolves to animals. Danny wishing he had one, but his parents didn't want one getting into the lab. Damian happily sending picture of his animals. Danny talking more about the stars.. etc. Until Accident happens- Danny starts having trouble writing the letters. His pen with phase through his hand and replies between them got longer. Danny justifying this by saying he's having trouble with schooling this year. Damian also been unable to send as many replies because he's been busy with teen titans and other heroics. Though he's encouraging Danny saying Danny is far smarter than that school even is aware of. Until one day, after months of not being able to reply. He finds Damian's letter again. It makes him feel better. Even if Damian didn't know him... this person still believes in Danny... Though Danny feels guilty about it- it compels him to write him again. He was about to finish the letter when he gets blasted by a ghost. He returns from the fight, beaten and bloody. He picks up the letter and sighs at the green stain left on it. Folding it up he stuffs it into his bag. Next day after hurrying off to school, his mother finds the letter after it had fallen on the floor. She read a little bit of it and immediately recognize it was to Danny's penpal. She takes the opportunity to try her knew anti-ecto spray and mails it for Danny. "Boy just like his father. So messy. I'll have to give him a lecture about ecto-contamination again." Damian just returned from a mission from Teen Titans, been gone for three months. Alfred informs Damian he had received a letter from his anonymous pen pal in his absence. Damian had almost forgotten about the pen pal- thinking his pal just didn't want to answer anymore. So eagerly he goes to his room to open the letter, but immediately blood drain from his face as his eyes zoomed back the feathery ink to the green blotch of lazurus water.. having almost evaporated.. leaving a water stain that glowed... and more importantly.. the human specks of blood that was revealed with the driest parts of the stain. Damian immediately rushes to the cave.. only to find out his paranoia was right.... and was it his fault his friend was harmed? Also the idea of Damian talking to Phantom in his robin suit. Asking how Daniel Fenton was.. and Phantom surprised and slips out a "Alive as much as he's dead." Damian glaring and Phantom corrects, "He's fine. He has parents that are ghost hunters is all." Stressing his situation complicated. Phantom just so shocked his pen pal is a hero- annnnd also cursing his mom for sending a letter like that. HE KNEW IT WOULD SEND IMPLICATIONS!

but idk if I figured out a good way for Damian to see the smeared letter. I just think it be fun. Also Damian thinking he's to blame for league going after the fentons when he wasn't. At least not as early as he thought. He's very focused on saving/protecting Danny Fenton.. which makes Phantom's job harder.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi Elodie! I was wondering if I might ask about your process for choosing names for the daemons in His Delicious Materials? I have some daemon characters knocking about in the back of my brain, but I’ve never been able to settle on names for them. I know that in His Dark Materials, some daemons have more common names, and some have more fantastical, but beyond that I don’t know much about daemon naming conventions, and yours sound so delightful to hear and say.

Oh jeez sure! I unfortunately love making sweeping decisions and then forcing myself to live up to them.

(In reference to His Delicious Materials fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56658973/chapters/144024799 )

The only set HDM daemon naming constraints I can recall are that they’re set by the daemon’s parents and thus relate to the parental names and desires; this Stelmaria, Greek, “Star of the sea,” has a son Pantalaimon “multitude of blessings.” But other daemons, such as the nurse who was severed, have names like “Nicholas.” Thus they can be what feels right, I think, with reference to internal family-feeling. people from Lyra’s Oxford are clearly going for Greek names - even the character who’s a “kitchen boy” has the lofty Salcilia, which seems to connect to “salt” - but the witches in HDM give their daemons Finnish names.

I think where possible it can’t be the language you’re reading the story in - I.e. if you’re reading in English you shouldn’t have a daemon named Trustworthy - and be three syllables. It would be ideal if it secretly revealed a piece of character, but could also be an aspiration. Will’s “kirjava” (multicoloured) is a description.

I had a few constraints. I set them early on. I think constraints make things easier but that’s possibly a personality flaw.

One thing that doesn’t happen much in daemon AUs is that I had different species of human to consider. This made me decide that they had to have relatively distinctive naming cultures.

- Bee was the one who sprang into my head without invitation and instantly suggested “wouldn’t it be great if it lengthened into Bibelot, which is French for trinket?” And I was like, such a great idea bestie! Let’s write a novel about you! Maybe two! So if that happens to you, let that happen.

- this led to all half-foots having a daemon naming convention where they had to have three-syllable French names with the first syllable shortening to their everyday name and their long name being reserved for intimates; the short name should shorten to a word preferably in English. At first this was fine and made things easier because the only other half-foot daemons instantly presented themselves as Chatelaine and Chiendegarde. If you have a good convention/restriction it can make things easier at first and makes you sound confident.

- I felt that Greek-inspired names for daemons in OG HDM felt very cool in that setting. Laios is a Greek name IRL (Falin is Irish I think but ignore that) so I mentally fixed the convention of the siblings having Greek names.

- then I used Google Translate to find a word that meant gentle or feathery and found Elafros, which alludes to both, and also having the highly desirable -os ending which matches Laios and obviously creates a cohesive, family feel

- everyone reading this is probably like, no the hell it doesn’t

- I liked the three syllables and sense of parental expectation so I researched it a bit more and settled on it.

- I wanted Laios’s daemon to start with a P, three syllables, Greek and match Falin in some way. I scrolled through the P entries on a 1990’s website with a list of “dead words”. Palinode was chosen for being obviously a cohesive and familial resonance with Falin (rhyming first syllable.) it also shortens to PAL and has connotations of sounding like paladin. She’s Falin’s paladin.

- everyone reading this is probably like, no the hell it doesn’t

- Palinode’s a terrible name actually. Oh well moving on

- I wanted Marcille’s daemon to have a Greek name too, this choice feeling synonymous with a certain expectation of class/education as well as species to me. I wanted it to start with a P because at that point I had read more of the manga and she had a pet bird named Pipi.

- the pyx- beginning is super cute to me because I originally pictured Marcille as being a pixie.

- while scrolling through the list of dead words looking for Greek inspired names starting with py- I saw Pyxis and was instantly in love. It was listed as meaning “small pot for medicine and cosmetics” but upon more research I realised it was a constellation and apparently also means “compass,” all of which felt absolutely perfect.

- Pyxis is an absolutely crap moral compass though

- I wanted Anne to be named Anne but that needed to be longer, so I tried putting the word “shield” into Google Translate and cycling through languages until Welsh gave me Tarian. It means shield and shortens to Anne! It’s also a very pretty word.

- This then set the convention of dwarves getting Welsh names, and at that point I was happier for them to have proper names, so Aneurin (a Welsh men’s name meaning honorable, and shortening to Nye) and Gethin could just be chosen from a list.

- in conclusion it’s a lot of meaning+vibes!

- thank you for this question!

[midnightcrw]

Peaceful

Pairing: Halsin x Reader

Summary: Halsin spending time with his daughter

a/n: This is my first time writing for Halsin, so it might not be that good, but I tried my best. I have already named his daughter, although you can tell me if you would rather not have her named

"Come here," Halsin said in a tone filled with joy and calmness as he lightly patted the grass in front of him. The birds were chirping and the sun was shining brightly, just the right temperature to be outside.

The little brown bear cub layed on her back on the ground, just looking at Halsin, almost as if she wasn't even listening. "Naevia, come," he called, reaching out to stroke her little belly as she began to wiggle and make small noises of joy.

Watching his little daughter was probably one of his favourite things since she was born. He couldn't be happier with you and Naevia, and he made that clear by showering you with love and sweet words.

Halsin slowly pulled his hand away, and at that moment, Naevia began to slowly turn her little body around until she was on her paws.

It was truly fascinating to watch her grow and change, but for the past two weeks she had stayed in her bear form, more than content as she began to explore the world that way.

He couldn't even remember when he was a cub. All he had ever heard from his mother was that he was quite playful and loved to learn new things.

In his thoughts, Halsin didn't even notice Naevia climbing onto his lap until she nudged his belly with her snout. Looking down, his daughter stared at him with her round eyes as she tried to put her paws up, almost causing her to fall backwards, but Halsin was quick.

He pulled her toward him until her small head rested on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her form. Somehow Naevia always liked to be carried and held in this way, though Halsin could only imagine it being rather uncomfortable in bear form.

"There you are!" A voice suddenly called from behind him as he started to turn around only to find you standing in front of him. Seeing you, Halsin immediately began to smile as his heart began to beat a little faster and he slowly stood up with Naevia in his arms.

"I was afraid something had happened! You didn't even tell me you were going outside with Naevia!" you scolded him, but softly, as you couldn't resist his peaceful expression.

It wasn't every day that Halsin let himself relax, often being busy with something or trying to overwork himself to become his best version, even though he already was.

"Do forgive me, my heart. I just wanted to take Naevia outside since she seemed so keen on this place last time," Halsin leaned down a bit to give you a small kiss on the forehead, and then leaned his forehead against yours.

"You're lucky I love you," you joked and gave him a feathery kiss on the lips. The moment you pulled away, Halsin's gaze turned almost lustful as he leaned down once more, but before he could kiss you, you placed your index finger against his lips.

"Not in front of Naevia," you whispered as Halsin began to pout slightly, making you chuckle as you pulled your finger away. "Did she fall asleep?"

"Most likely, I think that's why my neck feels so wet right now," Halsin grinned as you started to walk around him to see Naevia's head, and indeed she was asleep and currently drooling all over Halsin.

You shook your head, "You should have told me before, I would have taken her from you so you could clean yourself."

Hearing that only made him hold Naevia closer, "Never, I'm more than content as it is, my heart."

Since Halsin became a father, he never wanted to be away from his daughter and you. Every moment was treasured and thanked for as he finally had the family he so longed for.

[hazbinshusk]

Hi there! I saw your prompt request open so I thought about...Blitzø x Fem! Angel! Reader from the Kiss Roulette with #39 Prompt. A tentative kiss.

The C.H.E.R.U.B.S made heaven looks so bad after what they did in the living world. So, an angel is informed about this so she apologizes to the Imp's company. Knowing there's no need to fight between both worlds. Blitzø feels some kind of warm and kindness coming from the angel. Wanting to get to know more about her and the heavens. Maybe even teasing her about wanting a taste from heaven with a kiss...With fluff and maybe spice (I kinda had the idea a bit but the rest can be up to you)

So, I already sended you this request but then I found out I wrote the wrong number (Hope not to go wrong with this one this time so I dediced to wrote the name in case I wrote the wrong number).

thank you for being so patient! I had a little fun with it so it fit my voice a little better, but I hope you still like it :) also 'bible-thumpin' boytoys' might be one of my favourite bits of dialogue I've ever written for blitzø. anyway, heres...

prompt #39: a tentative kiss

“Okay… you wanna run by me again exactly in the fuck you are?” Blitzø says, an eyebrow raised as he lounges back in his chair, feet kicked up on the desk between you. His expression reads as disbelieving, but he still manages to take the moment to let it turn appraising, even predatory as he runs his gaze down over your figure. “’Cause you don’t look a single fuck like those cotton candy freaks that fucked with us up top.”

You smooth your fingers over the fabric covering your thighs, banishing non-existent wrinkles from your slacks. You were perched straight-backed on the chair opposite him, entirely aware of the three other demons listening in from the other side of the door. “I’m a CHERUB… or, well, an associate of CHERUB. I’m not heaven-born, I just liaise with the department.”

“Ohhh, so you’re one of the goody-two-shoe-fuckers that get to go topside after they bite it?” the imp asks, leaning forward slightly. His tail waves slowly back and forth behind him, and part of you wonders if he’s doing it on purpose – like he’s trying to offend you by making sure you notice every one of his demonic traits. “You must’a been borin’ as shit to end up with the Holy Rollers.”

You shrug a shoulder, amusement twitching at the edge of your lips despite yourself. “Must have.”

“So, what?” Blitzø continues, a kind of cavalier smirk playing over his features. “Your bosses all pissy ‘cause we kicked your buddies’ asses halfway back to heaven and now you’re… what? Here to make it even? ‘Cause I gotta tell ya, you’re cute an’ all, but I’m pretty sure we can serve your ass back to ya on a silver platter.”

“You think I’m cute?” you ask, and Blitzø grins. You shake your head, holding up your hands in surrender. “I’m not here for some kind of avenging angel deal. Dearie told me… told the department how it all went down, and—”

“That bambi bitch’s name is Dearie?”

“—I wanted to apologise for what happened.”

Blitzø’s eyebrow arches again. “You wanted to apologise. Not your bosses.”

You swallow, pressing your lips together.

Shit.

You weren’t exactly here on sanctioned orders; Lord, if anyone found out that you’d hijacked a portal to come down here… well, you’d probably end up in the same predicament as Cletus, Colin and Keenie. And honestly, spending the Father only knows how long trapped in the mortal world with them for company… Maybe you should have thought this through.

“I, uh… it’s important that the relationship between Heaven and Hell stays civil—” you say, and the imp snorts in derision.

“Yeah, you feathery fucks seem to be real concerned with keepin’ the peace.” he replies snidely, and your brow furrows in confusion at the comment. He leans forward in his seat, giving you that appraising look again that makes something inside you flutter. You push it down, swallowing. “Speakin’ of, shouldn’t you have a rack on you?”

“Excuse me?” you say, offended, and you can’t help but glance down at your chest automatically.

Blitzø snickers, letting his own gaze linger there for a moment before he waves a hand towards the space over your shoulder. “Wings, sugar. Shouldn’t you have a pair?”

“Oh,” you feel a blush creep into your cheeks at your presumption. “I do, they’re just… kind of a pain to have out all the time. Besides, this way I can… blend in a little better down here.”

Blitzø huffs a laugh, pushing himself up out of his chair. “Nice try, tits. But there ain’t no sinners down here that look like you.”

That fluttery feeling blooms inside you again, tickling low in your belly and floating into your chest as he rounds the desk towards you. He leans against it, claws curled around the edge of the desktop beside his hips, his legs only a few sparse inches from your knees. You jump slightly as you feel something touch your ankle – the point of his tail brushes against your pant leg as it waves slowly beside him. The imp’s smirk widens at your reaction.

“And none of ‘em dress like that, either.” he points out. “Pride ain’t exactly the place for business casual.”

You glance down at yourself again, at your pressed pants and button down, before looking back up at him from under your brows. You find yourself trying for the same playfully sarcastic tone he’s been using on you. “You saying I should have tried for the leather look?”

Blitzø blinks, caught off-guard by the change in your tone. Then, he smiles again, sharp-toothed and thoroughly entertained. “Definitely. Personally, I’d love to see those legs of yours all wrapped up in tight, black…”

“Mr. Buckzo—”

“Call me Blitz.”

“Blitz,” you correct yourself. “I’m here to try and establish a diplomatic relationship between—”

“You ever thought about it?”

“Huh?”

Blitzø grins. “Takin’ a walk on the dark side. See what you were missin’ out on by playin’ good girl for God all those years on Earth. They might have invented their own brand of fuckin’ up in Cloud Cuckoo Land, but I can guarantee your bible-thumpin’ boytoys ain’t got nothin’ on me.”

You flush, and that seems to amuse him more. “Are you… seriously… hitting on me right now?”

Blitzø’s smile doesn’t waver. “You tellin’ me you’re not interested?”

Casting a glance back to the door, you struggle to find an appropriate response. You jump again as he suddenly leans forward just as you turn around to face him again, bracing himself over you by gripping the arms of your chair. It effectively cages you in, and your breath catches in your throat as it brings his face so, so close to yours.

You swallow, and he smirks.

“I… I came here,” you repeat, trying to keep the waver out of your voice. “To try and mend… fences between our organizations…”

“Mm. You wanna make amends?”

You nod, biting your lip. Blitzø’s eyes flicker down to catch the movement. His tail is switching slowly behind him again.

“You wanna make it up to us for what your dick co-workers did?”

“I—”

“Show me how much.” he challenges, eyes half-lidded and downright… seductive. You shift in your seat, face aflame. “C’mon… you know you want to. One little kiss to show me how much you care… maybe a quick, five star fuck if you feel up to it—”

“Jesus Christ…” the curse comes out as barely more than a breath.

“Look, at you. Takin’ the Lord’s name in vain.” he chuckles. “Careful, baby. You spend too much time down here, and you might find you like it.”

“It’s Hell, not a holiday.” you point out. “I’m not exactly worried about wanting an address change.”

“Yeah?” he retorts teasingly. “Prove it. Give me a little taste of Heaven.”

You waver for a moment before your sense of reason finally gives way to your curiosity. You reach up, curling your fingers in the front of his coat. Blitzø actually looks surprised as you lean up, meeting his lips hesitantly with your own.

They’re surprisingly soft and warm against yours, and the stiffness in his body eases as he relaxes into the embrace. When you pull away, you exhale in the hopes of steadying yourself. Blitzø meets your eye for a moment, and then his lips are on yours again, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You can feel the sharp points of his claws in your hair, against the soft skin by your ear, but instead of unnerving you, you find it excites you, spurs you on. When your lips part he touches his tongue to your bottom lip, and you sigh into his mouth. Your hand leaves his chest to slide over the side of his neck to curl around the nape of it, and you’re surprised to hear him moan quietly into the kiss. It thrills you more than it should, as does the way his tongue slides against yours.

Your fingers brush against one of the spikes at the back of his head, and you jerk away from him, his teeth grazing your lip as you do. Blitzø blinks as though dazed, shaking himself as you suddenly push your chair back and stand, the chair legs screeching obnoxiously against the carpet.

“I should… I should go.” you stumble over the words, grateful that the imp doesn’t move to follow you as you back away from him a few steps. “My… my friend can only keep the portal open for so long before they notice I’m gone. So, I should…”

Blitzø nods, recovering himself. “Right. Yeah. Yeah, you should… yeah…”

You give him an awkward, tight-lipped smile, holding out a hand for him to shake. “It was… thank you for meeting with me, Blitz.”

He laughs at your sudden propriety, shaking his head in amusement as he closes the distance between you and takes hold of your hand. Instead of shaking it, he turns it over, bending down and brushing his lips against the back of it. Blitzø holds your gaze as he does, and you can’t help the bashful smile that flickers over your face.

“Anytime.”

send me a prompt and either husk or blitzø

[an-idyllic-novelist]

stolas goetia with gender neutral!sinner!reader scenario

warnings: spoilers for s2, angst, slight Stoliz, one-sided love, and possibly OOC for some of the characters.

The Goetian prince met you through Bltizy’s little assassination agency. You were an employee, specializing in reconnaissance within the human world and possessing knowledge of the mortal plane, amongst other jobs that required a more….delicate touch. Is that why you were good with knives and acrobatics? Probably. Either way, you were pleasant enough for a sinner and an easy conversationalist, much more so than his dear little imp. 

In all honesty, he did not pay much attention to you until after…the incident with Striker. It had been a close call, and he had almost died if Blitzø nor you hadn’t come to his rescue. He did check his phone for messages, and only got one text from the imp. After that…nothing. He never heard from him for the rest of the day. At least he thought he thought it was for the rest of the day. The drugs that were pumped into his body made Solas drowsy. When he woke up, there was someone in the chair.

But it wasn’t Blitzø. It was you. And still dressed in those dirty, bloodstained clothes you had worn the last time he saw you before he blacked out. As soon he moved in the bed, trying to readjust himself, you immediately bolted up from your seat, bleary-eyed yet you still had the energy to help him get comfortable before setting back down.

“Welcome back.” You said in a monotone voice, releasing a low groan. He winced slightly at hearing the bones in your neck being popped back into place as you moved your head from left to right.

“How do you feel? You need me to get the nurse? Bitch hasn’t been around since the shift change…’bout three hours ago? Christ on a stick it’s hard to keep track of time. Oh yeah, before I forget,” You stood from the chair again, rummaging in your pockets before pulling out a slip of paper, holding it out to him. “Your daughter called my cell. Dunno how she got it, maybe Loona gave it to her,  but she sounded pretty damned scared. Can’t blame the poor girl.” You narrowed your eyes, mouth curling into a contemplative frown. “It’s weird that she didn’t call you first. Maybe….she was worried your…spouse would change her mind and have Striker finish the job.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed and very confused at your attentiveness. “Why?” He whispered.

“Hm?”

“Why….are you here?” He asked. “Blitzy couldn’t make time to see me, so he sent you instead.” He felt tears building up in the back of the eyes, much to his embarrassment and frustration. “Why is it that he can send an employee yet he can never face me without making up an excuse that he’s working or it’s too soon to fulfill our arrangement!?” He snapped, feathery chest heaving up and down before he quickly wiped away his face with the back of his hand. 

You said nothing. Instead…you took a few steps toward him and sat on the edge of his bed. “No one sent me to check on you, Your Highness. I am here….because I was worried about you. No strings attached, no last minute requests from the boss. And I am honestly glad you are all right. You’re a Goetia, you’re stronger than tens of thousands of sinners like myself combined. But today was a close call. You could have died….and I should’ve been there sooner. No…Blitzø should have been on top of everything. I know he’s a father too, but Christ I don’t know what goes through that guy’s head sometimes.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “He’s a hot mess. He’s toxic.  He’s got issues….and he’s trying. That means a lot more than you think. But…if you feel like this…arrangement is going nowhere…cut yourself loose before you get too deep that you can’t pull out.” 

Stolas narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?” He asked. You didn’t answer him immediately; instead, you stood up from the bed and fluffed up his pillows, placed the piece of paper in his open palm  and strode over to the chair to collected the jacket you used as a blanket, heading towards the door but stopping with your hand hovering over the knob. You looked back at him. 

“I’ve said my piece, Your Highness. Visiting hours will be over soon, but I’ll make sure the nurse stops by here before the lights go out. I wish I could help you more, believe me…it’s just….you’ve got to sort out how you feel about my boss on your own. And seriously, give your daughter a call before she starts blowing up my phone in a panic-induced frenzy.”

You then left, closing the door softly behind you, leaving Stolas to ponder on your words and…his current situation. Sighing, he leaned forward, grabbing his Hellphone off the side table and dialing the number. 

What he did not realize at the time is that you did care about him, more than an assassin should care about their employer. All you wanted is Stolas to be happy, even if he might never find happiness with you.

Why else would you be leaning against the door outside of his room for almost ten minutes trying to calm your racing heart before going to find someone to check in on him?

Taglist:

@isuckatwritingsobenice

@thatstonedwriter

@myafterlifeisbetterthenyours

@angelltheninth

@vikkirosko

@nixie-writes

@nunezs-stuff

@mitra555

@lbcreations-blog

@chroniccorvus

@food-theorys-blog

@atttwoood

@crystalrose36

@aurora-rose-miller

[bodhrancomedy]

Last Second Angels’ Brigade (Part 1)

by Bodhrán Mullan

Time stops just before I hit the water.

I don’t mean metaphorically. One split second I’m hurtling through nothingness; the wind tearing at my face, my scream somewhere eight feet behind me, snot and saliva and tears streaming upwards like a comet’s tail. The next I’m hanging nose-to-nose with a frozen wave, the air as thick as amber around my body.

Oxygen rushes into my lungs in a wild and painful gasp. I inhale until I feel like I might burst – my gaze locked onto the surface of the water. There is a fish beneath me, pale silver, contorted into a weird twist as it begins to flee my shadow. That sparks a second of guilt among the fear. Poor fish. It didn’t ask for this.

“You know, you haven’t sworn yet. That’s impressive.”

Lifting my head is a full workout. I swear I can feel my tendons creak under the tension. It doesn’t help much, the speaker is somewhere above me: to the left, I think.

I should be scared, but that has all suddenly run out of my body like my ears have sprung a leak. My heart races and I feel sweat beading on my forehead.

“Usually at this point I get a ‘fuck’ or ‘shit’ or ‘Holy Hell’ or something.” The voice is almost bored, richly accented but from where I have no idea. Not English or American.

“What’s happening?” I croak.                                                           

“Right on cue.” There’s a light splashing, like someone walking through a puddle, and then a pair of feet encased in silver trainers enter my eyeline. They’re standing on – no just above – the surface of the frozen water. “Wait a moment. I’d rather not talk at the back of your head.”

They click their fingers, and I flip onto my back. I don’t turn as much as flicker into position. The sensation makes my stomach heave suddenly. It is more like when you reverse a picture on a phone. There’s a nagging feeling of suddenly being two-dimensional.

There is… a person standing beside me. From my upside-down supine position, they tower above me with a face that’s all out of place and distorted. I can see right up their nose. There’s a pearl piercing in the right nostril. They’re brown-skinned with fluffy black hair and I can’t tell if they’re male or female. They’re wearing a white casual jacket and gold t-shirt combo, their pressed trousers matching the jacket perfectly.

Two massive, radiant, feathery wings sprout from their shoulders.

A lot of things click into place very quickly.

“Am I… dead?”

“In a very technical sense… yes and no,” the angel (because what else could it be?) produces a notebook from a pocket and a pen from behind their ear like a children’s magician, “You’re about to be.”

“Help me.” It slips past my lips before I even think it.

“Can’t. You made the decision.” They chew the end of the pen thoughtfully and shrug. “Free will, human autonomy, my hands are tied, yada yada.”

“What?”

“Big Woman Upstairs. She runs all the audits.”

A swell of fury hits me in the chest. I struggle to try and pull myself up, but only succeed in flopping like the fish beneath me in the syrupy air. “Then let me go! Why are you making it longer?”

“Got to. Last second, you see.” They leaf through the pristine pages and tut quietly, “Stealing a gingerbread biscuit from Tesco, 2004. But it does note here it was the type they smother in icing so I’d call that reasonable temptation.”

“Are you here to judge me?”

“Nah, that’s Peter’s deal. Way beyond my pay grade.”

“Then why?”

They look down at me, raising perfectly manicured eyebrows and say, “I told you. It’s your last second. You got to pay your dues.”

I gape at them.

“You, my friend, are the latest recruit to the Last Second Angels’ Brigade.”

The word ‘what’ forms on my lips, but the air isn’t there to voice it. This is far more bizarre than I had ever imagined dying to be.

“Ah, yes, you probably know them as ‘Guardian Angels’, but the Big Woman Herself decided that was a bit generic, plus you’re not actually angels. Just souls.” With the pen still stuck between their teeth, the angel whisks the notebook back into a pocket and leans their face forwards so it is directly above mine. The sun silhouettes their features into incomprehensibility. “We’ve got a few staffing problems up There, have done for a couple of centuries. We weren’t prepared for eight billion of you lot.”

[zzoomacroom]

Hey guys, soooo I have never written fanfiction in my life, but this just fell out of my brain for some reason. I don't know what came over me, but here's a little crackfic drabble for ya. Just a thousand words of Matthew being a complete idiot. Enjoy! (Yes, I know this premise has been done to death, but I'm having fun so shhhh)

Edit: now on ao3!

.......

So there Matthew was, just minding his own business, catching up with Merv in the gardens outside the palace, when a goddamned nuclear bomb went off.

"JEEZUS FUCK!" Mervyn bellowed, his cigarette dropping from his open mouth and into the pile of leaves he'd been raking. Matthew squawked and catapulted himself ungracefully to the top of the nearest tree.

Oh, so not a bomb then, thought Matthew as he watched the stunning display of fireworks that had erupted above the palace, gold and crimson embers now drifting lazily towards the ground. Still, what the hell was that all about? He would have to ask the boss--if there was some kind of celebration happening in the Dreaming, he wanted to join the party! Hopefully he'd be off his feathery tits on dream champagne before the day was over.

Matthew launched himself from the tree branch, ears still ringing as he made his way up to the palace. He soared through an open window to the throne room. Hmm, empty. So where was the party? He made his way to the library--Lucienne would know what was up.

"Heya, Loosh," he called as he circled down to the table where Lucienne was occupied with cleaning up a puddle of ink that was spilled all over the yellowed scroll she had been writing on. "What was up with the fireworks?"

"Hmm?" she glanced over to him, preoccupied. "Ah. That sometimes happens when...actually, it's probably better if you don't know. For your own sake," she adds pointedly, peering over her glasses at him.

Uh, wow. Ouch. "What? Aw, come on, don't leave me out of the loop. Ravens aren't invited to the party? Wait, why aren't you at the party?"

Lucienne stared at the raven, confusion and irritation mingling on her face. "What party? Lord Morpheus is in his private chambers, there is no--"

But Matthew was already hopping off the table and flying towards the nearest window. So it was a private, VIP kinda thing, then. He was a little hurt that he wasn't invited, but no matter. He would slip in and infiltrate the event, just in case the boss needed protecting from a disgruntled fae or something. And if he managed to dip his beak into some unattended booze, he felt he was sneaky enough that no one would be the wiser.

"You really don't want to know!" Lucienne called out exasperatedly as he flitted away, not looking up from her work. "Don’t say I didn't warn you!"

Yeah, yeah, he'd been to parties full of snooty elites before. Whatever weird shit they were into couldn't be any worse than what he'd seen during his recent trip to Hell. He circled upwards towards the highest tower and perched on the balcony outside the boss's private chamber. There was definitely something happening in there, judging by the noises coming from inside. It sounded like things were getting crazy--a shout, glass breaking, a thud like a body hitting the ground, a screech that may or may not have been human. Shit, the boss man might be in trouble! Good thing Matthew was here to...well, he wasn't really sure how he could help, but he'd figure something out. And he just really, really wanted to know what was going on! Curiosity may kill the cat, but the raven should be fine, right?

He darted into the darkened room and blinked as his eyes adjusted. Oh. No party, then. The boss was standing in the middle of the room, looking even more like he'd just sucked on a lemon than usual. His robe flicked around him and drooped off one shoulder, like he'd just hastily pulled it on (was that...a tentacle peeking out from under the hem?). And was he sweating? He didn't normally sweat, did he? And hold on--did he have cat ears?? Matthew stared, and just as he noticed the ears they receded down into his disheveled mop of hair and disappeared.

"What is it, Matthew?" the Dreamlord demanded icily.

"Uh...sorry to interrupt whatever...this...is, but I thought maybe you were in trouble. And I was just wondering what was up with the fireworks. Scared the bejeesus outta me and Merv," Matthew explained.

The boss looked confused for a moment before answering. "Ah. My apologies for the disruption," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm even as Matthew failed to get the hint. "The matter has been handled. You need not come to my defense."

At that, a poorly-stifled chuckle sounded from behind a marble pillar. "Sorry," the pillar mumbled sheepishly. The boss shot a withering glare at it and the pillar instantly dissolved into a pile of sand, revealing...

Ohhhh. "Um...hi, Hob," Matthew said with an awkward wave of his wing, wishing very much that he could dissolve into sand right about now. Hell, that may very well be his fate soon enough, based on the way the boss was glaring at him.

"Hey Matt," Hob replied with a bashful smirk. He was mostly naked except for an Elizabethan ruff, white knee-high stockings and a pair of 18th century shoes with little bows on them. And he was wearing the boss's helm. But not on his head (cool, cool, not like Matthew had followed the boss to Hell to get it back or anything). Oh, and he also had cat ears. Wonderful.

"Ya know, I better get going, I think Merv may need some help with--oh, yep, he set the garden on fire." Matthew peered out the window down to where Mervyn was currently shouting at no one and flailing around a steadily growing conflagration. "So I should go deal with that. Just wanted to check in, glad everything's good here. Uhhh nice to see you Hob, Boss. Not that I, uh, saw anything. Okay bye!" Matthew zoomed out the window before either of them could say anything else. God, he really needed a drink now.

.......

Morpheus continued to glare at the spot where Matthew had been perched as Hob came up and wrapped an arm around his waist.

"Right. So where were we?" asked Hob, apparently unphased by the whole incident.

"I think we should take this to the Waking if we wish to avoid any further interruptions," Dream replied through gritted teeth.

Hob chuckled and started to massage the knots out of his lover's shoulders. "Yeah, probably. Kids, right?" he sighed.

Morpheus raised an eyebrow at him. "Matthew is not my child."

"Isn't he, though?" Hob replied with a grin, peering over Dream's shoulder to watch Matthew and Mervyn frantically darting around the flaming pile of leaves, making no progress whatsoever in putting out the blaze. Morpheus merely sighed in exasperation.

[persephoneflouwers]

🌺 my favourite girl direction fics under the cut! 🌺

There is nothing else in this world that I love more than women. I grew up in a family built around the strongest women I’ll ever met in my life. So powerful, so determined, yet so gentle and affectionate. Huge personalities and all.

It took me awhile to understand who I am and I’m not completely sure I do and this little world where women love women feels so safe for me.

Can I also use this post to open my research for my next wife? No, I can’t? No, I shouldn’t? Whaaaat I just did! Please, babe HMU 🫶

Anywayssss…

🌺 The changer and the changed by homosociallyyours || 60K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians. Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love. When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene. It’s a time of growth for everyone involved.

🌺 It’s all gonna roll your way by 1Diamondinthesun ( @1diamondinthesun ) || 53K

Harry, Liam, Niall, and Zayn are editors at Nova, a historically progressive women’s print magazine with plans to launch digital content at the end of the summer. Louis is a single mom and temporary worker with a knack for graphic design. When investors request sweeping reform in their content, Harry and her team have to decide which principles, if any, they’re willing to compromise in order to survive as an online publication.

🌺 Bluer than velvet were her eyes (softer than satin were her thighs) by thebreadvan ( @thebreadvansstuff ) || 12K

Harry hums a melody absentmindedly as she works, bent over the sewing table, when the bell above the door chimes suddenly, announcing the arrival of a customer. Mid-stitch, Harry glances up.

“Good morning,” comes the woman’s feathery voice. Harry should probably welcome her, say something, anything, but she’s captivated by her slow and powerful walk, the click of her leather knee-high boots. With the needle hovering above the fabric, Harry slides her eyes up thick thighs, the maroon blazer that ends just above them, and the black knit dress that engulfs the woman’s figure, stretching obscenely around her bust. Jesus Christ.

Or, Harry should probably stop obsessing over her customer’s boobs, but fate can’t keep her away from Louis.

🌺 who run the world (girls!) by dolce_piccante || 11K

A femslash take on the beginning of Relief Next To Me, complete with girl!Direction, lots of tongue action, and lots of hints to the original work.

🌺 I feel it when my heart beats by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 10K

Harry offers to be her best friend Liam's fake date to his work Valentine's Day party, and the night takes an unexpected turn.

🌺 Ride the W.A.V.E by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 7K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Petty officer Louis Tomlinson can't resist a good thing when it's right in front of her.

🌺 Under the R.A.D.A.R by Quickedween ( @becomeawendybird ) || 6K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Petty officer Louis Tomlinson has been assigned to the rear admiral's fiancée for the month the couple is aboard the USS John F. Kennedy. She can only hope that he won't catch on to what they're doing... after hours.

🌺 Gotta get (me) out of my head by parmahamlarrie ( @parmahamlarrie ) || 6K

Sometimes, Harry Styles cannot get out of her head. Her ADHD, coupled with working from home, sometimes makes it impossible for her to ever find peace. Luckily, she has Louis, her loving girlfriend and Daddy, to take care of her.

Or the one where Harry gets her first collar.

🌺 Pacify her by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 5K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Harry's anxiety is acting up. Louis has the only thing that will soothe her.

OR Louis' pussy is the ultimate pacifier.

🌺 To sleep, perchance to ream by yeah_alright ( @uhoh-but-yeah-alright ) || 4K

Louis has never minded that Harry tends to go to sleep earlier than her. But the nights when Harry signals she'd like Louis to...wake her when she comes to bed are Louis' favorite.

🌺 The Christmas (to the one I’ve been missing) by Kikiberoski16 ( @larrysballetslippers ) || 3K

“Thank you, Louis,” Miss cutie said with a light whine. Louis nodded and walked with her to the paper sheets' aisle. To hear the girl's soft footsteps behind her was more than satisfying. So polite and cute, the fact she remembered Louis name said- “Wait, how do you know my name?”

or, Louis almost made it to the end of her shift before someone familiar stepped into the store. A long awaited Christmas tale.

🌺 Tear it off by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K

Harry and Louis are married and have a toddler. Their home life is a cuteness overload, and then grandma Anne comes by to pick up the kid for a day out. Harry and Louis are then alone, perfect timing for a little bedroom adventure. Including, you guessed it, harry's pink cowboy get-up from coachella.

🌺 little pink skirt by ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ( @ialwaysknewyouwerepunk ) || 3K ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Harry, Louis, Zayn and Liam are at a festival. It's the afternoon of the last day, and they're lounging on the grass before the action starts, still recovering from the night before. There's a bunch of sexual tension between H and L from where things left off in their drunken haze. When Louis tries to light a spliff, the wind makes it impossible to do so, for which Harry has an ingenious idea. And then one thing leads to another.

[cultherent]

An Accidental Email [Ch.4]

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

Chapter 4

Saturday:

Waking up from your bed, you immediately got up to check on Bakugo. Once you opened the door; however, the blond was gone, sheets folded nicely on your couch. You huffed, crossing your arms as you approached where he should have been. 

“What the fuck am I going to do with him? All the things he said… I don’t know what to think.” You rubbed your head as you went back to your room to get your phone. 

With your phone in hand, you made your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth. Using the toilet first, you checked your messages to find nothing from the man of the hour. You texted him, “I hope you got home safe, but we should talk.” After staring at the screen for a while, you swiped out, hoping he’d respond back. You clicked on Mina’s contact and told her what had happened. You stood, finished your business, and started brushing your teeth. Right when you spat out the paste, your phone buzzed. Looking at the screen, it was Mina, and you were a bit upset it wasn’t Bakugo.

__________________________________________

Mina: Holy shit, that’s fucking crazy. What are you going to do?

Y/N: Idk Mina. I genuinely don’t know… He still hasn’t texted me back.

Mina: Just give him some time

Mina: He’s probably remembering everything he said

Mina: Maybe he’s scared

Y/N: Whatever it is… I’m getting more anxious

Mina: Completely understandable… I don’t mean to change the subject so suddenly, but are you still going to the party tn?

Y/N: Ig but I’m not doing anything crazy

Mina: Okay perfect

Mina: I’ll meet you there then

__________________________________________

Rinsing your face with water, you begin to complete your chores for the day.

The clock soon struck 10, and you put the finishing touches on your makeup. You decided not to think about everything that was said last night; this is your day of enjoyment. You’ll fuck some people, get fucked, dom, etc. Your time to escape. Grabbing your bag containing your outfit changed, you took your keys and headed to your car.

You got onto the freeway and glanced at your phone; you received a notification. You made a mental note, so when you arrived, you stayed in your car to check. Putting the phone in front of your eyes, it turned on, and a message from Bakugo was on the wall. You scrolled it down, not wanting him to know you read the message. It read: I got home safe. No need for a talk.

You huffed, “What the fuck you mean by no talk.” You rolled your eyes and swiped the message away. You texted Mina that you were there and grabbed your things. Knocking on the door, you saw a familiar face wearing a warm smile.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you!” You were hugged by your friend, Denki. 

“It’s been a minute! How have you been?”

“I’ve been great. Throwing these parties has been a lot of fun and I’m so glad you can join us tonight.” Denki ushered you to enter, closing the door behind you, and directed you to the changing room. “You brought a mask, right? It’s a masked event.” You nodded and he grinned. “Let me know if you want to have some fun. I’ve missed the good ol’ days.” You winked as the corner of your lips curled, then made your way to change.

You got dressed, your outfit consisting of a latex shirt and a corset top with a latex-like appearance. You put on thigh-high socks and made sure they wouldn't slip down with bowtie garters. You threw on a shocker and touched up your makeup and hair. You put on platform boots littered with buckles and straps, which made you look much taller. To perfect the look, you slid on a mask that covered your eyes and a bit of your nose. It was elegant and had feathery strands on the top.

Dusting off your outfit, you stepped outside and spotted Mina. She recognized your clothes and mask from the picture you sent her earlier. “Oh my God, you look God-like!” She cheered, engulfing you in a hug.

“So do you,” you preached as you stepped back, gasping at her outfit. She wore a sultry red bunny bodysuit with a tail and ears. “I love it.”

Mina smiled as she put her hand in yours, “Do you have any plans yet?”

“Not really. I might mess around with Denki, but that’ll be later.”

“Perfect! I have something you want to see.”

Mina tightened her grip as she guided you to one of the house’s living rooms. “What exactly is going on?” You stared at a room filled with people. You were surprised, you’d never seen a party with this many people. It could easily turn into an orgy. 

“Just listen, you might like this section.”

A man stood on a stage. He wore a skimpy gold tuxedo, “Today, we’re here to meet new people. Explore kinks with someone new. Who knows what type of relationship can turn about! Come over and line up, fill out this small questionnaire and we’ll partner you up with someone suitable. Scan this QR code." You looked at your friend and smiled; this seemed like fun. 

As everyone filled out the questionnaire, you as well, listened to the man reciting the rules you knew all too well. Consent is the major point as well as the door rule. If the door is closed, you cannot go in; if the door is open, you can watch; if there's a tag on the door, you can join. 

On the paper, you wrote that your partner had to be attractive, a man, in their 20s-30s, femdom, and a possible scenario. You submitted the survey and waited with Mina. “I’m a little nervous,” your friend frowned.

“Why is that?”

“What if we get someone we don’t like? What if we’re not compatible?”

“Don’t worry so much about that. If anything, just leave, and find the bouncers if they make you uncomfortable. But, you’re amazing, Mina. Anyone would love to be your sex partner. I sure know I do.” You smiled and your words made her as well. 

“Stop, you’re so sweet to me.”

“Now, if you feel uncomfortable at any point, let any of the stripped people know. Anyone wearing gold and a red piece is one of the higher-ups, like me, so you can talk to us. We want to make sure everyone is safe and having fun.” The man pauses to grab a piece of paper and then reads it out, “Alright, we’re going to call up the people going into the room first, ” They called several numbers, and those people left, filling into bedrooms. 

The man more numbers off, the next group going. Another group, then finally you. Mina had left in the second grouping, so you were alone. You walked down a hall to find your number attached to a door with another number. As you placed your hand on the handle, you breathed in. “It’ll all be fine,” you whispered to yourself and got the courage to open the door. 

The room was illuminated by red led lights and a bed in the center. Walking into the room and closing the door, you stood at the foot of the bed. There, a man laid tied up like a starfish. You made your footsteps known, their breathing fastening. You bend down, looking them in the eyes, their black mask covering their upper head, their hair hidden. 

You smirked, your eyes going to their lips. He was pretty. His lips were red and wet from their tongue. You sat beside them and placed your hand softly on their bare chest. The man before you whined. "Sensitive, I see," you hummed and for a moment, you were lost in your thoughts, remembering about someone else. 

The pale man grumbled, noting your lack of attention. He rubbed your back with his leg. He grinned when you came back to reality, your hands moving up and down his body. He squirmed beneath you as he pulled on his restraints. 

You picked up your phone to see what your match wrote about. "To be punished. I've been a bad boy," you read out loud. You glanced at the man and for a moment, his gaze looked different. "Are you alright?"

In a low tone, "I'm not sure if I can do this. Take off my mask…"

With a raised eyebrow, you did as told, revealing someone you did not expect to be here at this very party. 

"Bakugo?"

[dopscratch]

i kid you not when i say i looked up these two at 4 am hoping for some crumbs but jere you are writing a whole fanfic ( thank you so much🤩).

I personally haven't read the httyd books only the series and movies. If you don't mind could u give a mini summary as u plan to write after book 8? If not i hope you have a wonderful day/ night!

(If uave tons of other questions but don't want to spam so ill just leave this here)

AUDHJSHDHD thank you so much for sending an ask i literally have none ever HAHA

im glad you enjoy the concept :)

the books are very different fron the movies in a large number of ways! in the books, vikings stat out with dragons, and hiccup's main problem is training his own, which he can't do by the normal strategy of yelling- a) because he's not the best yeller and b) because his little green hunting dragon, toothless, is as disobedient as it gets (and smaller than everyone else's to boot!)

in the books, vikings typically have hunting dragon(s) which are smaller and usually dog-sized, as well as a riding dragon, which is larger and obviously ridable. hiccup's riding dragon is a scraggly feathery dragon called the Windwalker who was rescued from slavery :)

one of the biggest differences as well, is that dragons can speak. most are just as intelligent as humans, some even more so, and they're generally cruel by nature. their culture encourages them to act selfishly and it's worked out pretty well for them, hence why most vikings train theirs by fear or exerting power. hiccup, who is nerdy enough to have sat out where the wild dragons are and literally learned their language has been attempting to train HIS by speaking to them, which has some mixed results. windwalker is actually quite mellow and loyal, since hiccup's probably the first person to show him kindness. toothless is just a little brat with a stammer, but he does have softness in his heart deep deep down.

characterization-wise, everyone's a lot different as well.

hiccup, as stated before is a nerd who'll rattle off dragon facts in dangerous situations while fishlegs is more of the sarcastic romantic, basically think of it like the movies swapped their personalities. he also has bright red Heroic Hair that stands straight up and they robbed that from him in the movies and i will never forgive them. hes also an excellent swordfighter and its just about the only traditionally viking thing he's good at :). also, his mother is never kidnapped by dragons- but she IS gone often, out questing. her name is valhallarama and she is an absolute beast of a woman they definitley nerfed her when they turned her to valka

fishlegs is a skinny little loser (affectionate) who's allergic to dragons, has a plethora of other medical conditions too, and is acrually an orphan and was raised by a long-eared caretaker dragon. he's also hiccup's best and only friend at the start of the series. he's arguably worse at being a viking as hiccup is and they both bond over how they wish society would allow them to not be brainless fighters. his dragon is a lazy common-or-garden-or-basic-brown named horrorcow, she's both a pacifist and a vegetarian. when he was catching his dragon, he actually wanted to grab a nadder, which is long and serpentine because nadder is a pun on adder and i have no idea why the movies didn't see that

snotlout is hiccup's cousin and hates him more than anything in the world, and not in a ha-ha funny way either. he legitamately wishes hiccup were dead or never born because he hates to see this "runt" next in line for chief instead of him. he is constantly literally trying to make hiccup's life miserable or literally murder him and once again this is not played for laughs. his dragon's a mean monstrous nightmare- a hunting dragon only the chief and descendanrs of should have- named fireworm, and she is very full of herself. hookfang is actually one of stoick's monstrous nightmares!

another main character is camicazi, who appears in book 3 onward and she was so powerful they had to split her into three characters in the movies (she's sorta like if you took the thorston twins and astrid and mashed them all together, then added another sprinkle of chaos). she's a short little kid from another tribe of all-female warriors called the bog-burgalars and an excellent escape artist. she has a mood dragon- a serpentine, color-changing dragon named stormfly who can actually speak the human language too. she's not very helpful though since shes a pathological liar.

the main villain is named alvin the treacherous and he's a ridicuoulsly resiliant guy who reaaaally wants hiccup dead for a multitide of reasons we don't need to get into now since hw won't really appear in my work haha

i think ive gotten a lot of basics down, but obviously there's a ton more! in regards to knowledge for my crossover though thats essentially some of the main points you need to know. by the 8th book, hiccup has been on a multitide of adventures (and has nearly died or gotten eaten on all of them) but the world hasn't changed irreparably yet :). i plan on writing it in a way that can accomodate people with no knowledge of httyd, since most of it will be from the touden party's pov exploring the world! you'll be getting plenty of detailed descriptions of some of the dragon species as laios's nerdiness will help show

i would absolutely reccomend checking out the books, though! you can usually find them at your local library, and there's also the entire series of audiobooks on youtube! there's a very dedicated group of people on here who love the httyd books including me who would love to help you get into them as well, if that's what you'd like!

i'll round this off with a few of my renditions of some of the characters i've drawn :)

i hope this was helpful, and if you have any more questions, feel free to ask me! i love getting asks but never do lol

[iboatedhere]

(more thanks to @pragmatic-optimist @welcometololaland & @rmd-writes)

---

Henry fiddles with the tap, turning the water temperature down from scalding hot to just piping hot while the biodegradable sponge Alex insists they buy crumbles into nothing in his hand. 

He sighs and rinses the mug before setting it on the rack to dry, turning off the water, and leaning against the sink, looking out into the expanse of their backyard.

“Penny for your thoughts, sweetheart?” Alex asks from the table and Henry turns. 

“Do you think we should be growing our own food?” 

Wide eyed, Alex looks from the strip of bacon in hand to Henry and back again.

“I was talking about vegetables, darling.”

“Oh! Ha! Thank fuck,” he says as he shoves the last bite into his mouth. “Because you know I would get attached to that thing as soon as its little swine-eyes found mine and I could never…” He trails off and drags his finger across his throat. “You know.”

“I do,” Henry tells him. “Would it be enough to turn you into a vegetarian?”

“Hell no, but I would probably switch to turkey bacon. I’ve had enough of those feathery fucks to last the rest of my life.” He stands with his plate and coffee mug then nudges Henry out of the way so he can clean up after himself. “You want to start a garden?”

“We have all this land we're not using and who knows how long it’ll take the renovation permits on the shelter to come through. I have a bit of spare time.”

Alex eyes him warily and Henry pretends he doesn’t notice. 

“I was thinking I’d start with the basics…tomatoes, cucumber, courgettes…”

“That’s zucchini, right?”

Henry rolls his eyes fondly. “If you want to be American about it.”

“Well, since we’re in America. I think a garden would be nice. You gotta be careful though, my abuela had one and she was overrun with vegetables. She canned and pickled everything and still couldn’t keep up. She’d pay me and June ten dollars to go around to her neighbors trying to offload peppers because it was impossible to say no to two cute kids.”

“I’m sure I could find a food bank that would take them.”

“I’m sure you could,” Alex agrees before swaying into him. “Are you okay?”

Henry gives him a smile that must look as weak as it feels and Alex presses his lips together and tips his head to the side, giving Henry his best puppy-dog eyes.

“It’s just…you know,” Henry says because Alex does know and Henry doesn’t want to be the one to say it. 

The anniversary of his father’s death looms, the same way it does every year, but every year there seems to be more for Henry to mourn. 

His father never got to meet Alex. He never got to see how full of love Henry’s life is now. How happy he is. He’ll never set foot in this home or see the garden Henry wants to plant or hold the future children they might have.

Henry’s love for Alex grows with every passing day but there’s still a corner of his heart that is gray with grief that no amount of early morning kisses or late night conversations out on the porch will color.

“Baby,” Alex says, leaning in and pressing a kiss to Henry’s shoulder. He can’t mourn the way Henry does, but Henry knows he tries to shoulder the weight of it even if he can’t quite fit his arms around it. “You know it’s okay to slow down and relax.”

“Plenty of people find gardening relaxing.”

Alex sighs, the same way he always does when he knows he’s been beaten at his own game and pulls back. 

“Okay,” he says, “I can duck out of work early and we can hit up the nursery–.”

“Oh no,” Henry interrupts. “I’m not letting you anywhere near my garden.”

Alex blinks at him. “Excuse me?”

“You, my love, have what I believe they call a black thumb.”

“That’s a fucking lie, I do not.”

“You somehow managed to kill a cactus.”

“That thorny piece of shit had it out for me.”

“Of course, love,” Henry says, gathering Alex’s face between his hands, “whatever you say.”

[suddencolds]

Fool Me Twice | [1/?]

Original fic ft. my OCs! To be honest, l’m a little nervous about posting this—I’ve never posted anything with my OCs on here before—but I had a lot of fun writing this, so I hope it’s interesting to someone :’)

I envision this to be the first (chronologically) in their series, so no context needed!

Summary: Yves needs a date to the party, and Vincent seems happy to play the part, for better or for worse. But a last-minute cold throws a wrench in their plans. - (ft. fake dating, heartbreak, a New Year’s party, and a cold)

—

Yves tries to be the bigger person about it, really.

He has every intention of never contacting Erika again. He thinks he never wants to speak to her again, and he certainly has no intention of doing anything in retaliation. Not that she would care if he tried. He tells himself he’ll take all of it in stride—the cheating, the breakup, her immediate engagement with Brendon—and never speak to her again.

The problem is that he and Erika were friends before they dated. The problem, really, is that they both know Margot, who’s throwing an end-of-the-year party—an annual occasion, and one which he promised her months back he would attend—and Erika is, without a doubt, going to be there with the very person she left him for.

The problem is, Margot knows he’s in town. He could take the easy way out—say he’s been called away last minute for some cousin’s wedding in Europe—and tell her he isn’t attending, and he’s half considering it when Erika texts him.

E: what are you thinking of getting for margot?

Yves thinks of ten responses to that, which do not exclude please do not ever contact me again and I’m definitely not going to the party if you are. Instead, he shuts his phone off, takes a run around the neighborhood, showers, makes breakfast. Then, against all better judgment, he texts her back.

Y: nice try. can’t have you stealing my idea

And he knows he should leave it. He knows that if he doesn’t show up to the party, everything will be fine, even if it means that Erika will get to tell her side of the story—frame her own infidelity in such skewed, oversimplifying terms that it will seem perfectly reasonable, and maybe even shift some of the blame to Yves in the process—to practically everyone he’d spoken to in university. It will be for the better.

But part of him is bitter. Part of him wants to show up to the party and show her just how fine he is, just how little he needs her. Part of him wants to show her that he hasn’t thought about her at all since the breakup. That he’s doing perfectly fine without her—or, better yet, that he’s better off now; even more ludicrously, that their breakup was one of the best things that’s ever happened to him. 

It wasn’t. It isn’t. He misses her more than he’d like to admit. But he can’t help but think it would be nice to even out the score, for once, after everything she’s put him through.

It’s that train of thought that leads him to… well, drastic measures.

“I can’t believe the year’s almost over,” he says, at work, to Vincent Gates, in the break room. “It really felt like it dragged at the start.” this, he thinks, is probably not a relatable sentiment to Vincent Gates, who probably keeps impeccable track of time, but at least it’s a half-decent setup to the next question he’s planning to ask: “are you going anywhere for the holidays?”

Vincent has been his coworker for almost a year now—ever since Yves started working with Evertech Solutions. 

And Vincent is good at his job, as far as Yves can see. He minds his own business, and—as Yves had told Erika when they were still dating—he “looks like the kind of person they hire for photoshoots.” He’s attractive in a natural, boyish sort of way—he has soft, feathery dark hair that hangs just short of his eyes; high, angular cheekbones, and a decent jawline. He wears glasses with wiry red frames, and he almost always wears ties, and he brings the same laptop bag to work every morning.

All in all, he carries himself like someone who takes himself all too seriously. And, most importantly, Erika has heard of him.

“I don’t have anything planned,” Vincent says.

“Great,” Yves says. Here goes nothing. “One of my friends is throwing a New Year’s party, and I was wondering if you’d—”

“I’m not interested.”

Really, it’s not as though Yves hadn’t expected this.

“Okay,” he says evenly. “Not a fan of parties?”

“Not exactly,” Vincent says, which is Yves’s cue to take his coffee and get out of here before this gets any more awkward. Except, then he adds, “I mean, if your friend was desperate enough to have you soliciting your coworkers…”  

Yves blinks. “I’m not allowed to invite my coworkers?”

Vincent shrugs. “We don’t know each other very well. If you’re asking me, I assume you’ve already asked half the office.”

“I haven’t.” he hadn’t intended to explain himself—or any part of this situation, really—unless Vincent had said yes. But now, he thinks, leaving things on this note would probably come across as some sort of clumsy proposition. Better to clarify while he still can. “It’s not really that sizeable of a party.”

“So,” Vincent says.

“So,” Yves clears his throat. “If i’m being really honest here, my ex is going to be there. At the party, I mean, with the guy she cheated on me with like, half a year ago, whom she’s currently dating. So I wanted to find someone to go with too. And you’re right—this is probably the worst place in the world to be looking for a plus one. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“And you’re asking me because?”

She knows you, he doesn’t say. “You didn’t seem like the type of person who would make a big deal out of it,” he reasons instead, with a shrug, which isn’t untrue. “That’s all. Forget I asked.” he swipes his coffee mug from the counter, turns to leave.

“I wouldn’t mind,” Vincent says.

Yves doesn’t turn around. Swallows down the faintest semblance of hope that those words stir in his chest. “What?”

“Like I said, parties aren’t my scene. But if one of us is getting something out of this, I would be fine with it.”

“Oh.” This is better news than expected. He doesn’t manage to hide his surprise. “Great. You’re a lifesaver, Vincent. I’ll give you my number so we can coordinate?”

—

Vincent texts him later that night.

V: Do you think your ex will ask me about you?

It’s not out of the question: if they’re going to pretend to be dating, Vincent is going to need much more context than what he’s presumably picked up from their limited interactions in the office. So Yves spends the weekend getting Vincent up to speed:

His ex’s name is Erika, they dated for two years before he caught her making out with a colleague at a party he wasn’t invited to, she hadn’t had the courtesy to pretend to be remorseful when he confronted her about it. (“It wouldn’t have been any more forgivable if she were remorseful about it,” Vincent says over lunch, which Yves guesses is technically true, even if it doesn’t feel that way). When they’d broken up, he’d never wanted to talk to her again. But they were friends before they ever dated, and half of his close friends are her friends, too. So naturally, she has her way of showing up in his life when he least wants to see her.

They’d been friends ever since their first year in university—they’d gotten close over sleepless nights at the library and pre-sunrise mornings with the rowing team (“Somehow you rowing crew doesn’t really surprise me,” Vincent says. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Yves says, and Vincent laughs.)—and when she asked him out it had only felt like a natural progression, like something that had felt so right he had barely thought to question it. The worst part of all of it is that he would’ve been more than happy to give her the benefit of the doubt. He would’ve been ready to forgive her, to dismiss the entire incident as a decision she’d been too drunk to think clearly about, and move on from it. (To this admission, Vincent frowns in a manner which Yves thinks can only be disapproving, but he keeps his mouth shut.) But Erika left no room for doubt.

Then they discuss logistics: on New Year’s Eve, Yves will pick Vincent up at seven and drive them both to the party. They’ll tell everyone that they met at work and that they’ve been together since august. They’ll say that they’re keeping the relationship an open secret between themselves and their friends, so that it doesn’t complicate things unnecessarily at work. Yves won’t drink, in part because he’s driving and in part because drunk Yves can be a little too honest for his own good, but Vincent can. Yves cares about catching up with Margot. Yves does not care about catching up with Erika. There will be maybe thirty people there, and there will probably be fireworks. They’ll stay for dinner, but they can both leave before midnight if Vincent has family or friends he wants to call. 

All in all, by the time Yves goes home for winter break, it seems like things are all set to go smoothly.

That is, until he wakes up three days before the party with a twinge in his throat.

It’s nothing he can’t sleep off, he tells himself. He’s just tired—he’s been busy getting everyone gifts for Christmas and New Year’s and getting them delivered; having dinner with Leon, his younger brother, and Victoire, his younger sister; helping his neighbors set up their Christmas tree; running errands for the Miss Elodie, the old lady who lives across the street; helping Mikhail, his roommate from college, with moving in. He just needs a proper night’s rest, or maybe two. No need to text Vincent about it if this turns out to be nothing.

But the twinge in his throat turns into a terrible sore throat, which gets worse, not better, until it hurts to swallow anything aside from hot tea. He wakes up on the second day congested, with a tickle in his nose so intense that he has barely any warning before he’s jerking forward with a loud, miserable sneeze. 

He texts Margot first:

Y: think i’m coming down with a cold. do you still want me to go?

—to which she responds,

M: PLEASE COME 

M: (if you’re feeling up to it?)

Y: i feel fine

Y: just don’t want to pass it on if i’m contagious 🤧 

M: it’s about to be 2017, live a little

M: would rather have you here and catch your cold personally then have you skip

Y: haha okay, i’ll take some dayquil

Then he texts Vincent:

Y: i think i have a cold

Y: i’m sorry, i know it’s shitty timing. i totally get it if you’d rather not go w me

Y: just let me know

Vincent doesn’t respond immediately. Yves takes a seat on the couch, sets the tissue box down beside him, and tries to mentally prepare himself for showing up alone. On second thought, maybe he’ll have to drink, within reason, to get through the night. To put up a convincing enough act that he’s doing fine. To see Erika again—with Brendon, probably—and pretend he doesn’t miss her at all. To—

V: Do you need anything?

Yves blinks down at the screen. It’s not the response he expects.

Y: thanks for asking :) i’m good Y: just don’t want to get you sick

V: I’m not worried about that at all

V: I have a pretty good immune system

That seems like it could be true. Yves doesn’t think he’s ever seen Vincent take a sick day, much less show up to work looking anything less than healthy.

V: Just tell me if you’re not feeling up to it?

Y: okay

Y: i’m definitely going to go

Y: are you sure you’re okay w this? i would feel really bad if you caught my cold

V: Not going to happen. See you tomorrow at 7

Yves sets his phone down beside him, tilts his head back onto the couch, and shuts his eyes. They’re really doing this.

[ Part 2 ]