#again no proof reading we die like men

[rebellicnrising]

zoe robins . cis female . she/her ➶ I RECOGNISE THAT FACE ! that’s AMARANTH , the TWENTY SEVEN year old UNDERCOVER MEDIC from DISTRICT ELEVEN. they’ve been in the capitol around SIX MONTHS , long enough to gain a reputation for being so GENTLE & ALOOF . they’re so lucky getting to live in the tribute center for the duration of the games! ( character IS part of the uprising )

BASIC INFORMATION

full name: amaranth nicknames: mara age: twenty-seven birthday: september 21 zodiac: virgo district: eleven gender: cis female pronouns: she / her orientation: bisexual profession: harvester, healer, rebel, undercover medic

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

face claim: zoë robins hair color: black hair style: braided, long- reaches down to the small of her back when not gathered up eye color: brown height: 5'8" scars: a thin scar on her left cheek from a fall as a child, an entry/exit scar on her right shoulder from a bullet

RELATIONSHIPS

father: taurus ( deceased ) mother: evangeline siblings: rue ( older sister, deceased ); osmanthus ( older sibling ), oleander ( youngest sibling ), two younger siblings significant other: tba

EXTRA

mbti: infp-a ( the mediator ) temperament: melancholic moral alignment: true neutral primary vice: pride primary virtue: charity element: earth

BACKSTORY

TW: sibling death, gun violence

ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴍʏ ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀᴇ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴘᴀʀᴋꜱ

your mother carried you and your sibling together-- they against her heart while you grew under it and once you made you entrance into this world ( silent almost long enough for concern before letting that thin cry erupt from small lips and your parents breathed a sigh of relief ), you took the place against her heart while he rested against her back, the heat of the sun beating against the tops of your heads while she worked in the fields you would take your first steps in. sometimes the heartbeat would change- your father tying your sling against his barrel chest so your mother could rest or the fluttering rabbit heart of your big sister who patted your back with a hand that was still soft and round with her own baby fat as she held you against her chest, seeking shelter from the heat of the day under a shady tree -- but each beat of those hearts echoed with love. it takes a village to raise a child- much less three under the age of five- and you learn to be lulled to comfort by the sounds of your neighbors hearts as they lend their own arms and chests to carry you and your siblings as the days grow longer, the sounds of their voices whispering soft lullabies to keep you quiet and still. you wouldn't realize for many years just how little your family had but one thing that there was always abundance of was love-- you were raised on love, cradled by community.

oz learns to walk before you and little legs almost immediately start running after rue while you are still curled against those hearts and when your legs are finally strong enough to hold you and carry you up and down the rows of fruits and vegetables, you never venture far from your mother's skirts. another baby takes your place against her heart and then another. and then another-- and all at once, you're too big to be carried, too big to be held and lulled to sleep by the sounds of a heartbeat. too big to be carried but too small to follow after rue and oz as they scramble up to the tops of trees-- they try to teach you how to find the knots where your toes can grip, the branches that would support your weight and drag you upward-- but you're barely off the ground before fear paralyzes you and you scream out of fear. you don't stop screaming until your father's hands come to pluck you from the tree as easily as he would a low hanging apple.

he tells you to keep your feet on the ground and you cry, wailing about being left behind; rue and oz could flit from tree to tree as easily as the birds in the air but you-- you were planted deep in the earth, afraid to let yourself stray too far from the dirt that covers bare feet. some people were air- like oz and rue- and others were water- like your mother-- you were earth, planted and rooted. your father tells you that he's also earth and there's a peace in knowing that you share that with him; both of you planted with your feet firmly on the ground, firm and unmoving as mountains for the family that you love. and when oz and rue slip out like whispers of wind in the night to the fields, you stand watch beside the small and dingy window, large eyes waiting for them to come back on those feet guided by the air that whisked them one way or another-- always waiting for them to come back home.

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏʟᴅ-ʏᴏᴜʀ-ʙʀᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʟᴇᴛ ʟᴏᴏꜱᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ-- ᴡᴇ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ

you're only seven when rue's name is called, holding your younger siblings hands almost too tight to keep them from trying to run after her, seeing your mothers hands biting into oz's shoulders to keep them from doing the same. you think you understand- you know that the names that are called on This Day are faces that leave the district-- and they never come back. you haven't watched the games before-- not really, not with any sort of attention that would tell you what is really happening on the screen-- you're just a child whose attention was always occupied with games that rue invented and there's a sinking feeling that this year, there would be no distracting stories or games to keep you from seeing what is played on the large screens. ( an even more sinking feeling that maybe you would have to come up with the games this year for the littles and knowing that you were never as creative as rue. ) you want to ask your father what it Means but there's a look on his face while your mother sobs that has the question shriveling on your tongue.

the littles can only pay so much attention- you understand, it wasn't so long ago that you were five and four and three-- and your mom and dad can't peel their eyes away from the screen. neither can oz. you try to keep them occupied, telling them the stories that rue has told you- imaginary tales she spun from the thin air that she seemed to be able to walk on- and playing games with the rocks and dirt around the feet of those who stand frozen, focused on the screens. there are times when you tug on oz's shirt, asking them to tell you what's happening-- and you act as if you have any idea what they mean when they answer you. there's a part of your mind that doesn't want to understand, that wants to reject the idea that rue would be among those that didn't come back-- and for a moment when they tell you about how rue has found a friend in the bigger girl from twelve, there's this thought that maybe she won't be. after all, you've seen it from the time you were born: none of us can do it alone; everyone needed someone. and when your eyes lift to the screen, your youngest sibling curled in your lap sleeping, you see the same sort of warmth and light in katniss' eyes that you've seen in rue's when she looks at you-- the same light you know is reflected in your eyes when you look at the littles. it soothes your heart a little; rue has found someone in That Place that loves her and you feel like maybe that chance of her coming home is greater than most would think.

you would think-- until your mother screams and your head snaps up from where you've got the littles gathered in the dirt at their feet, listening to another rue story that falls silent on your tongue at the image of your sister with red blooming against her stomach. you're not too young to understand death and it hits you in the same place- grief like a wound, ripped open by the image of your sister falling back into the arms of the girl from twelve who loved her and the sound of your mother screaming- and your hands are reaching for the littles, gathering them close to you like a mother hen as tears trace lines in the dirt on your cheeks. you huddle them around your mother, holding the skirt at her waist as you cry, pressing the littles' faces against your shoulders or tucking them against your mother's legs-- they shouldn't see, you don't want them to see ( you're not even sure if they fully understand or if they're just crying because everyone is ).

you're certain your mother will never stop crying-- her wails have quieted but the tears keep falling; your father's eyes are dry but the look in his face is not that of the earthy man you've always seen yourself reflected in. he almost smolders as he stands with his back and eyes straight and when hands start to lift in that silent salute, his almost shoots up and that fire in his face blazes. it all happens so quickly- the way he pulls from oz, from your family, charging like a bull down the aisle and your mother's panicked voice is telling you and oz to get the babies as chaos erupts. you gather oleander in your arms and reach for a small hand, shouting at oz to come on-- because you can see that same fire burning in his face and it scares you to death.

you lose your sister and your father in the same night.

ʟɪɢʜᴛɪɴɢ ꜰɪʀᴇꜱ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ, ʀɪᴠᴇʀ ᴊᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴄᴀʀ ᴡᴇ ʙᴜʀɴ ᴏᴜʀꜱᴇʟᴠᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱʜᴇꜱ-- ᴀɴᴅ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴜʙʙʟᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ

a year later, you think you'll lose oz too; you're not sure if your mother can handle another loss. the district healer comes by every day with fresh bandages and poultices made from the wild plants that grow on the outskirts of the fields and you're fascinated. you hover when they visit, wide eyes taking in each step and questions falling from your mouth, a mind eager to learn. their hands guide yours, bringing bundles of wild medicine and they teach you their names, their uses and how they work together in different ways to help heal and as that hole in oz's side begins to heal- with the healer's and your aid- there's a feeling of accomplishment and a small fire lit in your own heart-- a passion. something that you could look at and see the good and help that it makes.

your days are spent in the fields, trying to pick up where rue and your father left off-- there are still mouths to feed and your mother is only one person now; she tells you and oz that she's lucky to have such strong children. you play second mother to your younger siblings, directing and guiding them when exhaustion sweeps over your mother-- you fight with oz when they continues to sneak out like the wind at night, particularly when it looks like one of those younger siblings might try and follow them in the way they had followed rue. you're a mother hen trying like hell to keep your chicks gathered under your skirts, safe from the storms in the district that brew like low hanging clouds filled with lightning or the predators that lurk just outside the door, ready with sharp teeth and bullets. your father is dead and now it's up to you- that earthen daughter, built from clay and rooted in the ground- to be the rock for your family; no one gave you this duty but yourself.

your nights are spent in the healer's home, learning the tricks of their trade. you learn how to create tea blends that ease headaches or muscle pains, poultices and salves that pull out the sting of the sun or an insect bite, how to set and bind broken bones. as those storms outside the doors continue to brew and those predators grow more bold, you learn how to dig out bullets-- how to prepare the dead for burial. it's something you throw in oz's face, tears standing in your eyes, when they try to sneak out-- how long before you're cleaning out another bullet hole in them? how long before you're washing and wrapping their body in linen to be buried? would they do that to their younger siblings who have already had to bury a father and a sister? would they do that to your mother? to you?

time goes on and you and oz stand in those crowds, waiting for names to be called and then your once-littles. the healer grows older and so do you and the time spent in the fields is exchanged for the cool of the healer's hut, surrounded by hanging herbs and flowers or walking across the district to whoever might need a healer's touch, a basket on your arm filled with natural medicines and hands that have learned the body and how to mend. you bring babies into the world and ease the pain of the elderly before they slip out of it. you soothe stings and burns and broken bones and sicknesses that whip through sections of the district like wildfire-- and you learn that a healer's price is higher than most can afford and you meet their needs with mercy, demanding nothing in return but accepting whatever blessings they give freely. you find yourself caught in that storm whether you want to be or not. you never ask for forgiveness from oz for your harsh words and your anger at being caught in the same storm- of being in the eye of it; you only reach for their hand to let them know that they won't have to walk through it alone.

until the day they have to-- your anger at them being caught, of their face being known as part of the eye of that storm and how it would bring those predators to your door, is smothered by the fear for their safety-- of the heartbreak of knowing you can't go with them. not when your littles still have to stand in the crowds on reaping day, not when your mother stands strong in the face of losing yet another child. you're the rock after all, the one who stands firm and unmoving. your mother sends them with food and water; you send them with medicine and your love and a promise: that once the danger of losing those younger siblings to the hunger games passes that you would join them in thirteen. oz would carve the way and you'd follow that path with the rest of your family.

you never hear from them again-- you don't know if it means they reached thirteen safely or not.

& ɪᴛ ꜰᴇᴇʟꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏᴍᴇɴ ɪ'ᴠᴇ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ɢᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ

years continue to pass and you mark the passing of time by those reaping days, breathing sigh after sigh of relief when they pass and your siblings are passed over by that angel of death. you devote yourself to that important work of a healer and the storm that continues to grow in district eleven, passing messages in tea bags and salves from those who couldn't move with the same freedom as a healer whose business takes them to all corners of a district. you watch those younger siblings and how they follow in the path carved by oz and your heart damn near stops when you realize it but the anger you had with oz has tempered over time to concern-- to worry. oh, how you worry about them.

you fall in love-- you don't expect it to happen and for a long while, you tell yourself there's no time for such things. but the two of you are caught in that same storm and before you know it, you're swept up in it and it's their hand that you reach for in the eye. you don't forget that promise to oz but for a while you pretend it isn't there-- you wonder if it's a promise even worth keeping, if they are even alive to still hold you to it. there are new promises whispered, foreheads pressed together and hearts that beat together with legs tangled; there are new dreams imagined and for once, you think maybe you understand the fire in oz's and your father's eyes because your beloved's fire sparks your own and it burns in your chest-- a love for rebellion, for a life with them without fear, for children that won't die on a large screen like your sister had.

there's a fire-- a real one, set by that rebel storm-- to train cars loaded down with the bounty of eleven bound for the capitol. the fire is set but before that storm can move, the peacekeepers are there with guns that mow them down; that riddle the bodies of those freedom fighters and you, who were waiting in the grass for trouble, go barreling forward the moment you see them hit by the biting bullets only to be caught in the hold of a peacekeeper. he drags you away from the fray, hand over your mouth and presses you against a tree and there's a fear in your heart when his hand goes for his belt, only for him to press a small handgun in your hands along with a small disc that he whispers quickly is full of information for the rebels-- for thirteen. he tells you that you have to be the one to take it to them, tells you to shoot him to make it look like you overpowered him ( because who knows better than a healer which places will heal or harm ); he tells you what paths to take and which to avoid-- wishes he could give you a map but that you have to run. there's no time to go back to your home, no time to tell your mother or your siblings goodbye-- no time to check on that beloved who had fallen, never knowing if they died in the dirt or not.

you aim for his knee, the gunshot lost in the chaos-- and you run.

ʙᴜᴛ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ

it takes you nearly two months to make it to thirteen, following the directions the peacekeeper gave you- fully expecting it to be a trap. the journey isn't easy- it's longer than you expect to get from eleven to a place that isn't supposed to exist anymore- but is made easier when you run across others who are fleeing towards that same dream of freedom. it doesn't matter that you all hail from different districts or that your stories are so vastly different-- you're all pilgrims trying to reach that promised land and when you stumble upon it's ruins, there's a moment where hope almost fails. to think you have come all this way only to find a graveyard-- of course there was no district thirteen. movement from the rubble has your gun lifting, finger pulling the trigger and then pain explodes in your shoulder as you fall back into the arms of companions who scream out words that sound muffled: sanctuary! sanctuary! the gun falls from your hands as you're lifted into arms and the pain in your arm becomes too great and you fall to darkness.

when you wake, you think you must still be dreaming because it's real. district thirteen, hidden under the ruins of former glory and might, and you fish the disc from your side, pressing it into the palm of a healer who attends to your shoulder. time passes; you heal. time passes; you become another one of those healers in the white uniforms, treating those who have grown in the underground and those who fought like hell ( like you ) to find it. time passes; you train. you never find oz and after months of speaking to anyone who will give you the time to ask about them- to give detailed descriptions of your sibling, the scars on their body, the way their mouth turns up when they smile- you finally stop asking. oz never made it to thirteen and you're told death would be a kinder ending to imagine for them. you try to get news of eleven- of your mother and the littles who are now grown; you never learn much.

five years pass and you're approached with a mission-- to be sent to the capitol along with others to pose as a medic, infiltrating the tribute center and act as support for those who have been deep undercover as the clock ticks down on district thirteen making their move. it's been six months since you arrived in the capitol under the cover of night, set up in an apartment paid for by those who allied themselves with rebels with papers and credentials that make you a different person. for now, your job is to wait but the closer the games come, the more anxious you are for action-- you won't move until that signal is given but once it is? you'll let that fire consume you in the same way it consumed your father and your sibling.

if you're going to burn, you might as well burn bright.

TFLDR + EXTRAS

the third of rue's siblings, born after oz

the lil momma hen of the siblings like def Acts like the Oldest even if she isn't

started becoming interested in healing after oz got shot and followed that passion to apprentice w d11's healer and eventually sort of took their place

at first was very against oz being involved with the rebellion but as a healer she ended up sort dragged into it whether she wanted to be or not and really just. got over it.

swore to oz that she would go to thirteen after the rest of their siblings were old enough not to be reaped

ended up falling in love with another rebel from 11 and almost doesn't keep that promise but when a plot to burn train cars full of produce for the capitol goes awry, she's pulled by a peacekeeper (secretly allied w d13) who helps her escape

meets up with some folks who are also trying to get to thirteen and ends up getting shot when they get there bc she's got that happy trigger finger and tbh she shot first

stays as a healer/medic in 13 for some time and trains to be a soldier when she realizes oz never made it to 13

gets picked to go undercover in the capitol as a medic to act as support for those who are also there-- has been in the capitol for about 6 months as 'mara'

CONNECTIONS

D11 CONTACTS-- people from the homeplace that would know her as the former healer of the district, people she grew up with, whatever-- just the home folk

LOST LOVE-- okay so,,,,,,, mara doesn't know whether her lover survived the clash at the trainyard or not. i think it could be. inchresting if maybe they did and they find each other after five years.

REBEL PEACEKEEPER-- ok so mara wouldn't have gotten out of d11 or to 13 safely without the help of this peacekeeper. they dont have to be currently assigned to d11 but would've been at least 5 years ago.

DONT BE SUSPICIOUS-- would love some non rebels who are squinting p hard at her bc lbr she Plays at being a capitolite medic but there's something Distinctly District about her and maybe her storylines slip from time to time and don't quite add up.

literally anything yall know the drill

[sweetbrier2908]

HIS EYES

Lucifer

Lucifer's eyes are like two rubies on fire. There is always something in those eyes - pride, wrath, trust, fear, protection, regret - there is always something in Lucifer's eyes, there is always a burning fire in Lucifer's eyes. That is something you always know since the moment you saw him.

You know all too well that fire is going to burn you. The fire inside him is similar to the fire presented in those ruby-red eyes. The fire is going to burn you the same way it used to burn those pure white feathers. You know too well, all too well, when he looks in your eyes.

But the fire leads you to touch those fingers covered in black velvet, but the fire leads you to those cold thin lips, but the fire leads you to his bed and the fire leads him to you.

Lucifer's eyes are still two rubies on fire. For the first time ever, you have seen your reflection in that fire.

[moongothic]

Do you ever start a project, thinking it'd be a fun thing to make, only to realize halfway through you hate and have literally no use for it and then get stuck unsure what the fuck you should do with it

Yeah

This is my Bag of Regrets

Okay so around March of 2023 I made my first-ever crochet bag out of the leftover yarn I had from my Blanket of Darkness. I loved how that bag turned out, but even then I realized I could've done a better job had I lined the bag, which I should've done really early into the project.

So.

I ended up with a bunch of this super thin cotton yarn, in a few colors. We're not gonna talk about how I got the yarn, I just ended up with it. And I did not know what to do with it, because the pink and the dark maroon-y color just are not my colors, at all. I do not like them what-so-ever. And so like, I had to figure out something to do with the yarn, didn't wanna waste it. And for some god damn reason I thought I could practise making more crochet bags using this yarn.

Like in theory, this was a fine idea.

But I don't even like pink, what the fuck am I going do with this god damn thing now.

But I was a fucking idiot and did not think about that fact until I was like 80% done with it

Anyway, I thought it'd be fun to try doing a checkerboard pattern on the tiny crochet bag. This was a huge mistake. I don't know what the fuck it was about it, but I had the worst time of my life trying to make sure the squares were even, with the same amount of rows and that the corners met at the right spots- like sometimes I made the right amount of rows but the corners didn't meet at all and sometimes I did the wrong amount of rows but the corners did meet. It was a fucking nightmare to crochet. I had a horrible time. Making the front and back panels took me months and I had to restart it so many times just to get it right. It was bad, I hated it man

Also, by the way. I don't mind working with thin yarn at all, but because this was a thin COTTON yarn, I just. The yarn has no stretch, it is hard. Working with it made me feel like I was going to cut off my left finger as the yarn was rubbing against it as I was crocheting.

The bottom piece of the bag was done in that dark purple-maroon-y color with... I can't even remember what stitch I did, it was something Alt Knots has a video tutorial for on their YouTube though

But, I made the three crochet panels

Then I cut out the piece of fabric I would hand-sew the crochet pieces onto. I have a ton of this red-brown fabric that I have no idea wha to do with, and I figured it would work fine for this (since you're not supposed to see this fabric anyways) so I cut the pieces from it

Pinned the pieces down and then I just sewed the pieces onto the fabric. I decided to use sewing thread so it'd blend into the crochet better (being a fine thread and all), using white for the checker board pieces and a dark red/maroon-y color for the bottom piece

Forgot to take a photo of the bottom piece but it's fine, you get the idea

Then I cut out the lining fabric. I didn't really have any fabric that would actually match the checker board crochet at all, and I didn't want to buy anything so I chose to use this black fabric (with itty bitty roses) for lining

Cut the pieces and pinned them down facing each other

I think I originally wanted to do the sewing by hand for a cleaner look but I wasn't happy with it, so after I did my innitial hand-stitching I went over it with a sewing machine, getting as close to the crochet but without sewing over it. And after checking it was okay, I cut the excess fabric and did some clean up to help keep the fabric from fraying.

Folded the pieces inside out and they were looking decent!

Now yes, I did still have to hand-sew one side shut for each piece, but it wasn't a big deal, though sadly because I had to make sure the handsewing wasn't visible on the outside of the bag, this was going to be a visible flaw on the lining anyways

You can see what I mean on the top edge of the bigger piece (with the white thread)

In hindsight I probably could've sewn the edge shut with a mattress stitch or something instead of going through all the fabric, but alas, I was stupid and didn't not realize this at the time

Sidenote I took like 5 month break from this project after finishing the front and back piece but before I did the bottom piece. Because yeah, this was around when I realized I hated what I was making and that I had no idea what the fuck I was gonna do with it once it was done. And I just could not get myself to even look at it, for months. And it HAUNTED me, made me feel bad about not having completed it every dang day. But yeah, finally in March I got back to it after finishing my last crochet blanket. Because I wanted to start another project but I did not want to start anything before finishing this fucking thing so yeah.

(Oh yeah I also I grabbed some metal accessories from my mom's stash that I attached to the bottom piece, so the bag can have a widdle handle)

With the pieces all done, it was finally time to sew them together. And this I was going to do by hand sewing them with a mattress stitch. I started by just attaching the smaller piece to the bottom, making sure it was centered right, and carefully sewed it together, starting from the middle and making my way up the sides, one at a time.

I did very specifically do sewing on the red-brown fabric

And it was looking good, according to plan!

Did the bigger piece the same way, and then all I had to do...

...Was clean up, by mattress stitching the crochet pieces together. Chose to use white because I figured I'd rather have small amounts of white peeking through on the bottom piece than have the dark red/purple on the front pieces. Though thankfully the white yarn isn't even that noticable, it sinked into the stitches quite nicely

With that done, I did this one final little touch-up. On checker crochet pieces you could kind of see my starting row, as the row had quite large holes in it. And I wasn't a huge fan of how it looked, so I just took some of the white yarn and wove it into the loops to fill it out

One final thing I did but didn't bother documenting was the strap. I did considder crocheting it, and even started it, but I did not like the stitch I was trying to use for it, and at this point I was so fucking done with the project I couldn't be bothered. I had some white cotton ribbon with nothing to do with it, so I decided to just grab some of that to make a lil strap. It's... not great, it's just that the ribbon is quite thin so it FEELS really flimsy. But I had reached the "I don't give a fuck anymore" stage and so. Yeah whatever

My shitty little bag of regrets is done. Yay.

I probably could've done something to clean the edges of the bag better because you can see the red-brown fabric peeking through, but... Like I can't think of what I could do to fix that, and again, I'm at the point where I don't have the energy to even try anymore

It's done, and that's what matters

Probably throwing it in the trash because what else am I gonna do with it

(Final note; I did have left-over yarn from this, but I used that yarn to make tiny mesh fruit/grocery bags. Ones I will actually use! Yay)

[pullakori]

Febuwhump 2023

Day 13. Forced to hurt a loved one

alt 3. Soft words

TW: Mentions of dub-con and thretened non-con

Also, a/b/o

Sequel to day 11.

It felt like Charles' head was full of cotton and his limbs were too heavy to move. He had no idea where he was, other than somewhere soft and warm. His telepathy was as tired as his body was, he could barely feel any kind of presence from the minds nearby. He wanted to fall asleep again, but something at the back of his mind was telling him that he had to get up and get away. But what was it? Why did he need to run..?

And then the memories of Shaw and the forced heat hit him. Charles could feel aches in his body that wouldn't be there if he would have been successfull fighting him off again. He found enough energy to move his hand and feel around his neck, only to feel a fresh bite mark there. A broken sob escaped his mouth as panic started to settle in.

No. No, no nonono! This couldn't be happening!

There was a voice, speaking to him, but he didn't register it. Only when a hand touched his shoulder, did he even realize that someone else was there.

Charles recoiled from the touch, throwing himself back as far as his arms and legs could push him and the covers would let him. To his surprise, the hand didn't try to stop him and when he finally managed to open his eyes, he didn't see Shaw, like he had anticipated, but Erik. Erik, who was holding his hands up and speaking something, that Charles couldn't hear from the static in his ears.

"Erik?" His own voice sounded strange in his ears. Was he dreaming? How was Erik here?

"It's okay Charles, you're safe now. You're home." Erik spoke gently. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, wearing a grey sweatshirt.

"Home?" Only then did Charles look around. He wasn't in the bedroom inside Shaw's submarine anymore. It took him few moments, but eventually, he recogniced the room as one of the manor's guest rooms. "What happened?" How did they end up in his childhood home?

"Shaw is dead. You helped me kill him." Erik told him, putting his hands down as Charles' panic subdued a little. "Do you remember that?" Charles closed his eyes, trying to remember. But every time he seemed to be close to recall something, it slipped away from him.

"It's all... Foggy, impossible to hold." Charles tried to explain and opened his eyes again. Erik's expression was strange, pained.

"He had dozed you with something that had forced your body into a heat." That Charles knew. He had fought the daze of heat the first time, but this second time... The omega touched the mating bite on his neck again and his body felt cold, despite the duvet and the pajamas some one had put on him. He hadn't been strong enough...

Shaw might be dead, but Charles would wear his mark forever. Despite his efforts, he wasn't able to keep his breathing steady.

"You were dying." Erik's voice was shaky as he kept speaking. "You would have died had I not-" Those cut off words made the omega look up with wide eyes. He managed to see how the alpha's eyes were filling with tears just before he hanged his head down. "I'm sorry Charles." He sounded like a man waiting for his judgement, but Charles could only stare at him as his earlier words sank in.

It had been Erik. Erik had bonded with him and bit him. Erik was his alpha.

"You..." Charles tried to speak, but his words were cut off by what was something between a sob and hysterical laugh. This also got Erik's attention, making him lift his head.

"Charles?" He asked, confused and slightly worried frown on his face as Charles tried to calm himself enough to explain.

"I thought that Shaw-" He couldn't finish the thought. It was too terrible to say, but Erik must have known what he meant, horror making his face pale.

"No!" He hurried to assure the omega. "He didn't touch you." He promised and Charles could hear a slight alpha growl under his voice.

A shiver ran through the telepath's body. He was still exhausted and the emotional turmoil that he had just went through made him even more so. But his body was aching for its alpha, demanding to be close to him after a bonding. But Erik was keeping his distance, clearly unsure weather he was wanted or not. Or maybe, and Charles' stomach sank from the idea, he didn't want to be close to the omega. He had been forced to bond with Charles to save him, no matter what he wanted.

The telepath owed his life to Erik, the least he should give him was some space. But the ache was becoming painflull and after spending weeks chained on Shaw's bed and surrounded by his stench, he was desperate for any kind of comfort. So he pushed himself up enough to slump closer to the alpha, who let out a startled noise and backed away slightly, before Charles moved his hand closer to him and looking at him witj pleading eyes. Erik looked at his hand and then in his eyes. Charles wondered if he felt similiar ache too, or at least something, from their bond.

Erik swallowed and slowly moved to first take Charles' hand and then moving to lie on his side close to the omega, but leaving some space between. Charles knew he was pushing it, but he couldn't help himself. He pushed himself closer again, but he didn't make it far by himself before Erik moved closer instead and wrapped his arms around Charles.

The ache in the omega's heart was instantly soothed as he was embraced by his alpha and he could breathe in his scent. He moved his own arm around the metalbender's waist and his other hand to hold his shirt.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, but Charles could feel how tense Erik was and the guilt about the whole situation became too much.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, keeping his eyes glued on Erik's chest, unable to look up and see what would most likely be resentment in his eyes. But what little he got through his telepathy, Erik only felt surprised and remorseful.

"No, Charles. None of this is your fault." He assured Charles, stroking the smaller man's hair and back. "And I'm the one who should apologise, even though its nowhere close enough to make this right." Charles drew back, just enough to look Erik in the eyes.

"You saved me." He argued, but Erik shook his head.

"By forcing you to bond with me." The alpha's voice was almost desperate and Charles moved his hand that had been clutching his shirt to gently touch Erik's cheek. The simple touch seemed to be close to shattering his whole world.

"But also by forcing yourself to bond with me." Charles responded.

And that was true, they had both been forced into this situation without their premission or input. And here they were laying face to face, their hearts completely open. Maybe it was their bond settling or Charles' telepathy recovering, but he could feel small snippets of Erik's thoughts. Too forgiving. He deserves so much better. Wanted to court him. To take things slow. To do this on our own terms. Charles felt tears gathering in his eyes as he smiled at his alpha.

"I would have liked that too." He whispered and Erik took a hold of his wrist and kissed his palm.

They kept holding hands and Erik stroked Charles' wrist with his thumb, bedore he looked down at it and frowned slightly. Lost weight...

"You need something to eat." He decided and moved to stand up. He bearly made it out of bed though, when Charles let out a distressed whine without meaning to. The omega's cheeks flamed as Erik immidiately sat back down and took his hand again, but the mere idea of being alone right now made Charles sick.

"Please don't go..." He pleaded and saw Erik's eyes soften before the alpha laid back down, under the covers this time.

"Okay. I'll stay." He promised Charles as he gathered him close once again.

The exhaustion was starting to get the better of the omega, but he still hugged Erik back as tightly as he could. "Shhhh. It's okay, you're safe." Erik murmured to his ear as he began to troke his back and hair again. The warmth of the alpha's body and mind lulled Charles closer and closer to sleep. Erik kept speaking softly, until the telepath fell asleep again. "Everything is going to be alright."

[hellsitedotcom]

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༊*·˚ some very short scenarios because I have a severe brainrot and some of y'all might like to hear my odd daydreams ༊*·˚

༊*·˚ warnings: none. english isn't my native language, lol, and I'm still sick. not proof-read! we die like real men here. bone app the teeth. ༊*·˚

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Your breath hitched when Aventurine suddenly grabbed your hand and pulled you close, your face inches away from his as his eyes bored into yours, that smirk you've grown accustomed to once again sneaking onto his lips, ''Care to dance?'' Around you, the world seemed to blur at the man's offer, your plan to meet the Trailblazer by the Dreamscape Sales Store all but forgotten as you held his gaze. ''What are you-?'' but before you could finish your question, he had already pulled you toward the floating instruments playing at the plaza. There was a surprising gentleness to the way he guided you, slow dancing along to the melody playing as he spoke, ''You looked like you needed a distraction.'' ''I didn't,'' you muttered, still unsure about the whole ordeal as you both fell into a smooth, elegant rhythm, ''I was merely thinking.'' The man chuckled lightly, the sound making your heart flutter unvoluntarily, ''Sure, if you say so, friend.'' Choosing to stay quiet, you continued dancing, almost cursing yourself, but there was a part of you that hoped the moment would not end. The minutes passed as the song concluded, the man's movement slowing down as you both came to a halt, his nose nearly brushing yours as he leaned a little closer, his smirk growing, ''How unfortunate that this is merely a dream, though perhaps we'll be able to continue this somewhere else one day...'' And then he stepped away, bowing slightly before a familiar voice called out behind you, forcing you to tear your eyes away from him as the Trailblazer came jogging toward you. One last time, you looked back to were the man had just stood, wanting to havr the last word only to find that he had disappeared, though his words still echoed through your head. ''Perhaps we'll be able to continue this somewhere else one day...''

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When Moze suddenly materialized in front of you, the tension in your body seemed to instantly vanish as you stepped away from the dead borisin lying by your feet, ''Is everyone alright?'' ''Yes,'' the man replied curtly, eyes narrowed, partially obscured by his hood as he looked you up and down as if checking for injuries, ''Jiaoqiu told me you were still here. He said you were the one to help him out.'' ''It was nothing,'' you brushed off, struggling not to squirm under the intensity of his gaze as he stepped closer. It wasn't the first time you helped out the Yaoqing, given how much Feixiao seemed to appreciate your company, nor was it the first time you had helped Jiaoqiu out of a tough spot - something that had lead to a more...private moment between Moze and you once already. For a brief moment you wondered if you sought the foxian out on purpose, in hopes of earning Moze's attention, before disregarding those thoughts the second Moze's nimble fingers wrapped around your wrist, lifting your arm up to inspect it, ''You're injured.'' ''It's just a scratch,'' you replied quietly, your voice barely audible, making you feel slightly embarrassed as he continued to inspect your bleeding arm before slowly dragging his gaze up again to meet your eyes. There was something captivating about him, stealing your breath just like last time, when you had been the one to thank him for keeping the Trailblazer safe. Back then it had been your hand seeking out his. At first, he didn't say anything further, just watching your face as if waiting for something, for you to voice your thoughts, before the grip around your wrist tightened and he stepped even closer, his body mere inches away from yours as you looked up to hold his gaze, ''You should be more careful.'' But before you could reply to him, the man pulled away already, turning to leave as you still stood among the dead borisin, staring after him with furrowed brows, your other hand wandering to hold your wrist, just were his fingers had caressed it only seconds ago. ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

You were leaning against his desk, a smile making its way onto your lips as you watched Jing Yuan walk up to you, smirking lazily as he wrapped his arms around your waist and buried his face in the crook of your neck. ''Shouldn't you be training with Yanqing?'' you hummed, feeling him press lazy kisses against your skin, tilting your head to grant him more access as your eyes threatened to fall shut. The general just grunted, ghosting his lips along your jaw before he locked eyes with you, your hand reaching up to brush his bangs to the side, ''He'll be fine without me. Not to mention that he can just ask your little friends from the Express for help...'' ''Jing Yuan-'' you tried arguing with him, only to be silenced with a kiss, his forehead pressing against yours afterwards. ''Hm? What is it?'' he wondered innocently, continuing to place kisses along your jaw, down to your throat, ''You need to speak up. I can't hear you.'' ''I doubt this is a good idea,'' you sighed, one hand holding onto his arm while you used the other to support yourself, nails scratching over the surface of his desk, ''Given this isn't necessarily a private space.'' Jing Yuan just laughed, the sound muffled as his hold on you tightened, ''Someone's a little paranoid, no? We'll be fine, though if you want to freeze the door shut, be my guest.'' ''No one is going to interrupt us...'' he continued, though not even a heartbeat later, a familiar voice echoed through the hallway, causing him to pull away and whip his head around with a disappointed expression. ''I shouldn't have said that.'' Now it was your turn to chuckle as you pushed yourself off his desk, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek before slipping past him, not wanting Yanqing to become suspicious over your proximity, ''You probably shouldn't have, though I did try to warn you...'' ''Very funny, really,'' he replied, still smirking, though his eyes had grown slightly darker, ''We'll continue this later, somewhere...more private.''

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Only a few system hours had passed since you had fought Phantylia, yet you already found yourself back on the Express, patching yourself up when suddenly the door to your room opened and Dan Heng stepped inside, his eyes instantly locking with yours. ''Why didn't you let the Healer Lady take a look at you?'' ''I didn't feel like sticking around for longer than necessary, I suppose,'' you hummed in reply, watching him step closer. He was still in his Imbibitor Lunae form, glowing eyes piercing through you. ''Jing Yuan wanted me to extend his gratitude to you,'' he muttered, coming to a halt right in front of you, making you straighten up. ''That's why you're back so early?'' ''No,'' Dan Heng admitted, his brows furrowing slightly as if he was struggling to find the right words, ''I- I wanted to see you, to check on you.'' And then, so unexpected that it took you a moment to process, he lifted his hand to cup your cheek, gently brushing his thumb over your skin as he stepped even closer, ''I wanted to apologize for involving you in this...in my problems. I did not mean for you to become a part of this...for you to get injured.'' Taken aback, you just held his gaze for a moment, eyes widening slightly at his words, before a soft smile made its way onto your lips and you placed your hand atop of his, ''There's no need to apologize.'' ''I'd go to the ends of every universe to help you,'' you whispered hesitantly, afraid it'd make his walls come up again, make him pull away from you again. But, to your surprise, the man mirrored your smile as he continued to caress your cheek, the glow of his eyes just a little brighter now ''I know". Carefully, as if afraid, Dan Heng leaned closer, his nose brushing past yours and your lips only inches apart, when suddenly March 7th's voice rang through the Express's hallway, making you both jump apart. ''I-'' the man stuttered, flustered, his cheeks turning the slightest bit red as he looked at you, but you merely shook your head, chuckling, ''Let's just see what she wants. We can...come back to this later.''

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[thewinchestah]

"Good things come for those who wait" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: ,18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, BDSM, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, Possesive! Alastor, Jealous!Alastor, Protective!Alastor, spanking,degradation kink, praise kink, Angst with a happy ending, fluff, I didn't proof read this, english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here, etc etc etc

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: there's no point guys. I can't stop talking.

A/N: WOAH!! Hello everyone!! What the fuck?? I wasn't expecting my "debut fic" to blow up like that! Thank you so so much to everyone who took the time to read it and leave a comment! I'm truly flattered by your praise. So, I hope this sequel to "PREY" does it justice! (but it can also be read as a standalone). Let me know if you guys like it, and if you have anymore ideas/suggestions! I'm tagging everyone who asked me to, so if you want to be tagged on my next fics let me know! Without further due, here comes that mostrosity of a fic! Hope you like it <3! (UPDATE: PART 3 IS NOW UP!!)

Part I  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Taglist: @smallershorteranduncut @markster666 @jyoongim @stygianoir  @pepperycookie @fraspent @aether-th3-enby 

It all started, as many things do, with a joke and a simple misunderstanding. Dying and instantly going to hell is not easy. Being in hell and not understanding why the FUCK you are in hell is confusing, frustrating and sometimes drawright ridiculous. There’s no guidebook for the hellish afterlife, and more often than not you felt lost at sea, drowning. Until you found your questionable lifeline, the Radio Demon. 

Somehow said demon clocked really early on that you were completely infatuated with him, but too scared to act on it. And oh, how he gave you enough reason to be infatuated, enough reason to be scared. Luring you into the most delicious trap, Alastor had claimed you as his. His to breed during the height of his heat, his to care for, his to inflict the most heavenly torture. 

Being caught up in the middle of the living myth that was the Radio Demon was a dangerous thing, you had been warned over and over again. So of course that you had to almost fuck everything up in the silliest way possible.

The obnoxious TV set, also known as Vox, had just started another round of his futile attempts to win Alastor’s attention by airing the most absurd reality tv character assassination ever. You would put money on the fact that the obsessive flat screen was a deceased TLC producer. Usually, any of his pompous i-hate-alastor-so-so-much!!! fits would be met with enthusiasm around the Hotel. Everyone would cramp in front of the TV and make fun of the entire ordeal. Even Alastor would tag along and make a private edition of his radio show while he counter-narrated that nonsense. It became a fun bonding activity for everyone involved, it was a nice thing. But there’s a reason why you can’t have nice things.

Today the Hotel was mostly empty:, only you, Angel and a very on edge, sexually frustrated, irritated Alastor haunted its posh walls. Still, you and Angel carried on with the little tradition sitting side by side in front of the tv not knowing what to expect from today’s “My Strange Addiction - Alastor’s Version” episode. It was truly a laughable attempt of a character assassination, actors who could not act saying things like “Alastor isn’t even as bad as everyone says, his torture tactics are not that special either. My mom’s aunt was tortured by him and was going to work 10 hours later”, “i walked down the street today and alastor didn’t even try to kill me when he saw me crossing the street, he’s all talk” “i have video footage of the self-proclaimed cannibal eating a chocolate covered strawberry. He’s cannibalbaiting.”

“no self-respecting overlord would go out wearing those ridiculous out-of fashion clothes”. 

Angel was having the time of his life leading the daily Vox roast session, the spider was funny and you couldn’t hold the laughs. The camera cut to a close-up of Vox, babbling on about technology and the anti-Radio Demon speech you knew by heart at this point. As if on cue, Alastor entered the room. But the pair of you remained oblivious to his presence. 

“Toots, you totally should apply for this show! I mean it!. I’m sure Vox will buy literally anything you say. Anything! If you say Alastor likes to eat red nail polish cause it looks like blood he would believe it! You laughed at his words, what a ridiculous thing to say. You loved red nail polish, alastor drinking it because it looks like blood is absurd. “I mean, look at you!! Look at this face, these eyes!! This body!!!” Angel gave your thighs a playful slap. “If you say hell is actually cold using all that i would eat it right up. Vox will be too busy staring at your boobs to notice you dropping that even the oldest radio looks better than that fucking flat face”. The thought that you were the mind-numbing type of beautiful made you laugh. Sometimes you felt like your friends were being way too kind with the flattery about you. You were nothing special at all. It was nice of them to be kind to you, adapting to your new lifestyle was taking a visible tool, anyone could tell. Their efforts were honorable and sweet, but you just couldn’t let yourself believe what in your heart, you knew was a lie. A beautiful, comfortable lie, but still a lie. You weren’t much, you were just lucky. You started to laugh even harder, out of pure nervousness as your brain started to snowball into all the things you weren’t. 

“ Seriously Angel, you have the strangest ideas ever!” you tried to sound normal, putting up a confident facade. That helped, a lot. You had picked that up during your days with Alastor. 

Speaking of the devil, Alastor wasn’t amused by your little display. Standing on the corner of the room as you laughed, he made himself known by walking out of the room, in hurried steps. If it were anyone else, they wouldn’t think much of it. But you weren’t anyone else. You were Alastor’s. 

And that’s why he was seething with rage. His rut always drove him, an already unpredictable man, to the brink of true, pure instinctual insanity. He had to grip his marvelous constructed self control painfully hard. Since your paths crossed, the most chaotic part of his existence seemed in control, your pretty little body always ready to take him, your eyes always holding his gaze in a maddening  comfortable way, the way you would push your limits just for him. 

Only for him.

And the worst part was your softness when it was all done. Alastor would fuck you rentless, for hours, making you take all the mess of his most animalistic desires without a second thought. Both of you would be spent, bathing in the afterglow, room smelling like sex, and you would ask him if he needed anything. Him, that just fucked you so hard so won’t walk straight for a week, that feasted on the blood of the love bites he inflicted, him that covered you in a painting of bruises. 

How could he not want to just lock you inside his lavish room and give you all the rings of hell? to carve his name deep into your soul? to dote on you? to make him the only thing on your mind as he makes you his time and time again in the most sinful ways?

It was simple really, why he was shaking with anger: how you, who was his, was even thinking of being in the same vicinity of that scum of creation?  LAUGHING AT THIS ABSURD CONCEPT. Vox thinking of you was already a crime punishable by painful death, but Vox looking at you was heresy, and the entirety of hell would pay for his transgressions. 

As Alastor stormed off towards the Hotel’s large room corridors, he took several calming breaths. Losing control like this wouldn’t do anyone any favors. In the troubled waters of his mind, Alastor could only think of 3 things: you, fucking you and murdering someone.

 So he didn’t even realize your hurried steps trying to catch up with his long strides.

“Hey sugartits! Don’t take too long doing whatever you need to do! there’s a woman going live after the break saying she saw Alastor eating an entire packet of PAPER TOWELS!!! HAHA! This shit is too good to be true!” you heard angel scream.

Adding insult to injury, nice.

Trying desperately to reach your demon lover gait, you could only think about how bad you had messed up. Alastor was your only true respite in hell. He was a blessing in a mist of the worst humankind could offer. He made you feel hope, more than making you feel alive, he made you feel glad you’re dead. The Radio Demon felt like coming home. You just wanted to make it up to him. You could not lose this, lose him. You were not sure you would survive it. And who knew where you went after dying in hell? 

It doesn’t matter where you go after hell, it doesn’t matter at all if Alastor is not there. Your brain added to your inner monologue. True.

“Alastor! Wait” you shouted. He stops dead on his feet.

Finally, those long long legs of his do not make chasing after your love any easier.

“Alastor, I'm so so sorry. Angel gets way out of line sometimes and I was nervous” he is perfectly still, ears pinned back, listening. But doesn’t say anything back.

“Al I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean it like that, at all. Look, let’s try to do something to make your day better. I know how hard this season is on you, I know you feel like you are losing contr-

Uh oh.

oh shit.

You used the two forbidden words together. The temperature in the room drops, Alastor snaps towards you. You feel something gripping your throat mercilessly, as you fall to the ground. Looking at the other end of the corridor Alastor has you on a leash of his magic. Eyes burning red, forehead marked “x” he grips your chains hard, pushing you towards him.

“That was a brilliant speech, little doe. Truly marvelous! I’m sure your television debut will be quite the show you were planning!”

His antlers were growing, his demon form showing itself as he becomes taller and taller over you. All bared teeth and flashing red eyes. This is what everyone warned you about. Don’t get in the Radio Demon’s way, he is dangerous and insane. You will regret it.

Hot. your brain thinks. He pulls your leash even tighter, and you feel wetness pooling on your core.

“Do you have any idea what I was about to do before I heard you so selflessly offer your services to that pathetic excuse of a demon?” Dragging you by the magic chains, his towering frame comes down to meet you at eye level. You can’t say anything back, your brain short circuits and goes AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

“You know better than leaving me waiting for an answer at this point, pet” He grips your face using his sharp claws,the pressure threatening to break skin. “But you seem so hellbent on being a bad girl today, I shouldn’t expect your usually good girl’s behavior, should I?”

You are, once again nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes

“One should always know better than expecting their fantasies to be true”

His sclera goes black, only the tiny blazing red radio dials devouring you as he stares so deep into you, you feel feverish. 

“But since we are already here. I. Will. Tell. You.” static picks up around the room and surrounds you both, the corridor is illuminated by an eerie green light. You start to kinda fear for your life, but Alastor has you completely hypnotized by the radio dials on his eyes. You shiver in anticipation. 

 “I was coming to ask you, to please, spare me a part of your day, away from you friends. Because the only thing on my mind has been you. Fucking you. Sinking my cock so deep into your tight, wet cunt it would mark your soul. Because you are the only one who can take me like this, who deserves being bred by me, who deserves every drop of my seed”

You feel the wetness on your panties grow until it runs down your thighs. There’s nothing right about this, but your dear Alastor showed you long ago how the concepts of right and wrong are meant to be skewed.

“But oh well, you seem to have your affections directed elsewhere…” he tsks at you using that delicious mocking tone. “But, you can’t blame a desperate man for trying” he goes from 100 to 0 really fast, his voice softens so much in a way that’s almost too heavy to hear after all that. Even with his demon form still very much present  “Do you still want to make my day better, pet?”

you are at a loss of words, but you manage to nod desperately. The anticipation of what he is going to do to you makes you giddy. 

He manhandles your leash until you are on your knees in front of him, tugging on the chains so you look up towards his crotch. He makes quick work of his pants, pulling his cock out. Hard, angry hot red coloured. Angry because of you, angry for you. 

“Open wide, little one” and without much more warning, Alastor is fucking your face, hard and fast. 

You position your arms behind your back as quickly as you can.  You know how hard it is for him to be touched when his rut is peaking. The overwhelming need for relief mixing with his ever present desire for control. This is about him asserting his dominance over you, making sure you don’t ever forget where you belong: In the warmth of his burning gaze, under him, on your knees, while he merciless fucks your throat into compliance. He’s taking it out on you, and you fucking love it.

He’s not saying anything, only growling like he’s about to murder someone. He grabs fistfuls of your velvety hair, but never leaves the white knuckle grip on your chains. You can only resist the urge of playing with your pussy while he thrusts so deep you feel his monster cock. hitting the back of your throat. This is about him, and you want to give him this so badly your cunt is throbbing with desire

Tears wet your cheeks, your lips around his cock are the definition of renaissance art to Alastor. He’s almost over the edge now, the head of his cock twitches on top of your tongue as a warning of his approaching orgasm. It’s hard, it’s hot, it’s fast and it’s angry.

Alastor cums, you swallow as much as you can, but he takes his cock out and spills everywhere, coating your hair,  your face. It’s so deliciously erotic Alastor can’t resist catching some of his cum and running his hands throughout your velvet locks, bathing you in his essence, marking you once more. There’s still a bit of cum on the tip of his claw, he feeds it to you, and your lips wrap around his fingers as you take as much of him you can take, gladly. 

“Oh how beautiful you are when you ruin yourself like this for me, my little doe” You look up at him with adoration and a lustful gaze, his eyes hold an equally lustful gaze and… something more. Something that you are sure will drive you insane. 

Alastor notices the pooling mess underneath your tights, he knows how desperate you are for relief, but he still wants to self indulge on you. He’s certain you still don’t understand the reality of what he is feeling. Swiftly he topples you down the corridor’s carpet and places himself between your legs, his crawled finger tearing your lacy panties away. 

Then, he feasts on you like a starving man, and he might be, because you taste like the ambrosia of the gods and he can’t get enough of it. Of how you make a mess of yourself for him and there’s still something for him to take. You just taste so sweet, what a perfect meal your nectar makes. His wicked silver tongue polishes you, aided by your whispered sighs, his name moaned like a prayer on your lips. You are so so close, alastor sucks on your throbbing clit you are already seeing stars, all you need is a gentle push.

 Grinning like a devil, Alastor looks up, tilts his head, gives you the most wicked-and-douchey look in existence. He gets up, your leash dissipating into the air and walks away in perfect composure, like nothing happened. Nothing at all.

“Well, I think that’s my cue!!” he says in his usually chirpy tone. You just stay there, flabbergasted. “I just remembered I still have a lot to do today! Work never stops when you maintain a facility like this in tip-top condition!” Already halfway across the corridor, Alastor’s head turns towards you “Still want to make my day good my dear? Be a doll and clean this mess up, will you?” you just stare at him, too fucking stunned to speak. You can’t believe it. That fucking devil. He’s about to make the turn towards the elevator and disappear when his eyes flash red as he warns you “Oh! and don’t you dare make yourself cum without my permission. If you cum before I say so, you won’t be cumming for a week. Choose wisely!Let’s see who loses control first Ha Ha! This will be fun!”

 Alastor can be a psychopathic demon in heat, but before all that he still is a psychopathic demon who loves torture. 

And he just left you all hot and bothered. 

–

Alastor knew better than believing in such things as heaven or holiness. In fact, Alastor was positively sure nothing was sacred. The concept of sacredness was non-existent in his book.

But his skeptic mind danced on the edge of belief when he touched you. To be inside you felt heavenly, heavenly in a type of way that should not even be allowed in this place. The way your lush body burned underneath his wicked gaze was sacred.The way you always presented yourself to him, with selfless abandon was sacred. Somehow, someone allowed him, of all people, access to a soul he frankly didn’t understand what was doing in hell in the first place. He never was the better man. He was never giving that up.

In all of his nature, Alastor felt the most sinful pleasure in defiling your sacredness. He wanted nothing but to take the heavenly thing you were and taint it with his darkness. 

He was well acquainted to torture and had no shame in inflicting the most delicious and depraved type of it on you ,until all of your holiness was irrevocably marked by him, down to the core of your soul.  Of course Alastor didn’t buy your soul. He didn’t need to use those means to completely own you. He did it effortlessly, because you craved it. Because he craved it.

That’s why the thought of Vox even looking in your way was heretic, and not in a good way. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you to Vox. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. Period. You were his.

 But adding that man into the equation just made everything more intolerable. The things he would do if he found out about you… Found out that not only you were his but how you could make someone feel. How precious and undeserving of anything less than good you were… 

You were made to be cherished and protected. Protected by him.

 In fact, it took all of the Radio Demon’s willpower to restrain from walking to the Vees building, and kill Vox for something he didn’t do. Because Alastor wouldn’t allow the thought to even cross his mind. All that, a messy display of his desperation and loss of control. Giving that prick the smug satisfaction of knowing somehow he got to him, in his last moments. 

Damn, his rut truly did make him on edge.

Suppressing his murderous thoughts, Alastor focused his mind into something he as actually good at: torture. Yours specifically. He still wanted to punish you for making him feel like this. He still wanted to make you understand.

And he just thought of the sweetest way to do it.

-

After cleaning up the mess on the corridor, and yourself (you did it all on autopilot, still trying to understand what the FUCK happened) you still had to give Angel a satisfaction about why you didn’t come back. You must’ve looked really miserable cause Angel just hugged you really tight and ordered you to bed. When in reality all of your efforts were now focused on masking your humiliating arousal. So you find yourself lying in your bed, trying not to think anything Radio Demon related. You’re totally not thinking about the way he looked at you while he fucked you. The way his eyes would search yours in a crowded room, winking playfully at you. An inside joke. A promise.The way you both playfully banter at the dinner table over silly things. You are also totally not thinking about how he takes you, how you love to hear him saying “good girl” to you after you push your limits again, only for him. Not thinking at all about how his cock fills you so perfectly, you truly feel empty without it. Who’s thinking about what hides behind his eyes when he his voice goes all soft in the middle of a rough fucking? Ha ha!! Definitely not you. 

You punch yourself with your pillow. 

C’mon don’t think thoughts of Alastor now…

You are so fucked, and not in a sexy way. The worst part is that you want to endure it, you want to be good for him. Your pussy is aching to be touched, your mind begging you to have thoughts of Alastor while your pussy is being touched. But right now you would give everything in this world to hear him praise you again. You know how hard his rut is on him… He already carries a lot alone, the Hotel, the doomsday clock of extermination ticking closer and closer everyday. Plus the other things… You know there’s something more, something that haunts his nights, but it’s not your place to ask. Hell, you are too scared to ask. You just hope, you just pray that when it happens you are beside him. You don’t ever expect the Radio Demon to ever ask for help, or open up. Or seek comfort. Oh, he’s anything but comfortable. But you like to think that in time, he would feel comfortable enough around you he could let something slip, a tiny detail to add to your “The Mystery of the Radio Demon” clue board. Something that would let you show him he doesn’t need to pick himself apart, carry all these burdens alone.

Great, you are doing amazing at the “not thinking any Alastor thoughts” game. 

You hug your pillow closer and look across you window as you start saying out loud a list of things you need to do around the Hotel. Maybe this will take your mind off the devil.

Tend to the Venus Fly traps of the gardens. (You could ask Nifty for the bugs)

Write the thank you letters to the new guests that agreed to help with hotel chores.

Tell charlie about your book club idea using cool flashcards 

It’s your turn to organize “Theme nights”, maybe Alastor would enjoy a “great gatsby” theme, right?

Great, Alastor again. You sighed. 

Suddenly a red note written with perfect penmanship flies next to your spot on the bed.

“My darling doe, I’m waiting for you in my chambers.

Don’t take your time, we have much to discuss.-

Yours, Alastor.

You take your time, though, to thank anyone who’s listening as you sprint towards Alastor’s lavish room. You feel dizzy, anticipation like butterflies in your stomach. You don’t have to knock more than once for him to let you in. 

He’s on the edge of the bed, looking like his normal self (as normal as it gets for Alastor)

The taps the spot next to him on the the bed

“Come here, you darling thing!”

you don’t waste a second, and as quickly as you are sitting on his bed, you are sitting on lap. Holding you close, in a vice like grip with one of his arms, Alastor starts talking 

“How was the rest of your day, my dear?” you open your mouth to start talking, you have so much to say to him. That you were a good girl, that you were ready to do anything to make up for laughing at Angel’s stupid idea of seducing Vox. You are ready to beg for your release. to ask how his day was. But you don’t get to utter a word. 

Alastor quickly and swiftly maneuvers you: now your feet are dangling from the bed, your ass and  legs sprawled out across his lap. A powerful arm locking you to him by the small of your back.

Holy fuck.

“Well my day was downright awful! You see I overheard my pretty pet laughing at the prospect of seducing one of my most infuriating enemies. I’m in the peak of my unforgiving rut ,and all I wanted was the shared pleasure of our bodies as I fuck the darling thing senseless!” he pinches the back of your thigh, hard. You blur out a soft, desperate sigh. 

“Of course, the good girl she is, she went begging for my forgiveness. I didn’t fully give it, of course. That was a harsh offense, what my little doe did. But I did have my fill with her” You try to spea-

Alastor audibly shushes you.

“I did leave her all hot and bothered after spilling my cum all over her maddening little body, of course. I contenplated murdering the bastard demon so he wouldn’t get a chance of even knowing about her existence and what she does to me. But I still suffered with the hellish need of fucking her into oblivion, and pondered a lot about divine justice. So, if I had to suffer this entire day because of her offenses I think it’s only right for that darling doe to get her fill of suffering and punishment hmmmm?

 You try to look back to his face, but you feel the familiar sensation of magic wrapping around your throat. The leash, you are so so fucked. You couldn’t be happier about it.

He tugs at the chain, so your skirt rides up and your ass is totally bare for him and your head is buried in one of his fluffy pillows. With a snap of his fingers your panties disintegrate.

You shiver at the thought of what’s happening next, a delicious sensation that flows across your back and ends up inside your cunt, beginning to turn into a wet mess. He’s gonna spank you like the bad girl you were. He’s not going to be gentle about it either. You can’t wait. It’s gonna hurt, it’s gonna sting, it will leave you bruised. It will be deliciously wicked, like all of Alastor’s punishments. 

You feel another surge of magic, behind the powerful green glow something materializes.

Your horsegirl days back on earth don’t let you down. You recognise it instantly. On his previous free hand he’s holding a riding crop. A big, leather pointed riding crop. 

He’s going to literally whip you into submission. You squirm inside his arm. You can’t fucking wait. You’ve made yourself come a few times after the thought of being literally tamed, broke by alastor. 

You whimper. Alastor’s laugh fills the room.

“So this is how this is going to go, pet. I’m going to whip you lovely ass like the ungrateful slut you are and you are going to thank me for it after every crack of the whip. I’m gonna do this as many times as I see fit. Until your ass is as red as my hair. Until you understand what you did. By the time I’m done you will be begging to be punished more. Are we clear?

You can’t look back at him, but you can feel how his red irises make your skin burn. You like to imagine that his eyes did the thing where they soften for a heartbeat, if you blink you miss it. Waiting for your permission, even now. You are able to muffle a “yes, oh please Alastor, yes”. 

“Lovely.” 

crack.

He didn’t even gave you time to process. The whip lands hard on the back of your left thigh. You let out a scream.

“Well?” he asks impatiently as he waits for your “thank you”. Seeing the way the spot where the whip landed turn a lovely shade of scarlet isn’t helping him hold his resolve either.

You wanna do this right, you need this as much as he needs it.

“thank-”

crack. the whip lands on your right thigh, a little lower.

“tha-” 

crack.crack.

 He whips you even harder, cutting the wind as it lands twice on your left buttcheek. Only four cracks down and you are a whimpering mess. You wiggle instinctively on his lap, seeking some friction, some relief. It hurts so bad, but it feels so good. You don’t know if you can take more. You want it anyway. “thank you, thank you” you whimper. Tears wet your face, arousal wets your core adding to the mess from before he even started.

crack. crack.

 He mirrors his movements to your right buttcheek. “thank yo- Holy fuck Alastor”

one more hit, now hitting both of your buttcheks. 

“I’ve told you many times before pet, there’s nothing holy about what I do to you. I’m gonna break you and then breed you. I won’t give you a moment of respite. And maybe by the end, when your legs are shaking from holding that orgasm you have been desperately chasing since this afternoon, I will be merciful and let you find your release. And we will know who’s really losing control here”

How can he do this to you with only his voice? You are not sure you’ve ever been so aroused in your entire life. You’re so wet, you’re staining Alastor’s pants. As close as you will get to marking him.

There’s a draft coming from the forest of his room, it softly kisses your abused skin, making it sting. You want to see the state of your lower body so badly. The way you’re submitting to him right now, the most sweet form degradation possible. Your eyes are clouded with tears, that line between pain and pleasure being blurred in ways only someone like the Radio Demon could cross. He tugs on your leash, to attract your attention from the sinful, unholy sensations you are feeling so openly, back to him.

Alastor drags the leather point of the whip across your throbbing cunt, collecting the obscene amount of wetness there. “By the 7 rings of hell, what do you have here? Are you such a slut that you are creaming at being whipped into compliance? I could do this all night long. Your ass is already red with regret for your actions but I’m not sure you learned your lesson yet.”

crack. The whip this time lands on your juicy cunt. Your hips trash with the sensation, your demon lover’s name escaping your lips like a prayer.You forget to thank him this time, despite your best efforts. 

“Are you so big of an ungrateful brat that you want this sinful punishment to continue? Not even bothering to thank me, in hopes it will end sooner. You know what you are. Nothing but a hungry greedy whore for the Radio Demon” 

crack, crack. One hit on each cheek. “But I already knew that” and with that mocking tone Alastor lands a  masterful final hit on both of your cheeks. He does have a way of proving his point.

You are fucking sobbing now. Tears coat your cheeks, now a colour so vibrant as the rich scarlet the covers your ass. Alastor knows everything that makes you tick. He knows how close you are to cumming. Cumming for only his masterfully inflicted punishment and his voice. Incoherent whimpers leave your lips “please please please” and soft “ohh and aaah, alastor”

He tugs on your leash again, he knows your body like the palm of his hand, and that you are probably entering the mind numbing phase of the pain and the pleasure. But he still wants your undivided attention. He has whipped you into submission, he still needs to fuck you into submission. 

“And you even made the mess of yourself stain my pants! My god, you are pathetic. Delightfully pathetic” 

Alastor gently runs his clawed hands across your ass, the sharp edges making you hiss. He looks in adoration at the masterpiece he inflicted on you. Your ass and thighs a shade of scarlet to rival his hair, the wetness between your thighs a heavenly invitation. Beautiful. Sinful.  Sacred. He will never forget this, and he will make sure that you never forget it too.

“Now, now, we are done with this my little doe” his voice goes extra soft because you can’t see him with your face buried in a soft pillow. “you were so good for me, you always are” 

The softness and sweetness of his praise makes you sob even harder. It’s maddening. 

He gently maneuvers you further into the bed, making space for himself. 

“But now I’m painfully hard, and I still need to bury myself inside that tight throbbing cunt of yours, so deep it will mark. your. soul.” static picks up around you, a delicious omen of what is about to happen. 

Alastor positions himself behind you, immediately entering you and bottoming out. 

His first thrusts are sharp and deep, as to make his promise of marking yourself from the inside real. He pulls your chains so your scarlet ass is presenting itself to him like the most sinful gift. 

Alastor picks up that breakneck pace of fucking, common to him, specially during his rut. He fucks you like he hates you. As hard as he possibly can, to make you know that you are his and his only. That even thinking of someone else, even as a joke, will not be tolerated. You wanted all of him didn’t you? You’ve made that clear, with words, with actions, with the things your body endures for him. So he makes sure to give you that. 

Moans drip from your lips in a crescendo, you are screaming now, you don’t know how long you will last. It feels so good. That delayed gratification drowning you in maddening pleasure. 

“Who do you think is losing control here?” he asks after a painfully sharp thrust. “Me, or the mess of a slut underneath me? That is screaming my name loud enough for the entire pride ring to know how she loves being fucked like a common whore for the Radio Demon,hmm?” 

One hand pulls your leash upwards, the other your hips. He’s even deeper now, you can feel him in your core.

You don’t reply to the question even though you want to, even though you know the answer. 

“Again, since you like being bred like that so much you are not hearing me” he takes all of his cock out and enters you at once. “Who’s losing control here? Me, or my little plaything with the scarlet ass from being whipped into compliance like the pretty little brat she is?” 

You don’t forget to answer him now, you need to cum, desperately. You withheld your building orgasm  for an entire day, you wanted to be good for Alastor. You wanted to be able to take everything he gives you. The pleasure, the pain, the sinful, delicious depraved torture. “Me, I am!” you scream out. 

Alastor’s pace is becoming erratic, you feel the shadows of his growing antlers cover you.

“Again” he tugs at your collars. Another sharp, deep thrust. 

“Me, i’m losing control” 

“And what are you?” his voice is filled with static now, he’s close too.

“Yours! I’m yours Alastor, yours to fuck, to break, to punish” you cry out in sweet pain and pleasure. 

Another tug, Another painfully sharp thrust 

“I’m only yours Alastor” you finish. 

“Good. girl.” he spaces the words out between thrusts, knowing how you relish in them. 

“You can come now” 

Your orgasm comes crashing down. You grip the sheets like a maniac, your legs shaking so hard Alastor needs to hold them in place. You scream so loud you are sure they can hear you in heaven. You hope they can, so they know. So they know this man owns you. So they know you love him. 

Alastor is not far behind, your cunt tightening around him like a vice. He fucks you specially hard and deep know, delayed gratification hitting all at once. He cums so hard inside you, he’s sure he finally marked your soul. The feeling of his cock twitching and spilling inside you, adding to the indescriptible sensation. You are completely over the edge now, you feel weightless, free falling. 

You know Alastor will catch you.

“Ah! There she is” you open your eyes and feel a soft kiss on your cheek. You are lying on top of Alastor’s chest, he cuddles you gently, making lazy circles on your hipbone but still buried to the hilt inside you. He still plans to give you all of his cum, all he has during his rut,after all. 

“woah, that was… amazing” you say after a while.

“Well, I did whip and fuck you to the brink of insanity my dear. And you came so beautifully for me, you passed out. You’re such a sight pet. I will never forget it.” you blush at his words. You feel so happy. 

Alastor kisses your cheek again, and with a final thrust he leaves you with a obscenely wet noise. You are dripping with his cum, it’s running down your thighs, staining the sheets. 

You whimper in complaint. 

“Ah ,don’t be like that” he laughs, is a genuinely happy laugh. “There’s still plenty of where that came from, but I need my darling doe to rest first” he says. He’s lying you gently on the bed as he gets up. “Don’t leave” you whisper. 

He’s out of the bed anyways, and seems to be on his way to do something. You don’t care, you want him back here, holding you. You don't want him to ever let you go.

“Al, i’m truly sorry about today. You know that, right?” You know that I love you, right?  You want to say, but you are scared that confession is a little much for today. You see where he’s headed now. He opens the bathroom door.

“Don’t even think about it, my dear. It’s all water under the bridge” he says in his usual chirpy tone, louder than the noise of the bath running. “Now you just need to promise me that you will never even let the thought of that pathetic demon cross your mind, my love”

my love.

“And if he ever does, you will let me know. So I can fuck those wretched ideas out of your mind” Alastor is walking back to the bed now. He picks you up bridal style and carries you across the room. You can’t help the hiss that escape your lips as your irritated skin touches him. “I know, I know my dear. We will fix that right up. I can’t have my favourite doe hurting. We still have a long way to go until the end of my rut, dearest” you don’t reply, you are just happy. perfectly happy. You could hear Alastor’s voice for days without complaining. “But you did look so perfect with that scarlet ass on my lap. Crying from how much you love what I do to you. I hope you never forget that” 

You both reach the bathtub, he drops you with all the care in the world inside the water.

“I’m so proud of you. I truly am” the water is warm. The soap smells so nice. He lit candles too. You give in to the soothing sensations. You might have tuned out for a bit, cause you hear alastor calling your name so softly… He says it again, slow, soft, gentle, pleading. As to catch your attention, he has something important to say. “You know how precious you are to me, don’t you my little doe?” “yes” you respond, trying to fight the tears that begin to spill down your face ‘

“Oh my darling girl, why are you crying? There’s nothing to cry about. You are here, safe with me. As you will always be, as is your place.”

“Alastor I-I-” your heart swells, you want to say something. You want to say everything you are feeling. How consuming, in the best way possible, your feelings are for him.

But Alastor is always 10 steps ahead. 

“I know, I know darling” he kisses your hand “I feel it too.” he says. It feels like a confession, it sounds like a confession. The look on his eyes is the one of that mystery that hides there every time his voice in the midst of your passion. 

When you,know you know. your mind reiterates. 

“Let me help you dry those tears. Save them for another day” He holds your face and kiss your lips. “The only thing you need to worry about right now is resting and recovering that luscious body of yours, as well as your brilliant, witty mind”

He hands you a sparkly fancy pink soap, and gets up to find the softest sponge he has stored. 

“Now, I hope you like the smell of these candles, cause I’m not letting you out of my sight for at least the next four days!” 

Alastor continues to chat away sweet nothings as he helps you bathe. Maybe it will take a while for the Radio Demon to say those 4 words out loud. He has enough reason for that, inside that beautiful, complicated mind of his. His actions always speak louder than words, your relationship was proof of that. 

Until then, you will always have sacred moments in crowded rooms, you will always have jokes that only the both of you understand. He will always keep sweeping you off your feet in the most deliciously wicked ways possible. 

Right now, you have him by your side after everything that happened, you have his heart too. You are sure of that. So you don’t mind waiting for him.

Good things come for those who wait.

[an-ambivalent]

Reunited [Yandere! Miguel O’Hara]

Synopsis: Two souls who have once lost one another, find themselves reunited. It reignites the passion, the love, and the lust. For a moment, the longing and despair disappears and everything becomes okay again. You feel okay again. But like the stars that become supernova, the passion, the lust, and the facade of  love burns up. You realise all too late that your new Miguel is nothing like your old one. 

Warnings: As this is yandere fiction, this deals with behaviours  that can be uncomfortable and triggering to read. Read at your own risk. This work is purely fictional, I do not condone this behaviour irl. By clicking the ‘read more/keep reading’ you are consenting to read this at your discretion.

PSA: idk much about the multiverse or marvel  other than whatever is shown in ATSV. So if “interdimensional” stuff isn’t accurate, well, idrc.  Also, not really proof read. We die like men -  Happy reading!

It was a momentary glimpse through the an interdimensional portal when each person saw the other again. Like a typical day, you had saved your city from whatever disaster was happening once more. In the beginning, your heart was embedded in the work you did as a superhero; the thrill of chases and extraordinary powers were exhilarating, and the praise and feelings of accomplishing good things of saving people inspired you to keep doing what you were. But out of all the people you saved, there was one couldn’t - your fiancé, Miguel O'Hara. 

The agony of losing your closest person had been unbearable. The absence of his presence, reminiscing in your memories with him in everything: your shared home, his clothes, the lack of affection you now found yourself with - everything, it all continued to tighten that knot in your chest. And no matter how much time passed, you weren’t healing. You could not accept the reality. The grief felt like it was continuously swallowing you whole until there was going to be nothing left, until you were going to be nothing but a shell of your former self. And just before you were about to lose all hope, there was a small disturbance in the fabric of space near you, until it had morphed into an portal that showed you another place. There you saw him: your Miguel, who looked just as dead in the eyes, and a hollow shell like you, like he had gone through the same grief you had. 

But life is cruel because just before either of you could call out to the other, the portal had closed in an instant. You had been ripped away from his grasp for the second time, and Miguel was not going to have that. 

It wasn’t difficult for him to track you down. After all, he had access to the multiverses. He had already checked multiple versions of Earth where you had never existed in the first place. In the others that you had, you met the same tragic fate that his own [Name] had. So to find an you, who was perfectly safe and alive, and definitely an anomaly, he was going to have you. For the sake of multiverse, the best decision was to take you from your dimension, and keep you beside him, isolated from the world, so you were safe and he could maintain monitoring of your influence on the multiverse. 

Much to his pleasure, Miguel did not even have to try to get you to fall for him. You had lost a version of him, and were yearning and desperate for him just like how he was yearning and desperate for you. Immediately, both of you felt like you were restarting your relationship where it had been left off: the deep kisses and clutching onto each other until your nails dug in each other’s skin; gentle whispers of ‘I missed you’ and ‘I love you so much’ hushed over and over again in between the lip locking when oxygen was desperately needed and clothes would start to come off. 

But eventually, the reunion perceived through the rose tinted glasses came off and you finally noticed how you were never able to leave the place Miguel and you lived in. You hadn’t met anyone else, you only ever saw Miguel. You rationalised to yourself that he was just being protective and cautious of your safety because he had lost you; you may have been the same way if you hadn’t known that the current Miguel had his own powers and was capable of looking after himself. So, you just had to let him know that you also had powers and could look after yourself. Surely then, you would have your freedom? 

It was during the dark hours when you were once again engaged in intimacy with Miguel. Your room was dimply lit and you were both half bare. You withered on the cool bedsheets beneath you as Miguel gently nipped and sucked on that  perfect spot between the back of your ear and neck, toes curling, fingers pulling on his messed up hair, and breathy and sensual gasps leaving your lips. 

“Can we, ah, p-please talk?” You whispered, while you shifted one hand to naked chest, and half heartedly tried to push him to create some distance. 

“There’s nothing to say right now, mi amor. There’s only our love right now,” He responded easily, and went to kiss you on your lips. But, you moved your head away, and this time, pushed him away firmly to create the distance you wanted. You prepped yourself mentally to bring up your concerns, and in doing so, failed to noticed the frown that Miguel now wore due to your rejection. 

“I just want to reassure you that nothing is going to happen to me, just like I know you’ll be safe too because you’re Spiderman.” You said softly, and affectionately swept his hair back with your fingers. Miguel grabbed and kissed the palm of your other hand, while raising an eyebrow. 

“I know nothing is going to happen to you, not again. I’m going to keep you safe. If anyone tries to hurt you, I will kill them.” He stated plainly. Then, he leaned down to kiss you once more, but you moved your head again so he kissed your cheek instead. 

His words had made your stomach churn, but nonetheless, you tried to remain optimistic. You smiled at him weakly. “No I meant that unlike my first Miguel, you have powers, so I know you are capable and strong. And unlike your original [Name], I have powers so you don’t need to worry-” 

“I am not going to worry. It doesn’t matter that you powers, you’re not going to go anywhere else. You will remain here, where I know where you are all the time.” He said, and your eyes widened in surprise. Just when he was about to try to kiss you for the third time, feeling like he was near the end of his wits, you started to use your strength to pull away. 

“What do you mean I’m going to remain here?! You’re not the boss of me! Let me go!” You shrieked. 

Miguel growled in displeasure. “Stop your idiocy before I make you regret it.” He hissed, and his claws dug into your skin, and drew blood as a warning. Although it hurt, it wasn’t painful as his words were. He had threatened you. The Miguel you knew would have never threatened you. 

“Make me regret it?! Who the hell do you think you are?! You’re not my Miguel.” You responded indignantly. As you tried to pull away once again, Miguel didn’t let you. Instead, his grip tightened to the point where you finally cried out in pain. 

The sclera of his eyes was starting to red and he leaned down just inches away from your face, baring his fangs threateningly at you. 

“I was never your Miguel and you were never my [Name]. But we’re all that’s left of each other, and I’d damn the whole world before I lose you again. I’ll show you exactly the Miguel I am. And I’ll continue to show you who I am, until you finally understand that you now belong to me.” 

[lexyleblancc]

Something nicer {Sihtric}

Summary: Sihtric takes care of his family during the night of a storm. 

Dad!Sihtric x Fem!Reader

Warnings: nothing, unless you fear children and a simp of a man :)

Word count: 699 haha nice

Disclaimer: Not proof read, we die like men here. Also have decided to make this a little series of the TLK men being dads because it warms my heart

There had been rumors of a storm hitting, and Sihtric couldn’t be more happy that he had made it home before it hit. The nights had been getting colder, almost unbearably cold. Furs were piled high on all the beds at night, roaring fires hit in hearths to keep the chill at bay. You were curled into Sihtric’s side, your nose cold and red from being the only part of you visible under the mountain of furs you curled under. The man sucked in a breath as your cold nose made contact with his neck, making him shiver. The door to the bedroom creaked open, making the restless man look up, seeing the small figure of your youngest child standing there, holding a small stuffed bear tightly in her arms. 

“Da, it’s so cold.” The little girl cried quietly. Sihtric sighed, sitting up and letting the furs pool around his waist, the cold air hitting his skin. 

“It is.” Sihtric agreed, motioning for his youngest to climb onto the bed. “Lay with your mom, keep her nice and warm and I’ll go get the fires going again, okay?” He cooed softly, tugging the furs over the young girl and kissing her forehead. In your sleep you reached out for your daughter, pulling her closer to you and letting out a soft hum. Both Sihtric and your daughter let out small laughs, before the man stood from the bed and found the closest tunic he could reach. 

The wooden floors were half frozen, sending shocks through him as he quickly rushed to the living room to stoke the fire before heading down the hallway to the children’s room to stoke that one as well. Sihtric almost cursed the day you insisted on giving your children the larger room with a fireplace in it, but they would always come first. He just prayed to the Gods you would be able to move houses soon, somewhere that was much larger and had a fireplace in every room to keep the family warm. 

Your two oldest children were curled together in one bed, shivering under the furs while the man worked quickly to warm them. The middle child, your only son, had abandoned his bed at some point in the night to help keep his older sister warm during the night. Once the fire was roaring once more, Sihtric grabbed some of the extra furs from a chest beside the door and covered the children, kissing both their foreheads before leaving the room quietly. 

When he was finally back in his and (Y/N)’s room, he smiled fondly seeing his wife and youngest child sleeping soundly in each other's arms. He slowly slid back under the covers, reaching over your daughter who laid contently between you two, and pulled the both of you closer to his shivering form. 

“Where did you go?” You asked, your voice laced with sleep as your eyes opened slowly to look at your husband. 

“Just fed the fires.” He told you softly, pushing some of your hair away from your face as he smiled widely. “Gave the children some extra furs to keep them warm until morning.” 

“We need more fireplaces to keep this place warm.” You joked quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. The walls would tend to let in drafts during the colder months, taking all the heat away when the family so desperately needed it. 

“Or a nicer home.” Sihtric mumbled, his eyes growing heavy with the sleep that so desperately called for him. “I will talk to Uhtred in the morning, see if there is something we can do about the cursed cracks in the walls until then.” He promised, placing a tender kiss on your lips before leaning down and kissing your daughter's head. “Just rest darling, the warmth will flow through the house soon.” 

“I’m not the one shivering.” You hummed, placing a warm hand on your husband's arm. He smiled softly, holding you and your daughter tightly as the both of you fell asleep once more. 

He would always wake up at night, to stoke the fires that warmed your family, just until he could provide something nicer. 

[outermaybanks]

just a kiss - part ii - jj x bi!reader x kie aka 3 times you were oblivious and the one time you knew exactly what you wanted - part two to this

a/n: wrote this entire thing while high, no proof reading we die like men, definitely projecting... also i know nothing abt surfing so if it sounds crazy just pretend it doesn't. there's gonna be at least one more part to this. next part

July 5th - the third time.

When you woke up, Kie’s face was nuzzled into your shoulder, and even in your dazy state, the sight made your heart race. You felt a rush of guilt come over you, so you got out of the bed quickly, running to the bathroom to brush your teeth and splash your face with water. But nothing helped, even while splashing cold water on your face, you couldn’t get the image of your kiss with Kie, or your kiss with JJ out of your mind. 

When you met JJ, when he first started working for your dad, you knew he had a girlfriend, so you didn’t let yourself feel attraction towards him. Obviously, when you got to meet Kie for yourself, you did so already knowing she was dating JJ, so again, you didn’t let yourself feel attraction towards her. Now this felt almost like a sick joke. Were they making fun of you? Were they trying to use you for a threesome?

No, you quickly decided. These were your friends. You couldn’t let your anxiety ruin this for you, and until they did something that showed they had ill intentions, you decided to take them at their word, it was just a kiss, right?

When you returned to the living room, Kie was groggily stretching, JJ still fast asleep beside her. “Mmmm good morning, y/n. How’d you sleep?” she asked softly, but her voice was gravelly from her slumber. “Pretty good considering JJ seems to be a bed hogger,” you tease, gesturing to the unconscious blonde beside her. A small giggle fell from her before she got out of the bed. “Oh yeah, big time. Beds, blankets, boy has no concept of personal space… Wanna make breakfast with me?” She offered, making eye contact with you as she walked past to go to the kitchen. You couldn’t help your eyes flickering to look at her ass as you followed behind you, but you quickly looked away.

“I’m thinking… french toast… maybe some eggs,” Kie said as ran a hand through her hair. “Wow, JJ’s a lucky guy,” you reply with a small chuckle, she smiles at you before going into the fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs. 

“Thank god John B has chickens, he always has eggs. Can you make sure there’s bread?” Kie asked, and you were quick on your feet.

“Got the bread,” you reply, bringing it over to her as she set a pan on the stove. She gave you a smile as she took it, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was being flirtatious. 

“You ever do this before?” Kie’s voice was soft, but not quiet; gentle. “You kidding me? My dad can’t cook to save his life,” you answer, your tone is light hearted, but Kie gives you a worried look. “And…. your mom?” “Out of the picture. She’s got a new family in Chicago, and I… get to have pizza 3 nights a week,” you joke, and this time Kie smiles. “Can you crack some eggs into this bowl?” Kie asked, handing you a bowl. “That I can manage.”

After you crack a couple eggs in the bowl, you watch Kie pour some milk, then some cinnamon, and lastly she reaches for a small brown bottle. “Vanilla,” Kie explains, dropping some into the bowl. Kie hands you a fork, asking you to stir it up. “Here, watch me,” Kie says as she drops some butter in the pan, moving it around. She took a piece of bread, dipped both sides into the bowl, then dropped it into the pan. “See? Not that hard. Now you’ll know how to make french toast,” her tone isn’t judgemental, she genuinely seemed to want to help you, this took you by surprise.

You don’t respond, you just watch her flip the piece of bread in the pan until it’s golden brown, then put it on a plate. “Here, you do the next one,” Kie said as she moved out of the way. You hesitantly took her spot, and mimicked her actions dipping the bread in the bowl of egg, cinnamon, milk and vanilla. “You’re gonna want to flip it so it cooks evenly,” she said softly, before her hand covered yours with the spatula, guiding you. The whole thing felt… intimate. 

With Kie’s help, you guys made almost the whole loaf of bread into french toast. “Now, what about eggs?” Kie asked. “I like ‘em scrambled.” “Perfect, that’s my specialty,” Kie joked, rinsing the bowl clean before cracking a few more eggs into it, adding milk, salt and pepper.

While you watched her cook scrambled eggs, you heard a loud groan as JJ walked into the kitchen, still shirtless; you felt your face begin to heat up. “‘Morning,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to Kie, placing a kiss on her cheek. “French toast?” “Mmhm, taught y/n how to make ‘em,” Kie boasted, stirring the eggs. JJ turned to look at you, a sleepy smile on his face, and you felt your heart race. What was happening to you?

“You excited to catch some waves?” JJ asked, sauntering over to you. “Oh totally, so excited to faceplant,” you answer, making JJ laugh. “Man, I still can’t believe you never learned to surf.” “But who between us can replace a clutch, Maybank?” “Ouch, straight to my heart, y/n/n,” he clutches his chest over his heart, and you let out a giggle. “What’s for breakfast?” Both you and JJ turn to see Pope walking into the kitchen, wiping his eyes.

After Sarah and John B woke up, and you all ate breakfast, you loaded into the Twinkie, Sarah sitting in the passenger seat while John B drove, the four of you sitting in the back. When you got to the beach, John B and Kie wasted no time diving straight in, meanwhile you were staring hesitantly at the water. “You ready?” You turned to see JJ walked over with his old surfboard. “Already waxed her for ya.” You smile, despite the fear of what you were about to do. “Okay, so first, I want you to practice standing up on the board in the sand.” You furrow your eyebrows, “Thought you were gonna join them and I was gonna wing it?” “What? No way, I’m not leaving you to fend for yourself, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be a pro.”

You could feel heat rising to your cheeks, and his kindness made you smile. JJ showed you how to go from laying down to standing up, and once you aced the movement, he took you out in the water a little bit. “Gravity’s a bit different, so same thing, just get used to the feeling,” JJ said from beside you. The water barely reached his chest, so if you fell off your board, at least it was shallow. You pushed yourself up like he showed you, but your arms wobbled a bit, JJ quickly steadied you. “Thanks,” you pant, out of breath from trying your hardest not to fall over. He gave you a nod and a smile, backing up a bit. You slowly shifted your weight to your feet, and put your arms up as you steadily tried to stand. Despite still being a bit wobbly, JJ clapped for you. “See? What did I tell you? Now we just gotta find some baby waves.” You got back down to lay on your board. “Wait here… seriously-” JJ said sternly before heading back towards shore to get his own board. He paddled out to get beside you, then sat up a bit, so you mimicked his actions.

“You’re doing a really good job for your first time,” JJ praised. “All thanks to you… Sorry you had to miss out on all the fun,” you said softly, looking over your shoulder just as Pope came up on a wave. 

“What are ya talkin’ about? As far as I’m concerned, they’re the ones missing out, all the fun’s happening right here,” JJ insisted, moving his hands between the two of you, making you chuckle. The smile on his face brought back the heat in your cheeks, so you did the only thing you could think of and splashed him, which resulting in you two going to full on war. 

After both you and JJ were properly soaked, and the laughter finally died down, you found yourself wanting more and more. JJ took you over to a spot where smaller waves were forming, and you practiced standing and moving with the wave, but you kept falling, crashing into the water. JJ never let you feel embarrassed, immediately praising what you had done right, and encouraging you to try again until finally, you rode the tiniest of waves, JJ acted like you won the super bowl.

“Yes! That’s what I’m talking ‘bout, baby, yeah! Woo!” JJ cheered. You got back down on your knees and paddled back over to him. “I did it! Oh my god, I can’t believe I actually did that!” “Told you! Next time we come out here, you’ll be shredding with me and Kie.”

Your smile fell as a wave of guilt washed over you. You had been having feelings for Kie’s boyfriend, and worse, you also were having feelings for JJ’s girlfriend.

“Yeah, yeah, it’ll be awesome,” you tried to save. “You were right, JJ, that actually was fun.” “You were right, too, by the way,” JJ said suddenly, making your eyebrows furrow. “Right about what, Maybank?” You asked. JJ smiled, almostly shyly, looking down at his board between his legs. “You’re a good kisser.”

July 9th - the fourth time.

You were working in your dad’s shop, JJ had called off, and you helped your dad by doing JJ’s work. “It’s just not like him…” Your dad said, checking the oil dipstick, wiping it clean with a cloth. “JJ’s never called out before.” “Which is exactly why you can't punish him. Shit happens, dad,” you defended despite knowing JJ was fine.

Your dad gave you a knowing look. “Sweetheart, I’m glad you and JJ are friends. He’s a good kid, y’know. And I appreciate you helping me all day. After this car you can head off early, I’m gonna close up early.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, maybe you could go check on JJ.” “Daaaad,” you whined, you knew what he was hinting at. Your dad had always had a dream of you marrying a fellow car lover.

Your phone dinged from your pocket, so you quickly wiped your hands on a rag, dirty from refilling the coolant, before grabbing your phone from your pocket.

Kie ♡: miss you xx

You smile to yourself. “Oh, now what do we have here?” Your dad teased. “Stop it, it’s Kie, JJ’s girlfriend. Who I like very much for the record. As a friend,” you quickly added.

Your dad shook his head as you turned to lean against the car. You: miss u too <3

Kie texted back almost immediately. Kie ♡: when can i see you again?

You couldn’t bite back your ever growing smile, but then another ding.

Kie ♡: if i’m being honest i havent been able to stop thinking abt our kiss Kie ♡: have you?

You felt your heart race as your eyes scanned the words over and over again. You quickly glanced to your father, busy changing an air filter. That was the last thing

You: i can’t stop thinking abt that day period Kie ♡: i’m talking to jayj rn Kie ♡: we’re at the chateau Kie ♡: could you come over? Kie ♡: no pressure xx

It took you five minutes to type out your response, despite you having made your mind up the second she asked.

You: i’m omw

The walk to the chateau was a determined one. It had only been five days since you kissed both Kie and JJ, and like Kie, the memory was plaguing your mind. You got there in 10 minutes.

When you walked through the back door into the mudroom, JJ stood up from the couch where he had been seated. Kie was sitting in the armchair on the other side.

“Hey,” JJ said first. “Hi…”

JJ cleared his throat and sat back down. You suddenly felt awkward, and foolish. You had come here with no plan, no idea of what you wanted to gain from this. “Should… Should I go, or-” JJ asked. “I’ll say it…” Kie volunteered, scooting to sit on the edge of her seat. You hesitantly walked over to sit on the chair near the door, facing them.

“For a while, like before I even met you, I had been having these… feelings. Romantic urges for women. But-But I was already with JJ, so I just tried to ignore it. Then JJ met you, and we all became friends, and I thought you were… so beautiful and funny and kind. You can ask JJ, I told him like a week after we met,” Kie rambled. “It’s true,” JJ interjected, your head moving like you were watching a tennis match. “And when you told us you liked women and men… I got this…idea,” Kie continued.You quickly put the dots together and you let out a sigh of disappointment. Your worst fear was coming true.

“Seriously? You guys want me to be your unicorn?” “What? What’s a unicorn?” Kie asked. “It’s like when a straight guy and a bisexual girl are dating and have another bisexual girl around for hooking up with,” JJ explained, which honestly impressed you. “No, no, y/n, it’s not like that at all… I… I really like you. I wanted to talk about the possibility of you dating us- well- all of us, dating together,” Kie corrected, and it took you by surprise. You turned to look at JJ, but he was fidgeting with his hat, taking it off to run a hand through his hair before turning it to be backwards.

“I- I’m sorry, so just to clarify, you want me to be your guys’ what? Side piece?”  “No, I want you to be our girlfriend, mine and JJ’s, and I’d be your girlfriend and JJ would be your boyfriend.” “A throuple,” JJ spoke up, causing you to look at him again, this time he returned your gaze, wetting his bottom lip as you two held eye contact. “But-But we’d take it slow, I guess what I’m asking is if you would go on a date with us. See how it feels, and if we all like it, we keep going on dates.”

You had been approached many times by couples, mostly your friends’ boyfriends, for one night stands or casual hook ups, but never had someone suggested dating. You didn’t know what to think. A part of you felt like it was too good to be true, like you were falling into a trap that ended in you being humiliated and heartbroken, but you also felt like it was some sort of proof, proof that everything you had been feeling for both of them was not only real, it was mutual.

“You don’t have to give us an answer right now,” JJ added.

“Yeah, right, no pressure, and if you don’t want to, that’s totally cool too, we get i-” “Okay,” you interrupted her. “Let’s do it.”

Kie’s eyes widened before a smile broke out on her lips, “Really?”

Your mouth opened, but you bit your lips as you internally debated whether or not to be honest. Your eyes moved from Kie’s, wide and excited, to JJ’s, focused and hopeful. You let out a chuckle, “I felt like I was going crazy… feeling things for both of you…” you confess, running a hand through your hair. Kie looked over to JJ before getting up to kneel in front of you, putting her hand on your knee. “You’re not crazy… I thought I was going crazy when I started having these feelings, and JJ-” Kie’s head turned to look at the blonde, now standing. “I mean, he liked you first.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked from her to him, the tips of his ears turning pink as he looked away.

“So… you guys want to take me on a date?” you ask sheepishly. “How’s… tomorrow night sound?” Kie asked, a shy smile creeping onto her lips.

You looked over to JJ, he was leaning against the wall, his head down but his eyes up and on you. “Tomorrow night it is,” you answer.

©ᵒᵘᵗᵉʳᵐᵃʸᵇᵃⁿᵏˢ ²⁰²⁴

[avelera]

A few random thoughts about the comic issue of "Men of Good Fortune" in The Sandman and how they pertain to Dreamling as a ship based on the show.

I get the sense when reading MoGF that it's a... shall we say, "young" story? It's the sort of story that has its seeds in your high school creative writing class. You're learning about English history and you're also writing short stories and you think, "Wouldn't it be cool if two guys met every 100 years to talk about these events I'm learning about and it's the same guys because they're immortal?"

I say this in part because I wrote a similar story in high school without having read MoGF, but also because it's a very simple story with no actual plot arc, nothing actually changes by the end in the original comic. The addition of Dream "missing" the meeting adds a lot of weight and consequence that isn't there in the comic. The closest it gets is, "Dream says he's not going to come to the next 1989 meeting but then a bunch of stuff happens off screen and he shows up anyway, thus confirming they are indeed friends." That is barely a plot beat of any kind, nothing really changes, it just clarifies that they are friends, which we could have suspected the whole time.

Anyway, on that note, I've got a deep-seated suspicion that in the very earliest drafts of this story, Dream was Death. Because it makes sense. Death spares a commoner on the condition that he report back every century to tell about how his life is going. Also, Death is certain that this mortal will want to die at some point because of all the horrible things he's living through, but in the end he doesn't and they become friends.

Again, this is a very simple story, basically a fable. Then this story is lifted into a new setting, the Sandman universe, and the antagonist of Death is turned into Dream but Death is still there, because Death as a figure makes much more sense than Dream as the basis for this wager.

I've commented many times before that Hob has less than nothing to go on as far as guessing Dream's identity but that one very natural conclusion he could come to is that Dream is Death because Death is much easier and thematically consistent with what happens in the story than Dream. Dream even remarks in the show (paraphrased) that, "[He] is far more terrible than Death," which objectively makes very little sense other than in their personal mannerisms.

But Dream's curiosity as to Hob's will to live isn't all that consistent with his function as Lord of Dreams, can you really tell me that the Lord of Dreams can't conceive of a mortal that would want to live forever, who wouldn't dream of living forever? IMO this is one more piece of evidence that the story was lifted from an earlier draft where there is no Dream and Death, there is only Death and Hob, with Death left in as sort of a homage to the original premise and to explain why Dream would get involved at all in such a wager.

It also kind of explains why the implications of this centuries-long friendship get largely ignored until quite late in the Sandman comics. Dream would be Hob's only constant, at least that he can speak to and isn't like the Sun and the Moon or something, and yet our only nod to this is very very late in the comics.

Again, I think this is because in a fable about Death and A Normal Guy meeting over and over as a commentary on English history, it makes perfect sense that you wouldn't really explore the interpersonal implications of how Hob feels about this guy, if Hob cares about this guy, because it's Death, clearly this is just a fable.

But once it's not Death, once it's someone else, once Dream's interactions with this guy actually don't align with his function, actually rather glaringly doesn't align with his function such that his relationship with Hob actually becomes Dream's biggest singular point of individuality, the biggest piece of proof that he is an individual person and not just his function because watching this guy live has nothing to do with his function because he's not Death, then we also begin to wonder how important are these guys to one another, as individuals, because it's not a simple, streamlined fable anymore about Death and Just A Guy meeting.

Basically, I think that as is often the case, the inconsistencies are what give some of Gaiman's juvenilia works the charm that they have. They raise more questions than they answer, because they're not rigorously plotted and the implications of certain story decisions aren't explored, for example even how magic like immortality works in this world doesn't really make consistent sense (ex. Orpheus and Hob have very different immortalities within the same story despite both being gifted by Death, one can't choose to die whenever he wants and there's no explanation as to why this is other than The Story Demands It, which is rather clumsy but does lend to a sense of myth).

It's not until much later in the author's career in the comic and (retconned with) the show that the narratives begins to inquire into things like, "What do these two individuals mean to each other as people. Does Hob mourn Dream, or think of him when he's not there? Does the singularity of Hob in Dream's life matter to him, or give him pause?" all questions that would be absurd in a simplistic fable about Death and Just A Dude but once lifted from that original context, create fascinating inconsistencies that begin to matter and become fodder for deeper explorations as seen in fanfiction and shipping these two characters.

[lili-of-the-wildfire]

okay fine, u all forced my hand in this one. these are MY azzie headcanons, mostly based on what’s canon in the books but i’m nothing if not a woman who would have been forcefully lobotomized so there’s also some delusion sprinkled in. enjoy 😙 (not proof read or correctly punctuated or even coherently arranged, we die like men on this blog)

* he may be a bit quiet in some situations, especially when meeting people who’s intentions he hasn’t quite figured out yet, but if he does nothing else, he’ll offer up a small smile in greeting. he’s not just going to sit there aloof in a corner, sans introduction.

* he’s a total vibe reader tho, his line of work has made sure of that. like he just knows when something is off about someone even if there is evidence saying otherwise. and he’s right every time, damn him.

* he tucks his hands behind his back out of habit, not necessarily shame. he used to be far more insecure, but as the centuries dragged on, he’s become less and less ashamed of what was done to him as a defenseless child.

* that’s not to say he’s fully healed and moved forward, just that time has given him some perspective and wisdom.

* (btw he loves hand massages with your lavender and lemon verbena lotion and he is not afraid to admit it)

* when he gets himself into trouble he tries to slink off into the shadows slowly, instead of disappearing all at once. nobody has a problem calling him out on it, but sometimes he honestly does get away with it.

* he has TASTE! he took one look at cassian and feyre’s gods awful decorating and didn’t even remove his outside clothes before he was fixing it.

* he and his mate’s house would look like something out of a Williams Sonoma holiday catalog.

* the two of you would put up lebron numbers on a joint pinterest account in a modern au.

* he’s quick as a whip with his dry humor and comebacks, and while cassian may be his main target, the two of them combined?? Mr. your mother and Mr. two hundred years at least TOGETHER? jesus it’s a wonder rhys came out of Illyria with the ego that he did.

* he differs from his brothers in that PDA is not his jam. he’s not getting blowjobs at the dining room table or fucking in tents while people die outside. he’s definitely not fingering you for the first time in a shabby inn, either. he’s more publicly reserved than that because he favors romance more.

* you know how rhys/feyre and cassian/nesta fucked before they were in any sort of relationship? azzie’s not doing that with someone he genuinely wants to pursue a relationship with.

* consider the following: does a man who’s spent centuries pining after the same woman come off as anything other than a romantic? no, lovely reader, not in the slightest.

* he’s got the softest heart, i just know it. while he’s kind, he has his reserved exterior, but i think once you get past that as a relationship develops, he’s so tender and thoughtful.

* his gift to nesta was so personal and thoughtful despite their superficial relationship, and he expected nothing in return. imagine what he could come up with for someone he knew on a more personal and intimate level!!

* his gifts may not be as over-the-top extravagant as Rhys would prefer, but they’re so well-planned and personal because he actually listens to you! and he watches you! and he takes the time to actually think about what would be useful and meaningful for you (Mor could NEVER, luv u tho baby)

* while he’s not overtly sexual, Azriel is a FLIRT! a shameless flirt! he doesn’t need to resort to poetry because when you exasperatedly tell him “stop trying to distract me, I’m busy!” he just arches a thick brow, looks you up and down and says “make me.”

* BROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

* And your cheeks heat a bit because he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you’d taste like and he’s starving for it and then he just laughs and you realize you’re a fly that got stuck in those honey-trap eyes again

* So you huff and roll your eyes, turning to leave the room but a hand on your wrist tugs your momentum backwards and suddenly there’s another hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking along your jawline.

* A deep hum rumbles from the back of his throat, his gaze dragging from your mouth up to your eyes, “Do that again, I like watching your eyes roll back for me.”

* ladies/theydies i am PROFUSELY sweating !!!!!!!!!

[whiskeyghoul]

8 || She blinded me with science || [Spencer Reid x Goth!Reader]

First part, previous part, next part

A/N: Oh we are so back. This is mostly just angst, including the return of Tommy. Not a lot of Spencer in this one but the next one is going to be from his perspective. I really needed just a little angst in this fic again. I hope to be writing part 9 soon since I am in a bit of a writers block for this fanfic. But then again I really love writing for it too.

WC: 3,1 K

Tags: Spencer Reid, kidnapping, toxic exes, not proof read, we die like men, angst, hurt comfort but the comfort comes later.

Warnings: Kidnapping, mental instability, stalking, drugging

Your POV

You had watched Spencer leave into a room, a sigh leaving your lips as he closed the door behind him. Returning to the lab to finish your work felt a little tiresome. You wanted to spend more time with Spencer. Time that was so rudely cut short with a case. It was to be expected, but that didn't mean you had to like it. So, begrudgingly, you made your way to the lab. Getting in to wait for another process to finish, while polishing off the final remnants of your sandwich. Looking around the desk you saw the different reports that needed organizing. It was messy, and chaotic. Sometimes you would lose a document for a few moments before panicking and frantically looking through all the papers you had. That had to change. Now was as good a time as any.

While organizing your papers alphabetically your eyes landed on Spencer's purple scarf slung over the back of the desk chair. Running a hand over the fabric. It was soft, incredibly so even. A few worn edges added character, showing how well loved the scarf had been over the years. Picking it up you put it up to your nose, inhaling the warm scent that was so completely Spencer. It was a comforting scent. The smell of sweet coffee, cologne, and that signature scent of his apartment you had smelled while you were there. Feeling a little creepy about smelling his clothes you quickly put it down after folding it into a small bundle. Placing it on the edge of your desk to not forget.

Going back to your desk you noticed something was just a little off. You remember that the coffee cup from that morning was missing. It wasn’t unusual for garbage to be removed by cleaning staff. Just not usually during your shift. Oftentimes they would come in at the end of the day, when you would have put all dangerous substances away so no one would accidentally spill anything. There were measures in place to keep everyone safe. So why was your cup missing?

No. There was no need to be skeptical about something as simple as this. You must have thrown it away subconsciously before you left to get lunch. That was the logical explanation to this. So you shook off the uncomfortable feeling. There was no more reason to be suspicious of the small things. You were a bit scatterbrained at times, so it was only normal for you to forget something as small as this. Especially since your mind had been on Spencer for most of the day. Having made up had left you on cloud nine. When he had come in that morning it just made you realize how sweet he is, how forgiving of your flaws that you were so critical of. You never expected him to forgive you when you had hurt him quite badly. So it was like a dream that he did. And that had left you just a little preoccupied. Misplacing or misremembering something wasn’t that far of a stretch. 

The beep of the analyser got your attention. Walking over you hit the printer button, out came a print out of all the chemical components detected in the white powder. Giving it a quick once over to have a look at the majority of substance, it was always tainted along the way. Sometimes by the general use and existence of the material, sometimes by the less than careful collection of whatever they wanted to be analyzed. Taking a look it seemed to have been ecstasy, tainted by a few wayward chemicals. Nothing that would cause death but still, it could lead to a possible suspect. Moving back to the desk you looked around for the designated case folder.

It wasn’t there. You looked between the ones you just moved. Maybe you left it between the older files. Alphabetical order was the easiest after all. Managing to do it nearly on autopilot you might have just stacked it in the finished pile. So, you picked them up, thumbing through the different manilla folders starting with the same letter. Nope… must have looked over it. You tried again, making sure that you saw each and every single one. Still, it wasn’t there. Okay, maybe you did leave it in the pile on your desk. Your pulse quickened as you looked through the files but still, not the one you needed. The cleaners know not to take these. This is when you started to panic just a little. Moving between your desk and other tables in the lab, checking every file cabinet in there for the one you needed. Still there was no sign of it. Fuck.

Your phone rang. Snapping your head up you scrambled from a pile of files you had been rummaging through. Spencer’s caller ID lit up the screen. Picking up you quickly pinned the phone between your cheek and shoulder, “Hey, pretty boy, what’s up?” you asked, a little breathless, while going back to the papers to try and find what you were looking for. “Hey. We just got to the local station and I wanted to call. I felt bad about having to leave without really saying goodbye.” You noted how Spencer’s voice sounded a little hushed, how the background noise was muffled. “That’s okay. I am glad you called though. I like hearing your voice.” You said while continuously shuffling papers. “Are you busy? I could call back another time.” He asked, probably hearing the papers. “No, no!” You said before readjusting the phone to your other ear. “I just.. I lost the file I was working on. I must have misplaced it so I am a bit stressed looking for it.” Admitting to your fault. “Oh, I would have helped if I could.” Spencer said before you heard Morgan’s voice in the back, calling out to Spencer jokingly. “It’s okay, hearing your voice makes me feel a bit better.” You responded with a hint of shyness. It was easier to admit these things over the phone than to his face. 

“I really wanted to hear from you too.” Spencer said before a whispered, “Morgan! stop!” Which made you laugh. “How does the case look? Will it be a long one?” You asked, trying to keep the conversation going, hoping to hear him speak more. His voice eases any worry in your mind. Like a placating balm to smooth over any uncomfortability. “Actually, it seems like it might be easier than expected. Though I don’t want to jinx it and then have to be stuck here for the foreseeable future.” he answered. “Better knock on wood then.” You added to his sentence, really hoping he would be back sooner rather than later. “I will, once I get to the desk. I really have to go though, because Morgan is being annoying.” he said, a bit remorseful. “I’ll text you soon. Maybe call later tonight?” You asked and heard a mh-hm from the other side of the line. “Okay.. Bye, talk to you soon.” “Bye.”

When you hung up it really settled in you weren’t going to find this file you were looking for. Which meant there would be a ton more paperwork, a new file, which meant over time. So you made your way down to whoever could help you with this file, explaining the situation you got a new version along with an entire packet of paperwork to fill in to ‘officially’ request a copy of the file. Getting back to the lab you sat down, ready to start the tedious task of correctly filling in everything.

It was late when you finished. Almost dark outside the clock indicating it was 7:30 p.m. At least your paperwork was finished. With a sigh you closed it. Stretching back your arms with a groan. Sitting hunched never did wonders for your body. A growl from your stomach signaled it was really time to get going. As you packed your bag you thought about the leftover pasta bolognese you had in your fridge, just how good it sounded right about now. With the paperwork in hand you left the lab, locking up behind you and heading down. Spencer´s purple scarf was loosely wrapped around your neck. Leaving the filled in forms in the designated inbox of the higherup who needed to officially grant your request. Everything was always so bureaucratic. You texted Spencer you were finally leaving Quantico, getting a ‘But isn’t it almost 8?’ back from him. You chuckled, ‘Couldn’t find the file I talked about, so had to get a replacement, you know how much paperwork that takes.’ you texted back nuzzling your nose into the soft fabric of his scarf. Inhaling the smell, feeling a little better with it around you, like he was there to joke about the file, say it was okay.

Saying goodbye to the security guard before you headed to the parking garage, your car was one of 5 left on the floor. When you got in and turned the key in the ignition it ticked but never caught on. You sighed, of fucking course this was to happen now. You already had a stressful day, this was just the cherry on top. You slammed your hands against the wheel quickly before taking the key out, popping the hood, and stepping out. You opened the hood, seeing your car battery disconnected, your heart sank. This is weird.

Panic rose like bile in your throat. Your heartbeat raced as your hands trembled. Everything inside of you told you to run. Yet your feet were nailed in place. Rooted to the ground, unable to move. Not wanting to look up in case something, or someone was close by. From the corner of your eye, however, you saw movement. A black clad figure moving closer. You gripped the strap of your bag, a trembling hand moving into the pocket of your jacket. Taking the key in a firm grip, in case of emergency it could be used as a weapon. But it was of no use, when the figure got close you turned with the key in hand. Raising your right hand to hit the figure, to embed the tip of your key into any soft tissue you could reach, but your wrist was caught in a quick movement. Your eyes widened as you recognized the face that stood in front of you.

Tommy.

You gasped his name out while trying to wring your hand out of his grip. “I’m sorry.” He managed to say before you felt a pinch in your left arm. Confusion, panic, fear, those emotions washed over you as you realized what just happened. He had drugged you. You could feel the way your arm grew heavy, along with your breathing labored. Trying not to panic because that would just make everything work faster. You still struggled against his hold but he had you pinned against your car. There was nowhere to run to. You just prayed the security cameras were picking up what was happening. Tommy wasn't that smart to shut down the cameras too, you hoped. “You’re not sorry.” your voice sounds slurred. It became more difficult to keep your eyes open, to keep standing straight. “I just can’t lose you.” He almost sounded apologetic as his arm moved to keep you upright. “Fuck you.” Was the last thing you managed before your eyes betrayed you. Darkness took over, and your body went limp in the arms of your worst enemy. 

Blinking rapidly didn’t seem to do anything. Vision still black you felt your hands were tied behind your back. There was a sore spot on the left one. The way you had been sat had your head tilted forward and your neck was now incredibly stiff. You were on a chair for sure. Blindfolded and tied up. You tried to stay calm, to not let your emotions take over. But your heartbeat was fast, loud in your ears, it made it hard to focus. You didn’t know how long it had been but it must have been some time. Your phone was no longer in your pocket, at least you didn’t feel it. The scarf around your neck was gone, Spencer’s scarf. Panic over took you again. Breathing picking up in short, quick bursts. “Don’t panic, please. You always overreacted.” Tommy’s voice sounded out. Your head shot up, craning around, trying to locate where he was. “Me? Overreacting? Tommy, you kidnapped me!” You said exasperated, while your hands were straining against the rope that had your wrist stuck to the chair. “Well you wouldn’t have come with me if I asked.” You groaned at that answer, clearly your wishes to never see him again weren’t clear enough of a hint. “Because you hurt me! I never wanted to see you again.” You raised your voice, trying to not yell but you were frustrated, scared, panicked.

“Just… ugh! You aren’t even listening to what I want to say!” Tommy sounded frustrated. Suddenly his hands grabbed your shoulders, he had been closer than you thought. His grip an iron vice as your body stiffened. Breath caught in your throat. “Okay. Okay. I’m listening. That’s what you wanted, right? So say what you need to say.” You said, trying to calm down. Logically you knew you shouldn’t be indulging him. But you knew that egging him on would make things worse. He was explosive, angry, that’s what happened every time. “Right. I need you to listen. Because, I have been thinking.” Tommy started, his hands still holding onto your shoulders. You could feel the breath on your skin, it was humid. Like a wolf looming over its prey, panting out to finally have caught dinner. “I think. You shouldn’t be with that guy. He is a twig, I could be so much better. We could work things out if you gave me a try. You are going to give it a try.” He sounded almost out of breath as he spoke. As he tried to get his thoughts in order. “I have given it a try, but it didn't work. Tommy, you haven’t changed. At all. So why would it work now?” You answered, it wasn’t what he wanted to hear but it was important for him to hear it. Your emotions flipping like a switch, wanting to placate him and then wanting to tell the truth, to egg him on. The heartbeat under your skin felt like a drum against your ribs. Hammering a constant rhythm of anxiety. “No, I have changed. You just didn’t give me a chance to show it. Going on and on about how I have been stalking you. I haven’t! I have changed and you are going to let me show it to you.” His grip tightened before he let go. You could hear his feet, pacing around, probably with his hands in his hair. Like he did when he was frustrated with you. He always did.

“You can’t keep me here. The FBI will come looking when I don’t show up tomorrow.” You strained your wrists, trying to feel if there was a knot you could loosen. But it felt like zip tie cuffs. Plasticy, hard and digging painfully. “You called in sick with a really bad stomach bug. It will take at least a week.” He swallowed after his answer, walking a few steps away to rummage through something. With the blind fold on you could see a little strip of light as you looked down, though it was relatively dark probably due there being no windows. No he wouldn’t be stupid enough to keep you somewhere with windows. It would be too big a risk, and he did not seem like he wanted to lose you. In your mind you hoped he hadn’t texted Spencer, hoping that he’d try to call you later tonight like you had agreed upon. If you didn’t answer he would probably figure something was wrong. If he did text him something you prayed it was so out of character that it wouldn’t go unnoticed.

“Right… and after that week?” You asked, hoping to keep him talking, keeping him talking would keep him from hurting you. That seemed most logical at least. “You will see how good I am to you. You won’t want to leave anymore.” Tommy said, “And if you don’t I’ll just tell them a family member died, request a leave of absence.” He continued and the rummaging stopped. Your heart dropped, not knowing what to expect at that moment. It could be something to hurt you with, something to shut you up, no matter what you did there was going to be something. More footsteps. It kept your heart rate up that was for sure. Something clamped around your ankle, cold, metal. Thick and heavy, the weight pressed down on your foot. “You can move around like this. Can’t make you love me again when you’re stuck to a chair.” He almost chuckled at that. The sound made your stomach feel heavy. Like he didn’t seem to care about your wellbeing. Blood running cold at that. Like a polar stream running through your body. “Move around?” Your voice sounded strained. Throat closed and breathing tight.

He stepped around you, you could feel the air shift as he moved. Stepping to the back his hands were on your wrists. “Yes. You have to promise you won’t try to hurt me. Otherwise you’re right back in this chair again.” Now that was something you didn’t want. Being stuck in place, physically unable to move, it was the worst choice. When released at least you could move around. Get a feel of the place. Find a way out. “Right… I promise.” You said it slowly, deliberately. Each word out of your mouth needs to be thought out from now. Using words to placate. Fight, flight, freeze or fawn. And with Tommy, fawn seemed to be your best option. Keeping him friendly would give you time. 

Your hands were released from their cuffs, the blind fold removed from your eyes. Blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim light of the room. You were sitting in a wooden chair, you had figured as much. There were no windows, 2 doors, one on your left and one right in front of you. The carpet on the floor was a weird  green color that looked like it had been stained one too many times by something unknown. There was a small living room area, two couches with a coffee table. A kitchenette on the opposite wall. Turning your head you saw a dining room table. It was like you were in a weirdly small studio apartment. Everything was there to live. You glanced down, your right leg sporting a metal cuff, a chain going off to the wall. “Welcome home.” Tommy said it almost triumphantly, proud of his work.

It hit you like a ton of bricks. Tommy was going to keep you here as a forced housewife. And you just prayed Spencer would realize what was going on quickly.

Tags:

@luvkatryna @emma-e-a @littlemadamred @cultish-corner @styleiconsize0 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @depressedbutartsy @mikariell95 @jasf444

@tootsiefootsie @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @sammy-4103 @thedevioussmirk @pleasantwitchgarden @khxna   @suckstobrlaurie @mega-kittyglitter-1 @superlegend216 @seninjakitey

[kindagayfish]

I am also very obsessed with Babygirl Vash lol how about the classic sharing a bed trope with Vash? It can be swf or not! We just need more imagines of him!

Vash and sharing the bed trope

A/N: YES SHARING THE BED TROPE I LOVE IT SO MUCH HDJBSFHKSBFHKDBGHJB especially when its with bb girl vash *swoon* I’ve seen quite a few of these scenarios already but there will never be enough to satisfy me. I made this one sfw cause I really just wanted to write some fluff. Also, I finished the OG Trigun and I see some differences between OG Vash and Stampede Vash. I’ll be writing for the Stampede characters unless specified otherwise. We just haven’t seen him flirt with anyone yet, while in the OG he was very much a Chad lol. So sorry for the quality, and for taking so long. I haven’t written fanfiction in a LONG TIME. Seriously it’s been years but it feels nice to do it again. But how do people write these so quickly like damn.

Contains: fluff, Gender-neutral reader, And not really proof-read cause we die like men out here.

When you open your eyes again, it’s still dark. Your mouth cracks open in a yawn and you slowly become aware of someone pressed up against your back. 

Oh. Oh that’s right.

It had been an exhaustingly long day trekking through the desert, and an even longer evening trying to find a place to stay the night. You have no idea what possessed every abled body in Noman's Land to travel to the same town as you, but every room in the dusty motel next to the bar was taken. Even the porch swing had some poor soul wrapped up in his coat for the night.

You and Vash were about to call it and take turns sleeping in a nearby alley, when an old woman took pity on you and offered up her spare room. You were so excited to sleep in a real bed that you didn’t even think to ask about the size of the space.

It wasn’t until the both of you had finally gotten into the tiny, very much intended for one person or two people squished very close together bed, that you realized how incredibly awkward the whole situation is.

“Hey-”

“WELL GOODNIGHT” You had blurted out, turning so that your back was to Vash, hiding your flustered expression. He is a little too good at reading your face sometimes, and you didn’t need him asking questions.

He replied with a quiet goodnight, feeling him shift away as well.

Now, Vash’s breath is hot on the back of your neck as he snores lightly, his spiky hair tickling your skin. Sometime in the night, his arms found their way around your middle and pulled you flush against his chest, securing you in place.

This particular scenario had been one you’ve played in your head on loop anytime the two of you had slept close to one another. It’s like a dream come true. And any other time, you would have nestled back into his hold and fell back asleep, hoping that this action was intentional; but instead, you silently curse yourself for chugging a whole gallon of water after arriving in town. Because my god you have to pee.

He stirs slightly when you shift, hugging you closer and burying his face into your shoulder. You feel yourself growing hot as he lets out a content sigh, lips ghosting over your skin. It quickly becomes clear that you’re not escaping without waking him.

“Vash…” You whisper his name softly, not wanting to alarm him. “Vash?”

“Hmm?” he hums, breathing in deeply. Vash lifts his head and loosens his grip slightly. You take this opportunity to turn and meet his eyes. They’re droopy with sleep, blinking a bit. He gives you a lazy smile before whispering, “hi.”

“Uh hi.” Your heart rate picks up at the sight before you, and you swallow hard. “Could you um…”

“Hm?” It takes a moment for him to register the kind of position you are in. “Oh. OH SORRY.” Vash squeaks with wide eyes, releasing you quickly with a growing blush on his face. Getting out of the bed in a hurry as an attempt to hide your own flustered state, you almost miss the deflated look he gives when you’re no longer next to him. 

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah yeah. Just ya know…bathroom.”

“Right right.”

You quietly make your way to the bathroom, making sure not to wake your host who slept soundly in the room next to yours. Part of you wanted to rush to get back, feeling chilly after leaving the warm bed and Vash’s arms. You hide your burning face in your hands as his smile flashes in your mind.

He’s just so…ATTRACTIVE. Ever since you realized you had fallen for him, it has been increasingly harder to hide your feelings. Any time he touches you (which is a considerable amount when running from danger) has your brain short-circuiting and your stomach doing flips. Sometimes you can’t help but wonder if Vash is really this oblivious, or if he is ignoring it to save you both the embarrassment of a rejection. Either way, you aren’t sure if you’re ready to face the truth just yet.

Maybe if I take long enough he’ll fall back asleep and it won’t have to be weird.

After a considerable amount of time pacing the bathroom, you finally make the short walk back to the spare bedroom.

To your slight disappointment, Vash is asleep by the time you slip back into the bed next to him. His face is calm, a stark contrast to the way his brows furrow together during an intense confrontation, and you take a moment to admire his face in the moonlight. You brush a few hairs back from his forehead and immediately freeze when his eyes flutter open.

“Hi” he whispers a second time.

Pulling your hand back, you feel your face grow hot again. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you twice.”

“It’s okay: Vash replies, smiling softly.

You continue to stare at each other, both unsure of what to say next. It’s subtle, but you start to see a blush creep up Vash’s neck and reach the tips of his ears.

“Um” Vash is the one to break the silence, reaching for you. “Can I…?”

“Yes” you answer immediately, scooting your body closer to his.

“Does that make this weird?”

You let out a laugh. "You just caught me watching you sleep and you think this is weird?"

“Fair enough" Vash laughs with you. "But are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“Oh okay good” He breathes out a sigh in relief, pulling you completely into him. Feeling his body relax against yours, you tuck your head up under his chin, ear pressed against his chest. You swear his heart is pounding as intensely as your own.

“So warm” Vash mumbles into your hair. You let out a content hum, allowing sleep to overtake you once more.

BONUS

Some general headcanons:

Man sleeps like a ROCK with you

Very used to having to wake up and jet at any moment so I assume he’s a light sleeper. But with you next to him? His body finally allows him to get those good Zs.

Clingy af

Good luck escaping Vash’s arms in the middle of the night. Once he has latched on, you won’t be free until morning.

Will 110% snore lightly in your ear

mumbles in his sleep too. Usually you can’t make out what he is saying though.

Loves any cuddling positions, but his FAVORITES are any where you are the one holding him.

Vash always wants you to play with his hair. Legit will turn to putty in your hands if you scratch his scalp.

Sometimes will even nuzzle into your shoulder to get you to do it because he’s too embarrassed to ask

If you need some extra comforting at night, maybe you had a nightmare or something particularly scary happened that day, he will lay you on his chest and softly hum/sing until you fall asleep. (I honestly think Vash would have a really nice singing voice)

Usually the last one to fall asleep, and the first one to wake up. He really enjoys the quiet moments with you. It’s the way you softly smile at him in the dawning sunlight that makes him forget that he’s a wanted man.

[hollandsangel]

HI MADDIE HI HI MY LOVE<3 ok firstly blog theme EATS? hello i need your level of talent and skill.

ok hear me out a lil, but steve harrington x reader, hurt/comfort after the part in season 1 (season 2? i cant remember 😭), but with the demodogs. just reader being all soft and comforting with steve who reciprocates and they just sorta tend to each other would be so cute (maybe hes just a lil aggravated about the entire situation and reader is his anchor almost)

mwah loveu love u <333 (soryr this is sorta bad but !!! been thinking abt it a lil latellyyy)

hey hot stuff!! pinterest actually gets all the credit for my theme. i love her. i also had no idea what scene you were talking about LOL so i kinda made one up!! timeframe is NOT canon at all but its angsty and filled with comfort i swear, enjoyyyyyy my sweet amber. not proof read bc we die like men

⇘ ⇘ ⇘

steve won’t stop fidgeting in the drivers seat, fiddling with the signal indicator and volume controls. you feel just about the same, and you’re sure the kids do too, the back seat dead silent, their shoulders touching and all of them refusing to move away from the other. 

“you’re shaking,” you whisper, afraid to use too much volume in your voice, like the glass ceiling of the silence will shatter and cut you if you do. you reach out to smooth your hand down steve’s shoulder, a comforting motion you’ve performed countless times before. he flinches at the movement and you hand stops dead in the air.

“m sorry,” he mumbles, voice rough and throat scratchy. 

you watch him draw in a deep breath, deeper than you think he’s breathed in three days.

“i’m sorry, sweetheart, i’m sorry,” he says it again, glancing over at you but only for a second, like it hurts to see you.

“it’s okay,” you’re still speaking hushed tones, turning back to find max and lucas sleeping against one another, dustin staring out the window mindlessly. 

“we’re almost at nancy’s,” steve swallows, “eddie’s gonna meet us there.” his grip on the steering wheel is too tight and his jaw is clenched. he forces himself to swallow.

“steve…” he lets you touch him this time and you feel a tiny sense of triumph when he relaxes slightly, melts into the feel of your fingertips on the back of his neck. he’s so cold. goosebumps raise on his skin.

“i can’t stop seeing it,” is his response, “the corpse is still in the fucking freezer,” he nearly gasps when he says it, like the mental image itself takes his breath away.

“i know baby, me either,” steve finally looks at you and you regret letting the tears well up in your eyes because his face falls when he notices.

“hey–” he starts but you shake your head and press your fingertips from your other hand into your eyes.

“i’m okay, i promise,”

“but i–” you know what he’s gonna say, something self deprecating about how he wasn’t fast enough, or strong enough, or did a bad job keeping you safe.

“you protected them,” you remind him, breathing a little easier when his eyes flick up to the rearview mirror to look at the kids. safe and sound in the back of the beamer, the heat cranked a little too high but it’s so much nicer than the bone chilling temperatures of the upside down. “and you protected me,” you reach up to push his hair away from his eyes, staying mindful of the cut by his eyebrow.

“we’re okay?” he doesn’t mean for it to be a question but it is. he means to confirm for himself, but really he needs you to do it for him.

“we’re okay,” you nod, and then you say it again.

“we’re okay.”

[malicedragoness]

Ok, but what if Syzoth can transform into an actual lizard? Not a Zaterran (is this what they’re being called now?), but like a monitor lizard or an iguana. And he can accidentally change back when he’s caught off guard.

(Not proof read. We die like men. And if you can guess the 80s movie reference you get a cookie 🍪)

@bihansthot Syzoth fluff 🤗

Imagine it:

Syzoth only turns into an iguana when he’s extremely weak and is trying to hide from whoever is pursuing him.

He’s got gashes on him, he’s cold, and has been starving. He can’t hold his form anymore. He transforms and climbs into a tree to hide and make himself small. He tries to stay invisible until they’re gone, but it’s getting too difficult.

Once his pursuers are gone, he decides to rest there and falls asleep. Hours later, he wakes up when he hears a noise.

That’s when Syzoth meets you. You climbed a ladder to pick apples from the tree he’s hiding in. He continues to watch you, ready to transform and jolt if he has to. He’s still not sure if he’s able to. Everything hurts and he feels weak to his bones.

But the longer he watches you pick apples and sing to yourself, he realizes you’re not a threat. Your voice is lovely to his ears. Your hair is so pretty he wants to touch it. Everything about you, your body language and scent, seems so soft and gentle.

When you climb further up and get to his branch, you let out a surprise yelp when you see him.

“Oh my god! Are you ok, little guy?”

Syzoth couldn’t help but laugh internally. He must look horrible being surrounded in green blood. But your wide eyes and sweet voice was so cute.

“Are you alive?” He blinks when you reach to touch his nose.

You look at him and then down to the ground for a few minutes, contemplating your next move. You turn back and pet his nose again. “I’m going to pick you up and take you home, ok? Please let me help you. And please don’t bite me!”

Syzoth closed his eyes shut, pain searing through his body as you carefully pick him up. You settled him against your chest, his claws hooked onto your shirt, little tears already forming, and blood staining your shirt. He did his best to not sink his claws into your flesh, but the pain was making it hard to concentrate.

You climbed down the ladder, as slowly as you can, repeating “Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite me. Please don’t bite me.” Once you were down the tree, you put him in your basket and took him home.

You spent the next few hours researching everything an iguana needs to survive. You bought a heat lamp, some fruits and greens, giant fake rocks. You’re not sure if you just throw the greens at him or cut them up to make it easier for him to eat. But you’re trying your best.

Syzoth watches you put a bowl of greens and fruits in front of his face and stare at him. If only he could tell you that he would be fine in a few days and all of this wasn’t necessary. Although, he did appreciate all the kind gestures.

After seeing you cry about him not eating the food and worrying about him dying, Syzoth decides to eat the food you prepared for him. His gentle heart couldn’t handle your tears, and it made him happy to see your face light up.

As the days go by, Syzoth lounged on his fake rocks, ate all the food you gave him, and watched you go about your daily routine. You kept calling him ‘Zammis’, and he had no idea what that meant.

He’s healed, but he’s had such a lovely time being with you that he doesn’t wish to go. He knows it’s wrong, keeping this secret from you. But you’re so happy with him there, he couldn’t bear the thought of you crying again.

You fed him his greens while watching a movie. (Another favorite thing of his to do, watching the moving pictures in the giant screen). A princess on the screen kissed a frog and he turned into a prince. You sighed and complained about how unrealistic that is.

Then your face filled Syzoth’s vision.

“Are you a prince, Zammis?”

Syzoth blinked. Then you leaned in further and kissed his nose.

Syzoth’s heart leapt in his throat. And suddenly he’s back in his human form, sitting in front of you on floor. Your hand still holding his bowl of greens and eyes wide as saucers.

“Z-Zammis?”

“Actually, it’s Syzoth, princess.” He said shyly.

[ugh-yoongi]

Hi! For the Valentine’s Day drabble I was thinking there’s an office Valentine’s Day party and namjoon and y/n are both single but somehow they end up hooking up in a broom closet. 😭😭

boy oh boy was i glad to get an excuse to write some namjoon porn after this whirlwind of a day! mr. shows up to the office 15 minutes late with starbucks a giant ass hickey on his neck thinking his coworkers wouldn't notice....... hoe behavior.

this is rushed bc i've had brainworms since yoongi's tour announcement, my bad! unedited again bc we die like men.

pairing: namjoon x f. reader

genre: pwp, crack/humor, office au

rating: explicit. minors dni.

warnings: swearing, catboy yoongi agenda, taehyung is a menace, mentions of drug use (weed), reader wears a dress and is a bit of a brat, one (1) spank, fingering, protected sex in an office closet.

wordcount: 1.2k

not taking anymore drabble requests, but feel free to come yell at me about how unhinged this week has been in bts world

(The party had been Taehyung’s idea.

A nice way to break up the afternoon, he’d said, because it wasn’t like Q1 was already slow as it was; wasn’t like you spent most of your workday typing gibberish into empty Word documents to appear busy. Point is: there was no soulless office monotony to break up, Seokjin just hadn’t felt like arguing, so he’d signed off on the Valentine’s Day party without even reading Taehyung’s harebrained proposal.)

“There’s a chocolate fountain in the cafeteria,” Yoongi says, voice bordering on stunned disbelief as he drops into his cubicle next to yours. “It has edible glitter in it.”

“Yeah,” you retort, because there certainly is a chocolate fountain with edible glitter in it in the cafeteria and Seokjin had signed off on it without sparing a second to think. “Taehyung’s idea.”

Yoongi scoffs. “Were the heart-shaped bath bombs his idea too?”

“Haven’t seen those. Where’d he put them?”

“In the toilets. He’s gonna ruin the plumbing. Seokjin’s gonna throw a fucking fit, and we’re accounting, so he’s gonna make it our problem.” Yoongi groans. Plonks his head down on his desk. “I bet he’s gonna cut the Cat Fridays budget to cover the cost.”

“Oh no,” you intone, “not Cat Fridays.”

Yoongi picks his head up only to glare at you. “Fuck off. Some of us need the stress relief.”

“So grow up and smoke weed like an adult, Yoongi.”

“I have asthma, you fucking prick—”

Yoongi’s tirade—which you’re sure was going to be effective and logical and would not, at all, devolve into baseless name-calling—is interrupted by Taehyung, who appears behind you out of nowhere and sprinkles confetti over your and Yoongi’s desks. “Surprise! Party time!”

“Taehyung, I swear to fuck—”

But then Taehyung’s gone, the copious amounts of heart-shaped confetti the only proof he’d been there at all. Your desk neighbor looks murderous, but the lure of the chocolate fountain is strong, especially when there’s little tea cakes, too, so it’s not really a surprise that he nearly bulldozes you into the wall to get there first.

It’s not that you hate Valentine’s Day. You don’t even dislike it, because you actually like those chalky conversation hearts so everyone offloads them onto you, it’s just a little hard to focus when Kim Namjoon strolls in wearing a silk shirt with the top button undone. It’s doubly hard to focus when Jeongguk zeroes in on him immediately, and goes, “What is that?”

You pretend not to hear it, because they can’t suspect you if you don’t react, and a reaction is exactly what Jeongguk is looking for.

“What is what,” Namjoon replies, sounding as nonplussed as ever. You’d buy it, if you didn’t know him as well as you do, but because you do, you know it’s a farce. Any second now he’s going to crack. Sooner, if anyone presses him on it.

You hear someone click their tongue. Maybe Jeongguk, but you aren’t turning around to check. You can already feel how warm your cheeks are; there’s no way you’d be able to hide it.

“That thing on your neck.” Oh, god, that’s Jimin’s voice.

Namjoon chuckles. Acts like this entire conversation is beneath him, and that’s definitely doing something for you. Definitely has you squeezing your thighs together as you stand next to the stupid chocolate fountain, trying to eavesdrop over the mechanical whirring. “I got hurt at the gym last night.”

“The gym,” Jimin repeats, and it’s clear he doesn’t buy it. “And what were you doing at the gym that resulted in a neck injury? You just said the other day you haven’t been working out much.”

“CrossFit.”

“Wait, I’m confused. Were you doing CrossFit or were you at the gym?”

“He was doing CrossFit at the gym. He just said that—”

“No he wasn’t,” Jeongguk argues. “That’s like saying you were doing gym at the gym, it doesn’t make sense—”

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Look up at seemingly the perfect time, because Namjoon’s already looking at you, gaze all but saying, see what you did? And, yeah, you do—you can see it loud and clear, all the way from the other side of the room, because that dark bruise on his neck is courtesy of you. Roughly three days old, given in the dark of his bedroom after company drinks on Friday.

So you tamper your embarrassment. Shrug a little. Dip a strawberry into Taehyung’s ridiculous chocolate fountain with the edible glitter and stare as you bring it to your mouth, wrap your lips around it. Jimin and Jeongguk are still arguing, and Namjoon is just watching, corners of his mouth quirked up infinitesimally.

Then he gestures to the hallway.

Mouths meet me there.

And you know what that means.

It’s frenzied and hurried from the start. Namjoon’s everywhere and nowhere at once—skimming, pinching, grabbing at every inch of skin he can get his hands on before they disappear, move onto someplace else. “This is gonna have to be quick,” he says, already breathless, and you can’t help but roll your eyes.

“No shit.”

That earns you a smack on the ass. “Keep this out of the way,” he says, pushing your dress up and over your hips. “See, this is the reason I told you no marks.”

There’s a riposte on the tip of your tongue, something obvious like you weren’t complaining when I was giving it to you, and Namjoon must know this because he pulls your underwear to the side and sinks two fingers into your cunt. Embarrassing, how seamless the slide is; how there’s no friction, just his large fingers pressing insistently on your g-spot.

He groans. Aborts the sound halfway so he doesn’t get the two of you caught. “Love how you’re always so wet for me.”

“Not you,” you retort. “Got really excited about the chocolate fountain.” You can’t see him, considering he’s got you bent over at the waist, but you know he’s rolling his eyes.

“I shouldn’t fuck you at all, since you wanna be a brat.”

“Yeah, I think HR would be inclined to agree—”

He cuts you off with another swat to your ass. Stops touching you only as long as it takes to roll on a condom, and then he’s pressing inside. It’s all heat: Namjoon rolling his hips at a steady pace, careful to be quiet; his fingers immediately moving to rub at your clit, because this definitely has to be quick; him whispering pure filth in that deep voice of his.

You’re teetering on the edge of the quickest orgasm of all time when your blurt out, “Is Yoongi allergic to cats?”

Namjoon just groans again. Pure annoyance. Plays along. Says, “I don’t know, why?”

“Be-because he said he can’t—fuck—smoke weed because he ha-has asthma, but he’s really—oh fuck, I’m gonna come—really scared Seokjin’s gonna—fuuuuuuck—gonna get rid of Cat Fridays.”

Namjoon thrusts harder, reaches deeper. “Will you just shut up and come? Who cares about Yoongi right now—”

Then, because both Yoongi and the universe hate you, there’s a knock on the door. “Really weird you two are in there talking about me while you’re fucking.”

And Namjoon must have some kind of voyeurism kink he hasn’t told you about, because he moans low and spills into the condom.