#an old one but damn he’s something else

[niniwritesxo]

‘we’re teaming up’

nam-gyu x fem reader

summary:

as a smart kid you used to tutor a lot of troubled kids back in the days, what happens when one of them happens to save your life?

——————————————————————————

The announcement of the third game came with chilling simplicity: “The next game is Mingle, you must find someone and pair up. Those unpaired at the end of the timer will be eliminated’

The room exploded into chaos as players scrambled to secure their survival. You stood at the edge of the room, your mind racing. You had made it through the first two games alone, keeping your head down and avoiding alliances. But now, that strategy was useless. You needed someone.

Nam-gyu leaned against a far wall, watching the chaos unfold with his usual air of disdain. He wasn’t worried. People always gravitated toward him, whether it was out of desperation or because they believed his confident smirk meant he had a plan.

He scanned the room lazily, sizing up potential partners. Then his gaze landed on you.

His stomach twisted.

It had been years, but he recognized you instantly. You were his old tutor, the one who had spent hours trying to drill knowledge into his thick skull. The one who constantly called him out for cutting corners, for cheating, for thinking charm could get him everything he wanted.

He hated you for it.

You had always looked down on him, he thought bitterly, like you were better than him just because you were smarter. Seeing you here, desperate and vulnerable, stirred something ugly inside him.

“217,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Of course, you’d end up here.

Nam-gyu’s gaze followed you as you moved cautiously through the crowd, trying to find a partner. You were struggling, your wary demeanor making it clear you didn’t trust anyone. The timer was ticking down, and it was obvious you were running out of options.

He should feel satisfied, he thought. Watching you squirm like this, it was almost poetic.

But then he saw two larger players cornering you, their voices low and menacing. You tried to stand your ground, but they weren’t backing off.

Nam-gyu clenched his jaw.

He didn’t owe you anything. If anything, he should be glad to see you fail. But as much as he hated you, the thought of watching you get eliminated like this, scared, cornered. It made him sick.

“Damn it,” he muttered, pushing off the wall and making his way toward you.

The two players looked up as Nam-gyu approached, his expression dark. “Back off,” he said sharply.

One of them sneered. “What’s it to you?”

Nam-gyu smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You really want to waste time on this when the clock’s ticking?”

The two players exchanged glances before backing off, muttering curses under their breath.

You stared at Nam-gyu, stunned. “Why—”

“Don’t,” he snapped, cutting you off. “Don’t make this into something it’s not.”

He grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer. “We’re teaming up,” he said bluntly. “Not because I want to, but because I’m not stupid enough to let someone else grab you first.”

You bristled, your pride warring with your survival instinct. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Good,” he said coldly. “I didn’t want to give it.”

The loudspeaker blared: “One minute remaining.”

You hesitated, your gaze searching his face. For a moment, you thought he might let you go, might walk away and leave you to fend for yourself. But then his grip tightened, and he pulled you toward the center of the room.

When the timer hit zero, you found yourself paired with Nam-gyu.

When the round ended Nam-gyu didn’t bother to look at you as he walked out of the small room, his expression unreadable. But as much as he hated you, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that saving you had been the right choice.

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 10 - Epilogue (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: A decade, a wedding, and two kids later, Azriel is still obsessed.

Warnings: Fluff.

Word count: 1.4k

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

A decade later

“This spot, right here, was where I spoke to your mama for the first time.” Azriel declared after stopping at some random part of the airport with their twins in his arms. 

What? 

“Ohh.” The children cooed with far too much energy for early morning travel. Their father seemed rather proud of their reaction. 

Y/n suspected something was off when her husband proposed a trip the week before to the country where she’d studied for her exchange program but what the actual fuck was this?

All of it started when their kids asked him about how he’d met their mother. 

As a matter of fact, she really did not remember why she agreed to this trip but Azriel had somehow seduced her into saying yes and the next thing she knew, the family had reached the airport.

Y/n remained somewhere between embarrassment and mortification as he continued to narrate to his children the story of how hopelessly he’d fallen in love with their mother while skipping the inappropriate parts of his thoughts. 

She sighed.

Maybe, she could take a breather and visit the university, meet her professors and a few friends. 

She followed Azriel into a restaurant where as soon as they entered, a few men stood up from a table and made way for the family to sit. 

“This is where I had my first meal with your mama. I was sitting on this very chair and for some reason, your mama is not sitting on the same chair she was all those years ago.” And she simply smiled before deciding their food because her family were engrossed in their own world to read the menu.

All those years ago, huh? 

Time had flown by so soon and somehow so slowly. 

And a thirty-nine year old Azriel certainly looked fine. So damn fine carrying the kids with the sleeves of his black shirt folded up to the forearms and revealing his tattoos. Y/n was half tempted to drag him to the nearest restroom and kneel for him. 

The meal was a light one. She watched them quietly while Azriel narrated the legendary romance of their mama and papa to their children. 

“Mama.” The little boy, Aether, called. “When did you fall in love with papa?”

“In an apartment.” She smiled at the memories from their apartments and let them take her back in time.

When Azriel confessed how he’d arranged for them to meet by finding out her travel information, she was simply surprised. 

But then he revealed how he’d bought an entire building and arranged for them to be neighbours just so he could have an excuse to see her and talk to her. 

Her husband smiled knowingly at her as he continued to coddle and feed their children. 

And then came the time to board the flight. 

Outside the aircraft, Azriel stood with their kids as he commanded their attention. “Now, this is the plane in which I sat next to your mama for the first time. It was our first time travelling together.”

Y/n sighed. Who gave this man so much money anyway? Because he’d tracked down that particular aircraft and bought it ten years ago. It had been revamped into a private jet for the family. 

They boarded the plane and Y/n had absolutely nothing to do. The only thing she had to do was order food for them all at that restaurant earlier. Azriel had taken care of everything else. 

The plane was divided into three parts; the cockpit for the pilots, the area for the cabin crew and the bodyguards, and the area for the family, with the latter separated by doors. 

Their baby girl, Nora, was now yawning. Soon enough, Aether yawned and Y/n led them to the large bed where she tucked them and closed the window. Once they’d fallen asleep, she returned to her husband and settled on his lap. 

“Sleep, Y/n.” His hand cradled her body gently and firmly. And as she drifted away to sleep, she recalled how life had continued after their reconciliation.

It was a mess and they wanted it. They wanted to navigate it. She'd taken her time to confess her feelings about her past and so had he. And for the first time, they were raw and broken in each other's arms.

She snuggled against him, inhaling his scent. This was her husband. The father of her children. A man so devoted to her and intent on treating her right and she wondered if she was ever doing enough for him.

And just when she thought she could cry from it all, her husband pressed a kiss to her forehead and began humming a tune.

**** 

Azriel was a composed person. Always taking time to enjoy everything. Never in a hurry because he always planned everything like that. 

He’d taken Y/n out on dates where they could simply enjoy the food and the place without having to rush anything at all. 

When they were married, he was over the moon. Obviously.

The billion-dollar empire did not run on its own but he was far too eager to go home to Y/n.

After a long period of an obsession bordering on unhealthy, she was finally his wife. And they had two children. Aether had his black curly hair and smile while Nora had his eyes but the rest of them were all his sweet wife. 

Wife. 

Azriel looked at the building as the car neared it. When it stopped, he gently woke up his wife and the family was in the apartment she lived in. 

“This was mama’s apartment.”

“What’s an apartment?” Azriel proceeded to explain the word by giving the twins a tour of the place. 

****

Dinner was yet another affair as Azriel took it upon himself to tour the city, taking them to every single place they’d ever been to. “This is where we did our grocery shopping.”

“So this is how I can get a girlfriend.” The little boy mused. 

“Maybe.” The father grinned. Their son mirrored his expression and their daughter was now curious. 

“Mama.” Nora looked up at Y/n. “If I want to marry someone, will I have to wait for a boy to do all this for me?”

Azriel froze. 

His little girl? 

Marrying? 

Marrying?

What a horrifying thought. 

He immediately took out his phone and texted his assistant to increase the security around his daughter lest some random lizard abduct her from him. 

“Well. .” Y/n began. “Maybe you’ll meet someone who does something else but which would make you feel special.” My god, what was his wife saying? There was no need for their daughter to meet anyone like that. 

“But papa makes me feel special. So why would I meet someone else?” Bless his daughter, such a lovely soul. 

“Of course, my little sweet.” Yes. Papa was all that his little girl needed. There was no need for any snakes to slither into her life. 

****

A few weeks later

It was a normal day and a normal lunch. Azriel and Y/n held a child each and walked over to the table where Nesta was waiting with Cassian. 

A few years ago, when the ladies had discovered that their partners were old childhood friends, it was decided that there was no reason why they couldn’t dine together every now and then. 

Nesta and Cassian had recently gotten married in a hurry. One random morning, Y/n had been video called to be told that they were going somewhere and the courthouse was on the way, so they decided to marry. Needless to say, Y/n screamed at her friend before congratulating her. 

Conversation floated around the table. The children were coddled. Food was passed around and laughter erupted. 

“Cassian!” A voice yelled. 

The man looked up to see another one of his friends and smiled broadly. He raised a hand in greeting. “Rhys!”

Nesta looked up and saw her brother-in-law holding her nephew, Nyx’s hand while Feyre was busy looking at the pastries a few steps away from them. Once Rhys walked over to his wife and she’d also seen them, it was automatically decided that they’d be dining together. 

More seats were added and adults were catching up. Meanwhile, the twins looked at Nyx in fascination primarily because they’d never seen him before. 

Nyx, only a few months older than them at the age of six, reached out for Nora’s cheek. Once he’d ascertained that it was soft, he pulled it hard. 

The girl squealed in pain, tears brimming her eyes. She immediately turned to her brother who was already glaring at the boy. 

Y/n came and began pacifying her daughter while her son stayed close but Azriel was struck at the horror of the situation. 

“Keep your son a mile away from my daughter.” And thus began, Azriel’s paranoia that the reptile who’d steal his precious daughter would be none other than Nyx.

****

Author's Note: Thank you for accompanying me on this journey. Writing Obsessed has been a wonderful experience.

Thank you @findingstephanie @div94 for helping me. They were my beta readers for Obsessed and have helped me immensely.

I hope all of us meet people who will not only be obsessed with us but also be obsessed with treating us right.

P.S. I might write an Azriel x Reader/OC x Eris fic soon.

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria @mellowmusings

[buck-star]

Unspoken desires

You never thought the deep sparkle in your best friend’s eyes could be something you will enjoy just as much as he does. But somehow it does and it causes a deeper relationship between the two of you.

Pairing: BestFriend!Dom!Ransom Drysdale x BestFriend!Sub!Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.362 Words

Warnings/Tags: Best Friends to lovers, dom/sub dynamics, teasing talking about spanking, petnames [sweet pie, baby girl], fluff

Authors Note: @holylulusworld here it is. Dividers made by me.

Masterlist | Ransom Drysdale Masterlist

Warm sunbeams warm up the cool air, brightening the day and flooding everything in a wonderful yellow-orange color. The perfect, romantic atmosphere - perfectly fitting your mood when you're with your best friend.

You're seated on the comfortable mattress of Ransom's bed, your back resting against the headboard while your legs are stretched out. In one of your hands, you hold the remote to switch through the channels while you use the other to pick at your lip, getting rid of the dry skin.

“Stop that,” the low voice of your best friend suddenly echoes through the room. His usual soft tone now demanding and leaving no room for arguments. He leans with his broad, muscular body in the door frame to his bedroom, his ocean blue eyes darkening slightly and his lips in a thin line. “Not gonna ask you again. Stop that.”

You look at Ransom with big eyes, your fingers glued to your lips. Your mind isn’t as fast as he wants it to be. He just appears with such a dominance in front of you, you need a moment to collect yourself. You swallow thickly, letting your hand fall into your lap. Your tongue instinctively swipes over your lips, wetting them, and you feel another bit of old skin that annoys you. But for some reason you don't dare to bring your hand back up, to do anything else than what he's saying.

Ransom smiles softly, pushing himself off the door frame. His muscles flex when he does so, and you swallow down the whimper that threatens to escape your mouth. Your best friend stands straight before he walks - with those damn elegant and slow movements - to the drawer where the television is placed on. “If you have dry lips, drink and use some balm for them.”

He takes out a little thing from the drawer, closing it before he walks around the bed and sits down on the edge, next to you. Ransom opens the little bottle - probably some balm he was talking about - and squirts some of it on his pointer finger. You watch him intensely; something changed in his behavior around you, and you wonder what it is.

Of course, Ran always cares about you, his best friend. And maybe those butterflies you always feel in your stomach when you're around him are the reason that you think his behavior changed. Maybe he didn't change it at all, but you only imagine it and wish for it to be anything more than friends.

“Open up, sweetie pie,” he mumbles, using your usual pet name. Your eyes move from his finger to his face, taking in his soft smile and the softness in his blue eyes, but somehow there was more. Something you're sure you never saw before, a sparkle that shows a deeper desire that he doesn't speak out loud. His voice is suddenly an octave deeper when he speaks up again. “Open up.”

You slowly part your lips, eyes looking directly into his. Ransom smirks at you, bringing his finger, covered in the balm, to your lips, slowly moving it over them. He frowns, one of his eyebrows raising as he keeps the soft stroking over your dry lips.

“How much did you drink already?” He questions, keeping his thumb on your lower lip but stopping the soft motion of rubbing the balm into them. You look down, swallowing before you look at him again. His intense gaze feels like he could watch into your soul with ease, and it causes another whimper to roll up your throat.

“M-Maybe a glass…” you mumble, cheeks heating up when you drop your gaze once more. Ransom shakes his head, a soft sigh escaping his plump lips. He doesn't like the lack of self care - knowing it will affect you at one point. “But- But it's only, uh, early afternoon.”

“I don't like that,'“ he whispers, leaning closer. Ransom swipes his fingers under your chin, lifting it up so you have to face him. His blue orbs holding softness, concern, but also a hint of dominance. The hint deep down, captured in a capture you want to open to get to know more of that side. “I don't like when you have such a lack of self-care, baby girl.”

This time you can’t swallow down the whimper that escapes your lips. Your eyes widen when you hear the needy sound coming from you. Ransom smirks, noticing the way you try to turn away from him to hide yourself in his pillow. He immediately reaches out to wrap his calloused hand around your throat and pull you back to him.

“Where are you going, baby girl?” He asks, grinning when he feels the way you swallow thickly. His hand is only loosely wrapped around your throat, not adding pressure but showing who’s in control. And this damn nickname, it's like he loves it to tease you with it now. Another whimper escapes you, and you feel the heat rising into your face further. “That's what you like, naughty girl.”

“R-Ran,” you gasp, grabbing his arm, Your nails sink into his skin, but he keeps smiling at you with that soft expression. And, damn, he knows what he’s doing to you, the softness turning into a more cocky expression. If you wouldn't be so speechless, you would smack him, but something tells you to not do that right now, not when he's the one in control.

You press your thighs together, feeling the fabric of your panties being soaked from the dominance he's showing toward you. Ransom looks down your body, noticing the movement of your legs, the way you press them together. He raises a brow when his eyes settle back on your face.

“Not only liking it, baby girl, loving it, huh?” He chuckles. Ransom's hand still around your throat, adding a bit of pressure to push you back into the pillows behind you. He leans down with you a bit before he lets go of your throat and sits back up. “Lost your big girl words, baby? You need me to tell you what you think, or else I have to assume that you don't like it.”

You want to roll your eyes, to sit up to punch his shoulder slightly, but somehow you stay where you are. Your mind clouded with need, a need you never thought you would ever feel, but here it is. Ransom keeps looking at you, closing the little bottle of balm and placing it on the nightstand. Your lips form into a soft pout when your eyes roam over his face and down to his muscular shoulders, further down to his hands in his lap. The hand that was just brushing your lips and wrapped around your throat. How is it possible for him to be so calm and smiling while you're feeling like a puddle in his hands.

Ransom's expression suddenly changes when you don't answer him. Concern is written all over his face when he shifts. He grasps your waist and pulls you onto his lap. One of his big hands finds its way to your thighs, while the other settles on your lower back, rubbing soft circles into your skin.

“Are you okay? Was it too much? I'm sorry if it was,” Ransom mumbles, watching your expression and body language intensely. He keeps the soft motion of his hand on your back while he waits patiently for you to answer him.

“R-Ran, what was that?” You whisper, leaning your head against his broad chest. He assumed punches, screaming for being so weird, but the first thing you asked was what that was. Wasn't it obvious?

“I-I dominated you; I had the control,” he explains. Searching for a more detailed explanation since you look still a bit in a haze. “You picked your lips; I don't like when you do it. I neither do like it when you drink too little for your own good. I'm sorry, I should have asked and… I fuck—”

You bring one of your hands to his muscular chest, stroking it softly over his shirt. Ransom looks down at your smaller hand, smiling softly.

“I couldn't help myself. You… I-I’m more of the dominant one, and my first ex, she’s a sub; we discovered a lot together, and after…” Ransom stops, running his hand that was placed on your thighs through his soft locks before placing it back on your thighs, filling your stomach with the familiar warmth you always feel around him. “After I wasn't in a relationship most people consider as normal. Of course, there are times when it's less of the dom and sub dynamic, but it’s still mostly a d/s relationship. And with you… honey pie.”

Ransom inhales deeply, pulling you closer like he fears that you could jump off his lap and run away. You wrap one of your arms around his neck, leaning further into him as you press your other palm against his chest, feeling his racing heart. Ransom is barely nervous; he's always so calm and grounded with everything he's doing.

“I love you,” he breathes out. You blink, forcing yourself to push back slightly and look at him. Does the guy in the movie have the same soft voice Ransom has, or did he really just confess his feelings to you? “I love you; I'm so in love with you, honey pie. But I'm afraid… afraid that you don’t like that side of me but also th-that I can't give you what a ‘normal' relationship would offer you. The dominance took over when I saw you picking your lips again. I'm sorry.”

“Are you stupid?” You blurt out, clamping a hand down on your mouth immediately. Ransom chuckles softly, shrugging. He might be a bit stupid, at least stupid in love. “I-I it was intense to give up control like that. But in a good way, I-I… I never thought it would feel that good to let someone take control.”

Your admission surprises Ransom slightly. Of course, he has seen your widened eyes, your parted lips, and your clenched thighs, but your reaction afterwards made him unsure about seeing your reaction right. He moves his hand from your thighs up to your chin, turning your face softly until your eyes are locked with his.

“You should freak out,” he mumbles with a soft laugh. “Not just because I confessed the kind of relationships I like but also because of the love confession.”

The soft giggle coming from you makes his heart beat faster and his grip around your waist tightens slightly. “Mhm, no, nothing to freak out. But… I love you too,” you admit with a soft giggle, hiding your face in his broad chest. “And this whole dominance, it suits you; it makes you even hotter, and so mhmmmm.”

“So what?” Ransom laughs, mimicking the tone you made with a low chuckle, his chest vibrating. “So, you liked it, and you love me… then-” he interrupts himself, his heartbeat increasing, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

You rub your hand up and down his chest, trying to soothe him. You lean closer, grinning when you kiss him softly. Ransom gasps, immediately trying to catch up to kiss you back. Your teeth graze his lips, and he shudders until you tip down slowly and earn a growl from your best friend.

“You earn yourself a spanking if you keep teasing me, baby girl,” he growls, his voice in that low, dominant tone. You shiver in his lap, pulling back only slightly, your breath hitching in excitement; you bite your lip, keeping the soft grin on your lips. “Let go of your lip, or you will count the spanks.”

You whimper, pressing your thighs together - and fuck, this shouldn't be that hot, but it is. He clears his throat, leaning closer until his lips are firmly pressed against your forehead. His voice once again soft and tender when he speaks up. “Do you want to be mine?”

“Sub or girlfriend?” You wonder, tracing your fingers over his chest to his abs. His breath quickens the lower your hand moves, and you giggle when you feel him shifting underneath you. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his chest and leaving his on top of your smaller hand.

“Both. I mean… if you want. I want you, and if you say you don't… don't like the whole d/s relationship stuff, then I will try to give you the best of me without these aspects,” he murmurs, inhaling deeply. His heart is racing; of course, he loves you anyway, but a part of him hopes that you will agree to the whole him, to his desires that make the bond between people stronger than just a normal relationship. “If you want to. D/s relationships are built on trust and love, way more than a ‘normal' one; sometimes, they connect you in more ways. But if you say no, we will make it the deepest love relationship without those things.”

It’s not Ransom trying to convince you to agree to him. It was your best friend who’s deeply in love with you, promising you everything you ask for.

“You already gave me a taste of your dominance, and you think someone can say no to that then?” You giggle, shaking your head. “I would love to be yours, your girlfriend, but also your sub.”

Ransom nods, letting himself fall backwards on his bed, pulling you with him. His strong arms snake around you, and he grips you even tighter, purring low in his chest. “Decide on a movie so you can calm down a bit before we have to go over some basics, rules, limits, you know. And then we will get you something to drink. Damn, finally you're all mine, baby girl.”

With a chuckle, you adjust yourself on top of him and look for something you want to watch with him. Ransom presses his lips softly on your hair. Your heart flutters at the thought of belonging to him but also knowing that he belongs to you - that he loves you, too.

Taglist: @rogersbarber @loki-laufeyson68 @etherealdisneyvillainness @winterschildren8 @pono-pura-vida @kimmie113080 @sergeantbarnessdoll @sebastianstanisahotmf @mercurial-chuckles @holylulusworld @randomawesomeperson102 @looking1016 @multiversefanfics @kpopgirlbtssvt @blackhawkfanatic @hisredheadedgoddess28 @armystay89 [add yoruself]

[darlingdaisyfarm]

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ִֶָ mullet!stan pines x farmer's daughter!reader ♡༉‧₊˚.

honestly idk what happened i just wrote this in like 40 minutes because the idea wouldn’t leave me alone, i never write this fast sorry for the random but i love that dynamic 🤍

Gravity Falls market days were a real mess you’d grown up in but never quite adjusted to. the sun sat high and too mean, slanting golden light across the rows of wooden stalls and voices carried sharp over the sound of shuffling feet. you didn’t mind the noise because it made the hours feel faster.

your hands worked quickly, sorting the last of the peaches into the old wicker basket, as you clearly remembered your mom’s words “don’t bruise the fruit, honey; folks don’t buy what looks spoiled.” you smoothed your palm over the fabric of your overalls, standing up straight to greet the next customer and—

he wasn’t what you expected and you weren’t sure what to make of him. broad shoulders under a faded red jacket, hands stuffed into his pockets, huge dark bags under his eyes. he looked rough, unpolished you'd say, like he’d stepped out of a life far removed from your quiet one and found himself here by accident.

he nodded toward your baskets. “how much for the peaches?”

you sized him up. “depends,” you answered. “you actually gonna pay?”

that caught him off guard, did he really look that bad? his lips twitched into grin. “didn’t know this place came with an interrogation.”

“it’s not interrogation,” you shot back, leaning against the edge of the stall. “it’s just business. besides, you look like the type to run off with free samples.”

he laughed then. “well, guess you caught me,” he held his hands up like he’d been caught red-handed. “but im starving here. what’s it gonna take to get one of—”

“ahh, you must be the scientist everyone talks about.” you interrupted him, shifting the basket awkwardly against your hip.

“uh right, that's me.”

“mom mentioned you,” you continued, even though he didn't seem in the mood for conversation. “said you were. . . weird.” the word came out of your mouth before you even realized it, and your cheeks instantly flushed. great. off to a fantastic start.

but he didn't seem offended. on the contrary, he looked amused, slightly raising his eyebrows. “weird, huh?”

“her words, not mine,” you explained quickly, though it wasn't exactly untrue. “but yeah. she said you moved out here to study something? bugs? dirt?”

he chuckled. “somethin’ like that. but im pretty hungry. so what’s it gonna take to get one of those?”

you should’ve turned him away, told him to come back with cash like everyone else. but your gut told you he’d actually gone a little too long without a decent meal. yeah, thats how bad he looked.

so you reached into the basket and handed him one.

“on the house,” you said.

he blinked at you, caught somewhere between surprise and suspicion. “seriously?”

“just this once,” you warned. “but if you come back, i expect full price.”

“aww, isn't that adorable, thank you, sweetie.” he took the peach, turning it over in his hands. “heard people here mentioning you're generous girl.”

...

the sun begins its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink as you ride your bicycle down the lonely country road. the day has been long, filled with selling farm food. your hat shields your face from the fading light, but a chill is settling in as the evening approaches.

the basket on your bike rattled with what was left of the day’s haul, less than you’d hoped for but enough to keep the house running another week. your legs ached from pedaling though. the cold was creeping in now.

when the headlights appeared behind you, cutting through the soft twilight, you almost didn’t notice. but then the car slowed, pulling up beside you and you heard the window roll down.

“need a lift?” a smoky voice asked.

it was him. Stanford. the same red jacket, the same grin. he surely hadn’t been expecting to see you but was damn happy about it anyway.

you hesitated as you looked at him and his car, tightening your hands around the handlebars. “and leave my bike?”

“throw it in the back,” he told you, jerking his thumb toward the back seat. “unless you’re real set on freezing out here.”

you glanced at the empty road stretching ahead of you, then back at Stanford. he didn’t seem like the kind of guy to offer something for nothing, but he also didn’t seem like the kind to push it if you said no.

so you nodded. Stanley gave you a reassuring smile. “hop in, toots. it's getting cold.” you let him haul the bike into the back before climbing into the passenger seat. the warmth from inside is immediate, a stark contrast to the cool evening air.

he didn’t say much at first, just flicked on the radio and kept his eyes on the road. but then, without looking over, he shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you.

“here, take this. it’s not much, but it’ll keep you warm.”

you took the fabric and when you putted it around your shoulders, you felt the softness of it against your skin, grateful for the gesture. “thank you,” it was too big, the sleeves hanging loose past your wrists, but it was so warm. although it smelled very strongly of cigarettes.

he shrugged modestly. “no problem. it’s the least i can do after the way you treated me last week.”

“so,” he said after a beat, glancing over with that same crooked grin. “what’s a farmer’s daughter doin’ out on the road this late?”

you pulled the jacket tighter around you. “work doesn’t stop just ‘cause the sun goes down.”

“hard worker, huh? guess your mom was right about you.”

you glanced at him in surprise and furrowed your brow. “you keep bringing up my mom like you actually know her.” you said suspiciously.

“ran into her a couple weeks ago,” he admitted. “she was real proud, talkin’ ‘bout how her daughter’s the backbone of the farm.”

heat rose to your cheeks and you turned your gaze back to the road. “she talks too much.”

“nah, she’s just proud of you.” this time, you stayed quiet, letting the hum of the engine carry you the rest of the way home.

...

the next time you see him, it’s at the farm on early morning, when dew still clings to the grass and the sky’s a pale, watercolor wash. you’d barely had time to start on your chores when that same old car rumbled down the dirt track.

Stanley stepped out, wearing that red jacket you’d given back last night, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “you forgot your bike.”

“you didn’t have to bring it all the way here.” you smiled shyly

“well,” he glanced around, assessing the place, “figured you could use it more than i could. besides, wasn’t much of a detour.”

in addition, it was the first time Stan met your dog as he stayed at the farm to try the freshly baked apple pie that you offered.

you were hauling a basket of fresh vegetables from the field when you heard a low, warning growl. you looked up, biting back a grin. “she won’t bite.”

“uh-huh,” Stan said, standing frozen in place as the big scruffy mutt circled him.

you set the basket down, whistling low, and your dog trotted over, tail wagging now that you’d given the all-clear. “this is Molly,” you said, ruffling her ears. “dont worry, she’s just protective.”

Stan crouched slowly, one knee to the dirt, sticking his hand out like he was afraid she might lunge. Molly sniffed him once, then pressed her head against his palm, tail thumping in approval.

“well, look at that,” he said, scratching behind her ears. his hands are so big, calloused, but his touch is surprisingly gentle. Molly leaned into his hand, letting out a pleased huff. “she likes me.”

but then Molly rolled over, flopping onto her back in the dust and he laughed. “spoiled,” he said, rubbing her belly as she wagged her tail.

“you don’t even know the half of it. she gets the best scraps off the table. mom says it’s why she’s got such shiny fur.”

Stan grinned. “lucky dog.” oh, how he wished he could be in Molly's shoes. to be needed at least by someone, to be taken care of, to be fed. “so, you sellin’ this week?”

you nodded, but your gaze drifted toward the fields. there was still so much work left to do, rows and rows of crops waiting to be picked and sorted. you sighed, already feeling the ache in your arms.

Stan seemed to catch on. “well, if you’re ever lookin’ for extra hands, i know a guy who owes you a couple favors.”

...

you don’t know why you start bringing him food. it’s not like Stanley asked for it and he’s certainly not the kind of man who’d admit if he needed it. but you, the sweetest girl in town, noticed how he looked that first day at the market, hunger written all over him like and that makes it impossible not to.

it started with a couple of peaches tucked into a paper bag which you carefully left on the counter of the Mystery Shack with a quick, “thought you might want something fresh.” but then it grew into a jar of honey. then. . . in a bundle of wildflowers tied with twine.

one day, you showed up with a loaf of bread so fresh it was still warm, wrapped in an old tea towel embroidered with little sunflowers. Stanley was tinkering with something behind the counter, muttering something about journals but when he saw you, he stopped, wiping his hands on his pants.

“you know, you don’t have to keep bringing me this stuff,” he said even as he took the loaf from your hands.

“i know, yeah, but you’re always here, and I figured. . . well, everyone deserves a decent meal now and then.” he looked at you for a long moment, longer than felt normal, trying to figure out if you were pulling some kind of trick.

“thanks,” he said your name. “that means a lot.”

and it becomes a thing, fresh eggs one day, a loaf of bread the next. you don’t stay long when you drop them off, because Stanford always says he's kinda busy here, dealing with some of his "scientific research”, so you quickly greet him, maybe say some comment about the weather, but every damn time he sees you, his face softens, genuine smile appearing on it, his shoulders relax too. maybe you’re not just bringing food but something else he’s been missing.

and sometimes, Stanley feels too lonely, so he pulls out an old chair and offers you coffee, the two of you sitting on the porch while he tells you about his life.

[qhazomb]

so some recent art by @we-cool-beans reminded me of this one "sharing a body" au i've thought about.

i've talked about my other one where it takes place post-canon, with the temporary body-sharing happening in order to save gordon from a life-threatening disease he developed (likely from all that radioactive raw sewage...), but this is one that takes place during canon.

(this is using my headcanon that benry's true form is just a big glowing cloud of rainbow cosmic energy containing a consciousness).

after gordon's hand gets chopped off, and then benry realizes humans cannot in fact regrow limbs, he's not exactly jazzed over the fact that he got gordon perma-fucked up. he's also not a big fan of the fact that he can't un-fuck him up. benry doesn't know how to make someone else's body regrow limbs, just the body that he's in!

....so then he gets the idea "oh i'll just pop into gordon's body to fix it, then."

so benry abandons his own body somewhere (not important, he can just make a new one later), and slips into gordon's when everybody's asleep. when he gets there, he originally intended on just fixing gordon's hand and then leaving, but holy shit this guy is a LOT more beat up than benry thought. this hev suit's kinda sucks at being armor, huh. there's new wounds that are looking pretty rough, and benry also notes evidence of old injuries that don't look like they healed the way they're supposed to. he's got a looooot of work to do.

when the science team all wake up, they're all extremely surprised to see that gordon is no longer down a hand. the others of course make light of it, but gordon himself is feeling a weird mix of relief and what the fuck over the fact that he just... regrew a limb. like a fucking lizard or something. the rest of the team try coming up with theories on why this happened- "Perhaps the hazardous materials you've been swimming in have given you mutant powers!" "Are you sure you're actually human?" "Maybe Black Mesa's been secretly experimenting on you without you knowing it."

gordon of course does not like any of these theories.

at one point gordon gets a cut on his hand, an sees that his blood is a LOT darker than it should be, which freaks him out further. and then, again, when that cut heals up pretty much right before his eyes, he's not sure if he should be thankful or freaking the fuck out over it.

gordon also doesn't like the fact that benry's been missing again for A While, which normally he'd be thankful for, but given the current circumstances, it's putting him extra on edge.

gordon finally finds out both why he has a hand again and where benry went when he has a big emotional outburst... that's accompanied by sweet voice.

"I didn't know you could use the Black Mesa Sweet Voice, Gordon!"

gordon insists that he can't, and his panic is rising as more coloured orbs spill from his mouth (which tommy comfirms means gordon is panicking. bubby makes a comment like "Yeah, we can tell.")

it's then that benry, who has been just been staying quiet the whole time, finally speaks up in gordon's mind. "hey, calm down maybe?"

obviously this just freaks gordon out even more, albiet in a different way.

when gordon says he can hear benry in his fucking head, there's definitely some jokes in there from the team about gordon hearing voices now/being haunted again, pff.

eventually benry's able to explain himself (the best he can, at least). he's in here because gordon couldn't heal that good on his own, and benry couldn't heal him without being in here. and he's staying here because gordon's weak lil baby human body is just SO easy to break, like damn, so benry's gotta stick around to make sure it stays put together. he's the maintenance man, now.

gordon of course HIGHLY objects to this, but it's not like he can force this weird cosmic energy being out of his body.

(and though he's not saying it out loud, he does appreciate how all his usual aches and pains have been completely gone ever since benry started this "maintenance" work.)

gordon does at least get benry to agree to get the fuck out of him once they're all out of black mesa, though.

and then through the rest of their journey, understandings happen, and bonding happens. i've imagined one point where gordon is feeling Overwhelmed with Emotions and having a bad time because of it, when benry tells him to just, sing it all out with sweet voice. gordon begrudingly does so, and then... actually does feel better afterwords. turns out sweet voice is a really good way to get Big Feelings out. huh.

now the thing that we-cool-bean's art specifically reminded me of, is when they get to xen. benry obviously isn't here to be the big bad final boss, thus the nihilanth is still kickin' around, and proving to be just as dangerous as xenrey. during the fight, benry gives gordon a lil power-up: RAINBOW DEATH MODE

(gordon doesn't get freaky shape-shifting like benry does when in RAINBOW DEATH MODE, he just gets glowy. there's extra orange in there as that's gordon's life energy colour signature!)

i picture gordon getting to land the final blow on the nihilanth, managing to get up on its head, prying open that noggin' to expose the crystal... but then being unsure what to do next.

benry yells in his mind "song of death at it!"

"How do I do that!?"

"just think about how much you wanna kill this guy and SING!"

the 'singing' that comes out of gordon's mouth sounds less like the angelic theramin notes benry sings, and more like death metal screaming, but hey it gets the job done all the same!

in the end, even after benry's vacated the freeman, it soon becomes aparent that gordon is... not entirely human anymore. having benry spend so much time hanging out within him, and then giving that RAINBOW DEATH MODE boost at the end fully cemented gordon's own connection to the cosmic ether, which is what sustains benry. now it's sustaining gordon, too.

...aaaand gordon's gonna need some lessons on how to keep from spitting out sweet voice when he gets a bit too emotional while in public :B

[stevenose]

while we’re on the subject…

I feel like Steve wouldn’t be that into smoking, and even if he wanted to he’d end up babysitting everyone who was high bc yknow forever a mother.

but but but imagine he has a crush on reader who is very big stoner vibes, but he’s been too nervous to make a move. they’re at a get together with the older kids and maybe some randoms. they go outside with Eddie a few others to smoke, and for the first time ever Steve ends up opening the sliding door and asking to join.

He sits next to reader and takes a hit and suddenly he’s back to his king Steve bullshit. He’s brazen with his stares, his compliments and little touches. Everyone is too high to notice, except reader who has no idea how to respond. Something about not only seeing Steve going back to his cocky, brazen self, but to do it all while holding a joint between his fingers, does it for me personally.

i love this so so much….!!!!! anon this is such a good idea.

like it’s a little bit pathetic when he comes out and coughs his head off and refuses water when everyone knows he needs it. and he still sort of chastises everyone because you’re smoking too much, you’re gonna get sick!

but he kind of forgot how awesome being high is. he hasn’t smoked since senior year of high school and he’s almost wondering why he stopped.

and, actually, his old high school self comes out when he smokes. ten minutes after his last hit he’s walking like he owns the world, cracking witty jokes, winking at you like you’re sharing a secret. you’re taken aback, not used to a laid back, suave steve.

he sits side by side with you, his thigh pressing against yours. he’s hot. always runs hot. he’s making you hot, the joint back in his hands as it rotates around the coffee table. he’s telling a story, animated, chuckling. ashes the joint and holds it out to you.

“take a big hit for me, huh?”

steve holds the damn thing while you inhale, staring at him with wide eyes. he disappears in a cloud of smoke when you exhale, and it’s like it’s only you and him. there’s a sidebar conversation happening over something steve said and no one notices when he winks at you.

and he passes it past you to the next person, casual again while you sit reeling. your heart beats quick and you wonder if he can feel it or hear it. if he knows how worked up he just got you.

“you okay?” he asks, leaning over to speak softly into your ear.

“yeah.” it’s unconvincing.

he puts a hand on your thigh as if to comfort you. “too big?”

your eyes widen. “huh?”

“the hit,” he grins. “too big for you?”

you stare because you don’t know how to answer. really dumbstruck over him. you didn’t even know he could be this way.

“you’re really pretty, you know.” steve squeezes your thigh, makes sure to drag his fingers inward and up swiftly before pulling away. “look so pretty with your lips wrapped around that.”

he nods towards the joint that’s been stalling in eddie’s hands for about three minutes now, while everyone listens to him tell the story about how he spent three days in jail.

you still don’t know what to say, suddenly feeling too high - dizzy, a little in love. “thank you.”

he tilts his head, furrows his brows, a gleam in his eyes giving away his lack of sincerity. “makes me wonder what else your lips look good wrapped around.”

“harrington! what’s the name of that jackass football player that bought the blow from me?”

steve turns to answer him, like he didn’t just make your thighs clench. you take a deep breath and run your hand through your hair, looking around the room to see if anyone else noticed. they didn’t, of course.

but he’s back, casual again while he puts his arm around you. makes it look like he’s just getting comfortable. you can smell him - the cologne, the hairspray, the weed, his sandalwood deodorant. it’s all encompassing, comforting, makes you salivate for more.

you turn to look at him, catching his little smirk.

steve looks back at you, so fondly, his soft eyes red.

“what?” he asks.

“steve.”

his fingers find the strap of your bra under your shirt. he rubs over it. “somethin’ wrong? y’got somethin’ to tell me?”

you feel hypnotized by his eyes. “‘n-no.”

he talks softly to you. “you need somethin’, then? you feeling okay? need me to take care of you?”

you freeze, thinking for a long moment before nodding. because he looks to damn good with his hooded eyes and a shirt that might rip if he exerts his muscles to much. it’s precisely what you’d like to see, in fact. need to see those strong biceps, need to see them straining while he holds himself up over you. need him to take care of you like he always does when he’s sober.

“think you should go lay down.” his nose almost touches yours. “be right up to make you feel better, ‘kay?”

and you’re running up to the guest bedroom within seconds.

[laswells-ashtray]

Usually, in these situations, he'd get up, throw on a t-shirt and shoes and go outside to smoke by the entrance to their building. But the rain is battering off of the windows with enough force that he half expects them to shatter.

So, instead, he stares at the ceiling and desperately tries not to disturb the hulking bear of a man wrapped around him. After years he's mastered the art of slipping out from the Russian's grip, he has to escape him legs first or Nikolai would clamp around his waist like a vice and drag him back into the cavernous heat underneath him with his face nuzzled into John's chest.

The ability to sleep soundly had been lost on him from a young age, bottles shattering on walls had gradually transitioned to bullets piercing skulls. He'd been naive enough to think he'd be able to stop it this time, years ago he had thought that maybe this time he could prevent it. Today, he knows that brain matter and skull fragments are harder to clean than broken glass and spilt whisky.

He blinks up at the ceiling, sometimes Nikolai's breathing is enough to dim the noise buzzing in his head. The rest of the time he knows that the only effective silencing method is to leave someone else cleaning up his brain matter.

He still has a few good years in him before he gets to that point.

Nikolai's nose is pressed against his neck and his skin is damp from the other man's breathing. There's a large, calloused hand resting over his ribs and a leg entangled with his own. The pilot had a habit of clutching John like he was afraid of what would happen to John when he let go. He had a radiator hidden in the form of a breathtaking Russian in his bed and he was ungrateful enough to think about leaving him for a smoke, that's the type of man John is.

He adores Nikolai. He could spend days sketching every little detail of the other man's body, he could list off the scars and the stories behind him, the stretchmarks and the way he nips at them whenever they're fucking around like horny teenagers and he could damn near list every grey that had made an appearance in Nikolai's mane. And the subsequent negative effect each of those greys had on his knees.

But he wondered who out there was better suited to the other man. Watching people flirt with Nikolai was something he was subjected to whenever they went out for a simple drink together, it was always someone younger, fitter and he'd bet a hell of a lot less scarred. Nikolai had his pick of the litter and he found himself stuck with a captain-shaped pit of despondency and antiquated, contemptible self-pity.

John's only use is getting a job done, there's a reason he's so highly regarded in his field. His fingers were made to wield weapons and his mouth was made for barking orders. Outside of the job he was robotic, there was little purpose for him in everyday life. John was a means to an end on the field. He's barely a person. He's a blacked-out name in a file.

Nikolai is lively, he's charming and he can function in any context because he was crafted out of a humanity that had been bred out of John's family line. Nikolai was modelled after the word benevolence.

And he found himself chained to John.

John who had made a career out of handing death certificates back to families, used nationalism to guide youthful faces into war and used detachment to send them back in a box.

He blinks up at the ceiling. There's no light shining in from the window, it can't be approaching a reasonable wake-up time so he has no choice but to lie there until it does or the rain stops pounding away and he can smoke in peace.

The one time he had a working lighter and he could remember where he had left it and he couldn't bloody smoke, typical.

He had to avoid the little old lady who lived downstairs when he went out for a smoke. She'd corner him and question him about when he was finally going to bring home a nice woman and start a family. Apparently, she was under the impression that Nikolai lived elsewhere in their building and not plastered against John's back whenever he was cooking.

The pensioner would shake her head and insist that when John finally has a wee one of his own, he'll be happy. It felt like some parasite under his skin squirming about under his flesh and eating away at the person inside, the thought of ever having a child of his own.

It was nauseating to imagine a baby somewhere with his features, he wasn't a father and it was the ideal outcome of life. To be a father to anyone was John subjecting them to something terminal. They'd never escape his impact and he was like a cancer who'd play the vital part in shutting every good part of them down.

He'd never subject a child to that, he couldn't. He refused to shadow his father's footprints that led him into a grave, belt in one hand and bottle in the other.

John isn't built to be a father, he's made to pull the trigger of a gun that no one else would ever consider picking up. He couldn't raise a child, instead of counting sheep his children would have to count every body in the trail left behind him.

He works for the greater good, they all do but there are only so many skeletons that you can cram into one closet.

He blinks up at the ceiling and turns to lie on his side only to be met with dark brown eyes staring back at him, far too knowing and far too tired. He had missed Nikolai pulling away from his neck, hadn't been alert enough to feel it. He was slipping.

"How long have you been awake?"

Nikolai pulls John to the centre of the bed, wrapping himself around him and pinning John in place. One hand cradling the back of his head all too carefully, as if he'd fracture under the slightest touch.

People have a tendency that John will splinter under intimacy like he was a glass pane and they're a hydraulic press. They're closer than he'd ever be able to admit verbally.

"You think too much, you should be sleeping." Nikolai murmurs, voice rough with sleep as he rests his head against John's shoulder. The warm feeling of his cheek burning John's bare skin.

He offers back a vague grumble of acknowledgement and pretends he doesn't melt under the hand that caresses his cheek, thumb tracing over a faint trail of freckles.

"Go back to sleep, дорогой."

Tomorrow, John will choose to believe that he followed the order because he's a good soldier.

[victorzsasz]

Fic request plz for armand looking after sick daniel? I’m feeling fevery and tragic and would love a lil comfort fic if you have time! 💖

So sorry to hear you're feeling sick! Thank you so much for the prompt, I'm honoured. I hope this helps you feel a little better :) Daniel wakes up, shivering yet sweaty and hot, his head pounding like the worst hangover he's ever had. He hasn't been sick like this in years, damn his dysfunctional immune system.

He lazily reaches a hand out beside himself on the bed and blindly searches for Armand. Finding some part of him, Daniel gently shakes him.

"....Armand..?" Daniel says weakly, ".. babe?"

"hm? yes?" Armand replies sleepily, stirring awake.

"Cancel our plans. I feel horrible." Daniel says.

Armand shifts, and Daniel feels Armand's freezing cold flesh envelop his own burning flesh. it feels so nice.

"oh. you we're kidding, you're very warm." Armand comments.

Daniel just grunts in response and turns around, burying his face into the crook of Armand's neck. The coolness of his flesh was so soothing, he wants to stay like this forever.

"Take it easy today, okay? just relax. I'll take care of everything. rest." Armand says, gently stroking Daniel's hair.

Rest. Daniel feels himself get incredibly tired, yes, rest does seem nice right now. Daniel feels himself relax, and feels himself start to fall asleep through the pounding of his headache. Curled up against his lover, Daniel smiles slightly as he fades into unconsciousness. Daniel wakes up some time later. Armand's gone, but Daniel's headache and fever remain. He feels his stomach clench up and decides he should at least try to eat something. getting up, Daniel's legs feel like jelly, he feels dizzy, weak, and uncoordinated. He stumbles his way to the bedroom door, grabbing his hung-up housecoat and throwing it on, he has no energy to actually get dressed, before opening the door and making his way to the living room.

Leaning against the living room doorway, trying to steady himself and regain some strength, he spots Armand sitting on the couch, looking at something on his ipad.

"Hey." Daniel says.

"Daniel!" Armand looks up at him in surprise, "You should be resting."

"Just thought I'd try to eat something." Daniel explains.

Armand smiles softly and pats the seat next to him on the couch.

"Come, relax, I'll get you something to eat and drink. I'll take care of you."

Daniel glances at the couch, in his weakened state is seems so far away.

"uh, yeah, just give me a second." Daniel says, resting his head against the doorway.

Armand gets up and walks over to Daniel, and gently caresses his face before picking him up bridal style, like Daniel weighs nothing. Daniel doesn't protest or complain, he's too tired to put up a fight, he just rests his head against Armand's shoulder.

"... do I need to bring you to a hospital?" Armand looks down at Daniel with intense concern.

"No. it's nothing that serious. It'll pass soon."

Armand carries Daniel to the couch and gently lays him down.

"What do you need, beloved?" Armand asks, staying kneeled down beside the couch.

"Water, nothing too heavy, maybe soup? and my meds and if we have any, Advil or something for my head."

Armand nods, and leaves to the kitchen. Daniel stares at the wall for a few seconds, not really having the energy to do much else, before he decides to at least turn on the tv.

grabbing the remote and flipping through the channels, nothing really interests Daniel, so he just throws on some old stand up comedy special. He doesn't really pay attention, and he thinks the audiences laughter is just making his headache worse. He doesn't turn it off though, he just blankly stares at the tv in misery.

Armand returns a few minutes later with a tray expertly balancing on one hand, and a pillow and blanket in the other. He walks over to Daniel, placing the tray down on the coffee table, before spreading the blanket over him and Daniel lifts his head as Armand places the pillow underneath it.

"thank you." Daniel says before examining the contents on the tray.

A glass of water, what Daniel thinks is chicken and vegetable soup, and all his various medications sit on the tray. Daniel grabs the glass of water and takes an experimental sip, it feels like a rock in his stomach. He keeps it down though, so Daniel takes all his pills, throwing them into his mouth before drinking some water and swallowing them. It feels like someone punched and stabbed Daniel in the gut at the same time. For a moment he thinks he might vomit, but the feeling passes. His stomach feels hurt and heavy, but at least he can keep his pills down.

"I think that's the best I can do." Daniel says.

"that's okay, love, at least you got your medications and some water down. Do you need anything else?" Armand asks softly,

"yeah, uh, turn me into a vampire so I'll never be this sick again." Daniel complains.

"Can't do that, love." Armand says with a slight smile, "besides, your blood would taste horrible right now."

Daniel smiles slightly, before returning his attention to the tv. Armand grabs his ipad and sits on the other couch, paying full attention to the screen.

He's not entirely sure how much time has passed, the show has changed from the stand up to some old sitcom he's half paying attention to.

"Sit up." Armand says, breaking through Daniel's half-dazed state.

Daniel sits up with a grunt, how can his body feel so stiff when he's just laid around all day? Armand sits down on the couch and slowly lowers Daniel down, and rests his head on his lap. Daniel hums happily, comfortable in his lover's lap. Daniel then feels a cold, wet, towel drape across his forehead, cooling him down some and slightly helping his headache.

"I read online this is good for sickness." Armand says, gently playing with Daniel's curls.

"mmm." Daniel replies, "You haven't been sick in over 500 years, have you?"

"no." Armand replies.

"must be nice... not remembering what it's like."

"....You need rest now, Daniel. Just rest."

"Rest..." Daniel mumbles back, his body suddenly feeling so heavy, so tired.

Daniel feels himself start drifting into unconsciousness, despite the pounding headache and aching limbs, Daniel feels comfortable and safe.

"Don't leave me.." Daniel mumbles, half-asleep.

"I won't. I promise. Rest now, beloved. I'll still be here when you wake." Armand assures him.

With that assurance, Daniel fades back into much needed sleep.

[damnbluewires]

She set up her instruments for a routine autopsy, and realized she has run out of gloves. Having no one else in the facility to fetch them for her, she headed out to the supply closet down the corridor. The lights were muted, but she liked it that way, being used to stay overtime. The work was indeed grueling and demanding, but this, staying this late, was out of her own volition. Not to be a walking stereotype, but she much preferred the company of the cold, dead cadavers to the company of her cold, and emotionally as good as dead coworkers.

Not mentioning, that the cadavers were far better conversationalists as well.

She didn't choose the profession because of her gift, it was more like the gift chose her because of her profession. Yeah, that didn't make sense to her either.

All she knew is that one day she was opening up some old man's chest cavity to investigate the potential cause of death, and the bastard started hitting on her.

She had nerves of steel, never even as much as grimaced during all of her training, despite how bad the smell was, but this, she must admit, made her yelp and stumble onto her metal tray. She eventually was just glad nobody was there to make fun of her. Apart from the man with a scalpel still poking out of his ribs.

She learned that day, that sometimes she can see the corpses rise from the dead, for exactly ten minutes, before collapsing back, that time for good. What surprised her more, was that most of the people who were brought to her morgue were already more or less prepared to die, so they were just glad to have one last opportunity to have a chat with her.

She adjusted to that new aspect of her job rather quickly, never once thinking of quitting. She would stitch some poor sod's guts back into their body, while talking to the other next in line, about nothing in particular. She would listen to odd stories, treasured memories, and what it felt like to die. It was rather nice, all things considered.

She mused on that, as she grabbed a new box of gloves from the supply and headed back.

The one she had today was some bloke they found in the alley in a pool of blood. What was odd, is that he had no injuries on him. She would have to ask about that.

She put the gloves on, rechecked the instruments, took a scalpel, and started to feel for the right muscle to open the chest from, with practiced grace. When she found the right spot, she began the incision, and heard an inquisitive and amused: "Not even going to buy me a drink first?"

"I don't drink, thanks. Half a year sober." She answered, unfazed as ever. She wanted to continue the cut, but realized it's probably impolite to do so, and raised her eyes at the man, who was dead silent.

He was quiet for a while, and then uncertainly mumbled: "…Congratulations?"

She smiled at him, "Thanks! It has been hard to resist drinking something you know you shouldn't, but it just felt so damn good. You know?"

"I might be aware of the feeling, yes… But, hold on, why am I the stunned one? Why are you not running away, screaming?"

"And miss all the fun? Plus, that honestly sounds exhausting, and I have some more people after you, so I'd rather not waste that energy." She rationalized, while the man tried to collect himself. What the fuck?

"Right. Because the corpses coming to life is just another Tuesday for you."

"It's Wednesday, actually," she beamed again. "But, yeah! Pretty much." Is this hell? Was he finally in hell?

"Are you a demon of some sort?" There was no other explanation.

"Aw, flattery? And who was asking about a drink first?" Yeah. Hell. Most definitely.

"But, no, just your average clerk. Say, how did you end up in that alley? I've been dying to know." That's it. He had to get out of there.

"I have to get out of here."

"Oh, no, you don't. I don't need another runner, thank you very much."

He swooped off the metal bed and bolted to the door. Which was locked.

"Look, I know you are confused, I shouldn't have started with the jokes, but I really need you to go back to the bed. You will collapse somewhere on the street in less than ten minutes, and I really don't need another cop on my ass."

He paused his attempts to get the door open. "You have a cop on your ass?"

"Had one in my ass also, but that was long ago."

He slowly turned at that, and stared at the mortician, who was still just sitting idly on her stool with an innocent smile.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you will be dead again soon, and won't be able to tell anyone."

"I have been dead for a while now."

"Oh, really? Would love to know about that, if you come back and sit down. I'd offer you a coffee, but I will have to be the one to clean up the mess later, and I would honestly rather not."

He did come and sat back down.

"I don't drink coffee anyway." He said, almost to himself.

"What do you usually drink then?"

"Blood of my enemies."

"Ha! And i thought i was the one with dark jokes around here." He didn't say anything to that.

"So, back to my original question, what were you doing in that alley?"

"Drinking the blood of my enemies." He said deadpan.

"I complimented you way too soon, that joke was only funny the first time." She said, and he swears, she almost sounded disappointed. He should not care. He really shouldn't. But…

"You should try it. Tastes better than any alcohol in the world."

"It does sound good, I can't lie. But I bet Becky's blood will be gross no matter how much I hate her. She's on that new 'raw meat' diet. She adds butter to her coffee!" She made a disgusted noise and a face, and his head spinned a little. Must be from the disgust as well. Must be…

"I can understand raw meat, but butter in coffee? Really? Some people just do not care about what they consume, I swear to g-" The word stuck in his throat. He forgot for a second he couldn't say it. But the mortician seemed to not catch that.

"I know, right! But I do prefer my meat cooked. I honestly don't know how I'm not a vegetarian yet. The sight of blood doesn't make me hungry at all."

He quirked his brow at that, "Not even a little bit?"

"Not in the least. Just reminds me of my job. I do love my job, though, comes with its perks."

"Like what?"

"Like talking to you."

She smiled at him yet again, and something warmed inside the place where his heart used to be. But her smile vanished, as she raised her arm to check the clock. The ten minutes must be coming to the end, and she was dreading being in silence again. Alone. Always alone in the end. Only these rare moments of genuinely nice company is all she ha-. She froze. Twelve full minutes have passed.

It was the man's turn to smile at her confusion.

"What's wrong, doc? Forgot to put in the time of death?" He seemed to be amused all over again. "You are a bit too late for that. About two centuries too late."

She looked up at him, for once lost for words.

"I told you I was dead for a while now."

"So, in the alley…"

"Yes, I was actually drinking the blood of my enemies. And it did have a strange aftertaste. Maybe that horrid diet trend is spreading." He mused.

"You are not a ghost?"

"Ghost?! I am deeply wounded by that assumption. I am something much better than a mere ghost." He lowered his voice seductively. "I am a vampire."

She blinked. "…Like in twilight?"

"Oh for fucks- Why is that the first thing people think about? There was not a single vampire in that whole production."

"There are vampires in movie production?"

"In good movie production - yes."

"I have so many questions."

"So how about that drink? Bubble tea sounds good? There is a good place just across the road, and it is still open, I know the owner. Meet you there in ten." And with that, he winked, transformed into a bat, and flew out the window.

She sat there for a while. And then snickered, starting to get ready.

"Curiouser and curiouser…"

okay I had a BRILLIANTLY UNHINGED story idea for someone to write

a mortician has the magical ability to speak with the dead so she doesn't realize anything is unusual when one of her corpses sits up and starts sassing her

only to discover that her conversationalist is actually a vampire

and said vampire very confused about why the mortician isn't freaking out, normally this prank gets 'em every time

[valkyri]

NECK TATTS! NECK TATTS!

[outoftoucherlocksholmes]

it occurred to me while backing up procreate files last night that aside from Bad Bisexual Representation Booty Shorts Dio, i never posted any of the things from this canvas i had going for sketches while watching part 3 back in 2022, which is a shame, really

[iwonderwh0]

Whether algorithmically created (like tiktok, youtube, instagram, etc) or manufactured manually (like tumblr or 4chan), the inescapable nature of online echo chambers and their consequences terrifies and depresses me

[mishy-mashy]

Kudo makes funny facial expressions

[wbne]

what if the Blues and Reds were ex-freelancers

[skyburger]

"fnaf is the scariest game ever" "no its silent hill" "well i think its resident evil" everyone shut up!!!!!! youre all wrong. its actually zack & wiki quest for barbaros' treasure (on the nintendo wii) but only the level "keeper of the ice". that level scared me so bad as a kid and you can tell because its the only individual level i remember the name of off the top of my head. like there is nothing scarier than a) being chased and b) being on a time limit. and you know what this level has? BOTH OF THOSE. this level is still scary to me im like AHHHHH!!!! and then i die

[beware-of-you-98]

Is there a single witch in this little corner of the MCU whose life isn’t completely fucking depressing