#and there is an entity that shakes things up every once in a while

[erigold13261]

Been thinking of Failed Revolution AU a few years into the future where 1010 is no longer working for NSR and are living in the UK trying to overcome their trauma and basically start life over.

The idea that each one has their own baggage to deal with but slowly gets better is something I love to think about, but it also made me realize just how much Green had suffered.

Like yes, all of 1010 suffered, but they all had someone else to help them out or at least hang out with. Green had no one. Like technically he had Yinu, but she wasn't always able to visit because of Mama's hatred for 1010. Not to mention Yinu would just use Green as a person to vent to and so wasn't really someone Green could rely on.

Red and Yellow had each other. Blue and White had Neon J. Green could kinda rely on Blue, but both Yellow and White would constantly harass Green. Red was a total flake and even helped Yellow in this harassment (mainly because he was scared to be in Green's situation so he went along with Yellow's asshole-ery).

I just love the idea that 1010 try to move past the pain they had, but Green is the only one not healing. He doesn't have the energy or care to try and move on, even if things are objectively better for him now than they ever were working under NSR.

Yellow and White (not Sun and Silver) do their best to make it up to Green (not Fern), but it's just not working. Fern just stays in the rooftop garden or cleaning the shop/machines in their little family run candy shop.

Unlike the rest of 1010 who are trying to get educations, better jobs, make friends, Fern is just isolating himself and going throught the motions of life. Not caring to even try and heal (honestly if anything, he is still holding a lot of anger and pain towards the rest of 1010 for everything that happened, even if he isn't showing it).

Like Green didn't even have Neon J to fall back on. J was too busy wrangling Yellow in, scolding White, calming down Red, and putting more and more responsibilities and teaching moments onto Blue, that he just never even had time for Green (who for the most part seemed the most self sufficient and well behaved of all of 1010 in Neon J's eyes).

There's also the fact that if Neon J did have time to spend with Green, he was instead spending it either drinking or with Nova. To Neon J, there was no need to spend quality time with any of 1010 as he wasn't supposed to actually care for them (he did, but didn't want to admit that). And since Green was well behaved and not lashing out physically or emotionally, then Neon J didn't need to actually spend time with him (he did, but it was very rare and mostly cut short by the jealousy of the other 1010 members).

Anyway, I'm just rambling at this point. But I love the idea of exploring how each member of FRAU 1010 tries to heal from their time at NSR. I also like the idea of how White/Silver and Blue/Sky end up becoming friends with Ex-Jay and B2J in the future.

It is nothing like how the OG versions are, but it is something that helps them all get to a better place. Like closure (something that Green will definitely need at some point).

So yea. Just wanted to type this out. Been thinking about it for a few days (honestly probably a week now). I have 2 versions of this whole thought process.

One where there was a multiverse merge, where almost all my AUs combine into one like pocket of time universe. There my AUs meet and they see the different versions of themselves and learn how to be better people from seeing their flaws either reflected or called out. (and years down the line from this event it happens again just so the AUs can meet and see the progression everyone made lol)

The other is just where FRAU naturally continues without any silly multiverse shenanigans. Less self reflecting and a bit more serious, but still a bunch of good ideas.

Okay. Rambling basically over. Just really wanted to talk about Green and how his neglect and abuse will be something he doesn't get over for years, much longer than the rest of 1010 took to seemingly "get over" what happened to them.

[noisilyscreechingsong]

It’s canon that Jason Todd had a brother named Danny Todd. All we know is he died being a look out for a local gang. Who’s to say he didn’t die at the age of fourteen and come back? Maybe the Fentons were investigating the levels of ectoplasm in the area and somehow got their hands on an amnesic kid who died and didn’t quite stay dead? Perhaps they wanted to make him their side experiment, or they wanted to see if they can teach it to be good and not evil. Who knows. But as soon at Danny steps foot in Gotham, the entity of Gotham is there to greet him, welcome him home and remind him of who he was. And does he remember.

Danny is just a year or two younger than Dick and he was supposed to be starting a new job in the R&D department of WE. Instead he’s pushed back his start date to do research.

Of course, the first thing he looks up is his family, his original family that he can’t believe he forgot, to find out his mother, his father, and his little baby brother are all dead and buried. He has to take a break to sob uncontrollably on the kitchen floor for a while before gathering himself back up to find out what happened. He is unimpressed with the lack of information on Jason’s death, but he did find lots on his adoption to mister rich guy Brucie Wayne.

So it’s with almost no hesitation that after finding every single article and snippet he can on his brother and still find it lacking, he drives his motorcycle, that he built himself thank you, to Wayne Manor where he rang the buzzer repeatedly with a little too much force.

It takes him a while to finally bully his way through the gates, arguing with the butler and telling little white lies of ‘of course I don’t want to harm Mr. Wayne, I just need to ask him some questions’.

Sure he could have waited and got close to him through his new job or had some other cunning plan, but Danny has always been a straightforward kind of person and that didn’t change after his death. No, he prefers to get what he wants straight from the source.

That’s how he ends up pacing the length of the sitting room the British guy left him in with a deep glare and tense shoulders.

It was a nice place. Clean. Taken care of. Expensive. Jason lived here once upon a time. Too bad it didn’t last.

Mr. Wayne does show, surprisingly, and takes the time to assess him like a threat as he BS’s him with a ditzy expression.

Danny walks right up to him and sticks out his hand to shake because Jazz raised him with manners.

“Mr. Wayne,” he greets with a stiff nod.

Mr. Wayne hesitantly takes the offered hand.

“Uh, nice to meet you, I’m sorry, Alfred didn’t tell me your-“

As soon as the handshake is over Danny socks him with a right hook straight to the face. The force throws him back a few steps but he recovers quickly. Danny shakes out his hand.

“My name is Danny Fenton. Before that though my name was Danny Todd.” He sees Wayne’s eyes widen a bit in recognition. The next part didn’t really need to be said but he did it anyway. “My little brother was Jason and no I don’t have proof so you’ll just have to take my word for it. You are going to tell me exactly how he died and I’m not leaving here until you do.”

His words had fallen back into his Gotham Crime Alley accent with how emotional he was. He forgot how he even used to talk. How does that even happen?

He walks back to sit on the couch, getting comfortable because he has a feeling this guy will drag this out like pulling teeth.

“I’ll ask Alfred to get some refreshments,” Wayne says after several minutes of silence.

“You do that.”

[st4rbwrry]

━━━ ℎ𝑜𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑒 .ᐟ t.f

warnings 𑄽𑄺 2.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, heavy infatuation, oral [ f + m.], mention of car sex + alleyway, small argument, impact play, choking, strangers to whatever, dacryphilia, toji gives sugar daddy vibes with the sugar, kissingggg, missionary, unprotected sex, average pet names, lots more but i don't feel like listing, minors aren't allowed!

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; for my bestie bc she screamed at me for more toji fics. @thecoochiefairy

lust is a dangerous thing. it can make a person commit unspeakable acts for someone they desired profoundly. never would you have expected to give yourself to a stranger, to some man you met in a bar at two in the morning. this same man now had you eating at his face drunkenly in public areas, gaining weird stares from others. when you looked at him, an otherworldly entity possesses you, a sexual demon. there's times where you can't stop biting your lips or sulking your eyes submissively to him. touching him, stroking or tugging at his sable hair you loved so fucking much. this person makes you drop to your knees behind an alleyway while he fucks your mouth as he pleases. eats you out on his knees in the darkest and furthest corner of a movie theatre.

fucks you in mostly public areas, which was way out of your comfort zone, but you adapted, because you yearned him as fucking badly. an equal infatuation. he drives you crazy. he gets a kick out of you choking him while you ride him in his dark gray audi, eyes rolling back with every drop your ass makes to his broad thighs. seeing the sweat dip into the crevice of your breasts as your neck narrows back and your singing his name in sweet symphonies of salacious moans, fingertips digging into his thigh you grip for balance as you bounce and shake. toji's irises darken at you with captivity, mouth open as he inches his face closer to catch your nipples to suck.

"what does your pussy taste like?"

from the corner of your eye, you could see the man flick his dragon embroidered silver lighter, the lid shutting and opening as he smirked dully at you, waiting impatiently for your answer. his stare on you makes you feel powerful, yet that power would soon subjugate once he shows you just how powerless you are while fucking you senselessly. it's so vivid, the night you met him. what renders you immobile while thinking of it is how much you ached for him that day, the terrible throbbing of your clit, the pool of arousal in your panties as he shoved you up against the wall, chest pressed to your back as your ass ground onto the bulge in his jeans, his mouth on your neck greedily.

"angel tears," was your answer, a joke of course. but he'll never forget the way your eyes clocked down to his thighs, leaning closer to rest your hand on his body, manicured nails trailing up to his dick. in that moment, his entire chest fueled with fire. the answer was amusing. trying to give him something to look forward to while adding in your comedic sense of humor. toji was feening for the taste of you.

as his tattooed hands slither up the back of your thighs, under the black marilyn monroe dress you attired, you moan from the coldness of the rings settled on his long, thick fingers. he kept his promise when he said he'd 'eat your pussy til' you're crying for me to stop.' toji never stopped. it was the first time in your life where you came four times in one night. breathing wetly against the wall as you drooled and tears stained your cheeks. feeling heavenly suffocated by his scent, air compressed as his arm locked around your neck and he fucked you hard in the same position, spanking and assaulting your clit with his fingers, telling you just how much of a pretty slut you are.

toji was someone you didn't know you needed until you craved him every second of the day. when he's at work, a place he ultimately needed the majority of his focus to be while tatting clients, you'd be a brat and send him videos of you touching yourself. of course he'd be the one to watch them while reducing his volume, usually having music play in his shop. the both of you have a thing for filming. there's dozens, if not hundreds of videos the two of you shared in your phones. when he'd come by your house after, he'd make sure to keep his phone in his back pocket, grabbing your neck the moment he enters and roughly connecting your lips, slipping his tongue inside while callously groping your ass, bringing you closer.

he'd spank you for misbehaving. sitting on the couch, legs spread as you crawl to him and the cock he rests in his hand, demanding you handle it, taking him deep in your throat until he wants you to sink on it, riding him as your legs tremble and you call him his special name. daddy. mediocre to most, but he might as well take advantage of it with how good he takes care of you. aside from sex, he treats you like a princess. buying you all the things you wanted, making sure your bills were paid even if the two of you didn't live together. catering to your every naughty need. utmost affection. in a way, he felt like your sugar daddy. though he didn't like the title, and the both of you agreed on a no strings attached relationship . . . he's yours and you're his. labels weren't his deal.

it's a gray day in hell when you've actually manage to piss him off. it's rare. usually when he's sexually frustrated he tends to be mean, tugging you around, hitting your ass harder than he should but always apologizing after he releases it all, choking the air from you, spitting in your mouth . . . the usual. when he's pissed, he's pissed. toji does his best with refraining himself from hurting you, but when you push him to a limit of ignoring him, he doesn't appreciate it. especially after all he does for you.

you want to say it's the middle of the night when you hear banging at your front door, already tucked comfortably in bed with your bluetooth eye mask looping rain forest or thunderstorm noises. the darkness makes your vision blurry as you stumble from bed, bare feet tiptoeing towards the door, oversized deftones tshirt barely covering your ass. you had a feeling it was toji, assuming he must've forgotten his spare key to your place. so when you go to unlock and turn the knob, you see his tall, heavy body before you. he tilts his head to the side, jaw clenching with his hand resting above the door, black tee rising up to show a bit of his belly and the dark trail of hair leading down his abdomen.

"now she fuckin' answers," is the first thing he says, seethes actually, dropping his arm and running his pierced tongue over his lower lip.

"toji," you suck your teeth, soon after yawning, eyes half-lidded as you fought with your body to stay awake. "what time is it?"

"near three. do you know how many times i called you? where the fuck do you get off ignoring me?"

now he has your attention, lifting your head and scowling at him, crossing your arms over your chest. "who the fuck are you talking to like that? it's too late for this bullshit. i'm fucking tired."

"i. don't. give. a. fuck," he breaks down his sentence, your entire body now flaming with anger. "you mean to tell me you have all this energy to fuck around and go to parties with your girlfriends but can't pick up the fuckin' phone when i call or text you? now i'm nobody to you?"

"i forgot," you shrug carelessly. "it's not a big deal. you see me damn near every day. i'm a grown ass woman. i have a life too, you know."

every word you're saying comes in one ear and goes out the other. honestly, he could care less about an explanation. he already forgave you the minute he saw you dressed in one of his shirts, knowing full well you're naked underneath. but since he built up this much anger, he couldn't pussy out. he'll stick to his plan. it stuns you when he reaches forward to grab your neck with one hand, pulling you close and lowering his face to your level while closing the door behind him, finally stepping inside. it's pitch dark other than the three candles you have lit in the studio apartment and the large flatscreen rerunning adult swim cartoons without volume.

"keep your fuckin' mouth shut," he growled. you pull in a sharp inhale as he swiftly turns you around to face the bed. "walk."

to be truthful, you weren't going to disobey him at all right now. it's late, you were tired, and maybe just a little horny. you didn't have the strength to pick a fight. toji looked worn out himself, building up all this frustration on top of working all day was fucking him over, at this point just needing a quick fuck to knock him out. he's trailing behind you until your knees hit the edge of the bed, flabbergasting you by sloppily mouthing at your neck and grinding his dick against your ass, free hand roaming around to slip between your bare thighs, rushing his fingers over your clit, whining from his touch.

"toji," you whimper, shifting in your spot, trying to remove the fabric off your body, temperature rising the more he groped at your flesh and kissed your neck. your knee is now lifted onto the bed giving him better access slip his fingers into your cunt, already wet for him.

"pussy always wants me, doesn't it?" toji groans as he licks behind your ear, spanking your ass, smirking at your tiny pleas and failed attempts at answers.

he grants your wish by relieving you of clothing, the cool air surrounding your home hitting every inch of you, picking you up to lay you flat on your back. the tips of your fingers hover over your lips as you stare up at him, his eyes glinting under the moonlight, loving to watch him toss off his shirt and unbuckle his hefty belt, your favorite sound of his zipper flying down. like the good girl you are, you keep your legs up to your chest, biting your lip as you crane your neck to study the way his dick springs up to hit his stomach, toji hissing from sensitivity. he's aching hard, veins on the underside pulsating towards his precum leaking tip.

he's quiet, his only priority as of now is fucking you raw, until the both of you cum, until you're equally spent and knocked out into slumber. aggressively, he slaps your hand away after seeing you play with your clit impatiently. toji's wide palm holds onto your left knee, keeping you spread open, arching over you to give you a kiss, shoving his tongue in your mouth, that metal ball rushing over yours, moaning into his mouth as you feel him rub the tip hastily on your clit, side to side, keeping his lips locked with yours.

you're rolling your hips into him, kneeding at your tits before he's sitting straight on his knees, jeans still clinging to his waist. toji gathers a ball of saliva and spits onto his dick, giving it a few strokes and finally sliding deep into you, to the hilt, so deep your back arches and you can feel prominently every vein throbbing inside of you. his palm strikes the side of your cheek, "focus right here."

sometimes he doesn't understand that it's not so easy staying present like he wanted, not when he felt this good. his pelvis touches yours now, toji twitching inside of you, rolling his neck back, a small 'mhm, fuck' slipping out as his pupils switch white for two seconds. the gruffness in his tone makes your stomach flip.

"you drive me crazy, girl," toji groans thickly, the ball in his throat jumping after he swallows before wrapping both of his hands around your neck, choking you and slamming his hips so hard you hear your wooden platform below crack only a bit. "don't you, girl? huh?"

uncaring, you kept contact with toji nodding your head to answer as the walls in your throat swell, making it impossible to breathe properly, but that wasn't an issue. the only one was how fucking godlike toji appeared when he fucked you; black hair flowing, tattooed chest and arms painted like an art canvas. godly sculpted abs. thick thighs that slapped amongst your own lewdly. the chain swinging around his neck, his masculine scent of tobacco vanille. he turned you on without doing much.

your ears start to ring from the lack of air flow, toji noticing your knees buckling and slowly losing their posture. he takes his hands away, to which you're kind of upset but he makes up for it by bringing his body closer to yours, physical touch the highest level of intimacy to you. toji hugs the top of your head, holding your face in his chest and you use that as an advantage to wrap your arms around his broad back, legs spreading even wider to fit him in between. he's so much deeper now, and you're sure you won't last long. your nails dig into his shoulders as he fucks you harder, mouth ajar with tears filling your eye sockets, monotonously whining 'fuck, fuck, fuck' after each heavy thrust he delivers, his weight on your body immensely gratifying.

"i'm sorry, baby," you choke between whines, toji's only response is breathy moans, insanely vocal, hissing and slamming harder once you let him know you're cumming, cursing wildly as you tighten around his cock until you do cum, and he grunts the moment you toss your head back and shift your hips up to fuck him back, quivering in his hold.

"yeah, fuckin' do that—nnh," he can barely finish his sentence as you move faster, locking your ankles tighter around him until he's at his limit, whimpering and pulling out, lazily jutting his hips over your stomach where he cums, falling completely onto you.

he knows you have no reason to apologize. he may have overreacted just a little, but he knows you'll talk about it in the morning. he rolls to his side after a few minutes, huffing and cradling your face in his hands before kissing your forehead, holding you close. he's asleep before you are, not okay with the fact that he has outside clothes on your bed right now, trying your best to shuffle down and pull his jeans entirely off of him without waking him.

[sunshine-and-moonshine]

Thick!Fem!Survivor in a Bikini

Requested: Yes! [love your works. never stop doing those please.. also just see your request are open so.. i want to request for ghostface, the legion (frank and julie), wesker, the trapper and the doctor react to their fav fem!survivor in like a bikini outfits (also if you could make her have a big boobs or maybe like some sort of chubby body then i would love it even more :))]

Warnings: ✨Spice✨, FEM!Reader

A/N:

Ghostface

Pictures. So so many pictures, each one more perfect than the last in his eyes. And there was never enough, no matter the fact that he had so many that his card read as full. Good thing he had a spare on him! This one empty of any photos, though soon to be full as well. He’ll waste away the whole trial following you around, his hands running along the thick curves of your body whenever he can get close enough without you noticing him. But even if you did notice him, it’s not much of a deterrent. Did you really think you could show up in front of him while wearing that and just get away?

Frank

Drooling. Drooling SO much. He’s staring the second he sees you, immediately reaching out to grasp your thick waist in his bandaged hands as he presses his chest into your back, his mask on the ground as he bites and sucks on the back of your neck, grinding into your plush ass through his jeans. Frank is such a sucker for big girls, it makes him look stupid and by the end of this trial you will be sitting on his face, your thick thighs smothering him to death. Legit doesn’t even care if you actually kill him while doing it, since he’ll just be resurrected by the entity anyways. He hopes.

Julie

Much like Frank, Julie is drooling, wanting to bury her face between your thighs and just suffocate. But Julie is just a tad bit more subtle than Frank. She’s not just outright groping, she’s fingers trailing softly down your spine, plucking at the strings of your bikini. She’s not deep bites and bleeding scratches, she’s a whisper in your ear, carrying the most sinful promises. She and Frank are two people that compliment and contrast each other perfectly in almost every way. Brawn and Brain, Force and Manipulation, Fast and Slow. She’s likely to invite you to share both her and Frank’s bed, once she’s done making you ride her fingers in this trial.

Wesker

Wesker is definitely surprised to see you in such an outfit at first, staring you down from a distance, slowly getting closer to you, taking in the shape of your body from every angle he can see, and once he gets close enough? He can’t help but let ouroboros wander over your skin, slipping under your scant clothing, between your thighs. Even when you’re crying and shaking from everything he’s doing to you. How could you ever expect him to resist when you just looked so good like that? Like a present just for him.

Trapper

N I C E. You can’t look at Trapper and tell me he doesn’t like thick girls. He fucking LOVES thick girls, remembers how he used to trail after daughters of the miners with chests so thick they almost popped out of their modest gowns, hips so thick that they showed through all the layers they wore. Part of him enjoyed indulging in thoughts of how it was money that his family gave their fathers that kept their bellies so full, kept them as thick as they were, their healthy pallor. He’s reminded of those thoughts as he looks at you. Granted, you’re not so modestly dressed as them but he actually likes it, likes the way they scant fabric clings to your skin. But what’s even better is when he rips it off you, clutching you to him even as you squirm, feeling along your curves, between your folds, cupping your full breasts. Yes, he really enjoyed this.

Doctor

Very bold of you to assume that the Doctor didn’t carefully plan this all out, to the very last detail. Down to convincing the Entity that yes, the bikini was necessary, and that no, he definitely didn’t have anything particularly heinous on his mind. Not that she believed that at all, but he had been doing particularly well in trials and she thought he deserves to be rewarded. Which is how you ended up Adrianna Imai’s bed (she was going to KILL you in all your future trials with her), The Doctor’s hands emitting little pain-pleasure sparks as they roamed your skin, snapping at the strings of your bikini while emitting his usual maniacal giggles.

[mothhball]

II – VIRIDIS

viridis – marked by youthful vigor

JONATHAN CRANE X FEM!READER

summary Drinking your woes away was a temporary solution, and it ends up in tears. But even in the darkest night, there's the chance of a silver lining. Just be sure you're well-informed about your shiny spark of hope.

warnings NEEDLES, BLOOD SAMPLE, very mild medfet (a whisper for now), alcohol, reader gets drunk, some mildly foul language, unhappy relationship,

notes oooo longer chapter! and things are MOVING

! MINORS DNI !

story masterlist • main masterlist • taglist • kofi word count: 5.2k

The news themselves were already bad, but even worse was the pity from everyone you told about the rejection. Behind every sympathetic smile and half-hug was a hidden “I told you so” that no one said out loud, but was obvious enough.

Despite what people told you, apparently no one had believed that you could make it in the first place, and that realization caused a rage to burn and fester within your guts. A rage which found no outlet since that wretched Thursday that you since then blacked out with a fat sharpie from your calendar. Reading that letter felt like repeatedly getting hit over the head with a steel pipe, beating you into a pathetic, bloody pulp right where you were standing in your kitchen. Your boyfriend tried to rub your back, but you bristled and immediately turned away from him, scowling like it was him specifically who sent the rejection. His little pout disgusted you. But what made you actually nauseous was the relief in his eyes. Never once, in 3 years of this relationship, did you resent him like you did on that Thursday afternoon. Bitter, seething resentment which almost caused you to lash out at him like a riled-up dog.

But instead, you chose to take the high road. Or rather you fled, left the apartment and drove over to your best friend Mina’s to cry and shout into one of her lovely couch pillows. The smart, admirable choice would’ve been to write an email to Potomac. To timidly ask Dr. Rabin to turn a blind eye and allow you to send in a late application. But every time your fingers hovered over the keys of your old, ratty laptop, the embarrassment was too much, and you slammed it shut once more, leaving the unfinished request behind. But your boyfriend Tristan, in his seemingly endless quest of half-heartedly trying to manage your future, urged you to send the email. So, you did. At least that’s what you told him. A little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind. 

Your mood only got worse towards the weekend, prompting a few of your friends and your boyfriend to drag you off to do the responsible thing. Get drunk and shake off the tension during a night out. And now here you are, downing shots on a Saturday night in an attempt to forget your woes at least for a little while.

The club is packed and stuffy, and the lights flicker over a mass of people that seems to have grown into one hive mind of an entity, allowing you to feel swallowed and anonymous for just a few blissful hours. Every mouthful of alcohol that you swallow works in your favor to numb the anxiety gnawing at your bones while the bass gently licks at your feverish skin, causing your heart to vibrate in your ribcage. It’s easy to lose yourself in sips of colorful shots and cocktails. At least until a firm hand on your shoulder prevents you from placing another order. Turning your head, you’re met by Tristan’s disgruntled eyes, and before you can shake off his grip, he’s already pulling you away from the bar to a relatively quiet spot in another hallway of the club. Still, he has to raise his voice when he speaks to you, already laying the foundation for a screaming match.

“What are you doing??” he asks, giving you a once over that only serves to further sour his mood.

“What do you mean? I’m just having a couple of drinks,” you slur back at him, returning that nasty look he’s sending you. Tristan scoffs, shaking his head like you’re a lost cause, even though he’s not exactly sober either.

“You’re getting wasted. Are you still sulking over that rejection? Jesus…”

That actually makes your jaw drop, and you’re speechless for a few seconds, which your boyfriend takes as his cue to continue.

“Just let it go. Some things aren’t meant to be. It’s better this way”

“What the hell do you mean by that?” you hiss back at him, curling your fingers tightly into the fabric of the little dress you’re wearing.

“I… Listen, we both know Arkham isn’t… your style. You… you’re not that kind of person –“ Tristan sighs, somehow trying to make his statement seem less insulting and vague by waving his hands around in your face.

“The kind of person to what??”

“The kind of person who’d make it there! You would’ve quit after two weeks! Let’s be real for once. And then you’d have to start over again and you would have to wait yet another semester to graduate!” Every word that leaves his mouth pisses you off even more, and a truly ugly emotion rears its head within you. Things are escalating. You still have half a mind to realize it. You should call it a night, go home and talk things out in the morning. But this is the first time that Tristan is being brutally honest about your career choices.

“Oh, I didn’t know it was a race, Tristan! How silly of me! I’ll make sure to plan every future decision around your life schedule from now on!” You get in his face, venom dripping off of every shouted syllable that slips from your tongue a little too easily.

“You’re putting words in my mouth! I never said I wanted you to plan your life around me! I’m just worried! All of my friend’s girlfriends –“

“So that’s what this is about? The girlfriends of your little business school friend group?? Am I part of some weird dick measuring contest?” You continue before he gets a word in, asking a question that’s been burning in your throat for a few months now.

“Are you ashamed of me??”

You’re met with silence. Silence that’s so obviously an answer in itself that it causes your heart to slip out of your chest and shatter on the sticky floor below. Tristan notices the devastated expression on your face, but his drunken audacity eggs him on to double down. 

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just acted like an adult! You can’t always get what you want! For fuck’s sake, just be happy with what you have for once!” You wish you had a drink you could throw in his face. But your hands are empty, shaking with anger and disappointment. You can’t look at him anymore.

“Screw you, Tristan.” And with that, you turn, leaving him standing there while you rush to find an exit as tears well up in your eyes. He doesn’t make a move to follow you, and it simultaneously calms and saddens you even more. 

Navigating the club is even more complicated with your blurred vision, and you bump into a few people, no doubt spilling a few overpriced drinks in the process. But you’re either too fast or they’re too drunk to really do anything about it.

Finally, finally, you make it outside, choking out a strangled noise that’s a pathetic mix between a sob and a whine, and you quickly duck into a nearby alley to give way to the tears. You’re drunk and overly emotional, you try to rationalize with yourself, but it doesn’t lessen the ache in any way. So, pressing a palm over your mouth, you reluctantly allow yourself to cry. The night air is icy, but fresh enough to comfort you and slowly clear up the lump in your throat, and after some cathartic five minutes, you start to calm down again. Your tears run black at this point, dragging your favorite mascara down your cheeks, and you sniffle as you into your purse to grab a compact mirror and assess the damage. 

It's in that moment when your phone display lights up, alerting you to an incoming call. Your stomach twists into knots as you fish the phone out of your purse. A call from Tristan might make things worse, and you’re not really in the mood to talk to him right now, so – 

But the call isn’t coming from your boyfriend. Your eyes widen before they narrow into slits, and annoyance bubbles up within your chest. There on the phone display, proudly displayed as the caller ID is Dr. Jonathan Crane’s name. Your thumb hovers over the glass before you decide to pick up the call. As soon as you hear his voice, annoyance gives way to a little spark of hope. It also serves to sober you up a little. You barely have time to rasp out a “Hello?” before he speaks, sounding almost relieved that you picked up.

“I know that calling at such a late hour is quite unusual, but I’m glad I could get ahold of you before it was too late. Believe me, I was just as surprised as you most likely were. To be frank, I was so certain that you'd be joining us that I didn't even check the list to confirm it.” Papers rustle on his end of the line. He must still be in his office.

“Yeah, I… I was optimistic as well. Maybe… Maybe a little too much,” you admit softly, trying to concentrate on your words to avoid slurring. Crane hums, and you can’t tell if it’s in understanding or amusement. Reading him in person was already hard enough, but it’s nigh impossible over the phone.

“Tell you what, I believe you dodged a bullet. I clarified with the other staff members what the responsibilities of those interns will be, and that wouldn’t be right for you. Sorting files and sitting in on group therapy sessions at the Low Security Wing? No, that would be a waste of your time. You’re not that kind of person. Which is why I’m offering you something else.”

You lick your dry lips, still tasting the salt of your tears and some last traces of your lipstick. For a second, you’re unsure if you heard him correctly. “Something else?”

Crane glosses over your question, and in your mind you understand. This might be sensitive information. Drunk-You feels a little like a spy, keeping a secret from Tristan who would surely be mad that you’re even talking to the director of Arkham Asylum right now.

“Are you free to come in tomorrow? I know it’s quite late already –“

“Yes. Yes, I am,” you interrupt, feeling brave. 

“Good. Then let’s meet in my office at… let’s say… 10 am? Is that alright?”

“I… uh, absolutely.” You quickly rummage through your purse, using a lip liner and an old receipt to haphazardly write down the appointment. “I’ll be there.”

“Perfect. Enjoy the rest of your night,” he says before he hangs up right after. You have no chance to say goodbye properly as the line clicks. Maybe it’s for the best. Knowing yourself, you would’ve wished him a great night as well with the addition of a plea to “get home safe”, which would’ve been a little much.

When you head back inside, you’re spotted by your worried friends and an indifferent Tristan, and dear GOD, the urge to boast and gloat has never been this strong before in your life. But you stay quiet as you put on a smile, avoiding to look at your boyfriend. You stay quiet as your group gets into a taxi, and stay quiet as you get back home and head straight for your bed. “You’re not that kind of person” was something you heard twice in one night. And only once did it feel right.

The pounding ache in your skull serves as your alarm clock the next day, tearing you out of a restless sleep only 10 minutes before you were supposed to get up anyway. A frown finds its way onto your features as you tiptoe out of the bedroom, catching a glimpse of the still sleeping Tristan on the couch in the living room. Neither of you have said a word to each other since the fight, and you'll be damned if you start the conversation about something he messed up in the first place.

You walk past him, feeling the cold surface of the floorboards beneath your feet as you head into the bathroom to try to make yourself look (and smell) presentable. The stench of alcohol leaves your tongue after brushing and rinsing with mouthwash thrice, and an overindulgence of body wash in the shower solves everything else. The final touch is a generous amount of concealer under your eyes, and you're surprised that you actually pass off as someone who doesn't have an awful hangover right now.

Getting dressed is another challenge, though. You can't exactly say that Drunk-You had the gift of foresight to pick a suitable outfit for your second meeting with Dr. Crane, so you dig through your closet to make yourself look presentable. Your fingers wander over the different fabrics, tracing cotton and polyester, wool and tweed as you grumble to yourself. Christ, this shouldn’t feel like rocket science.

This dreadful indecisiveness eats up a sizeable chunk of your time, and as you button up your blouse, you realize how late it suddenly is.

Breakfast consists of an aspirin and a large black coffee, and you make sure to let the coffee machine shriek as loudly as it wants just to spite Tristan a little more before you rush out of the apartment. 

This time around, the drive to Arkham Asylum feels a little more familiar. You still depend heavily on your GPS, but you remember some of the turns and streets, and you don’t feel as tiny and insignificant as you did a week ago. You’re here with an explicit purpose now. Crane knows who you are and asked you to come back nevertheless.

Upon entering the still intimidating building, you stop by the reception again, spotting a familiar face. The receptionist seems just as surprised to see you, sharp eyes flicking down to a visitor's list that seems to confirm the validity of your return before she points a manicured nail towards the security check. You raise your hand to wave at her as you pass. She doesn't wave back. Oh well, you can't get them all.

The maze of a third-floor feels straightforward as well today, made possible by the ever-present red lines guiding you to your destination. This time, you're able to meet Crane in his office, and his request to enter can be heard through the door after the first knock.

Everything still looks the same as you enter, save for his now orderly desk. The chaos of files from back then is now a neat stack that the doctor rests his folded hands atop. You open your mouth to greet him, but Crane speaks first, completely catching you off-guard.

"The bunny is back. I'm glad to see it."

"Excuse me?" You blink at him before you look down at yourself. No, no bunny-themed clothes or accessories anywhere that might have given him the idea to call you that. You’re drawing a blank. Unsure whether this is part of a hazing process or an inside joke you must’ve missed, you lift your gaze back up to him. There’s a fleeting look of sardonic amusement on his face before he reels himself back in to elaborate.

“That's what you reminded me of the first time you came here. Glancing around, all skittish and frightened in the hallway…” he explains, already turning his head away from you to reach into one of his desk drawers and retrieve a folder. Your folder. “Please, close the door and take a seat. We’re already running low on time.”

After following his instructions, you find yourself sitting in the same chair from a week ago, foregoing the act of presenting yourself as a confident person. It’s no use, anyway. Crane already knows you’re desperate. It’s seeping out of your every pore, giving your worries a rich and sweet taste that the director of Arkham seems to indulge in for a moment. At least, that’s what you assume based on the expression in his cold eyes. You’re no fool. It’s basically a guarantee that his offer will bite you in the ass in some way or another. 

“You must be a little put-off by this meeting. It’s not exactly orthodox to ask you to come in on a Sunday, but I read the list of this year’s interns just minutes before I called you last night. And that was purely by chance. Like I said, I was positive you’d be one of them.” Crane opens your folder, but his eyes stay on your face. “I have no idea what goes on in the heads of my staff sometimes, and now I’m fairly certain it can’t be much. But I don’t intend to waste a person like you.”

You shift in your seat, listening intently to every word that leaves his lips. It’s your lifeline. And he knows it.

“So, I am making you an offer. Just promise to listen first,” he says, and one of his eyebrows twitches upwards at the intensity in your gaze. “The position I’m offering you would be exclusive. It won’t be approved by anyone else but me and it technically didn’t exist before I made up my mind about it. I am offering you the position of intern assistant.”

Your eyes widen. Even in his darkroom of an office, it feels like the air just became lighter and the colors brighter. Crane lifts a finger, continuing his offer.

“No surface scratching – You’d be my shadow. Which means more work and responsibilities, but also more privileges, more insight, more knowledge. I’ll teach you what you need to know to get ahead in this field, and by the end of it, your fellow students will eat your dust. Your professors as well, if I’m being honest.”

Before you can even respond, he’s already reaching back into his desk, pulling out a massive stack of paperwork. And then the rushing begins. Crane checks his watch, clicking his tongue before he pushes the documents over to you, along with a fountain pen.

“How long would it take you to read this? I have to hand this in within the next 50 minutes to make sure you’re cleared in time. If you even accept my offer, that is. It’s a terrible time crunch, I know, but I’d really like to have you as a member of staff in one week.”

Tentatively, you reach out for the fountain pen, twirling it around in your fingers for a moment as you think about his offer. This hesitancy only causes him to lean forward and flip through the first pages, pointing out a handful of sections for only a few seconds each before he moves on.

“It’s the regular stuff, I guess. Everything I just told you in cumbersome wording. I really wish I could take my time and go through each page with you, but the circumstances just won’t allow it. If you have any questions, I’ll gladly answer all of them once you’ve signed.”

It’s shady as hell. A red flag that’s so glaringly obvious that it makes you wonder how Crane can keep a straight expression. But this is your one chance of getting a look behind the scenes. Your one chance of proving them wrong. Professor Campbell, Tristan, everyone who doubted you could do it. This could go horribly wrong. But it could also be your ticket into the big leagues. Shadowing the asylum’s director would be a privilege that no one else gets. A chance to make connections and grow. Not to mention that your résumé would look incredible with Crane’s recommendation attached to it.

Hell, he may be exploiting you, but who says you can’t exploit him right back? It’s your good right to milk this opportunity as much as you can.

Meanwhile, the psychiatrist continues to ramble on, rattling off half-apologies and made-up reasons why you have to sign as quickly as possible once he reaches the last page of the contract. The page where you have to place your signature on the intended line. Both of you are surprised by how quickly you sign it. 

As you place the cap back onto the fountain pen, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room, creating a vacuum in which both of you seem to grapple with the reality that you’d be stuck to Dr. Crane’s side for a few months, following every step and instruction of his. You manage to break the silence first.

“There. I have questions now.”

“Of course. I already expected as much,” Crane says as he pulls the freshly signed contract back to his side of the desk, staring down at your signature as if he’s half expecting it to jump off the paper. But then he places the thick document back into the drawer it came from, letting out a quiet breath. You notice that he seems significantly more at ease now, movements once again patient and effortlessly measured, and your brows furrow a little as you speak.

“What’s my hourly rate?”

“There’s nothing of the sort, I’m afraid.” Your blood runs cold at his nonchalance, and your lips part to protest when he cuts you off. “You will be working the same hours as me. And since my overtime and schedule is a little unpredictable at times, we will just have to see. You will be paid at the end of the month, however. The amount will depend on how much we actually did.”

“I… alright.” You bite your tongue, even though your displeasure is obvious. Nevertheless, you proceed with your second question. “You mentioned more responsibilities. I guess there’s a catch, then? Or a few?”

Crane chuckles, getting up from his chair to walk over to a cabinet in search of something specific. He speaks to you from over his shoulder.

“Right to the point. Wonderful. But yes, there are a few peculiarities that come with the position. Starting with – You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

He closes the cabinet, returning to the desk with a little tray containing various items.

“We’ll start with a mandatory blood sample. I hope this isn’t a problem. I just need to know that my assistant is in peak condition. And didn’t smoke anything on the way here.”

You want to scoff, but swallow the sound at the last second. The fact that you took offense to his unspoken accusation is written across your face, and Crane doesn’t comment any further on it as he sets the tray down on the desk and pulls his chair closer to yours.

“I’m fine with needles,” you murmur, already pulling up your sleeve.

“No trypanophobia? A shame,” Crane chuckles, sitting down again before he reaches out for your arm. Your doubts whether he’s even qualified to do this as a psychiatrist vanish the moment his hands come in contact with your skin. He’s cold. Almost uncomfortably cold as his fingers brush over the bend of your elbow in search of a suitable vein. Once he’s successful, he picks a tourniquet from the tray of equipment and fastens it around your upper arm. His movements seem too perfect to be experienced. As if he’s a green med student working with the textbook perched on his lap. As if he’d burst into flame if he did something wrong.

“So, about the catch,” he continues, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and spraying it over the spot he picked on your arm. Surprisingly, the liquid isn’t much colder than his touch. “Since you’ll be my shadow, you’re also required to accompany me to appointments outside of Arkham. Conferences, meetings… so on and so forth. I also have some upcoming court dates within the next few months. Obviously, I’m not the defendant. I’m just an advisor.”

You nod along to his words, eyes following his hands as he rubs disinfectant into his own skin before he pulls on a pair of blue nitrile gloves. Crane stretches the material over his hands until it’s taut, making it squeak before he shifts closer until his knees touch yours. At this proximity, you can smell his cologne, and the combination throws you off a little. It’s mainly sandalwood and bergamot, but there’s a hint of something else you can’t quite grasp. Something chemical, almost acidic. The psychiatrist continues to speak, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“Another catch is that there’s a required dress code for you. As my assistant, you need to always look presentable. You can’t be running around looking like a hobo since your actions and appearance will reflect on me as well. And I’d rather not be associated with… any of those cheap trends that seem to be popular with the bottom of the barrel nowadays. You’ll have to give me your clothing size so I can prepare a new wardrobe for you. It’ll just save us time in the long run.”

Your brows furrow, but his request seems reasonable. “Alright. I suppose that’s fair,” you say, watching closely as he runs his thumb over the bend of your elbow. Then, he presses down to anchor the vein. It’s right in this moment when he decides to drop another bombshell.

“Which brings me to probably the biggest drawback in all of this.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his. He’s already looking at your face, watching for the slightest twitch in your expression.

“You’ll have to stay at my place for the duration of your internship.”

What follows is a solid minute of deafening silence. Your pulse races, thumping softly against the pad of Crane’s thumb. He can tell you’re displeased, and he frowns a little, surprisingly empathetic.

“What?” you manage to croak out, swallowing dryly.

“Believe me, I spent all night trying to come up with a better solution. Sometimes, I get emergency calls in the middle of the night and it’s vital that you’re there with me. Those cases are the real deal. They’re raw and unfiltered, often much more than incidents that happen during the day. And as you told me during your interview, you live quite far away from here.”

You nod stiffly, gaze dropping to where he’s still pressing his thumb down on your arm. Crane can see and feel how uneasy this condition makes you, and he tries to lessen the blow.

“You’ll have your own bathroom and bedroom, of course. We will only share the kitchen and living room. And the laundry room, but I suppose that is the least of your worries. I won’t bother you.”

When he sees that you’re still not too happy, he quickly adds, “You can also tell me to be quiet whenever I mention work after hours.”

This at least gets a reaction from you. You force yourself to crack a smile, meeting his eyes once more.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Perfect.” The psychiatrist nods, wasting no time uncapping a butterfly needle and puncturing your skin with it. The sudden sting almost makes you flinch, but his grip suddenly is so tight that you don’t get any wiggle room. You watch as your blood travels down through the attached tube, filling up a small sample bottle and shortly after, a second one.

“You’re pretty brave for a bunny,” he jokes, setting your blood samples down on the tray before he releases the tourniquet and reaches for some gauze. His eyes stay on yours the entire time as he pulls out the needle and presses the gauze against your arm, soaking up your discomfort in a way that only fascinated scientists are capable of. 

“Press down.”

You mutter a “sure” as you obey his instruction, relieved when he finally turns away from you to discard the needle and his gloves. The final touch is a little band-aid over the tiny puncture wound, and you keep your hand over it as Crane pushes his chair back into its rightful place and takes a seat once more. He studies one of the full sample tubes as he speaks up again.

“You must be a little overwhelmed right now. Which is understandable, don’t get me wrong. But I’d like for you to go home and start packing your most important belongings. I’ll text you my address and will take care of the rest. You just need to show up next Sunday and get started on Monday.”

“Do I need to bring anything in specific? Like… a notebook or something?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “You’ll get your stationery and other supplies here. I’ll make sure to try to organize you a separate desk. Maybe even one of the more comfortable office chairs. But I can’t really promise any luxuries.”

“I know this establishment oftentimes seems like a revolving door when it comes to staff applying and quitting. But I don't want that with you.” Crane tears his eyes away from your blood sample, giving you his undivided attention again. “There won't be an easy way out, however. Either you prove yourself and do your job until the end of your internship, or else there will be no certificate and you'll have to try your luck elsewhere. And I hate to worry you, but getting a job without one of my letters of recommendation might be a little tricky. But I assure you, that's the absolute worst-case scenario."

You let out a little breath and nod, straightening in your chair. Your mind is already racing, spinning around in a colorful variety that ranges from dread to genuine excitement. The biggest problem, however, is that you will have to break the news to your boyfriend. The thought makes you a little nauseous, but if Crane notices it, he’s generous enough not to mention it. 

Your goodbyes are brief, and you’re still holding your hand over the band aid as you leave the building and reach your car. Dark clouds are brewing overhead, announcing one of Gotham’s common rainy afternoons, and it already smells earthy with a hint of wet concrete.

The drive home doesn’t take as much time as you would’ve liked, even though you’re stopped plenty of times by red lights or passing cop cars with their sirens turned on. No, you reach the apartment much too soon, climbing the stairs with a heavy heart and sweaty palms. The band aid feels like it’s burning a hole into your flesh, hidden away underneath your sleeve. A secret hint of the meeting with Crane. Your key hovers in front of the lock on your front door as you freeze. Telling Tristan about the internship would mean telling him about your impending new living arrangements. Yes, you’d get the satisfaction of proving him wrong about your capabilities, but he’d blow up about everything else. Even worse, what if he reports the conditions of your internship? What if he ruins everything before it has even begun? 

Another big fight doesn’t fit into your schedule either. Neither does a breakup. Taking a breath, you unlock the door and step into the apartment, almost immediately meeting Tristan in the hallway. Time freezes for a moment, and then you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“I need to pack. They want me back at Potomac.”

It’s okay, right? It’s no big deal. After all, it’s just another little white lie to let him keep his peace of mind.

@ellebelleshelby @cilliansprincess @mcumorningstar @x0xomady @mandies24

@detroitbecomevenom @pretty-bluebird @ink5ouls @flwrs4aust @vampmary1411

@ashdrinksoatmilk @nnattu @ptolemaniac @kiss-me-cill-me @celebrities-imagines

@hanawrites404 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @nocturnest @biblicallyaccuratebee @red-riding-wood

@luvlloyd @ribbonystar @smxkyqvxrtz @bloodandglitter207

@rosiemarieyn @sagepixie @snickersmee @voltage-supernatural-art @feasibilities

@cilly-murphy @paradiseprincesss @oceanstem @your-nanas-house @fantasmitasolo

@cillianhead @xlostitx @kefi-meraki @ilovepeoplesdads @vegasisthinking

@ryecosse @strangeobsessed @xsweetcatastrophe @cillianslvt @ilovedottore

[yandereunsolved]

In Death & Life

Pairing: James Patrick March x Fallen angel gn reader Summary: You preform a necromancy ritual on your fiancé to bring him back from death. The both of you reminisce and connect with each other on the mortal plane. trigger warning(s): none word count: 674 a/n: Just a short little thing. I lost determination to write it all the way so I gave it a satisfying end.

Ceremonial crimson candles cast an ominous shadow amongst the room that hides the secrets of a killer. The wicks slowly burn towards their inevitable end, the ritual already underway. Room sixty-four lies bare of any of its previous furnishings. A salt ring lies in the middle. Nothing lies within the ring; not even the light from the candles dare touch it. For it is crowded with the souls of the damned. The demonic entities praising the one that helps their master rise from his grave.

A bowl of rose water lies right outside the ring. A figure clad in cloth blacker than the hearts of men. A veil covers their face as they mutter ancient incantations only known by a chosen few. They mutter them fervently, almost obsessively. Again and again in a seemingly never ending loop.

Their knees ache from kneeling for so many hours. Their heart aches more—your heart aches more. Your heart beats for the man you are resurrecting: James Patrick March. Your James Patrick March. Your beloved fiancé. The one you saved from that wretched woman. The Countess may have felt nothing for the darkness, but you feel everything. You slit her neck and her tower of power crumbled beneath your feet. You filled the hole in his soon beating chest.

You coat your numb hands in the rosewater. One of the final steps in his resurrection. Having an affinity for death and necromancy since childhood finally came to fruition. Without his original body, you had to haggle a few souls in the Cortez for a demon to create a new one for him. In that moment, it was all worth it.

You stand as your hand reaches into the salt circle. The shadows receded as the flames of the candles cast them away. The dance between the devils and the darkness intertwined into both of your souls. He calls out to you like a spellbinding siren's song. From the depths of the shadows comes your true love.

His body was exactly that while in his ghost form. His ravenette strands still ever slicked back. The trimmed mustache of his sitting proudly above this top lip. His toned body was proudly suited to those three pieces. His neck slit is now healed, but the scar is apparent.That charming smile, goddesses, it looks even better now. 

"You are reborn as a warlock, my love. Immortal. Alive." Your words are hoarse and barely escape your cracked lips.

Your shaking hands are struggling to listen to the commands that your mind is giving them. Your left thumb barely touches his cheek before he has dragged you across the circle, separating the salt circle and making it incomplete. You couldn't even begin to care, as the ritual is complete. You are held in his deathly, loving grip once again.

"Indeed, darling. I am now the most famous serial killer both alive and dead." He whispers fervently as he places feather light kisses on each of your knuckles. "We shall wed in a few days time. Our consummation will finally be with the both of us living."

Your frayed wings and broken halo appear for a single moment. After all, you cannot risk using your abilities too often. Lest the angels hunt you, or the devils wish to make deals for your power. Once a mighty angelic being is now only the shell of one. Your wings are nothing more than bone, and your halo floats above your head in pieces. More fragments of your once-heavenly halo chip off and fall every day. Further tethering you to the mortal realm. 

You wrap the bones around his body as tears fall from your otherworldly eyes. His oddly tender hands wipe the tears away. He brings each finger up to his mouth as he tastes your sadness. A pleased smirk appears on his features as he places a teasing kiss on your delicate temple.

"You taste absolutely divine." He purrs gently as he tugs your waist closer towards him. "I cannot wait to taste you even more after our dinner tonight."

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

⟿ taglist: @coentinim @bluerthanvelvet444 @cxndiedvi0lets @lacucarachapisser @etheral-moon @fear-is-truth @slutforgarlogan @newwavesylviaplath @violet1737 @marchsfreakshow

.ೃ࿐ -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ- .ೃ࿐

[getmeoutofhell]

Hi 👋 may I please request some Malthus x reader head canons? I can't get enough of this ram/goat demon 😍 (I forget if he's a goat or a ram)

You're awesome btw! You and your work are amazing!

Malthus x reader headcanons

SFW

malthus malthus malthus, the demonic entity that takes over a doll. you and him together, no way in hell (literally), but it’s there and real. you and him met through the doll of course, which you found it in a dumpster behind your house/apartment.

surprisingly, he’s a charmer. i mean take a good look at him, anyone with a go-tee like that is a lady’s man that’s for sure. he’s almost the complete opposite of valak, besides the demonic parts. he’ll get you flowers and gifts.

he’s the jealous type. the type that will kill another man or women that gets to close. the type that will make you stay inside for days at a time, in fear you’ll try to leave him. sometimes he does leave the doll and transform/teleport to something else causing you to also worry about what he’s up to at the moment.

does he talk? no. you never hear a single word come out of that demon. but what you do hear are growls/snarls. he makes a lot of noise, similar to a angry dog or cat. sometimes you can’t do anything but sit there and stare at him, wondering what the hell have you gotten yourself into.

speaking of which, he’s very vocal…through other people. meaning, he posses other living things or a person, and makes you think your going dog shit insane. it’s his loving touch if you will.

you’ve talked to him about the doll annabelle, and asked him nicely to please not possess it while you’re with him. you swear, that doll has a mind of it’s own…

NSFW

malthus in the section is the most freaky demon imaginable. his long tongue and long fingers will have you wishing he was always in his demon form.

as i said previously, he doesn’t talk, so expect to hear his groans in the bedroom as well. he’s a licking kinda man, his tongue will spread all over your body like a disease. licking over every nook and cranny of your skin, like he’s starving for you.

you will have a few scratches over your body, considering his long unkept nails. every once in a while, you have to put a bandaid over a scar because he scratched to deep in your skin. maybe now you can try and convince him to clip them.

you like going out in public?? well make sure you pack extra underwear, or even some extra pants because this dude will have your legs shaking in front of your friends. he can be a very sneaky demon when it come to sex.

so enjoy your little demon, let me know how is goes.

thanks for the kind words!! 💕

[somuchbetterthanthat]

Jonelias week day seven! It's the end already! D:. HOW?? Setting: Entity swap // Prompt: Fatal attraction

Jon burst into his office on the third week of his first month at the Institute, looking like he hasn't slept in three days and reeking of the smell of cigarettes. Elias's nose twitch in distaste -- something to work on, certainly, if Jon stayed employed here long enough --, but instead of doing what he usually does when employes cross boundaries, he tilts his head up with a raised eyebrow.

Jon, after all, is not quite the usual type Elias hire. Jon has been touched by the same Master as Elias, but he's floundering with it still, and Elias is curious to see what will come out of it.

"Is something the matter, Jon?" he asks. "Someone dying, perhaps?"

It does send a little thrill in his spine, the way Jon reacts like he gets the joke, even if he doesn't like it. It's remarkably rare for people to truly understand it.

"You," Jon answers. "You are dying. You should be dead! Every -- Every part of you is just -- dead. How are you doing it? Are you sick? I've been meeting with sick people and none of them are simply just, just dead --"

"Well, that's a rather rude and personal thing to ask, don't you think?" Elias cuts him off and Jon glowers at him, although there's a hint of hunger in his eyes.

"But you're not surprised," he says slowly. Victoriously. "There is something wrong with you, isn't it? You're not like any of the others I-- You're not like anyone else I've ever met."

"Well, you're young," Elias says, amused. "You haven't met many people yet."

Jon frowns. "Are there others?" he asks. "How many? Is this a -- what, a polite zombie apocalypse? Vampires? A strange mutant gene?"

"Nothing as dull as that, I'm afraid; but shouldn't we start at the beginning, Jonathan? What don't you tell me what you see?"

"I --" Jon wavers, hesitant. Elias decides he might as well make a proper gesture of goodwill, and leaves work fully behind to get up, closing the distance between Jon to offer him his hand, the very same Jon had only accepted to shake after being hired with his little black gloves on. Jon looks back at him, takes a deep breath, and remove the very same glove from his left hand this time and, very carefully, brush his fingers over Elias' opened palm.

Elias shudders; despite centuries of life, there is still something sickeningly terrifying about watching his skin immediately wrinkle and pale, a few patch of it simply falling off into ashes to reveal dull, white bone underneath -- no blood, no warmth, nothing but the End --

It's ever so embarassing to be the first to remove his hand, but he does it all the same. All the while Jon's eyes have darkened still, somehow, and now they stare at him with such bottomless, cold hunger that Elias worries a moment he'll push; Elias also cannot help but lean forwards. What if they kissed? he wonders. Would Jon manage to undo centuries of good and horrid work in a moment? Does Jon have the power to kill yet, or will the fear still be enough to sustain him, once he grow stronger? It's something Elias usually appreciate, how passive Death can be in its certainty It shall always get what It wants in the End.

But then his God goes and picks some young avatars like Jon, brimming with life and the urge for action, and it begs the question --

"You should be dead," Jon murmurs. "And that still makes you afraid, even now. I can see -- every second you are stealing from others, every missed heartbeats that sends you hunting, every moment you are walking when you should be rotting in the earth and I know -- I know you know that you are already rotting, as we speak; you live and talk and breath but you are dead, you've been dead for centuries --"

"It's a bargain I've made, and it's not entirely displeasing, usually," Elias says, after a beat. Jon blinks and seems to come back to himself, his face crumbling into a mixture of guilt, curiosity and terror, and he hastily put his glove back on. "Very impressive," Elias tells him, to regain full control of his senses and the situation. "Is that how it is for everyone you touch, then?"

"...Yes," Jon mutters, reluctantly, fleeing his gaze now. "It -- it didn't use to be so... so much but it's been getting... hard. Since university."

"Fascinating," Elias breathes. Terrible, the way he has to resist his own impulsve to embrace Jon fully. The body has a funny way of craving Death in all its form, even when the mind firmly wants it away. "Why don't you sit down, then? Let's talk about it all. There is many things we might be able to do for one another in the long run, I'm rather sure of it."

[soulc-hilde]

Ch. 02 - Skeletal Crusader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Black!OC (Slow-burn)

Synopsis: Zarathos, a child, a daughter of God - but angel, first. The Angel of Justice and Vengence, a powerful entity and her father's strongest soldier. A clean up mission gone wrong, the angel is cut down and captured by the demons of Hell. Forced to work as a bounty hunter, she becomes a frightened member of the damned, now known as The Ryder. Unfortunately, her next hunt accompanies unwanted company.

Warning(s): Biblical figures mentioned and written out of canon, Supernatural creatures, Canon Violence, Lots of Swearing, Blasphemy, and anything else I might miss.

Divider by @anitalenia

Since the extinguish of the Seven Assholes, Zarathos has been suckered into a wild goose chase after her next target. An old witch who goes by the name of Ruby, if that’s her actual name or a new moniker to at least feel like her memories aren’t vanishing. That bitch has been hightailing it since The Ryder’s seen her at the abandoned house, chasing after her into the dark.

To be honest, Zarathos didn’t really know a whole lot about the demon. She was old yet younger than her, never vocal about her take on the civil war, and had a pungent smell. It wasn’t hard to follow her. All you had to do was inhale and if you nearly hurl your heart out, she’s close.

If there’s one thing about The Ryder, she wasn’t a dog. She’s a hunter. And she has another target buried in fucking Ohio.

Elizabethville used to be a town filled with half-dead, workaholics and even laid off alcoholics, but now it was home to a new era. Streets lined with bars, hookers, and addicts; the once abysmal town was lively. It was like a scene straight from Ocean’s Eleven yet the only thing being stolen were people’s souls.

Settled in the back of the rambunctious bar, Zarathos sips her whiskey neat while crowd watching. As her eyes cross over to the entrance, two familiar figures walk in, bags slung at their sides. Clenching the glass in her gasp, the hunter nearly bristles, gritting her teeth.

She watches as the two stand at the bar, amused smiles draping their chiseled features after the bartender walks away. Behind them, a man walks in, his aura lot more depressing than the atmosphere of the bar.

He reaches the pool table where another man plays. “Hi John,” he greets the man. His face didn’t convey an itch of emotion. The man, John, looks up with concern. “Reggie. Everything okay with you?”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I’m just not feeling myself today.”

The Ryder leans forward, her eyes catching sight of the gun in his hands. She shakes her head, sitting back. It’s not like she’s a good guy nor a bad guy. All she does is follow her contract and serve justice where it’s needed, not her job to teach what decisions are good and vice versa.

Reggie raises the gun without blinking, firing a shot into the other man. The locals inside the bar scream, panic fills the room as everyone scatters for an escape far from the victim, his assailant, and the weapon. Just as Reggie aims the gun underneath his chin, Dean tackles him to the side and wrestles the gun from his hands.

Sam walks over, tentatively, and sprinkles bits of holy water onto the man. Zarathos’ nose scrunches at the smell, but the fumes weren’t enough to hide her amusement. Neither Reggie nor John were demons, this she knew. Instead, they were pawns. Every Elizabethville local was a pawn in her target’s game, and she had a hunch on who it was.

Setting the empty glass on the table, she generously takes her time on leaving the bar. As she stands, the sole essence of calm amongst the crowd of terror, Sam looks her way; eyes steeled with irritation, hell, confusion maybe. As he blinks, eyes bouncing to the bar owner and back to Zarathos, the skeleton rider was gone in the wind with a quick salute.

—

Idiots. Suicidal fucking idiots. They look sexy as hell but are just himbos who need babysat. Zarathos rides through the neighborhood, using hellfire she tracks Dean and the bartender. She pulls into the driveway, ignoring the concerned Sam checking on Bobby. The younger Winchester watches her with wide eyes.

“You…” he whispers, watching as her once dark flesh breaks away under the flames.

Reaching the crashed in living room, she takes a deep inhale, allowing a tornado of scents to overcome her. She twitches, catching Ruby’s, however, she forces herself to focus on Dean.

Following the small bits of debris and mutters, she enters the basement where the bartender and pastor stand across from the green-eyed idiot. The pastor’s hand grasps onto Dean’s throat, eyes glaring into his as the woman whispers her pleas.

Whipping the flaming chain around the pastor’s neck, he freezes in pain with wide eyes. His flesh hardens, cracks decorating his figure as bursts of orange light gleam through. The woman watches in distress before suffering the same fate. Now dropped and gasping for a breath, Dean watches as the flaming figure saves his ass for the second time in a row.

As she stands over him, his green eyes stare into her empty ones. “Who, ugh,” he grunts, “who the hell are you?”

Rather than answering, she tilts her head to the side, the flames mimic her movement. “Your… savior… idiot,” she finally replies.

Before he can retort, he looks over at the sound of rushed footsteps coming their way. Seeing his little brother charge in, a familiar gun raised, the man’s once surprised expression drops.

Pathetically raising a hand, he shouts, “Sam, no!”

Seconds too late, the younger man fires a round into The Ryder’s skeletal chest. The creature stumbles back, her flames flickering as the power of the Colt filters through her system until the bullet is pushed out, clacking against the stone floor. Reverting to her human appearance, her now sweat drenched form glares at the man.

Dean scrambles to his feet at the sight of her. As she takes a step for his brother, he steps in her path, hands gently pushing against her broad chest.

“Wait, please, no.” He pants, “not him.” He then turns to Sam, “just stop. Don’t shoot.” He looks back at her, “I just… we, just, need to talk.”

—

Reaching the town, Dean and Zarathos stand outside of the main plaza against her bike. “You know,” he coughs, “outside of the whole burning skeleton thing, you are a sight for sore eyes. Mind tellin’ me how you do that? What the hell are you?”

“I don’t know how I do it. For as long as I could remember, I always had a human form,” she answers. “The demons call me The Ryder, Hell’s Bloodhound. Outside of that, I don’t know what I am. I’m not a demon that’s for damn sure.”

His face scrunches, “and how’re you so sure? Ya better than them or some?”

She chuckles, “better than them? Kid, you hurt my feelings. They’re nowhere on my level. Besides, demons aren’t just made of thin air. They were humans at first. Humans who took dark paths and succumbed to the darkness.”

“And you were never human before?”

She shakes her head, “not from what I can remember. That’s why when demons wish to stand topside, they find vessels to keep a low cover and add a little flare to some crossroad deals.”

He sits in silence, watching over the crowd of locals that walk by. “Why save me, twice?” His jaw notches, “is it because of my deal? I still have a year left.”

She hums, “nah. I don’t have anything to do with that. I merely saved your ass because you got in the way.”

“Excuse me?” He glances at her.

“You heard me. I’m a hunter, Winchester. My job is to round up sinners on a regular and yet after that stint in Wyoming, I’ve had to herd the cattle back to Hell and you’re in my way.”

He shrugs, “sorry, not sorry. Hey, you think this town will ever change?”

She scoffs, “hell no. if there’s one thing detrimental about humans it’s that you lot are impressionable. Once you’ve scratched the itch in the back of your head, you’re gone. This town? They’re in far too deep, especially since another human is leading them further to the doors of Hell.”

“If you’re done giving me the third degree, I have a job to get to,” she straddles the leather seat of her motorcycle. “Do you think Sam, my brother, is okay?”

She scoffs, “he’s a hunter who was poisoned by Azazel, he’s never okay.”

Dean kisses his teeth, “not that. When I made the deal and he was brought to life, Azazel mentioned that he might’ve changed. Do you think my brother will be okay?” As he stares down into her amber gaze, searching for any lies.

“I mean, he died. Death appears differently for everyone, even treats them differently. What came back with your brother was probably nothing or it might just be a darker, unhinged part of his consciousness. I don’t know, but as long you keep protecting him, he’ll be fine.”

He nods, looking off towards the hotel. “And what do you know of a demon named Ruby?”

Involuntarily, a growl echoes in her chest. “A smelling bitch who prefers word vomiting than walkin’ the walk. She’s one of the demons on ‘Return at Once’ list, damn near nobody in Hell likes her. If you see her, send her ass back down under.”

Zarathos starts her engine, the roar fluttering through his chest. Dean watches her for a bit, “say, if we ever need, ya know, help or anythin’, how do we call you?”

Sliding a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, she smirks, “you don’t. I come whenever I want to, kid. Remember, stay out of the way.” She rides off, following the road out of town.

Watching her ride into the sun, Bobby walks up behind him with squinting eyes. “So what was that all about?”

Dean shrugs, “I guess I, uh, have a guardian angel?” The older man side eyes him, “repeat that for me. A what?”

He repeats, “a guardian angel. A devilish one, at that. She’s a hunter, for Hell. Lassos all the escaped demons and sinners and sends them to the underworld.”

“Hell’s own police force, huh?” Bobby’s eyebrows raise. “Well, I’ll be damned. You think she’ll be another demon problem?”

Dean shakes his head, “not her. She’s not a demon, but that doesn’t mean we’re in the clear, yet.” The man nods, “good to know you’re thinking.”

“I know you’re not,” he fires back. Bobby looks at him, “what? What the hell are you yappin’ about now?”

He nods his head over at the hotel. “Ruby helped you with the Colt. You came here with her, if anyone’s not thinking’, it’s you and Sam.”

“Ruby is helping us,” Bobby argues. “She’s helping us save you. Hell, she helped us with this goddamn Colt, you idjit.”

Dean’s jaw ticks, “and why do you think that is? The bitch is a demon, and her ass needs saving. She’s on The Ryder’s hitlist and boy, is she excited to send her ass back to where she came from.”

“You really believe that thing?” Dean shrugs, “not like Ruby saved our asses without laying out her terms. When it came to Ryder, all she wanted was for us to stay out the way. So, you tell me who to believe and who to kill.”

Taglist: @noodle81937 @mary-jinx

[rootsofdread]

I've been stewing on this one for a while, but decided to just go ahead and drop it while requests are open~

What if the bug that can occur in game where killers can get stuck (mostly in pallets) happened to some of the killers? They can't seem to free themselves no matter how hard they try when a survivor appears. Once they realize the killer is stuck, they approach, cautiously. The killer isn't sure what they expect, but it certainly isn't for the survivor to free them.

Who held still to be let loose vs lashed out at the survivor? Who showed appreciation/mercy for the favor? Only killers I particularly had in mind was Sadako, the Dredge, and the Twins (Imagine Charlotte or Victor panicking over the other being trapped); any others are dealer's choice.

once again a fun one, i thought this was super cute to write!! <3

Charlotte & Victor Deshayes / The Twins:

Charlotte had been alone when she got trapped by another survivor inside of a pallet. She really wasn’t too sure how it happened — but to be fair, she didn’t understand much of what went on in the Entity’s realm, so she figured it must be…relatively normal. She called for Victor until he came, and the poor little guy freaked out when he realized she couldn’t move. He ran to find help for her, but every survivor ran from him. Except for you. You seemed to understand that he was clearly in distress, and actually paid him some mind. He pulled on your pants leg/skirt to lead you to his sister, where she was still stuck inside the pallet. You weren’t too sure what to do either, but you knew you had to try something. You put your shoulder under the edge of the pallet and pushed it up, while Charlotte stayed still (Victor did not, but he didn’t bother you). As soon as she was freed, Victor climbed up her dress and crawled back into her chest cavity to make sure she was alright. She left with her brother in a hurry, but she left you alive that trial.

The Dredge:

Dredge was actually used to this sort of thing. Being a…half-incorporeal assembly of body parts leads to it getting stuck in places often. When it suddenly stopped moving after being hit with a pallet, it knew exactly what had happened. It’s also not used to most people helping it get out of these situations, so it knew it had to get comfortable for the rest of the trial. And after a little while, it saw you walking by — and when you noticed it was stuck, you immediately started laughing. It seemed actually amused by you finding humor in its situation, and…maybe you heard it giggle a little to itself. It then motioned for you to help it out as a suggestion, and was surprised when you accepted it and came over. It has a tough time sitting still so it gave you some issues, but you successfully got it out. It thanked you by following you around for the rest of the trial.

Sadako Yamamura / The Onryō:

Sadako had been Demanifested while chasing you around, and figured that must be the reason she got trapped inside of a pallet. She had been completely blind-sided by it and didn’t even realize why she had stopped at first…she’s stuck. She was calm at first but slowly started to panic. She…hates being stuck. She thought you had taken the opportunity to run away and re-join your group, and didn’t realize you were still nearby keeping an eye on her. You could see how panicked she was and, even if she had tried to kill you, it pulled on your heartstrings to see her freaking out like that. You approached her cautiously. She seemed like she was shaking, but relieved someone had come back to help her. She seemed like she wanted to stay still for you but she did attempt to attack you; luckily the pallet blocked all of her hits. She still seemed scared once she was free, but now she didn’t try to hurt you. She stood there for a moment before Projecting to a different location, and you didn’t see her for the rest of the trial.

[once-in-a-blood-moon]

Lux Astrorum

Solomon x GN! reader

Summary: You and Solomon sit on the roof stargazing, and some interesting curiosities arise.

AN: Guess who's back? It has been way too long since I've written anything, but I'm still in the middle of a writer's block and college courses, so this is like a one time thing...for now. Ooh, I hope y'all like this! :)

Warnings: None

Shadows painted across your face as you and Solomon sat on the roof of Cocytus Hall. He had suggested the two of you climb up and stargaze for a little while as a way to unwind after another stressful day. The inky black sky hung above your heads as the soft chirping of frogs filled the silence that surrounded you. Small dots of light shimmered against the dark backdrop, and mentally, Solomon was connecting the stars together and forming the constellations he was familiar with. 

If this was the human realm, his eyes wouldn’t hesitate to flicker to every constellation, to every lone star and recount to himself the stories and legends behind them. And while he’s familiar enough with the Devildom folktales, nothing can compare to the sky back home. 

“Solomon?” 

The sorcerer’s eyes shift slowly over to your figure, whose head is still lifted up towards the sky. His voice stays soft so as to not disturb the tranquil peace between the two of you. “Hm? Something on your mind?” 

He watches you take a steadying breath before you speak again. “Have you ever held a star in the palm of your hands?” 

Solomon’s eyes spark with interest at your question before he chuckles to himself. “I have, yes. Is there any reason you’re asking?” 

“No.” You shake your head, never taking your eyes off the stars. “I was just curious.” 

Solomon nods as he glances back up as well. And for a few moments, it’s silent between the two of you once more. He thinks about saying something…anything, after missing your presence all day. He takes a breath to speak but pauses as you begin again; your voice so quiet he wonders if you even mean to say these things out loud. 

“Have you ever walked on the dark side of the moon before? Or maybe visited a celestial entity just because you could? Seen galaxies that exist far, far away…or watched a supernova up close?” You finally break your gaze from the sky, blinking at him with a childlike curiosity. “Have you ever done anything like that before?” 

He’s taken aback by all your sudden questions, each one more interesting than the last. A soft smile is directed your way as he answers you. “I’ve done all those things and more. But those stories would be too long and complicated to explain.” He sighs as he fondly reminisces those experiences only he could witness firsthand. “I can still feel the light on my skin from the stars I’ve held. Every time I look up at the sky at night, I’m reminded of their radiance and warmth. I may have lived a long life and I may not remember everything that I’ve done…but it’s something you never forget.” 

Solomon chuckles at your reaction after having made it out from the darkness; your mouth agape slightly and your eyes wide and intent. “There must be some interest in these subjects if you’re asking so much. If you’d like, I’ll teach you how to summon a star into your hand.” 

You gasp softly. “Woah, really?” 

Solomon nods with a grin. “Yes, really. And until then…” He waves his hand around with a graceful flourish and a small stone appears in the palm of his hand. He eyes it for a moment, feeling the energy humming from it through his veins. “You can have this.” 

It’s a crystal that holds an endless galaxy within it, though its contents are merely a replica that he’s conjured up with his magic. He holds his hand out for you to take it. Your eyes flick down to his extended hand, tentatively taking the object and closely inspecting it in awe.  

“This is beautiful, but why do you want me to have it?” 

“Why not?” Solomon shrugs, grinning at you. “It’s mine to give to whoever I choose, and that person is you.” He leans in and places a featherlight kiss to your cheek but he doesn’t lean back. He stays close to your face, gently caressing your cheek with his hand and guiding you to lock eyes with him. 

“It’s my promise to you. It’s my promise to protect you and to help you cultivate your knowledge for all things magic. It’s my promise that you will hold a star in your hand. And I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”

[wherethefireliliesgrow]

Moonlight Sunrise (Part 4)

Minatozaki Sana x reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

GENRE: angst, fluff, non-idol

TYPE: Short fic

When she was a child, Sana had never been afraid of anything.

While the handmaids cowered behind furniture at the sight of insects and snakes, the princess would be the first to catch these horrid beasts. She snuck into the training grounds, trained with the head of security secretly without her father's permission, hoping to be her knight instead of a damsel in distress. She needed no protector; she was as brave and as capable as any of her father's men.

Her father would shake his head in disappointment at the sight of Sana covered in mud from head to toe, instead of being the proper princess that he wanted her to be. Her mother, however, encouraged her to do the things she liked, to live her life the way she wanted.

Sana shone as bright as the sunrise, full of life as if it were midsummer. She was the hot sun spreading heat and warmth to every corner of the universe.

Minotosaki Sana wasn't afraid of anything—until she was 17.

It turns out, she's afraid of the dark.

Ironically, after being cursed into the labyrinth and changed into a gloomwraith, a creature of the night, Sana couldn't bear the darkness. Her body craved and fed on the shadows and despair, while her heart and mind panicked at the idea of the pitch-black world she was now in. She was afraid of herself.

As cliché as it sounds, she stopped fearing the darkness when she met you. You, with your serious brooding face and eerily silent demeanor, like death haunting your footsteps, somehow made her feel safe.

Sana feared the dark, but you were the one who controlled the night.

You seemed more fitting as a creature of the night than her. Yet, when you laughed, when your eyes crinkled at a lame joke she made, or when you resorted to a fit of giggles at her antics, you seemed human again.

Now, as pitch-black smoke emitted from your skin, enveloping the area around you in haunting darkness, Sana was scared. But not because of the dark; she was scared for you.

As Sana ran, she tried to push away her worries.

"This is the real reason I'm called the NightWalker," you had said, dimples flashing as you gave her a reassuring grin.

She kept replaying this scene in her mind. She had decided to trust you wholeheartedly on this. You were different this time, different from what she had seen in your previous battles with the monsters in the labyrinth. You always seemed so unfazed, stoic even. But this time, you looked deadly and full of confidence. A chill went down Sana's spine; she definitely did not want to be on the receiving end of that look. Yet to her, your air of confidence looked oddly attractive.

Besides, what else could she do to help? Blind the enemies with her uncontrollable moonlight glow?

She managed to reach the far end wall of the courtyard and crouched down on the dirt floor, feeling around until she found a small opening within the vines hanging down the walls. The ancient stone wall was cold and rough under her fingers, contrasting with the smooth, silken touch of the vines that seemed to writhe under her touch as if alive. 

Everything was pitch black. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her. All she could hear were screams of pain, the group of men calling out to each other, and a few scuffles. She never heard your voice, not once. The darkness felt oppressive, like a living entity pressing down on her from all sides, filling her lungs with dread.

After what felt like an eternity, the smoke began to clear up. It was now eerily silent, and she started to frantically search for any traces of you. Were you okay? Did they hurt you? The empty grounds left no trace of any life. The moonlight began to filter through the dissipating smoke, casting eerie shadows on the ground, highlighting the pools of blood that had seeped into the earth.

"Y/N?" Sana called, her voice trembling. "Where are you?"

Her voice raised to a higher octave as she panicked, quickly standing up and searching. "Y/N?"

She fastened her pace as she started to search, calling for you. When she found a pool of blood, she shivered in fear. Though the open space looked clean at first glance, she could now see that the grounds were littered with pools of blood and traces of a brawl. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the earthy smell of the forest floor, creating a nauseating combination.

"Please tell me you're okay," she begged, tears starting to form in her eyes.

"Y/N?"

"I'm here," she heard you call, and there you were without a sound, casually strolling towards her with your hands in your pockets, effortlessly cool and unfazed by what had just occurred.

The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on your face, highlighting the sharp angles and softening your normally stern expression.

Your tattoos were now back to their normal design, with no trace of any smoke. Your hair was perfect, and your expression was back to its calm look as before.

Sana felt like a fool. Here she was, worried and searching for you, while you looked this pretty and walked to her as if nothing had happened.

"Hey, you okay?" You had walked closer and noticed the distress on the princess's face.

"Fuck you," she hissed, reaching down to grab a pebble and throwing it at your pretty face as hard as she could.

"Hey!" you yelped, like a total loser. "What was that for?"

"You," she threw another rock.

"Are," and another. You jumped away just in time.

"A," another one, this one hitting you on the forehead.

"Ow!" you cowered, trying to walk toward her and dodging her throws.

"Selfish," she hissed, throwing another one.

"Ass." Just before she could throw the last stone, you grabbed her hands with yours, stopping her.

You were bewildered. You hadn't wanted to take that much time, but you decided to hide the bodies from the princess. You were ashamed of the things you did and didn't want her to see the remains. Normally, you weren't one to kill without receiving a kill warrant or being on a mission, but these men—something about the way they talked about Sana didn’t sit well with you.

"Let me go!" Sana's eyes burned a dangerous red, but you refused. Instead, you pulled her closer into your arms.

"Sorry for worrying you."

She struggled a bit in your vice-like grip before giving up and hiding her face in your neck. Her cool breath gave you shivers.

"I wasn't worried." Her voice came out muffled; she was sniffling.

"Right."

"I hate you and your stupid face." But her arms said otherwise as she clung to you.

It was right then that it hit you after so long. Sure, you were the best on the battlefield, but not the best at interpreting feelings. The reason why you slaughtered all those men, the reason why the objective of this mission was no longer just to get the stone, but to save Sana from this mess.

You had fallen for this fiery, bad-mouthed princess, hard.

"Sorry for leaving you alone. I had to clean up the mess," you soothed her, your heartwarming at the feeling of her chubby cheeks on your shoulders.

You stroked her soft white hair, as her soft scent of vanilla invaded your smell, calming the quickening of your heart from the fight. 

After a while of being in this embrace, Sana noticed how close she was to you. Clearing her throat and embarrassed, she pushed you away.

"Let's go," she muttered, stalking toward what she thought was the right route.

"Other way," you called, laughing at her as her face flushed red and she stormed in the other direction.

.

.

.

.

The next few days went relatively peacefully, aside from a minor mishap with a run-in with a voidling :

A loud roar echoed from behind you, making your bones rattle from within. “What the hell is that?” You drew your crossbow, ready for anything. Sana merely shrugged, unaffected. “My husband.” “What? You’re married?” The words left a sour taste in your mouth, but you tried to hide the feeling. She quickly led you to the walls of the labyrinth, touching the ivy-covered stone with concentration. Quick footsteps were nearing, and you drew an arrow just in case. “Yes and no,” Sana explained as her body began to glow. The walls seemed to melt under her palms, and you looked on bewildered; this was the first time you had seen her do that. “That’s King Jin-Young. He asked my father for my hand in marriage right when I first got cursed in the labyrinth. He said he would do anything to get me out of here. He ended up dying immediately and turning into a voidling after getting eaten by sirens.” A large hole had melted into the wall, and the princess quickly pulled you through. You found yourselves back at a place you had passed by that morning. “Wow… I’m sorry about that.” Sana merely shrugged again and worked on sealing the wall. “It’s okay. I never talked to him before.” As the small space of the wall closed, you caught a glimpse of the dark, brooding figure just before it disappeared. The face, eerily similar to a human's but grotesquely distorted, had pitch-black eyes with a slitted pupil, and its mouth was twisted into a silent, malevolent grin. The skin was ashen and cracked, giving the impression of decaying bark. Long, skeletal fingers reached out from its arms, and the air around it seemed to warp with an unnatural chill. “How come you never melted the walls before this? We could’ve been in the center of the labyrinth by now.” “It only works on going back, not forward, dumbass.”

On the 10th day in the labyrinth, you reached the inner circles. The temperature was so low that you had to constantly light torches as you walked, which also made it easier to see as everything was now dark as if it were nighttime.

Sure, the dark was a bit frightening, and the cold was becoming unbearable, but it gave Sana an excuse to get close to you. She thought the way you reacted to her flirting was so cute, how embarrassed you got just by a simple wink she sent your way.

She had been subtly testing your reaction, from walking close to you to gently holding onto the hem of your coat, to grabbing your arm altogether.

The first time she held onto your arm, you didn’t say anything. She did, however, notice a slight pink tinting your ears as you avoided her gaze and continued forward.

She decided to take her actions up a notch. When she tended to a cut on your cheek you received from one of the five-legged Chimeras after a hard battle, she pressed a kiss softly on the bandage. The close proximity of your faces made you flinch, nearly falling off the small stone ledge and onto the ground.

Sana merely giggled.

You were beyond bewildered. The princess's sudden affection towards you made your mind a scrambled mess. She went from insulting you to being all cuddly. You weren't used to affection nor physical contact, but the feeling of Sana's warm hand in yours was something you yearned for.

You had gotten used to her head on your lap when you camped by the fire at night, or her soft snores when she slept with her face burrowed in your back as she sought warmth, or the way her eyes glinted mischievously when she was about to insult you. You were sure you were going to miss her presence once you got the stone.

.

.

.

.

"We're almost there," Sana murmured on the 12th day, her voice barely audible. She could feel the stone in her veins, a large thumping echoing in her cursed blood, reminding her that she belonged to the stone, not the other way around. The hairs on her arms stood up; there was just something so unsettling about being near the very thing that tethered her to the labyrinth.

Her voice slightly wavered as she led the way, her skin glittering with soft hues. You gently grabbed her arm and turned her around to look at you, trying to read her emotions through her eyes.

"You okay?" you asked, your dark eyebrows furrowed as you inspected her face.

Sana's heart gave another lurch at your caring. One thing she learned from these past two weeks with you in the labyrinth was that nothing escaped your notice. Your sight was as clear and sharp as an eagle's, which made sense given your assassin training. But it was the way you paid attention to every detail of her, everything she had to say, that made her inhumane heart start flowing with adoration.

"Yeah," she gave you a soft smile, "I’ve just never been this far before."

"First and last time," you said, surprisingly reaching down and lacing your fingers together (she was the one who always made the first move).

"I promise."

The two of you continued forward, fingers laced, your shoulders squared in a protective stance, leading the way.

The sound of running water broke through the eerie silence as you walked forward. A soft scent of baking vanilla invaded your senses, followed by the smell of salty ocean breeze and firewood, hitting you full blast as you turned the next corner.

"Do you smell that?" Sana said, lifting her nose to the air. "Apples."

You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. "I don’t smell any apples.”

You had an idea of where this smell came from and quickly walked toward the large pool of water blocking your way at the far end. The water was hauntingly transparent, but so deep it seemed like a bottomless pit. Though it was eerily still, you could continue to hear the sound of running water from ahead. Your teacher had taught you about this before, and you racked your brains to recall what it was.

Sana looked at you as if you were dumb, hands on her waist. “Yes, there is! It’s so strong! And the smell of dew during dawn, and the smell of…”

“The Pool of Desire,” you muttered, slapping yourself in the head.

“Mint,” Sana finished her sentence before your words registered in her mind. “What? Oh…OH.”

She turned a faint pink, her eyes flicking between you and the water.

“What? Are you afraid of water or something?” You teased. 

She merely gave you an annoyed glare and stalked toward a wooden boat near the dock.

The boat looked too small to fit two people; any weight and it would break in half. But you knew it was built with magic and should be able to hold a human and a magical creature.

The Pool of Desire was something mentioned in myths; no one alive had ever seen them before. It was said that once you touched the water, you would immediately become entranced, overtaken by your desires, and would swim to find where the smell came from until you ultimately drowned in its depths.

After a while of rowing, you finally saw the source of the flowing water. In the middle of the pool, there was a small island with a tree in the center. The island was an enchanting but eerie sight: the tree had silver leaves that seemed to shimmer like moonlight, and its bark was a deep, dark green that looked almost black. The ground of the island was covered in a soft, glowing mist that occasionally rippled with a faint, haunting glow, as if the island itself were alive and aware of your presence.

As you boarded the dock and gently helped Sana off the boat, you saw that in the middle of the tree trunk was a hole continuously flowing with water. The water seemed to cascade down the trunk and disappear into the sandy soil, creating a mesmerizing yet unsettling sight.

Sana could feel that the stone was within the tree. Her heart burned at the close proximity of the stone, and she was feeling as if any closer would kill her. Her whole body shook in pain as she tried her best to hide it. This was the moment she was waiting for for the longest time. But her whole body trembled in fear, this was far too easy. 

“I’m scared, Y/N.” the princess admitted, her first time saying this after all these battles and encounters with monsters.

“This feels like a trap.” You quickly reached over to grab her hand in yours, working on soothing her.

“Everything will be fine,” you said, but you too knew there must be a catch.

You released her after a while and walked towards the tree. The tree was enormous, its trunk wide enough that it would take several people holding hands to encircle it. The hole with flowing water in the trunk was about the size of a large dinner plate, and the water that poured from it was clear but strangely thick, as if infused with some otherworldly essence. Engraved on its ancient wooden body were words in Latin. You thanked Yeji for making you take Latin courses with her during your time at the academy.

But as you slowly translated the words, a sense of dread engulfed you. 

In the depths of dreams where shadows sing,

I offer you but one thing.

A wish fulfilled, your heart's fire,

At the cost of your greatest desire.

You froze, knowing how this would go.

Sana had unintentionally taken over your heart in the past few weeks together, and you knew that the moment you smelled the vanilla first from the pool, she was now the most precious thing in your heart. The reason for the stone had changed during the days you were here.

You initially wanted to find the cure for Yeji, but it slowly changed to wanting to set the lonely princess free from this dark hell of a place. You wanted her to be happy and wanted to do anything to see the sunrise again, with or without you. Which meant your wish had to be her.

You had to exchange setting Sana free from the stone for your time with her.

“What does it say?” the princess asked, her head peeking curiously from the back of your shoulder.

Her warm hand was still in yours, squeezing it slightly to knock you out of your trance.

“Nothing important. Just steps on how to retrieve the stone.” You forced a smile and looked at her.

Sana could tell you were lying. Your eyes were clouded, and she knew you well enough to see the little twitch in your eyebrow when you lied. Something had changed the moment you read the words, and she could tell it was something bad.

“There’s more to it.” She squinted, trying to make you tell the truth.

What she didn’t expect was for you to lean down and kiss her. The feeling of your soft lips on hers, your minty breath blowing in her face, was enough to make her forget the situation momentarily. She pulled you closer to her, her hands intertwined with your hair, and her heart beat so fast she was about to have a heart attack. Her whole body tingled, and she wanted nothing more than to be closer to you.

You finally pulled away when there was a lack of air, laughing at her little whine as she chased after you.

You took a step back and looked at Sana. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, her cheeks flushed pink, and her lips swollen from the kiss. She was beautiful, and you wanted anything to have her look at you this way—so full of desire, so full of love. You’d engrave this memory of her in yours so that when she forgets everything, at least there would still be someone who remembered what happened in this cursed labyrinth.

“I—” Sana breathed deeply, trying to catch her breath. “Wow.”

You laughed, giving her a kiss on the forehead before quickly turning around to face the tree. You tried to stop the tears that were beginning to gather in the corner of your eyes.

“Why does that feel like a goodbye?” Sana asked softly, her voice wavering as you started to put your hand into the hole.

“Y/N?” Her voice was calm, but you could hear a soft tremble at the end.

Your hand came in contact with something small and hard within the flowing water of the trunk. You refused to turn back to look at her.

“I promised you that you’ll be able to see the sunrise.” You whispered.

“But I was happy with your moonlight.”

.

.

.

.

Sana gazed at her reflection in the vanity mirror, where she had been sitting ever since getting ready for bed hours ago. Morning was approaching, and as she brushed through her long brown locks, she couldn't help but study her image.

It had been a week since she left the labyrinth, but she still couldn’t get used to her human appearance. Her skin retained a ghostly pallor, reminding her of the darkness she had escaped. She made a mental note to get herself some sunlight.

She felt off, as if a chunk of her memories was missing. She yearned for someone she couldn’t remember ever since she woke up at the entrance of the labyrinth. She had managed to catch a glimpse of the silhouette of the person who seemingly carried her there and saw another figure run from the crowd and into the labyrinth with the person. Was that person the one who saved her?

“Are you okay, princess?” Momo, a royal guard she was unfamiliar with, called from the door.

She had noticed Sana staring at herself blankly.

“Yeah.” Sana sighed softly, before turning to look at the guard.

“I just feel like parts of my memory are missing.”

The guard pursed her lips as if she wanted to say something but changed her mind.

“I promised someone I would do this for them,” Momo said, gesturing for the princess to follow her.

Confused, but curious, Sana put on a thick gown and followed the guard.

They made their way down the castle, through a small, murky corridor lit only by flickering torches. The air was damp and smelled of mildew, each step echoing off the stone walls. They descended a long set of spiral stairs, the rough stone cold beneath their feet. At the bottom, they pushed open a withering wooden door with a creak. 

A forlorn bench stood near the metal walls surrounding the labyrinth. The labyrinth loomed ominously in the distance, its dark, vine-covered walls stretching up towards the sky, shrouded in a perpetual gloom.

Sana gasped. This was definitely a scene she had seen before. The familiarity washed over her like a wave, bringing with it a sense of déjà vu that made her heart ache.

As the sun slowly peeked over the looming walls of the labyrinth, casting a golden hue over the twisted vines, Sana felt a strange sense of peace. Yet, her heart burned with the thought of missing someone, a longing that she couldn’t place.

She closed her eyes, basking in the gentle warmth of the sunrise, but craving the embrace of the night.

Previous Chapter

anndddd it's finally finished!

Thank you to all the people who paitently waited for this. I'm thinking of doing an epilogue if anyone wants to see a happier ending.

Let me know your thoughts!

[deadbydangit]

This might be strange and you may not even know what I'm talking about, but could you write characters with an S/o who acts like Jinx from Arcane?

Maybe this with Ghostface and Leon? Feel free to add any and all people if you do take the request. Thank you ^^

I did a bit of research on this character. She sounds rather chaotic but intelligent. So I'm going to go with that. I hope that's okay if I add one more to it as well. I hope you enjoy it.

With a Reader who is chaotic and intelligent.

Ghostface, Leon, Legion (Frank)

Ghostface

Yeah, let's fuck some shit up.

You and Danny are like the same person.

Much to everyone else's dismay.

Your collective appetite for chaos knows no bounds.

You could both be asleep when Danny shakes you to wake you up.

"Hey I remember this fucked up joke and wanted to tell you."

And you're both just going to laugh.

And then go right back to sleep.

You're both inseparable.

If he could sneak you into every trial to help him, he so would.

"Like, babe, think of the ways we can kill survivors together."

The Entity, much to everyone's delight, refuses to let that happen.

So you both go terrorize whoever happens to be in the woods at that time.

Not as fun, but still entertaining.

Your intelligence has helped him numerous times when it comes to constricting any sort of trap he'd like.

And he won't have to worry if his precious camera ever gets damaged.

The pranks you pull in each other are great.

The pranks you both work on together are masterpieces.

You are the bain of everyone else's existence.

And you both wouldn't have it any other way.

Leon S Kennedy

He has his hands full with you.

He may have the intelligence to match.

But he's a hero, not... Whatever you are.

He'll often walk in on you building some crazy invention or trap.

He is highly concerned.

More about everyone else.

Because that does NOT look safe.

He does take interest in some of your inventions.

Watching you build and explain them, watching how passionate you are about your craft.

It's super cute to him.

Leon is absolutely going to do that stereotypical hero thing where he tries to make you 'see the light' and 'renounce your evil ways.'

Good luck with that buddy.

Leon is very agile, alert, and fairly smart.

So pulling a prank on him takes some work.

If you do manage, he'll applaud your determination and creativity.

Provided it isn't something dangerous.

If he wants you to hold still for a while, he'll challenge you to a boardgame or chess.

This is where his competitive nature shines.

But it's all in good fun.

He never goes easy on you though.

Just because you love him doesn't mean he's going to let you win.

You've already won his love.

Legion (Frank)

Anarchy! Anarchy!

Frank has no idea what that word means, but it sounded cool and he heard you say it once.

He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed.

But he loves you for the chaotic crazy you are.

He's so down to pull pranks too.

And he's always willing to help you whenever he can.

Need him to sneak into Caleb's workshop to grab supplies for your newest invention?

On it!

"Hey. Want to go put mentos and coke in one of Herman's test tubes?"

That's the closest thing to a science experiment you're going to get from this boy.

Just be honored he's making an effort for you.

You might even see him trying to make inventions of his own.

You inspire him.

His lack of regard for the safety of himself or the safety of others might be a concern to others.

But the both of you couldn't give less of a shit about it.

You only live once.

Well, technically not in the realm.

But it's the principal of the matter.

Frank doesn't know what you mean when you say that, but you're smart and it sounded cool so he's going to say it too.

And, he knows you're cool, so he'll say it.

[imauthicktic]

Hi, um, hope I ain't bothering you but... I had a bad morning to say the least. Can you possibly write Deathslinger, Wraith, Doctor, and Pyramid Head comforting/hugging reader s/o who's been remembering bad memories about their mentally/emotionally abusive mom? Just... You can ignore this if you don't wanna write it...

You're not bothering me at all. I totally get it and I hope you feel better! I too have many mornings like that so just know you aren't alone my friend. I may have self-projected some of my mommy issues in this tbh. I know that it's hard so just know you have more people who love and care for you <3

Dbd x gn!reader (fem!reader in Herman's, should be gn! the rest of it tho)

Description: dbd killers give comfort to their s/o.

This is angsty but it is also a comfort fic.

Deathslinger:

You sigh as you walk around the sunny realm of your boyfriend. It has been a bad day for you, you would say. You had very little sleep the night before due to, what you like to call, the hauntings. You got up, rubbed your eyes, and headed towards the one place that gives you the most comfort and now here you were.

You went around looking for Caleb, but you sadly couldn’t find him anywhere. At this point you were going to cry. You don’t like it here and you didn’t like your life too much beforehand, but at least you have Caleb. You never talked about your life before the Entity and neither did Caleb. Sometimes you would get something small from him where he would mention his gang. Nothing more than that though. You had a family, but it wasn’t really a family was it? You scoffed at the thought and sat down in the saloon. You leaned over the bar and grabbed a glass and put just a little whiskey in it. You don’t like drinking very much… too used to seeing it take a negative effect on those around you.

You’re getting angsty. Where is Caleb? You feel your eyes burn from the build up of unreleased tears and the feeling of being overwhelmed taking over you. You get up with the glass in your hand and you’re about to throw the drink at the wall before a hand grabs your wrist and turns you around. You look at Caleb and he was already looking at you with softened, but confused eyes. “What’s wrong darlin’?” Caleb asked while grabbing the glass from your hand and setting it down on the nearby table. He wrapped his arms around you as you threw your face into his chest sniffling. 

He has never seen you so upset before and he isn’t completely sure what to do. He just let you cry it out and held you close to him. Pressing a kiss here and there on top of your head and repeating “It’s ok. I’m here. I’m here.” You didn’t realize how comforting hearing him say that to you. You look into his eyes and whisper a small “Forever?” Even though you both know the unpredictability of where you are and how the situation may change one day, he couldn’t help how innocent it sounded coming from you and replied with a small “Always.” as he gives you a small kiss on the lips.

Wraith:

Philip knew there was something off when in the trial you were giving up easily on things. You always were a strong team player and always helped others by healing them once you got them off the hook. Philip hated how he had to hook you in his trials, but he really wanted to end this trial quickly so he can get to you. 

None of the generators were working and every survivor was gone. Except for you. His sweet love. He appeared behind you with his little jingle. He was expecting you to excitedly turn to him. However, that didn’t happen. 

You felt so numb. All the memories of your past coming up and how you just wish some part of your life was normal. Never would you have thought you’d ask for normalcy in your life. But here you are. You heard Philips jingle, but you just couldn’t shake off the feeling of dread in you. So deeply rooted inside of you. Philip could feel the sadness coming off of you in waves. Philip is so used to seeing such happiness from you. He doesn’t know how to change things. He does know, however, to comfort you. 

He sat down on the ground behind you, his legs open and his hands gently reaching out for you. When you felt his hands on your waist, you knew you would be ok as soon as you were wrapped in his arms. He pulled you in between his legs and wrapped himself tighter around you. He felt you melt into his body and made a happy grunt that you were seemingly at peace. You looked up at him and softly said, “You’re the only family I’ll ever need.” You then tucked your head under his chin and felt so much more at peace. Philip just felt all his blood rush to his face and nearly felt the sting of tears in his eyes at the sentiment of that statement.

Oh how he loves you.

Doctor:

“Herman, I don’t see the point in this. You’re not a therapist anymore. Just crazy.” You let out a laugh at the face he gave you as he turned to look at you in his wheely chair. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. For your sake, my flower.” he said monotonously as he gave a tiny harmless zap to your thigh. He chuckled at your little yelp and then he soothed his hand where he shocked you. “I wasn’t asking to be your therapist… I’m telling you, you need to talk to me.”

You sighed as you crossed your arms. You see that he has already taken notes on his observations of you in the past few days. You tried reading them, but his handwriting can be a little difficult to read sometimes. “I just want to know what is making you wither. You haven’t been yourself and I don’t like seeing you so glum. You are more delicate than you want to appear. Buut, you are stronger than you think as well. I’m assuming you’ve been sad because you’ve been thinking of your past life.” You looked at him, a little embarrassed, but not surprised he came to that conclusion.

“Yeah. I just don’t exactly know how to talk about it. I-... I wanted to forget about it. I’ve just been having those dreams… where they’re almost like memories. Just… not… good ones.” You say as you look down at your feet. Twisting the front of your right foot to grind the broken glass on the floor. Herman scooted his chair over to where your legs were placed between his. He looked up at you and gently cupped his hand behind your knee, thumb brushing against your kneecap. He used his other hand to grab your hand and he brought your hand to cup his face. 

“Was it about your mom?” he asked. You looked at him with almost a blank stare. The only reason he was able to ask without you explaining more was because you were his s/o before the Entity brought you both here. You were happy to be back with him, just wish it were under better circumstances here. You guys were engaged back in the day. Your ring is still on your finger. Herman loves you and understands that your mom was always hard for you to talk about. It’s been more of a problem lately because you both found out you were pregnant. Becoming a mom was something you were scared of because you didn’t want to be like your mom. Not like you’d ever let that happen. Nor would Herman for that matter. 

“Herman, do you think I’ll be a good mom?” you ask with tears running down your face. Herman stood up and cupped your face gently and wiped away your tears. “My dear. With the heart and brain you have, you will be the best mom there ever was.” He brushed his nose against your cheek. 

I guess you can’t ignore the doctor. If he says it, it must be true. You smile at him and kiss his cheekbone and instantly remember that you’ll never be your mom. You have the support system you need in Herman.

Pyramid Head:

*pre dbd universe*

Living in Silent Hill was not the life you would’ve imagined for yourself, but with a protector and s/o like Pyramid Head, you’re at least not lonely. 

The way you met this monster of a man was due to his need to kill the worst people and monsters. He heard you. From miles away. He heard the beating of your innocent heart and the terrible one that was attacking you. He knew it was time to take you from this creature. The purity in your heart couldn't be destroyed by something so evil.  

When it happened, you were crying. You were scared you were going to be killed, but all this creature did was reach down and caress your cheek with the back of his hand. 

He picked you up with his empty arm, almost cradling you because of how massive he was. He took you to a safe place. Somewhere far away from the madness. He was your home now. He gave you safety and he was a perfect heater for the cold nights. He grabbed you things that you might need while he was out on his runs. He never let you leave. He knows the the connection your soul has to the one he took you from. Yet, he knew your soul was connecting with his in a very strong bond. 

He came home to you after an uneventful day. He leaned his giant knife against the wall and laid down on the giant nest of a bed you made when he brought you here. You came in with a glass of water and laid down next to him. You rest your head on his chest and cuddle into him. His arm wraps around you tightly and you feel like nothing else matters. You have Pyramid Head to care for you and to keep you safe. His comfort was all you needed when the days were gloomy. He obviously can’t give any verbal comfort, but the physical comfort was all you needed.

I hope you liked this my friend! Lmk what you think!

Requests are open!

[alteon77]

The Bizarre Breeding Habits of Anthropomorphic Personifications: Chapter 6

It's a tale as old as time.

Two idiots fall in love. Two idiots fall out of love.

Neither one of them is expecting a baby to come along and derail their unhappily ever after.

Chapter One here, AO3 here, Masterlist here

Chapter Summary: A sentient television that's also a life coach appears in May's dreams. Morpheus learns about Twilight, and compromises are finally made.

In her room, May sits on her bed and tries her damnedest to relax. Viego had jokingly told her that she had all of the blankets in the house, and while she had laughed at the time, the eleven inch tall, incredibly heavy heap of them on top of her kinda feels like it might actually be every one they own. Not that she would ever admit this to her brother, mostly because he tends to get extra sassy for a week or two if she lets him think he's right about anything, and she's not going to deal with that. At least not with everything going on in her life at the moment.

Behind May, there's a mountain of pillows crammed between her back and the headboard and she's got a ball of yarn in her lap. Her two short, thin knitting needles click and clack rhythmically in her hands as she focuses half of her attention on the tiny sweater she's making and half of her attention on the Dateline episode playing in the background. She's not quite sure why she's been so fixated on true crime shows lately, but everytime Viego catches her watching one, he makes a face, the kind of face that says he's considering locking up all the knives in the house and barricading his door at night. 

Which is hilarious. Really. 

Mostly because May's not actually the violent type, but if she were the kind of entity to take part in the odd homicide here or there, then there are at least a dozen instances where she'd been justifiably pissed enough at Viego to warrant trying to kill him. What she's saying basically is that his mother-henning over her (and that's totally what he's doing whether or not he wants to own up to it) isn't going to be the thing that causes his death by her hand. 

Of course, it's all really a moot point since May isn't a murderer, and she imagines that if she were to start a career of taking lives, she wouldn't begin with her own family, for fuck's sake. 

Her mind blanks, and she shakes her head in confusion at the curious sensation. What the hell had she been thinking about? Something with Viego and the way he grimaces whenever he catches her watching true crime stuff. May frowns at the strange white spot in her memory. She's pretty sure that she's already getting pregnancy brain, and given that she's barely sleeping and definitely keeping absolutely no food down, she guesses she shouldn't be surprised by that. Then again, her issues with remembering things could also have more to do with the massive amount of stress she's been dealing with lately..

And there has definitely been stress. The truth is that things have been… tense in her new house. For the past week Morpheus has been coming by once or twice a day, and Viego… hates it. Or, she supposes it would be more accurate to say that Viego hates him. It's not enough that the father of her child is near silent and angrily awkward during these little visits, but to have Viego spend the entirety of them glaring at Morpheus like he wants to wring his neck is freaking her out six ways to Sunday. And of course Morpheus, who has always been an ass where Viego is concerned, doesn't even try to play nice. There have been no less than four occasions where she was pretty sure she was going to have to break them up from a proper scuffle, like two boys in a schoolyard fighting over damned Pokemon cards.  

Not that she's the Pokemon card in this metaphor. Oh no. That honor belongs solely to the kid growing inside of her, which is more than a bit… dehumanizing. Can she even say dehumanizing given that she's not actually a human? May doesn't know, but she's going to go with it regardless. It makes her feel like nothing but an incubator, like she's just here to carry and birth the baby and that's it. Every time Morpheus comes to see her, she catches him stealing glances at her stomach, staring at the very, very slight swell there like he's entranced or something. Months ago, she would have taken pleasure in teasing him, would have playfully welcomed him to come and sit at her side and try to talk to it or something. But now… now when he realizes that she can see what he's doing, he usually clenches his jaw and looks away, unwilling to bear her gaze on him.  

And it… hurts.  

It hurts a lot. 

Before she can dwell too much on that, though, her television starts acting up. It makes a weird grinding noise, the picture on the screen flickering as the whole things begins shaking violently. May stares in horrified, wide-eyed fascination as two long, seemingly flexible tubes sprout from the side of it, the black plastic of these new appendages gleaming in the light of her bedside lamp.  

Wait. What?

"Young lady, why are you watching this?" A voice demands in a high pitched British accent, and it takes May an embarrassingly long time to figure out that it's the TV that's speaking.  

Which… is fair, she feels like. She hasn't really came across a ton of televisions that talk and… have arms? Are those arms? May really doesn't understand exactly what is going on here, but she thinks she ought to respond. "Um… excuse me?"

The sentient electronic harrumphs at her. Properly harrumphs. Like a stern English nanny. "You are far too immature to view this sort of programming," it admonishes. "Let's see if we can find something more age appropriate for you." 

The image on the screen changes, and May gapes open-mouthed at Dora the Explorer telling Swiper to stop swiping. It's… a kid's cartoon. Did she just… get insulted by an electronic device? Had her TV really just called her immature? What the hell has her life came to that she's got to deal with snippy televisions now? What's next? Is her car going to start yelling at her for speeding? Is her toaster going to call her a slob for never cleaning it?  

All May knows for certain is that this particular television is obviously a super salty, super petty bitch, one that seems pretty judgey of her. She knows that she should probably just ignore it, just refuse to engage in an argument. 

But, nah. The gauntlet has been thrown. 

"I am not a child!" May sputters indignantly. "I'm literally thousands of years old which is kind of the exact opposite of a child." 

Those new spindly arms wiggle like they're figuring out how exactly to work before they're crossed just under the screen, and it reminds May of nothing so much as the pose an angry mom might take while getting on to her kids. "You're handling your relationship like a child, and you refuse to seek help despite the severity of your condition. Like a child." 

"I…" May struggles to address either of those accusations. The damn thing isn't completely wrong. She knows that there's something not quite right with her body and this pregnancy, that she's waaaay sicker than she should be, but getting medical attention is a little more complicated than the TV is making it out to be. For starters, who would she even go to? She's not human, and any maker healer who could help her has either been forcibly conscripted into the war raging on her home world, has been killed for refusing to be conscripted, or is so adept at hiding that it would take a miracle to find them. 

And as for her and Morpheus' relationship, Tina the fucking television can go blow a fuse for all May cares. Every day that she politely tolerates her ex's obviously reluctant, very grumpy presence is a day she is acting like an adult. Full stop.  

"Look, my health and my lovelife are none of your business, Tina. So back off." 

The TV shudders violently, thick plumes of smoke rising from its top, and May gets the strangest impression that it's trying to… trying to move from where it's mounted on the wall. "My name," it yells angrily, "is Tammy!" 

Legs start growing from the bottom of it, and May grabs the remote beside her to press the power button as hard as she can, like that'll actually turn it off or something.  

Which, surprise surprise, it doesn't.   

In fact, it kind of seems to piss Tammy off even more.  

May is at a loss for how exactly to deal with the soon-to-be walking, possibly homicidal television that apparently really really has it in for her. She clutches the remote tightly in her hand, ready to use it as a weapon if she has to, but it doesn't end up getting flung at the TV. Oh no. There will be no such dignity for her. When a darkly-clad figure just appears out of nowhere in the corner of her room, she chucks it at him like she's throwing a spear. It's only several seconds after she's done this that she realizes it's Morpheus standing there, looking as gorgeous as usual while he catches her hastily flung projectile with ease mere seconds before it can hit his nose. He glares at her and then flicks his eyes to the TV, which at once stills and returns back to its normal, inanimate state.  

"You are dreaming," he informs her, his voice low and smooth.  

No shit, she wants to say even as she bites her tongue to stop herself from doing that. They've been civil to one another this past week, polite even, and she'll be damned if she's going to be the one responsible for breaking their temporary peace. "Yeah. I uh… I think I got that," she responds instead, though she's unable to keep a healthy dose of sarcasm from her tone as she does so. Her heart still thunders in her chest, and she presses an open palm on it like that might calm it down. "Where's the door?"

Morpheus studies her for a moment before he stalks forward, closing the distance between them to return her makeshift weapon to her. He extends it to her like an olive branch, a rectangular one made of shiny black plastic and adorned with rubbery buttons on its front. "I believe I have managed to address the issue of the portal that was connected to my realm. If I have succeeded, then it should not bother you again." 

Right. His realm. It's only his now despite that it had once been theirs. Rationally, she knows she has no claim on the Dreaming, that it will never again be her home considering everything that's gone on between her and Morpheus, but irrationally it still hurts to hear him take back complete ownership of it. She had loved that realm, had loved it more than she'd ever loved any other world, and the reminder that she no longer has the right to even visit there is like a knife in the heart. May won't say that aloud either, though. She's starting to figure out that navigating this potentially explosive relationship with Morpheus is going to involve the both of them learning how to keep their mouths shut for the sake of not setting the other off. "Then… what are you doing here?" 

Morpheus stiffens, going tense as if he's upset at her for daring to ask him why he's doing something. "I… remain unsure as to whether any injury you receive in your dreams will transfer over to your physical form." 

May frowns. "Sooo, you're just going to… What? Monitor me while I sleep from now on?" 

"Yes." 

She snorts out a laugh, all too aware that that's a baaad idea for a couple of reasons, chief of which being how often a version of him appears in them. Usually naked. Almost always fucking her into whatever solid surface her mind has conjured up. Sometimes cuddling with her afterwards and professing his undying love to her. 

God, she's pathetic.  

"No, you're not going to do that," May tells him, still laughing despite the horror she feels at the idea of Morpheus ever walking into one of those dreams.  

He glowers as if she's just some lowly, insignificant thing, and she thinks she could smack him for that particular look. "What did you just say to me?" he growls, and she's suddenly very aware that he's still standing near to her, close enough that he's on the fringes of her personal space bubble. It's more than a little intimidating. 

She forges on anyway. As determined as she is to try and stay civil with him, she refuses to let him continue stepping right over her boundaries. "I said no. As in, my dreams are my own personal business, and you shouldn't be in them."

He scoffs derisively. "I am free to involve myself with anything that has to do with my function, May Westin. That assuredly includes your dreamscape." 

May huffs out a sigh and crosses her arms. "Were you watching me sleep again?" 

"You are asking how I, Dream of the Endless, knew you slumbered? Shall I explain my duties to you anew?" His pointer finger on his right hand twitches ever so slightly, one of the few tells he has when he's lying, and May narrows her eyes at him in suspicion. 

"No, I know what your duties entail. I'm asking you if you were out there in the Waking standing over me like a stalker while I slept." 

His face doesn't change because he can rock that mask of impassivity like nobody else she's ever met, but his eyes flicker for a fraction of a second in what May can only describe as guilty embarrassment. "Again, my function includes-"

"You totally were, weren't you?" she cuts in, unwilling to listen to his blatant bullshit on the matter. 

"I…" He glances away, and May thinks that if he were human, he would probably blush as he did so. "Perhaps." 

Well, at least he admitted it. Begrudgingly. But still she guesses that's something. "Okay. Then we've got to talk about the creepy Edward Cullen thing, Morpheus." 

His expression finally shifts, morphing into one of puzzlement as if he's trying to suss out what it is she's just said to him. He sits gracefully on the edge of her bed, settling on the plush, floral comforter like it's just another throne for him. It's completely unfair how he always manages that, how he can look so damn regal even when he shouldn't, and her stomach swoops at the sight in what could be either lust or a fresh bout of morning sickness. She's honestly not sure which anymore, but she's leaning towards it being lust when she starts vividly imagining him naked there as she climbs atop him, starts imagining herself rolling her hips as he groans beneath her, his hands clutching at her waist to steady her as she rides him with needful abandon.  

May bites her lip. These freakin' pregnancy hormones are really going to kill her when it's all said and done, and she forcibly tries to think of kittens or the Grand Canyon or standing in line at the DMV. Anything, really, to stop her from accidentally showing him what she's almost desperate to do, which in this moment is to fervently fuck him with all the desire that a solid two months of pent up lust can bring a girl. 

"I've no idea the meaning of those words," he confesses slowly, studying her oddly like she's broadcasting every filthy thought in her head in surround sound, and May hopes against hope that he's not actually picking up on what the smutty part of her brain is putting down. 

"Um…" she stammers, her cheeks uncomfortably warm in what she knows is a spectacular blush. "What?"

"Your continued references to Edward Cullen," he supplies helpfully.  

Right. Right. Twilight. She can… She can totally focus on that.  

"It's a…" May blows out a breath. It feels familiar, painfully familiar, to have to explain pop culture references to him. Despite that Dream has the entire collective unconsciousness kicking about in his awareness, he's still woefully clueless when it comes to much of anything about real life mortals. For her and Viego, blending in had been a useful skill, an important one. It had served to keep them hidden and alive in a world full of humans for many millennia, so she had made it a point to try and teach Morpheus how to better interact with the mortals they met when they took their sporadic trips together into the Waking. Though honestly, he had always seemed as if he thought these lessons were a waste of his time, and he had been the absolute worst student while she attempted to educate him on not acting quite so…. other around humans. "There's this book series that got turned into a bunch of films, and in them the main male character, Edward Cullen, is a vampire who sneaks into the main female character's room to watch her while she sleeps." 

"I… understand," he says in a way that lets her know he probably doesn't understand at all. "She is his prey then?" 

A smile tugs at her lips, and May looks down to hide it. "Nooooot exactly. They, um… get married, have a baby, and are fighting off a whole group of enemy vampires by the fifth movie." 

He regards her shrewdly as if he's positive that she's having a laugh at his expense. "Surely you jest." 

"Nope. Afraid not. It was a really popular franchise. Viego took me to see the fourth movie." 

"Viego? Why would he do such a thing?"

May bites her lower lip and stoically resists the need to laugh uproariously at the memory. "Not by choice. He, um, lost a bet with me and part of the terms of that bet were that he would have to wear a team Jacob shirt to the theater when we went." 

"Team… Jacob?" 

"Oh, yeah . I forgot to tell you about that in my super brief summary. He's the werewolf who makes the third point in the story's love triangle." 

His brows draw together, his forehead creasing. "I… have no words." 

"That's probably for the best. Viego had a ton of them- words, I mean- on the subject, more than I ever wanted to hear in a lifetime really. He ended up getting us kicked out of the movie when he loudly booed the wedding scene and threw popcorn at the screen while it was going on." May finally loses that fight with her laughter, giving in without intending to. Something in Morpheus' face seems to soften at the sight of her cracking up over Viego's antics, and it encourages her to continue on talking. "You want to know what the really weird part of that whole fiasco was?" 

"Because all the rest of what you've told me concerning this has been so very normal?" he questions dryly, a faint smirk playing on his lips.  

May ignores that because she doesn't think he'll understand that it was normal to a lot of people. "Viego… I think he really was team Jacob. At the end of the third movie when Bella, the main female character, decides she's going to marry that Edward guy, Viego went off on a two hour long rant about how Jacob was clearly the better choice and that she was an idiot for sticking it out with a vampire that was clearly way too old for her and flew a billion red flags." 

"Red… flags?" 

She nods. "Yeah. I mean I was team Edward, but he definitely did some sus things."

His nose scrunches up in the closest approximation she's ever seen him get to a WTF face. "You were team Edward? Whatever for?" 

May sighs heavily. "Because broody, pale assholes are unfortunately my type," she relays to him before she can really think about it, and when she realizes what stupidity she's just word-vomited out loud, she glances up wide-eyed at him. He looks extremely, extremely unimpressed by her answer. "Shit. Sorry… I didn't mean…"  

"What were the questionable things that you mentioned of this Edward's behavior?" he asks roughly, like he's forcing himself to be calm while he changes the subject, and May is strangely grateful to him for that. He's not the type to stick his foot in his mouth, but he knows that May is. And having him give her an out from this thorny and mortifying occurrence of it is… well, almost sweet. 

"He… tried to control where she went and who she saw, and he would sneak into her room and just stare at her while she slept." 

"I see. Despite that it is an odd way to woo a potential partner, this was clearly some sort of courting ritual on his part."

"They were all stalkerish things to do, period," May corrects. "And while we're on the subject of stalkerish behaviors, we've got to have a chat about Matthew." 

He goes blank, his mask of apathy slipping back over his features in a split second. "What of him?" 

"He seems to be under some ridiculous notion that he has to stay outside in the damn trees and spy on me."

There isn't an ounce of shame or contrition on his face as he nods once in confirmation of this. "Of course. I ordered him to do so." 

"Well, unorder him to do so," May says and when he predictably opens his mouth to argue, she cuts him off quickly. "He's more than welcome to just come in and hang out with me. I've always liked Matthew. His company… isn't a bother. At all." 

Morpheus regards her in confusion. "Very well. You are aware, however, that he is reporting to me." 

"Whaaaat? I'm completely shocked. Oh. Wait. Never mind actually." She scoffs at him. "Of course I knew he was reporting back to you. Why else would you have him stationed around my house like he was the world's cutest security camera?" She won't admit that it makes her feel safe, that knowing there is a constant link to an Endless who can get to her in a fraction of a second is hella comforting. Mostly she won't say this to him because she doesn't want to encourage his annoying tendency to spy but also… also because she doesn't want to own up to the fact that she might ever need him for anything.  

Morpheus makes a face, probably because she'd called his raven the world's cutest, like he's a puppy with a giant fluffy mullet and not at all like he's the esteemed companion to an Endless. But it's the truth. Matthew is adorable, and May would absolutely die on that hill.  

Nonetheless, she's got to finish hammering this thing out with Morpheus. It's not okay with her that she's being watched so much, that he's putting her friend in the difficult position of having to tell him things that are frankly none of his concern.  

She doesn't even get the chance to speak, though, because Morpheus beats her to it. "Then in the spirit of honesty between us, he informed me that you have been quite… ill of late." 

She's stunned, and she feels herself go tense with indecision. In the spirit of honesty is what he'd said. Should she tell him? Should she admit to him that she's been sick enough that it's starting to really worry her? "I… Morning sickness sucks." Unable to bear the way he's looking at her, she lets her eyes drift downwards to stare at the geometric design on her top blanket like it's particularly fascinating. "Viego found this tea that was supposed to help, but… I don't think it is." 

"Can I… Is there anything you need?" he asks her, his voice quiet, an uncharacteristic falter in his words. For some reason, she gets the overwhelming impression that he wants to reach out to her in comfort.  

It reminds her too much of his affection, of his care, and May's eyes burn as they well with tears. Once, she'd had that from him, and this kindness towards her wouldn't have been out of place in the slightest then, but… no longer. Thinking about the loss of him, the loss of their relationship, is a little like jabbing a serrated blade straight into her already bruised heart. "No… no. I'm… fine." 

"You do not… seem well." 

I'm not, she wants to say. She's so fucking far from well that it's pathetic, but… she can't explain that to him. She doesn't have a ton of pride left, but she's definitely got enough that she can't bring herself to let him know him how weak she really is due to the pregnancy.  

His brow furrows and his lips purse like he's disappointed at her or something. "And the fainting? Have you suffered from another such occurrence of it since your collapse on the pier? 

Fuck. She resists the childish urge to cover her ears with her hands and sing la, la, la, la, la at the top of her lungs in an effort to avoid this conversation. It makes her think that Tammy the television might have maybe, possibly had a teeny tiny point. But May doesn't want to do this with him, doesn't want to hear that concern in his voice that reminds her of when he used to love her enough to to be concerned. Now, she knows it's just the baby and the responsibility he feels towards it that's driving him to act like this. "It's fine. I'm… fine. The baby's fine." 

He purses his lips again, and May decides that she's going to name that expression his lip-purse-of-doom. There's a dirty joke in there somewhere, but she swears she can't scourge it up in her fuzzy mind to save her life. "You are attempting to deceive me," he accuses.

"No. I just… really don't want to talk about this. And… it's not really any of your business. I'm not any of your business, which is why… we're gonna need to set some ground rules on what Matthew is allowed to share with you."  

"Allowed?" 

May's lips thin out into an irritated line. Sometimes, she really thinks that him being so obtuse is just an act, one meant to frustrate her into giving in to his demands out of a sheer desire not to have to tediously clarify things to him. "Yes. Allowed. You know what I'm saying to you, and I won't have your raven telling you every little thing about my life." 

He lips pucker as if he's been sucking on lemons, and it's a ridiculously sexy look on him. Seriously, what in the hell is wrong with her? "It is imperative that I-" 

"I don't care," May interrupts sternly, aware that she needs to leave him no wiggle room where he can try and wear her down. "Again, I will repeat that you don't have a right to that anymore. I'm open to Matthew sticking by my side to let you know if I'm ever in danger, but… what goes on with me personally is just…. It has nothing to do with you now."

"Nothing to do with me? We are to have a child together," he hisses, "and you would dare to inform me that I am not permitted to know the minutiae of your life?" 

"Because you're not. And I'm really trying to compromise with you on some of this stuff. I could have Viego ban Matthew from crossing the boundary of the wards tomorrow if I wasn't." 

He scoffs, the sound contemptuous. "Compromise. I am coming to utterly loathe that concept." 

"Well, you should probably get used to it. Like you've said, we're going to have a kid together. With the awkward co-parenting thing, there are going to be loads of compromises to be made between us."

He stills and then appears thoughtful for a moment, considering. "You believe we should learn how to… manage these inconsistencies in what we both want before the child is born. I… cannot fault such logic." 

May is taken aback in shock. "Did we just… agree on something?" 

His mouth curves up in an enexpected,  barely there smile. "Perhaps, but I… Will you answer me this honestly? The morning sickness worries you, does it not?" His voice is so… gentle as he asks this, his hand twitching like he might stretch it out to rest on her back in sympathy, and May is suddenly, irrationally furious at him. Everything between them is so broken, so stilted, and it's at least partially his fault. He'd been done with her, irrefutably done, and to have him now looking so earnestly tender at her just kind of pisses her off.  

Which is probably why she snaps. "What do you think? I can't keep any food down, and I hurt constantly, and I'm so tired that I don't even want to get out of bed, and my magic-" May catches herself before she can finish that sentence, closing her mouth shut so quickly that her poor teeth clack together. Shit, shit, shit. Cursing herself for her stupidity, she knows that she's messed up in mentioning anything about her disappearing powers to him, but it's not like she can take the words back now. 

He straightens up like a pointer hound on the scent of a wounded fox. "What of your magic?" 

"Nothing. It's fine." 

Tight-lipped, he asks her, "Why do you persist in lying to me?" 

"I'm not lying."

He scowls, and her stomach flip flops in something that definitely isn't lust. Bile rises up in her throat, and she knows she's going to be sick. Morpheus, unaware of this, keeps right on with their argument. "A lie of omission is still very much a lie. What is it you refuse to tell me?" 

"Listen, I need to wake up," she informs him as calmly as she can, swallowing thickly as she fights the urge to start heaving up what little bit of food she'd managed to eat that day. 

"No. Not until you've given me the truth." 

"I think I'm going to be sick, so unless you want me to choke to death on my own vomit, stop holding me here and let me go." 

His eyes bore into her, scrutinizing her as if she's just a bug on display waiting for him to pin her wings down. "If you must waken, then use your magic to pull yourself from the dream." 

"What? Don't be a jerk, okay. Just-" 

Unblinking, he observes her. "Unless you are incapable of it." 

"You're being ridiculous." She can feel the blood draining from her face, though.

He looks her over with an assessing stare, and she knows that he knows, that he's figured out exactly what she didn't want him to. "You have no powers, do you?" 

May gets to her feet in the dreamscape. Christ, but she wants to punch him. "Damn it, Morpheus. Get out of my head." 

"Then pay me the courtesy of being honest with me. You speak of compromise as one of the skills we must learn before our child is born, and I shall add another to that list. Truth, May. I am willing to compromise with you only so long as you are willing to cease this dishonesty with me." 

Her chest heaves in newfound panic as she stares at him, wondering over what she should do. She doesn't want to tell him a damn thing, but… he's not exactly wrong. They are going to be parents eventually, and it's not crazy for him to want the truth from her while they figure out how to navigate some of these issues.  

"All right… I…I  don't," she admits cautiously, her body trembling at the possibility of how he'll react. His temper has always been a problem, but when he’d loved her he had been more than content to gentle it around her, to keep calm in her presence no matter how bad their disagreements ever got. But… he doesn't love her anymore, and she's discovered in the wake of this fact that his anger is frightening as hell. May draws in a ragged breath. "My kind… lose our magic when we're pregnant." 

"I see. Were you to tell me this? Was I to know-" 

She crosses her arms over her chest as if she's trying to protect herself. "Look… being weak in front of anyone is… fucking terrifying. You… especially." 

He rears back like she's hit him, confusion and sorrow told in his features. "You believe I would… hurt you?" 

May doesn't answer for several moments, trying to think of how to diplomatically respond with a giant yes in a way that doesn't start another argument. "I'm just… on edge at the moment," she hedges. "I think with everything that's gone on in the past few months, I'm entitled to feel that way."  

His eyes blaze at this, a fire of his fury that's just been lit amidst the void black of them, and his hands clench into fists as his jaw tightens. "Perhaps you would feel less on edge in the safety of the Dreaming."

The fucking anthropomorphic personification. May almost throws her remote at him again. Is he really back on this? "Please tell me you're kidding. I thought we had agreed." 

"That was before I knew you were completely defenseless," he lashes out, his tone so deep that her dreamscape rumbles alarmingly.  

May can't help the way she stiffens in panic.  

His mood, mercurial as ever, flickers back and forth like a dying light bulb in a poorly lit room, making everything switch from bright to dark before she can even blink. It… scares her. She doesn't think it makes her a coward to admit to fear where his anger is concerned, and she reminds herself that Viego had designed their current wards so that nobody, not even an Endless, could shift another out of the house without spoken consent. "I'm okay. Can we… not do this?" She hates how small her voice sounds, how afraid she feels.  

"You are asking me to ignore the fact that you are utterly defenseless in this realm-" 

"I'm safe," she interrupts. "Viego's wards are-" 

"Wholly insufficient seeing that I traipsed right through them just weeks ago when I brought you home after your collapse in my realm." 

"They were set up so that you could always get in if you wanted. Not all of us banish people from our existence just because we're upset with them." 

It also probably had a lot to do with the fact that she still loved him, that she'll likely never stop loving him. When faced with the possibility of removing him completely from her life, she had been unable to take that final step, unable to visit the same shitty behavior on him that he'd easily shown to her. 

Of course, she doesn't say any of this. She won't ever say any of this. Not to him, at least. Her one-sided love makes her seriously hate herself. For fuck's sake, he'd yelled at her and kicked her out of her home, scaring her half to death then with the rage she could feel thrumming just under his skin, like he'd been so angry he could kill her if she dared to fight back. And May knows that he had been more than capable of it, that she had been lucky to escape his wrath without worse punishment. She's never lied to herself about what kind of entity she'd willingly crawled into bed with, never been idiotic enough to try and convince herself that he hadn't done terrible, morally reprehensible things to past lovers.  

She'd just never thought that he would do them to her.   

Despite that she had felt those stirrings of attraction to him during that very first meeting of theirs, it had only been after their ordeal in Roderick Burgess' basement that she'd even considered starting a relationship with him because she had believed he'd changed. She had thought (stupidly, she now knows) that captivity had altered him in some fundamental way, that he was kinder for it, more aware of the effects his actions might have on others. 

He had seemed regretful when he'd finally confessed his past deeds to her, and May had bought that regret- hook, line, and sinker- from him for a long long time, right up until the moment he'd turned his fierce, savage temper on her.   

Her admission about the warding brings him up short, however, and his whole body goes taut. "Upset? You believe I was merely upset? " He questions witheringly, his expression acidic in its fury. "Surely you were not foolish enough to think of my vitriol towards you then as something so mild?" 

That stings, and her stomach twists again as a fresh wave of nausea comes over her. " Don't call me foolish. I just… would really appreciate it if you could refrain from saying anything else cruel. I know that's pretty much your default setting, but I don't need you to make me feel any more pathetic than I already do. Okay? Thanks. " 

He's static before her, unmoving, the way that a snake gets before it strikes out and sinks its venomous fangs into a defenseless prey animal. May has no delusions that she'd be anything other than the prey animal in this little equation of him and her, and not for the first time, she wonders what in the hell she's actually gotten herself into. 

He clenches his fists more tightly at his side. "My… apologies," he grits out, the words rough. "I did not intend to… upset you" 

"It's… fine." 

"Do not use that word again," he seethes. "You are not fine. This situation is not fine. There is nothing that could conceivably be considered fine in any of this." 

She inhales sharply. "Okay. Sure. Nothing is fine right now. Is that what you want to hear? That I'm fucking scared? That I'm barely holding it together? That I'm terrified to bring a baby into the mess of my life where I'm currently being hunted like an animal? That I am horrified at the idea of having a child with an entity that hates my guts?" 

His face darkens. "If you would only come back to the Dreaming with me-" 

"And what, Morpheus? Should I come back to the Dreaming with you and subject myself to your attitude? Have a kid while I'm trapped in your realm? Worry that one day you'll get pissed enough to banish me again and keep our child for yourself?" 

Everything goes silent, her accusation hanging heavy in the air between them. 

He visibly recoils, stunned by what she's just said. "You… cannot believe me capable of such a thing." 

"I don't know what you're capable of. Not anymore. I honestly don't think I ever did." 

He glares at her, and she's sure he has some asshole response to that, something callous and biting to throw back at her, but he doesn't get the opportunity to destroy her with it this time. Her stomach gives one last somersault, and May snaps awake, rolling from her bed to sprint towards the washroom. She falls hard to her knees, barely managing to get the lid up before she's getting disgustingly sick yet again.

It's her fourteenth time that day, so she supposes she's not really surprised by it. Not anymore. But what does surprise her is when she feels the cold cloth on the back of her neck, the gentle hands catching stray strands of her hair and brushing them back from her face. She thinks that Viego must have came back, that it has to be her brother tending to her, but when she looks up with teary eyes, she's utterly shocked to see Morpheus there, crouched down on the balls of his feet as he regards her worriedly. 

Her face flushes bright red in embarrassment. She doesn't want anyone to see her like this, least of all him. "Go away," she mutters as she closes the lid to the toilet and pulls the handle down to flush it. All of her aches, from her head down to her legs, and she can't… do this with him right now.  

"I will not leave you alone in this state," he tells her, his voice as firm as his stubborn resolve. "Do you require assistance to stand?" 

Her body trembling, her muscles worn out with fatigue, and she shakes her head anyway. "No. I've got it." 

He ignores her like he knows she's just being obstinate, bracing her with a hand on her elbow as she gets to her feet and carefully makes her way to the sink so she can brush her teeth and drink a glass of water. He stays right by her side while she does this, like he's frightened she might faint, and months ago she would have thought him sweet for it, but in their current situation it just… hurts.   

Everything with him hurts these days.  

"Is there anything… that might settle your stomach?" he asks lightly, probably mindful of their most recent fight. "Is there anything you need… or want?"

"No, thank you." She's aware that she sounds brittle, hollowed out. "I'm just going to… rest some more." She can't look at him, can't bear to see the pity in his face.  

"Very well," he finally allows, his voice so tender that it makes her eyes burn with fresh tears. "If you require me for anything, you will summon me immediately through Matthew. Might… we agree on that at least?" 

"Sure," she mumbles. "I can… I can do that." She still can't lift her eyes to his, still isn't brave enough to glance up at him. 

"Will you permit me to help you back to your bed?" 

May shakes her head again, and it makes her feel dizzy. "No… I've got it, but thanks." 

"Then… I shall wait to take my leave until you are comfortably settled into it." 

"You don't have to do that." 

"Please let me… help you." May flicks her gaze to him at last, stunned to hear the please that's tumbled from his lips. He's never been the type to plead for anything, and for him to do so is shocking as hell to her. What she sees makes her heart squeeze tightly. He's troubled, clearly concerned for her. His eyes have faded back into their usual blue, but there are no stars or universes within them as if he's so anxious that they cannot manifest.

"Morpheus…."  

"You could consider it a compromise between us. I… only wish to know that you are… cared for, and it is not something that should be difficult for you to allow me."

Self-deprecation twists her guts, but eventually she nods anyway, giving in to him and hating herself for it. "I… okay. If it's that big of a deal to you." 

"It is," he tells her, and he seems so sincere as he does that she could almost believe his concern has something to do with her and not just the child she's currently growing. 

Nonetheless, he dutifully follows her to her bed, watching as she climbs into it and reaching out to assist her as she tugs her covers up over herself. He looks almost… fidgety, like he wants to… do more, like he's yearning to console her, to hold her, to… something.  

He's an enigma wrapped up in a mystery wrapped up in the origins of the universe, and May is far too fucking tired to try and figure him out in the moment. Before he goes, he walks over to her window and pulls it open. As her eyes get increasingly heavy, May doesn't quite know what he's doing until Matthew flies in and lands on the sill of it where they speak in low whispers, probably so Morpheus can relay his orders to the poor guard raven.  

The last thing she's aware of is Matthew landing near her as she drifts off into unconsciousness, fading quickly into an unnaturally restful sleep. And for the first time in ages, she has beautiful dreams, ones so full of peace and love that she thinks she doesn't want to ever wake up from the contentment of them. Though she knows she will.

Dreams have, after all, always been such fleeting things. 

NEXT CHAPTER

[remyfire]

uhhhhh for the kink prompts i think some beejhawk and praise would be delightful 👀

(prompts now closed) (Anon I promised I tried to go for full praise kink here but it went a bit softer than that and I hope you can forgive me and enjoy it all the same!!)

"Christ, Beej, the way you take cock, it's so..." Hawkeye digs his teeth into BJ's trapezius, muffling a shaky growl. As BJ scrabbles at the headboard like he's trying to find some kind of purchase, it triggers a response inside Hawk to keep him closer, fuck him faster. Hawkeye wraps an arm around BJ's waist and squeezes tight enough to make him cry out. He feels like a feral creature—not human, not animal, but possessed by an entity who would stop time to live in this moment for years.

They've been at it for hours, honestly. It's their first shared pass to Seoul since the dams broke and sent secrets, lust, and need spewing through the cracks, and there's no more trying to steal five minutes in supply or an hour in the Swamp with their sounds muffled and the door locked. No one's going to interrupt them, and honestly if they tried, Hawkeye would throw them out the window before he let them get his hands off of BJ for longer than thirty seconds.

Hawkeye has let BJ have the control since they got here, of course, as is their usual rhythm—he's never seen a man quite so frenetically compelled to perfect sexual acts in as short a time as possible, and they've only checked off a few things that Beej has groaned out a desire to experience—but the moment that Hawk woke from a twenty-minute nap to find his lover grinding his ass against him, he'd rolled him over and snatched the power right out of his grasp.

Hawk may have spent over a decade devoting himself to sex, but it has never been more necessary than in this moment. If nothing else, Hawkeye needs BJ to leave this room knowing the unfathomable depths that this adoration reaches.

He drags his palms up hot skin and soft, lush hair until he cups BJ's pectorals. His fingers pillow into them as he drapes his body over BJ like an umbrella protecting him from the storm. He's not sure what there is to protect BJ from here besides the ferocity of what Hawkeye wants to give him, but even still, he holds him here, nuzzling between his shoulder blades with a hum. "You know how good you are?" Hawk prompts, barely waits for an answering wordless whine before he shifts his angle just a hair to fuck more directly up into him, right over that sweet spot that has Beej punching the headboard just the once to shake his energy out. "God, you take it so well. Like you're made for it. I've never fit this good in somebody before, you know that?"

When BJ covers his mouth and muffles his moans, something flickers through Hawk's head, and he knows it's stupid, and he knows he's courting danger, but the last thing he needs is for Beej to hide himself like this while Hawkeye's filling him with cock and praise alike. Hawk grabs both of BJ's wrists and pulls back on them, holding BJ's body as taut as a drawn bow while he picks up his pace. "Fucking beautiful. Hot, tight..." It's never even once been said that Hawkeye is quiet during sex, but he struggles to let the words pour out of him now, careful to hold certain ones at bay, things he's not sure BJ's ready for.

BJ lets his head drop onto Hawkeye's shoulder, his mouth lolling open. Every thrust shoves a moan out of him like lava bubbling out of a volcano, like he doesn't know how to stop himself either. They're feverish fuel, each goddamn one of them, something for Hawk to put to good use.

"I-I gotta tell you more often," Hawk manages to grit out. "When you, when you look at me, I just..." His tongue goes thick in his mouth as he forces himself to slow down, to keep himself from cramping up. He wants this to last. Wants to remember what it feels like to be buried so deeply in him that he's forgotten how to break free. "How'd you put the fucking stars in your eyes, Beej? How'd I get lucky enough to find you?"

"H-Hawk," he whispers, a thready tone that's barely audible, but though Hawkeye waits for more, BJ melts into wordless, pleading sounds of pleasure.

As Hawk hooks his chin over BJ's trapezius, he gets the prettiest picture of Beej's hard cock, flushed and weeping for him, just for him. It's painfully erotic to see how it jolts with every thrust, how when Hawkeye releases his wrists, his hardness twitches, seems to curve more sharply toward BJ's stomach. The sheer physicality of this man feels more potent than any substance on the planet. It's unreal that so much sensuality could be contained within him, but from his broad shoulders to his powerful legs, he ripples with it all the same. Every lift of his hand, every step that he takes, they're a fluid kind of dance, hypnotic to watch and impossible to look away from.

He thinks sometimes that he could be content just to sprawl back on his cot and watch BJ go about his normal routine while stark nude. It'd be greedy, really, an opportunity to study the flex of his gastrocnemius, his jutting scapula, even visibly trace every rippling tendon in his neck as he turned his head.

The permission to stare. To know he never would have to look away.

"I love that you let me have you," Hawk breathes. He traces the tip of his tongue along his throat and groans at the taste of sweat. As BJ cranes his neck as an offering, Hawkeye's eyelashes flutter, and he nuzzles right against his jugular like a wolf preparing to go for the kill. "You feel so... The way that you..." There's too much to say. I love you. I can't imagine life without you. Words more lethal than poison. They'll taint this fragile moment and make it lose its strength with every second until it collapses, spent, unable to be revived.

BJ's skin vibrates when he murmurs, "You make me feel priceless," a dream of a sentence that nearly brings tears to Hawk's eyes.

"You are." His heart kicks up, urging him on. When he rocks forward, BJ grabs the headboard again and clenches around him hard enough to make Hawkeye squeeze the base of his cock. Not yet, not yet. Instead he zeroes in on the shape of his other fingers around BJ's waist. "You're a dream come true."

With a shudder, BJ lets his head hang between his supportive arms. "Don't stop, Hawk. God, don't stop..."

He could ask Hawkeye to do the impossible right now and he would. Anything. Anything for you.

Hawk drives himself now. Chases BJ's pleasure. He wants to go drunk on this man, madder than a maenad. It almost seems necessary to dull his own ecstasy, but that's a laugh. There's not a universe in existence where just getting to hear BJ breathe wouldn't thrill Hawkeye to the depths of him. Harder, harder, harder, pounding, skin slapping, gasps rising up and barely audible over the sound of the thudding headboard.

When BJ slaps the wall with a choked sob, Hawkeye covers his hand, slams into him, then stills. He reaches to feel along BJ's jaw, his chin, his cheek, finally coaxing him to turn his head so Hawk can see his face. Hawkeye holds him there, leaving kiss after kiss that makes his lips burn from the stubble, gently rutting against his ass.

"I wish this could last forever," Hawk admits. The words are too raw, too real. He buries his face in BJ's neck and picks up a lazy rhythm. He's intentional with the angle of his hips, rolling them as smoothly as he can manage even as his thighs ache and his abdomen clenches from his focus. It can't, of course. Even if he could somehow last physically, there's a world beyond these walls and an immutable future.

"Hawk?"

He expects censure. He shouldn't have hinted at that, shouldn't have—

"I want you to come," BJ whispers. "Want you to hold me. Wanna wake up in your arms, just like... Just like we're home, okay?"

What? Hawk's throat burns. No, there's no way he heard that right. But there's nothing else those words could've been. They were crystal clear. He sniffles, hates himself for not being able to hide his equal measures of hope and grief.

"And we're gonna do it again. And again. And it's not gonna stop. It's not." The certainty in his tone is unfathomable. Hawk's never met somebody who can lie to himself like BJ can.

But he admires that determination too. They've still got two days. Yeah, they're gonna have to eat eventually, take showers, maybe even drag themselves outside for a breath of fresh air, but forty-eight hours is a hell of a long time. He'd rather be doing this than fifty hours of straight surgery any week.

"It's not gonna stop," Hawkeye agrees, grinning despite himself at the pleased sound that rumbles through BJ. "I'll fuck you whenever you want, Beej, you just say the word."

"Will you..."

That isn't a question. Hawkeye can all but read this man's mind; picking out the nuances of his voice is easy. "Will I what?"

BJ whips his head around so Hawk nearly gets a mouthful of his silky hair. "It's stupid. Don't—" When Hawk brings his hips to a sudden stop, BJ tries to fuck back on him, but the angle makes it tricky. "Don't stop," he whines.

"Tell me." Hawk puts his lips right against the shell of his ear and breathes the words softer than a prayer. "Let me give you what you want, Beej."

As he curls his fingers around the headboard until his knuckles go white, BJ sucks in a deep breath. "W-Will you, uh... Goddammit, Hawk." The little laugh is more nervous than the bright humor that Hawkeye is so addicted to. "Make love to me?"

Time freezes. The words drift down like the gentlest snowflakes. And then a thunderous storm overtakes him, pressurized, making Hawkeye whimper as he locks his arms as tightly around BJ as he can. They fall forward until Beej is on his knees and forearms, until Hawkeye is rocking inside of him with deep, desperate strokes. "Oh, Beej," he whispers. He can't breathe. Can't even see or hear anything but the man who had him at Coleman Hawkins. "God, Beej, yes, yes, anytime, always, let me do that, huh? Let me love you."

"You sure?" So much is buried in two little words, and he hears it all—are you sure I'm worth it? Are you sure you want to deal with all my bullshit? Are you sure you're not going to change your mind if it gets harder? Are you sure it'll last?

"All of it," is all Hawk can find the ability to say. Maybe it's senseless but maybe BJ can hear what he means too. I'll give you everything.

His orgasm isn't transcendent, isn't pleasure striking him harder than lightning, but when he lets go, Hawkeye feels as though he rips his ribs open all the same and lets his bare beating heart rest on BJ's skin. As he noses along two vertebra, his tears drip, fall, leave long marks that dry cleanly. But as Hawk reaches around and takes BJ in hand, his frantic whispered words—"Ohh, yes, Hawk, like that, that's perfect, you're perfect."—tattoo themselves on him, invisible but not impossible to forget.

Hawkeye only has a moment to wipe his hand on the blanket before BJ rolls them back over and almost crushes him. "Jesus," Hawk snaps, trying to complain, but he can't stop himself from laughing either. "You wanna kill a guy or something?"

BJ flops on his back beside him, then drags Hawk into place, chest to chest, forehead to forehead. And as Beej caresses his cheek, he grins and his eyes shimmer, sapphires that gleam only for him. He opens his mouth as if there's something he wants to say, something that has Hawkeye holding his breath. But at the last moment, BJ gives his head a little shake and draws him in for a kiss that tells Hawk everything that he needs to know. One day, it'd be nice to hear the words, something to obliterate the fear that he can never quite dispel about what comes during infinite tomorrows. All the same, he can feel it, that if he's slipped his heart inside of BJ's chest, then he's protecting his lover's inside ribs of steel, and he dares someone to even try to take it away.