#at the end of the day there is love in having to herd cats

[ratatatastic]

no i still think about reino talking about lombo and how he felt like a get back coach because of the way anytime lombo was on the bench he would get so focused on chirping the guys on the other team but theyd have to shuffle down to make space for the guys coming off their shift so hed have to take it upon himself to push him along

[reinemichele]

I'm in a Lot of pain, & I'm allergic to some things my neighbors use (that has seeped into the carpet/furniture -> it seeps into my hair) & it always makes me really sick (IE dizziness, fever, intense brain fog, headache/migraine, nausea, congestion, wheezing & difficulty breathing, hives, itching/burning eyes and throat, contact dermatitis -> anything I touch can cause hives including my clothes or hair, etc etc etc...) and it basically requires 1-2 showers a day and shampooing my hair 2-3 times per shower to get it out of my hair so I can have an hour or two of thinking clearly and breathing without difficulty... But showering multiple times per day for 4-5 days takes a lot of energy, which is already eaten up by my histamines and immune system working overtime + me trying to function through that laundry list of symptoms

I've tried talking to my neighbors about this multiple times, but... they either just don't understand, or they don't believe me. Most people don't believe me when I say what I'm allergic to, which is why I'm being vague here. I've tried to tell them to find a new petsitter, but I'm afraid they'd just take their dog to a kennel... He's around 10 or 11 now, and I just don't want that for him :( So when they text me asking if I can petsit a week before they leave [and don't have much time to find a new petsitter], I say yes

Anyway, because of the pain I'm in and finding out it's scoliosis, my mom insisted that I don't spend more than 1 hour at a time at our neighbors' house, and just go and check on them periodically. I feel bad doing that, but... my neighbors are only gone for 3 days this time, so it's not like I'm leaving them to be lonely for an entire week.

Anyway 2.0 . ALL of this to say lol that even tho I've only been over at my neighbors for 1 hour at a time and spending most of the day here, my cats are making it known that they don't like me being gone and miss me 😭 Ali is using her "sad wet pathetic widdle baby" meow, which she usually reserves for when I close the bathroom door, Kacey meows sadly when I go near the front door, and Bailey spent like an entire 5 minutes purring, drooling (happily), and insistently rubbing his cheek (scent glands) all over my hand this morning. I was like, "Aw, you don't want me to smell like anyone but you."

It's very sweet, even tho like I said I've spent most of the time here and only 45 minutes to an hour at my neighbors' before coming back home for 3-5 hours. It makes me sad that people still insist that cats are unloving/indifferent to humans. Every cat out there has the potential to be this openly affectionate, they just need to be shown that humans are trustworthy. And there's other forms of affection from cats, like slow blinking and just sitting in the same room with you, silently enjoying your company. You just need to be patient and meet them halfway, when it comes to reading body language and initiating affection first 💞

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Masterlist l Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖

[ivymarquis]

Say You Won't Let Go

Greedy Little Thing

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 4.3k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (F!Receiving), pregnancy sex, wee bit of lactation kink

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If you thought your solo play time in the shower would calm you down, you thought wrong. 

You’re truly spinning out and losing your mind. That is the only reasonable explanation for the level of arousal flooding your system at the moment. 

All of a sudden you can’t help but be keyed into John’s every move. And surely you are projecting every depraved thought squirming around in your little brain- you’re imagining that he’s encroaching that much more into your personal space. His hands- broad and warm- gentle as always feel a bit firmer with his hold as he either brushes past you or herds you where he wants you.

You’re distracted, eyes fixated at the boarded up windows like they’re a big screen showing your favorite sitcom. The book you found lies open on the table, failing to capture your interest in favor of your imagination. Of another universe where John’s interest isn’t a figment of your imagination and he’s willing to do something about it. 

“Something on your mind, Love?” John’s voice startles you out of your thoughts and has you jumping on reflex. “Easy- ‘s just me,” he soothes as he crosses the distance from the doorway to the table you’re sitting at. 

“Nothing important,” you answer breezily, trying desperately to hide that you were just thinking about the various ways he could fold you like a piece of paper. Can always lie and claim to be reminiscing on the past.

He has no reason to doubt you, the rumbling hum of acknowledgment from him showing that you’ve not gained any unwanted attention. 

You don’t know what’s wrong with you, what all of a sudden has you acting like a cat in heat. The only thing you haven’t done at this point is lift your skirts and bend over the table in invitation. 

Any hope you may have of getting back into your book is dashed as he comes closer. 

You’ve never been one to fixate on how a man smells- and not even cologne, since that’s not an option these days really. But how he actually smells- you have no idea if you’re pulling off subtle well, but he smells divine and you know nothing will get done if you don’t get a hold of yourself. 

Hopefully your sinful thoughts are not evident on your face, but if they are then he doesn’t call you on it. 

It’s not uncommon for John to leave you alone for stretches and sporadically swing by to check on you. You know he’s in the neighborhood lurking for supplies and hoping to scrap up radio parts. 

The drop ins soothe your anxiety- that he is just across the street, or a few houses down. 

Although it’s still the end of the world and anything can happen. You begrudgingly accept that he has to leave on occasion so you don’t starve to death in the middle of winter in this frozen tundra.

“Gonna need to go further out today, Love. Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Your displeasure is blatant across your face. 

“None of that, now,” he reproaches firmly. “I’ll come back when I can. I want you back upstairs before the sun goes down.”

You’re pouting like a child, your earlier fantasies completely derailed as your thoughts swirl around the anxiety of being abandoned. Of course there’s a part of you that knows this is an inevitability. There’s only so many supplies in the area. John is reluctant to move you, knowing that the pair of you are relatively safe and hidden which means he’ll have to move further out to scavenge to care for you.

Your lack of an immediate response prompts him to reach out and cup your face, prying your mind from your surly thoughts. By now you know him well enough to understand the cue for what it is- a silent ask for you to soften back up to him and quit being a brat about him leaving. 

The logical part of your brain understands that there’s no choice considering you don’t wish to starve to death. Unfortunately until further notice your hormones are what call the shots so you can’t help yourself other than to be in duress over the thought of John leaving you for more than a few hours. 

“Why are you being difficult, hm?” He ponders, tone substantially softer than one might expect.

“I’m not trying to be,” you protest gently, settling into his hold. 

“And yet here we are,” his tone is more amused than anything else.

His free hand drops to your belly, something that immediately garners the attention of your baby who gives a volley of kicks. 

“You can’t wind him up and then leave me here alone to deal with him,” now it’s your turn to reproach John good naturedly.

Again, you blame your hormones. You like John’s hands on you- like John touching you. 

“He’ll be a good lad for his mummy, won’t he?” He prompts the baby, and you don’t protest as his hand smooths down your belly. 

This time your child is not called to action, deciding to spare your poor ribs from another litany of kicks. You decide to not question the way he immediately quiets down at John’s prompting. 

Despite the conversation you just had, you can’t help but pout and mope as John leaves. You keep it to yourself, even though you know your anxiety is bleeding through and he knows exactly what your thoughts on the matter are. 

There’s nothing to be done for it though, so you’re left alone with nothing but Fred’s shadow and your child for company.

You listen to John’s request and begin your trek up the stairs just before it starts to get dark. The natural lighting in the house is weird and casts odd shadows. It's overcast and a new moon, which will leave little to guide you with when the sun goes down.

With only your thoughts to occupy you, you think about silly little things because if you don’t then you’ll be cognizant of the crushing realization of your solitude. That John is out there somewhere in the murky darkness and there is no guarantee that he will come back to you. 

You’d have made a piss poor military wife.

It’s easier to think about how things could be in another life- if you would have met the handsome captain in some bar and flirted shamelessly in the hopes that he liked you enough to take you home and show you a good time.

That you were at his home, in his bed, with his baby nestled under your ribcage.

But you’re not, although in a way you are as close to that fantasy as you can get. 

You’re tucked into the little hidey hole that John has chosen to squirrel you away, waiting for his return upstairs just as he asked while your child does somersaults and uses a kidney for soccer practice.

Somewhere between bouts of fretting, you manage to fall asleep. It’s certainly not the best sleep of your life by any stretch but you’ve also had worse without question.

It’s also easily disrupted. There’s a part of you that is still keen to your surroundings- that’s still aware that you’re alone in the dark and the cold, and that to truly slip under the haze of sleep could sign your death warrant.

You don’t quite wake at the sound of the door creaking, but you drift that much closer to the land of the living. 

It’s when the bed dips under his weight that you stir, partly in offense at the cold air that creeps under the covers with him.

The greeting that escapes you is more of a whine than anything else, hands grabbing at him and trying to burrow under the weight of him.

“I’m right here, lovely- told you I’d be back.” He soothes you like an over reactive pet that’s absolutely enthralled with his return and showcasing it by trying to crawl into his skin.

He’s warm, a welcome reprieve from the biting cold waiting for you just outside your blankets. You want to melt at the sensation of his hands on your back. You’re a puddle of a human being in his hold.

And somewhere between your squirming and his soothing, you’re not completely sure who ends up kissing who first but you have zero complaints.

Quickly your searching hands find purchase on him, just as his anchor you to him.

You’re drowning, you think- head dizzy, completely disoriented as lust burns through you. This is everything you’ve been pining for and now that it’s in your hold you don’t quite know what to do with it. 

John rolls you gently onto your back as the pair of you break for air- hovers above you, mindful of your belly while still not being too far away.

“Tell me to stop,” he looks as flustered as you feel, and a part of you preens in the knowledge that you’ve impacted him the way he’s impacted you. That you haven’t been the only one yearning for more. 

“Please don’t s-“ you don’t even finish the sentence before he’s on you again, the covers rustling as he shuffles to position himself closer to you.

“Good girl” he praises against your lips, the words itching something seated deep inside you.

John’s hands roam your body, searching for the hemline of your dress only to hike the skirt up to your hips once he finds it. 

“Please,” you whimper and try to arch under his touch. 

Rather than immediately diving under the skirt of your dress, he continues to feel up your chest, back, hips and thighs. You could practically melt at the attention, gladly feeling him up in turn before your hands grope down his chest to pry at his shirt. Your make out is briefly interrupted as he shucks his shirt, although in the dim lighting of the dark it’s hard to fully appreciate everything he’s displaying at the moment.

“God, you are soft,” he marvels, lips leaving yours to kiss down your neck. 

You realize that he’s trying to keep the covers over you as he works your dress up your body, pooling the fabric around your collar bones as his attention drifts from your neck to your sternum.

One hand gropes at a breast as he teases your nipple with his tongue, immediately making you gasp and grab his hair. 

“Gentle!” You correct him- while under normal circumstances his grip on you would have been perfectly acceptable, you’re currently very pregnant and part of that means your chest has been sore the last few weeks. You’re so sensitive now. 

“I’m sorry, lovely. I’ll be gentle,” he apologizes, and you relax back into the mattress.True to his promise, John is far more careful of where he gropes and kisses, delighting in all the noises you make.

The sensitivity in your breasts has you squirming underneath him, whining in pleasure.

You feel strung out and desperate, some nebulous part of you aware that you're in trouble if you're already this amped up and he's barely begun to touch you yet.

Arching into his hold, you both freeze at the same moment you feel something akin to a release in the pressure of your chest. You haven't quite been sure when you would start actually lactating- knowing that the real stuff wouldn't come in until after birth, but knowing that there was the colostrum prior.

You're not quite sure what you feel. Flustered? Relieved? Embarrassed? But John remains unflappable, a mere "Tastes sweet" before returning to the task at hand.

The hand not anchoring your breast for his mouth drifts down your side, ghosting over the fabric of your underwear. You're wet- keenly aware of how his fingers trace across your skin. Gooseflesh rises in the wake of his touch, something to do less with the all encompassing chill that you two are trying to avoid and more to do with the lust that is firmly growing in your belly. The gusset of your panties doesn't take long to soak as he teases you over the fabric.

Your hips twitch, trying desperately to follow his fingers. 

You want more. It's been so long since you've had anyone touch you, and the weight of John over you feels phenomenal. "Please, John- I need you to touch me." Never in all your days have you actually begged a man to touch you, but your life has just been full of unexpected surprises lately.

"I'll take care of you, lovely- gotta be patient," he consoles you, paired with a teasing suck of one nipple before moving across your chest to get to the other one.

You don't want to be patient. You want him- now- and even though you actively have him right in this moment it's somehow still not enough. You'd say you're like an animal in heat, but animals in heat aren't usually ready to calve at any moment. It's almost alarming how little control you have over your own body right now. You're little more than your most base urges with spread thighs and heaving breaths as you keenly watch him.

"Gotta get you ready for me, sweetheart," he soothes with his words as his hand slips under the waistband of your panties. "'m not a small man- don't want to hurt you."

You feel dizzy just at the thought. You're well acquainted with what he's packing at this point, and the knowledge he's going to try to make sure it's good for you too is enough for you to find what minimal patience you possess.

The feel of his fingertips lightly searching for your clit has your legs spreading and thighs twitching in anticipation. He's an insufferable tease, tracing the pad of one calloused fingertip around your vulva and teasing the seam of your lower lips. Just enough to keep you keyed in on him, hook line and sinker, whining for more like an anxious dog. 

When he finally parts your pussy with his fingers, you arch up into his hold as he spreads your wetness around. "Bein’ such a good girl f'r me" his praise is low and gravely and shoots straight between your thighs. 

God the things that this man could make you do if he asked you nicely.

"John, please!"

"So impatient" he chuckles against your soft skin, nipping at you ever so carefully. Just enough to get your skin between his teeth, the squeal that escapes you more in anticipation than from any actual discomfort.

He shushes you, lapping at the patch of skin that he nipped in a mock apology as the hand slipping between your lower lips slides one finger inside of you.

There's certainly more to his one finger than to your own, and you must be such a greedy little thing tonight because you're still wanting another finger. John is in no hurry it seems, content to rock his one finger in and out of you as your body gets wetter in preparation of future events. 

His hand doesn't leave from between your thighs, but he moves further under the covers where they've obscured him completely, falling around your collar bones. Certainly warmer for the pair of you for him to do this like this, although your hips are already rocking. 

You've got a reasonable guess on what he's about to do, but not being able to physically see him does, you admit, add a certain level of excitement. There's nothing you can do other than lay on your back patiently like a good girl and wait for him to make his next move. His warm breath on your pussy makes you jolt, a thrill shooting up your spine.

 You haven't gotten head in ages- certainly not with your last beau.

"Try to be quiet for me, lovely. Don't need anything outside hearing your pretty noises," is all the warning you get before he's lowering his mouth to you.

It is certainly easier said than done- partly you manage to keep your whines and whimpers down, but it just makes your eyes want to roll back the way John doesn't hesitate to put his tongue to work.With a cursory lap of your vulva, he's quick to hone his attention on your clit while his finger continues to slip in and out of you.

 After a few thrusts of his wrists you have to turn your head and muffle yourself with a pillow as he gives you the second finger you've been so keen for. His fingers stroking you from the inside paired with his tongue on your clit is certainly enough to work you steadily towards your orgasm.

You're not sure that you're going to last much longer when he starts to crook his fingers against the anterior wall of you- seems he knows exactly how to try to wring out every last drop of pleasure from you, and you're more than game to let him.

"John," your whine is a small, pleading thing this time- not the same feverish anxious plea from earlier, attempting to get him to give exactly what you want. This is a softer cry, a plea and an acknowledgement all wrapped together that he will take you where you're trying to go if you'll just let him do it.

Cold be damned, your activities under the sheets have a sheen of sweat breaking out over your skin. You pull the blanket off of you, partially because you're starting to get hot and partially on the reflex that you want to watch him- although that isn't really going to be an option with your belly in the way. "Oh my God, please don't stop,” you beg, perfectly able to picture the smug grin on his face as you feel the vibration of him chuckling in amusement at you.

Your squirming is dealt with swiftly as he grips one of your hips with his free hand, holding you in place as you rock against his mouth. The pleasure coiling in your belly twists down tighter and tighter, your staccato breaths hitching as he pushes you closer to your climax.

Right when the dam breaks, it seems both of you were on the same page- one of your hands clamping over your mouth to muffle yourself right at the moment John straightens a bit and abandons your hip in favor of trying to cover your mouth as well.

Which suddenly puts you in the position of being completely at his mercy- that he's using the hand buried between your legs to see how much he can get you to squeal now that your noises are  muffled to his standard. 

When he lets up, you're dizzy and gasping for air. This is so much more intense than the orgasm you'd brought yourself to in the shower and that one had literally brought you to your knees. There's a part of your brain still cognizant enough that you want to return the favor- That he's made you feel absolutely divine and it's only fair to reciprocate that. 

However, rather than functional words, all you can come up with is to just paw at the top of his pants, mumbling more so than speaking "I want- I-"

Despite your complete lack of clarity, he seems to understand what your mission is regardless.

 "We can worry about that later, Love," he assures you, coaxing you onto your side and getting in close behind you. Despite having just gotten yours, for a moment you are incredulous at the idea that he's about to just tuck you back into bed and go to sleep.Then you realize the covers are still down around your ankles, and your night dress up across your breasts- and, blessedly, that he's pulling down his pants. 

God you wish you could see it, but between the darkness and the angle with him behind you it's not really an option. You can see enough shadows to have a vague idea of where he is behind you, but also the lack of vision is adding to the experience. 

Just groping and touching in the dark like a pair of frisky teenagers trying to not get caught.

"I've got what you need right here, pretty girl- lift your leg up for me," he instructs and you comply immediately. 

Oh God he's big. You knew that, sorta- have been well acquainted with what he feels like pressing up against you with morning wood. And he just told you that you needed to be prepped in order to take him. 

But somehow this feels completely different, and here you are lying soft and compliant on your side with your legs spread wondering how the fuck he's going to make it fit.You're completely gagging for it either way. 

"Please, please, plea-" you beg, head turning his direction in the dark even if you can't see well. Your begging is cut off as he drags his cock across your swollen folds, sensitive from the earlier attention he paid to you. 

"Easy, lovely. Told you I'd take care of you," he instructs, and it takes everything in you to lie still in his hold while he lines himself up with you.

Your mind is spinning a hundred miles an hour, excited by the prospect as he finally pushes the head in and gives a shallow thrust.

His chest is lined up to your back, one hand helping prop up your thigh to give better access. It's the most intimate position the two of you can manage, and it gives you a front row seat as he groans low in the back of his throat.

Oh, you like that noise.

You want to hear him make it again.

"Christ you're warm," he chokes, and a deep satisfaction rolls through you. Just knowing that he's as affected by you, as you are by him is enough to stroke your ego.

"John, I can't wait anymore," you whine, pushing back against him in encouragement for him to move. Since when did you become such a needy little mess? It would be embarrassing if you could bring yourself to care. 

You've been long overdue for a good romp between the sheets, and you are just thrilled to pieces that the captain has decided to be the one up for the task.

"You are an impatient creature, aren't you pet?" His admonishment is a gentle thing, as are his first few thrusts as your bodies acclimate to each other.

"It feels so good. Want you to feel good too," you plead your case, and really who was he to disagree with that?

"Feels fuckin' incredible, lovely, don't you worry about that. Sweet pussy of yours has me like a vice," You push back against his thrusts, eyes rolling as the angle lets him hit that one spot in you. Pragmatically, this position was the best to allow the pair of you to be close to each other while not overcrowding around your belly- allow some level of intimacy, as John is able to get up close behind you, and you can reasonably turn to touch and paw at him. But God is it also working for you as far as bringing you pleasure. Each time his hips bury against the plush of your ass he hits that spot that makes your leg shake in his hold.

"Gonna get you there, lovely, just-" it strokes your ego that he's babbling slightly as he speaks. That he's just as excited to have access to your body, to let you have him like this.

"John, right there- I, ah!- Oh God, right there," your pleading seems to just ramp him up. He's not rough with you by any stretch, just clearly comfortable that he's not going to hurt you and confident that your body's acclimated to take all of him. It's your turn to babble, whimpering and whining in his hold. The hand holding your thigh spread coaxes your leg over his hip, hand drifting back to your clit to stroke the little bundle of nerves.

"Just like that, hm?" he asks you like your eyes aren't almost crossing from how good he's giving it to you.

"Oh my God, please!" your brain's possibly broken. Your entire universe has condensed down to you, and him, and this bed and how damn good he's making you feel. 

A quick study, he's already learned your tells that you're inching closer to your climax.

"You can do it, pet- cum for me. I wanna see your pretty face when you cum all over my cock.”

You’re past words, clinging to him with one hand and the sheets with the other as you breathe and try to relax your tensing body.

“That’s it, good girl- deep breaths,” he coaxes you, and that’s the magic combination to get you seeing fireworks. 

He must still doubt your ability to stifle your orgasm yourself, muffling your noises by grabbing your face and turning it so he can kiss you. You certainly have no complaints, aware by the way his pace changes for a few thrusts that he’s not very far behind you before reaching his own end.

For a moment, the pair of you recline in silence as you come down from your respective highs. The heat the two of you made quickly starts to dissipate in the night with the covers still bunched at the foot of the bed, making you shiver as the cold finally settles back over you.

That movement is enough to bring John out of whatever post coital bliss he was in, shifting behind you to pull out.

“Hang on, love,” he instructs while pulling his pants back over his hips before pulling your dress back down your legs and grabbing the covers.

You feel calm for the first time in days, content to laze on your side with John behind you as he snuggles in next to you.

You remember turning your head back towards him for one last kiss- something slow and soft and gentle- and don’t even realize it when you fall asleep.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

[kiame-sama]

I remembered how the HAE!human told ruggie in early chapters that humans can mimic sounds, and I think it'd be funny if the human ended up sometimes messing with the guys using this apparently unknown ability

hae!human having their back to whoever's in the room, doing something, and just randomly making the most sad and pathetic 'mrow' sound to see how the guys will react to a random cat.

said cat seems to be heard every couple days or so, but no one can find it (human does not meow if they know someone in the room has good enough hearing to easily pinpoint where the sound came from since it'd give them away)

yknow what else would be funny and neat? human not even realizing that they mimic the guys' sounds. hissing or growling when annoyed, trilling when happy, Indignant Peacock Sounds when annoyed, etc etc

Now I'm just thinking about messing with them. It would be mean to cause them too much stress with sound mimicry, some are beastly in how territorial they get.

Like, Vil is having a nice walk in the sun, fluffing and preening his feathers? Make a male Peacock call and watch him get all upset and indignant that another Peacock dare enter his territory. He will be strutting and wildly searching for this interloper. It makes him incredibly angry when he can't find the outsider.

Whooping any time Ruggie is tormenting other students and watching him glance around, responding with his own whoops to try and find the other Gnoll.

Purring can be taken different ways depending on who hears it. Trein, Malleus, and Divus take it as an affectionate sound meant for times of extreme comfort. Lilia will think the Human is inviting him to mate because he only purrs prior to mating, so explain yourself quickly. He will be disappointed.

Make a Mourning Dove call near Neige and he will respond with his own mournful call and try to find this new Harpy friend. He will be happy to see it is the Human and be bashful that the Human is using a Mourning Dove call.

Howl and Jack won't be able to stop himself from responding with an equally loud howl. It makes him happy to hear other wolves especially if he knows the Human is the one howling. Do this often, it makes him happy, just not when he is eating.

Make goat yells/baas anywhere near Ace or Deuce and they are likely to try and find the offending party. Ace may think it is Deuce trying to challenge him, and Deuce will think it is Ace trying to challenge him. This will result in both first-years headbutting each other until one gives or teachers/Riddle/Trey breaks up the fight.

Whinny/Neigh/Snort near Trey or Riddle and they will begin whinnying back and trying to find this strange lost horse/centaur.

Snorting around Vargas makes him start kicking his hooves and lowering his horns with loud snorts of his own. He does not realize there isn't another Minotaur bull around and he will try to rally his class into a close herd so he can circle and kick his feet. The class thinks it is hilarious and Vargas still has no idea there isn't a random Minotaur bull hanging around the school and it is just the Human snorting like a bull. Be nice and don't do it often, it is very upsetting to Vargas.

Though it would be tough to replicate- and he is a Reindeer Cervitaur, not an Elk Cervitaur- Silver will lose his absolute mind if you can make an Elk bugle sound. We're talking rearing, stamping his hooves, snorting, tail up and trotting with purpose as he searches for the source and rattles his antlers against things. He gets very upset with other male Cervitaur not in his Herd (the Hoard) anywhere near those he loves. Lilia treats it like some kind of dramatic dance or show every time Silver gets worked up like this. Don't do this often, for Silver's sake, it genuinely upsets him and makes him stressed.

Caw at Crowley and you two will be making that sound back and forth for hours. He is loud and obnoxious about his cawing and most will want to yell at both him and the Human to stop. He is so happy you are trying to learn his language, little chick!

[forsworned]

Okay, okay, hear me out . I neeed a y/n sweet innocent thing who works with 141 (probably computer shit) idk but she wanted to step out her shell & goes out drinking with the boys were she loses a bet with soap & he makes y/n wear a skimpy outfit like those " hot nurse or maid" outfits around the team for a day and it makes price and/or ghost go absolutely feral . The end. Please and thank you p s love your writing.

Author's note: You know normally I do not do these sort of requests because I think that the whole like oh y/n needs to dress in something slutty because she lost a bet schtick is like somewhat demeaning. Like I'm all for it happening to the 141 or whatever but, I put my own spin on it, so even if you don't enjoy it I will but thank you for supporting me anon <3 also screaming at the images I chose for this hahaha

Despite the fact that being in the military was a constant inner battle of not becoming a barrack bunny, it made it a bit easier knowing that 90% of the men were just straight-up fucking whores. So when you lose 7-6 in back-to-back rounds of Blackjack to Johnny, he thinks it's funny to propose a bet that leaves you practically bare-ass naked to every soldier on base.

"'ll be like wearin' a bikini." He says.

To which you can give him a piercing glare that sends an unpleasant shudder up his spine, but regardless he's laughing his ass off. It's not exactly an everyday occurrence that Johnny is winning bets against you so he's taking advantage of the opportunity to embarrass you just as much as you do him.

Wolf whistles and cat calls are heard from the common area that the 141 was currently lounging in, and their ears perk up at the sound of heels clicking against the floor.

"Hell's fuckin' bells, you really wore it, bonnie." Johnny eyes are twinkling and his grin is stretched from ear to ear when he gets a gander at you.

You're wearing the sluttiest maid outfit you could have ever conjured up from many, many, many Halloween's ago when you were in your Chicks Gone Wild Era (iykyk) and Price, Kyle and Simon are flabbergasted by your appearance. Kyle is dropping his spoon that he just stirred his coffee with, Simon is half turning the page to his book and Price just straight up chokes on his London Fog, sputtering it all over his MacBook.

"Fuck you." You mutter, plopping down on the couch next to Simon as you readjust the mobcap on your head. Your dress is riding up as you sit, but you cross your legs and Price is handing you a pillow to cover yourself up to which you sheepishly smile up at him and thank him.

"Why are ye complainin'? Y'look good, bonnie."

"You put her up to this?" Kyle asks, bewildered at the situation unfolding.

"Lookin' good, Serg!" A passing herd of soldiers call out to you as they chuckle amongst themselves and continue to whistle at you.

You shake your head and turn to Johnny with an exasperated look. "Is this what you wanted? To embarrass me?"

"It's not very becoming of you, Johnny." Price murmurs against his mug before taking a sip but it's evident that his face is reddening by the second by your scanty appearance.

"Oh, she does it to me all th' time!" Johnny throws his hands up in half frustration and half amusement.

But Simon on the other hand is silent. He doesn't really know what to say, but he's starting to feel the warmth rushing between his legs.

"L.t., thoughts?"

And Johnny knows exactly what the fuck he's doing while he's shooting him that shit-eating grin that makes Simon want to fucking bumrush the absolute shit out of the Scotsman.

Admittedly this has Kyle and Price's tongues poking their cheeks as they await his answer.

"Y'r a fuckin' slag, Johnny."

And that causes the room to erupt into laughter as you're all clapping your knees and keeling over. Johnny is slightly embarrassed by the jab, but nonetheless, is laughing along. It was nice to have a little laugh in the 141.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Tim Through the Years - The Meeting

Series Masterlist

Summary: Tim meets a very young boy who is all alone in the police station. Then he meets a frazzled teacher who changes his life forever. 0.6k+ words

A/N: An extra special thanks to my friend for creating this series with me (and writing most of it)! I hope every reader enjoys our ideas about what it would be like to fall in love with Tim Bradford!

It was an average day in the Mid-Wilshire Police Station; Tim had just returned from a robbery that ended with him having the suspect in custody fairly quickly. The robber forgot his mask for one and for two, left his business card in a fishbowl to try to win a free lunch. They caught the guy in just 10 minutes, so the day was going well so far. But his mood quickly turned sour when he had to do a mountain of paperwork due to the fact that his robber was a wanted criminal in at least three different states with various crimes under his belt. 

Meanwhile, y/n was walking into the station, trying to get all 40 kindergartners into the police station without losing any of them. It was career week for their school and the Mid-Wilshire Precinct had invited all the students to visit the station on different days. It was hers and one other teacher's turn to visit, so here she was trying to wrangle 40 different students into the Roll Call room. It was as easy as herding cats, but with the help of some parents and the other teacher, they made it to the room with everyone accounted for.  Sergeant Grey introduced himself to the students and explained what his role at the station was and what the room they were in was used for.

“Now, rookies, are you ready to get your assignments?” Grey questioned the group.

Of course, the students got very excited to be police officers for day and all responded with, “Yes, sir!”

Once the excitement died down, Gray split the students into three groups (each group had an adult and an officer). A group was sent to look and learn about the shops, another to booking, and the last went to the interrogation rooms. 

Tim was so busy trying to get the paperwork done that he completely missed all the students going to their area until he felt like he was being stared at. When Tim looked up from his paperwork, two bright blue eyes stared back at him.

“Do you like donuts?” the child asked.

“Uh….yeah,” Tim answered while looking for the child's mother.

“Is it hard to catch bad guys?”

Tim squinted his eyes and asked this child, “Where’s your mother?”

“Johnny!”

Tim turned and saw a beautiful young woman walking up to the small boy at his desk.

She crouched down at this level and softly asked, “Is this where you ran off too? It's your turn to get fingerprinted and have your picture taken.”

“But Miss. Winchester! This is a Real-Life Police Officer! I have lots of questions that need answers!!” Johnny exclaimed.

The woman patted Johnny on the head. “I know, and he’s very busy at the moment so let's leave him alone and ask another officer, okay?”

Johnny glanced at a scowling Tim. “My mommy tells my daddy that being grumpy isn't good for your heart,” he said before skipping off to the booking room. 

Tim heard a giggle before he turned to the gorgeous smiling woman in front of him.

“Sorry about him, he’s one of my spunkier students,” she explained.

Then it clicked in Tim’s head. “Oh, you're here touring the station with your class right?”

Her smile grew as she answered, “Yep, that’s me. Hi.” She reached her hand out to shake Tim’s. “I’m y/n Winchester.”

Tim took her hand, and he’d never felt anything softer.

“Hi, I’m Sergeant Tim Bradford, but you can call me Tim,'' he flirted.

Y/n blushed as she replied, “Well … I better get back to my class.”

She started to walk back toward where Johnny ran off to and Tim decided that it was now or never to get back into the dating game.

“Wait! Could I maybe take you out to dinner?” he called after her.

[starshideurfics]

Buzzed, Buzzing - part 2

part 1

Buzzed, Buzzing

JQ, you can’t go dropping TWO horny photoshoots on us in less than a week!

steddie, omegaverse, Buzzed part 2, mdni 🔞

Finally being with Eddie is a dream. At least for the week he’s in town, fully foregoing Steve’s guest room and its comfy mattress.

Instead, it’s a week of Eddie wrapped around Steve each night, skin touching skin, bodies sated in a bone-deep way Steve’s never felt before.

A week of waking up to Eddie’s lips on his neck, to whispers of, “Morning, Puppy,” and sleepy yawns, arms tugging him closer and closer.

A week of Robin saying, “I’m happy for you, truly, but could you try going five minutes without swapping spit?!” only for Eddie to look her dead in the eye and lick whatever part of Steve is closest to his mouth.

A week of Steve floating on a cloud of affection and hormones.

Then Eddie has to leave, head to Chicago and buckle down for long days filming.

Steve mopes their whole last morning, sneaking shirts out of Eddie’s suitcase until the alpha relents and dumps out his dirty laundry. “Put ‘em all in your nest, I can get new shirts.”

Steve purrs, gathers the shirts, and herds Eddie back to his room for a last quickie before Eddie’s Uber arrives.

Being apart sucks. They videochat daily, text constantly, but Steve still misses Eddie every second he’s gone. So, he’s back where he started, mooning over pics on his phone, scenting at Eddie’s boxers as he works three fingers into his aching pussy.

He’s holding out, but Steve is counting down the days until shooting wraps, when Eddie would fly straight to Indy.

Steve’s on his lunch break, typing out a response to Eddie’s latest text as he shove pretzel thins and hummus in his mouth, when his phone starts buzzing.

Robin is calling, from the other end of the building. “Hey, Robbie, need me to get you a coke zero?” he asks instead of saying hello.

“Don’t tell me you got rid of your Munson-stalking web alert, because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you aren’t freaking out!”

He did, not really needing it when he has Eddie checking in with him at least hourly. “What? Robin, I’m texting with Eddie right now, what do you think I missed?”

“Just, look him up; your ADHD gremlin boyfriend probably forgot to mention it!”

Steve opens google, starts typing Eddie’s name and only gets as far as “ED” before autofill finishes it for him.

A new photoshoot and accompanying interview. Steve gets caught by a photo of Eddie eating a peach. It’s such a thirst trap, but it makes Steve smile.

Besides, there are other notes, but Steve’s scent has always been peach-forward. It might be a coincidence. Steve doesn’t think it is.

He reads the interview; about his current project, lots on the movie coming out next month that filmed a year ago, and his costars including a chill cat.

But right under the peach picture is a question about his personal life, how he stays grounded and connected when he’s constantly moving around for work. 

Eddie starts, as he always does, with Wayne, his friends, his charity work, the arts scholarship he funds.

“The truth is that it’s all for my partner. Like, I want to put good into the world, help kids like me who didn’t have the best start in life, but my focus is on being good enough for him, being the kind of person he can be proud of.” 

The journalist asks him to elaborate.

She writes about Eddie’s smile, the small one where he averts his gaze, emotions too big to share. “I dunno, just that he’s got me beat by a mile���he’s a teacher, middle school, you know, the worst time in a kid’s life. And he loves it!”

More words on Eddie’s laugh and kind eyes.

“So, yeah, the people I love, the people who love me, that’s how I keep my head on straight. That’s what it’s all about, right? Family, friends. Pack.”

Steve’s vision goes blurry on the last little paragraph. He wipes the tears from his eyes and pulls out his phone.

Just read the article! I’ve always been proud of you ❤️

Three little dots appear immediately to show Eddie’s typing, but they disappear and instead Steve’s phone buzzes with a call.

“I forgot that was coming out today! I should have warned you!”

Steve grins. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but thank you. And it wasn’t too much? I’m trying to keep my private life private, but if I can’t talk to you, I wanna talk about you. All the time. Because I fucking miss you, Puppy.”

“It’s okay,” Steve reiterates. “I miss you, too. So much. Wish you were here.”

The whine he lets out makes Eddie chuckle, low and dark. “Wish I had you here, could show you how much I miss you. At least you’ve got some new visual aides, but maybe tonight, when I call you could show me… Get your fingers wet for me.”

Steve lets out another breathy whine. “Yeah, want that.” He presses his legs together, tries to tamp down the feelings of desire before he gets too wet at work. “Miss your fingers, though.”

“Good,” Eddie husks. Steve can hear him lick his lips, so he knows Eddie’s nervous. “And it was supposed to be a surprise. But I’ve got the weekend off. My flight gets in at 9 on Friday night.”

Now expanded into a full fic! Read here

[harrywavycurly]

Niall talking to Harry about planning her Bach party please Sarah?😂😘😘

Hiii babes!! This makes me laugh because imagine if it never clicked for Harry that Niall being your Man of Honor meant he would be planning your Bach party and stuff? So I’ll happily give you a convo where it all dawns on Harry what all exactly Niall is in charge of with your wedding 😂💖

-find all things Lonely here✨

*this is done in dialogue form because it’s just a fun little conversation*

A/N: Niall drops by for a visit and Harry becomes aware of what all Niall is in charge of since he’s your Man of Honor, enjoy the bickering between my fave besties that like to act as if they hate each other✨

“Yer office has a couch in it? What the bloody fuck for? You have a living room right down stairs…” “Because I wanted one in here for when I have to work late and-why are you even here Niall?” “Well I came to see if your lovely fiancé or better known as my bestfriend was home but I forgot she’s dress shopping today so…figured I’d see if you were busy and up for a hang out.” “You weren’t invited to that?” “Oh I was but I had a morning meeting-” “wait you…you were actually invited to go dress shopping with her and the rest of the bridesmaids?” “Yeah? I’m her man of honor I’m invited to everything.” “So you’d get to see her dress before me? What kind of shit is that?” “I’m not her bloody fiancé Harry so yeah I was always going to see the dress before you mate…besides I was there when the girls picked their bridesmaids dresses and while it was a bit like herding cats watching them pick two that they agreed on it was entertaining at least.” “You got to see the Paige and Emily showdown in person?” “Oh yeah…them two love to argue over everything…bout had to hold Emily back when Paige told her we should go with floor length gowns instead of knee length…” “she didn’t even let me see which dresses the girls ended up getting…” “really? Well don’t try no sneaky shit with me H I’m not telling you shit she doesn’t want you to know…but I’m glad that’s one thing I can cross off my list of duties to help with…I have to focus on this bachelorette weeken-” “I’m sorry? You have to focus on what now?” “Planning her Bach party…it’s like my main job besides like making sure she actually shows up to the alter on time and all that jazz.” “You…you’re…planning…her party?” “Well s’more like a mini vacation because I’m thinking Miami for four days and getting a yacht for the main event because she loves a boat day ya know?” “Miami? Really?” “That’s the place they all agreed on…I just need to get some details settled with her before booking everything.” “I just…I didn’t think you were really going to be so…involved.” “What the fuck did you think I was gonna be doing Harry? Standing around looking pretty? No..I’m the bloody Man of Honor and I take that shit seriously.” “That’s…that’s good to know I guess…what else are you in charge of then?” “Ah yer gonna love this…I gotta assist her in bathroom breaks during the reception…like hold her dress and shit.” “Say that again?” “Yeah…like proper make sure she doesn’t like…ruin her dress or anything when she needs to take a leak.” “I don’t fucking think so Niall. Man of Honor or not you’re not going to be helping my wife go to the bathroom.” “See I told her you’d be all upset about it…so she got Emily to take over that part of my job.” “You’re such an asshole.” “I just like to see you sweat is all…so how’s Gemma coming with your bachelor party?” “What? She’s not-” “she’s not what? She’s your best woman Harry that means she’s in charge of shit like that…and knowing your sister she’s gonna plan something wild…I gotta call her and make sure I’m invited….is it weird that me and Amelia will be at the bachelorette party together?” “I need your bestfriend to hurry up and come home..you’re giving me a headache…I need to lay down…” “good thing you have this couch in here then…”

[dreamsinmoonlight]

Dude, you could do a fic where the reader goes looking for Yandere Alastor at the end of the battle with Adam (where is he mad? Insane?... You know in the last ep)... The reader was worried about Alastor, but found him At the worst moment, maybe Alastor will collapse and go crazy... Maybe because he saw that the reader is also hurt? Or there is a revelation for him where he discovers that he is in love with the reader...

It's up to you, I just want to see a fanfic about it!!

(Here we go, I was thinking a lot about this one because honestly I love me a good old fashion insanity moment because of invocation of the "berserk button is hurting that person" trope. Mmmmm~

Modifying it a little just because I lean into the going insane because someone you care about is hurt (also I have another ask involving finding Alastor after the battle). So instead of being when he gets to the radio tower...

How about we rewind and let it be, oh, during the battle? Hehehe~

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Characters: yandere!Alastor, reader, Adam

Pairing: Alastor x reader

Genre:

Summary: The fight is raging but all you can think about is one very dangerous deer....)

Reckless Abandon

Hazbin Hotel was not falling without a fight, not if the residents and their friends had anything to say about it.

There were exterminators everywhere, angels everywhere and anywhere you looked. It felt, to you, as if the sky itself was falling, was being torn asunder, and though you knew that there was a shield, a barrier you believed in more than you believed in anything else, still something in the depths of your gut couldn't help but worry.

Someone screamed your name and you narrowly avoided a sword coming at you from the side, the mad flickering face of the angel who had tried to kill you so close you could almost make out each pixel in the mask they wore. By instinct you struck out and punched them, though some part of your brain understood it would likely do little; still they didn't seem to expect it from you and it connected, throwing them for a loop and to the ground for a moment.

"Good job toots!" Angel called out with one of those friendly grins of his that you could never help but return; he leveled his tommy guns and continued to shoot away, trying to bring down as many of the flying monsters as he could.

"Thanks Angel!" you called back and looked around; Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Cherri Bomb, Sir Pentious, even Nifty was running around stabbing admittedly already downed angels. But everyone was doing their best, fighting and honestly there seemed almost to be a chance, a small possibility, they could survive this. You could survive this.

You never meant to die and come to Hell, but no one ever did. Still in the years you'd been there you'd only ever felt actually happy at the hotel; Charlie was such a good kind person and Vaggie's devotion to her was heartwarming. It was never boring, never uneventful, and never anything less than a trip from the very day you came to their door, looking for a place to stay to get away from the far worse denizens than yourself. And somewhere deep down you'd admit, only to yourself, that what made you feel the happiest was the presence of one demon in particular.

You glanced up as you thought about him and almost immediately wished you hadn't. That shield that you believed so in, you saw with your own eyes it crack, you saw it break, and you saw the figure of the scariest of them all: Adam. He'd broken it down, he'd broken...

"Alastor's shield," you whispered, as the others saw it too, as it dawned on them what happened.

He was supposed to be able to keep it up, give them enough time to thin the herd more. No one expected Adam to be so powerful to be able to break something created by the Radio Demon, the Radio Demon. Alastor stood up to Lucifer, to the Vs, to other Overlords, he was the monster in the dark, the grinning Cheshire Deer Cat of Terror, and Adam had punched one of his barriers into nothingness as easily as he could have been punching a marshmallow.

That feeling of worry returned and it tasted of blood. You licked your lips and looked around. The others were worried too but all recovered, getting back to work, not letting this stop them. You tried to do the same, to remember the plan: if the shield went down then Alastor would take out Adam, keep him out of the fight largely so you all could handle the exterminator angels better. He was the most powerful of you, the most dangerous, the most vicious, he could handle this, he could do this, he...

He....

You looked towards the roof of the hotel, towards where you knew that cannibal Overlord was, where Adam had touched down and was now fighting him.

He was....he was too important. To you at least. You ripped a sword from a dead angel nearby and used it to cut through any other that got between you and the entryway to the hotel. You knew you were being stupid and reckless and silly because this was Alastor you were thinking about after all. But still, still, that bloody taste of worry had you and you couldn't get it to go away no matter how much you swallowed.

By the time you reached the roof things had reached a major head. Tentacles, shadows, a split second in which maybe, just maybe this would go better than the dread inside you predicted. But that colossal angelic asshole known as the First Man just had to be a dick and you stepped out in time to see him attack Alastor, breaking his staff and the confusion that filled you was matched by the unfiltered sound of the Radio Demon's voice. "What just happened?....Fuck."

"Alastor!" you called out and moved to try to get over to him.

What could you do? You were just a sinner, another of the souls trapped in Hell, prey to the angels, prey to the Overlords, prey to everyone. You weren't anything special, anything important, just another person who failed to be good in their mortal life and ended up down here instead. This was the greatest demon you knew and the most dangerous angel you knew of, and you, you were nothing.

But seeing Adam slash at Alastor, the Radio Demon go flying, be hurt, you narrowed your eyes and gripping tight the angel blade you'd stolen, you snarled with an intensity you weren't used to, an aggression you didn't know from within you. He stepped closer to Alastor, smirking, gloating, and not paying any mind as you came at him from the side, moving swift and deadly.

The blade dug in deep and the blood came a golden hue that should have beautiful if not coming from him. The grunt that came from Adam was less pain and more annoyance and he looked down at you like he might an ant. "What the hell bitch, you really want to fucking die first? Cuz I can totally do that for you."

For someone so big he moved quick. And his hand gripped around your throat tight, cutting off air and circulation very quick. Sinners shouldn't need to breathe, that was stupid, but you knew this sensation, you knew the feeling of choking and as he lifted you off your feet you struggled, let go of the sword to claw at his hands, to try to free yourself. His mask showed no more mercy than his troops did, the cruelty and sadism of beings who didn't even deign to show their faces when they came down to kill you; you reached out, wanting to at least see if you remove it, maybe scratch out his dumb eyes before he kills you. Give Alastor the time to get something done, to recover. At least you'd stopped this monster from hurting him.

Blood rushing through your ears as consciousness started to wane, you could have almost sworn you heard a chuckle, dark and familiar even without it's filter. Good. He was okay....

Adam was seconds from snapping your neck when a shadow tentacle lurched out and pierced his arm, forcing him to drop you. Already out like a light you fell limply but were caught by Alastor's own shadow that carefully held you in it's arms before returning to his side. The Radio Demon chuckled still, through the blood, through the pain, through the madness threatening to come forth as his form started to twist and deform, taking on his more demonic state.

"Have to disagree with you there," he hissed and smiled, feeling the changes, feeling the crawling of the Winter under his skin, the creature hungry, always hungry, and the chain that held him in place; the shadow moved to cover both of you as he continued, "Radio's not dead, but it is ending this broadcast."

Adam laughed through his own pain as the two of you were teleported away to safety and Alastor groaned as you reappeared elsewhere, hand over the gaping wound on his chest, trying to hold back the madness, the insanity, the Winter. His eyes slipped towards you in the process.

You should have not been up there, you were supposed to be out on the battlefield with all the others, with the fodder and the ones that mattered. You were a fool and an useless pawn, barely entertainment; you were not a monster, you were barely a sinner. You showed up at the hotel looking for sanctuary; you got along with them all and he found your presence....

Not unlikeable. Because you seemed to like him, knowing what he was, knowing who he was. You never treated him as anything less than a terror among demons but it didn't escape his attention how you perked up when he turned his usual gentlemanly facade towards him, as if he could ever be anything but to one of the fairer gender. But you never seemed like the type to try to face Adam knowing it could only be your death and the image of you moving at the much larger angel, sword in your hands, and your expression, it was burned in his chest.

You were not supposed to be there and you were not supposed to anything but something to throw at the angels to distract them, in hopes that Charlie would survive another fight. But the way you called out his name and the way your smile would shine when you looked at him, when he'd pet your head, when he'd tease and torment the other hotel residents, when he made all sorts of silly comments and puns. You, this stupid little sinner who didn't even really belong because what redemption was there for someone who wasn't even really a bad guy? What was your sin?

Alastor realized he didn't even know that one. It never mattered. You never mattered. But now you did.

The realization made his skin crawl more and he started towards the hotel again, arriving back after the battle, to his tower destroyed, to the rubble and debris and his own mind screaming.

He was a monster and he nearly died. He, the great Radio Demon, almost destroyed. For saving his friends. His friends. And then there was you and his mind raced more. No this could not be, no this would not be. The Winter and hunger under his skin crawled more and approaching his equipment he dug sharp claws into the metal, leaving gashes in his wake.

No.

No.

Not him.

But yes. And there you were, still asleep, still hurt; he turned to look at you and saw the bruises on your neck and thought of you clawing at Adam, ready to go down fighting. There because of....

Him.

An emotion he didn't recognize crawled up alongside the hunger and he tilted his head before reaching out with those sharp cruel claws to draw them, all too gently, along your cheek. His smile twitched, his eyes narrowed.

" 'Altruistist Alastor, died for his friends'," he mocked himself, "I'll find a way around this damned deal, just you wait. But tell me little one, what is this emotion I feel creeping up inside me? If you created it I expect you to explain it."

You didn't answer. Of course not. He took you from the shadow and cradled you carefully in his own arms.

Whatever it meant, whatever it was, it made his madness feel both better and worse. The hunger was dispelling a bit but now all he could think about was you.

How strange.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Shielded

Daryl Dixon x Reader | fantasy AU

Everyone openly shows and uses their powers, except for Daryl. Until you get hurt.

🩸 🪽 🩸

Daryl always saw you as a sweet, small lady who’d be easily hunted down or snatched away. Not because you were weak or inexperienced, but because of the way you looked.

Some generations ago children started to be born with animal attributes that came with a set of skills or powers that oftentimes altered their appearance.

Where Rick was blessed with the precision of a hawk that showed in his eyes and never missed a single shot, Rosita had cat-like reflexes that came with a tail to balance her out more evenly and pointed ears with the smallest tuft of fur at the end. Then there was Carol who was given the ability to heal, which as she learned turned her hair more and more gray with every physical wound she healed and took from her happiness as she brightened someone else’s dark thoughts.

And you, you were born with the long ears and fuzzy tail of a rabbit which on one hand made you easily anxious, but also gave you the leg strength to kick a walker’s head clean off with a single strike.

Of course there were also people who despised the conditions they were born with and did everything in their power to hide them. One of those people was Daryl.

People would often take guesses what he kept hidden but he never budged and would often walk away from any of said conversations.

Conversations like this one.

“Have I ever told you I love those wings of yours?” Daryl was quick to wave you off with a “dunno wha’ yer talkin’bout.” He turned to walk away you, showing you just the thing you talked about. “The wings. On your vest. The one Judith fixed for you.” Oh how stupid he felt in that moment. He’d always been so stuck on people only talking to him when they either needed his help or came to pry that he immediately shot you down when it wasn’t an ask for help.

“Yeah uh. Thanks I guess.” He had been wearing that vest for so long he sometimes forgot what it meant to him. He was so conditioned to hate his traits that he had kept them hidden ever since he was a child. Whenever it was mentioned he was told it was a shame how it ruined his masculinity, how it made him look like he didn’t belong in their family. And how it didn’t fit his dirty looks and lifestyle as a hunter and tracker who’d often hide away in the woods.

He wanted to like all of him but it all brought back memories of year upon years of abuse and the pain that came with it, mentally and physically.

“Come on, we should start heading back, we got enough food for now.” Carrying around more was only gonna slow you down if you had to start running. Plus it was going to be hard to stash it all in your temporary bridge building campsite.

It was around dinnertime when everyone had stopped working for the day or was taking a break to eat as the distant growling and rustling caught people's attention.

From almost every side walkers stumbled out of the surrounding woods, catching you off guard and easily outnumbering your current group. You hopped up and ran off to your tent to grab the weapons you had left there but not managing to make it as you were surrounded in an instant.

Having to work with the one hunting knife on you you opted for a wide kick to the front row of walkers to give you some breathing room and a moment to unsheathe said knife before sinking it into the skull of one stumbling forward. All around you there were people fighting this herd that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

You spun and stepped around taking walkers down with kicks and stabs, ready to spin back and kick one's lights out as it ducked out of your way and a knife was sunk deep into your leg.

You shrieked in pain as a easily recognizable crossbow bolt sank into the attacker's skull. But with the amount of walkers swarming towards you you weren't sure if that one bolt really made a difference.

With the knife stuck in your leg you sat crouched on the forest floor with only a small knife to protect yourself. You closed your eyes and braced for the agonizing tear of flesh and loud growling and gnawing. You duck down, hiding your face in your arms and surrounding yourself in darkness so that you wouldn't see any of it, sobbing into your arms as the panic fully set in.

Everything was dark.

And it stayed dark, your ears were ringing from panic and everything was dark.

Sucking in a breath you slowly opened your eyes, still down in your arms and lifted up your head. Ears still ringing but your eyesight was alright, but it was still dark.

Slowly shapes came back into view, small spots of light coming from behind you and peeked from underneath at the forest floor. The ringing in your ears faded as a panting noise came from beside you and only now were you registering a weight on your shoulders.

The sounds of walkers and fighting still surrounded you but it was all muffled, like you had your head buried under the covers at home to drown out the yelling. Your head turned to inspect your surroundings, still not entirely back on earth yet as all you saw was ..white? and red stains.. it was all around you until your eyes met with Daryl who was crouched beside you. He was the one panting, a pained expression on his face as a hand went to rest on your knee now that you were coming back from your panic attack.

"Ya alright?" A soft whisper left his lips, not wanting to startle you and rubbed soft circles onto your skin. "Yer safe, I got ya."

Whatever it was that surrounded you wasn't moving. Not until the sounds outside of it had died down and someone shouted for Daryl.

Everything in your vision shifted at the call of his name, but never moved away as he made sure you were alright. Only after you had reached for his hand and given it a squeeze he slowly moved to sit back and light poured back into your vision.

A wave of shock came over you as you realized what kept you safe. As the forest came back into view, so did your ability to properly see in the daylight again. There was a massive pair of wings moving out of your view.

Muted white feathers were splattered in reds. Its movements erratic and paired with pained groans coming from behind you.

Without thinking you spun around, wincing in pain and dropping down on your good leg and staring at the man behind you.

Daryl sat there, on the forest floor with his button up shirt torn up. His leather vest wasn't on his anymore and the bloody pair of wings that kept you safe were sprouted from his back.

Every little movement his wings made had him try to pull away from them in pain, a clear sign of abandoning his powers for so long. The blood covering the feathers on both the in and outside of the wings also showed another story of why he'd hide them. But even with the gore all over them they were so pretty.

By now two people had rushed over to you and were making quick work of patching up your leg as you kept your focus on Daryl who looked to be having the worst time.

His gaze went from person to person, erratic breathing and a panicked look in his eyes. In his rush to save you he had summoned his wings after hiding them for almost forty years. But not even the open wounds and torn skin on his back hurt as much as the memories flooding back to the front of his mind. The voices of his family and their friends talking about him like he was a disgrace, a failure and a downright worthless being.

He kept his eyes on you then, focusing on the skilled hands of the medics working on your leg but immediately backing away as they got up and came towards him.

He backed up against a tree, his back hitting the bark. He let out a pained groan as he kept his eyes on the two trying to help him. No words were needed to let it be known he didn't want anyone near him.

Behind the two, you had gotten back on your feet and held onto a makeshift crutch to stay upright and had silently asked Rick to fetch you a blanket which he happily brought you.

Stumbling you made your way past the pair that still kept their eye on Daryl and crouched down with great difficulty. “If I put this over your back, will you follow me to the medical tent?” You held the blanket out to him, allowing him to take it from you on his own terms. “That way no one will see, and no one has to touch unless you say it’s okay.” You could see on his face he was still hesitating to come away from the tree that was doing his back more bad than good. As he reached forward his shoulder twitched and his wing slumped to the ground, almost pulling his full body with it. You took this as a sign to go ahead and drape the fabric over his back as well as you could while keeping yourself up on your crutch and being careful to not touch his wings. You slowly stepped back as he tried to get up off the ground but clearly not being in great control of his wings. Once he was upright you asked him again to follow you but he wasn’t moving just yet. His wings were still spread rather wide. You gave him a sweet smile, being as patient and understanding as you could. Luckily you were the one with the ‘patience of an angel’ according to the group. You watched as he looked at his wings one at a time to guide them into a folded position. Normally movements like those would be hardwired into someone’s system and it would all go without thinking twice, but in Daryl’s case he needed to see where his wings were going to keep them in check. When he had them folded close to his body he took his first steps towards the medical tent, falling into step with your slow hobbles.

“Alright,” You let out a sigh as you ran into yet another problem. “I’m not gonna get you in here with your wings out..” It was already hard enough for him to be moving around right now, let alone retract his wings in his current state, but you had to ask. “Do you know how to retract them?” He scoffed like child not wanting to speak up about a broken vase to his mother. You turned to look at him after securing the tent’s entrance open. He wouldn’t look you in the eyes as mumbled something you couldn’t make out.

“What was that? I can’t treat your back with your wings in the way.” Your tome was almost apologetic, knowing it would probably hurt him more than summoning them earlier.

“Dun wanna.” He looked up to find your gaze, his voice low. “Makes a mess..”

You wondered what mess he meant, but you were sure of the fact they weren’t gonna go for a while so you had to come up with something. Back inside the tent stood an armless chair that you offered Daryl at the entrance, asking him to sit in it backwards, facing away from the tent so you could tend to his wounds with the most possible coverage. “I’ll treat the open wounds as best as I can right now, but I’m gonna have to actually see what’s going on there.” Your hand reached over to his shoulder and laid there. “Is that okay? Just for medical purposes.”

He gave you a grunt and a wary okay, and with that you ever so carefully took the blanket off his back to reveal the tattered button down that his wings had torn through.

You dig for a knife and skillfully cut away at the fabric, freeing up space to clean as more of his back was revealed to you. Two thick streams of dried blood ran from the base of his wings down into the waistband of his pants and stained the entire base of his wings, white feathers completely dark red.

You took the supplies and got going, apologizing every time you touched the cloth to his skin earning a wince from him. As you wiped away the dried blood more details on his skin came into view. Tattoos of creatures with demon like wings made you wonder if he preffered to have those same kind of wings. And scars of different ages, most of which you didn't even dare to ask about. You chose to keep your thoughts for another time.

“I’m gonna try to dress some of the wounds, make sure they don't get infected."

He let out an agreeing grunt, and you went ahead to talk him through your process as you worked.

Soon enough his back was patched in white bandages, but you had no spare clorhing for him that would fit over his wings..

You stared around, thinking and letting out a frustrated huff as you scolded yourself for not thinking this far ahead.

"Wha's botherin' ya, cotton tail?" Daryl's tired voice sounded through the tent and you turned back towards him to explain yourself.

"There's no spare clothing that fits over your wings." You sounded defeated by the setback, but Daryl quickly gave you a solution before your anxious bunny brain went back into panic mode.

You thanked him for his input and went to fetch one of the leftover blankets that were too small to sleep under and cut it as he instructed.

"Alright, so I cut it halfway over the lenght. That's it?" You held the thing up and inspected it, unsure what to do next.

"Ya, tha's it." He holds up his hand as far as his body allowed it.

"Nah hand me the thin ends tha' ya jus' cut." He held his hands at his shoulders to take the pieces of fabric from your hands. When he had both ends in his hands he pulled them forward until the end of the cut touched the back of his neck.

You watched him pull the garment over his torso and onlg when he showed you how it hung over him did you realize how dumb you were for not getting his explaination at first. "Oh damn, it's like your poncho." It worked great to cover his front and back while still leaving the sides open for his wings. If he kept the base below his shoulders it would sit well enough.

"Should I find a way to get you home? Get you some privacy to deal with your wings?" Daryl's eyes followed your struggling movements as you hobbled around deep in thought.

"Yo Rick!" He called over before you had even taught of an option.

The man in question showed up at the tent only seconds later, happy to see his friend more comfortable again.

A request to get a ride home was quickly approved and fixed with some creative seating in the flat back of the pickup. You had never in your years of knowing him seen Rick drive so carefully, but it did give you time to really take in the scenery of the woods like you used to before the world ended.

Back within the walls Rick had dropped you off at Daryl's home where he assisted you up the porch steps and helped maneuver Daryl's wings carefully through the doorframe.

Once inside you had Rick generously help to move around furniture to accomodate Daryl's wings.

A matress in the place where the coffee table sat, that was now next to the dinner table.

You had drawn the curtains and were preparing some warm food, leaning against the counter on your good leg while Daryl laid on the matress in the living room, on his stomach trying to get comfortable.

"I got us some food, wanna eat now or later?" When you got no response you grabbed a small portion for yourself and ate where you stood before going to take a nap on the couch.

Even with him passing out way before you, you still woke up earlier. The light that shone through the curtains now almost entirely gone and deciding you'd just go back to sleep and deal with things tomorrow. Daryl really needed the rest as well.

When morning came you found Daryl awake but still laying down in the matress. He had his head turned to you and resting on his arms, greeting you lazily as you rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

"G'morning, Dee. Sleep well?" You leaned up on your elbow and gave him a once-over. His wings rested against the floor and the fabric over his back had shifted only a little bit.

"Yeah I did. Been thinkin' as well." He sat up on his knees and let his wings hang down beside him.

You had sat up against the armrest of the couch as well, legs stretched out in front of you.

"Ya got supplies here. I'll put mah wings away if ya make sure not ta tell anyone." His hand that rested in his lap came up to chew at his skin in a nervous habit.

Your smile lit up the room, and maybe having you stay when he retracted his wings wouldn't be much of an issue. You had only looked at him with admiration in your eyes

You looked him over and gave him a kind nod, slowly making your way into the kitchen to fetch the box of medical items and scooted it over to the livingroom with your crutch. When you came back he was still sitting there. You saw his body move with every deep breath and suddenly a cracking sound filled the room. Daryl let out a pained noise as his wings started shedding all their feathers and the flesh structure disappeared back underneath his skin. The process wasn't fast and Daryl's sounds made it clear it was a painful one. Blood from reopened wounds trickled down his back again as the skin fully settled.

You huffed as you dropped down behind him to patch up his back again, cleaning up the tears where the bone came through and asking permission to stitch him up before doing so.

When he was fully patched up you planted a soft kiss at the base of his neck, and the right between his shoulderblades where you kept yojr lips against his skin for a moment before sitting back up.

"Thanks for saving me, Daryl." He gave a pleased hum in response before moving to lay back down, shoving the feathers off the matress. "I'll help clean later, promise." A long drawn sigh escaped his lips as he slid all the way down. "Sleep first." And with that he passed out again.

While he slept you gathered up the prettiest feathers and snuck one of his bolts into a bag. Cutting off a small strip of the red rag he always carried you carefully put it in the bag with the feathers as well.

With lots of effort and as little sound as possible you snuck down to his room where you knew he kept tools and supplies you needed for your little plan.

With all the luck in the world you found a small piece of wood, perfect to hold the bolt upright i to it as you worked to strategicly tie the nicest feathers to the bolt, just below its own feathered end and hid the wire with the red cloth that you tied artistically around it. With one of the woodworking knives you found you carefully cut a bit of the bark off to get a smooth surface to carve text into.

After finishing your little thank you gift you went back upstairs to find Daryl still passed out on the matress, softly snoring away. It was the most calm you had ever seen him and you hoped to see him in this domestic setting and this soft side of him more often.

While he still recovered in dreamland you swiped together the mess of fearhers, leaning on the broom so much the bristles all spread out but you eventually got the job done.

You knew for a fact you were gonna get scolded for cleaning up by yourself with your bad leg but you couldn't just leave his home a mess.

Besides, if you were gonna put Daryl's gift in a nice spot for him to find when he woke up you couldn't be slipping on any loose feathers and rudely wake him.

So you cleaned, made some space on the small side table against the wall and placed your gift on it before retreating to the couch.

Ofcourse aftr sitting down for only half a minute the archer stirred awake and sat up and stared around the now clean floor.

"Didn' I tell ya ta wait?" He raises an eyebrow at you as you shied away from his gaze, apologizing under your breath.

"Wha' was tha'?" Daryl had gotten up and now stood towering over you in just his jeans, his torso adorned in tattoos and scars on full display for you to be distracted by.

"Asked y'a question, fluffbutt." He tapped a finger to your chin and have you look up at him with wide eyes.

"Ya like starin? S'rude ya know."

You blinked and looked away, this time apologizing a bit louder this time. With a smile he let you of your chin and stroked your soft furred ear. He let out a surprised hum. "Even softer than I thought." He fidgeted the end between his fingers, easily getting just as distracted by the softness as you had by his roughness.

Your hand reached up go place it on his and looked him in the eyes. Neither of you spoke a word, the way you looked at each other spoke volumes. A shaky breath left your lips right before he bent down and pressed his own lips against them.

It didn't last long but it said enough. Your eyes moved between Daryl's and the gift you had left on the table for him and he followed your gaze behind him.

There, on the small table that held some of his candles stood something new.

He took his time to study it up close. He held the wooden block in his hands, inspecting the bolt for a moment and recognising it as the one he had pulled from the head of the walker that almost bit you. Its feathers were torn and the base was cracked, no longer useful now that he looked it over.

There were off white feathers in different sizes tied just below the end. His feathers. There wasn't a single strand off on them, almost perfect in their form and he had to admit they looked really good combined with the rugged bolt. Thw whole piece came together between the oiled up red fabric of the cloth he carried around everywhere, its frayed edges standing out against the bright feathers.

But the thing that hit the hardest were the words carved into its stand.

"To my guardian angel"

His voice was soft as he set the piece back down and walked over to you, pulling you up into a tight hug.

"Thanks fer makin' me hate mahself a lil' less." His sentence ended with another kiss.

As he set you down he announced he needed more comfortable clothes as he set out to his basement room and change.

When he came back you had made your way into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as the food from yesterday warmed up.

"Hey, Daryl?"

He came walking over to you, his hair up in a messy bun and rocking dark, patched up sweats and a faded band tee that was missing its sleeves. "Yeah, lil' bunny rabbit?"

You looked up at him with nothing but admiration and love.

"Have I ever told you I love those wings of yours?"

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: Wow! A different AU from my usual writings. This was a nice challenge and I hope you enjoy!

[artsy-hobbitses]

Is there a pet squad? It seems like every time I see something new about a character, it that they end up with a pet. So like the pet avengers or dc superpers version in ties that bind au a possible thing? Also who on both sides has a pet?

I DID NOT INTEND MOST OF THEM but animals just. Happen to some of these folks XDXD

Lesse...

AUTOBOTS:

Esmeralda the cat (Prowl and Jazz) - Jazz brought her back during one of his missions, Prowl basically became the dad who's like "I don't want pet" and a month later has her riding on his shoulders.

Dakshi the ovcharka (Kup) - Big dumb, big fun and big monstrous when you get him in the mood. Usually found roughousing with the Wreckers.

Molly the cattle dog (Ironhide) - Little dynamo of a dog, absolutely bouncing off the walls since she has no cattle to HERD NOW so she herds people instead.

Dunedan the Irish Setter (Mirage) - An old gentleman like his owner and Mirage's sightdog during hunts.

Avalon's Renaissance the horse (Mirage) - A riding horse who has seen better days and now enjoys leisurely canters with her master through the woods of Alpha Trion's estate.

Bigwig the rabbit (Bumblebee) - Is a gift to Bee from Optimus! Is also a right bastard to anyone not Bee, Bee's friends or OP.

An assortment of medical leeches (Ratchet) Many are named, mostly off famous vampires, and they live in a tempest prognosticator he had specially made for them.

A flock of pigeons (Optimus Prime) All are named and wear tags. OP doesn't have a favorite, and refers to them as his Mantiq Altair.

A murder of crows (Drift) They are not individually named, since Drift doesn't really consider them pets in a traditional sense, he simply feeds them and they see him as a human friend and bring him little gifts as such. However, he does refer to them affectionately as "The Crass Ones", because Sludge once asked him what these birds are called (he has some speech issues from the experimentation done on him and is working on remembering names of things around him) and while Drift told Sludge they were crows, he also told Sludge they were known as 'Karasu' in his language. Sludge misconstrued it as 'crass', became distressed and gently asked them to be kind to the nice man feeding them, and Drift found that so sweet/funny that the name stuck.

Tabiba the dove (First Aid) - A gift for First Aid from her uncle, Hotspot, when she graduated medical school.

Serpico the German Shepherd (Nightbeat) - Was the K9 Nightbeat worked most often with while he was a cop, and when he left to go underground/work from the shadows, he 'liberated' Serpico and Serpico chose to go with him rather than stay at the precinct. Is Nightbeat's scenthound and 'bodyguard' during stakeouts.

Lelaps and Boudicca the Maned-subtype Turbofoxes (Alpha Trion) - These were former sentry hounds of the Quintessons and were freed/reprogrammed by the Primes to help them instead.

DECEPTICONS

Old Fella the Pit Bull (Barricade) - Was rescued from an illegal fighting pit, and has long passed his best days. Was intended to be rehomed, but Barricade grew too attached to him, and with Megatron's blessings, decided to keep him instead.

Najmina the falcon (Skywarp) - Skywarp's pride and joy, and his scout during recon missions.

Buster the Jack Russell (Thundercracker) Your standard Jack Russell Terrorist so named because she would bust everyone's balls (her original name was 'Ballbuster') at Marissa Fairborne's base. With Marissa's encouragement, was adopted by Thundercracker who was feeling lost after leaving the Decepticons and needed an 'anchor'/something to care for while he figured out a new purpose in life.

Mollica the British Shorthair cat (Nickel) - One of those "there is a cat in my house, I do not own a cat" situations. This thing just sauntered into the DJD's quarters, almost slapped Tarn's mask off when he grabbed her and Nickel immediately fell in love and insisted on keeping her if only for her audacity. Her being around Tarn has not endeared him to her one bit

Graymalkin the Sphynx cat (Starscream) - Post war, adopted by Starscream as a companion.

[adventuringblind]

Stay the Night, Stay Forever

Daniel Ricciardo x Reader, platonic Max Verstappen x reader

Genre: angst

Summary: Reader is stuck in a toxic relationship and Daniel wants to get her out.

Warnings: talk of abuse and injuries, talk of SA, Protective Daniel, Max being sassy

Notes: Once again I’m writing sad things. Also, in the mood to write for my Aussie boys Daniel and Oscar, feel free to send requests :)

Masterlist

Toxic relationships can mess up even the strongest of people. They mess with your head and your heart. It makes you feel as though you'll never understand love, let alone find it.

She has been in many bad relationships. She seems to just attract these people like a magnet. They circle around her, and she can't get out of the ring.

In her defense: they have all started out nice. It's after she gets comfortable that things go sideways. It's a terrible cycle. Maybe it’s her age, something about immaturity keeping her stuck here. Maybe it’s something to do with trauma that she can’t get past.

Regardless, she’s here again.

Working with the Redbull media team has always been a fun job for her. That is, when she’s not trying to drag Max by his teeth to do the marketing videos he hates so much.

Max who saw her boyfriend often since he’s a mechanic. Max who tells her constantly that he’s a “shit mechanic and a even more shit boyfriend.”

This year is a little different when it comes to Max and media because Daniel is back and doing stupid videos with Daniel is much more entertaining. It’s much harder to actually get things done with the three drivers now. Wrangling them is like herding cats some days.

“Have you ever really talked to Daniel?” Asks Max in an early Thursday morning on the way to interviews.

“Not really. In passing sure, but we’ve never sat down and had a full conversation.” She shrugs. The little voice in her head says this conversation Isn’t going to end well for her. The girl already gets enough lectures for spending time with Max, who is taken, and is forced to talk to her because it’s part of the job.

“You should, I think you’d like him.”

“Why’s that?”

Max leaves over and whispers in her ear. “Because unlike the scum bag you’re dating now, he would leave the kind of marks that feel good.”

Sometimes, she hates Max and his blunt personality. Mainly because he’s wearing a cheeky smile and she’s sat there fuming and blushing at the same time.

~

It’s after that conversation, that she notices Daniel more. The way he looks at her. The way he talks to her. The way he makes it a point to compliment her.

Then it escalates. He brings her water in exhausting long hot days. He’ll bring her food when she hasn’t eaten all day. The Aussie will randomly kiss her cheek for no reason and grab her hand to lead her if he wants to show her something.

The flirting starts in May. Daniel starts pushing the boundaries and testing the waters. The sexual tension is ridiculous and she has to remind herself that she has a boyfriend. Granted, not a good one.

The way Daniel flirts makes her want to pull her hair out. Because she wants so badly to take him up on his hinted offers. She hasn’t had real sex in over a year. She’s dissociated during it so that she can simply keep her boyfriend happy. It’s like she’s a means to an end for him. A way to satisfy himself and keep his needs met until he finds someone he truly loves.

Daniel seems so genuine. She’s aware she’s said that about all her previous relationships, but the difference is that Max trusts Daniel as well and she trusts Max (to an extent).

She spilled her guts one day after Max had helped her hide another bruise and Daniel had caught them in the act. Max, having had to do similar and Daniel being his person, knew how to help in these situations. So when Daniel opened the door to the driver room, everyone froze. The Australian simply looked like someone kicked a puppy in front of him and asked if he could do anything to help.

Max admitted he was late for a meeting with Christian and Helmut Marko and asked if she would be comfortable if Daniel finished up. She said yes despite every nerve in her body trying to get her to run away.

Daniel worked in silence. Then when he was finished, he got on his knees in front of her. Hands move to her cheeks and thumbs wipe away her tears. “I don’t want to push you into anything, but I genuinely have fallen for you. But, if I’m the reason he’s hitting you, say the words and I’ll leave you along or I’ll go fight him. Whatever you need from me, you have it.”

She told him everything. All the dirty secrets from the last almost two years had spilled from her mouth. The entire time he simply listened and offered some comforting words.

Three days later, she works up the nerve to go to the club with some of the Redbull team. The season had been amazing so far and she wanted a chance to revel in it at least once.

Was Mr. Idontwantyoutohavefriends happy about it? Absolutely not. He screamed at her the entire time she was getting ready and before she left.

But at least she's here now. Nursing her second drink next to Daniel at the bar. She hadn't had such a laugh in so long. The two of them are watching the other drivers present slowly descend into further chaotic dancing messes.

They end up dancing together at some point. It grants her the contact she'd been craving. His hands on her bare skin in such a way makes her breath hitch.

Then his lips are on hers. It's hungry, and she needs it. It's the most she's wanted something in so long.

"Wanna get out of here?"

"As long as it's with you?" She smiles.

~

By the time the night is over, it's the early hours of the morning. The room smells like sweat and sex. Her body is littered with marks that Daniel put there. They are marks she wants. She doesn't look at them with disgust, but with adoration.

Daniel had taken such good care of her. Helped her clean up. Then he said since they'd been drinking, they would probably need to eat, but he has no food in the room. So he'd run out to grab them something to eat.

That's when she looked at her phone. Her notification wall lined with missed calls. That is when she sees his texts.

The realization hitting her that she cheated sits on her chest. She has to leave.

The flurry of grabbing her things and writing Daniel a scrawled note only takes minutes. Her body runs straight to her room on a lower floor. Luckily, all the Redbull team got the same hotel. Unluckily, that meant it was a shorter trip to her doom.

When she opens the door, Mr. Iwanttocontrolyourlife is waiting for her. She drops her things like she's done nothing wrong and starts getting ready for bed.

"Where were you?" His voice is a deadly calm. His body leans against the wall with his arms over his chest.

"At the club."

"With who?"

"The other media team staff, Max and Kelly - that's it really." She lies. She goes into the bathroom and changes into a covering hoodie and sweats in record time.

He's tight outside the door again when she opens it. "Care to explain this then." He shoves his phone in her face, and her mind becomes static. Pictures of her with Daniel as plain as day meet her eyes.

Then pictures of them leaving. Pictures of them going into his room... "We're you stalking me?"

“I’m not toxic like you are.” He scoffs. “A friend sent these to me and said he wanted me to know.”

She wants to cry. Break down and pretend this isn’t happening. Daniel had said he would help her get out. He said he would keep her safe. But now, she’s not sure shes going to make it out the door with her life.

~

Daniel was already nervous when he saw her note. He knew it couldn’t be good if she’d gone back. Even worse since he’d promised to help her find a way out that didn’t end in violence. Though he would love to punch him in the face for what he’s done to her.

He doesn’t want to make things worse though, so he heads up to Max’s room to stop himself from doing anything stupid.

Max lets him sleep on the couch. They do go back and forth on a few ideas, but Max having been in an abusive situation agrees that it could get so much worse if they go to check on her.

Neither of them hear anything come morning. And for a week they can’t even contact her. It’s like she fell off the face of the planet.

Daniel feels like he might explode when Thursday comes around again. Double headers are tiring sure, but he has far to much energy to not spend it searching the paddock for any sign of her. Until Max breaks the news that she supposedly is really sick and will not be here the whole weekend.

He’s not sure what comes over him, be it anger or fear, but he finds himself storming up to Christian and demanding to know where she is. Max doing his absolute best to talk him down from committing a murder.

He manages to figure out where she is on the condition he stays put for the weekend. Meaning he’s in for the longest four days of his life.

He spends most of it pacing and trying to call her. Lando even mentions he looks sick at one point and forces water and food down his throat. How can he eat knowing he put her in this situation? Max keeps telling him it’s not his fault, but Daniel should have just gotten her out of there sooner. Screw no violence. He’d knock him out cold if that’s whaat it came too.

Finally the weekend is over and Daniel is dragging Max with him to her home. Max refuses to let him drive. And Daniel doesn’t mind considering Max is a fast driver and isn’t running on enough adrenaline that he could run a marathon and not be tired.

He’s out of the car before Max even has time to stop it. He’s banging at the door so loud he’d probably be waking the neighbors in the early hours of the morning.

When is swings open, He almost collapses in relief that she is still alive. However, she looks startled, surprised, and broken. She was never sick, he’d just hit her enough to break her. Her throat looks swollen with fingerprints tattooed to it. Her wrist is in a brace and a murky white bandage plastered to her cheek. And those are just the things that are visible.

He doesn’t have much time to think as the man he’d been wanting to punch into next year sidles up behind her. “What are you doing here Daniel? Did nobody tell you that we’re sick right now?” She cliches away from him when his arms wrap around her waist.

Max comes running a few seconds later. “Just came to check up on you two since we hadn’t heard anything and see if we could help.” The neutral smile Max puts on is for show. He’s deliberately trying to ease the tension.

“Well, we’re fine. Thank you for stopping by.” He goes to try and close the door, but Daniel is quick to deny him.

“Can I ask what happened y/n? What’s with the brace?” Daniel tries not to seethe but it definitely comes out anyway.

“She’s clumsy. Got dizzy and slipped.”

Daniel is shocked when it’s not himself who throws the first punch. Max’s fist collides with the other mans cheek. It sends him reeling backwards enough for Daniel to pry the shaking female away and into the safety of his arms.

“You came for me.”

“Told you I’d make sure he never touched you again. And I always keep my promises.”

Mr. Myexcusesforabusearebadandshouldfindanewhobby goes for a hit on Max, but he misses and falls face first onto the ground right outside the door. “As someone who’s had the ‘it’s just clumsiness’ excuse used for him before, I know what’s going on.” Max pulls an envelope out of his back pocket and drops it in front of the other guys face. “On behalf of all of Redbull, you are fired. hope you get what you deserve.” Max plants a foot on top of his back to keep him on the ground. “Is there anything you need before we leave?”

She had already packed. The stuff she needed had been tucked away for over a year. Thoughts of just running layer heavily on her mind, but she could never bring herself to do it.

“My place is yours if you want to stay there. I have an extra room you can have.” Daniel hadn’t let go of her hand the entire way to the airport. Or on the plane. Or on the car ride to his place.

“That sounds lovely.”

After she got settled, Daniel asked in she needed help with any cuts or bruises. Apparently she’d had the same bandages for a week. He’d probably need to get her into a doctor to see if anything is infected.

“Daniel… thank you.”

“For what? Sticking Max on a prick? No need to that me for that, love.”

“For everything then. Like showing me that I deserve to be loved right.”

“And I’ll see to it that you never doubt that again.”

[dontlikeconflict]

“I’m the one who will have to watch you murder the world”

It’s so quiet, it’s always quiet now. The town surrounding Castiel was filled with vacant buildings, abandoned homes, and so many items scattered showing the hasty way that the people had to flee (if they were lucky enough to get away). Cas missed when there was noise everywhere, when there were cars, and children playing, when he could walk in a crowd and not be seen as the angel of death. The one who tells them to flee, the one who stands in wait.

It had become like a sick game over the years. Dean moved, ravaging everything in sight, and Cas did all he could to stay one step ahead. To herd people away, to warn them that he was coming. And then he does what he’s doing now, he waits for Dean. Tries to plan what he could possibly say or do. There have been times when it felt like he was close, when he got through to him even for a moment, but those moments always passed. Most recently when they had fought, there was a moment when he held Dean firm, angled towards the body of a woman that he had effortlessly cut away from this world, and made him look. Forced his eyes to her blonde hair, and her pale skin, and spoke in his ear of those he loved who could have easily been this woman: Jo, Mary, Jessica. Cas spoke their names like a prayer, hoping they would embed themselves deep in Dean’s skin, deeper than the mark could reach. Hoping the blood seeping into this dead girl's hair wasn't for nothing.

 But it was. 

The number of dead only continued to rise, and the shining light of Dean Winchester's soul only continued to darken. And all Cas could do was try, do as he had always done and follow Dean, to the very end. 

“Just you and me again Cas?” Dean didn't try to hide, or sneak as he approached, they both knew Cas couldn't kill him (he had tried before) “Where's the rest of the party?”

“Dean.” Despite himself, he felt warm. Every time he got to set eyes on his friend without fresh blood on his hands, felt like a blessing. With everyone they had loved long gone, all they had was each other, for better or for worse. 

“Still doing this cat and mouse bit? I move and you scurry?” his face was blank, no smile, no frown; like he was a god - or devil - forced to speak to an ant. 

Some part of Cas could never stop seeing his Dean, troubled since he was a child but still always the brightest light in any room, at least to Cas. His soul was so full of love, the prime motivator for all his actions, leading him to pain over and over again. Cas could still see that soul, twisted and deformed by the mark, like thick scars, covering almost every surface. But still, there was always the memory of fresh skin, of the very thing that willed the wounds to heal. That was what was left of Dean’s once bright soul, scar tissue, desperately trying to recreate what was there before. 

“What if I said no?” it was said before he had a chance to pull it back. A thought that had lingered in his mind for so long, one so tempting. No matter what he did, The Mark continued to push, murdering everything it could, consuming infinitely. Nothing could stop it, Castiel could not stop it. Effort, hope, love, none of these things could defeat The Mark. None of these things could bring Dean back from the hell he had created. And Cas knew even if the mark disappeared, the selfless man he knew, the righteous man, would never be able to deal with what he had done, how many he had taken from this world, the cries and begs that he met with the horrible wet thud of the first blade as it sunk into flesh, not sharp enough to fully slice, but not blunt enough to just bruise. 

Dean didn't respond to the vague statement, just stared at Cas, just as angry and hollow as that day all those years ago, when the angel had warned him of this very moment. The horror that Dean had forced him to watch. Looking into those eyes, Cas knew it was time.

“We’ve been through much together, you and I” It was hard not to tear up as he tried to think of all the things he wanted to say “It may be selfish of me but I do not regret saving you”

Dean still stared, his eyes still cold. Cas thought maybe that was for the best.

“Knowing you has changed me, I am the person I am, because of you”

Cas allowed his blade to fall from his sleeve into his hand, Dean’s eyes fall on it, before looking back to his face. 

“And even though you are no longer the Dean Winchester I once knew, I still consider you my family. The only family I have left, as I know I am yours”

Cas stepped forward, slowly, blade in hand until the two were less than a meter apart.

“You saved the world many times over Dean, maybe it is fitting that you are the one to end it. Maybe since you saved me, it too is fitting…” 

Cas flips the blade, holding the handle out to Dean 

“That you end me too.”

They look at each other for an age, Cas’ eyes tearful, Deans hollow. A million lifetimes worth of connection between them, whether it is wanted or not.

It's slow as Dean’s hands reach up to take the blade, not a mad rush of bloodlust, but the natural conclusion to their story. An ending that was always there on the horizon, inevitable and all-encompassing. Castiel always knew he would die for Dean Winchester. 

When the blade sinks into his heart, he knows it is final, God has abandoned them and there is no one to bring him back. Dean's hands come up to lower his dying body to the ground, but his eyes are still dark. All scar tissue, nothing left.

AO3

[zetomato]

QSMP The fated cursed team?

Alright, so it’s my time on the microphone I guess.

Without going deep into the reason why (since it’s not the focus), I have a love/hate relationship with Purgatory. It’s an incredible feat for the Admins with all the details in it as well as the events planning, we get to see new sides of the characters, but I hate competition games (when the win is crucial) and how CCs from every team had their “I genuinely am having a very frustrating and not nice time” for various reasons.

This in mind, I’ve been following the “WHO IS CURSED?” question from the start like almost everyone… But with a different viewpoint. See, I’m someone who does a lot of LARPs and Tabletop RPGs, I’ve been animator and dungeon master (I DM once each week right now) so I know well the “Let’s make a plan and see how the players work inside of it” I didn’t really plan on yeeting a big speech on Tumblr, but I’ve seen a lot of people take hypotheses as facts and got surprised. So let me break things up a little.

The base of a goal.

When you’re making an event/a game/a RPG with a “Someone is cursed”, there are some things you cannot do. Now, the events were planned and, therefore, they planned on the number of teams to go from 3 to 2 from the start. This cannot sustain a “One team is cursed” from the start. Why? Because you have no clue who will win and who will lose. Before the egg event, one could have said “Soulfire will lose because they have put little time on their base compared to the other teams.” You could have said “Bolas will lose because they aren’t the best PVPer and have less gear.” You could have said “Green Gay Ninjas will lose because Red and Blue will ally against them.” Heck, you could have said “No one will lose, they’re going to try to tie.” (All of those before the event even started) Anything could have happened. I, for one, did not expect for Red to win at the beginning of the day. And yet they did.

Ok, let’s back up now.

If a team was chosen as cursed from the start, the admins had at least three ways of making sure the event would last past the egg event.

Make the cursed team with strong-ass players so they had no chance to lose. (Uncertain technique, would be way more visible than what we had/have)

Make the cursed team with every single nerf you can so they’re so obviously cursed that the other teams make sure they stay alive. (A very sad idea, everyone would just already know who needed to win or maybe kill them thinking it was a red herring, again, no one truly fit that 100%)

One person is cursed and they aren’t “cursing” their team until it’s a 1v1 (and not a 1v1v1) (That’s the one that would work the most if the cursed team had been chosen from the start)

Herding cats

Now, as a DM, I’ve herded cats for years now, and here’s what I learned. If you want a precise outcome to your game, you will have to use the three doors trick. Basically, you put your players in front of a choice of doors and whichever door they choose will lead to the room you wanted them to see next. It makes no sense to shoot yourself in the foot and leave the direction of your story entirely to your players if you know it needs to end in X number of games with a specific scene. This doesn’t mean there couldn’t be a cursed team right now, but with all they set up (the nuke, the ‘If they die everyone dies’, etc.) my DM brain is telling me that the cursed team will be chosen narratively at the end while giving meat to the bones of hints we got.

Alright, for the “Cursed team hints” now.

So, one of the most looked at things for the hints were the eggs messages. Let’s break those down quickly. I do not believe one can say “MESSAGES ARE CLUE” without taking ALL OF THEM as a clue.

“No matter what… Protect Tallulah.” Now, this message, like all others, can be read multiple ways. The first one could be about the only Tallulah we actually saw on the island (well, part of her likeness at least), the statue. This one was Red’s statue. So one could say that Red need to win, aka, they are the cursed team. But, you can also read it as “Tallulah will show up later on and she needs to be protected first and foremost.”*

“Nothing is off the table, run over whoever you need to win.” Well, this one, yes, also has more than one possible meaning. The first and most obvious would be “BBH and his team needs to win at all cost.” would fit, would make sense. But it could also be read as “The final choice will be hard, you need to make sure all the residents need to win.” All is a question of point of view. None of these ways to read it are wrong, which, I think, is the point.*

“Dads you won't believe it, it isn't fireflies on the sky run and don't stop” (translated message) This is the most hazy of them all. What vibe this one gives me is - especially since there are some of Richas’ parents in every team - about a future moment. Maybe a final event on the 18th. Another way to read it could be a warning about mobs. It seems less likely, but some mobs in Purgatory turn invisible after someone hits them, leaving only two white dots as eyes. This one is a stretch but my back needs it.*

One message (chayanne) reads more as a Red Team is Cursed. One message (Dapper) reads more as Blue Team is Cursed. * But you know how else you can read any of these three egg messages? Very cool one liners to bring up the hype about an upcoming event. (but they’re cooler as clues)

The wheel

The wheel is very much uncertain for me, mostly because I don’t think Tubbo was even meant to roll it. At least, definitely not when he did. He glitched through barrier blocks to reach it and then lava was dropped in a “Player get the heck out goddamnit you know you weren’t supposed to be there” way. (As a DM, I know that vibe. No, bard, you cannot SEDUCE MY GODDAMN DRAGON) Now, was he supposed to later? Maybe, I don’t know, but basing a lot of things on that, especially while ignoring that Slime (Red) and Roier (Green) were also there and could have been the ones rolling it doesn’t seem like a fair assessment.

The tickets.

So there’s another thing that is wild to me. They used the tickets to join purgatory, and only Red had the fancy ones. I would have said “Oh well it’s part of the bit to have slime on Charlie’s or feathers on Phil’s”, but the sparkles on Vegetta and the cat on Wil’s seem to pass way more of a message. Now, the one person who wasn’t in Red with a fancy ticket isn’t even in Purgatory Aka Quackity. ElQuackity wasn’t on the train with the rest, he appeared there, but also, it’s canon that he definitely isn’t Quackity and wants the eggs dead. I must say, the tickets seem like the most palpable clue we have linked to Purgatory but I do not know if it means they are or aren’t the cursed team. That could go either way.

Of course I was going to mention Tubbo so here it is.

In Escape Rooms, Tubbo would be what we call a wild card. It’s someone who grabs the information and tries to make all the possible links between everything. Those people are very useful when others are stuck trying to follow narrow logic or trying to give more difficulty to a riddle than what it needs. It’s an extremely important job since they can make the intrigue suddenly make sense. The thing, though, is that 80% of what a wild card says is in the array of “I’ve connected the dots” “You didn’t connect shit” “I connected them”. They will make sense of things that aren’t supported enough to be certain. Purgatory doesn’t help with both team’s heavy biases towards themselves, which they both have. Tubbo said a lot of stuff and made them make sense one way. But he also ignored the others (understandably, again, everyone biased) and ignored parts of clues he had access to. The man cooked, but it doesn’t mean that the meal is consumable yet.

Then, what?

Bottom line, no one gave us any clue of what could be a sign of a cursed team. We do not know what to even look for. What does a cursed team look like? What hint is for the curse and what is for something else? Everyone, watchers and CCs, are grasping at things, hoping it’s the right one. In my humble opinion, I think that there are hints, but they are versatile enough that the eye guy could choose any team and announce it as the cursed one at the end, bringing up some hints in link to that team and backing them up with new Lore so it becomes “obvious”. This would be my DM way at least. It would give the hazy hints meaning on any possible team when the time is right. Make the people believe hints were there for the final answer all along and not notice that there were just as many hints going the other way.

TL:DR; There is no clear definition yet about what is a cursed team other than what happens if they die. Many hints we have are uncertain and fit more than one team. The DnD Dungeon Master way that the admins seem to follow so everyone has fun might only choose a cursed team upon the last day so Lore can happen in the most narrative way possible. It would avoid any randomness players bring.

[funishment-time]

Alright. Now that I know the questions, and forgive me if these have been asked before, 16, 19 (for Miu), and of course, our good pal, 17

whee hee hee!!!

16. Do you have any ideas for a Danganronpa murder? Share!

the series is lacking a good murder-suicide or Lover's Suicide. (i mean as an individual case/trial. you could argue that all of DR1 is a murder-suicide or Lover's Suicide)

beyond that, a high-temperature complete burning-to-death that results in ashes and little Evidence, or withholding important Medication that keeps a character alive, would both be Interesting

17. List five headcanons for your favorite characters!

special edition!! wee woo wee woo! for this one i will list 5 SFW ship headcanons, but if you're not into these Ships (or Shipping in general), i have 5 regular headcanons here too. double the value!

skip these if you don't like Ship dynamics:

KAEDE x. MIU: Kaede insists on being the little spoon, which flusters Miu for all eternity

FUYUHIKO x PEKO: they never have kids, but they do have a hundred thousand fluffy Creaturas of various sorts. dogs and cats and rabbits and chinchillas and maybe even a herd of Alpacas roaming their great Yakuza estate. "no one's gonna fuckin' take us seriously," Fuyuhiko always says, but he's smiling because his wife is

SAKURA x HINA: after scientific evidence shows that naps have a positive effect on the human body and its growth (see DR1's School Mode), Sakura tries to get Hina to take short naps with her daily. like, 20 minutes tops. unfortunately, this rarely Works, because no one taught Hina how to sit still for longer than a half-second, but it does give them cuddle time on a busy day

FUKAWA SYSTEM x KOMARU: neither of the Fukawas ever stop lusting over Byakuya. it's just that Komaru is their wife, the love of their life, their girl, their beloved. their crush on Byakuya ends up being more, uh, purely NSFW in nature. in the end, though, the Fukawa system would rather be with Komaru, because she's Domesticity, she's Love, she's Healing, even if she won't turn them into her own personal livestock or whatever it was Toko wanted in UDG (i black out during those scenes). anyway, Komaru perfectly understands this, and really doesn't feel Threatened by it at all, because it's not like Byakuya is ever going to give the Fukawa system what they want

MAHIRU x HIYOKO: after her growth spurt, Hiyoko gets intense stretch-marks, which knocks her self esteem down a peg. thankfully, Mahiru loves her terrible banana-headed gee eff Just As Much

and now for the regular headcanons:

Nekomaru is generally asexual. he's never felt shame in it, as it allows him to Focus on his athletes better in an increasingly competitive world

in a non-despair AU, Kokichi ends up on the student council every year, inexplicably, as Treasurer. no one notices when he's lifting money from HPA because no one notices when Jin Kirigiri is doing it, either

Ibuki has been the first kiss of many-a girl at HPA

in her own way, Junko felt threatened when Mukuro was pretending to be her, both in DR1 and in Zero. this factored into Junko kebabing her, but also into Junko's obsession with putting her down in Extremely Childish Ways, as well as her insistence that Mukuro was Gross and Nasty and Could Never Be Her!!! at the end of DR1. by the Despair Twins' HPA days, Junko was too far gone to ever deal with it or admit it, but so much of her final despair centered around her identity and her sister. she may not have gone full Killing Game if not for Mukuro

Sakura has dislocated bones, sometimes during a match, and then immediately popped them right back into place without hesitation or pause. this only makes local Lesbians more in love

BONUS: the Warriors of Hope do heal in their own way as they grow, but they always have a hard time patching up the wound named "Big Sis Junko." on a fairly Objective level, she did nothing but good for them and took them out of a Bad Situation when no one else did. so: while the WoH become as content as they can be as adults, they also have an exceedingly difficult journey understanding Junko as a Very Bad Person Actually

19. What kind of fantasy creature would you make Miu?

Miu is most definitely a goblin. gross, loud-mouthed little thing tinkering and tonkering, but extremely Lovable