#author was sleep deprived

[luckyollieboy]

Shared Nightmare

» Pairings/Characters:

GN!Reader × Jin Kamurai.

» Contents/Warnings:

Kind of angst. Nightmares and mental illness. Implied CSA from the past on the readers part. Also hints that Jin watched his mom commit suicide. Touchy feely. Jin might be OOC idk, let me live my fantasy. Hurt Comfort kind of thing. OMG they're sharing a bed, so scandalous!!! Uhmmm, idk what else. Enjoy I'm sleep deprived homie (and desperately want Jin). ||EDIT: Hello humans I'm finally rewriting this because I am not letting a bunch of people read this and like it when it's horrible||

Fog.

Everything was fogged. A black endless pool of nothing and the smallest bit of fog stretching on forever. Despite the seemingly harmless scene, my anxiety spiked. My heart pumped hard making my ears ring as I looked around frantically.

No. Please no—

That familiar feeling crept up my throat, suffocating acidic sensation of panic. Head to toe my body burned, not like a fire, but like the closest of ice. Everything felt wrong. I knew why. Of course I did, I knew this scene very well infact. Which is why I was begging the inky darkness to spare me, to let me dream of something I knew I couldn't have tonight.

The warmth of tears slid down my cheek and I turned on my heel and ran, ran as if something was coming to kill me right in that moment, like a scary monster was hidden in the darkness.

There was a monster hidden.

And it was going to catch me no matter how far I ran, how much I begged, no matter what it would catch me. It couldn't be stopped.

The faster I ran the more I could see.

The house.

Oh God, the house. Not this place, not tonight please.

Within a matter of second I hear that laugh.

That fucking laugh.

Clear. Closer.

Not again.

Closer. Clearer.

Please.

I busted the front door open and ran to the bedroom, knowing that I wouldn't be safe. I never will be, but I try anyways. I froze in the room, not sure where to hide.

That pause costed me everything.

Those fucking hands, touching my skin.

It felt like how a vile rotting corpse smelled.

This has to be what death felt like. Nothing else can explain this suffering.

The sobs shook my body as I knew I couldn't do anything, nothing, fucking nothing.

I was that small child again, my childhood pajamas, the color I use to love that I now hate burned my eyes. No, the tears are what burned. Invisible scars were left as the tears slipped down my childhood face.

That voice pierced my ears, clawing my brain the way a bear would when threatened.

I wanted to scream, yell for my guardian— for anyone really.

I was turned around and I shut my eyes. I refused to remember that face.

I don't want to, please.

Every touch felt like a part of my soul was stolen, all of it was robbing me.

The bed, the one I use to feel safe in now turned into my biggest fear, was now touching my back.

If I could scream, or fight, or anything.

No.

No.

NO.

NONO

NONONO

NONONONO—

"NO!!"

I felt arms wrap around my cold sweaty body, I started to struggle against them until I heard his voice. It was thick, sleepy, and scared. Jin.

"I'm here."

The arms squeezed me closer and I felt the trembles. I sucked in a shaky breath, trying to not cry as I whispered back, "I'm here."

I cringed ever so slightly at the rawness of my voice, his face was buried into my back. If I was a fool I would have never noticed the small trembles in his arms as he held me. I shut my eyes as I took one last deep breath. Looks like we both had a nightmare this time.

I gently turned around and held him close to my chest. Frosthiem was always too cold to have crickets, but the wind replaced that sound at night. I had gotten Jin a wind chime not too long after meeting him, we had a small struggle putting it up in the window, it was gently playing it's song now. I shut my eyes and buried my head into his hair, that cold fresh smell of his shampoo grounding me further.

"Was it...about her?" I muttered softly against his head, my fingers gently scratching his scalp.

He nodded gently before his thick scratchy voice spoke, "I woke up before you. Same one tonight?"

I nodded against his head. His strong arms squeezed me tightly before he rolled over onto his back, eyes closed and arm over his face. I shifted to lay on his bare chest, his heartbeat slowed the longer we laid there. His hand traced small circles across my back and arm in a soft gentle motion, betraying how he acted any other time.

I knew he only acted like he was so high above me and he only wanted me around as a servant, he couldn't bring himself to love me fully without some sort of barrier. But moments like these, only the two of us would know, we let the acts fall and just... Were.

Nothing special. Nothing dramatic. No expectations. Just us. Real us. Nothing more nothing less.

The softest, almost timid sounding words fell from his lips, "I love you..."

My heart throbbed and my anxiety left fully as I mumbled against his chest, "I love you."

He gently used his finger to tilt my head up, his eyes raw and puffy, the softest and most beautiful facial expression on display for me. Only me.

His eyes said a million words he couldn't say verbally, promises he knew he couldn't keep, and pleas only I could understand.

My fingers grazed his cheek, his eyes fluttering closed at the action. I leaned in and pressed my lips against his softly and he returned the favor.

In this cruel nightmare, we have each other.

[jiya-beloved]

First attempt at a new writing style, BBH fanfic, first chapter. Please read if you have the time :D

Tw: Dagger.

Summary:

"You should've just told me so!"

OR

In a quiet cottage near a mysterious forest, Badboyhalo, along with his friends Skeppy and Vincent, leads a simple life. A dire need for money compels Badboyhalo into the woods on a desperate hunt, only to stumble upon a rare withered rose believed to be extinct. However, his fascination quickly turns to terror as an unexpected force takes him captive. Stranded with uncertainty, Badboyhalo finds himself facing an enigmatic destiny that may unravel more than just the secrets of the forest.

OR

Three men fight for a sleep-deprived man who just wanna go home.

OR

The author watched a Dream video and started writing at 3 am.

[thesylversylph]

me: i need a funny acronym for my evil villain team name

internet: League Of Villainous Evildoers Maniacly United For Frightening Investments In Naughtiness. aka. LOVEMUFFINS.

me: lame. gimme something more ominous.

internet: oooh! how about Exceptional Villains International League! aka. EVIL!

me: ...hmm. boring but on the right track.

me: ...

me: The Faction of Underworld Crimebosses, Killers, Evildoers, Robbers, and Scumbags aka. The FUCKERS. Or maybe The Horribly Evil Faction of Underworld Criminals, Knaves, Evildoers, Rascals and Scoundrels, aka THE FUCKERS if they're feeling goofy.

internet: ...

internet: why are you like this.

me: :D

[2dayihaveaheadache]

Devine Grapes (autumn's gift the gods have bestowed upon me)

(TW: written full of anger and bitterness, fighting my way through writer's block, trying to capture the shame and doubt.

“Your muse's kiss will fade. Desert you. One day, it will. Just as the sun bleeds over the horizon one more time you’ll awaken to your bed gone cold. A void, a chilly emptiness next to you where the spark, the force driving you used to be – your lover, you may say. The guiding hand, the nourishing warmth, the insatiable craving for another sentence, another page, another thought etched onto paper – all of that will be gone. Left you hanging with no trace and no footprint to follow.".

That's something one of my professors in Creative Writing once told me and at first, you listen to it, sitting down there in the lecture hall and thinking if this will ever happen to you, it'll be in decades, cause there you are, filled to the brim with bright ideas. Then it happens to you, hits you like a whirlwind, and leaves you with nothing but shame. Because as a writer what are you without words? I wasn't prepared for it.)

It's a Monday, just an ordinary Monday in the heart of October when he loses the right to call himself a writer. The morning sun has melted away the snow, leaving only dampness behind that, clings to the leaves scattered on the sidewalk outside his office window. It's a pitiful sight as he gazes down from the second floor, at those lifeless leaves that should have succumbed to death long ago—or better yet, should have remained dead. Only the icy grip of winter had frozen them in time, bestowing upon them a bit more of life, a stupid deception. Now that winter has departed, all that's left is their sorry brown remnants.

But even that is not their end. They are damp, they cling, they attach themselves to the soles of those passing by, carried along for a few more steps, perhaps feeling the sun's warmth or the cool spring breeze one last time. But then, they eventually become nothing, breaking down into individual fragments—cellulose, chlorophyll, and more. Who pauses to observe them when they're reduced to tatters? Who cares about the old leaves that cling to you, brushing them off as bothersome dirt? Which tree mourns their loss?

So, what value do these final hours hold, these last hours of life, when all of it is going to be wasted at the end?

He takes a strong sip from his Chablis, vintage 2013, and murmurs, "Writer," into the empty space before him. His office only answers with silence. The word tastes peculiar on his tongue, sour like fermented milk, and when he swallows, it leaves a bitter aftertaste, erasing the sourness altogether. The vine suddenly tastes horrible. "Writer," he tries again, as if repeating the word would somehow make it better. He stands there, silent in his contemplation, the word "writer" hanging heavy in the air, entangled with the melancholy of the season's change. It's as if the departing winter had taken a piece of him too, leaving behind a barrenness that mirrors the desolation of those lingering leaves.

What are his final hours worth? What is a writer without words? A fish without water. A ship without a sea. A tree without roots or even a man without fingers.

[puppetmaster13u]

Meme Prompt 10

[temis-de-leon]

.

He didn't know what to think about your permanent smile. He loved it and he wished to see it everyday; his mind blank at the mere sight of it and his heart going crazy whenever he was the cause of it.

But was that all?

Didn't you cry? Didn't you feel the weight of daily life and the uncertainty of the future? Didn't you shiver in fear, scream in anger or sob in despair on dark moments?

Was smiling all you did?

Or perhaps you didn't trust him enough to see your vulnerability.

Just the thought sent bile to his mouth.

.

"You never cry" he clumsily said once when you were dozing off, your head resting on his chest.

"Well, that's on you" was your answer, low and sluggish from exhaustion but still playful. "Congratulations are in order"

It seemed you didn't quite grasp the stress in his words, but then again, what an awful moment to ask that question.

"Will I ever see you cry?" he insisted, mainly talking to himself in frustration.

He was surprised when you talked again, caressing his face in the midst of your sleepy state.

"I don't have any reason to do so" you clarified, clearly confused. The honesty in your voice helped settle his mind. "Not as long as I'm with you, at least"

A second of silence, then two.

Your conscience was drifting off, he could tell, but the overwhelming sense of warmth in his chest and the spine in his throat wouldn't let him talk.

"Then I never will" he managed to say at the end, voice broken with appreciation.

May he die before he ever broke that promise.

.

.

[amber-sekio]

Relationship Headcanons

Fandom: BSD -Bungo Stray Dogs

TW: none? I think? 

DAZAI 

I said it in my Soukoku fic, Dazai wouldn’t know affection if it slapped him in the face ten times 

Like he might realize when someone is showing interest in a sexual kind 

And he would probably notice if someone is crushing on him 

But like, if he likes them back? 

No 

Man is blind 

He’s too busy panicking over read denying his own thoughts and feelings over you to analyze your actions 

He’s busy trying to think of anything but how pretty you are when he sees you -thank you very much 

No joke though, this can be applied to pretty much anyone he cares about 

I mean he practically had a heart attack when Atsushi gave him flowers 

Anyways if he finally admits to himself that he likes you then I could see him trying to push you away if I’m being brutally honest 

He doesn’t want to lose you and he believes that anything he wants that he obtains, will be striped from him sooner or later 

But…, in a perfect world he would eventually work up the courage to ask you out 

He would probably avoid directly asking you but this is Dazai so he could defiantly figure out some round-about way to ask 

As for the relationship? 

He would still be his teasing self 

But he would tone it down 

Not because he doesn’t want to annoy you but more so because he actually lets some of his masks down when alone with you 

He defiantly is very clingy to you 

Man has been touch starved for a long time and he fears attachment too much to be touchy with the ADA members 

But now he has you, who not only tolerates him but has decided to stay with him? 

Of course he’s not going to let this chance slip from his grasp before all this inevitably ends (he’s still in denial) 

He never cared much for holidays like Christmas or Valentines 

But now he wants to experience them, with you 

He’s always thinking, plans and outcomes racing through his mind, what ifs and regrets  

But like, if you ruffle his hair, his brain just stops. 

Like no thoughts, he short circuits 

When his brain returned to him the first time it happened he panicked 

Like, who gave you that amount of control? 

After that first time he continued to try and get you to do it without asking 

He needed his brain to shut up every now and then, and now he has a reliable source 

Anyways, he likes to be a spoiled princess 

No one can change my mind 

For all his predictions he will never be able to predict your love and kindness for him 

CHUUYA 

Someone give this poor man a hug 

Ugh, my heart 

I can‘t imagine him wanting to date a normal citizen, too much of a risk 

So you’d probably have to work in the Mafia 

Even then, dating you would still be placing a huge target on you 

He would actually take you out on dates before asking you out 

Dates with him would be romantic 

Like dinner by candle light vibes 

He’d be strategic on where you guys sit 

No need to be precarious on what you order, it’s all on him 

When he does ask you out he would be slightly flustered but it just makes him adorable 

Say yes, he doesn’t deserve to be hurt any more 

He would spoil you to no end 

If you want it, you can have it 

You’re the only one allowed to call him short 

He might get flustered from PDA in the start but will gradually warm up to it 

Nothing clingy, just hand holding, a hand around your waist, a quick kiss here or there 

But if he sees some guy hitting on you? 

Down right possessive, arm snug around your waist, shoulder to shoulder 

And if he’s drunk? Even worse 

Like he’s pulling you onto his lap just to make sure that asshole knows your taken 

If you do work in the mafia with him, he likes going on easier missions with you 

And while he knows that you can handle yourself just fine, he can’t help but imagine something bad happening to you when he isn’t there to save you 

He’s lost too many people in his life, please, don’t leave him as well 

He loves when you rest your head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat 

And while you do that he’ll run his fingers through your hair 

Chuuya loves to spoil you rotten as I stated, it’s his love language 

So sometimes he’ll just hand you his black card and let you go shopping with friends or something 

In fact, he encourages you to buy what you want 

FYODOR 

Honestly? Where do I start with him? 

Like congratulations if you meet him and make it out alive 

I don’t know if I should congratulate him taking an interest in you though 

I feel like he believe that the interest he had in you was purely innocent curiosity 

But I also don’t think he would try to delude himself for as long as Dazai does 

Eventually he would notice that something was different about his interest for you than usual 

And while he would hesitate to put a name to it so quickly he would eventually give in after realizing there was no stoping this feeling from festering in him 

After coming to terms with his romantic? Feelings and interest in you he would definitely begin to manipulate you into feeling the same way for him 

If you don’t already that is 

If you don’t confess then he’ll definitely do the same thing Dazai did 

And when you agree, he of course knew you would, he makes you move in with him 

He can’t let his dearest other slip from his finger now can he? 

I feel like before ever getting into a relationship, you would have been made aware of his ‘work’  

Please, make sure the man eats 

And takes his iron pill 

Nikolai is getting a little tired of that daily routine despite how much he loves to be around Fyodor 

Anyways, dates aren’t a very common thing in fact, very, very rare 

I mean… what did you expect? 

Man’s a literal terrorist 

That being said, from time to time he’ll leave his ‘lair’ to spend time with you 

If you ask, he’ll gladly play the cello for you 

If he snaps at you for ‘bothering him with pointless things’ when you bring him his iron pill or food just listen 

Don’t bother him with such things 

And then same thing the next day 

And after some 4 or 5 days he’ll stumble from his room 

Staggering as he tries not to collapse or faint from both his lack of energy and his iron deficiency 

And when he walks into the kitchen trying to get the iron pill bottle open? 

Let him stumble his way over to you and ask for help before you finally do as such 

And he realizes just how dependent on you he’s become 

It’ll happen again eventually 

But as of that moment, it’ll at least be awhile before the cycle repeats 

(That last part of Fyodor’s was based upon some fanfic I read for him. I'm not sure who it was by, but I’ll tag it if and when I do find it.) 

A/N: anyways, believe it or not, I love Chuuya just as much as I do Fyodor and Dazai 

I’m just not as confident in his character. Since I’m a lot like Dazai, he comes easy to me and by substitute, Fyodor does as well 

But Chuuya? Despite him being one of my 5 favorites along with Dazai and Fyodor, I just don’t resonate personally enough with him to write him really well

[chickenkurage]

Old habits, die hard (Teen Alan AU)

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Alan still has the habit of overworking himself to the point of passing out, thankfully the hollowheads catch up on what he was doing, with Second accidentally managing to find a way to open Alan’s camera and find him sleeping on the desk again looking worse for wear.

Tag: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Overworking, Health Issues, Humor, and Comedy

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“This is... uh, embarrassing,” Alan admitted, feeling a flush of embarrassment as Jennifer inspected the broken wheel of his chair. “What even happened, Alan? This is the only swivel chair we've got in the house. I don't think I can buy a new one at the moment,” Jennifer said, her brow furrowed as she knelt beside the chair, examining the damage.

“Tried taking out the cobwebs from my ceiling... I fell,” Alan confessed, his cheeks reddening as he rubbed the back of his head. “Goodness! Are you okay?” Jennifer inquired, moving closer to Alan and checking his arm and back for any signs of injury.

“I'm fine, my back hurts a little, but I'm good! I promise,” Alan assured, a slight pout on his face. “I'm sorry, Mom. I know you got me this chair... I didn't mean to break it,” he added, feeling genuinely apologetic.

Jennifer's expression softened as she placed a comforting hand on Alan's shoulder. “It's alright, accidents happen. Your well-being is more important than any chair. We'll figure something out,” she reassured him, offering a warm smile.

"It's old anyway. How about in the meantime, you use one of the chairs from the kitchen? Until maybe I can buy you a new one,” Jennifer suggested, her hand gently rubbing her chin in thought.

“Huh?! No, it's fine... I-I can use the kitchen chair. It's okay if it's not like this one,” Alan replied, a hint of discomfort evident in his frown as he considered the alternative.

“Really? The kitchen chair isn't exactly comfortable, and your back might start hurting if you use it for a long time. And knowing you... you'll definitely be glued to your seat,” Jennifer teased playfully, a mischievous grin on her face.

Alan pouted in response. “No, I don't! I go out with DJ daily,” he protested.

Jennifer raised an eyebrow, her expression clearly skeptical as her lips curved into a knowing smile.

Blushing slightly, Alan ducked his head. “Okay, maybe not every day, but every weekend! I don't sit around all the time. I take walks... usually,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Alan, how many times do I have to remind you that you need to take care of yourself better? I know you're already 15, 5 more years and you're a grown man! You probably don't even need me now,” Jennifer said, crossing her arms with a mix of concern and affection.

“I'm just saying, please take care of yourself more. Look at you, you look thin! And pale!” Jennifer remarked, grabbing Alan's face and squeezing his cheeks. “Mommm,” Alan whined playfully as Jennifer continued to squish his face with a chuckle.

“Alan, just do what I tell you, okay? Take good care of yourself. I trust you,” Jennifer said, emphasizing the importance of self-care before giving Alan's cheek one last gentle squeeze. “Mommmmm,” Alan protested again, though this time with a hint of laughter as Jennifer stepped back.

“I'll see if a friend of mine can fix your chair so you don't have to use the kitchen chair, how about that?” Jennifer suggested, turning back to the swivel chair Alan had. “Sure, I think that's much better,” Alan replied with a small smile.

[♡]

Alan did in fact not follow what his mother had said….

“Alan… psst, wake up! Lecture's over,” James shook Alan's shoulder, causing him to flinch and his eyes to open in panic. “Wha! Dark!” Alan sputtered, causing James to look at him weirdly before glancing around the room. “It's not dark here,” James mused, puzzled by Alan's reaction, and then looked back down at Alan, who sniffed, his nose slightly runny.

“Did I fall asleep through the whole lecture?” Alan asked, wide-eyed as he took in the empty room, devoid of students or the professor.

James nodded, “Yeah, man, you slept through the entire 3-hour class. That's crazy.”

Alan grabbed his hair in panic. “And you didn't wake me up?! Wh-What!? Tell me you wrote down notes for this lecture,” Alan said, cupping both of his hands together in a pleading gesture.

“Yeah, dude, I can lend you mine,” James said, opening his bag and handing Alan his binder. “ Oh, Christ, why did I even sleep through the whole thing,” Alan groaned, running a hand over his face in dismay.

“Honestly, you look worse for wear, Alan, and that’s saying something. You look even worse than last week,” James exclaimed, taking note of Alan's eye bags and slightly red nose from his frequent rubbing.

Alan shot him a seething glare, snatching the binder from James' hands. “Gee, thanks, James,” Alan grumbled under his breath.

“Anyways, I'm also done with my part in the animation project that we have to pass next week,” James added, placing a hand on his waist in a relaxed stance.

“That’s already next week? I haven’t even started yet,” Alan said, pushing himself up from his seat, only to pause when his vision suddenly blurred.

James quickly placed a hand on Alan's shoulder to steady him. “It’s next weekend. I mean, you should rest for now, Alan. You look really sick,” James frowned, concern evident in his voice as Alan instinctively placed a hand on his forehead.

“I still have a lot of notes to write down. Can't you believe it? 500 slides for a 10-item quiz this Friday,” Alan whined, shoving the binder into his bag and pulling out a tissue to blow his nose.

“It’s Monday, Alan. You can review some slides tomorrow. Go to sleep, man,” James advised, crossing his arms as he observed Alan rubbing his tired eyes.

“I know, I know. I can do it. I’m not dying,” Alan retorted, rolling his eyes as he zipped up his bag and turned to James. “We've got no class tomorrow. Just get some rest, dude,” James insisted as he followed after Alan, who stumbled out of the room.

“Mmm, yeah, yeah,” Alan mumbled wearily, prompting James to shake his head in disappointment. “One day, Alan, I swear, one day you're gonna regret pushing yourself so much,” James remarked, while Alan waved him off and headed in a different direction to catch a bus.

“See ya, James,” Alan bid farewell tiredly as James watched him stumble away with a frown, shaking his head at his friend's stubbornness. 

By the time Alan reached home, Jennifer was not around, leaving him alone in the house.

“Nhhh,” Alan groaned, attempting to stretch his left arm to relieve the ache. His stomach grumbled, prompting him to walk over to the fridge. He let out a sigh upon finding it empty. “Ugh,” Alan muttered, lightly knocking his head on the top of the fridge, causing him to rub it in frustration.

“I’ll just wait for dinner,” Alan mumbled to himself, closing the fridge and trudging up the stairs to his room.

Upon opening the door, he surveyed his messy room. "Right, I forgot to clean my room," Alan mumbled, kicking a dirty shirt towards the hamper.

He threw his bag on his bed, retrieved James' binder, notebook, and pen, then settled in his chair, wincing slightly at its discomfort before powering up his PC.

As he waited for it to boot up, he began copying James’ notes. “Tsk,” Alan clicked his tongue, shaking his right hand, feeling his wrist ache. “Not again,” he mumbled,  before glancing up at his screen displaying Second and the skittle gang lounging on the sofa.

Alan chuckled softly before reaching for his earphones tucked beside his desk.

“Hey guys” Alan said, causing Second to sit up excitedly and wave his direction. Alan waved back in response before chuckling when he remembers that Second can’t exactly see him.

“Alan! You’re back home from school?” Second asked, tilting his head curiously.

“Mmm, I've got some stuff to do, but I'm here to listen if you've got some stories to share about what happened while I was gone,” Alan replied, glancing back down at his notebook and continuing to jot down notes despite the painful ache in his right hand.

“Oh well… there’s nothing that exciting that happened, I think,” Second said, tapping his hand on his chin thoughtfully.

“That's a lie. I think you all are some sort of danger magnet. Surely something must have happened while I was gone,” Alan chuckled, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Wha?! No way!” Second spluttered in embarrassment, waving his arms defensively. Behind him, Green and Yellow chuckled, their shoulders shaking before returning to their own activities.

“Okayyy,” Alan drawled, a smirk playing on his lips as he continued to write,

“Trust me!... Anyways, Vic, Cho, and Dark are coming by,” Second said excitedly, hopping with anticipation. Alan shifted his focus back to the screen, a grin spreading across his face.

“Really?! Great!” Alan exclaimed, already looking forward to chatting with the three, who led lives in the... whatever they called it, the outernet?

“But if you're really busy, they can come by tomorrow if you want,” Second suggested, tilting his head curiously.

Alan's eyes widened as he glanced at the list of tasks he had written on his wrist. “Uhhh, totally not busy, don’t worry,” Alan lied through his teeth, chuckling awkwardly. 

“Really? I kind of thought you would be very busy. Then again, I kind of don’t understand how schools work,” Second said, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

“Oh, Sec, don’t worry, I seriously am free today, uhm... even right now!” Alan winced at his unintentionally high-pitched voice as he watched Second excitedly hop and open the animation program application.

 “Great! We can animate while we wait for them!” Second clapped enthusiastically as Alan pushed his notebook to the side of his desk.

“Totally,” Alan agreed, pulling his keyboard and drawing tablet closer.

[♡]

“A–Achoo!” Alan sneezed, followed by a sniffle as he reached for another tissue to blow his nose. Glancing at the clock in the bottom left corner of his screen, he noted the time: 3:00 AM.

“Ugh, this is my fault. I should've started earlier,” Alan muttered to himself, pulling his lamp closer to his notebook and bending down to continue writing, his back and wrist protesting with aches.

“Not like I could say no to them, though,” Alan mumbled as he finished jotting down the last of the notes he had missed earlier. Closing James’ binder, he shoved it back into his bag and refocused on his screen.

The empty sofa caught his eye before he opened his personal files and the slides that required more detailed note-taking. “Great… more writing,” Alan grumbled, rubbing his eyes and sniffling, his nose running again.

He groaned in response, balling up a tissue and pressing it inside his nose, blocking it completely.

“Nnh,” Alan grunted, rubbing his wrist, feeling the numbness creeping in. Typically, at this point, he would rest his wrist and resume the work the next day. 

However, with 500 slides looming ahead, he knew he had to push through and start his work now, understanding that his penchant for procrastination could hinder his progress if he delayed any further.

Alan turned his focus back to the bottom left of his screen. “4:00 AM, then I rest,” Alan mumbled to himself before returning to the slides, hastily jotting down his notes, still ignoring the persistent ache in his wrist.

Lost in a trance, time seemed to slip away unnoticed, and before he knew it, he found himself suddenly jolting awake, his face meeting the hard surface of his desk with a resounding thud. “Achk!” Alan yelped in surprise, instinctively holding his nose where the tissue had slipped off during his unintended slumber.

“Oh no, di-did I fall asleep?” Alan mumbled, his eyes widening as he glanced at the time displayed on his screen—it was already 5 AM in the morning.

He blinked in disbelief before looking down at his notes, realizing that he had managed to cover almost half of the material, despite not recalling how he had drifted off to sleep.

“Did I fall asleep sitting up?” Alan mumbled to himself drowsily, his nose feeling runny again as he grabbed another tissue to stifle the sniffles, then retrieved the pen that had rolled under his desk.

“Khk,” Alan groaned, his aching wrist causing him to flinch, inadvertently hitting his head under the table. “Ah, dammit,” he cursed, retrieving the pen with his left hand and placing it back on the table, rubbing his head in discomfort.

“Alan? You’re awake early,” Chosen said, suddenly appearing at the side of his screen, looking like he had just woken up. “Huh? Yeah,” Alan replied, picking up his pen, wincing slightly as his right hand protested. “I thought you don’t have classes on Tuesday?” Chosen inquired, walking over to the sofa and flopping down with a sigh.

“I don’t, but I need to, uhmm–” Alan trailed off, his mind momentarily blanking for no apparent reason.

He noticed Chosen tilting his head, patiently waiting for him to continue.

“Ah, yeah, I have a quiz, sorry I forgot the word,” Alan said, rubbing his head embarrassedly.

“Oh, I understand. You can continue; I’ll watch over here and wait for the others to wake up,” Chosen said, waving a hand lazily.

“Mmm,” Alan hummed tiredly, refocusing on the PowerPoint and continuing his notes, mumbling to himself intermittently. However, at some point, his vision began to darken at the edges, prompting him to release his pen and bury his face in his hands.

“Ughhh,” Alan groaned.

“What’s wrong?” Chosen asked, still observing him from the couch, though he had reclined and inadvertently dozed off while watching Alan's cursor move around the slides. He woke up to Alan groaning, feeling slightly concerned upon hearing Alan's sniffles and a more congested tone in his voice.

“N-nothing, it’s just that I'm only on the 332nd slide,” Alan said with a groan, punctuating his response with a yawn.

Chosen felt a hint of suspicion creeping up his back.

“Alan… did you even sleep?” Chosen suddenly asked, sitting up from the couch and crossing his arms disapprovingly.

“Oh, uhm, uh, haha, I-I did? I took a nap,” Alan said, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck.

“Don’t tell me the nap is on the desk,” Chosen said, disappointment evident in his tone as he heard Alan emit a small ‘eep.’

“Alan, go to sleep. You need rest,” Chosen remarked firmly, noticing Alan's audible groans and sniffling, along with the faint sound of him removing his earphones to blow his nose away from the mic.

“Just a bit more, th-then I'll sleep,” Alan muttered, determined to finish a few more slides as Chosen shook his head in disappointment.

Alan frowned, feeling embarrassed and slightly hurt as he gazed at Chosen. While Chosen doesn't have a face, his body language spoke volumes, arms crossed and an air of disappointment palpable in his posture.

Alan despised disappointing people, and the weight of Chosen's disappointment weighed heavily on him.

“Okay, I’ll rest!” Alan said, raising his arms in defeat, the throbbing in his right arm now insistent. Chosen gave him a firm nod, “Good, come back when you’re well-rested.”

Alan couldn't help but roll his eyes at Chosen's directive as he removed his earphones and made his way to his bed. Shoving his bag to the corner, he collapsed onto his unmade mattress. “Just for a few hours,” Alan mumbled to himself as he curled up on his side, closing his eyes.

However, he soon found his respite interrupted by the uncomfortable ache in his back and right arm. “Ugh, just my luck,” Alan grumbled, sitting up and making his way to his drawers in search of pain relief patches to alleviate the discomfort.

Thankfully, he found a few and carefully placed two on his lower back for good measure, along with one on his forehead to help him rest more comfortably. Despite his efforts, his mind raced with thoughts of work left undone, making it challenging to relax.

Frustrated, Alan rubbed his face wearily, glancing at his screen to find that Chosen had already left, likely back in the folder where the houses were stored.

“Just a few more minutes, I need to finish the slides and then a few commissions,” Alan mumbled to himself, rushing to his bed and bending down to retrieve the wrist brace he had accidentally kicked under the bed before settling back into his chair.

He swiftly strapped the brace onto his right wrist, tightening it for good measure before grasping his pen, ensuring he could still maneuver his hand. Though slightly uncomfortable, wearing the brace affected his writing, but he felt compelled to complete his tasks before even considering rest.

And so, that's what he did. Alan finished all his slides and transitioned to his animation project, his tired eyes struggling to focus on the time displayed on his screen—it was already 8 AM, and he was still engrossed in sketching. Nothing was finalized yet; perhaps he had grown too reliant on seeking help from Second.

“Good morning, Alan!” Second beamed, skipping down his desktop joyfully.

“Hey, Sec, mind if I ask for some help for a few moments?” Alan inquired, tapping his pen wearily against his cheek, refusing to pause his work even though every time he closed his eyes, they burned with fatigue.

“Oh yeah, definitely. Is this a commission or something?” Second asked, climbing up the animation program and grabbing his own pencil.

Alan only hummed tiredly, not fully registering Second's question as he continued with his work.

Second tilted his head curiously, “Alan? Yahoo, I'm asking something.” Second waved his hands, prompting Alan to blink owlishly. “Ah, sorry, I didn't hear it. Can you ask again?” Alan replied with an awkward chuckle.

“Alan, are you sure you’re alright? I honestly thought you would still be asleep at this time. You don't have any classes today, right?” Second inquired while fixing a few errors in Alan's sketch.

“Ah, well, I just want to finish this quickly. This is school work, and I still haven't started on some of my commissions yet,” Alan mumbled, his focus split between the conversation and his tasks.

“Hmm, have you thought about closing your commissions for now?” Second asked.

“Ah, well, no... I need money for my…..school stuff,” Alan admitted, feeling embarrassed as his face flushed with heat.

“Oh... But... isn’t your mom there to help you? You have school, and you are quite busy,” Second remarked as he observed Alan's work, jumping down to hit the play button and watching the animation unfold with a proud hum.

“Mmmm, ehh,” Alan responded, prompting a chuckle from Second. Alan was indeed a man of few words at times.

By the time 10 PM rolled around, Alan and Second had finally completed the animation. Alan then proceeded to craft a brief message to James, attaching the animation and sending it through email before leaning back in his chair, releasing a contented sigh.

“Finally,” Alan uttered, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and fatigue, his arms raised in a gesture of victory.

He heard Second clapping. “Nice job, Alan!” Second cheered, only to stop abruptly when he noticed the sound of light snoring. “Alan? Are you asleep?” Second inquired, tilting his head curiously.

In the end, Alan had indeed passed out in his chair, the weight of his efforts and exhaustion finally catching up to him.

[♡]

Alan adjusted the webcam above his screen and tapped his chin, “I think it's finally set up,” he mumbled to himself, having to rouse from his impromptu sleep at his desk when a knock sounded at the front door. Peering out, he spotted the small package he had ordered from Amazon.

Despite using some of his money to buy the webcam so others could see him, Alan grimaced as he surveyed his messy room and his disheveled appearance. He looked incredibly haggard and felt even worse as his nose continued to run from the previous night.

“Awwwww!” Second whined, slumping in disappointment. Vic patted his back consolingly, “I'm sorry, guys. Maybe tomorrow?” Alan suggested, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, it's fine by me, to be honest. Sec is just impatient,” Dark remarked as Second let out a sad whine.

“Same here,” Vic added with a nod, Chosen echoing his sentiment.

“Oh, that's good. I promise I'll open my camera tomorrow, Sec,” Alan said with a laugh as Second knelt on the ground, clasping his hands together. “Alannnn, pleaseeee,” Second whined, prompting Dark to grab him by the scruff of his neck.

“Stop being so dramatic, Sec,” Dark chided as he shook the orange stick, eliciting a sad whine that made Second resemble a kicked puppy. Alan chuckled as he watched Dark drag Second off the side of the screen and towards the folder.

Stretching his arms over his head, Alan observed Vic and Chosen settling down on the couch, engrossed in their conversation.

After a moment of contemplation, Alan stood up from his chair and walked towards his drawer to retrieve brand new patches to replace the ones on his forehead and back. He took off his wristband momentarily to add a patch to his wrist before securing it back in place, releasing a relieved sigh.

“Perfect, I can work again,” Alan declared before returning to his desk, pulling up the list of his commissions. “Where to start, where to start,” he mumbled to himself, opening his program and diving back into his work.

By 2 PM, Alan had yet to have his breakfast or lunch, engrossed in completing his second commission of the day. Jennifer had not returned home to remind him to eat, and his stomach's growls finally drew attention to his neglected meals.

Vic and Chosen had retreated back to the folder, likely to spend time with the others and leave Alan to his work. Despite expressing his appreciation for their presence, Alan tried not to feel disheartened by their departure.

Standing up from his chair, Alan descended the stairs, glancing into the darkened kitchen. “Mom still isn't home?” Alan mumbled, a tinge of loneliness creeping in as he eyed the sandwich Jennifer had left in the fridge the previous night.

“Sandwich is fine,” Alan decided, grabbing it and taking a bite of the cold bread before pausing as he noticed a bill and a small note on the kitchen aisle.

“Order some food that’ll last you until dinner! I won’t be home until midnight, i love you”

“Oh... I totally forgot about that,” Alan murmured, scratching his head as he recalled Jennifer mentioning something to him during dinner the previous night, a detail that had slipped his mind entirely.

“Okay,” Alan muttered to himself, picking up the bill and pocketing it. “I don’t need to order any food; I can just eat sandwiches,” he resolved, feeling guilty about using Jennifer's money. He was content with the remaining peanut butter and bread.

Rushing back to his room, Alan tried to chew the cold peanut butter sandwich as he resumed his work, determined to make the most of what he had.

[♡]

Second hummed with curiosity, navigating through the settings bar in an attempt to rectify the muted Google issue pointed out by Yellow. It seemed Alan had accidentally muted Google, preventing them from watching YouTube.

"Where is it…" Second pondered, tapping his chin in confusion, clicking on the 'System' tab and jumping to the 'Sounds' bar before backtracking with a groan of frustration.

“It’s not here. Is it even in the Settings? I don’t remember,” Second muttered, pressing back and then jumping to the search bar, typing 'Google', only to groan again when it yielded no results.

“Might as well just make Yellow do this,” Second decided, scratching his head.

Suddenly, a mischievous idea sparked in his mind. What if he could access Alan’s webcam and catch a glimpse?

“Heck yeah!” Second cheered excitedly, typing 'Camera Privacy', locating the camera icon, and opening it to grant access. With a devious giggle, he relished at the idea of being the first to see Alan.

Second swiftly exited the Settings app, frantically navigating to the Camera app via the taskbar, hoping to catch a glimpse of Alan without alerting him. The room was quiet, and Second prayed that Alan was not at his desk at that moment.

“Yes!” Second cheered as the camera app opened, only to frown at the darkened room illuminated by a soft light, revealing a distressing sight—Alan.

Alan appeared to have fallen asleep in his chair, his cheek pressed against his palm, looking unwell and sick. Second was taken aback by the unexpected scene, noticing Alan's disheveled appearance, the white patch on his forehead, the tissue stuffed in his nose, a line of drool on his chin, and a thick wrist brace on Alan’s wrist.

“The hell?!” Second exclaimed softly, observing Alan's discomfort as he shifted slightly in his sleep. Concerned, Second realized he needed to alert the others without delay.

“I gotta get the others quick!” Second muttered to himself, rushing towards the folder, nearly tripping as he hurried to the house. He pushed the door open abruptly, startling Vic, who was seated in the living room engrossed in something on his tablet.

“Vic! Cho! Dark! I need help!” Second exclaimed, waving his arms frantically to get their attention.

“Woah, what’s with you, man?” Dark inquired, strolling in from the kitchen, mug in hand, while Chosen, lounging on the other couch, looked up quizzically. Vic, closing his tablet, asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Uhm, I may or may not have opened Alan’s camera... and he looks really sick and bad. He has this patch on his forehead, and I think there’s even a tissue shoved in his nose. And he’s wearing a brace on his wrist... Achk! Never mind, just follow me quickly!” Second explained hurriedly, darting out of the house and back to the folder.

They reached Alan's room, where the camera app was still open, revealing Alan slumbering at his desk, his head supported by his hands.

“Creators above, what happened to him?” Vic questioned, his arms crossed, visibly worried. Beside him, Chosen growled, looking perturbed. “I thought he had gone to bed earlier. I told him to rest,” Chosen added.

“What the hell? What happened to Alan?” Dark demanded, a mix of concern and anger in his voice.

Alan stirred awake, the voices from his earphones drawing his attention to the camera application open on his screen, revealing his own exhausted appearance. Blinking in confusion, he noticed the four Hollowheads on the side of the screen.

“Eep!” Alan yelped, hastily covering the webcam with his hand to block the view.

“Alan... What happened?” Vic inquired, his arms folded, a mix of worry and sternness in his expression.

“I... Did you see?” Alan asked nervously, his voice tinged with apprehension.

“I'm sorry, Alan. I was just really curious to see how you looked, and I found you asleep. You look really tired. I didn't know you could outdo Yellow in looking incredibly haggard!” Second blurted out before receiving a shove from Dark.

“That’s not helping, Sec,” Dark muttered under his breath, while Second chuckled, rubbing the back of his head in embarrassment.

“I promise this doesn't happen every day. I-I’m just…” Alan trailed off, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he slowly removed his hand, revealing his face on the camera once more.

“Alan… did you sleep earlier when I told you to rest?” Chosen inquired, his tone filled with a mix of concern and slight reproach.

Alan could only lower his gaze, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. “Sorry,” he mumbled softly, eliciting disappointed sighs from the group.

However, Second, looking at Alan with admiration, interjected, “You do look really young!” This unexpected comment made Alan look up, a chuckle escaping him as his shoulders shook, a boyish grin spreading across his face.

“Usually, I would fix myself up before showing you guys how I look,” Alan confessed, a blush tinting his cheeks as he observed their curious expressions focused on the camera application.

“I really think you should get some sleep, though,” Dark interjected, a hint of protectiveness creeping into his voice now that he had seen how young and weary Alan appeared. While Dark hadn't encountered many humans, he knew from pictures what an adult typically looked like, and Alan didn't fit that mold.

“Y-yeah, totally,” Alan replied awkwardly, acknowledging the concern in Dark's words, while Chosen stood with arms crossed, adding, “I'm glad to see you, but I think you should leave the camera open so I know you're actually going to rest.”

“I didn’t know you were his dad,” Second quipped, surprised by Chosen's protective stance.

“I'm not, but I'd feel better knowing you're not just saying you'll rest,” Chosen retorted, his tone carrying a hint of authority that made Alan scratch his head. “Okay, it's fine with me,” Alan agreed, though he couldn't hide his slight discomfort.

A moment of silence followed as they all processed the sight of Alan, their creator. Vic, Chosen, and Dark had once perceived him as an all-powerful figure, only to discover he was just an awkward teenager who couldn't stop fidgeting and rubbing the back of his neck every few seconds.

“You're pretty awkward, aren't you?” Dark teased gently, prompting Alan to sputter in protest. “I-I'm not!” he protested, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

“Alright, enough, before you rest, tell me what happened with your wrist first,” Chosen demanded, pointing at the black wrist brace on Alan’s right hand.

“Oh, this? Uhm, I'm not sure yet. My right hand tends to ache when I use it for a long time—I mean…” Alan trailed off as he realized his slip of tongue.

“Don’t tell me you've been working with your right hand hurting all this time?” Vic interjected, a note of worry in his voice.

“I wasn't!” Alan defended himself, raising both arms in protest, inadvertently revealing more patches on his arms to the Hollowheads’ view.

“Alan,” Dark growled, a hint of frustration evident in his tone, while Second let out a sigh of exasperation.

Alan could only duck in defeat, preparing himself to listen to the Hollowheads' admonitions about his health once again.

[m3vl0vesu]

Who wants to read something were a very tired Red Hodd breaks into their latest interests apartment for the umpteenth time that month only to find Reader wide awake. Don't ask why he was breaking in thinking they were sleeping though. Now he has to find away to pry Reader away from their lap top and make them sleep. Maybe it'll be angsty? Anyone? Helloooooooooo

[scruppofficial]

Just an idea that came to me at 4 AM but I actually kinda like it. Should I continue this?

—————

Harry pulls away from the kiss and Draco wastes no time in moving his lips down to brush along the brunette’s jaw, “Dray?” He asks, “How much longer do we have to keep this up?”

“Hmm?” Draco hums in question; his lips tickle against Harry’s skin.

He mouths down Harry’s neck - nipping, sucking and kissing as Harry stutters out, “this whole ~ah~ m-mortal e-enemies charade?” He huffs out a breath as Draco sucks and bites that sweet spot where his neck and shoulder meet. The other boy’s teeth scraping his skin followed by a hot tongue, soothing the sting. Harry’s heart flutters at the thought of seeing Draco’s mark on himself later.

“Ah~ Draco…” He groans, trying to elicit a response from the blonde.

“Shh…”

“But-“

“I said,” Draco pauses to nip the shell of Harry’s ear and Harry shivers, “hush,” and then Draco’s lips are on his again. Obviously unwilling to have any kind of conversation.

He wants to know Draco’s response, he swears he does, but when the man of your dreams is kissing you like his life depends on it while also sliding his hands up your body to hook into your tie… your mind kinda goes blank.

Realistically it’s toxic, it always has been with them, but Harry still wants it. MERLIN does he want it. Anything and everything Draco will give him, and at this moment? With the other boy’s hands now working to undo his cloak? He no longer cares.

Harry - throwing all caution to the wind - deepens the kiss and without breaking away, grabs the blonde’s thighs to hoist him up onto the desk. He slots himself in between Draco’s legs to press closer into his heat. This is all so wrong, but it feels so, so right.

[gwynfahr]

Reader, sat at an outdoor table with Luke, Cate and Andre : I don't love them anymore ! They're mean and sadistic and-

Luke, laughing a bit : Did Jordan force you to go to bed at nine again ?

Jordan, yelling from where reader put them on a group ban : You need a proper sleeping schedule !

Reader : I'll have you know my sleeping schedule is still better than yours, Jordan -I'm sweating coke and sleeping two hours a nigh- Li !

Andre, whispering to Cate : I don't know about you, but this is incredibly entertaining to me, like some sort of telenovela.

Reader : Don't get me started on you, Andre Anderson, now is not the time to laugh because I could talk hours and hours about why you're one of the reasons I don't sleep enough !

Andre : That's so not true.

Reader : Cate, do you remember who spent nights after nights sleeplessly walking this bitch through his midterms studying ?

Luke, patting Andre on the shoulder : Yeah, they've got a point.

Jordan, annoyed (but somehow whipped enough to stay on shadowban until you tell them to come back) : Can I come back now ?

Reader, thinking a bit :... Yeah I want hugs.

Queue Jordan spending the afternoon with reader attached to them like a koala.

[clarisimart]

As a society we need more art and fic with like, People all around Ford recognizing how hot he is and trying to convince him of that and crying over the fact that the one guy who dated him was a triangle who treated him like shit, while at the same time I need someone (preferably a henchmaniac) telling Bill that they can't believe he baged someone as hot as Ford

[ticklishprincey]

Can you make lee!vox ler!velvette?

Your wish is my command, lovely anon! Pairings: Lee!Vox & Ler!Velvette Warnings: Tickling, teasing, slight angsty Vox bc it's Vox come on, swearing (lmk if there's anything else) ✰✰✰ Vox sat at his desk, staring at his multitude of screens with an unamused look on his face. These moments were rare, where he had nothing to do but stare into the void and wait for something to happen. His fingers twitched, digging into the soft leather of his chair in an effort to stimulate his nerves. He hated these moments. He felt useless. He felt restless. He spun around in his chair for what seemed like the hundredth time in the past hour, looking around once more when his phone rang. He picked up almost immediately, happy to have something to occupy himself with. "Hello, my dear Velvette! How are you today?" The younger demon scoffed over the phone at his politeness. "Get down here. Your suit looks like shit." Now it was Vox's turn to scoff. Did it really look that bad? Sure, it had a few rips and tears, but that was all character! However, debating this with the fashionista didn't register to him as the best idea. He sighed, agreeing with Velvette and making his way down to her studio, greeting her with a big (albeit forced) smile. Velvette looked at him up and down in distaste. "Get over here. I need your measurements." Vox sighed, stepping onto the platform and following Velvette's instructions as she measured him, mumbling to herself and occasionally writing something down. It wasn't too unbearable, just annoying. That was until the fashion star's fingers brushed against his hip. His whole body jerked away from the touch as a startled glitching noise slipped out. "The fuck was that, Vox?" He flushed, trying to pass the glitching off as a cough. Velvette looked up at the taller demon, realization setting in as her previously worried expression turned smug. "No. Fuckin. Way." "Vel- Vel, we can talk about this-" Vox stepped backwards, stumbling off the platform and scrambling back to his feet. The younger demon smirked at his efforts, grabbing his hands and wrestling him to the ground, pinning his arms above his head with a sadistic grin that sent shivers down Vox's spine. The television demon held back the anticipatory giggles as best he could, but couldn't stop the red seeping onto his screen. Velvette smiled fondly, straddling him hips and digging her fingers into his sides. "ACK! V-Vehel! Wahahait!" He mentally cursed himself as the giggles made themselves known, squeaky and high-pitched as his usual shit-eating grin turned into a wobbly and giddy smile. His attacker cooed at the sight, moving up to his ribs and drilling her fingers into them, earning a squeal followed immediately by frantic and bubbly laughter. She'd have a field day teasing him about this later. "Tickle tickle tickle, Voxxy~! Better keep this under wraps, sweetie, wouldn't want the other Overlords to know you can be brought down with just a few pokes." "$Ŧض Ŧ@℅ŁꝀƗNǤ!" Velvette giggled, enjoying her usually stoic and big-talking friend being reduced to this. However, she knew it was about to be time to stop. She grinned, before going in for the kill. She pulled up Vox's shirt and proceeded to blow a raspberry on his hip, sending the television demon into hysterics. "V EL! SHI-" An error noise, then his screen went blue and his body went limp. "𝚅𝚘𝚡.𝚎𝚡𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚛. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖." "Well, shit-"

✰✰✰ I'd like to say for the record that I had to rewrite this piece of shit twice because Tumblr did not want to save. You're welcome.

[windstrikenbard]

The Birthday Present

Pairing: Wriothesley x reader

Warnings: Suspension, Overstimulation, AFAB reader, Wrio is a devil I stg

A/N: I saw his birthday art and this has been brainrotting ever since... Enjoy you sillies.

MINORS DNI/18+ ONLY

The gentle bite of ropes digging into your skin kept you grounded as the floor fell away beneath you, the clanking of some kind of pulley pulling you up into the air. A hungry moan echoed from behind you, but you couldn't turn, only shiver as the chill of Wriothesley's fingers trail over your plump cheeks.

"So fuckin' good Princess... Archons you look so good..." He breathed, running his hand against your leg, up the ropes, then down your arms, coming to a stop at your chin. "Wanna take you here and now baby..."

You whine incoherently in response, the pleasure of subspace taking words away. You feel his gaze travel over you, before turning back to meet your eyes with pure lust.

"Got a little present for you baby... I know, I know, it's my birthday, but I couldn't resist princess." He disappears from your view, and you focus on the ropes biting into your skin to stay grounded.

Cold liquid dripping down your ass makes you flinch, but the suspension prevents you from jerking away. A soft, shuddering moan leaves your lips as thick, calloused hands massage the lube into your pussy, filling you up so deliciously.

"hmm so tight on my fingers. How is my cock supposed to fit in here, hmm?" Wriothesley murmurs softly, before stuffing a cold, rubber object into your gaping hole. He clicks a button, and soft vrrr fills the air as the object vibrates.

You gasp, unable to even squirm, as it runs against your g-spot perfectly. Movement rustles behind you before you're left alone, moaning and gasping in pleasure from the toy.

You barely register when Wriothesley comes back, taking a seat in front of you with a cup of tea. He watches in amusement as you slowly register his presence and whine pathetically for him, tears prickling your eyes from the pleasure.

Actually starts laughing when you whimper that you're close, and pulls out his meaty cock, your eyes locking onto it hungrily. He pumps it lazily, out of your reach, and the toy feels more bothersome then ever.

"Wrio- please...need... need you wrio... am gonna.." you can't even finish your words as pleasure tingles down your spine, and you clench around the toy.

Wriothesley stands up and presses his lips to yours gently. "Did my good girl cum already? Tsk, and you want my cock?"

Tears bring your eyes. You're too pleasure-drunk to use words, so you just cry out desperately, trying to beg wriothesley to take you.

He watches with predatory interest before leaning towards your ear. "I suppose since it's my birthday I'll just have to save your punishment for another day. Can't resist your precious pussy 'nother second."

He's gone in a flash. The toy falls out, and in its place, the thick, long girth of Wriothesley, pulsing as your pussy clenches on it eagerly, the overstimulated burn deliciously pleasent.

You nearly scream as he bottoms out, panting as your eyes blink hazily. He chuckles and rubs a hand over your ass cheeks, slowly moving his hips out.

"good girl... now then, I dont intend to stop anytime soon. So be good, okay princess?"

[oscarwildin]

realizing it’s all in my head is the best and worst thing that could have happened

[cherri-ying]

Sing for me, little Nightingale (Yan! Scaramouche x Reader)

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56024689

Felines are deserving of their accolades. Merit embodies their nimble spines and ductile limbs; bodies like pliable sand, threading their way through knots, twists, cavities and labyrinths. The prince of the hunt flexes and swipes his talons and his victims are swift to falter, their necks wringed and their spines contorted in ways that are unnatural to their physicality.

“I’ve got you now.”

At times, though, even a cat doesn't remain undefeated.

“How stupid are you to think that a cheap disguise would work against me?” He almost sounds amused, his words an arctic hiss against your ear. Reaching up, Scaramouche claws at the thick cloak that veils your face and tears it to your shoulders. Your hair is quick to mime the departed elements, hanging in disarray across your face. A mantilla of unkempt tresses, veiling whatever thoughts sketch your visage.

The Balladeer regards the sight of your person with a sort of contemptuous delight. Forcefully knelt at his feet with your wrists bound behind you and your head drooped in defeat—or in pensiveness. It's a shame Zapolyarny is so devoid of windows. What light finds it's way into these all-too familiar stone chambers is too sparse to see what expression you're making.

“Well? Say something. Or have I rendered you incapable of speech?”

Tentatively—begrudgingly—you tip your head back, back, back until your irises lock with the hypnotic indigo tinctures belonging to the puppet who leers dauntingly above you. Locks of such a hue that only you could wear part like the red sea, revealing a thin, perhaps solemn, ambiguous smile—the last expression the harbinger could anticipate. Or desire.

“Thwarted again, hm?” You chuckle and it sounds like frost, “and I even took extensive measures to conceal my tracks. No good?”

“Failures are bound to repeat themselves.” Scaramouche doesn't nuisance himself with that syrupy facade he wears to rope his targets right between his molars. Malice is a noisome stench in the air as he adds, “This is the seventh time I’ve had to retrieve you. I'd figure you’d have learned your lesson by now, but time after time you insist on making yourself a burden to fetch.”

“There's no harm in trying, is there?” You maintain that strange curve on your plush lips. It’s difficult to tell what you're thinking, or feeling.

“‘No harm’, yet you delude yourself into believing that a time would come when you could successfully evade me. I wonder how long it’ll take until those dreams of yours crumble and die.”

“You know, there’s a word for what you are,” you state after a thoughtful pause. “I think it’s called: overbearing.”

What a strange person, with a strange smile. Normally, Scaramouche would meet such defiance by smiting his poor victim to dust within the blink of an eye. In your displays of resolve, though, the invincible harbinger finds himself crouching to your level, trailing a slender hand against your windpipe. How easily he could squeeze the life from your throat until you begs for reprieve; choke you of your indignation. Instead, he allows it to linger there without purpose, applying no pressure, grasping nothing.

“And there’s a word for what you are.” He nearly whispers. Difficult. Stubborn. Irrevocably his. “Irrational, when I only want what’s best for you. And what’s best for you, is to offer me your complete submission.”

“Even though I’d sooner offer my life than yield to you?” A new tone makes itself heard in your cadence. Such words, such simple, few words, reveal what lingers beneath your otherwise indifferent facade.

Sagacious. Provocative. Challenging.

Of course, you're testing the boundaries of Scaramouche's resolve, as he does with yours. Suddenly, the atmosphere is taut and palpable with tension for what may become of the future.

Sly, sly little songbird.

Something most unanticipated happens, and you reveal your hands, which you freed from their binds. Maybe it shouldn’t surprise Scaramouche, what with your prowess in the art of escape, but regardless your smile stretches in the presence of the astonishment that lifts his eyebrows and makes his eyes flash white, if only briefly. You take your time observing such a paltry display of rare, raw, emotion, how it shapes the contours of his features at the command of your actions. And gently, you take his hand that graces your throat and tenderly place it on your cheek.

"Ah... You've always been this way, haven't you, Kunikuzushi? Since the very day fate first connected your eyes to mine? " You slant your head into his cold hand with all the fragility of a shedding lotus petal descending into a reservoir, resting your cheek against his cold, liquid touch. Although, the action is far from affectionate. Rather, it's reminiscent of a sort of obstinacy, wearing the facade of love.

"You pine for my heart like you're starved for my flesh.” You take his hand and pass it through your cloak, poising it on your chest, right above your pumping heart.

"But... Perhaps I have no heart to offer you. What then? What will you do when you realize, there is no flesh to pick from my bones? No heart beneath my ribs?"

Scaramouche trudges through your words, running them across his mind. No plausible answer makes itself seen. He relinquishes his hand from your chest.

A cat may not have wings, but it is unrelenting.

“If you have no heart…” He murmurs, before smiling a bitter smile, “Then I’ll make you learn how to love.” how to love him. “I’ll create a heart in the shape of my love, and then I’ll take it. By force if I must.”

"You're willing to create something, just to seize and destroy it..." His words taste like blood upon your tongue. Strange. Carrying pleasantry and uncanniness in a sordid congruence. your lips falter from their smile.

"What a rotten soul you have... When will you realize that your avarice will be your demise?"

A wry, perhaps relenting chuckle emerges from your throat. Then you sigh.

"Perhaps we were made for each other." “

Then why do you run from me? Why do you fight, when you’re meant to be mine?” He asks, vehement, pertinacious.

"But that is where you're mistaken, Scaramouche. You see—” You direct your pointer finger to his chest, resting it in the junction between his collarbones.

“—You're tenacious in pursuing me. But I'm," You points at herself, "Tenacious in avoiding you. We are made for each other like the same ends of two magnets. The same, yet destined to be apart."

There it is, another one of your challenging remarks. The chirping nightingale wriggles free and unfurls it's wings, just as the cat thinks the bird is trapped beneath its paws. And oh, how infuriating, how exhilarating you are. Hatred is a simmering tempest that ignites the harbinger's temper. He despises how affixed he is to you, to the thought of trapping you beneath his claws, only for you to fly free and rejoice your liberation in song. It's petty. It's pathetic. It's irresistible. The Balladeer scoffs.

“Is this all just a game of push and pull to you? Just how long are you willing to avoid me?”

 “How long are you willing to pursue me?”

“Until you submit to me.”

“Then, until you set me free.”

Scaramouche can only watch as you put on your hideous, inhuman, anomalistic smile. Fine, then. If nothing else, he’ll build you a gilded cage to lure you into a golden prison disguised as a paradise. He’ll rip your wings from your body, flesh and bone marrow hanging in loose tendrils, so to erase all notions of flying free from your unreadable mind that he tends to make his possession, until you’re bleeding so sweetly beneath his claws. His beautiful songbird, who sings in the shape of his love.

Because you were made for him. He, the heartless one, who wishes for a heart. For your heart, which you are't willing to offer. Which you wish you never had.

You’re the only one who believes he still has a soul; that he ever had one, rotten as it may be.

Scaramouche cannot let that go. Regardless of how many times you flee from his talons, he will find you and chase you to the very ends of this earth.

Fly away, little singing nightingale.