#featuring my moth days

[gardenngoddess]

You cant possibly forget that valley has some of the COOLEST oobs ever to exist jn the history of ever

Such as but not limited to:

Starry stadium

Dark village

Lonely castle

Golden path

And literally so many more….

[wannabespacesmuggler]

L.H. | Like a Moth to a Flame

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Logan Howlett is a dangerous man; at least, that's what he wants you to think when he first meets you during your shift at Lucky's. However, he only seems to prove the opposite as he becomes a more constant presence in your life. After learning his true identity in a dark back alley, he's certain you want nothing to do with him. But against your better judgment, you're drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Logan Howlett x Bartender!Reader

Warnings: canon typical violence, men being creepy in an alley, canon divergent (because fuck the timelines), mutual pining, miscommunication

Word Count: 3.4K

Author’s Note: I am overwhelmed with the love and support for my first Logan fic. This man has taken over my ever waking thought. I wrote this while picturing lumberjack Logan from X-Men Origins: Wolverine and listening to Hozier (this man is so "Too Sweet" and "NFWMB" coded). Super proud of how this turned out, hope you enjoy it.

You’re used to a rough-and-tumble, rough-around-the-edges kind of crowd — blue-collar workers, committed hunters, down-on-their-luck drifters. Maybe that’s why you don’t think twice when he enters the tiny dive bar. He’s clad in a deep maroon flannel tucked into a tattered pair of jeans. You don’t even look in his direction as he sidles into a seat at the end of the bar. He looks like any other patron you’ve met while bartending at Lucky’s. 

“Hey there, what can I get for you?”

He leans forward, forearms flexing against the counter. A shiver runs down your spine as your eyes linger on the deep scars etched in between his knuckles before traveling up his broad frame. It’s as if your fight or flight response kicks in, and suddenly, a voice in your head tells you to run. But as you finally meet his hazel eyes, you freeze. There’s a hollowness in how he looks at you — a profound sadness that makes your heart ache for the man sitting before you.

“Whiskey, neat.”

You simply nod at his request before turning to pour him a glass. As you place the drink before him, a flash of metal across his chest grabs your attention. The man follows your gaze, and his features harden at the realization of what caught your interest. He quickly shoves the dog tags hanging loosely around his neck under his shirt — out of your line of sight. Your cheeks instantly flush, humiliation washing over your body. You begin to apologize, but the man downs his glass of whiskey and slaps some cash on the table.

“Thanks for the drink.”

With that, he grabs his leather jacket off the back of his chair and stalks out of the bar. You watch him leave in stunned silence. You hadn’t meant to invade his privacy in any way. You’re used to the anonymity that some men around here need to survive — hell, you don’t even know the names of some of your regulars. Before you can get swallowed up by embarrassment, one of your other patrons calls for another drink. Shaking off your previous interaction, you return your attention to your job.

After work, you couldn’t stop thinking about the encounter. With a deep sigh, you pour yourself a drink and collapse into your couch. You don’t know why you’re getting so worked up about it. In reality, you probably won’t ever see the man again, which should relieve you; however, the thought only disappoints you.

To your surprise, he walks back into the bar three days later during your shift. You try to ignore his presence as he moves to sit at the same spot at the end of the bar. To make amends, you pour a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.

“This one’s on the house.”

The man looks up, giving you a confused expression. He opens his mouth to protest, but you cut him off.

“Don’t. It’s just an apology for the other night.”

He gives you a nod before grabbing the glass and taking a long drink. You turn away from him, but his deep voice cuts through the rowdy Friday night crowd before you can take a step.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I still expect a tip, though.”

A chuckle reverberates in his chest. The sound of it causes your face to light up. The man’s lips pull up into a small, gentle smile. You force yourself to return to work before you get further drawn into him. Unlike the other night, he sits at the bar for the rest of your shift, ordering several glasses of whiskey and keeping his eyes trained on the television above your head.

“It’s the end of my shift. Ready to close out with me?”

Logan nods, downing the rest of his whiskey and then placing several bills on the counter.

“Keep the change.”

“Wow, thank you…” 

You trail off, realizing you still haven’t learned his name. Looking down at the money he placed before you, you notice he’s tipped you at least fifty percent. You don’t want to invade his privacy again, but a part of you wishes you knew his name so that you could thank him properly.

“Logan.”

“Thank you, Logan.”

He stands up from his seat before clearing his throat awkwardly.

“You working tomorrow?”

You bite your lip at his words, trying to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot. Trying to ground yourself back into reality, you remind yourself that you don’t fraternize with your clientele. While working at Lucky’s, you’ve learned one thing about the men who frequent the establishment — they’re bad news. But then you look back up at him. He’s got to be over six feet tall; his simple white t-shirt accentuates just how broad his body is, and yet this sturdy, well-built man looks almost nervous standing before you. Your body responds before your brain can catch up.

“My shift starts at 6:00.”

Logan slides his leather jacket on, and a slight smirk spreads across his features. He’s a devastatingly handsome man, and you’re no better than a moth to a flame — irresistibly attracted to that which you know will hurt you. 

“See you then.”

And you do see him during your shift the next day, and your shift after that, and the one after that. Logan’s there in his seat at the end of the bar during all of your shifts, ordering whiskeys and making polite conversation until he’s become a constant presence in your life. 

Today is no different. You have a glass of whiskey ready for Logan when he enters the bar. His schedule with the town’s logging company is pretty consistent. Logan accepts the glass graciously as you slide it in front of him. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You ignore how nonchalantly the term of endearment slips past his lips — and how your heart lurches as he says it. Instead, you focus on his features, which somehow look more exhausted than usual today. His work is hard, long, and labor-intensive; however, throughout your conversations with the hardened lumberjack, you’ve also learned that Logan’s sleep schedule is abysmal.  He’s a grown man; he can decide what he wants to do — or doesn’t want to do — but a part of you can’t help but want to care for him.

“You gotta get some sleep, Logan.”

He scoffs in response, looking up at you with tired eyes. You know he isn’t angry at your suggestion, but the pointed look he gives you is a warning. He’s opened up quite a bit throughout his frequent visits to the bar, but there is still an air of mystery about the man sitting before you. You know better than to push him, so you raise your hands defeatedly.

“All I’m saying is that those dark circles do nothing for that handsome face.”

A warm laugh reverberates in Logan’s chest. He takes a long drink from his glass before responding, downing a considerable amount of whiskey with absolutely no reaction.

“You think I’m handsome?”

You roll your eyes at the man, trying to keep your cool. Logan is an enigma to you — simultaneously socially awkward and overly flirtatious. It’s as if he has two personalities — two completely different sides of himself — fighting for dominance at all times. And yet, it works because he’s catastrophically charming. 

“Shut up.”

A smug smirk spreads across Logan’s face, and you decide it’s getting a little too stuffy in the small dive bar. You grab the pack of cigarettes you keep stashed under the bar and turn back to Logan. He already knows what you’re about to ask. It’s become routine for Logan to join you during your fifteen-minute break, sharing cigarettes in the secluded alley behind the bar.

“I’m going for a smoke. You coming?”

“Let me finish my drink. I’ll be right out.”

You nod at him before moving towards the back door. As you step out into the alley, you’re met with a much-appreciated, cool breeze. It causes a shiver to run down your spine as your body adjusts to the sudden difference in temperature. After placing a cigarette between your lips, you pull a small silver lighter out of your back pocket. You slide your thumb over the engraving on the side: L.H. Logan had given you the lighter after yours burnt out about a month ago. You tried to give it back, but he insisted you keep it. You bring the lighter up to your face, but a voice surprises you before you can light your cigarette. 

“Those things’ll kill you, sweetheart.”

A man you’ve never seen before emerges from the darkness and approaches you with an uncomfortable air of familiarity. The way this man says Logan’s term of endearment makes you sick to your stomach. It sounds sweet coming from Logan’s lips — grounded in a deep respect and laced with affection. 

You were simply going to ignore him, knowing Logan’s presence would deter him in a matter of minutes; however, your body bristles as two more figures join him from the darkness of the alley. Your body moves on its own accord, seeking the comfort and safety of the bar — of Logan. But the man closest to you grabs your arm before you can step out of their reach.

“Where you going, sweetheart? The party’s out here.”

His voice is sickly sweet and dripping with venom — a stark contrast to Logan’s low, warm timbre. The two men behind him laugh at his words. Your fight or flight response kicks in, and you struggle against the man’s hold as you’re hit with the gravity of your situation.

“Just let me go.”

Your voice is stern as you rip your arm away from the man’s grip. You rush to get away, but he’s quicker. He places both hands on the brick wall behind you, caging you in. Now you’re panicking. A threatening growl interrupts the encounter before the man in front of you can say anything else, and Logan emerges from the darkness. His features are menacing in the dim light of the alley, but you’re met with a sense of relief rather than fear.

“You heard her. Let her go.”

The tiny hairs on the back of your neck raise at the sound of his voice; however, the stranger in front of you doesn’t seem to find him as frightening. Instead of backing down, the man lets out a dry, unamused laugh at Logan’s words.

“We’re just having some fun here.”

Bile rises in your throat at the insinuation in his tone. Logan seems equally displeased by his response as another animalistic growl rips through his body. He takes an intimidating step forward before speaking.

“You don’t want to do this, bub.”

It’s almost as if he’s pleading with them — begging them to stop so that he doesn’t have to act first. Your eyes find those dog tags hanging around his neck again. Your heart breaks as you realize Logan doesn’t want to fight, but he will — for you. Based on the look in his eyes, he’ll rip these men apart limb from limb if they lay a hand on you. 

“No, buddy, you don’t want to do this. You’re outnumbered — three to one. You don’t stand a chance.”

The man’s tone is amused but impatient. He’s itching for Logan to either leave them be or throw the first punch, but he does neither. Instead, Logan squares his shoulders and extends his arms out at his sides.

“You sure about that?”

Your brow furrows at an unfamiliar sound — a strange, metallic snikt. You’re surprised when the man’s arms fall from either side of your shoulders. You take the opportunity to create distance between yourself and the group of men who are all staring at Logan. Not understanding what caused their sudden hesitation, you also look over at Logan. Your body tenses at the sight of him standing in the middle of the alley with long, metal claws protruding from his fists. He takes another step forward, and the men scatter, running for their lives. 

Logan waits a few moments, ensuring that the men are actually gone. Then he lets out a deep sigh as his metal claws retract back into his hands. Your hands meet the cool brick behind you, grounding you in this incredibly unreal moment. You blink, expecting to wake up from whatever dream you’re having right now — but you’re not dreaming.

Logan finally turns to face you, and his features soften. His eyes scan your body, checking you over for injuries. He takes a step toward you but stops as you take a step toward the bar's back door. You can’t seem to look away from his hands — at those deep, pronounced scars between his knuckles. His eyes follow yours, and you’re met with instant regret as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You finally look up at his face and are anguished at the sight of his hardened features.

You want to tell him a million things. Your body moved on its own accord. You didn’t mean to stare at his scars. You’re just confused. You’re grateful for his help. You’re not afraid of him.

But you don’t mutter a single word. It’s as if you’re frozen in place. 

“Alright.”

Your heart almost breaks in two at the pained sound of his voice. Logan meets your eyes one last time, disappointment evident in his gaze. Finally, your body shakes out of its paralysis, but it’s too late — the damage has already been done. You watch helplessly as he begins walking away from you. 

“Logan, wait.”

But he doesn’t turn around. He keeps walking until he vanishes into the darkness. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks as you slide down against the brick wall — partly because of what could have happened and partly because of what did happen. And just like the first day you met Logan, you fear you may never see him again. 

But once again, you were wrong. 

Eight unbearably long days later, Logan enters Lucky’s again. You watch his bated breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll sit at his usual spot at the end of the bar. Instead, Logan places a few bills on the counter before meeting your gaze. You draw in a shaky breath as you look into his hazel eyes — the hollowness is back, and our heart aches as you realize you’re now the reason behind that sadness. 

“Didn’t feel right not closing out last time.”

You almost laugh at his words — the free glass of whiskey was the last thing on your mind. He rolls his shoulders back nervously, his muscles flexing under his black t-shirt. You reach out and grab his hand before he can pull it away from the counter. His eyes instantly widen, but the physical contact seems to make him relax ever so slightly.

“Can we talk, please?”

Your hand tightens around his, physically begging him to just stay. Logan nods in silent agreement. You pull your hand away from his and try to push down the sudden disappointment caused by the loss of his touch. You move toward the back door, and Logan follows you into the alley from a safe distance. For a moment, you’re lost in a bout of deja vu as you lean against the brick wall, and Logan stands before you. Your hands nervously find Logan’s lighter in your pocket, looking for something to occupy yourself with. The movement catches Logan’s eyes, and you swear the corners of his lips twitch up into a small smile at the sight of his lighter in your hands. 

“I’m sorry.”

The words tumble out of you clumsily. Logan’s brow furrows, and you watch as his head tilts slightly to the side. 

“What?”

“I’m so sorry, Logan.”

Logan’s lips pull into a small frown as he considers your apology. He takes a cautious step forward, watching you intently. He’s waiting for you to pull away, but you stand your ground.

“Why are you apologizing, sweetheart?” 

You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. Hearing him say that name — the word that’s been keeping you up at night — you realize just how much you missed the sound of his voice.

“I made you think I’m afraid of you.”

Logan takes another step forward, testing you. You know what he’s trying to do — he’s giving you an out. Pull away, and he’ll stop, but you lock eyes with the man before you. His movements might be cautious, but his eyes are wild with unspoken emotion.

“Well, are you?”

“No.”

Another step forward. He’s now standing within arm’s length. You could reach out and touch him. God, you want to reach out and touch him. Logan looks down at you with an intensity that makes your breath catch. No man has ever looked at you like this, but then again, Logan certainly isn’t like any other man. 

“You should be.”

That voice from the first day you met him appears yet again, telling you to run. But you stay put. You don’t need to run from him. You don’t need to fear him. He protected you from those men. He was prepared to fight for you. He revealed his true identity to keep you safe. And once again, you’re like a moth to his flame — gravitating towards him.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He’s a breath away, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off his body. You wonder if he can hear your heart pounding in your chest as his gaze moves from your eyes to your lips. His hand covers yours, stopping your anxious fidgeting with his lighter. You watch in awe as he takes it from your grasp and places it into your jacket pocket. He moves his hand out of your pocket; his fingers leave a scorching sensation behind in their absence as they slide across your skin until they reach your waist. His other hand comes up and tenderly caresses the side of your face.

“Say it again.”

Your breath hitches at his request, but you do what he asks — hell, you’d do anything for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan shakes his head. His hand moves to take hold of the other side of your waist. The grip he has on you is secure but gentle.

“No, sweetheart. Not that part.”

Oh. Oh.

You could cry at the realization — at his need to feel wanted and appreciated. You move your hands to either side of his face. He melts into your touch before meeting your eyes again. A part of you wonders if anyone has ever touched Logan like this — if he’s ever known what physical contact feels like outside of a fight.

“I’m not afraid of you, Logan. I trust you.”

And suddenly, Logan is pulling you into him. His lips desperately find yours. Your fingers thread through his hair as his body pushes you into the brick wall. His movements are rooted in a deep hunger — not driven by lust, but in a need to be known and loved and touched. So that’s just what you do. Your hands move through his hair, down his neck, across his chest, over his back. You attempt to touch every bit of Logan to prove that you want this — that you want him. 

A low growl reverberates in his chest as he pulls away from your lips. Unlike the night before, this growl isn’t rooted in anger but, instead, the result of a deep desire. His hands move away from your body and find the wall behind you. Your brow furrows at the loss of his touch until you hear a familiar sound on either side of you — a sharp, metallic snikt. He leans down, forehead resting against yours as his short, rapid breaths fan over your face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I can’t control it sometimes.”

You shake your head at his admission. He did control himself — he purposely removed his hands from your body before his claws extended. He protects you as if it’s just his second nature — something he doesn’t even need to take the time to consider. You run your hands up his chest, feeling the tense muscles under his t-shirt, before gently grabbing his face.

“Hey. Hey.”

You pull away slightly so you can look him in the eye. Your words grab his attention, grounding him.

“You have nothing to apologize for. I trust you.”

His breaths gradually even out, and eventually, you hear his claws retract and feel the familiar warmth of his touch against your skin again. As Logan maintains eye contact, looking at you as if you’re the answer to some unspoken prayer, you begin to think you’ve gotten this all wrong: maybe you’re not the moth, but the flame.

[ladyempty]

Yandere Maegor, Daemon and Aegon I reaction to Reader running away and marrying someone else and having children?? Please 😭😭

° | This is a yandere work and may contain triggering behavior. I'm not in favor of that in real life. | ° | English is not my first language. |

Aegon I

Aegon Targaryen I is the definition of a conqueror, courageous, intelligent and ambitious, with a friendly and captivating personality, easily lovable and admirable, but with few close friends. A certain air of enigma surrounded his figure, making people try to unravel him, attracted like moths by his light of monarchical dignity.

The king was comfortable and accustomed to sycophants, women dragging themselves for crumbs, or simply a single night in his bed. He was unfamiliar with something denied to him. He had "conqueror" in his name for a reason that went far beyond the submission of the other lords.

So it came as a complete shock when he was so bluntly denied when he approached you at one of the numerous banquets hosted by the royal family. At first, Aegon couldn't even process it, the features remained the same with a gentle smile and analyzing eyes and no words uttered. Like a person who was suddenly punched and in the first few seconds didn't understand or simply didn't know how to react. He just narrowed his purple eyes and watched you leave in an elegant bow.

The first time he was seriously denied, you hadn't done it to pique his interest, but rather to preserve your own honor, not wanting to be just another king's case knowing that he would return to Rhaenys at the end of the day. He admired this. If his plans were to push him away, you were not successful, you only made a dangerous obsession settle in your being.

He began to pursue you subtly, with gallant and courteous gestures, he urgently wanted to erase the first impression you had of him. Forcing the Targaryen to reveal his personality beyond the superficial, rambling for countless hours about some common interest and constantly summoning his presence, whether to read to him while I work or simply enjoy his warm presence.

And when his barriers were still not lowered, the king had to resort to more drastic measures, asking for her hand in marriage and making it clear that he would not accept being denied.

You would be softer when you were a wife and had duties towards him. The conqueror thought wrongly. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he expect you to run away. As soon as he found out, Aegon simply went crazy, the image made up of himself falling down the moment he threatened to destroy the entire seven kingdoms again if he didn't get you back.

Stone by stone, leaf by leaf. Everything was meticulously investigated by the countless guards spreading even through the most forgotten places by the gods. The Targaryen king became somewhat paranoid and easily irritated by his disappearance, not even Rhaenys could calm him down or change his mind. It was two years of pure torment.

Ah... When he finally found you in a small house in pentos... Married and obviously pregnant... It was like the world was open beneath your feet again. A loving feeling of betrayal. How dare you? Did you think that pathetic man could love you more than him?! How stupid.

He coldly killed her husband and none of her tears and pleas could change his mind. His heart was partially darkened by his betrayal. He won't forget anytime soon, you'll have to regain his trust to have the slightest amount of freedom. Countless guards will follow you closely, if you are even allowed to leave your quarters.

And your son? Don't worry, Aegon will assume paternity of the child even if it comes with rumors about having deflowered you before the wedding. It didn't matter. He just wouldn't let you mother a bastard or have that other man as a part of your life. Aenys was his heir anyway.

Maegor, The Cruel

You were certainly a very unlucky person to have caught the attention of the Targaryen king who was called cruel. You probably met at an event organized by him to celebrate one of his conquests, reaffirming his power and sovereignty as king, or you were one of his wives' ladies-in-waiting.

Whether you were from a big house, small house or even a commoner. It didn't matter. You were his the moment the king laid eyes on your enchanting figure.

Maegor was a man of few feelings, he didn't truly love any of his wives, it was lust mixed with the rational thought of creating heirs. But you were different, there was something special that made Maegor feel a bubbling sensation in his chest, a pleasant and addictive warmth like he had never felt before. It was something unfamiliar, one that he felt slightly hesitant to demonstrate or how to handle. But he just knew he wanted you and he would have you. At any cost.

Maegor was far from the definition of courteous, he knew little about the gallant arts or gentle love. Therefore, he had little knowledge about the courtship, the little he knew was from his mother's advice, who only knew about these things from the poets who surrounded Rhaenys.

Either way, he is not discreet. He doesn't even make an effort to appear less intimidating than he is. His eyes are fixed on you no matter the moment, his intimidating and darkening presence looming over you like a shadow. Once he even gave him a white fur coat, an animal he himself killed. It was his way of showing his interest. Something raw and rustic, without words, just proves to be worthy of you.

Either way, he wouldn't wait long. The moment he gets tired of waiting and the itch that grows in him is not relieved, he will attack. Demanding her hand in marriage from her, leaving no room for disagreement. He didn't expect you to run away in the middle of the night... Stupid little bird. Did you think he wouldn't come after you?

The man flew into a rage the moment he found out, destroying everything and everyone in his path, no matter if they were his wives, servants or important masters. Everyone should pay for his blinding rage. He turned the seven kingdoms into hell looking for you. A thick layer of blood, smoke, ash and corpse covering every corner of the kingdom.

And when he found you... Ah, dumb little bird, did he think he could hide for another year? Never.

He killed her husband the moment he saw the man, not even bothering to give him a painful death to pay for his crimes. He was as furious as a bull at the sight of any trace of red. He never thought about seriously hurting you, but he would have to punish you in a certain way to put you in your place. But his angry thoughts strayed the moment he caught sight of her swollen belly with a child.

A baby, that could and should be his. It was someone else's... It was an unforgivable betrayal. He could never fully forgive you. He would never forget or leave you alone for even a second.

He wouldn't kill the child, he would keep you away until you gave birth and then pretend that the child belonged to his lady-in-waiting, even if it was his child behind closed doors. It was a good way to keep tabs on you. Do you love your child? So better obey, you don't want something bad to happen, right?

Do not worry, dear. If you want to be a mother and wife so much, who would Maegor be to deny you that? You would be two things very soon.

Daemon Targaryen

Daemon was never a man to love madly, he fell in love a few times. He rolled from bed to bed without a fixed commitment, just looking for momentary fun and vague pleasures. He indulged in his desires without shame. Bad luck for you to have been so captivating. He was hooked on you the moment their eyes met his.

Any slight affection he ever had for other women and men was forgotten. For you he felt love. Real love that went beyond lust. After all, he had never touched you intimately and he already had such overwhelming feelings.What was it if not love? You were his only thought.The first thought when waking up and the last when going to bed.

And Daemon had no intention of hiding his affection. His hands constantly find their way to your shoulders or start from your waist, a touch that lingers on a simple handshake and a look so intense that it would make anyone else tremble in fear.

As expected, rumors were created questioning his honor and how terrible the prince was. When his father went to confront him, Daemon just smiled mischievously and just said he would marry you. To everyone's great surprise, after all, the Targaryen had demonstrated his unhappiness during his first marriage.

But you weren't like that woman uglier than a sheep. You were perfect in every aspect and in the very definition of the word. Something to be admired every day.

It was a strong, stunning blow when you disappeared during the night, your maids only finding cold, wrinkled sheets when they went to wake you up that morning.

Where in the seven hell were you? He would find you... You couldn't run away.

He destroyed, killed, tortured and threatened. He spent days flying with Caraxes to every corner of the seven kingdoms just to find you. Unsuccessfully. A long year without having your favorite addiction... You.

He drowned himself in e wine while you were gone, nursing a bubbling rage and constantly exploding at everyone, scaring even Viserys, who thought he had seen the worst side of his brother.

But nothing lasts forever. He found you. He invaded your home in Essos without hesitation. He didn't kill your husband at first because his stunned mind simply refused to understand that you had betrayed him in such a disgusting way.

But the moment she saw the little newborn baby in her arms. He understood everything.The black sister ran through her pathetic husband without mercy, blood spatter staining his robes in small crimson droplets.The cold, darkened eyes like never before were directed at you.

For a moment you feared for the baby's life, placing the small bundle against your chest to protect it.

"Don't worry, I would never hurt our son." He smiles as he says each word slowly. He would legitimize that child as his and didn't care what he would say. A good way to keep you behaved and not tarnish his bloodline with bastards. Obviously he would love his own children more with you, but he wouldn't show it so openly. You're lucky the child looks so much like you…

[just-some-random-blogger]

Could I pretty please request a cregan fanfic, where he gets jealous/possessive over the reader? I adore the way you write him! Thank you so much for your time❤️❤️

A/N: this has been in my drafts for a while now. i did a birthday poll and cregan did not win by any means but its my birthday and its storming and im sad and i just want someone to be kind to me. i hope you like this nonnie

Flicker

One could easily say that Lord Cregan Stark was a fair person. He is just and generous with the decisions he makes for his people. But if the matter is with his bride, there is no just or generous, only selfish and greedy; he has no inclination to share.

Cregan Stark x Reader | 1k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, irrational!cregan lol, fluff?, typos, etc.

Cregan clenches his jaw at the sight of you from across the yard. Not one, but two young lords are hot on your heels. They have not let up tailing you since they've arrived and, what's worse, is that you have been so terribly temperate with them.

The Lord Of Winterfell is beside himself in jealousy, and as the hour grows later, the cloud over him grows darker.

He could not blame those... young lords for acting a moth drawn to flame, in fact, he understood perfectly, but he can blame them for taking up your time. This was a harvest festival after all. How can Lady Stark make her rounds with two shadows weighing her down?

Just as you giggle at whatever nonsense was spoken to you, you turn and find not two faces but one broad back. Cregan grumbles, "boys."

The young lords, with their grins, nod at their liege lord, "Lord Stark."

"I'm sure my wife has enjoyed your company, but, it is nigh time for her to entertain other matters."

You come to your husband's side. He turns to you, seeing your smile's been replaced with raised brows. His own furrow.

"Come now, my lord," one of the two speak, "we were just telling our dear lady the folklo-"

"My dear lady had much else to do," Cregan interrupts, voice louder than necessary. He rolls his shoulders back, and suddenly the great sword on his back is more apparent than it was moment ago.

Though the two knew the Lord was not quick to resort to violence, still, they understood that it was time for them to depart, so they do.

Your face contorts as you watch your husband's nostrils flair after the two leave, his hot breath condensing with the cold air. He turns to you and you expect him to give you a talking to. You are frozen in shock when he merely nods and walks away.

Confusion holds your features, so you follow him. Cregan simply goes back to what he was doing, however, which was speaking to one of the farmers about the colts in his stables.

You are left confused, and honestly hurt by the strange treatment from him. After realizing he did not actually want you around him, you find something else to do. Cregan, though kept constantly preoccupied, keeps a close watch, and he is glad that no one lingers longer than they should this time around.

By the end of the day, when you are home eating supper, there is a tension between you two that only you can feel. Cregan is happily finishing his meal when you call out to him.

He averts his attention from his nearly empty bowl to you, "yes, my love?"

You press your lips together, doubting the otherwise plain way the pet name falls off his lips. You procure the gift you'd ben keeping on your lap the whole dinner, pushing it across the table to your husband.

Cregan's brows quirk at the wrapped object. He unfolds it, finding the gift to be a handful of candies. He turns back with a smile, "sweeties."

You return his smile with a softer one, "your favorite."

He pushes the sweets to the middle of the table, "dessert."

You turn to your bowl; you've only eaten half of your food, but your appetite was no longer present. Your husband takes a sweetie, then pushes it closer to you, urging you to take one. So, you do, popping it in your mouth.

"Thank you, love."

You release a breath, finally finding it in you to relax upon receiving the expression you did, "I take it you are no longer cross with me."

"Cross?" his brows knit, "whoever said such a lie?"

You raise your brows, "you ignored me the whole time after telling off Lord Caplan and Derby."

Cregan clears his throat, straightening up in his chair, "aye, I told them off, but I was not ignoring you. I told you I would be preoccupied greatly today."

You deflate "... Yes," you look around aimlessly, "you did."

Cregan's face hardens. He sighs, pushing his chair back, "come to me."

You stare at him for a moment. Part of you wishes to be difficult but you decide to slowly come over to him. Once you were within arm's reach, he scoops you into him and seals you against his chest.

You instinctively adjust atop him, arm coming around his shoulders while his own circle around your torso. He presses a few kisses on your neck before you lean into him. He rubs your sides, "forgive me if it appeared so, my heart."

You turn to him, frowning, "it did appear so, my lord."

Cregan's brows quirk. My lord? What horror. What pain. He frowns back, eager to set things straight, "how might I make it up to you?"

You ghost your fingertips down his cheek, examining his distraught expression. You lean your forehead against his, "I don't know."

Cregan tightens his hold on you, sighing out, "please. I do not wish to be your lord."

The faintest of chuckles slip past your lips, "mmm, but you are my lord, Lord Stark."

His one hand squeezes your thigh, "do not insult me so cruelly, my love."

You giggle under your breath and cup his cheeks.

Cregan relaxes slightly, but he still urges you with his eyes.

"Very well," you hum, "first, you must confess... were you jealous of the two lords?"

"Yes," he admits unabashedly quick.

You are taken off guard by it. You knit your brows and tilt your head, "w h y ?"

"Why?" he tilts his head the other way, "my person smiles at another. Need I say more?"

You raise a brow in disbelief of his explanation.

Cregan nuzzles against you neck, "I cannot help my feelings. Do not hold it so bitterly against me."

You chuckle and clutch the back of his head, leaning your cheek on him, "now... my dear—"

He perks, pulling away to look at you.

"—why ever would I do such a thing?"

Cregan grins, then peppers kisses across your jaw, "my thoughts exactly."

You push him away, gaining his full attention again, "but there is another thing you must do, silly pup."

His nostrils flare. It is not his favorite pet name, but he'd rather that than my lord. "Name it."

You trace his nose before tapping the tip, "take me to bed."

You yelp at the immediate reaction, as does the chair that crashes behind your husband when he jolts to his feet to carry you back into your quarters.

[cleo-fox]

Unraveled

Summary: It was all fun and games until Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

Pairing: Loki x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Minors DNI, dirty talk, praise kink, teasing, orgasm delay, sex, vaginal fingering, godly refractory periods, kitchen sex, semi public sex, Loki in a sweater.

A/N: My explanation for this one is that I saw too many pictures of Tom Hiddleston in a sweater and it gave me thoughts.

Being an Avenger has made you pretty good at rolling with the punches. After your third or fourth encounter with some alien/wizard/android bullshit, your perspective is fundamentally altered and real life seems manageable in a way that it didn’t before. You have to call your insurance company to dispute a claim? Big deal, you’ve negotiated with terrorists; you can handle Garth from Member Services.

The thing is, having that kind of perspective means that the things that do get to you can rattle you a lot more than they should. Natasha had warned you about that, but you were riding high on the thrill of successfully conquering Blue Cross Blue Shield and you kind of got to thinking she was exaggerating.

And then the seasons started to turn and Loki started wearing that goddamn sweater.

You can recognize when someone is out of your league. When you first moved into the Tower, it had been relatively easy for you to assign Loki to that category: he was a god. He’d been featured in last month’s GQ. You were mortal and your most recent press had been a TMZ story featuring unflattering paparazzi photos of you leaving a bodega in your pajamas at seven o’clock in the morning, a bagel halfway into your mouth. You were clearly not the same.

Up until the sweater, you’d managed to keep your cool around Loki and keep your attraction confined to daydreams and the occasional surreptitious lustful glance. Hell, you’d even had the nerve to be proud of yourself for keeping your shit together in front of him.

The sweater lays waste to all of that.

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like a sweater that is capable of completely destroying your carefully constructed composure. It’s a fairly standard crew neck in a deep green so dark it almost looks black at a first glance. But on Loki it just…does things to you. The fabric is well fitted, clinging to his biceps, pulling taut across his chest, emphasizing the line of his pectorals. It somehow accentuates how muscular he is while also still making him look lean and lithe.

The first time he wears it, you find your eyes just trail to him of their own volition, like an incredibly horny moth to the flame. It’s a day of catching yourself staring, panicking, pretending that you were actually looking at something else, and then repeating the process five minutes later when your gaze inevitably wandered again. It almost would have been funny if it didn’t put your blood pressure into the stratosphere.

To make matters worse, at the end of that day’s debriefing, he rises from his chair and raises his arms to the ceiling in a long stretch. The hem of the sweater creeps up, exposing the firm, flat muscles of his stomach, lightly dusted with a trail of hair that meanders in a tantalizing path down to his belt buckle.

You promptly choke on your own spit. Clint claps you hard on the back and asks if you’re okay, which is a question you don’t know how to answer (ultimately, you stick to a thumbs up and mumble something about dust getting caught in your throat). Loki is too preoccupied complaining about the entire concept of office furniture to notice. Or at least you’re pretty sure he doesn’t notice.

You might have been okay if that had been the only incident, but the sweater makes a repeat appearance on Friday. The following Tuesday features the deadly combination of the sweater with a pair of tight, dark wash jeans that nearly send you into cardiac arrest. Your fantasies suddenly become much more frequent and detailed.

You are not really sure what to do about this—it’s not like you can talk to anyone about it, nor can you ask him to stop wearing it without prompting some very uncomfortable questions. The idea that you’ll get used to it is laughable. 

You look at your calendar and note that spring is six months away. At least.

Fucking hell.

*

It’s a Saturday afternoon and in a strange quirk of scheduling, almost everyone is out of town for a mission or a personal obligation, leaving the Tower unusually quiet. As much as you enjoy the daily clatter and chaos that comes with living here, you find a lot of comfort in these moments of quiet, however infrequent they may be.

You intended to make yourself a late afternoon snack. That was the plan, anyway. But as you’re standing at the kitchen counter and cutting up the fruit you just washed, you realize that you’re not entirely alone. From this vantage point, you can see Loki lounging on the couch in the next room and reading.

He’s wearing the sweater. Of course he’s wearing the sweater. And the so-tight-they-should-be-illegal dark wash jeans.

Goddammit.

You have the sense to set the knife down at least. The last thing you need is a trip to the hospital because you got too distracted by your hot colleague while handling a knife.

You let your gaze travel along the firm muscles of his chest. It’s just a sweater. It shouldn’t look this good. It shouldn’t prompt these kinds of thoughts. And yet…

He shifts on the couch and the hem of the sweater creeps up. His hand drops to his belt buckle. It’s entirely appropriate, but the way his long, long fingers are splayed against his stomach makes your mind drop straight to the gutter and wonder what they’d look like wrapped around his rock hard co—

“You know, it’s rude to stare.”

His voice comes from behind you and adrenaline surges through you like an electric shock. The Loki on the couch looks up at you and smirks before disappearing in a shimmer of green.

You wonder if it’s possible to die of embarrassment and a heart attack all at the same time. It certainly feels like you’re about to.

You take a deep breath and try to collect yourself, which feels largely futile. Come on, get it together. You’ve negotiated with terrorists and insurance companies. Shake it off.

You slowly turn around, cheeks burning. Loki is standing right behind you, arms folded across his chest. You swallow.

“I um. I was—I was just…” Words escape you as your brain fires in every direction except a helpful one.

“You were just what?” His expression is intense, but you’re not sure that he’s angry.

“Spacing out,” you say, trying to infuse your voice with confidence that you absolutely do not feel.

He places his hands on the counter behind you, intentionally caging you in with his body. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him—a masculine, wintery musk that makes you want to bury your face against his chest.

“Try again,” he says. His voice is deep enough to rattle your bones.

You swallow. Everything you could possibly say seems wildly inadequate.

Loki has never been one to be at a loss for words, though, and after a moment of terrified silence from you, he continues speaking.

“I’ve noticed something curious over these past few weeks,” he says. “When I wear this sweater, you can’t seem to take your eyes off of me.”

Your heart is pounding. Fucking hell. Have you really been that obvious?

“Now why is that?” he asks, his voice a low purr.

You briefly consider trying to lie again, but the piercing green of his eyes instantly makes you rethink it. “I um…” You swallow hard. “It’s just…it suits you. You…you look good.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I look good?”

You nod.

“Interesting.” His lips twitch in a slight smirk as he looks you up and down. “And how does that make you feel?”

Your heart thuds in your chest, your stomach contorting with a strange combination of fear and desire. You’re still humiliated, but the sound of his voice and the dark intensity of his gaze is intoxicating and incredibly arousing.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to answer that question.”

“Oh, I think you do.” There’s a rawness in his voice that makes your cunt clench.

You shake your head, eyes wide. You’re pretty sure he’s not really mad, but you also don't know where this is going. Surely he’s not making a pass at you…right?

“How does it make you feel to see me in this sweater?” he continues, his voice a low whisper. He pauses for a moment and when you don’t answer, he continues. “Does it…arouse you, perhaps?”

Holy fuck.

This can’t be happening.

You try to think of something clever or sexy, but the bluntness of the question and the fire in his eyes kills whatever remaining brain cells you have left. Mutely, you nod.

There’s that smirk again as he licks his lips. “Are you wet right now?”

Your cheeks burn. You give the tiniest nod possible.

“Hmm.” His hand alights on the button of your jeans. “I believe you Midgardians have a saying that is appropriate here: trust, but verify.” He slips the button free and your heart pounds like a war drum in your chest. 

You cannot believe this is happening.

“You haven’t been entirely truthful in this conversation.” His palm presses flat against your stomach, the tips of his fingers slipping under the waistband of your underwear. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to see for myself.”

His hand is achingly slow, creeping lower and lower. He watches you intently as his hand cups your sex, seemingly cataloging the way your breath hitches and all the little shivers that run through you.

His middle finger finally slides between your folds and you can’t help but moan.

“Oh, you did lie to me,” he growls, his index finger joining his middle, both sliding up to circle your clit. “You’re not wet, you’re soaked.”

Your legs are already starting to tremble and you grab on to his shoulders to try and steady yourself. The fabric of the sweater is softer than a cloud against your hands.

“Sopping wet,” he continues, trapping your right leg between his thighs and the counter, the heavy weight of his erection pressing eagerly against your hip. “And this is all for me?”

Wordlessly, you nod. There’s no point in denying it—and you don’t think he wants you to, either.

“What am I going to do about this?” he muses. His index and middle fingers lightly circle your clit again and you whimper.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he says. His tone is one of light curiosity, like you’re just chatting casually about the weather. “But if I continue, you’re almost certainly going to come.”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please.”

“Oh, you want me to make you come?” You can hear the smirk in his voice. “Right here in the middle of the kitchen?”

You nod.

“Anyone could walk in, though,” he purrs. “Anyone could come in and see me with my fingers buried in your dripping cunt. What would they think if they saw you so utterly debauched and at my mercy, begging for me to make you come?”

“Don’t care…” you gasp. How are you already so close?

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t care what they’d think if they saw us like this?”

You shake your head.

“Oh, you must be desperate.” He adjusts his hand, his thumb taking up the rhythm on your clit while his index finger sinks into your slick channel, making you gasp.

“Loki, please—”

“Begging already,” he says, not letting up in his rhythm. “Has it been a long time, sweetheart? When did you last feel this good?”

It’s not a question you can answer. You don’t know that anyone ever has made you feel like this. You moan, your hips bucking hard against his hand.

“Poor thing,” he tuts. “You’re clearly desperate for it. What kinds of filthy thoughts have you had about me?” he purrs. “I’ve seen you staring, I’ve heard your breath hitch. Have you touched yourself while thinking of me?”

You manage a nod and his smile turns feral. “When was the last time?”

“Last…last night,” you gasp.

“How many times did you come?”

“F-Four.”

“Filthy girl.” His free hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair as he tips your head back. “Next time, all you have to do is ask.”

His mouth covers yours, his tongue pushing past your lips as he slides a second finger into you. You moan into his mouth as the pressure in your hips increases.

“Oh yes, let me hear all of those pretty noises,” he murmurs. “Are you going to let me fuck you against the counter after I make you come?”

You nod, whimpering.

“Good girl,” he purrs. “I think you need to be fucked properly and hard. Is that what you need?”

“Yes,” you gasp.

“Mmm, that’s what I thought. This cunt is just too wet and needy for any other treatment.” He draws back to look at you more fully, giving you a lazy, hungry smile. “You’re about to lose it all over my fingers, aren’t you?”

Your orgasm is cresting, the tingling pressure in your hips becoming unbearable. You nod, lost for words.

With one more smirk, he curls his fingers inside of you. “Come for me, pretty girl, let me see you.”

Your cunt spasms around his thrusting fingers and your whole body shudders as your orgasm overtakes you, your head tipping back as you cry out.

“Oh, that’s it,” he murmurs, “there’s my good girl.”

A shiver runs through you at his words, your hips still moving against his hand, trying to draw out every last ripple of pleasure.

He kisses you as you come down from your high, and you take the opportunity to run your hands over his chest and tentatively feel the hard planes of muscle that you’ve been staring at these last few weeks. But after a few moments, he takes your hand and guides it to his cock.

His preference for leather pants or those sinfully tight dark wash jeans made you suspect that the size of his ego might actually be proportionate to the size of his cock and your initial assessment seems to confirm that theory. You rub your fingers over the denim that covers his thick shaft, feeling yourself grow even wetter at the low groan he makes in the back of his throat.

“Take my cock out.” His voice is so deep and his eyes are so smoldering, it feels like the command goes straight to your cunt. You are practically trembling with anticipation as your shaking hands  make quick work of the button, buckle, and zipper.

You can’t help but suck in a breath when his cock comes into view. He’s long and deliciously thick—big enough to be a little intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.

He guides your hand to wrap around his shaft. He barely fits in your hand. “Look at what you’ve done to me,” he says, his voice raspy as he guides your hand to stroke his cock. “Feel how hard I am for you, feel how much I want you.”

His cock practically pulses with need, the tip slick with pre-come and you grasp him more firmly, your cunt pulsing as he gives a deeply satisfying groan.

You stroke him from base to tip, squeezing lightly. He groans again. “They told me to stay away from you, you know,” he says.

You aren’t so far gone that you can let this information slip by. “What? Who?”

“Stark. Rogers. Romanoff. My brother.” He reaches behind you and shoves the fruit and cutting board into the side, the knife clattering into the sink. “They saw how I looked at you,” he says. “They saw that I wanted you. They told me you were too good for me. Too sweet.”

You feel your jeans and underwear melt away in a shimmer of green and he lifts you easily onto the counter.

His eyes flash with desire. “I wonder what they’d say if they knew you’d let me fuck you raw in the middle of the kitchen?”

For a brief moment, frustration almost wins out over your lust. “We could have done this sooner?”

His gaze turns serious. “Darling, we could have done this the moment we met, but I’m told a handshake is more appropriate.”

You take a breath, about to embark on a rant about the individuals he’d named and how they hadn’t even asked, they’d just assumed, but Loki puts a hand up against your mouth.

“Don’t make me wait any longer,” he says. There’s a sincerity and a need in his gaze that you’ve never seen before and it’s enough to calm your anger for just a moment.

“Okay,” you say, wrapping your legs around his waist and angling your hips toward his, “but clear your schedule because I’m gonna need you to fuck me a lot to make up for all that time.”

His grin is feral as he pushes into you.

You shiver at the blunt stretch of his cock, your hands gripping his broad shoulders. He indulges in a low groan as his hips press flush against yours.

“If I’d known they were keeping me from this tight cunt, I would’ve done something sooner,” he rasps. “You feel absolutely perfect.”

“Please,” you breathe, “I need—please.”

His hips snap hard against yours and you moan, your head tipping back.

His eyes glitter as he pulls you close, pressing his mouth against your ear. “The next time I have you, I will be sweet and soft.”

“And this time?” you ask, though you think you already know the answer.

“This time—” His mouth presses against the curve of your neck, teeth scraping just this side of too hard against the tender skin. “—I’m going to utterly ruin you.”

His pace is fast and rough—the word possessive comes to mind. You twist the luxurious fabric of his sweater in your hands as his cock hits that sweet, aching spot inside of you, pressing against your sensitive cunt in a way that makes your muscles spasm and clench around him. You moan, a shiver rolling through you as you inch closer to release.

“I’m…fuck, I’m getting close,” you gasp.

His pace abruptly slows and his grin is wide and his eyes are dancing with mirth when he raises his head from your shoulder.

“That was unnecessary,” you say with a scowl.

“Oh, I just want to savor you for a little longer, my love,” he purrs as he settles into an easy and slow pace that still makes your toes curl. “You’re going to take me right over the edge with you and I’ve waited so terribly long to have you.”

“I feel like you’re probably omitting the fact that you like being a tease,” you say.

He grins again, increasing his pace ever so slightly. “Both things can be true.”

He does this a few times—taking up a wicked pace that almost sends you hurtling over the edge, only to slow at the last possible moment, silencing your whimpering protests with a deep and slow kiss that is good enough to make you forgive him until a few minutes later when he does it all over again.

You hold out for as long as you can, but eventually, the ache in your hips overwhelms you.

“Loki,” you breathe when his pace again begins to increase. “Please don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop?” he rasps, somehow finding the concentration to raise an eyebrow. “You’re quite sure?”

You nod.

“You want to come all over my cock?”

Speech is slightly beyond you at this point, but you manage to gasp a desperate plea as you hurtle into the final plateau, right before the fall.

Loki regards you with that same playful look as he fucks you. You wait, unsure of what he’s going to do, your body desperately crying out for your release.

His lips curl into a smile. “Come for me, sweet thing.”

At the sound of his voice, every one of your muscles is tensing and releasing, the slick walls of your cunt clamping down hard on the thick girth of his cock as you shudder and moan.

The remnants of Loki’s composure are fraying, his eyes closed and his jaw slack as he chases his own end. His brow furrows and he throws his head back, letting out a low groan as he comes and you think it might be the best sound you’ve ever heard.

You sag against him as you both come down from your respective highs, his heart beating hard under the soft fabric of his sweater. He reaches for your face, tilting your head back so he can kiss you, impossibly slow and soft.

You’re in the middle of the kitchen. You understand this. In a wholly rational world, you would be quick to hop off the counter, quick to try and negotiate the return of your jeans from whatever pocket dimension he’s sent them to.

Instead, you find yourself wanting to stay in this moment, with his arms wrapped around you, his cock still pulsing inside you as he kisses you breathless.

You count to ten, then twenty. At forty, you draw back slightly, only to have him pull you back into the kiss.

It’s somewhere after one hundred when he trails his lips to your neck and you manage to say what you intended: “We should probably…” you trail off as he sucks at your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine.

“We should probably what?” he murmurs against your neck, before tracing a lazy figure eight with the tip of his tongue.

It takes you a moment to find that sentence. “Get dressed and such.”

You feel the sharp press of his smile against your skin. “I think not.”

Before you can open your mouth to say anything, the kitchen is fading in a shimmer of green to an unfamiliar bedroom and the two of you tumble into a bed draped in green silk.

“I’d like to stay like this for a while,” he says, a smile playing at his lips as he slowly rolls his hips against you, somehow still impossibly hard. “In fact, I think I need to have you again.”

“I can live with that,” you say. You tug at the fabric of his sweater. “But this is going to have to go.”

His gaze is smoldering and his bare skin is suddenly pressed against yours as the sweater and the rest of your clothes disappear in that familiar shimmer of green.

“Will you like me as much without it?” he asks, rolling his hips against you.

You drag your fingernails up along the firm muscles of his back. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in to kiss you, “because as I understand it, we have quite a lot of time to make up for.”

[agnesafterhours]

lavender haze | lee know. smut.

Your boyfriend is not prone to communicating his feelings through words, but luckily for him, you always know exactly what he needs. (1.9k words)

CONTENT: smut, boyfriend!lino, creampie, unprotected sex and cum eating. minors and empty blogs do not interact.

© all rights reserved. i do not allow reposting and/or translations of my work.

Contrary to popular belief, Minho sulks often. You do understand why people would believe that isn’t the case—your boyfriend’s dry jokes followed by a sarcastic smile being one of the reasons why you were drawn to him in the first place. When you first met him a couple years back, when he was still doing busking events with his dance crew alongside a common friend of yours, you’d watch in doe-eyed adoration as he’d flash his bunny teeth in a playful grin to his crewmates each time they got one move slightly wrong. What pissed them off the most is they could never get back at Minho—he never forgot any moves, never missed a beat. His justifiable confidence made him oh so irritating—you were attracted like moth to a flame to his character, his knife-sharp features matching his equally piercing sense of humour were fuel to the fire. 

But the thing about your boyfriend's sulking is that it is often unjustifiable. Of course he doesn't need a reason to want to be pampered by you, but it'd be nice if Minho admitted he also likes to be taken care of at least once in a while.  

“What did I do to deserve this torture?” The ever so intimidating choreographer mumbles from his spot on your bed, your pastel pink pillowcases being a little counterproductive to the assertive tone he's been trying to use on you. 

Minho can’t suppress the smirk forming on his lips at your scoff, “Torture? I'm just asking you to wait! These bedsheets got here like, two weeks ago!” You're on your feet, struggling to fold one of the new huge linens to store in your closet. “If they stay in these bags any longer they're gonna start smelling weird.” 

“You know that's not how it works, right?” 

“I don't care. You know you should be helping me, right?” You look back, a smirk of your own automatically taking place when your eyes find his. 

Despite the lopsided smile that seems to be permanently plastered on his face, Minho grunts as he drags his body out of the comforter and towards you, “You know you should wash these before putting them away, right?”  

And as soon as your eyebrows raise and he sees the very familiar smile on your lips as you push the sheet into his arms, your boyfriend realizes he fell right into your trap, “Have it your way, then!” 

The man watches as you jump in bed, getting comfortable on the spot he previously was—eyes filled with the similar overwhelming fondness they usually hold when Minho looks at you. “You’re annoying.” He takes off the rest of the sheeting from it’s flimsy plastic bags, making his way to the laundry room. “Don’t fall asleep!” He exclaims from the hallway. 

“I’m not making any promises!” 

“Don’t sleep! I wanna spend time with you!” Unfortunately, no amount of stubbornness can take away Minho's super power of having you giggling into your pillow. He wants to spend time with you. He's the love of your life and he wants to spend time with you.  

Those are the feelings you can't quite understand. You’ve been with Minho for so long—at least long enough you've been through the “honeymoon stage” everyone seems to fear the ending of. For you, it feels like this stage never seems to be over. You pray it never ends.  

So here you are, kicking your feet because your long term boyfriend said he wants to spend time with you. At least you know he's as obsessive as you are, if not slightly more. 

Minho's way of showering you with love was overwhelming. He isn't the type to communicate his feelings through words, instead, he'd do things like casually tell you about getting into a rather serious argument with his manager, trying to get the day off so he’d spend your birthday with you. Of course he would be busy, cooking your favourite meal as he casually narrates the dramatics him and his group went through trying to get his needs respected. He doesn't look you in the eye when he says he got emotional, the only reason why his manager gave in being Minho “never behaved like this before”. This is his way of saying you're his utmost priority, can't you tell? The redness of his ears and fidgety eyes are a big hint of the nervousness Minho prayed you wouldn't pick up on. Unfortunately for him, you know him like the back of your hand.  

You know that a quick glance your way means someone said something he found amusing in a way. If his hand fell to your lower back in social gatherings, it means Minho is a bit nervous and needs some grounding. If he's too silent, you know to sit beside him and wait until it all comes pouring out. With you, it always does. If he's vocalizing how tired he is, you know he'd enjoy talking for hours on end about anything that comes to his mind. Minho always needs you, he just has very specific patterns to show you exactly what he's currently craving from you. Fortunately for him, he's your favourite subject matter. He's the only thing you ever want to pay attention to—the sole owner of your entire focus.  

That's why you know exactly what he needs when he flops back on the bed, and after a few moments of silence, blurts out “I miss you. I missed you a lot this week." 

You crawl out of your nest and straddle your boyfriend's lap, dragging your comforter along and covering you both with it.  

You're both silent as you hold his cheeks, taking your time as you kiss them, then his forehead, and the mole on his nose—at least a couple times each. Minho's hand slides down your lower back when your lips find his, tongue slowly tasting his as you feel his heart beating tranquilly against the palm of your hand sliding up and down his chest. You feel his right hand gently cupping the back of your neck, holding you close against him as the other sneaked under your shirt, slowly caressing your bare back.  

Minho doesn't try to take control of the kiss like he usually does—neither do you. Your bodies seem to move in harmony, the glacial movements of his tongue making you sigh against his mouth every now and again, promptly resulting in a smirk of his. You loved kissing his smile. 

“Missed you so much, baby.” He repeated softly against your lips. Minho now had both hands under your shirt, his touch leaving goosebumps as he caressed up and down your sides.  

“Missed you too. Always miss you so much, Min.” Your breathing is a bit compromised now, hands moving on their own as you remove your own shirt.  

Minho quickly follows, his palms back on your hips as soon as his shirt is tossed to the side. “I know you do, pretty. I know.” 

His hands lay on your ass, groping as he whispers against your lips. “Spent the entire week thinking about fucking you. Gonna lay on your side for me, pretty? Hm? Gonna do it just how I like it?” 

Too much, too much, too much. You don't think you're really moaning anymore, but you're sure your mouth's been hanging open for a while. Minho’s hips are slow as he hits the deepest parts of you, holding your squirming body for a few seconds each time he bottoms out. The sweet, lazy drag of his cock inside you make your lust disable all of your senses. He felt heavy, thick, so deep inside you. Full. You felt so, so full.  

Somewhere in the haze you feel his palms making their way towards your chest, you process a bit of squirming as he squeezes them, massaging your breasts as he continued his torturously slow assault on your g-spot. 

Minho can feel every cell fighting against his urge to mount and pump into you as fast as he pleases, but he'd endure anything if it means he gets to hear your drawn out whines as he rocks his hips back and forth, your entire body shivering every time he pauses deep inside of you for a few moments.

He runs his hand through the goosebumps of your arms and back to your chest again. After feeling you up a bit more, your boyfriend takes your hand and drags it south as he presses on your lower stomach, making you feel him moving inside you. 

“You're feeling how good I fill you up, honey? Can you feel it?” His breathing is much more ragged now, Minho's body is visibly shuddering behind you as well. You squeeze around and him, bringing his hips to a stop. 

You look back, staring at his open mouth as you inhale each other's heavy breaths. As if snapped out of a trance, Minho kisses you roughly. He swallows each of your moans when his hips start swaying back and forth again, still as slow and rough as he was.  

His hand leaves yours as he reaches for your chin, spit dribbling down your lips. 

“So fucked out you're drooling for me. God, you're so good, baby. You take it so good.” 

“Holy shit, Minho! So close, so close, so close-” Your voice is no longer a whisper as it's pitch gets higher, your orgasm dangling in front of you in a fever dream. You feel him everywhere and it's almost too much, but certainly not enough. You're so overstimulated you don't know what to focus on to reach your high—both your senses and judgment so clouded you can't muster the brainpower to figure out what you need. 

Luckily for you, Minho knows you like the back of his hand. “I love you. Love you so much.” 

You can't tell how long it lasts, you're barely able to process Minho coming inside you. You feel the ghost of his hands holding your hips still as he whimpers in your ear—the sound alone making you shiver all over again. Your body shakes in his hold, limbs giving out after a prolonged orgasm you're not used to experiencing.  

“Love you too… Love you so much…” The words mindlessly escape your lips as your head slowly sways, fingers twirling the ends of your splayed out hair. 

Your eyes are closed as he lays you on your back, adjusting the pillow under your head as he chuckles. “Love you too, pretty. Hang in there just a second.” 

You feel his hands caressing your body as he handles you, a sixth sense making you chuckle when you realize he spread your legs but didn't start cleaning you up. 

His hands run down your thighs, you can hear the smirk on his voice. “What's up?” 

“Stop staring.” You say, humming with your eyes still closed. 

“Don't wanna.” You feel his fingers sliding through your core. “Mouth wide open for me, baby. Come on.” 

You sigh when you get a taste of his coated fingers, lips wrapping around as your tongue licks in between them. You open your eyes to find him hovering above you, eyes fix in your mouth. 

The look you give Minho makes him dizzy—the way you stare up at him with your big doe eyes in such adoration while sucking cum off his fingers almost made his heart burst. He can feel how each beat of it belongs to you, his heartbeat chained to a rhythm that followed your own.  

Chest to chest, Minho watches as your eyes sparkle, your hand softly stroking the back of his head. A smile forms on your lips when you pop his fingers out of your mouth as you breathily mutter against them. “You know I'm gonna marry you someday, right?” 

[biblicallyaccuratemoth]

INTRODUCTION POST!

Hello there. I'm Mina (she/her), also known as @biblicallyaccuratemoth.

I'm a late twenties trans woman living in the United States and trying to take things one day at a time. The majority of the content on this blog is trans-based content, but sometimes I do take some detours to make stuff about my writing, media I like, or whatever else I'm in the mood for.

If that's something that appeals to you, go ahead and hit that follow button. I try to update every few days.

If you've read my comics, you may see some recurring characters. For the easiest viewing experience, here are some recurring faces:

If you see a buxom, purple-haired goth, that's @degenerate-mystery-inc-whore, my IRL best friend. If you enjoy my content, be sure to give her a follow too. She's the one who convinced me to make this account in the first place.

If you see a disgruntled Catboy, that's my twin brother. He prefers to keep his name under wraps, so I'll refer to him here as Sonata.

The dark-haired dork (affectionate) in a lab coat is my boyfriend. He's maybe the sweetest person I've ever met, and he lets me talk nonstop about Godzilla lore. I think that's what love is.

I will also on occasion draw myself as one of two different Moth-based characters. Blob-Moth, which has no human features, is usually reserved for posting about Autism and stickers. While Moth, the Moth-Girl, shows up when I want to add a little more spice to my artwork. And sometimes I get bored of drawing normal human features and crave more of a challenge.

[princesscait26]

Oh Deer

Alastor x Y/n

Summary: What happens when y/n uses Alastors mug.

The morning hummed with the promise of a new day at Hazbin Hotel. Y/n, feeling the pull of caffeine, ventured downstairs to the kitchen, her eyelids heavy with the remnants of sleep. A cursory glance at her array of cups revealed a mountain of unwashed dishes, prompting a tired sigh. Resigned, she reached for the nearest ceramic, which happened to be Alastor's iconic mug emblazoned with the words "Oh Deer." A mischievous grin crept across her lips as she imagined the chaos she could sow with this borrowed cup.

Pouring herself a generous serving of coffee, she indulged in a sinful amount of sugar and cream, relishing the sweetness that danced across her taste buds. With her concoction in hand, she sauntered into the living room of the lobby, her tail swishing behind her with excitement, ready to tackle the day's challenges.

From his post at the bar, Husk's bleary eyes widened in horror as he spied Y/n cradling Alastor's prized possession. Panic clawed at his chest as he approached her, snatching the mug, his voice a frantic whisper. "Are you out of your mind? He'll have your head for this," he hissed, the fear in his tone.

Y/n chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she defiantly reclaimed the mug. "Relax, Husk. I'm just a doe enjoying her morning brew," she quipped, her smirk daring him to challenge her further.

Husk's expression wavered between disbelief and trepidation, but ultimately, he decided to wash his hands of the impending chaos. With a resigned shake of his head, he retreated to the safety of the bar, determined not to be caught in the crossfire of Y/n's antics and Alastor's wrath

———————————————————————

Alastor, the illustrious radio demon, embarked on his customary routine. With each step echoing a sense of purpose, he descended into the kitchen, eager to fuel himself with the elixir of wakefulness before ascending to the radio tower for another captivating broadcast, replete with reminders of those who dared to cross him.

However, his meticulously planned morning took an unforeseen detour as he reached for his prized mug, only to find it conspicuously absent from its designated spot. A flicker of confusion danced across his features before morphing into a scowl of irritation. The scent of coffee hung heavy in the air, betraying evidence of recent use. How could anyone be audacious enough to pilfer his cherished vessel?

Venturing into the lobby, Alastor's keen eyes swept over the familiar faces occupying the space. Husk diligently tending to the bar avoiding his bosses gaze, Charlie engaged in animated conversation with Angel Dust, and Vaggie brushing Charlie’s hair—all mundane scenes in contrast to the brewing storm within Alastor's mind.

Yet, it was the sight of Y/n, nestled comfortably amidst a sea of paperwork, cradling a cup of coffee in her hands, that drew Alastor's attention like a moth to flame. A devilish grin spread across his lips as he honed in on the object of his suspicion.

Approaching with predatory grace, Alastor loomed over his favorite little doe, his presence casting a palpable shadow over her workspace. With a tilt of his head and a glint of mischief in his eye, he addressed her in a melodic tone that belied the underlying threat. "What have we here, my dear?" he crooned, his voice a siren's call of danger.

Y/n met his gaze with feigned innocence, her lashes fluttering as she summoned her most pure expression. "Just a cup of coffee, darling," she replied, her voice dripping with sweetness as she dared him to challenge her façade.

A tension lingered between Alastor and Y/n, their relationship a delicate dance of affection and provocation, evident to all who dwelled within its walls. Over time, they had forged a bond woven with pet names and whispered endearments, their connection an open secret among the patrons who watched with bated breath as their story unfolded.

As Y/n sat, in the familiar warmth of Alastor's presence leering against her, sending a cascade of shivers down her spine. His voice, a velvet purr, tickled her ear as he leaned in close, his breath ghosting over the nape of her neck. “That belongs to me, cheri.” Y/n was at a loss for words, heart pounding in her chest and her face as red as Alastor’s ears. With deliberate intent, he materialized before her, his proximity a deliberate distraction as he reached for the mug cradled in her grasp.

A pout graced Y/n's lips as she resisted his advance, her fingers tightening around the mug as if daring him to challenge her claim. Alastor, undeterred by her defiance, closed the distance between them, his nose almost touching hers and his gaze locking with hers in a silent challenge. The tension in the room could be cut with a knife, every eye trained on the unfolding drama, anticipation crackling in the air like electricity.

Charlie, her smile a beacon of encouragement, stood hand in hand with Vaggie, their shared anticipation mirrored in the gazes they exchanged. Husk, his expression a mixture of concern and resignation, braced himself for the inevitable fallout, while Angel Dust held his breath in rapt anticipation, his eyes fixed on the unfolding spectacle.

With bated breath, Y/n awaited Alastor's response, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of apprehension and desire. As he took the mug from her grasp, a triumphant smile graced his lips, the thrill of victory evident in his crimson gaze. He went to retreat as he thought he had won but, Y/n seized his hand with a surge of newfound confidence, pulling him close in a bold display of affection.

“This belongs to me” she says and their lips meet in a fervent kiss, the world around them falling away as they surrendered to the undeniable pull of their attraction. For a moment, time stood still, the only sound echoing through the lobby the soft murmur of their mingled breaths.

As the kiss lingered, a resounding crash shattered the fragile stillness, the sound of breaking glass punctuating the moment jolting them back into reality. Alastor, his resolve crumbling like the shards of his shattered porcelain cup, returned Y/n's embrace with both hands and a passion that ignited the room, their connection transcending the confines of words and gestures.

In the aftermath of their impulsive display, the patrons of the hotel stood in stunned silence, their shock palpable as they beheld the wreckage of Alastor's beloved mug lying in ruins upon the floor. Yet, amidst the debris, a newfound understanding dawned, as they witnessed the depth of Alastor's devotion laid bare in the wreckage of his shattered mug, a sacrifice made in favor of a love that defied all expectations.

Amidst the scattered remnants of Alastor's shattered mug, Nifty, the ever-efficient maid of the Hazbin Hotel, sprung into action with characteristic zeal. "A mess, I'll clean it," she declared, her voice ringing with determination as she swiftly gathered the fragments littering the floor.

[newobsessionweekly]

Secret signals

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x fem!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You and Tim have been best friends for as long as you can remember. Little did you know he feels the same way about you.

Warning: None. Pure fluff. Not proofread yet

Fluff

A/N: Yes, i'm back with another fluff. And yes it's shorter than the last one (i hope so) . Anyways, I love this one. I love all of them and I hope you enjoy it as well! Also i suck at title so forgive me. I have a surprise coming up so stay tuned. Also, the feedback is always welcome and would help me out. Have a wonderful day, bubs. and lots of love 🫧 Requested: Yes Words: 2.3k GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

You made your way through the crowded streets, heading to the police station, a direct order and classified information dictating your day.

Inside the station, the air is alive with activity, officers bustling about as they go about their duties. The scent of coffee and paperwork fills the air, a familiar aroma that feels like home. You navigate the labyrinthine halls with ease, your footsteps echoing off the walls as you make your way toward a specific desk.

And there's Tim, your best friend and partner in crime. He's every bit as striking as you remember, with his broad shoulders and commanding presence. His piercing blue eyes hold a hint of world-weariness, a testament to the countless battles he's fought both on and off the streets of LA.

You couldn't help but smile at the sight, Tim frowning over some files, trying to find a way to catch that woman. Gladly for him, you were sent there to give them a hand.

Playfully, you snuck up on him, sliding into the chair beside Tim with a mischievous grin. "Hey there, partner." you greeted him, nudging his shoulder.

Tim's head shot up, a surprised, almost intelligible, smile breaking through his expression as he grumbles something indecipherable, but you know him well enough to recognize the hint of amusement in his eyes. "Can't a guy get some peace and quiet around here?" he mutters.

"Don't be so exited to see me, I might think you like me or something." you played the sarcastic card as you reached over to snatch the file from his hands.

"So, what brings you to the lion's den today?" Tim asks, arching an eyebrow in curiosity as he leans against his desk, arms crossed.

You lean in closer, your fingers brushing against his arm as you secretively whispered, "I heard there's a handsome police officer in need of my assistance. Thought I'd drop by and grace you all with my presence," you quip, earning an amused snort from him.

A playful smirk crosses Tim's lips as his breath winds warm against your ear. "Right, because we all know this place wouldn't be the same without you."

As Tim leans in closer, his voice low and husky, you find yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame, captivated by the warmth of his presence and the depth of emotion in his eyes. And as he grins at you, that familiar twinkle of mischief dancing in his gaze, you can't help but feel a surge of affection for the man who's been by your side through thick and thin. You chuckle, knowing Tim's gruff exterior hides a soft spot for you. "Actually, I'm here on official business," you admit, your expression turning serious.

As you steal a moment to admire Tim, you can't help but notice how the dim light of the station casts a soft glow on his rugged features, accentuating the lines of his jaw and the shadow of stubble along his chin. His tousled hair falls across his forehead in a way that makes your fingers itch to reach out and brush it away, but you resist the urge.

Tim's interest is piqued as he straightens up, all traces of humor fading from his face. "What kind of business?" he asks, his tone more serious now.

You take a deep breath, steeling yourself before continuing "Well, you know how my department has been working on that recent string of burglaries? I think I might have stumbled upon some information that could help you catch the woman behind it," you explain, your words coming out in a rush as you anxiously await Tim's reaction.

Tim's expression shifts, his eyes narrowing as he processes your words. "You think you've found something?" he asks, his voice tinged with a mix of skepticism and intrigue.

You nod eagerly, a surge of adrenaline coursing through you as you showed him the files. "Yeah, I've been going through the data from our latest investigations, and I noticed a pattern," you explain, your excitement palpable.

His lips twitch into a half-smile, a flicker of pride evident in his eyes as he looks at you. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says, his voice low and sincere.

Tim's eyes soften as he looks at you, a warmth radiating from him that makes your heart skip a beat. You find yourself getting lost in the depths of his piercing blue eyes, unable to tear your gaze away.

There's a subtle warmth in his touch, a lingering of his hand on your arm as he gestures or a light brush of his fingers against yours when passing papers. It's a touch that speaks volumes, conveying a depth of affection that goes beyond mere friendship.

Despite your best efforts to keep your feelings in check, you can't deny the way your heart races at the sight of him, or the way your skin tingles with electricity whenever your hands accidentally brush against each other. It's as if every touch, every fleeting glance, only serves to deepen the unspoken connection between you, binding you together in a way that defies explanation.

Your voice barely more than a breath as you lean into his touch, savoring the feeling of his fingers against your skin. In that moment, it feels like the rest of the world fades away, leaving just the two of you in your own little bubble of warmth and affection.

As you and Tim discuss the details of the case, a beautiful woman approaches with a stack of papers in hand. "Sir, I finished up the paperwork from this morning's arrest," she says, flashing a bright smile, confident and proud of herself.

You switched looks between the woman and Tim, admiring him and how his muscles were more visible. He switched in his seat to face Chen, as written on the tag. With one hand still laying on your waist, slowly moving up and down, sending cold shivers down your spine despite the warmth, he took the papers from her with his free hand and inspected them with a serious expression.

"Quit frowning, you'll get even more wrinkles." you told him as your elbows rested on his desk, your hands cupping your cheeks. You can't resist the urge to tease Tim, your playful banter a familiar comfort amidst the tension of the moment.

You smiled at him as he ignored your remark, he turns at the woman nodding his head, acknowledging her with a grunt. "Officer Chen, this is Y/N," he introduces, gesturing towards you. "She's an old friend of mine, works in the forensic department."

Lucy offers you a friendly smile and extends her hand. "I'm Lucy. Nice to meet you," she says warmly.

You shake her hand with a smile of your own. "Likewise," you reply, noting the earnestness in Lucy's eyes. "So this is your rookie." you turned to your best friend and then your attention focused on his rookie once more, "Tim speaks about you all the time."

Tim clears his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Well, we should get going," he says, his voice a tad too loud in the suddenly awkward silence. "We've got patrol duty."

Angela overhears your name and practically materializes at Tim's desk, her curiosity piqued. "Why did no one tell me Y/N is here?" she asks, her eyes wide with interest.

Before you could think, you jump from your seat, missing Tim's warmth as you embraced Officer Lopez in a tight hug "Honey, glad to see you. It's been too long." you told her, gently caressing her back as you withdrew from the hug.

Pulling back, Angela's gaze flickering between you and Tim with a knowing glint in her eye. "I know, I've been busier than ever," she says with a chuckle. "But I might have some free time tonight. Gotta go, but I'll give you a call!"

Angela shows your best friend a mischievous grin as he clenches his jaw, uncomfortable at the attention you received. "Boot, prepare the shop for patrol." he barked at Lucy.

"Yes, sir." she nodded, following Angela's steps.

As you gathered your belongings, Tim could calmly breathe as the two of you had been left alone. It wasn't the fact he didn't adore your friendliness and caring side, he was jealous when he had to share that with anyone.

"Hey, uh," he called out, his tone tinged with an underlying nervousness.

Turning to face him, you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes seemed to search yours, as if seeking reassurance or perhaps something more.

"I was thinking," he began, his words trailing off for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued. "I was thinking we could grab a drink after our shift. You know, just to unwind."

His suggestion caught you off guard, and for a moment, you struggled to find the right words.

"That sounds great, Tim," you said, exited at the thought of escaping the daily chaos "We should ask Angela too."

As soon as the words left your mouth, his expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features before he masked it with a forced smile. "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," he replied, his tone betraying a hint of resignation.

Lucy couldn't help but steal glances back at you and as she made her way to the patrol shop. "So, Angela" she began, her voice filled with unstoppable curiosity " What's the deal with them?"

Angela chuckles softly as she saw the spark in Chen's eyes "Oh, they've been friends for as long as I can remember. They're practically inseparable."

Lucy's eyebrows shoot up in surprise "You wouldn't tell he'd have friends… at all."

Lopez helps Lucy with the bags as they made their way to the shop "Oh, they go way back."

"Really?"

"Let's just say there's a lot more to their relationship than meets the eye," she says cryptically, enjoying the opportunity to tease Tim.

Lucy's eyes widen in realization, her gaze flickering back to you and Tim standing by the entrance of the station. Tim's smile is wide, his eyes lighting up like torches as your cheeks rose a bright, red colour "You don't mean…" she begins, trailing off as the pieces start to fall into place.

Angela simply nods, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Exactly," she replies, her tone filled with amusement. "But don't take my word for it. Just keep an eye on them, and you'll see for yourself."

As Lucy and Tim hit the streets on patrol, he is back to his grumpy self, his jaw clenched as he drove through the streets of LA. His rookie tries to lighten the mood with small talk, but Tim's responses are short and curt.

"My private life is none of your business."

"Come on, Tim," Officer Chen insisted, casting a sidelong glance at him. "You've been avoiding this conversation all day. What's going on with you and Y/N?"

Tim lets out a frustrated sigh, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. "There's nothing going on," he replies tersely, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

The rookie raises an eyebrow, unconvinced by his response. "Bull," she retorts. "I've seen the way you look at her. You can't hide it from me."

Tim's jaw tightens even further, his knuckles turning white against the dark leather of the steering wheel. "Look, Officer Chen," he begins, his voice strained. "I don't know what you think you saw, but Y/N and I are just very close friends. That's it."

Lucy lets out an exasperated sigh, frustration bubbling up inside her. "You can't tell me you don't feel something for her. I've never seen you light up the way you do when she's around."

Tim's expression softens slightly at her words, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his features before he quickly masks it with a scowl. "Feelings don't matter," he says brusquely. "Even if I did have feelings for her, which I don't, there's no way she feels the same way about me. I'm no dating material. "

Lucy shakes her head, her voice firm. "You're wrong, Tim," she says, her gaze unwavering. "You're worth more than you think, and Y/N knows that. You just have to give her a chance."

Tim falls silent, his thoughts swirling as he grapples with Lucy's words. Maybe she's right, he thinks, maybe he's been too quick to dismiss the possibility of something more with you. But the fear of ruining your friendship looms large in his mind, holding him back from taking that leap of faith.

He suddenly pulled the car on the right side, making Lucy frown. As she watched Tim forming Angela's number, a cloud of questions blurring the rookie's mind, eager to hear what he had to say.

"Hey, Angela." he began, a nervous edge creeping into his voice as he ran a hand through his hair "Listen, don't ask any questions, ok? If Y/N calls to invite you out tonight, please, just say no" his foot tapped impatiently as he awaited her response. "Thanks, I'll owe you one."

"What was that?" Lucy asked as Tim pocketed his phone and revved the engine.

"I just made sure I have a date with Y/N tonight." With a grin, he pulled back onto the road, leaving Lucy to process his unexpected move.

[sapphiremusings]

bride | vampire!aemond targaryen

cw: explicit smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), dubcon, loss of virginity, breeding kink, blood drinking

Only the light from the full moon shines down between branches and leaves, illuminating her way as she walks through the forest rarely traveled. She doesn’t know how she got here, still in her shift and robe that has been thrown over her shoulders half-heartedly, the forest floor crunching underneath her slippers, yet an unknown force seemingly presses her forward. Her mind is in a daze, heart thrumming against her chest sporadically and her ears feeling as if they are under water, and through her vision is a fog that refuses to leave, no matter how many times she rubs her eyes. Up ahead, through the heavy brush, sits the abandoned castle that was once called Harrenhal, an accursed place in history. Steadily, she makes her way towards it.

Harrenhal is a mighty fortress, once home to many great houses of Westeros, all in which were struck down by unforeseen tragedies. Whispers of its twisting halls being cursed, haunted by those that died within, scattered throughout the Riverlands, and all along Westeros, until the castle was abandoned. Now, it sits alone, stone burned dark from the days when dragons ruled the skies and their riders sat on the old Iron Throne.

Centuries have passed since then, yet Harrenhal remains the same, merely overgrown in its shrubbery and the vines that trail up its walls. The steady rhythm of her heart begins to speed up as she walks through the courtyard, eyes averting away from the blood stained ground, up towards a window at the very top of the castle, where a single light shines. Like a moth to a flame, she gravitates towards it.

Inside, it’s dark, and she finds herself walking through cobwebs, past open windows that let the cold air in, and up a large number of stairs, until finally, the lit room sits at the end of the hallway. Slowly, her footsteps creek along the floor, her spine tingling at the whisper that enters her ears and swells within her head; “Come to me.”

Her fingers reach out to touch the ancient wood of the door, which sits open just a crack, its hinges squeaking as it opens fully beneath her push. The room is lit by what seems to be a hundred candles, scattered around and perched on almost every surface, including the floor. A large window draws her attention, and standing in front of it, a tall figure, as still as a statue.

He towers over her, even from her spot by the door, lean and strong in his posture. A sheath of silver hair gleams down his back, so beautiful and shiny that it looks like silk, and her hands itch to reach out and run their fingers through the long strands. Slowly, he cocks his head to the side, and her breath hitches as his side profile comes into view among the shadows.

“You’ve finally made it,” he muses, all strong nose and smirking lips, stained the color of roses. Suddenly, he turns, facing her stunned figure. He hums, head tilted. “Come now, bride.”

She thinks he is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen. Even with a scar that runs down the left side of his face, a glimmering sapphire within his missing eye’s socket. His other eye is an alluring shade of violet, though when he turns slightly, it looks almost red. He has a strong jaw and chin, skin porcelain and without color. He looks like a god.

He seems amused by her tied tongue, watching patiently as she tries to form a sentence. When she does, it comes out in a whisper. “Who are you?”

Quickly, so much so that her head spins and she stumbles back, he stands before her, close enough that she can touch him if she merely lifts her hand. He hums, his own hand coming up to run a finger down her cheek, the sharpened nail leaving a small streak of red on the flushed skin. His single eye studies her features, thumb resting under her chin as he tilts her head back, her lips agape. He smiles.

“My name…” he pauses, dipping his head lower, his cold breath fanning across her face, “is Aemond, and I have waited a millenia for you, ābrazȳrys.” (Wife).

The strange word echoed around in her head, and she knew it for High Valyrian, the old language of the dragonlords that once ruled over Westeros with fire and blood, hailed from the kingdom of Old Valyria. Her father is a scholar, one with an interest in history, and she had grown up learning about the years before, from before there were even the Seven Kingdoms. Tales of forest children and the First Men, of the Andals and the ice creatures, were all stories she was told at bedtime.

And then there is his name. Aemond. Another Valyrian name, one she had only heard once. Centuries ago, the ruling House Targaryen was torn to shreds when kin began to fight kin, and their dragons danced among a burning sky. There had been a particular prince that had caught her eye, a one-eyed kinslayer who rode the largest dragon in the world. When the war ended, the cruel Targaryen prince had vanished, and rumors swirled in his wake. Most believe he had succumbed to his uncle, a rogue prince who had a fiery vengeance. Some wonder about his paramour, a so-called witch that had lived in the same abandoned castle she was standing in now.

Her mind reeled over the possibilities. Could he be the long lost prince? After all this time? She knows it is not possible, for too much time has passed, yet he stands before her all the same. Cautiously, she reaches her hand out, resting it against his chest, breath catching within her throat at the stillness beneath his ribs.

He isn't breathing. His heart isn’t beating. It is as if he is a statue, carved from stone.

He gazes down at her, curious. Her voice comes out in a stutter. “H-how…? I don’t understand.”

His other hand encircles her own, pressing it tighter against him, eye fluttering closed as he begins to trace it up his chest, bringing it to his nose. He inhales, nose pressed to her wrist, pulse pounding under a web of blue veins. Her own eyes threaten to close, overwhelmed at the feeling of warmth that overcomes her, traveling from her head to the pit of her stomach, where it goes to rest between her quivering thighs.

He presses his lips to the same spot, opening his eye to peer up at her flushed expression. “You smell so sweet, my love.”

Her head spins, and she sucks in a sharp breath as he begins to kiss down the length of her arm, the silk sleeve of her robe lifting to rest in the crook of her elbow. When his lips reach the fabric, he moves to her shoulder, which the robe has fallen down from, leaving the bare skin exposed. At the nape of her neck, his tongue, surprisingly hot, darts out to lick at her pulse.

“Please,” she murmurs, head tilting to the side and her hands reaching out to grab at his tunic, pulling him closer.

“I am never letting you go, dōna riña,” Aemond muses, moving to press his lips against her jaw. “No, you were born to be my bride, and I shall take what belongs to me.” (Sweet girl).

Cold hands ruck up the skirt of her nightgown, caressing the soft skin of her thighs, which are covered in goosebumps as they shiver in desire. Some part of her is ringing an alarm bell, for she doesn’t yet know how she got here nor why she is here, or even how it is possible for this man… this being, to be before her. He has no beating heart, no working lungs, and though she knows it’s unfathomable, he is a Targaryen prince. With long silver hair and a single purple eye, she believes this in her heart.

Her thoughts come to a halt as long fingers curl under her soaked garment, touching her in a way no man has. A quiet gasp escapes from between her lips, mind at a stand still as his finger dips down to circle at her slick hole, pressing slightly but not yet entering. Instead, he moves to gather more of her arousal between his digits, thumb going to a spot that makes her jump, heart pounding against her heaving chest.

Aemond shushes her, a sweet coo leaving his smirking lips as he watches her with a hooded eye. His thumb rubs circles against that same spot, and a tight coil begins to turn within her stomach, nipples hardened to sharp peaks as she pants.

He brings his face down, forehead resting against her own. “Do you taste as sweet as you smell, ābrazȳrys?”

When she lets out a whimper, knees buckling from beneath her, he lets out a deep groan. Suddenly, with a force and speed that makes her dizzy, he is laying her down on the large bed that is against the wall, the velvet blankets smooth against her hot skin. Her nightgown is bunched up around her hips, robe long forgotten on the stone floor, along with her slippers. He kneels before her, fingers under the band of her undergarments, which he practically rips off her, tearing them down her legs.

“A-Aemond,” she whines, wanton as she writhes atop a sea of red velvet.

His nose nuzzles between her thatch of curls, tongue darting out to lick up her essence, which coats her entirely. Her back arches, hips wiggling away as a broken moan leaves her lips, but he merely throws an arm over her stomach, pressing down and locking her in place. Another moan is ripped from her throat, hands reaching down to nestle in his long strands, fingers curling around them and tugging. A deep rumble is heard within his chest, vibrating against her cunt, which pulses in return.

His tongue is ravenous as he laps up her arousal, swirling around that sensitive spot that makes her toes curl, before moving down to dip into her clenching hole. She leaks even more there, thighs shaking around his head as he pushes his tongue in deeper, until his face is pressed fully onto her weeping cunt. He groans, thrusting the muscle in and out, before retracting and bringing his fingers up to take its place. When his tongue lays flat against her and his finger eases its way through her tight entrance, she nearly screams as her head seems to explode, body vibrating in pleasure as the tightly wound coil in her stomach snaps.

Another finger joins the first, pumping into her steadily as she comes, feeling as if she is floating above her own body. Aemond starts to speak, but the words don’t process as her head buzzes, dazed in a pleasure she has never felt before. Whatever he says, her body clenches at, moving on its own accord with no way of her stopping it and regaining control. When she finally comes down, he doesn’t stop, continuing to lap at her quivering cunt, fingers beginning to curl upwards inside her, searching for a spot that they find almost immediately.

“My sweet, sweet bride,” he grins, resting his head against her thigh, mouth covered in her slick. “I want to lick this pretty cunt every day now. You’ll let me, won’t you?”

She whimpers and moans, tears prickling the corners of her eyes as another wave of pleasure begins to wash over her. He seems pleased by this, eye wide as it flickers between his fingers that are buried deep inside her and her flushed face. “Sȳz riña.” (Good girl).

He finally removes his fingers after her second peak, digits coated in her juices, which he brings up to her lips. Without a word, she opens her mouth, tongue swirling around them as she sucks, the taste of herself causing her blood to heat.

Aemond seems dazed as he stares down at her, member straining against his leathers. The sight both frightens and arouses her, her own mind still in the clouds and seemingly not coming down anytime soon. Slowly, cautiously, she reaches a hand out towards him. He grabs it, laying a kiss on her wrist once more, before moving to grab at her shift. She doesn’t stop him as he pulls it off her, leaving her naked under him. The drafty air of the old room brushes against her skin, and she shivers, nipples hardened and body covered in goosebumps.

His head bends and he wraps his lips around her right bud, hand grabbing at her left breast and squeezing. He’s heavy against her naked frame, the cold leather of his clothing feeling pleasant pressed along her flushed skin. She feels sticky all over, so unbearably hot that she presses herself closer to his odd coldness. He hushes her softly, lifting his head from her bosom and capturing her lips with his own. It’s messy, a clashing of tongues and teeth, and his rigid member feels like a hot iron against her thigh. Dazedly, she runs the tip of her tongue against his front teeth, gasping when a dull pain throbs throughout the wet muscle.

Aemond pulls back sharply, purple eye now a deep red, matching the crimson blood that stains his plush lips. Two sharp canines protrude from the top of his mouth, glimmering under the candlelight. His eye is focused on her lips, which hide her bleeding tongue from his view, and with a groan, he presses back against her, his own tongue forcing its way into her mouth. He caresses the small cut, licking up the blood that seeps from the wound, hands grabbing ahold of her tightly.

With a sigh that almost sounds like a growl, he pulls away so suddenly, and in a blink of an eye, he stands before her naked. Her eyes trail over his figure, porcelain in color and seemingly carved from stone. The light from the moon and the scattered candles create daunting shadows along his form, and through the fog of her mind, she realizes that she wants nothing more than to touch him. She sits up, reaching her hands out towards him, and he complies with her silent request, leaning down to allow her to explore. He watches with a curious eye, still red in color, as her fingers dance along his shoulders and down his chest, brushing over his pink nipples and his lean muscles.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs, bringing her lips to kiss the spot where his heart should rest, holding her breath when no heartbeat is felt.

As if reading her thoughts, he pushes her back down against the bed, and her eyes are immediately drawn to between his thighs. A twinge of fear rushes through her at the sight of his hardened cock, its head flushed pink with thick veins that curl up its side. She has never seen one before, still a maiden, waiting for her father to betroth her to whichever man he deems worthy. But she feels as if Aemond’s is too large.

His lips curl into a smirk at her wide eyed gaze, bringing himself forward to lean over her, his silver hair falling around them like a curtain. His body, still cold and heavy against her, like a stone wall. She tenses as his hand goes between them, grasping his member in his palm and lining himself up against her entrance. Once again, his gaze is dark, brows furrowed and jaw tense as he runs the tip up and down her leaking seam, nudging that special spot that makes her spine jolt.

“You are mine, riñītsos. Mine to claim, mine to fuck,” he hisses as his tip begins to press into her tight hole, arms straining to hold himself above her shaking frame. “Mine to breed. Kesan dōrī ivestragī jā.” (Little one), (I will never let you go).

A broken sob leaves her lips as he pushes forward, a sharp pain settling deep between her legs, which only grows the farther he goes inside her. She begins to shake her head, pushing her palms against his shoulders with a moan. “It’s too big… it won’t fit!”

“Shhh,” he hushes her sweetly, lips coming to kiss along her ruddy cheeks. “Don’t worry, dōna riña. I’ll make it fit. You were made for this… for me.”

Her vision is clouded as she nuzzles her face in the crook of his neck, wrapping herself around him and clinging onto him as the pain slowly ebbs away, turning into something entirely different. When he’s sat completely inside her, a wanton moan leaves her lips at the fullness, her head vibrating as she gasps up at the ceiling, trying to catch her breath among the surging pleasure that begins to make its way through every nerve. Her hips begin to cant upwards, the slickness of her arousal helping her to slide against his cock, her fingers gripping tightly to strands of his hair.

“Please…” she whines, nearly sobbing.

He hums, lifting himself up as he begins to move his hips, creating a steady rhythm as his hands grab ahold of her waist. She is tiny below him, so much so that he can see the outline of his cock in her stomach, a sight that makes him groan and speed up, balls tightening in pleasure as her wet heat squeezes him. He eyes her thundering pulse at the base of her neck, his fangs beginning to ache and his throat going dry. His thrusts grow harsher, fingers digging into her flesh as she cries out beneath him.

“Kostagon nyke angogon ao, ābrazȳrys? Kessa ao ivestragī aōha valzȳrys mōzugon hen ao?” (Can I bite you, wife? Will you let your husband drink from you?)

His words come out in a mix between whiny and growling, teeth gritting as he leans down towards her open neck. Though she doesn’t quite understand what he said, only knowing a few words in Valyrian, the neediness in his tone has her back arching, and she greedily pulls him closer. Some submissive part of her wants nothing more than to please him, to give him all he desires and more. She gasps out a small “please.”

He nuzzles his nose under her jaw, rubbing against her pulse as his hips slow down, his thirst growing immensely. He brushes the tips of his fangs against her vein, thrusting his cock deep inside her, before biting down, eye rolling to the back of his head as warm blood spills down into his mouth. He moans, hips stuttering, pulling her as close as he can until they are flushed against each other, listening to her whimpers. She scratches her nails down his back, her cunt pulsing around his heavy cock as her blood flows from her vein, dizzy in her pleasure and loss of blood.

She tastes of the finest ambrosia, rich against his tongue and tingling his tastebuds, and his cock seems to swell in size as he cradles her in his arms, fangs imbedded into her neck. Her vision blurs, the rising wave of her arousal coming to a peak, and she nearly screams out as his hand slides between their stuck bodies, fingers circling at the throbbing bud at the apex of her cunt. His cockhead pounds steadily against a rough patch within in, and he doesn’t let up on his assault as the wave crashes over her, drowning her. She gasps for air, everything silent except for the beating of her heart and the slurping of Aemond’s tongue lapping at her lifesource.

“Sȳz riña,” his own peak begins to wash over him, lips murmuring against her neck and between sips of blood. “Iksā vok. Ñuha vok ābrazȳrys.” (You are perfect. My perfect wife).

With one last groan, he fills her with his seed, taking one last gulp of her before ripping himself away, mouth open against her wound as he pants. His tongue begins to lick at the two points, saliva coating them and slowly healing the marred skin. She is barely awake beneath him, exhausted from her pleasure, yet the sound of his voice and the feeling of his seed hot against her womb makes her throb all over again. She leaves wet kisses along his shoulders and chest, relishing in the feeling of him pressed against her, sweaty in the aftermath of their love making.

Slowly, he pulls out of her, cock only slightly soft, ready for another round. He feels as if he could spend an eternity between her legs, pounding into her tight, wet cunt and breeding her over and over again. For a moment, he has a thought to chain her to this very bed, his obedient little bride. He wants to lap at her sweet blood and lick up the essence of her, until every part of her is claimed. When his seed begins to seep out of her used hole, he brings two fingers to plug into her, refusing to let any of himself leave her. He smiles at her adoring expression.

“Will you marry me now, my lord?”

Aemond brings his coated fingers to her lips for the second time that night, humming in delight when she sucks on them, tongue swirling around and licking up every last drop of their combined arousal.

“Yes, my love. And when the time is right, I will turn you into my eternal bride.”

[misswynters]

「 𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 」

a short drabble.

featuring. Mr. Scarletella x fem!reader

warnings. mentions of death and destruction

There was a disgusting smell, one that filled the air. It reeked of gasoline and charred wood, a heady cocktail of destruction that painted the night in shades of madness. Mr. Scarletella leaned against a crumbling brick wall, his crimson mask gleaming faintly in the flickering light of distant flames. His gaze was fixed on you. As he described you, “a whirlwind of chaos” wrapped in a bloodstained cocktail dress, twirling a crowbar like it was a parasol.

“Darling,” he began, voice smooth as silk yet tinged with weary amusement, “did you really have to blow up the entire building?”

You tilted your head, a wide, unhinged grin spreading across your face. “Oh, Please. I didn’t have to, but i did. It was absolutely fun.” Your laughter rang out sharply, slicing through the air. He chuckled despite himself, shaking his head. You truly were a force of nature, uncontainable. And he was utterly captivated by your chaos.

It wasn’t the first time he’d been left cleaning up your messes. Mr. Scarletella prided himself on being a maestro of controlled chaos, his plans executed with surgical precision. You, on the other hand, thrived on mayhem. Almost as if the world were a playground for your impulses. Tonight’s escapade was supposed to be a simple art gallery heist. It was quiet and elegant. Instead, it ended with the gallery engulfed in flames and cryptic messages scrawled across the walls in dripping, red spray paint.

“‘Art is dead, long live madness,’” he read aloud as he strolled past the smoldering ruins, tracing the words with his gloved hand. “Poetic, but perhaps a touch… obvious?”

“Subtlety is for cowards,” you shot back, leaning on your crowbar like a cane. “Besides, the world needs a wake-up call. Life’s too short for boring crimes.”

He turned to you, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “And yet you seem determined to shorten ours even further.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” you teased, nudging him with your elbow. “We’re untouchable, darling. A symphony of chaos. The world can’t help but watch and applaud.”

He couldn’t argue with that. Especially when you looked at him with that glint in your eye. It had a feverish light, both thrilling and terrifying.

The sirens in the distance grew louder, the authorities finally catching wind of your masterpiece. Mr. Scarletella sighed, pulling you by the hand into the shadows of the alleyway. The two of you slipped through the maze of cobblestone streets, your laughter echoing faintly behind you. He let you lead, as he often did, following your frenetic energy like a moth drawn to a flame. You were chaos incarnate, a wildfire he could never hope to control, and yet he found himself captivated by the thrill of keeping pace.

“Where to next, my lunatic queen?” he asked as the two of you emerged onto a rooftop overlooking the sprawling city.

You spun on your heels, arms outstretched as if commanding the world below. “Next? The world is a canvas, and we’re the brushstrokes”

He stepped closer, steadying your dramatic pose with his hands brushing against yours. “Alive, yes. But alive together, please. Your recklessness might get you killed one day.”

“Then it’ll be a glorious end,” you whispered, the fire in your eyes softening for just a moment. “But if it’s my time, I want it to be with you.”

His grip tightened on your hands, a rare flicker of vulnerability flashing behind his face. You always managed to cut through his carefully constructed layers of control, leaving him exposed and raw. He pulled you into his arms, his voice dropping to a murmur.

“You’re maddening,” he said, his forehead resting against yours.

“You like it though,”you replied with a sly grin, your breath warm against his cheek.

The distant rumble of an explosion pulled your attention back to the city below. Another part of your handiwork, no doubt, coming to fruition. Flames licked at the skyline, painting the night in hues of orange and gold. “Beautiful,” you murmured, your voice filled with awe.

“Terrifying,” he countered, though his tone carried an undercurrent of admiration.

“Exactly why you love me,” you teased, leaning back against him.

He didn’t deny it. How could he? You were everything he didn’t know he needed, a storm that swept into his life and tore through his carefully curated existence. The world might see you as a monster, but to him, you were a masterpiece. A beautiful work of art. Too wild and unrestrained for mortal comprehension.

The rooftop fell silent save for the crackling of distant flames. You leaned against the ledge, your dress swaying in the breeze, and he stood beside you, the faintest smile playing on his lips.

“You know,” he said, breaking the silence, “sometimes I wonder if you’re trying to outdo me.”

“No way!,” you said, turning to him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “I’m not trying to outdo you. I’m trying to inspire you. Imagine what we could create together if you just let go a little.”

“Let go?” he asked, raising a brow beneath his mask.

“Let go of the rules. The plans. The need for control.” You stepped closer, your fingers trailing the outline of his jaw. “Don’t you want to see what happens when we let a lil’ madness take over?”

His hand covered yours, steadying it as he looked into your eyes. There was a part of him that wanted to resist, to keep you grounded in his world of calculated chaos. But another part, the part that adored you, knew that resistance was futile. You were the storm itself.

“Let the madness take over, huh?” he murmured, his lips curving into a smirk. “All right, my darling queen. Let’s paint the world red.”

Your laughter rang out once more, wild and untamed, as you grabbed his hand and led him toward the next adventure. The city stretched out before you, a canvas waiting to be torn apart and reimagined in your image. Together, you were unstoppable. A perfect symphony of chaos. And for Mr. Scarletella, he would never trade his place in your life. There was no place he’d rather be than with you, his wife.

banner: @anitalenia

[deadbeat-motel]

ᐯᗩGGIE ᗩᑎᗪ ᑕᕼᗩᖇᒪIE ᖇEᗪEᔕIGᑎ

These two are simpler than the angel dust design I did since I didn't have a lot to go off of. Posted on Valentine's Day because yes I can.

I don't think Charlie is significantly different from her Pilot design because I genuinely think it was the best design from the cast (before the redesign).

Thoughts below, though TW for the creepy charlie image at the end:

My issues with their Original designs:

Vaggie:

The giant "X" over her eye is really distracting and even world-breaking because

1. Why had no one put 2 and 2 together that the only character in Hell who has a visible 'X' mark on her face might be related to the angels who also sport that X mark on their faces.

2. Why is it shaped like an X? Her eye was taken out via a single slash.

3. If the hair's purpose was to cover it, why would it show through it? What's the point of the hair then?

The hair that was supposed to cover that wounded eye looked so ugly and confused as to what it should be doing. I mean every shot that showed that thing in a sideview shot of Vaggie felt like the animators had to make their own guesses as to how that was supposed to look like. It was distracting for me personally and I hated it so much.

It's been said over and over again, but her clothes look like she works at McDonalds. I get needing to change her outfit so that she looks like she works at the hotel, but it's just been poorly designed.

Why change her clothes' colors from white to red? the white helped her stand out from Hell and the Hotel's majority red background. (In the finale, she at least has a non-red attire)

She's also one of the very few women in HH and she falls under the skinny stick side of it despite being an angel exterminator.

Her hair is kind of hard to visualize looking at in any way other than what it is when it's static. However, when it changed into a ponytail or a bob, it's actually really nice to look at.

Unsure of what that bow's purpose is for the design.

Charlie:

Charlie is a simple but very confused design. The pilot design was a lot more coherent than the current show design

It's disappointing to see the bouncy Pilot hair go and be replaced by that boring bubble braid of all things.

Her undershirt peaks out of her tuxedo.... why???? to separate the top jacket and the pants? You wouldn't need to do that if her pants were a different color like the pilot design.

Thought about it and was confused, as a demon with an angelic father, why didn't she have wings as well? She didn't need the 6 wings like Lucifer but maybe a pair of one would appear?

Out of all the characters for the show's redesign, Her's was by far the MOST infuriating to me. Her pilot design wasn't perfect but it was good, they had to downgrade her for some reason.

I didn't have much to say about Charlie. it basically sums up to "the Pilot design was better".

On to the thought process for these two:

Valerie the fallen:

Yes, she got a rename. Sue me.

I had to remove the moth aspect of her design because it doesn't seem like it makes sense for a heaven-born to follow the sinner's rule of "gaining features based on the life you lived" since she basically never lived right?

In this redesign (and eventual rewrite), Valerie is not ashamed of her exterminator background. In fact, she was known as the most recent "fallen" in hell. her short stature doesn't make her less of a threat to the demons.

She's also visually thick with muscle because why not let one of the show's women have a body type that isn't stick-thin?

She's using the wings that were torn off of her as both an interesting article of clothing and as a way to remind others and her that she is (or more accurately 'was') an angel who could kill them if she wanted to.

Her clothes are pure black underneath the pale feathers to show that while she is an "angel", deep down, she is far from a good person.

She's also getting an actual skin color because from what I gathered myself from the show's heaven. Most of the souls there still retain a human appearance (Adam, Lute, St. Peter, and the other random human angels up there still look human..... but just don't mind the fact that most of them are white.)

Her hair is that ponytail she had in the finale because as much as I didn't like that episode, some designs looked actually decent.

Also, her hair actually covers the eye scar properly.

I wanted to keep her ribbon as a splash of brightness on her design but the OG ribbon looks a little out of place on a warrior so It became that (Plus it pays homage to her OG moth influence with its shape looking like the fluffy antennas of the moth)

Gave the spearhead a little bit of detail on it plus a chipped side so that it has a bit of charm as an old weapon she still decides to keep around.

A note about Valerie's design is that I haven't tackled the armor of angels yet so I was unsure of what pieces of the undesigned armor to give Valerie as of now.

Charlie:

I honestly actually enjoyed her Pilot hair, so I tried to put it back and also simplify it a bit so there are not a lot of strands for me to keep track of. Plus it was a genuinely cute design for her. (There's a reason that version was used in the Verbalase video.) <- I'M JOKING

Replaced her button nose with a goat's because a friend has commented how it looked like the noses of the women in a Goofy Movie and I will never be able to unsee that.

Her hair is also a lot brighter compared to her washed-out blonde color.

She has the same design thought process as Valerie, Covering the darkness of her true nature with white fluffy fur which is stylized like feathers at its ends. She has pitch-black skin underneath and looks like a proper nightmarish demon like the image below.

I ditched the tuxedo look, since almost all the cast has a similar outfit already, and gave her a jumpersuit instead. (Idk what it's really called but that's what I think it is). It's a light grey because she's a mix of bad and good (though a bright grey because she prefers to be on the good side)

Her horns are there and visible because yeah it's cute but also helps her read as the half-angel/half-demon character she is.

Tiny goat tail because can you imagine every time Valerie holds the rare angel smile of approval, her tail is visibly wagging in glee and excitement???? My heart would die. I love these lesbians with my life.

Has wings from her father.

Anyways, those are my thoughts and redesigns... I wanted to add more details to them but I didn't really know what to add that didn't feel unnecessary.

Also bonus! Concept art of Charlie's true form:

[soulofapatrick]

Safe in your Arms - Alec Lightwood x female reader 

Summary: You can’t sleep so you slip into bed with Alec

Words: 1.7K 

Warnings: none really 

Notes: This is written from female pov (my pov) however can be read as gender neutral so will put this story in both male and female reader 

Y/N’s POV

The darkness presses in around me, suffocating and heavy. Another sleepless night grips me tightly, refusing to release its hold. With a sigh, I rise from the bed, the covers slipping off my like unwanted shackles. 

Padding down the familiar corridors of the Institute, my footsteps echo softly against the stone floors. The hushed whispers of the night greet me, a comforting presence in the solitude. Each door I pass I hesitate, unsure who I’m looking for comfort in. 

I barely pause outside Clary’s room as we’ve never seen eye to eye so I continue on, finding myself outside Izzy’s door. The familiar, faint scent of jasmine wafting though the air. She's always been a source of strength and support, but tonight, the idea of seeking refuge in her embrace feels somehow... wrong, too intimate. I can't quite put my finger on it, but something holds me back, a silent voice urging me to continue my search elsewhere.

Jace’s door looms ahead, a silent invitation beckoning me to seek shelter within his presence. For a moment, I hesitate, my hand hovering over the door handle as memories of shared laughter and whispered secrets flood my mind. But then, with a heavy sigh, I pull away, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down upon me like a leaden cloak.

My fingers ghost over Simon's door, the thought of seeking solace in his company tempting yet ultimately unfulfilling. We may share a bond forged in battle, but there's a divide between us that I can't seem to breach. With a sigh, I move on, the ache of loneliness gnawing at my heart with each passing moment.

And then, finally, I find myself standing outside Alec’s room, the door a silent barrier between me and the solace I seek. With a hesitant hand, I push the door open, the soft creak of hinges breaking the silence like a whisper in the night. 

Inside, the room is bathed in a gentle glow, the moonlight filtering through the curtains casting shadows across the floor. Alec lies asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, I simply stand there, drinking in the sight of him. Gone is the usual tension that seems to etch lines into his features during the waking hours. Instead, his face is softened by slumber, his expression serene and unguarded. The furrow of his brow, which often accompanies his deep concentration or stern demeanour, is smoothed away, replaced by an air of tranquility.

A small smile graces his lips, a sight so rare it’s almost surreal. It’s a stark contrast to the usual scowl that seems to be his default expression during the day. In this moment of vulnerability, his true essence shines through, a gentle warmth that draws me in like a moth to a flame. 

I find myself captivated by the peacefulness that radiates from him, the subtle rise and fall of his chest a soothing rhythm that lulls me into a sense of calm. It's as if all the worries and burdens of the world have been momentarily lifted from his shoulders, leaving behind only the purest essence of who he is.

In this moment, Alec is not the fierce warrior or the stoic leader. He is simply Alec, vulnerable and human, a reminder that even the strongest among us need rest and respite from the battles we face.

And as I gaze upon him, a small smile tugs at the corners of my own lips, mirroring the one that graces his face. I hesitate for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest, before I gently lift the duvet and slide into the bed beside Alec. The rustling of the sheets stir him from his slumber, his eyelids fluttering open blearily as he tries to make sense of the intrusion. 

“Wha—?" His voice is thick with sleep, the words trailing off into a soft murmur as he blinks owlishly at me. Confusion dances in the depths of his eyes, but there's also a hint of warmth, a flicker of recognition that warms my soul.

“What are you doing Birdie?" he mumbles, his words barely audible in the stillness of the room., the nickname he’s given me sending a shiver down my spine. Despite the grogginess that clouds his mind, there's a note of curiosity in his voice, a silent question hanging in the air between us. 

"I couldn't sleep," I confess quietly, my voice barely more than a whisper. "And... I needed to be near you.”

Alec’s expression softens at my words, a silent understanding passing between us. Without a word, he shifts around in the bed, making room for me to settle beside him. The duvet envelops us both in its warmth as we find our positions, his body fitting against mine like two puzzle pieces finally coming together. 

We settle into our newfound arrangement, a sense of peace washes over me, a warmth that seeps into my bones and drives away the chill of the night. In Alec's arms, I find sanctuary from the storms that rage within me, a refuge from the chaos of the world outside. And as sleep begins to claim me once more, I find solace in the knowledge that, for tonight at least, I am not alone. 

As the first rays of dawn  filter through the curtains, I gradually awaken from the depths of sleep, the heaviness of slumber clinging to my limbs like a comforting embrace. The warmth of Alec's presence envelops me, his arm draped protectively over my waist, anchoring me to the present moment.

I can feel the weight of his body pressed against mine, a comforting solidity that grounds me in reality. His unruly black hair tickles my cheek, a stark contrast to the softness of his lips pressed against my shoulder where my shirt has slipped slightly.

Alec emits a soft snuffle in his sleep as I gently begin to scratch his scalp, the motion soothing both him and me. His breath is warm against my skin, a gentle rhythm that lulls me back into a state of tranquility. 

He shuffles around as he begins to slowly slip from sleep, his brilliant blue eyes fluttering open, revealing a sleep-ridden expression that tugs at my heartstrings. There’s a softness in his gaze, a vulnerability that I've rarely seen in him before. And as his eyes meet mine, a flicker of recognition dances in their depths, as if he's just now realizing that I'm here, lying beside him. 

For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air between us. And then, slowly but surely, a small smile tugs at the corners of Alec's lips, a gesture so tender and genuine that it sends my heart soaring. 

Alec brushes the hair out of my face, his touch gentle, his fingers singing against my skin as if committing the moment to memory. I can feel the intensity of his gaze as he studies my face, his eyes searching for something, perhaps an answer to the question that lingers between us. 

And then, without warning, he moves forward, his face hovering just inches from mine. My breath catches in my throat as anticipation coils within me, every nerve in my body on edge with anticipation. 

And then, finally, his lips crash against mine in a kiss that sends shockwaves coursing through my veins. It’s everything I've ever imagined and more, his lips soft and plump against mine, fitting together with a perfect symmetry that feels like coming home. He rolls us from our sides so he’s leaving over me, his weight above me feeling right, perfect almost, as if we were always meant to be in this position. 

His kisses are a revelation, each one tasting of warmth and longing, a tantalising blend of sweetness and desire that leaves me breathless. I can feel the heat of his body pressing against mine, his warmth seeping into my skin and sending shivers racing down my spine. 

With every touch, every caress, I lose myself in the sensation of him, the feel of his lips against mine, the brush of his fingers against my skin. He smells of sandalwood and strawberries, a heady combination that fills my senses and leaves me intoxicated with desire. 

In this moment, with Alec pressed against me, every nerve in my body tingles with anticipation. It's as if the world around us fades away, leaving only the two of us in our own little universe, bound together by the intensity of our connection.

But, just as our passion threatens to consume us, a quiet knock at the bedroom door shatters the fragile bubble we've created. Alec lets out a quiet groan, his head falling to my shoulder in frustration before he clears his throat and calls out, "One second!” 

As he climbs out of the bed to open the door slightly, I sit up, the sheets rustling around me, betraying the fact that Alec's not alone. My heart races with a mixture of excitement and apprehension, unsure of what awaits us on the other side of that door. 

And then, as Alec peers out into the hallway, his expression unreadable, I catch a glimpse of blond meaning it’s Jace standing in the corridor, his presence casting a shadow over our moment of intimacy. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realise that our time alone together may be coming to an abrupt end.

Alec hisses something to Jace before closing the door and turning back to me, his eyes raking up my body, blue eyes darkening before he’s shaking his head and asking, “Breakfast?” 

“Clothes then breakfast?”

“You can wear some of mine, then breakfast.” 

“Deal.” 

The Shadowhunters Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

[shadowdaddies]

hi! i firstly wanted to tell you how much i love your writing and how perfectly you write every character. you’re so talented😊

i was wondering if you could write an eris x reader where it’s at the high lord meeting or some other big event and reader is part of the night court, maybe related to one of them, but mated to Eris and nobody knows. maybe something happens like Beron insults her or one of the Inner Circle insults him and they accidentally reveal the bond by getting protective? it can have like soft, comforting smut as well if you’d like but either way, i trust you completely :)

thank you so much! you are so kind, this ask made my day. and I love this prompt, I had a lot of fun writing this💜

Heated Admissions

Eris x Reader

warnings: none

Shoulders rolled back, you schooled your features into your practiced Night Court facade. A deadly glimmer shone in your eye, confident smirk on your lips as you followed you High Lord and Lady into the chambers where the other High Lords were gathered. 

Heart pounded, nostrils flaring slightly the moment you entered the room, your mate’s presence intoxicating despite your best efforts to ignore him. Like a moth to the flame, you allowed your gaze to flick to Eris’s as you took your place across him at the long table, each of you standing behind your High Lords. 

Amber eyes were already focused on you, Eris’s eyes raking over you as though he were sizing up an unworthy opponent. But behind his piercing glare, Eris sending a wave of admiration and encouragement down the bond. 

You flashed him a cocky smirk, appearing taunting to everyone else around you, all the while sending him your own love as you leaned against the wall, arms crossed as you looked down your nose at Beron.

Azriel grew tense at your side, your hand finding your friend’s arm to give a comforting squeeze, internal satisfaction seeping through you at the confirmation that the tonic had worked. Unwilling to take any chances of your hidden mateship being discovered, you and Eris had each taken a tonic to dilute the scent of the mating bond - but you had never tested it until now.

While Azriel relaxed next to you, Beron’s murky brown eyes stayed trained on you, his gaze assessing in a different way as Rhys introduced you to the room. 

“This is my Military Advisor. She will be explaining our strategy against Hybern moving forward,” Rhys drawled, a lazy smirk settling over his features, violet eyes alight with challenge as Beron and Tamlin visibly tensed.

You stepped forward, hands clasped in front of you, nodding a polite greeting to the High Lords as you prepared to lay out your proposal for a joined strategic effort. 

You’d hardly opened your mouth when Beron guffawed, allowing himself a loud, mocking laugh through his sneer. He did not address you, not Feyre, instead looking to Rhysand. 

“You think that I care what proposal some young, lowborn female has to offer? Surely, Rhysand, things cannot be going so poorly for you in the Night Court that you’ve resorted to such sad excuses for leadership and guidance.”

Rhys’s power rolled off of him in dark waves, cutting off Beron before he could continue further. But it was too late. Eris’s eyes were glowing with barely contained fury, flames sparking at his fingertips as his gaze flicked between his father and you.

Azriel tracked Eris’s reaction as well, the Illyrian’s siphons glowing a bright cobalt as he misjudged your mate’s protective instincts as a threat. Wings twitched, your only hint before Azriel lunged across the table towards Eris.

Time seemed to slow as your adrenaline kicked in, hand flying for the collar of Azriel’s leathers as you pulled him back. Hazel eyes found yours, the spymaster uncharacteristically startled by the feral anger that left your entire body shaking. “Do not touch my mate,” you growled before you could register the words.

Gasps sounded throughout the room, Azriel’s jaw slack while he relaxed, nodding at you in understanding. You flashed him an apologetic smile before turning to face the rest of the room, bracing yourself to stand against Beron’s wrath.

Instead, a frightful smile spread fully across the High Lord of Autumn’s face, a wicked gleam in his eye as his eyes roamed over your body in a far different light than earlier. “Well, my son, it seems that you have more interests in the Night Court than I’d gathered.” 

The tension grew unbearably thick, Autumn and Night Courts poised to jump at each others’ throats in the blink of an eye. 

But it was Helion who cleaved the silence like a spell, the rich timbre of his voice blanketing the room in a sense of calm. “How wonderful that two Courts so often at odds with each other would find the greatest common ground, love.” The wink he sent your way before continuing sending a furious blush over your cheeks, “but I would love to continue the conversation which so many have journeyed here for, if our lovely Military Advisor would continue.”

No one dared to question the High Lord of Day, settling in as you spoke. Leaving the meeting, you felt surprisingly optimistic from the High Lords’ reactions to your plan, Feyre and Rhys encouraging you that you would debrief further in the morning. You didn’t miss the pointed look that Rhys gave you - one that would strike fear into most anyone - indicating the debrief would include divulging of information from you about the mating bond.

Bidding them good night, you turned on your heel towards the room in which you were staying, shoulders slumped as exhaustion and anxiety weighed you down. You shouldered the door open, thinking of your mate as you stumbled through. You had wanted to see him more than anything, but after the Inner Circle’s reaction tonight, you didn’t dare seek Eris out.

Spinning around, you locked the door behind you, letting your head rest against the wood as you sighed, mind reeling with the potential ramifications of that meeting.

“Something on your mind?” a familiar voice purred from behind you, your spirits instantly lifting as you turned to see Eris’s red hair glowing in the dim faelight. A feline grin graced his lips as the Autumn Lord sprung gracefully from the bed, the smell of cinnamon invading your senses as he strode closer.

“Are you alright?” you whispered, hand finding his sharp jawline as you searched whiskey eyes for any sign of worry. Eris simply chuckled, mirthful gaze set on you as he tilted his head into your palm.

Tongue flicked out against the skin there, to be swallowed by a warm, lingering kiss that sent shivers down your spine. “I am just fine, my love. I am assessing my father’s stance on us, and will adjust my plans accordingly. For now, all I want is to be with you.”

His eyes were soft at the admission, unguarded emotion that he only allowed to you see giving you the peace you needed. “I’m all yours,” you promised, pulling your mate in for a searing kiss before you led him towards the bed.

[milswrites]

Cupid’s Sword

~Azriel X Fem!Reader~

Summary: Azriel has a crush but finds himself unable to approach them. Unable to just stand by and watch their friend’s desperate pining, Nesta and Cassian take it upon themselves to play Cupid and try and set them up. Will their efforts lead to success or is Azriel destined to remain single forever?

Warnings: Mentions of drinking. Stabbing but the good kind?

Azriel was staring again. Staring at her. His golden eyes hadn’t moved from her soft form all night, locked in place as if he were stuck in a trance. Which he may has well have been, her hypnotising features melted their way into his mind and invaded his senses, clearing them all of anything but her.

He found himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Her sweet voice carried from the bar where she was sat drinking with Nesta, causing his shadows to stir and attempt to crawl their way towards her in desperation for her presence. Her honeyed voice which delivered words like poetry, had always affected Azriel in ways he couldn’t explain. The velvet laugh that left her mouth as she spoke animatedly with her friend was as smooth as the whiskey Azriel was nursing.

He was hooked. Her presence a drug that Azriel hasn’t been able to get enough of since he had first laid eyes on her. Azriel hadn’t even been invited to Rita’s tonight. But when his shadows had reported to him that you had agreed to go tonight with Nesta, he knew there was no other place he wanted to be. Nesta’s permission be damned.

And so here he was, hiding in the shadows of a booth with Cassian, who was fearful of being caught by his mate on the one night where she was free of his company. Cassian had been unable to say no to his friend who had claimed he needed a drink or two after a hard days work, but now they were here Azriel could tell his brother was catching on to the real reason why he had wanted to come.

“Something caught your eye brother?” Cassian teased, bored of sitting and drinking in silence as Azriel’s attention was elsewhere, “or should I say someone?”

Azriel cursed under his breath. He would have been better off coming alone. If Cassian caught wind of his admiration for Nesta’s new friend he would never let Azriel live it down. Azriel could already imagine the relentless mocking that would ensue.

With great effort, he tore his eyes away from Y/N at the bar and settled them onto the overjoyed face of his brother manically grinning before him. “I don’t know what you mean” Azriel muttered, gaze moving to his half-empty drink to avoid his brother being able to read his lies. But of course once Cassian had started something he just couldn’t leave it alone.

“No?” Cassian mused, “the hole you’ve burned into Y/N’s head says differently. Unless of course it was my mate you’ve been staring at, in which case you’re more than welcome to come warm our bed tonight.”

The latter part of Cassian’s remark didn’t phase Azriel, he was used to the crude comments that spew from his friend’s mouth. He even sometimes heard them from Nesta. The first few words however caused Azriel’s heart to start beating faster and his palms grew clammy, skin clinging uncomfortably to the glass he was gripping for support. Defensively he said, “I wasn’t staring at Y/N.”

“Hm sure Az and I’m not the sexiest man - oh hey Y/N!”

Azriel’s head snapped to where Cassian had directed his voice, scared the woman had witnessed the conversation. She wasn’t stood there. Y/N was still happily sat at the bar with Nesta gossiping away with matching smiles on their faces. At his frantic reaction Cassian had broken out into a hearty laugh, his hand flying to his chest to brace himself as he did so. His booming chortle was enough to start drawing attention from the other customers who had found their way into Rita’s tonight.

“You’re whipped brother!” Cassian ginned merrily at Azriel who began to desperately shush his brother as his worried eyes briefly jumped to the bar, afraid the woman in question would be listening in.

“Yes! Ok! I like her!” Azriel hissed quietly between his teeth, hoping his admission would stop Cassian from teasing him for the whole club to hear.

“I knew it…I knew it” Cassian beamed in satisfaction as if he had just solved Azriel’s deepest secret. As if it wasn’t obvious enough from the way Azriel had been pining after Y/N from the shadows of their booth for the majority of the evening.

“Go over to her! I’m sure she’d say yes if you ask her in a date!” He urged Azriel, gesturing excitedly towards the bar as if playing wingman was his lifelong dream profession.

“And leave Nesta to discover we’re here ruining her girls night? She’s killed people for less” Azriel retorted in hopes that his brother wouldn’t make him go over to the bar and no doubt embarrass himself by being rejected in front of the mass of people in Rita’s tonight.

“Ah” Cassian dismissively waved his hand, “what Nesta doesn’t know won’t hurt her, I’ll hide in the toilet and you-”

Cassian was interrupted by the cold snap of his mates voice, “Nesta doesn’t know what dear?”

The two males gulped at Nesta’s sudden appearance, both having no intention of saying anything lest they anger Nesta even further. There was no doubt the terrifying woman would easily give them both a piece of her mind without them even needing to speak.

“Do you want to tell me, darling mate, why you’ve come to stalk me on my girls night?” She continued, her presence enough to leave both males breathless in fear.

“I wasn’t stalking you! I was watching Y/N!” Cassian blurted before he realised how his words had sounded and continued rambling before his mate could smite him, “not me! Him! Azriel made me come, he’s in love with her so I told him to go ask her out!”

“Cassian!” Azriel gasped with wide eyes, disbelief crossed his features as his brother betrayed his secret crush. Anxiously Azriel leant over to look past Nesta, trying to find the object of his affection and make sure she didn’t hear what Cassian had said.

Nesta’s face flashed with surprise at the information before her expression morphed into something more mischievously sinister as her eyes landed on the sputtering Azriel. “Don’t worry she didn’t hear. She’s gone home” Nesta reassured him.

But Azriel was feeling anything but reassured. The spark that had ignited in Nesta’s eyes caused him to feel unsettled and shrink back into his seat, wanting to escape the woman’s scheming gaze. Even Cassian seemed uneasy, shuffling where he was sat as he observed Nesta’s silent plotting, unsure of where this was going to go.

“It’s ok Azriel” she finally said in a sickly sweet voice as she placed a hand onto his shoulder, gripping it tight enough that Azriel knew he should definitely be scared, “we’ll get you that date.”

~~~~~

If Nesta could be described in a single word Azriel would say she was relentless. Ever since she had found out about Azriel’s not so little crush on Y/N at Rita’s over a week ago, she had been a force of nature.

He knew Nesta loved her friend dearly. Having nothing but good things to say about her since she had been introduced to Y/N by Madja. The elder woman had hired Y/N as an apprentice with the hope that she would be able to take over her healing duties when the time came for her retirement. Azriel had been curious about this woman that the usually reserved Nesta spoke so fondly of and so the next time Madja had brought her along after receiving the call that Cassian needed to be healed, Azriel had made sure he was there.

He was not disappointed. Y/N had been blessed by the cauldron in both looks and heart. Her presence on the day they had met being enough to stun him into a paralytic awe as he found himself unable to string even a few words together to speak to her.

Azriel was content to watch on in silent appreciation. Spending the days whenever she was at the House of Wind hovering close by, longing to hear a trace of her soft voice. If he was particularly lucky, he would on occasion receive an earth-shattering smile as she acknowledged him from a distance. But that was all it ever was, a distance.

Until Nesta had gotten involved and suddenly Y/N was everywhere. There was no room Azriel could enter that Y/N wasn’t in alongside a beaming Nesta. His inability to speak around her growing more and more frustrating as he had to grumble a shy hello before excusing himself, nerves too overwhelming for him to say anymore and his embarrassment at this stupor being too much for Azriel to want to stay in silence.

His reaction to her new overwhelming presence caused Nesta to grow frustrated. She had obviously been thinking that this would be an easy match and ignored Cassian’s warnings about how debilitating Azriel’s crush actually was. Nesta would have to try harder than just making sure Azriel could never escape Y/N’s presence. It’s a good thing she had a mate who was more than willing to help out his struggling friend.

Cassian was not a subtle man, he definitely wasn’t the type of person who did things in small measures. If Cassian was going to set his brother up he would do it his way, and hopefully not destroy any buildings in the process.

~~~~~

Azriel had grown used to Y/N being here. Which meant he had become very good at avoiding her whilst she was, his shadows reluctantly reporting to him not to leave his room whenever she was around.

Instead Azriel’s new favourite past time was wallowing in his own self pity as he laid face down on his bed in frustration at his situation. Which is where he was when Cassian had entered, neglecting to knock and alert him of his presence.

“Hey buddy,” his words interrupting Azriel’s sulking, “Can I have your help with something?” Azriel emitted a grunt of acknowledgment, not deigning to lift his head to look at his brother. “Great…cool” Cassian continued, “so I am superrr busy with work right now but I had promised Rhys I’d get some paperwork over to Madja. Think you can help me out?”

Deciding that doing Cassian’s chores would be a suitable distraction from his thoughts, Azriel raised his head slightly and grunted once more.

“Brilliant thanks Az!” He grinned, rubbing his hands together before turning to leave the room. Azriel sat up fully now in confusion, facing his retreating brother, “Cassian?”

The male jumped as if he had been caught doing something he shouldn’t and slowly turned back towards Azriel waiting to hear what his friend had to say. “The paperwork?” Azriel asked.

“Huh” sounded Cassian.

“The paperwork for Madja? Where is it?” Azriel watched as realisation crossed the generals features, mouth dropping open in a small o.

“Right… the paperwork. I’ll go get it!” Cassian said before running off, his footsteps pounding down the corridor as he ran to his room and back. Once he had returned, panting slightly at his hurried movement, he handed Azriel a sealed envelope, “here you go! And uh… don’t open that it’s highly confidential.”

Azriel enjoyed the flight over to Madja’s estate, the opportunity to spread his wings and allow the cool air to clear his head was refreshing. He landed smoothly and opened the door, ready to greet the elder woman he and the rest of the Inner Circle were so fond of. Yet Madja wasn’t there. Instead, Y/N was sat at Madja’s desk scribbling away at the papers laid before her.

At the sound of the door creaking open, her head raised, a bright smile adorning her face at the sight of the shadowsinger. “Azriel! Hi, what can I do for you?” Her honeyed voice made Azriel’s spine tingle and he found himself wishing for her to say his name again. Liking the way it sounded coming from her lips.

“Uh…where’s Madja?” He didn’t mean to sound as rude as he did when asking that question. However, the irregular pounding of his heart made his senses slip and his anxiety spike.

Y/N didn’t seem to mind, smile still on her face as she answered, “I’ve started taking over for her. When there’s not any serious injuries of course,” her smile then faltered a little, “but I thought you knew? You sent the flowers?”

A matching frown crossed Azriel’s features, “flowers? What flowers?” He asked as she directed his attention to the ridiculously large bouquet of flowers placed lovingly into a vase on the chest of drawers behind Azriel. He squinted his eyes, enabling him to read the note sticking out of them. The note which was written in Cassian’s untidy scrawl.

To Y/N

Congratulations on the promotion

With love, Azriel

He blanched, “Yes! The flowers of course. I ordered them so long ago that I forgot I’m sorry”

Y/N’s frown grew deeper at his excuse, “I only got the news yesterday?”

“Madja told me a week or two ago” he lied, desperate for the topic of this conversation to change before he dug himself a deeper hole. The lie seemed to do the job though as Y/N was obviously pleased with the thought of the older healer telling Azriel about it, telling him about her.

“Oh well, thank you! I love them” her blissful smile returned causing the butterflies already present in Azriel’s stomach to go wild. He wanted to tell her no problem, to ask her how her days going, to potentially ask her out on that date he was so badly craving. But Azriel’s tongue had grown heavy, glued to the roof of his mouth rendering him speechless.

Like a fool he stood there before her just staring. Admiring the way the golden glow of the sunlight shining through the window danced on her rosy cheeks. Taking note of the way her eyebrow slightly twitched as it did whenever she was confused. It was only when his shadows began to shift around him that Azriel allowed himself to return to the present only to realise just how long he had been in that trance and how uncomfortable he must have made Y/N.

Wanting to escape his anxiety, he began to sputter out a pitiful goodbye as he stumbled his way to the door. “Wait Azriel!” Y/N called out after him, “why is the letter empty?”

This was the second mistake Cassian had made. The first was not warning Azriel about the flowers. The second was handing him an empty envelope to give to Y/N with no explanation. What must she think of him? Turning up to her office with an empty letter and no idea about the flowers which appeared as though they were sent from him.

Neglecting to provide her with an answer, Azriel rushed from the building, wanting to avoid any accusations from her about him being a creep. He took off as fast as he could, leaving a confused Y/N behind in the empty office.

~~~~~

Azriel stormed through the house, wings flared and siphons glowing dangerously. He didn’t stop until he came face to face with a smirking Cassian who was loitering in the kitchen having waited for him brother’s return.

“Am I genius or what?” He chortled, arms outstretched as he waited for a hug he would never receive, “we better get you ready for that date!”

“There is no date” Azriel growled through gritted teeth, batting down Cassian’s arms as he watched the grin drop from his friends face at the statement.

“What? But I set everything up perfectly?” Cassian said in confusion, as if there was no possible way his perfect plan could have fallen through.

“Perfectly?” Azriel laughter bitterly, anger growing fiercely inside of him, “you made a fool out of me! She thanked me for the flowers to which I told her I didn’t know what she was talking about and then she opened the letter and found out it was empty! I looked like an idiot!”

Cassian sucked in air between his teeth awkwardly, “I guess I didn’t think that through…”

“No Cassian,” seethed Azriel, “you never think. And now you’ve ruined any chance I ever had of… you know what just forget it.” With that Azriel stalked off, needing to clear his head and mourn over the relationship he was never even able to start.

~~~~~

Cassian had begged his brother for forgiveness, unable to last another minute with Azriel’s sullen form sulking about the house ignoring him. Of course Azriel wasn’t actually mad at his brother, most of his bitterness was reserved for himself. He should have understood Cassian’s hints and help and followed along with it, then maybe things would have gone differently and maybe he would have gotten the girl.

Not wanting to admit his true feelings about it to his brother, Azriel said he’d forgive him but that Cassian should expect hell at during their next training session. Azriel had lots of frustration to expel.

Which is what led them to where they were now. Azriel beating down on his brother with all his might, the two locked in a deadly combat together. Cassian having to block powerful blow after powerful blow that his brother was delivering.

It wasn’t until Azriel struck hard enough to disarm him did Cassian then suggest the two took a break before he ended up being skewered. Nesta released a low whistle from where she had been watching as she moved towards the men in the ring, Azriel’s frustration at the pair of them was almost tangible.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side” she joked, slightly worried eyes absorbing the frazzled state Azriel had left her mate in.

“Yeah well whatever stops you two trying to play Cupid” he defended, reminding Cassian why he had fought so hard.

Nesta snorted, “Cupid? Have you seen Cas try to use a bow? I’d be better poking you to your senses with Ataraxia.” Nesta’s eyes lit up at her own joke. That same unstettling feeling that Azriel had fallen victim to in Rita’s had returned.

Nesta unsheathed her dagger, stalking towards Azriel who was backing off with his hands raised. “What’s going on Nesta?” Azriel anxiously said as his back met the edge of the ring, halting his retreat.

“It’s alright, relax Az! Things will work out ” Nesta smirked. And the next thing he knew, her dagger had been plunged into his upper arm as he screamed out in pain and gripped onto the handle of the blade which was sticking out of his bicep. Blood slowly trickling down his arm.

~~~~~

“Y/N thank the cauldron you’re here!” Nesta gasped in mock relief at the appearance of her friend.

The woman ran towards Azriel from where Cassian had landed with her in his arms, worry plastered on her face as it had been from the moment Cassian had frantically shown up at her door and said that Azriel been stabbed.

“Oh mother! What happened?” She cried, pulling out a towel before pressing it tightly to Azriel’s bleeding arm, knife still lodged in his muscle. Azriel opened his mouth to give her the honest answer but Nesta beat him to it, “Freak accident! Happened out of nowhere. Super unfortunate. We’ll leave you to it, come on Cas!” She dragged her mate away, the two whispering aggressively together as they left. Cassian had obviously not been privy to Nesta’s plan.

“Freak accident?” She said in disbelief, pulling the knife out before beginning to use her healing magic to stitch the wound together. “Cupids sword apparently” Azriel hummed quietly, the majority of his focus being on how attractive he found Y/N’s concentrated face as she worked. Her presence alone numbing the pain he was feeling.

“I thought Cupid used a bow and arrow?” She laughed in confusion, attention not straying from the intricate magic she was performing on Azriel.

“I don’t think Nesta has ever used a bow and arrow in her life” he huffed, face twitching in pain as Y/N’s healing powers created a small burning sensation on his arm.

“So Nesta’s Cupid?” She mused, small smile on her face as Azriel froze at the realisation of what he had said, likely due to the blood loss, “or is it Cassian? He did send the flowers instead of you right?”

Azriel’s eyes widened in Suprise, “you…you knew?”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. He’s not exactly subtle. And neither is Nesta apparently” she said gesturing to the thin red line of raised skin that now marked his arm where the knife had been.

“Yeah” Azriel shyly laughed in anticipation of what was transpiring between them, a soft blush dusting over his cheeks, “guess they just really want me to be happy… in their own weirdly demented way.”

“I can’t think of anyone who deserves to be happier more than you do” Y/N stated, her finger absentmindedly brushing over his new scar sending shivers dancing down his spine again.

“Yeah” Azriel manages to squeeze out of his anxiously closing throat, her close proximity reawakening the butterflies that seemed to have permanently made their home in his stomach.

“So?” It was Y/N’s turn to urge Azriel to ask her the question, “are you going to let Nesta go through all the trouble of stabbing you just so you can let me walk away? I’ve been waiting a while you know”

This time Azriel was able to find his courage, “I really like you.” He finally confessed, wanting to get the truth out before his inability to speak around Y/N returned, “I find myself unable to keep control around you, I can’t pull myself together and I always end up acting like an idiot. Because I am crazy about you Y/N.”

“You’re a very cute idiot” she teased, finger now travelling from where it was brushing his arm to trail down his chest. Her words made Azriel flush, he attempted to answer but all that came out were small broken sounds of disbelief.

“Come on Azriel” she continued to tease. Y/N had complete control over this situation, over Azriel. His spirit drawn to hers as her lips moved closer to his, “use your words. Ask me.”

“Will you go on a date with me?” He managed to squeak out. Transfixed by the hold she had over him. Y/N breathed out an airy laugh before gripping onto his shirt and dragging Azriel into her before their lips collided.

Whilst Azriel may have had problems speaking with her, he definitely didn’t have any issues when it came to kissing her. Making sure to pour every ounce of longing and pining that he had been feeling since he first laid eyes on her into the kiss. Their lips moulded together as if they were made for each other. A perfect match.

“Yes” she confirmed pulling back from the kiss to catch her breath. Azriel shifted his eyes to the movement occurring from behind her shoulder, gaze finding its home on Cassian and Nesta who were excitedly jumping, holding their thumbs up to the male.

Azriel wrapped his unbloody arm around Y/N’s shoulders, a grin of appreciation on his face as he looked to his friends thankfully.

There were worse friends to have.

[mosneakers]

Reaper's Wardrobe Collection- Information Packet 📝

I didn't want to bloat the original post up with all of this(it's a lot) and it took way longer than I expected! Sorry I've been so strapped for time recently, balancing life (and ironically—death, unfortunately) but I've finally found some time to include some additional information about the newly released (December- Friday the 13th!!) Reaper's Wardrobe Collection, which by the way, you've all been SO sweet and kind and receptive to, thank you eternally 🥺💗 Below is some additional information if you're interested, just because one, I'm a certified yapper, but also I like to include that with my cc when I can <3 Please, if you use these items for your sims, TAG ME!! I would seriously be so happy to see how you use them 😍

Lamplight Dress (+Glowy Version) and Final Layer Accessory Lingerie

A sensual little number that will draw them in like a moth to the lamplight. This versatile dress comes in a variety of swatches, including even sheerer options for when you really want to turn up the warmth. You can pair it with the Final Layer Lingerie—a maxis match accessory lingerie set found in the glove category—or any other accessory underwear to layer and customize your look.

Lamplight Dress: 44 Swatches Final Layer Lingerie: 26 Swatches

And for those special sims who are the light of your life, or maybe just get lost often, try the bonus glowy version that actually glows up!

Both dresses are standalone, so neither rely on the other to work. You can freely have both in your game at the same time or just one, whichever you prefer.

Lamplight Dress-Glowy Version: 11 Swatches

Deathflower Pendant

Yes, it's the one and only deathflower, now wearable! Meshing this as a beginner almost sent me over to the other side, but I'm happy to say that with the help and support of my lovely husband, I got through it. Which I'm grateful for, because I needed this in my game. Available for ages kids and up, and comes in 9 swatches.

Death Grip Ear Cuff/Eternal Whispers Earrings

Embrace the whispers of the beyond with the Death Grip Ear Cuff and Eternal Whispers Earrings. This one can be a little finicky. So because of how the UV_1 maps work, there doesn't seem to be a reasonable way to make the ear cuff move along with the ear slider, at least that I'm aware of. So the best we can do is to remove the ear cuff entirely or shape your sims ear to work with the cuff. I know, not ideal, sorry :( It was created with ear preset 1 in mind, but you might be able to mold your own ears with some sliding around.

The set is designed to be worn either together, or separated. The cuff (a metal skeleton hand) can technically be worn with other earrings, but due to texture constraints, most textures conflict. Although not all results look bad so definitely feel free to play around and make some happy mistakes!

Whimsical Wings Knit Sweater

A little flutter of quaint, a little flutter of spooky— What started out as an attempt to convert the Life and Death one for toddlers into a kids version, but ended up basically recreating it. However, there are a few more cute swatches special for kids that fit the theme. 16 swatches in total.

First Grimpressions Zip Up Onesie

For the little reapers in training— This cozy zip up onesie is perfect for jammies, costumes, or playtime, and is available for both toddlers and children. Although children get a few extra bonus dingy social bunny swatches reminiscent of the social bunny from ts2. The rest are reaper and "freezer-boney" themed.

Grimborn Onesie

My pride and joy :’) this is one of the first ones I started working on, a little hooded onesie subtly shaped like death himself. Many of the swatches feature an embroidered crow with the daintiest little heart, but throughout the rest of the 8 swatches you'll also find little wings, a skull, and and a freezer-boney.

Reaper Sleepers

How could your days ever be grim when you have these adorable little reapers bouncing around with you each step you take? These were what started this whole project, honestly. I was making a few things for Norvis, and obviously he needed a pair of house slippers, being a middle-aged son of the Grim Reaper, obviously. That's when I decided it might be fun to not only share them, but make this into a whole collection— then it snowballed from there. They're not the most perfectly meshed items, but I think that gives them some character ^̮^

Robes Of Respite

Just the Life and Death Employee Reaper Robes, but with no hood, because sometimes we all need a breather. I did tighten the rope around the waist a bit so your sims can show off that figure when they're reaping someone's soul and dragging them away to the unknown. I also enhanced the textures a bit and added a bonus dark swatch. One for Male frames and one Female.

Prep Me Pumps

Just a cute pair of soft goth pumps to make a statement, complete with the most darling little bow placed right under your achilles heel so you can prepped for anything, anytime. 13 swatches in total.

Spirit Sprinter Athleisure Set

Even though all 4 of these cozy swatches are adorned with a zip up ribbon corset, there's no need to sacrifice your comfort to look snatched. Whether you're bumming out at home handing candy out to trick-or treaters, or training hard to be the best reaper the company has ever seen, this outfit has you covered.

Reaper Scythe Accessory

This is just the regular Reaper's Scythe from the game, made into an accessory by leo_morg on MTS. Link here They don't seem to be active anymore or have a TOU. It is just an EA item from the game but I wanted to properly cover my bases when it comes to crediting, since they were the ones who did most of the work. I just made some edits to the mesh and textures. At first I was just using it for screenshots and previews but since its a fine piece of cc I figured someone might find it useful so why let it go to waste?

Eclipse Cloak-Illuminated, Eclipse Cloak-Veiled, and Halfway Hair

For the adventurous souls daring enough to tread that liminal bridge between the afterlife and the mortal world, shroud yourself in mystery with these deluxe reapers cloaks- This is the first hair I've ever created with the sole purpose of making it specifically for a hat, although I'm happy with how it looks with no hood too! As for the cloaks, I just wanted some separated dramatic cloaks/hoods for storytelling, both a version that is up, and down. Goes in the hat category. They're a lot of material in a small space so the textures aren't the the most beautiful up close—but at the very least they're not going to conflict with pretty much any clothing (unless that clothing item doesn't obey the allotted space, of course) The veiled version is kinda neat because it functions/chops as a hat, so it works with a select handful of hairs. The hair has your standard 24 EA swatches, and the cloaks have 8 matching swatches.

Morgue Moth Vintage Romper

If you're one of my readers, you may have noticed that I occasionally like to use moth motifs from time to time. They go hand in hand with the death theme and they're also just really pretty ♥‿♥ You'll see them a lot throughout this project, and this item is no exception. I especially love this romper because it's super versatile— all 11 moth adorned swatches make for an easy go-to outfit for those hot days, but also work as adorable pajamas or vintage swimwear, and have that whimsical-macabre twist that is so mothsneakers ✨

Plaid To The Bone Shirt

11 swatches featuring a grungy patchwork of button down flannels stitched together, layered with a haphazardly placed tee with grim but colorful graphics for that effortlessly unkempt look. Wanted to make sure we got something for the men too, but of course our girls can throw it on as well, if they want!

Cadaver-demia Coat Set

Fight the biting chill of the morgue freezers, or stay warm on your haunting moonlit walks in the cemetery, and look hot doing it! Lately this has been my irl go to look when I want to look put-together but don't want to think too much about what to wear. simply mini-skirt+shirt+coat, pair it with your favorite tights and boots and you're good to go 😊 Keeping that same kind of idea with this piece, I really love full-body outfits so I don't have to think too much about putting an outfit together, I always feel like the cc-world needs more full-body outfits (that aren't just dresses, but complete looks you feel me?) I digress, this set has 8 swatches.

Thanatolo-dress Outfit

Give off Thanatologist's day off vibes in this studious casual full-body set. 18 swatches; featuring a fitted turtleneck sweater, (some with grim graphics, some plain) layered under a cropped plaid button down top, and paired with a high-waisted corduroy mini skirt.

Once again, huge thank you to every single one of you who have reblogged and shared, or had such kind things to say about this collection. It's been so much fun to make, and I'm so glad y'all encourage my outlet and more importantly, that you're encouraging ALWAYS FREE CC 🥰 because there is no space for greed in this community let's just have fun ok? Please enjoy, please tag me if you use it (because I'm dying to what you do with it) and you can find the collection here 🖤