#he was always so persistent in asking for my number and no matter how many times i said no he’d just ask me again the next day

[fizzytoo]

weirdo ex co worker is trying to message me on ig🧍🏽‍♀️ mind you i haven’t seen this dude since 2020

[no-144444]

persistent perstering- c.leclerc

Day 13 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

summary: Ferrari drivers are persistent. You’re not looking for love. Too bad he is. 

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You liked your job. Ferrari was a good place to work. You’d befriended many of your colleagues, you enjoyed the travel, and though your work was challenging, you felt good. You were the assistant strategist who, granted, usually had better strategies than your boss, but you bite your tongue to keep his massive ego alive. If you could slap him in his dumb fucking face, you would. You liked being in the garage, well, you would if it weren’t for one thing. 

Charles LeClerc. 

Ferrari’s number one, Prince of Monaco, il Predestinato, King of Monza, the Ferrari driver. 

He was a pain in the ass. He followed you around like a love-sick puppy, he hung on every word you said, laughed too hard at all your jokes, talked too much, and he wasn’t exactly your type. 

Well, no one at that moment was. You’d imposed an iron-clad dating ban on yourself when your last relationship ended badly. You weren’t interested in the Monaco dating scene, and even if you were, you wouldn’t start up again with Charles LeClerc. 

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“Morning!” You called out to Carlos. The humid air made every piece of clothing you owned too warm, so you were in a vintage Ferrari cropped-tank. You loved your team, even before working there. Behind Carlos, was Charles, not that you knew that. Carlos smiled, coming over to you. 

“How are you doing?” He asked with a smile. 

“Fucking hot,” you chuckled. He nodded. “It's mad weather.”

“I know what you mean,” he nodded. “Charles’ here could barely stand getting out of bed.”

Charles stepped out from behind him with a bright smile. You smiled back politely, and somehow didn’t notice the way his jaw dropped when he saw you. 

“Ready for tonight?” you asked them both. 

“Ready,” Carlos nodded. “And hoping that you’re doing my strategy.” 

You chuckled and followed him into the paddock, Charles tagging behind you both. “Sadly no, but I will be on stand-by for drinks afterwards, first round on me if things go wrong?”

“First round on me if things go right,” Carlos nodded. 

“Well, good luck today,” you smiled. “Can’t wait for the sprint!”

“Thank you,” Carlos smiled and left to go to his side of the garage. 

“Feeling ready for today?” you asked Charles, trying to be polite. 

He nodded. “How bad can it be?”

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Very, very bad. Extremely bad. Awful. 

Sprint went like this; 

Lap 2: Charles Engine failure into the pits for a 20 second stop.

Lap 8: Carlos crashes with Norris 

Lap 16: Charles into the barriers. 

Double DNF with the feature race tomorrow and quali tonight? Yeah, you’d all be getting fined for staying late. 

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You sat at your desk, looking over the strategy for tomorrow, disheartened at your prospects. Quali had ended 2 hours ago and Charles and Carlos were starting at the bottom of the grid, and it was your job to get them back up into at least the top 10, if not the top 5. Finally, the ball was in your hands in terms of strategy and no matter what, they were going to listen to your calls. The team had all left 30 minutes ago, the cars were fixed with no upgrades and some understeer, but they were drivable. 

“Heading home soon?” Charles’ voice rang out through the empty garage. 

“Nope,” you sighed.

“You’ll work yourself to death,” he sighed. “What are you looking at?”

“Strategy is in my hands tomorrow,” you blurted out. “And I’m fucking freaking out,” You let out a sad chuckle as you felt all of the pressure on your shoulders get heavier and heavier. “I don’t know what to do now. Austin is always a fucking ordeal, and with teh Sprint and you tow trashing the cars we’re so fucked, and they’re finally giving me the chance I’ve been asking for and if I fuck it up they’ll never promote me, even though they know it’s less than ideal circumstances.” 

You took a deep breath as your eyes watered. He placed a hand on your shoulder. “It’s alright,” he whispered. “You can cry.”

You groaned, covering your face. “I don’t want to cry.”

He chuckled softly. “I think you might need to.”

You shook your head, taking deep breaths and wiping your eyes. “No, I-I’m alright.” 

Your breathing quickened. Your heart raced. Your mind clouded. Your ears rang. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

This couldn’t be happening, not in front of your colleague, not in your workplace not-

And then his lips were on yours? His hands in your hair as you sat there stoic and frozen with anxiety, he fucking kissed you. 

WHAT A CUNT. 

You hastily pushed him off and gathered your things, hoping he would just leave you alone. He rushed out apology after apology until you finally turned to him and screamed. “Leave me the fuck alone Charles! Not everyone is in love with you, alright? I’m Carlos’ friend, not yours! I tolerate you, because I fucking have to, because it’s my job, and because I’m a fucking professional! If you cannot extend those same respectful luxuries, don’t come near me Charles. Just leave me alone!” 

He stood there, shocked, as you stormed off to your hotel room. 

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You walked into the paddock the next morning with your head held high and a plan for the strategy. You knew what you were doing, and the only time you’d have to see Charles today would be on your screen in a car driving more than 300 kilometres an hour. Perfect.

When you got to your desk, there was a small note on it with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. 

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Dear Y/n,

I am so sorry about my behaviour last night, it was unacceptable. I panicked and I wasn’t sure what to do, but I know now that was not the way to go about it. I am so incredibly sorry, and I promise to leave you be from now on.  Sorry again, Charles. 

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A part of you felt bad, another didn’t. I mean, working with F1 drivers, you were used to tall egos on shorter men, with very little to back them up other than their money. You were sick of it, and to be honest, Charles just got the brunt of your anger because he was close to you, and he had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. 

And I mean, it was a pretty good kiss. But no, he’s a dickhead, right? 

You huffed at your own stupidity. No way you were letting a man get you this confused about what you wanted. You didn’t want…? You wanted…? Fuck, what did you want?

“Hi,” Charles’ sheepish voice came from beside you. You whipped your head around to meet his eyes. “I just wanted to apologise in person as well. I am truly very sorry about last night, I put my own feelings above yours and took advantage, and I am deeply ashamed. I promise-”

And then your lips were on his?

How the tables turn.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

fic-tober masterlist

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[azullumi]

“midnight calls and comforts” ; alhaitham

summary — you call him in the middle of the night, unable to sleep and only wishing to hear him.

pairing — alhaitham (w/gender neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, modern settings, never proof-read ; ficlet/scenario

words — 776

note — hello hehe, did i put aside all of my drafts and did this instead? yes, i did

a ring crashes through the silence of the night, abruptly disrupting the tranquility of it. the continuous sound of tapping being put on halt in the process.

alhaitham who was up and working on his laptop briefly wondered who would call him at this time of the night, it was already well past midnight and most would have been asleep at this point—except for you, whose name was displayed across the screen with the sign ‘<’ and the number 3 next to it.

“yes, love?” he answers, placing the phone against his ear, “calling at this hour seems a little late, isn’t it? is something the matter?”

he maintains the same tone that he always speaks whenever he’s with you, a gentle melody laced with affection, but this time, there was a subtle shift: a touch of worry embracing the usual symphony. just the sound of his voice reassures you of your worries, like a gentle tide that caresses your feet lovingly as it crashes against the shore or a soft touch of the wind as it passes you by.

he hears a sigh coming from the other line before he hears your words: “i can’t sleep.”

“it appears so.”

“are you… busy?” he can sense the hesitance in your tone, afraid that you might be bothering him at this moment. he looks over the open document with the last paragraph left unfinished, the several windows splayed across his laptop screen, and the many tabs that conquers the very top of his browser, and then answers: “no, not as of the moment.”

a short silence ensues before you reply, “are you really?”

he didn’t fail to notice how the call became quiet for a little while after that; alhaitham doesn’t know what to say at that moment, if he should press on with his fib or admit that he was indeed occupied with many things; sure, he was busy but he’s (never) not too busy to spend some time with you, especially at this instant that there seems to be something clouding your mind, persisting and preventing you from falling asleep. besides, he has to admit, he misses you for a bit in this loneliness that this hushed night brings—hearing you does indeed stir some motivation in him, pushing him to finish the last of his work.

“can i stay on call with you?” you speak up once more.

“if you wish so, of course.”

the both of you didn’t speak for a while but the silence that rests wasn’t uncomfortable. alhaitham resumes with his work as the sound of keys tapping did—it was the only thing that you can hear from the other line, yet it was enough to tell you that he was there, that he’s right there with you always, and just the thought of it eases some comfort in your bones.

“what are you doing?”

“just working on a paper, aiming to complete it tonight and clear my agenda of any lingering tasks."

you hum, “have you had any rest?”

“i was able to, even though it was brief.”

in the ensuing quiet that persists, time drifted by. the sole audible sound consisted of hushed breaths, subtle shuffling, and the continuous tap-dance of fingers on keys, occasionally interrupted by the soft scribbling of a pen against paper and your voice that calls out to his name.

“alhaitham?”

he hums as an answer.

“oh, nothing.”

a moment slips by again.

“‘haitham?”

“i’m here.”

it didn’t require an extraordinary intellect to discern that you were simply asking for an assurance, a subtle dance of your intentions were very much clear to him. a delicate tether ensuring his presence remained entwined with yours. and he doesn’t tire of providing you with such assurances if it was to ease your mind, this gesture of his proving to be a testament to his commitment and affection to you; alhaitham was your anchor in the ebb and flow of uncertainties.

a moment passes by once more, fleeting. alhaitham had already finished the last of his work, closing the laptop and setting it aside. he takes notice of the other line of the call being completely silent, no murmur of rustling sheets nor an echo of your voice reaching out to him. there was only nothing but the soft cadence of your breathing filling the quiet space, proving the peaceful surrender of sleep that had claimed you.

a soothing warmth settled within him, painting a tender smile on his lips. he whispers into the serene stillness, “goodnight, my love.” pressing a kiss upon the cool surface phone screen, a silent yearning for it to be your lips beneath instead.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[hunny-beann]

Hi! I love love love your first fic and your portrayal of dream!

Could I request two prompts from your hurt/comfort prompts? Specifically number 11 and number 52?

No Greater Patience

Dream of the Endless x f!Reader

Note: Hi anon! tysm for the request, I hope you enjoy the fic!

synopsis:

Prior to his century long captivity, Morpheus and his wife have an argument so disastrous that even after regaining his freedom over one hundred years later, he still questions whether or not he has the right to seek her out.

And yet, the yearning of an Endless is not so easily ignored by the mind, and he soon finds that regardless of his conscious thoughts, all roads lead back to her.

To you.

Prompts:

(hurt/comfort list here)

#11: Please don’t go. #52: I kept this for you while you were away // It’s been two years // I know

Warnings: A once unhappy marriage(?), is Dream himself a warning? Because he still should be.

Word Count: 4,014

Having the opportunity to visit with Death again had been nice.

Far nicer in fact, than the Lord of Dreams would ever willingly admit aloud.

She had always understood him in a way that none of his other siblings ever seemed to manage, and she was far too aware of his flaws and his past to allow him to continue his typical path of avoidance without a bit of a challenge.

Of course, there had been many a time where that had been less than ideal, particularly when Dream had little interest in dealing with those things, big and large, that always seemed to haunt him so.

Still, it was nice to be reminded of the topics and people that he had neglected to consider throughout his time held captive, like Hob Gadling for example, who Dream was now almost eagerly planning to visit at his earliest convenience.

And perhaps he would have headed off sooner, had it not been for Death's one lingering question regarding her brother's personal relationships...

"Dream?"

She had asked just after he had stepped away upon making his intentions of setting off to visit Hob clear.

Slowly, hesitantly, the individual in question turned to face his sister in response, one brow cocked in question to make up for his persistent silence.

Death sighed a bit, almost looking a little unsure before she finally continued upon realizing how little time she truly had for this particular conversation.

She had a rather important deadline to make, after all.

"Have you seen her?"

She asked gently, a sort of pity in her gaze that immediately made the being standing in front of her bristle in response, forcing down the slowly increasing feeling of anger within him as he closed his eyes and took a single deep breath before opening them once more to find her still standing there, waiting.

He shook his head.

"No. Our last conversation was... less than amicable, and was several weeks prior to my disappearance."

Death took a few steps closer, and placed a hand upon Dream's shoulder, watching him fight off the urge to step away, clearly trying his best not to end their interaction on a negative note.

"Then maybe you should consider seeing her as well. Last we spoke she wanted to ask about you, I could feel it, I just didn't want to push-"

"Sister."

Dream interrupted her, his voice not unkind, but still rather stern, at least as much so as politeness would allow.

"She made it quite clear during our last conversation how little interest she had in seeing me again. I would not think it appropriate for me to seek her out in spite of that."

Death sighed, but removed her hand from her brother's shoulder, watching as he nodded toward her in farewell before beginning to move away once more.

Still, no matter how gently she had attempted to address the tense topic, Death was still an older sister, and how could she possibly call herself by such a title if she didn't do some teasing from time to time?

"You cannot avoid the wife forever, dear brother! Do not forget, you are bound to her until I come to collect!"

Dream rolled his eyes, and though Death could not see that particular movement, she could see the way that his shoulders shifted slightly as he chuckled to himself, his head shaking from side to side as he walked off to attend to his own personal duties.

Except several hours and a visit with Hob later, he found that he could do no such thing, as his mind was far too wrapped up with thoughts of his wife.

Thoughts of you.

He had always loved you after all, hadn't he?

You, a deity worshiped into existence by humans, meant to embody nourishment and nurturing, as that found in the relationship between a mother and child, or an owner and their pet.

You were unending and fierce loyalty, the fire in the pit of the stomach, and the gentle hand clutching that of a child during an afternoon walk in the woods, setting them on the right path while never disallowing an opportunity for adventure.

You were beautiful.

And so very deserving of a type of love that Dream had simply been unable to give you.

Sure, he had always been polite, and at times even kind, but considerate was not an adjective that any would have used to describe him, nor his relationship that he shared with you.

Still, you had found it within yourself to love him anyway.

He was cold, calculating, blunt, quiet, and scrutinizing. Dream saw all, every flaw and every weakness, and though it was a rarity that he would point them out aloud without prompting, it was difficult to know just how much he truly saw whenever he looked at you.

That said, none of that had ever seemed to bother you beyond what you could manage.

You enjoyed his company, particularly back when the Dreaming had been slightly less complex, and he had been able to provide you with conversations and time, both things that he would eventually cease to have very much of as the waking world began to shift and change, thus requiring the evolution of the Dreaming as well.

More people meant more dreaming, and more dreaming meant more of the Dream Lord's attention.

And what he had neglected to realize at the time, was that you were the very first thing to lose his affections, his thoughts, and his actions.

It was as if you had always been expendable without ever truly knowing it until he was long gone, a slight indent in the bed that was only ever filled after you went to sleep and before you woke up, leaving you the possessor of both of your rings as day after day he forgot his on the bedside table until it was nothing more than a habit long forgotten.

Where you had once been the love of The Dream Lord, it now appeared that you were his wife in name and nothing more, and though it stung, you had stuck to your duties for far longer than Dream ever would have allowed you to now.

You had always deserved better, even before the being had shifted his attention's elsewhere, and even if he had not known that then, he could so clearly understand it now.

You had never given up on him, not even when nearly all of your interactions seemed to end in dismissals on his part, or arguments due to his seemingly constant exasperation in general. You wanted your husband back, but he wanted to be the Dream Lord far more than he ever wanted to be a husband at that time.

And maybe he had felt that way, sure, but he never should have said it, at least not in the way that he did.

Because he had seen the way that your face fell and your eyes grew teary. Of course he had, he saw all.

But in spite of that fact, he did not go after you when you rushed off to be alone for the one thousandth time.

And the next time that he saw you, you had approached him at his throne in the evening, and quietly, meekly, in a voice he had never heard you use before, asked for a divorce.

You had looked defeated in a way that Dream had found himself surprised by, eyes shadowed, gaze cast downward, and skin slightly paler than usual in spite of how impossible it would be for you to have taken ill due to your godly status.

And any husband, or at least any good one, would have asked you what was wrong, or what had driven you to wanting to leave so suddenly.

But Dream had not been a good husband, so he had simply grown frustrated with you.

He had accused you of being attention seeking for your "childish behaviors", called your attempts at appealing to his emotions laughable, and had all but sneered in the face of your desires.

You were, after all, the Lady of Dreams, everyone knew you as such, and the idea that you could abandon such a title? It was nearly as unthinkable as him leaving his.

His creations, nightmares and dreams alike, adored you, his siblings, (or rather those of whom that cared), seemed to enjoy or at least tolerate your presence when necessary, and most importantly of all, the Dream Lord could not imagine a world within which you were no longer his wife.

It had been centuries since your marriage, and over a thousand years of knowing you prior to that, after all.

It was almost as if he thought of you as his after all of the time of you living within his shadow as nothing more than a figurehead, the wife of a powerful being who was seldom paid any attention to by the very "man" that she had married.

But to Dream's surprise, if your actions had been for attention, you were all too keen on taking things even further, because when he made these accusations in his usual uncaring and borderline insulting tone, you had shouted at him for the very first time that he could recollect.

"It hurts!"

You had cried, eyes brimming with unexpected tears of both anger and sadness,

"It hurts to know that you see me each day without ever truly seeing me, that you call me your wife while scarcely knowing who I am anymore. If me donning the title of Lady of Dreams is so important to you Lord Morpheus, then fine, call me what you will, but know that I do not consider myself your spouse anymore, and have no intentions of staying here in this suffocating realm with you any longer."

And with that, you had gone, and The Lord of Dreams had not seen you since.

Though he had thought about you plenty, as unwilling as he was to admit it.

Your words had gotten to him, though most primarily when he had been trapped for so very long, forced to consider his past actions and mull over all that he had endured throughout the passage of time in spite of how little it was meant to impact him.

You were his wife still, sure, but now only in name, and over a century had passed since he had last heard your voice or seen your face.

Were you still worshiped as you had once been? Did his nightmares and his dreams know where you were? Had you thought of him or thought to visit the Dreaming in his absence? Had you even known that he had vanished in the manner that he did?

All of these questions coursed through his mind, and thoughtlessly, without even realizing it, he brought himself back to where he subconsciously knew that you would be.

Your home.

Nestled deep within the woods of the waking world, in a rural town within a country rather sparsely inhabited, you still resided, unsurprisingly, to this day, and as Dream approached your door for the first time in centuries, he stopped himself before he could raise a fist to knock on the sturdy old wood.

What was he doing here, bothering you after so very long of giving you the space that you so desired?

Had he not made a promise to himself that he would leave you be now that he understood all that he had done to you? All that he had deprived you of by trapping a being such as yourself in a marriage as loveless as yours had been?

At that line of internal questioning, Dream sighed, and turned to leave, only to hear the door swing open behind him just as he did so, a gasp filling the air behind his back before he quickly spun to face the source of the sound.

There you were, a giggling and bouncing baby at your hip, with a bottle in your hand, staring at the personification of dreams with eyes that were beginning to brim ever so slightly with tears.

"Please, don't go."

You whispered, causing the Dream Lord's eyes to widen ever so slightly,

"I need to talk to you."

And much to his surprise, Dream was quick to oblige, stepping into your abode in only a few simple strides, taking in the familiar yet so very changed space and atmosphere found within the walls of your home.

This was where he had met you well over a thousand years ago by happenstance, though he knew all too well deep down that all things happened for a reason, and that his meeting with you had been preordained by his eldest sibling and the stars long before the humans that had created you had even existed.

It was peaceful here, in the deeper woods with you, in your fire-heated home so hidden from view.

Or maybe, it was you who brought on that familiar peace, you who made his physical form relax in spite of how tireless it was meant to be.

He did not linger on such a thought for very long, for fear of what he might come to realize.

"You look well."

He said almost timidly, eyes cast downward and body language tense as he tried not to consider how similarly you looked even still to the last time that he'd seen you.

Beautiful, as always.

You sighed in response, wrestling a lightly chiming metal pendant out of the hand of the child in your grasp before tucking it into your shirt and away from view.

"With all due respect, my lord, I have absolutely no interest in small talk."

You said quietly, watching as Dream raised his gaze to look at you once more, eyes following intently as you shifted the child at your hip slightly, eyes still not entirely rid of the tears that had so clearly threatened to fall upon the sight of him.

"You disappeared."

You stated in a whisper, sounding almost defeated even as Dream nodded in reply,

"I did."

He said.

You sighed again, and looked down at the child, gaze softening slightly as you raised the prepared bottle to it's lips, watching as it started to suckle with delight, chubby limbs wiggling within your grasp, though you notably did not falter.

You never did, you were far too good with children, a fact that Dream had always felt unsettled by.

He was discernibly not a family man, particularly back when he had married you, and the idea that you were meant for something outside of what he could comfortably provide you with...

"And now you're back."

You said matter of factly, using that same tone as before as the being in front of you was snapped out of his reverie at the familiar sound of your voice, his reaction instantaneous.

"I am."

He said simply, watching as you looked up at him once more, tears spilling slightly in a way that for a moment, caused him to freeze up entirely.

You had never been one for crying, not even throughout the many years where he had harmed you through his lack of attention and desire. What could it have been, here and now that would bring you to such tears upon his simple words?

He moved after a moment, almost instinctively, to stand before you, some longing once believed to be long lost within him bubbling to the surface as he raised both hands to your face, cupping your cheeks in order to wipe your tears away with almost trembling thumbs that had nearly forgotten the once worshiped feeling of your skin beneath their pads.

You sighed shakily, looking him in the eyes for one of the very first times that day as you shook your head slightly,

"How could you do such a thing to me, Dream? How could you vanish so entirely without a word to me or anyone that you knew would be worried for you? How could you turn up here so casually and think to turn away and leave without letting me see the realness of you for myself?"

The Lord of Dreams looked down at you with sadness in his eyes, and moved to shake his own head in response, his hands still soft and warm against your skin.

Alive.

"I did not choose to leave, my dear."

He all but murmured, the familiar nickname he had once used for you finding his lips as naturally as water did a spring,

"And I did not think you desired to see me again after our last interaction. Coming here, it was not something I thought to do. I simply did."

You gazed up at him incredulously still stuck on that first part of his statement,

"What do you mean you did not choose to leave, Morpheus?"

You whispered, horror seeping into your tone as the being in front of you faltered, before finally speaking, shame present in every word that he spoke.

"I was captured by a human, and held against my will for over a century. My freedom, as it stands currently, is new. I did not choose to leave and stay away from my duties, I assure you."

You let out a choked and humorless sounding laugh, shaking your head even further,

"And what you consider upon your exit from such a hell is not of who you want to see, but who may wish to see you? Where has my selfish King of Dream's gone?"

You asked, voice slight and smile lopsided as Morpheus sighed and thoughtlessly traced the curves of your lips with his thumb, finding much to his surprise that the shape remained familiar even to this day.

"I was not fair to you, dear wife, not for a very long time. If nothing else, I wanted to know that I had at least respected your wishes for space, though even that may have been self serving."

You adjusted the child on your hip, before you raised your hand up to your husband's, ignoring the slight way that he shivered beneath your touch.

"Whatever do you mean, King of Dreams?"

You whispered, watching as Morpheus gave a humorless sounding chuckle of his own.

"I mean that even today, I could not bear to call you anything besides my wife. I mean that by avoiding you entirely, and calling that your wish, I am able to ignore the fact that I am still not strong enough to give you the end to our union that you so justly requested. I do not wish to lose you in that way, even if I have lost you in all others."

You hummed softly in response, smile growing gently as you removed his hand from your face, giving him a glance that had him dropping the other to his side before you guided him to your sofa, where you sat the two of you down, you with a child upon your lap, and him with nothing but his most bare self, vulnerable in a way he had not felt since he had been so plainly naked behind glass for what had felt like all of man to see.

Seeking out a distraction, Dream looked down toward the child sitting upon your lap, before moving his gaze back up to yours again.

"The child..."

He began, and immediately, you shook your head,

"He is not mine. I found him roaming the woods a few days back, and have yet to find his mother, even after stopping by the nearest town. I'm hoping to hear word of someone searching for him soon."

You said casually, watching with gleaming eyes as the child took your finger and clasped it within his chubby little fist, his grin revealing his few teeth, just barely poking out from beneath his gums.

Dream could not help but smile softly along with him, though his was merely a shadow compared to that of the child sitting atop your legs.

"I see..."

He replied, and you gazed toward him with noted amusement,

"Were you worried that I had stepped outside of our marriage, Lord Morpheus?"

You teased, watching as the man in front of you rolled his eyes before responding.

"No, I was more hoping than anything else. If you had moved on, then I might find it easier now to do the same."

You looked up at him upon hearing those words, before reaching down to place the small child on the floor in front of you with a sigh, thus allowing you to better face the being sitting at your side.

"And why is it that you are so eager to move past me, dear husband?"

You watched as Dream cast his gaze downward, eyes trained on the child playing nearby in spite of the fact that you could tell his mind was far away indeed, off somewhere that you could not follow, deeply considering every event he'd ever endured in search of an answer to your question.

How nice it must have been, to be so knowledgeable.

"If I were to move past you, wife, then I might finally be able to let you go, and if I managed to do such a thing, it would be far more feasible that you could truly hope to be rid of me someday."

You sighed, and reached for the hands of the individual that you had once known so well, and perhaps even did still, causing him to look up at you in surprise at the sudden contact.

"And if I do not want to be rid of you, dear Morpheus? If I said that after a century I have found it within myself to forgive you for the husband you once were in favor of learning what husband you could be now?"

You watched as the being sitting in front of you stared for a moment, as if in complete and utter disbelief, before he slowly began shaking his head, the corner of his lips raising ever so slightly as he leaned in to press his forehead against your own,

"Then I would say that I have known no greater patience than that of my dear wife."

He murmured, causing you to laugh quietly with a subtle roll of your eyes before you reached upward, pulling a pendant on a chain out from where it had been hidden beneath the collar of your shirt.

Dream watched curiously, not entirely sure of what you were doing, until suddenly you yanked at the chain with such force that it snapped in the back, causing either end of it to come tumbling forward into your palm.

Dream raised a brow in response to your actions, but remained silent, seeing in your eyes that you were all too eager to explain, the glint there unsubtle in a way that he was immensely familiar with.

"I kept this for you while you were away"

You stated casually as you pulled one of two clinking pieces of metal off of the chain, revealing to Dream a sight he had never anticipated having the privilege of viewing again.

There, between two of your fingertips and presented to him with such normalcy, was his wedding ring, and he could see from the subtle glint still remaining in your palm that the other metal piece on the chain had been yours.

He stared in shock, reaching for the familiar symbol of his union to you in utter disbelief, even as the coolness of it's structure wrapped itself around his ring finger as he took it and slid it on to its rightful place upon his hand.

"It’s been more than a century..."

He murmured, his tone betraying his surprise in spite of how little emotion he typically showed, even in vulnerable moments like this one.

You smiled at him, shrugging slightly as you slid your own ring onto your finger again, sighing as if having arrived home after a long day of work,

"I know."

[mousy-nona]

I didn't send the initial prompt so I hope this is allowed, but could I request a followup to the story where Lucifer gets addicted to Alastor's blood? One where he finally gets that taste he's been so desperately craving, whether through charm or persistence or a trade of some sort?

Part 1 here.

Lucifer tried everything. He tried meditation. He tried stuffing his face with so much cake his waistband grew three sizes (he later transfigured it away, so no one would ask him Concerned Questions). He even went on vacation to the Lust Ring for a while, but there were only so many sex jokes a person could take before they started seeing penises and boobs everywhere.

The whole time he was there, he kept thinking about the forbidden fruit coursing through Alastor’s veins. And when he was done lusting after Alastor’s blood, he would think about Alastor in general. Alastor would hate this, he thought, bored out of his mind while a cow devil was milked dry in front of him. Alastor would hate that, he thought, as Ozzie and his partner treated him to a very graphic display of affection that left his face redder than a tomato. When Ozzie started rolling out the really premium shows, Lucifer decided it was high time for him to go.

By that time, the obsession had grown to the point where he was nearly deafened by it, the constant refrain of AlastorthisAlastorthatAlastorAlastorAlastor –

Then he stepped out of his golden portal, and a tall figure sitting in an armchair by the fire turned around and the voice went silent.

Alastor barely looked up, too busy petting KeeKee and looking like the world’s best Bond villain to give him the time of day. 

“Ah, you’re back.”

When had that radio static started sounding like home? “Did y’all miss me?” He glanced around, deflating a little at the empty sitting room. “Where is everyone?”

“Busy with any number of far more important matters, I’m sure,” Alastor drawled. 

“It’s good to see you too, asshole,” Lucifer grumbled. The brief moment of homecoming faded, replaced by that permanent feeling of annoyance that he always felt around Alastor. He had started stomping upstairs when the shadows by the top of the stairs shifted, crinkled. Then Alastor was there, blocking his way. 

“I see your Majesty has his tiny knickers in a twist,” he commented, as if that wasn’t a totally inappropriate to say to the biblical source of all evil. 

Lucifer’s jaw nearly dropped to the floor. “Excuse me?” 

“I wouldn’t bother trying to deny it if I were you,” Alastor mentioned. “That would be quite an insult to my intelligence. You’ve been in a foul mood for weeks. The whole hotel has noticed it. You’ve been dragging that silly cane all over the place, something you only do when you're upset.” A flash of green lit up Alastor’s wide smile. He looked positively ghoulish, but Lucifer was still stuck on his comment about his cane. I drag it when I’m sad? Since when? And why did he notice? “If it’s bothering you so much, why not share the load?”

“You want me to…tell you my problems? What is this, storytime?” Lucifer scoffed. 

“Perhaps I could lend you my assistance,” he purred. “For a price, of course.” 

Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Now you’re insulting my intelligence.” With a flick of his hand, another portal appeared on the stairs, blocking Alastor from view. The demon was oddly perceptive. He didn’t want him to see just how close he was to falling to his knees and blubbering yes please just a sip, just one more taste. 

(Lillith had always called him a drama queen. Maybe she’d had a point.)

The portal didn’t block the sound of Alastor’s voice, more’s the pity. “Is this about the little scratch you gave me a few weeks ago?” 

Lucifer stilled. The portal wavered, guttered, and went out, leaving the two of them staring at each other.

“How–?” He stammered. 

Alastor’s grin was triumphant. “How many times must I say it? Never underestimate my intelligence. So am I correct?”

Lucifer didn’t respond, which was answer enough. Alastor sniffed. 

“In that case, I believe I have an answer to your problems.” 

What? Was he offering what Lucifer thought he was offering? “And what could that possibly be?”

“Quid pro quo, my dear. You get some of my blood, and I get some of yours.” 

“Fine,” Lucifer gestured him over impatiently. “Come here and bite me –” 

“Not like that.” 

Alastor raised a small glass vial. His smile would have made a crocodile jealous. “I told you, just a little bit of blood. I never said to drink.” 

Alastor eyes flashed into dials and the darkness was split by a lazer of green, then red – a literal red flag. The biggest STOP HERE, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200 Lucifer had ever seen. 

But his mouth was so dry. He could barely think past how large his tongue had grown. Besides, he was the king of hell. The original sin. What harm could it do to let Alastor have a little bit of his blood? 

A lot, the rational part of his brain whispered. This is Alastor we’re talking about. But the rational part of his brain had grown rather quiet around the Crusades, and he’d lost a good chunk of it by World War II. 

Charlie said he was reckless. She didn’t know the half of it. 

“Fine,” Lucifer said. “But you only get to take my blood once. And I can drink from you when I want.”

Alastor thought for a moment, then his lips moved. 

Deal.

The word disappeared in the cra-a-ack of green lightning that struck around them like fireworks. He started to roll up his sleeves, but Lucifer was too quick for him. He flew up the steps and smashed into Alastor with such force he sent them spiraling into the wall. Alastor gasped, but before he could protest, Lucifer had torn the fabric of his shirt and slashed a deep groove into the cool skin of his neck. 

Finally, that sweet blood flowed onto his tongue. He moaned, his lids fluttering as he drank greedily. Big mouthfuls at a time. 

Sin. Death. Apples. Smoke and sugar. The taste was indescribable, and in that moment, Lucifer thought he could have promised Alastor his whole kingdom, and it would have been a fair trade. 

Alastor, for his part, stayed dutifully still, even when Lucifer licked off the blood that had splattered onto Alastor’s collarbone and the tip of his chin, unwilling to let even a drop of it go to waste.

It took a while, but Lucifer finally leaned back with a groan, his lips smeared with blood like it was cherry chapstick. 

“Satisfied?” Alastor muttered. Lucifer made an incoherent sound of joy. 

“Good. I am as well.” Alastor raised a completely full vial of golden blood. When had he taken it? “I believe it was a satisfactory deal for both parties.”

Then he smiled in a way that made Lucifer's skin prickle. 

Heavenly Father, what have I done? 

[captainderyn]

[Fictober24] Day 1: "That was good work."

Prompt: "That was a good work."

Fandom: LOTRO

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

Summary: Eldarion has been training with Wulfwryn in the art of the sword since he was a boy, yet he still cannot best her in combat. Frustrated with this, it takes Wulfwryn sharing some of her own wisdom to reflect that perhaps not seeing combat is a blessing and not a failing.

Read on AO3

---

Watching her mother spar was something Faewryn would never tire of. The elegance of her blows and parries were like the most intricate steps of a festival dance and the way she wielded her sword and shield was just as natural as the way her father held his lute. 

Faewryn, however much she adored watching her mother spar, never wanted to partake. Aside from wielding a sword—or dagger, bow, glave, or any other weapon—feeling so unnatural to her despite any number of practice hours that she was more apt to cut off her own hand than cut an opponent, she had no desire to lose time after time. 

This particular time, after many times before, finally frustrated Eldarion to his limit, and he drove the tip of his sword into the soft dirt of the sparring arena and leaned against it. Despite the cool autumn air, his face was flushed with exertion and sweat pooled on his brow, sticking his mused hair to his forehead. He shook his head like a wet dog before scrubbing his hand through the damp strands. 

“That was good work, Eldarion.” Wulfwryn praised, leaning her sword and shield against the weapons rack. She ran her sleeve over her forehead, her own face red with exertion. They’d been going through session after session back to back with no end in sight. 

Faewryn rested her forearms on the half wall, pressing onto her tiptoes and rocking back down as she called, “You nearly had her that time!” 

The glare leveled at her made her dissolve into giggles that she stifled with her hands. She knew the look her mother was giving her without looking—she wasn’t meant to heckle or tease any of her trainees, no matter if that trainee was her dearest and longest friend. 

Eldarion huffed, the most petulant he would let himself get. “I’ve been training with you for years, yet I’m still getting my ass kicked like a tot with his first wooden sword.” 

Wulfwryn leveled a look at him with raised brows. 

“Hardly a tot.” Wulfwryn admonished. “You know I go especially hard on you, as your father instructed me to.”

Faewryn pressed her tongue to her cheek, already rehearsing in her head how the next part of the conversation would go. It was the same every time, with the same answers again and again.  

“That’s exactly it! If I cannot hold my own here, how am I meant to ride with you on missions? I am nearly in my twenty-third year yet I have not ridden out once with our guards. You have soldiers younger than that!” 

If her mother’s sigh was an indicator, she also knew how this song and dance played out. Faewryn mouthed along as the two went back and forth, every word near correct. 

“You shouldn’t be so eager to go chasing down rogue orc bands. They’re a brutish bunch, and the ones that still persist after all these years after particularly sturdy.”

Eldarion was quick to counter, as he always was, “It looks shameful to have the son of the king fresh as a welp in actual battle.” 

“Have you perhaps considered that we who fought in the war don’t wish the same for our children? That we’d prefer to keep sparring exercises as learning and not life or death?” This was always the line that shut Eldarion up before, and it worked no different this time. He snapped his mouth closed and Wulfwryn nodded as if content this would be the conclusion. 

She hefted up her shield again, gesturing for Eldarion to pick up his sword once again. He did with a weary breath. 

“I know you’re eager to put this to use, I know you wish to prove yourself, but truly how long do you think I’ve been studying the sword?” Wulfwryn asked. 

Both Eldarion and Faewryn hesitated, weighing the odds wrongly answering such a question. 

“…years?” Eldarion finally answered in a hesitant, small voice. 

Wulfwryn tipped her head back with a full-bellied laugh. “A great many years! I’ll leave specifics to your imagination. Now, think: you’re trying to cram a lifetime of training and true battle experience into a handful of years. You’ll get there, I promise, hopefully with far less pain and trial than I.” 

She gestured to his sword, still in a resting position. “Now, again.” 

[pup-emoji-anon]

The Cover of SPIN Magazine

Revenge era Gerard Way x SPIN magazine worker! reader

warnings/tags: heavy smut, puppy play, d/s dynamic, basically power bottom Gerard but not quite?, uses the word puppyslut, genuine talks of consent and scene prep cause I'm a sucker for good d/s practices.

amab reader, mentions of good boy and prince

word count: 2,076

for @rdiowx

You always had a hard time turning down bands. You hated it and believed all of them should get a chance on the front of Spin magazine. But that was not your decision, your decisions were to pick the most popular and well stylized bands to be front and center. So when a man wearing an all black suit with shoulder length black hair and bags under his eyes walked in with a small messenger bag your heart sank. You knew this would not be a very popular band, at the very least not one that your boss would be happy if you picked.

He sat down in the chair across from your desk, pulling papers and drawings out of his pack. "Hi, uhm, I'm here to apply for the front cover for the band My Chemical Romance." His voice nearly made you melt onto the ground, soft and light with a slight New Jersey accent.

He gently set all of the papers out, spreading them around so you could see each one in detail. "Here are some of the ideas I came up with…" All of the drawings and sketches were highly stylized, something you admired greatly. When you took a look back up at Gerard he was putting one of the papers back, which interested you. The paper was already hidden from view when you looked up though, impossible to tell what it had on it. Gerard turned back around from putting the paper away, almost startled by you staring at him.

you quickly looked away from him to glance at the reports, how many albums they had released, how many records had they sold, how many official shows they had played and where the played them. None of the statistics were low, but they weren't the usual numbers your boss lectured you about being the best. You personally thought that these were just numbers, those shouldn't matter as much as if the band was good or if they had distinct style.

Clearing your throat and speaking to him for the first time since he walked in here, you hesitantly told him, "Gerard… You seem so nice and your art is truly amazing… but I'm going to have to decline your application, your band just hasn't gained the popularity that we need even if it has the style down." The shine in his eyes practically dissipated right before you, his posture changed and sagged for a moment before his eyes lit up again. This time the spark was something more mischievous, and the grin he had paired well with it.

He leaned his head onto his hand, resting his elbow on your desk. His eyes drifted down to the papers, putting on some sort of soft look while the smirk persisted. "Well," Gerard picked at the edges of one of the papers in front of him and continued, "Maybe I could convince you in another way? Under your desk?" The look he gave you as he glanced up could be summarized as something like innocent seductiveness. You could tell he was playing it up to try to get you to say yes.

The thing was that you didn't need to be seduced or even asked twice, this man was attractive and pretty. Of course you were stunned though, wide eyed and in complete silence. Your reaction made his act falter for a moment, you could almost see the anxiety brewing in his mind over if he had just screwed himself over by going too far.

As you stumbled over your words his anxiety seemed to worsen until you spit out a staggered, "Please?" Even if your emphasis was off, making it sound more like a question than an answer, his face lit up again.

"Sub?” You nodded at his question, keeping your mouth shut. “Well come're then." He smirked at you, patting his thigh and scooting his chair back a little to make room for you. Quickly you stood up and made your way around the small desk, dropping to your knees in front of the dark haired artist. You placed your hands on top of your thighs, trying not to shake in anticipation.

"Good boy… Now what should I call you? Prince, sweet thing… puppy?" You nodded your head at the last petname, silently pleading for him to call you that one. "Ohh I've got myself a little puppy here, how cute~" He gripped your face tightly between his fingers, fixing your gaze to only be on him.

Your cheeks flared with heat as he fully looked you over. He parted his lips as he began to speak “I was expecting to have to do some work but maybe I'll just make you do it instead. You'd like that, wouldn't you?” A whine voiced from your throat, confirming his theory.

Gerard looked at you laying your hands on your own thighs, realizing that you were keeping to yourself until he told you that you could touch him. He knew that was a good mark to show you were experienced in this sort of dynamic. “You've been trained, huh pup? Have you gone around asking for doms to teach you some manners like a little puppyslut?” A silence fell over the room as he awaited your response to his question.

A shaky, flustered sigh escaped you, “Yes, sir, I've been trained in many different practices, anyway you want me to be, I can do it, sir” You watched him seemingly hang onto every word you said, processing and enjoying it before responding.

“Oh really? Well then I'll have to set the rules for this scene. Number one, speak and make noises freely okay? I booked this appointment late for a reason. Number two, keep calling me sir. Number three, keep looking at me with those cute fuckin’ eyes… you're so adorable…” Something about his face looks lost in thought for a second before snapping back to the moment. “Number four, you can touch me anytime you want, you don't have to ask for permission. and finally Number five, make sure to say your safeword if you feel uncomfortable or want to stop, do you have a word in mind?”

“Does berry work?” It was the usual word you used when you got to have a nice night with someone, quick and easy to say.

“That works perfectly, honey~” Your face heated up again at the pet name he used. “Now, I should probably show you that paper I stashed away in my bag earlier…” He reached over to grab into his bag and get the paper, holding it out for you to take.

the paper had a list of things Gerard is okay with and his hard boundaries. “I kinda wrote it when I thought I would end up subbing but the majority of it still stands, all the important things at least.” He looks a little nervous even when you glance up, but you give him a sweet smile. You told him it was nice to know these kinds of things and then went over your basic hard boundaries.

“Okay, okay, now that we're done with all of that, are you ready?” He asked softly, still in his careful mindset. You nearly melted at his gentleness, feeling so mushy for a moment before sobering up.

“Yes sir, I'm ready.” You tried to make your voice sound controlled but you couldn't help the need from slipping through and making you sound whiny. Gerard smiled, half lidded, at the sound of your voice and patted one of his thighs.

“Come sit on my lap like a good pup, hm?” He leaned back a little bit to make room for you as you sat down, straddling his thighs. They were thick which made you fluster a little bit, having to spread your legs more. You set your hands on top of your legs again, not sure where else to put them.

“Mmmm now what to do with you…” Gerard slid his hands up from your waist to your chest. He moved one hand to start unbuttoning your shirt, taking his time to undo each one carefully. You were already getting needy as you felt him gently brush over your covered nipple with his thumb, pouting after and already wanting more. He chuckled at your face but continued to unbutton your shirt until he got half way down.

By that point he had stopped and brushed the top half of your shirt out of the way a little bit. Your entire mind was wondering why in the hell he had stopped before you felt his lips press against your neck. He started to leave little kisses and suck small hickeys down your throat and to your chest.

Then he sighed, you could hear how impatient he was getting, unbuttoning the rest of your shirt quickly and leaving more kisses and marks across your torso. When he pulled back up to look at you in full, both of you were panting for air. “Please sir… need you…” You begged pitifully, a little teary as you stared at Gerard licking his lips.

He quickly pulled you off of his lap and put you onto the floor. “Stand and strip, puppy.” He was still slightly breathless, commanding you with a stern voice. A shaky breath left your lungs before you nodded and started undoing your shoes and kicking them off. Soon you were completely bare in front of Gerard, realizing just how chilly it has been in your office as the cold air hit your dick. In the time you took off the rest of your clothes Gerard had too, leaving both of you staring at each other's bare skin.

“Good boy. Lay down on your back, pup, arms above your head.” You could tell his voice was trembling a little as he stood up, you wondered why until he dropped down to his knees and reached behind him. He let out a small moan as he pulled a plug out of his hole and set it beside himself. “I already prepped myself so here's how it's gonna go, I'm gonna ride you until all the thoughts in that pretty little head completely melt away, got it?”

You were stunned for a second, words caught up in your throat as you went from hard to painfully hard. “Y-Yes, sir.” Your eyes watched him as he straddled you, holding your cock to line it up with his hole. He looked at you, half lidded, as he took a breath and sunk all the way down in one move. A groan released from his throat and he closed his eyes. You were already grabbing onto his thighs, his weight keeping you from bucking up or moving.

Slowly he took another breath and started to rise a little before dropping back down again. The small action pulled a moan from you, his hole already clenching around your dick. You already felt so dumb, your brain completely focused on the pleasure you were experiencing.

“Awe, so cute, does the puppy feel so good that they're drooling?” Gerard's voice was demeaning even though you could tell he was fighting to stay coherent. You hadn't even realized you were letting drool slip out of your mouth from how amazing you felt.

With no warning Gerard suddenly started moving up and down quickly, making you whine and paw at his chest. You started to moan louder, throwing your head back when you felt your orgasm approaching. “S-Sir, please can I- can I cum?” You begged him.

“Wait for a moment, pup. Hold it for me, yeah?” He tilted his head, looking down at you with the prettiest face you've ever seen. You tried really hard to hold it, squeezing Gerard's thighs with the effort. Only a few moments of that torture later did Gerard finally tell you, “Be a good boy and cum for me, puppy.” in a demanding voice.

You quickly let go, spilling into Gerard and digging your nails into his thighs. He quickly came right after you, going over your chest and stomach. With a sigh he got up off of you, cum dripping down one of his legs. “You got any tissues or anything?” He asked as he helped you stand up, both of your legs kind of shaky. You nodded and picked the tissue box up, handing it to him.

“So… am I getting my band on the cover of SPIN magazine?”

[jacksprostate]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

The five days Tyler's stolen my voice from me, I spend watching. The commons, group therapy. I visit my cave with my eyes open. Mills should get used to the cold. I've heard if it drops below 50 while your respiration is this depressed, you go to sleep and never wake up.

Valley of the Dogs.

An orderly with fresh bruises peppering his temple lets me take my walk in the same time Mills is carted around. This is how I must've looked for months. Glazed. Drooling. At this point they probably have to use elephant tranquilizers on me, the tolerance I've built.

God, his petty ass, we meet up for one on one and he says he has to give me some bad news.

No, it's not about Mills.

Tyler, whatever.

He is giving me the bad news, of the passing of one Marla Singer. Everyone seems to think this is bad news. Found dead in her apartment because she didn't pick up any Meals on Wheels for her neighbors for three weeks, and they worried about those little old ladies, up there all starving alone since their angel in black stopped showing up.

Her corpse was found, instead. I imagine it all waxy, tits rotted off just like she said, at some point you're so sick even the bacteria in your gut won't bother decomposing you. I imagine Marla's skin pulling back, fleeing, away from her eyes, her teeth, like a mummy. Dried out as all her collagen rots.

Paper clutched in her hand. A will, sort of hasty and half-assed.

Marla's many worldly possessions all fit on a hotel notepad.

Many other worthless things go to a small number of worthless people Marla has mentioned leaving behind in her life, and god says, Marla Singer has left me something.

That's the entire reason I get to know all of this.

If not, I would've never known.

The world could blow up, and you'd never know in here unless it was in someone's will to tell you.

Marla Singer left me her dildo.

Oh, Marla.

Addressed me in the will half the time as Tyler.

I wonder, did the cancer spread from her tits to her brain, like the cancer I didn't have. It's everywhere now. God says they're working out treatment. I wonder if it matters.

Without Tyler between us, I don't really know what connected me and Marla.

What kept her calling.

I liked her. Another psycho boyfriend in her stories. There will never be another, unless she's gone to Heaven, the real one, and they've got some sort of exchange program going on for her to have fun with.

I think Marla might deserve that. She deserved better than this.

I wonder if it was pills. There was no Tyler to save her, this time. No one to listen to her death rattle. I don't have the voice to ask.

I won't be getting her dildo, because you don't get possessions in a psych ward. It'll get dumped in some other landfill to persist for time immemorial with all the other plastic iconography of our stupid, stupid lives.

Released back out to pasture, I watch Mills. His wife was murdered. Murdered, you see, it's an action, and it's solvable. Mills solved it.

You can't solve the slow death. Not really.

I think about how empty Mills is.

Am I empty?

An unidentifiable amount of time ago, Marla called me again, and she told me all about what happens at the new support groups she goes to, since I ruined the old ones for her. They were willing to rally behind her for the whole blowing my brains out show, and she only would've had to wait them out for six months or so, but she decided to just find new ones. A new church, with new temptations like Living With Angels, a group for those caring for severe dementia patients, and Recovery Road: a program for those trying to rebuild their lives after a loved one blew them up. She said, when I got out, we could both go to that one, and I could talk about Tyler, and she could talk about me, and we could have fun getting kicked out together.

Marla was always talking about that. When I got out.

I wasn't ever hearing any of it.

Mills, they've let up on him, finally, you can see his eyeballs aren't floating with all they've juiced him up on. He's watching me, back.

I wonder if he knows about Marla.

Would Tyler care?

Tyler had said, don't call this love.

Does it need to be?

When I get my voice back, I bury my thoughts on the subject and Marla and everything in a relentless campaign to needle Mills until he looks like a voodoo doll in a shitty tourist trap.

[hikari-drkspc]

❅ “A Single Flower In A Field Of Grass” ❅

character: yandere! dabi [boku no hero academia]

warning: a bit of b0dy h0rror, k1dnapping ; MINOR/AGELESS BLOGS DNI, PUT YOUR AGE IN BIO/PINNED POST TO INTERACT

words: 1.2k

a/n: this is a repost from my main blog (@/hikari-writes) so yes this writing is old + bad, i just moved them here w/o editing bc im lazy and wants to keep reminding myself how bad my writing used to be <3

You have always been popular among the guys. Whether it’s from work or from when you walk on the streets. You’re just so beautiful, you see.

You’re not dense or anything so you’re completely aware of the attention you’re receiving. Ever since your school days, you’ve always received love confessions from the guys. And each time, you would reject them. You weren’t interested in engaging in any romantic relationship. If possible, you don’t really want to get married to anyone on that matter. All you wanna do in life is get over it with a decent job that gives decent pay, grow old, and pet your cat all the while.

You’re a natural-born beauty so it’s not like you wear anything to have such gorgeous features. In fact, you could wake up in the worst way possible and you’ll still look beautiful. Even though you’re pretty famous for rejecting any love confessions and turning down anyone who invited you to a date, there’s always those persistent type of guys that don’t know when to give up. You either just have to ignore them or give them a piece of your mind if they went overboard.

Even so, you’ve never been stalked or anything. You’re very, and I mean, VERY, sensitive to your surroundings. Your admirers knew this and they never risked following or stalking you if they want to live their life without getting caught by the police.

Which is also why he was able to catch you off guard.

You never wanted to earn his attention whatsoever. It never even occurred to you to do such things. But unintentionally, his interest seemed to spark from one question.

Why’s a beautiful flower like you got surrounded by so many disgusting flies?

He had to keep you away from them. It’s the only right thing to do. He had to have you all to himself. You belong to only him. He needed you.

~~**~~

Today couldn’t be any worse. Recently, several members of your guy colleagues went missing. And today, the police just happened to find those missing persons. That is, their corpses.

You were shocked beyond words. It seems impossible for several numbers of people from your office that went missing are now found together. Dead.

It’s hard to accept the reality. After work, you and all of your friends decided to pay a visit to their graves. You got home much later that day. It was getting pretty dark so you quicken your steps. All you wanted was just to get home safely. After what had happened to your colleagues, your sense of danger seems to have built up greatly.

You were about to reach your home when you saw something out of the corner of your eyes. Something moving in the dark alley. Your instinct tells you to quickly get the heck out of there but just as you were about to run, a faint soft voice caught your attention.

“….elp……"

Someone asking for help. Your blood ran cold. Someone is probably in pain there. You were the only one near the place so if you didn’t do something….what would’ve happened to that person?

Your fingers fumble around the inside of your handbag to search for your phone. You quickly call the hero support line to ask for assistance.

After the call had ended, your phone’s battery ran out and it automatically died. You tried to brave yourself and check out the alley. A sharp breath escaped your lips when you saw the sight in front of you.

It was one of your male coworkers. The feelings of fear completely left your body and great concern and worry filled your whole body.

"Steve?!”

You quickly make your way to your injured colleague to check if he was alright. He doesn’t seem to be conscious. You try to inspect him closely despite the darkness.

As you squint your eyes to look at him, you noticed a burning smell coming from him. You remembered that you had a mini flashlight in your handbag and pulled it out. You cautiously clicked the switch on and pointed it at him.

Upon seeing his condition, you let out a loud scream and let go of the flashlight you were holding.

His body is completely burned. His skin is nowhere to be seen and the blackish-red colour took up his whole body. He also doesn’t have any clothes on, obviously has been burned alongside him.

The smell of the burnt flesh sickens you and your stomach churned. Your trembling legs tried its best to help you stand. You need to get away from there. And fast.

“Whoa there, where do you think you’re going, missy?”

A male voice appears behind you, making you freeze in your place. You felt like you’re not supposed to look back to the owner of the voice, but your head moves on its own and looks back.

Your eyes widened, fully knowing who it is you’re facing, and most likely the culprit for the murder of Steve.

Dabi. One of the members of the League of Villains. You’ve seen him several times on the news and heck, he’s easy to recognize too, what’s with his extraordinary features on his face and all.

The heroes seem to take their sweet time getting to your location. You silently pray they arrive fast before anything happens. Although part of you seems to already accept your fate.

“Don’t look so scared. I don’t bite….unless you want me to.”

He playfully says with a smirk as he leisurely strides towards you. Your legs had long given up and you’re left cowering before him.

Dabi crouches down beside you and closes the distance between you both. You flinch at how close his face is to yours and quickly shut close your eyes, as if by doing so will make him go away.

“Y/N, loosen up a bit. You’re too tense, babe.”

You could hear him snicker as he said this. One of his hands reaches out and cupped your cheeks.

Your heart sank. How the hell does he know your name? And who does he think is, calling you babe like you’re his lover or something. At this point, you feel like  breaking down and crying. There’s only so much you can handle after all. Coming face-to-face with a villain, furthermore from the infamous League himself….this couldn’t be any worse.

“You know, from when I first saw you, I always thought it was odd. Why is it that…a beautiful flower like you, got surrounded by so many disgusting, pesky flies? It’s not as if you’re a disgusting pile of trash to make them attracted to you. No… you’re far from that. Even so, those idiotic flies still dreamed of getting a chance at you. It ticked me off.”

He points behind you, towards Steve. At this point, you’ve already somehow put two and two together. He killed Steve, and possibly the other of your colleagues that has been found dead too…all because he was interested in you?

“I guess you already knew what I was getting at by now, right?”

Dabi’s smirk grows wider as he pulls you closer and covers your nose with a piece of clothing. It all happened so fast that you barely had any time to react at all.

Before you knew it, your consciousness slowly slipped away and the last thing that you heard before your vision completely blacked out was Dabi’s husky voice, whispering into your ears.

“Don’t worry, love. You’ll learn to love me in no time at all.”

[k-s-morgan]

Hi!

I just wanted to say that I just realized I was on the last chapter of Gentle Slopes the first ever time I looked at the chapter number. I somehow managed to breeze through all of it in a matter of days… I almost cried when I realized it was chapter 22 my god. Do yeah, just so you know, the fic has been haunting every second of my life, I can hardly think of anything else, it’s crawled into my soul and I can’t possibly describe how it makes me feel. Damn. It’s very hard to make me this engaged!

You’re incredible.

Thank you

Hi! Ah, thank you so, so much, your ask put the greatest smile on my face! It’s so exciting to keep getting new readers who love these two idiots as much as I do, and so flattering that my story managed to evoke so many feelings in you. No matter how many years pass, my love for this universe and for writing Those Gentle Slopes doesn’t lessen. Delving back into this universe is always an incredible experience, and feedback like yours makes it even more so.

I hope you enjoy the new chapter! It’s basically 40K words of Sebastian getting more and more enamoured and half-stopping fighting it. Now that he’s accepting attachment, he attributes all other feelings and impulses to it. ‘Oh, my lord is so beautiful, I want to touch him with increasing frequency - this must be one of the effects of attachment! I nearly kissed him - never knew attachment gets so persistent and bothersome. Etc.’  :D

[iluvaki09]

What JJK men would look for in their partner! And how it would be with them..

This is my first post on Tumblr, so I'm just getting used to this.. I hope this is good from all the experience I have reading head canons myself! Enjoy!!

Gojo

- I feel like he would love to have a tsundere woman on his side, the thrill of making you flustered after being mean to him and all that. He'd also love proving that you do like him after rejecting him many times when he wanted to take you out, he'd tease you after you get serious and laugh watching you pout and or cross your arms at him after he said something dumb. He always pops up behind you during missions and whenever your alone and hug you from the back his hands going around your waist, you push him away and become flustered again, he laughs but you know you'd let him hug you as many times as he wanted, maybe even more. You definitely wouldn't admit it!

- although he would love a bratty tsundere, you'd also need some good humor here and there, to have some fun with him and laugh all night to shows or just get drunk together. Although you always say you hate him and he should stop asking you out, you guys are simply best friends in the end. But he will always want more, and he's persistent!

- He wouldn't really pay attention to looks if you have a personality that really attracts him, size doesn't matter as well. But to be brutally honest, he would look more toward attractive/cute women, but it really depends!

- it would be pretty hard for gojo to love anybody in the first place. All his loved ones passed or something bad happened to them because of him, hes the strongest sorcerer in the world again, love isn't his number one priority.

- but if he did decide to one day find a woman, or man, he'd need them to understand that work sometimes comes first. And if your just a regular human, he'd be more stressed for your safety. Never letting her go outside alone most of the time. If you were a sorcerer, it would be more like him flirting with you here and there and some hook ups now and then. A secret relationship, he'd want to keep you safe still. Always trying to go on your missions, but another thing he loves about you is that your strong. So maybe sometimes he doesn't need to worry all the time.

Megumi

-megumi would like his partner to be understanding with him. To be there to make him smile and feel better when he's down. To hold him when he needs it. He wouldn't care about looks neither size, he wouldn't mind the chubbiness of you, as long as you love him for him.

- he loves kind women!! Just to see you be kind to children and animals, makes him smile and his day much better. How gentle you are, he feels so lucky to have met you. He'd protect you at all costs. Sorcerer or not.

-he likes someone who can stand up for themselves, although that's a maybe.. A shy and kind woman can also make him interested, how your so quiet makes him want to know more about you. And if you were confident and kind, he would just notice you more quickly.

Sukuna (slight nsfw)

- man oh man, does he love powerful women. Someone who isn't scared of him and pretty bratty. He loves to see you being put in your place, and if you fight in a kick ass way, he might as well get turned on right there.

- if you can talk back to him, hell immediately become interested. Human or not. If you guys do end up getting together, hed be so protective of you, like he owns you.

- he likes to stare at you from afar when you fight, looking at every inch of your body and smirk. God youre sexy and strong, a bonus if you even try to Dom him! He'd find it funny, in the end he would be on top of you while your legs shake and you pant like it's your last breath.

That's it for now, if this gets big then ill do way more characters!

[maledictus-maleficus]

@ofthescatteredstars sent: "... I have thought more about love, Vessel. Or, more specifically, I have remembered much. After so long, and after being suffocated by lack of passion... it is no surprise that a god like me should forget something so human."

The turmoil contained within the mind of the high priestess is calmer tonight. The tempestuous winds surrounding the girl and her vulpine prisoner no longer rattling the teacups that have, and perhaps always will, remain full and warm.

Another presence, it seems, has quelled their mutual unease - and yet, new feelings, new questions, stirs the wild winds around them again.

"These... feelings... you have let them into your heart, as so many before you have failed to do, and they have not led you astray. That alone is enough to collapse the dogma within which I have suffocated - we have suffocated. And yet... my eyes are opened to the truth, that there is yet so much about human connection that I... alone, I lack the capability of understanding."

The chains around him loosen, in only for an instant, allowing him to take the tiny teacup in between his paws, that he might raise it to his colossal lips. A drink more fit for a pygmy than a god still, in some capacity, manages to refresh him.

"Perhaps love lies in persistence; in being able to look at someone and say with absolute conviction, 'no matter what happens, and what has happened, I want to go through it with you.' And yet... perhaps it is still not fair for me to say I love all my Vessels, despite this definition, for... this is by choice. This is a thing you would think about another because you want to, not because you have to, or even that you are destined to. And so I ask you the same thing, Vessel...

"Though you are bound by the tenets of your faith to remain at each others' sides... would you still do so, were you offered the choice? If you can answer that... perhaps, then, you can answer the question of whether you love your Tomoe, however heretical the thought may be." ↳ UNPROMPTED | always accepting!

        The tumultuous winds have at last found their peace. It is but a moment in time; the whole of this inner sanctum seems to exhale a shaky breath as their serenity is at last reclaimed. Yet the maiden knows it is not to last. Serenity is but a fleeting state; a single speck in the cycle of life, death and rebirth. She knows that this, as in all things, must pass.

                                                          She is nevertheless grateful for the respite it offers.

        Aika takes another moment to breathe in the fresh air before she too partakes in the tea ceremony. It is warm and full, much akin to the love that her companion speaks of. The concept is not entirely lost on her in spite of her sheltered upbringing; she knows that there are as many forms of love as there are people. Yet the topic brought to their attention specificially: whether she loved Tomoe, was so very complex. She stares absentmindedly into the liquid, at her own reflection.

                                                                                Love ... what an unusual thing.

        " .. I do not yet know how to answer that. I have begun to feel a number of things once unknown to me. Rage, even.. even hatred for a brief moment. " Her grip tightens on the porcelain for just a moment as she recounts the myriad emotions she has felt thus far. A pained expression passes over her face. " I dare not admit this to another soul: when I first cut down my first life, I felt... nothing. " She exhales, as if she had released a tension that she had not even known was there. " Nothing. I know this is not normal, and so I know it is no surprise that even love is lost on me. "

[passionsafire]

It has now been well around half a week since Maximilian Jenius and the various pilots he'd called together were attacked by a force of unidentified attackers in Earth orbit.

It was at once both entirely unexpected and wholly foreseeable... but it wasn't like they had much choice. With the unrest around the Earth Sphere being what it is, it'd be impossible to make any kind of noise without some faction or other picking up on it.

This time was a bit different, however, more coordinated. The Gigasion hadn't seen them until they were right on top of them. Even Exsedol agreed; this wasn't some random attack. This was planned. Which means it's even more imperative that they don't take their next moves lightly.

"Captain on bridge," an artificial voice chimes, signalling Max's presence to the bridge crew as he walks in and into his chair.

"What's the status of our descent?" He asks.

The ships' navigational officer answers, "We've just hit 31,000 kilometers. We'll be entering Earth's atmosphere soon, sir."

"Understood. Tell all hands to be at the ready for entry," Maximilian says back. The officer nods and follows through while Max turns his attention to other matters. Namely, the Gigasion's next stop: Tokyo harbor.

"I already took the opportunity to radio ahead, Max." From an opening in the bridge's floor adjacent to the captain's chair, the macronized head of Exsedol Folmo, the ship's advisor and one of Max's oldest friends, rises into the room. "...That is what you were just thinking of, no, Captain?"

"Ah..." Max would have been surprised, had it been anyone else. But Exsedol has always had the mind for that kind of thing--always one step ahead. The old archivist certainly knows him well. "Thank you, I was just planning to do that."

Max has had a lot on his mind lately... doubtless, Exsedol could tell. But that's all part of the job, isn't it...? Always thinking, rarely resting. Hardly have time to breathe, except for when he's back in the pilot seat... not many feelings can compare to the rush of nostalgia he feels, setting foot behind a Valkyries control stick. Always feels like... well, like "home."

Atmospheric entry is coarse as always, especially with the amount of debris that's swimming in the upper atmosphere. As soon as they meet cloud cover, a message reaches them over the communicator. An old friend of theirs from a previous operation expresses their eagerness at being their welcoming committee this morning.

"Quite the energetic type, that Commander, isn't he...?" Max comments, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Energetic isn't quite the word I would use, captain..." Exsedol says in response. "In fact, I'd say he reminds me of bit of you when you were younger."

". . . Come again?"

A sudden flash of red cuts through Max's incredulity in an instant, a warning siren sounding from the bridge consoles. Max doesn't even have to read the text that flares up in front of them to know what's coming.

"Captain...!" One of his officers says, swiveling around to look at him in a flurry.

"I see it. Raise our combat alert status and prepare to scramble fighters on my command!" Max responds.

"Aye, sir."

The captain pinches the bridge of his nose, heaving out a sigh under his palm. Exsedol barely needs to look at him to know what he's thinking. "Our pursuers are certainly persistent ones," Exsedol states, parroting Max's thoughts near exactly. "They aren't going to let us to descend so easily."

Max nods. "We've known that from the beginning," an explosion above the Gigasion's deck sends a shockwave ripping across the ship. Max, off-balance but mostly unphased, lifts the brim of his hat to view the battle brewing past the bridge's viewport just over their heads.

"The only uncertain factor was how many of our number they'd shoot down before we'd made it," the captain says, his stalwart expression not betraying even for a second the bitter tang of remorse on his tongue.

His Zentradi advisor saw through him easier than most, however—if he was still miclone-sized—he might have rested his hand on his old friend's shoulder as a sign of support. Instead, he'll have to rely on the tone of reassurance in his voice.

"Quite the challenging conundrum," he says, "But not one we haven't surpassed before."

Max falls silent and the hurried chirping of the bridge's instruments count each wavering second between one thought and the next. Just as he's about to speak again, one of the technicians spins around from their monitor; the only color on their face is the red light from the combat alert warning.

"C... Captain!"

"Report," Max says, regaining his composure in an instant. A skill he's down right mastered over the years.

"It's the radar, sir... the enemy—their number just doubled—no, tripled!"

"An error?" Max asks.

"Checking... negative, sir! The system's coming back clean!"

"Perhaps they're jamming us..." Exsedol councils. "Have we established visual contact?"

Another technician from across the bridge turns back and nods. "Affirmative!"

"Put it up on the monitor," Max orders. In a flash, the image of the blue-rimmed skies above the Gigasion appears. For a few fleeting seconds, the scene seems almost clear, until...

"Is that...?"

"Enemy fighters?"

"Doesn't look like any aircraft I've seen..."

Over the chatter of the bridge crew, Max hears Exsedol utter a name under his breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the Advisor's brows furl as expression turns grim. He's about to call his name when he notices a figure in the topside camera that he didn't before. His eyes widen as the realization of what they're seeing begins to dawn on the entire bridge.

"Captain..." One of them mutters.

"I see it," he says, curling his fingers around his chair's armrest. "So they've even started to deploy them now..."

From the darkened skies above their heads, a dreaded enemy descends—where they saw one, dozens more begin to appear before their eyes, dotting the horizon like a field of stars.

"The Noise..."

——————————————————————————————————————————————————— To Be Continued . . .

Part 1 | Part 2 |

[karatechick1984-blog]

Any Questions?

“Do you have any questions, concerns, anything like that?”

I sit, pen gripped in one hand, notebook in the other, my chicken scratch handwriting scattered across the page. Subconsciously, I’d been expecting this question, knew it was coming but managed to maintain my silence. Though I was full to bursting with questions, comments, and concerns, this wasn’t about me. It was about the man sitting a few feet away.

He’d pushed his chair closer to the desk when asked to complete a series of diagrams, questions etc. I’d wanted nothing more than to stand up and lean forward sneaking a peek over his shoulder at what he was being asked to do. I knew there would probably be a clock face he’d be asked to write the numbers on, perhaps a connect one word to another sort of diagram but I didn’t, know unequivocally what was on the piece of paper laying on the desk. Its contents were all guesswork on my part, hobbled together from random conversations with my mother, her knowledge of medical literature and brief scenes from movies and tv shows.

He’d filled the paper out with the steady, determined silence of concentration and when it came time to answer some verbal questions, he did so easily, casually, only once uttering a brief laugh and a murmured, “Nope, that’s all” when finally stumped by an exercise. It had been reciting prime numbers in numerical order or multiplying seven by seven; a task that to him, was simple, a no brainer but to others, myself included, seemed a horrifyingly intense and impossible undertaking. His brain, long since melded by use of trigonometry and other advanced math daily, was fine tuned to these kinds of puzzles. But my brain, heavy with words, books, and daydreams, stumbled with fear at such a feat.  

The tests, the exams, the appointment itself was reaching its end. I had finished my diligent note taking and was sitting as still as I could, waiting, watching and wondering what the man in front of me would say. For a moment, there was silence and then he answered. It came in the form of a slight shrug of the shoulders and a quiet, “Nope. I think that’s it.

I feel my fingers relax, hand moving to place the pen in my page and silently shut the notebook in my lap. Taking a breath, I pause, trying to piece my rampant thoughts into coherency. Strain by strain, I sift through the maelstrom of words, emotions, memories, parsing out the most important, the most painful, the ones that beg for answers and finally speak, voice steady and calm.

“Why??

“Why him?"

“Why the most gentle, kind hearted, loving, loyal, hard working man I’ve ever known? Why the man who never hurt anyone, who never asked for anything, who simply loved his wife, loved his kids, did his job and retired with the hope of passing his days the way he wanted. Even when that want was as simple as watching every version of “Star Trek” ever made, every Season of “The Twilight Zone” from start to finish, or favorite movies on repeat, no matter how many times he had already seen them."

“Why sentence him to the slow but steady decline of his body, his mind? Why make it so a man who was always so stoic, so steady, now struggle to hold a cup of coffee, to walk up a flight of stairs, to try and quietly hide the slight but persistent tremor that is now a permanent part of him.”

“Why him?"

“Why my Dad?”

“Why?”  

A slow blink and I take another breath, lips parting for an instant and then closing, silently, swallowing down the words that beg to be heard. Instead of standing up, demanding answers, tearful and desperate, I simply push it all down, tuck it away and save it for a rainy day. Someday soon, I’ll dive back into my mind, my heart, pull out all these desperate pleas from their hiding place and air them out, relive them, revive them, cry over them. I’ll dissect every question, every last word, every heavy and final beat of fear, sorrow and rage, flay them all open, bleeding and cut to the bone.

I’ll let myself feel the fear, the sorrow, the uncertainty, and the unfairness of it all but I say nothing. I simply accept it, as stolidly as my dad does. If he’s afraid, he’s not showing it and it’s the least I can do, to swallow down my own feelings, for now and simply stay by his side, offering the same silent but unwavering love and support he’s offered me, every day of my life.

And I stay that way, beside him, always, as he makes his follow up appointment, as we walk back to the car, as we pull out onto MGH traffic. And when he speaks, voice soft over the gentle murmur of the radio, his words, “he seems good” settle in my chest.  With those three simple words, I let an Infinitesimal amount of the fear fade, let it drift away and instead will those parts left empty to be filled with the steadfast knowledge that if my dad thinks a doctor seems good, then he must be. I let that confidence, that small bit of assurance, the tiniest glimmer of something like hope, trickle into my heart and with a small smile, I manage to keep my voice steady even as my eyes tear up, voice just as soft as his.

“Yeah…he does.”

[freedfutura]

hii!! I’m coming from ur Wattpad! I have a request, Vance hopper x fem reader and it’s just fluff where Vance escaped from the grabber and goes to reader for comfort?

Hey!! I love seeing my Wattpad readers on here. Coming right up! <3 Hope it’s what you’re looking for.

[Vance Hopper]

Thanks For Sticking Around

Vance Hopper is described as a lot of things. Angry. Violent. Spiteful. Rough. Temperamental. But one thing people often forget to list is sensitive.

Vance Hopper is sensitive.

When he was taken by the grabber, he was forced to face the worst parts of himself. No matter how hard he tried to disguise his fear and pain with bravery and anger, it was clear that he was anything but brave. He had to face the facts- and that was that he was truly stressed out and terrified about his impending doom. He was afraid that no one cared enough to come and find him. That no one would care if he lived or died.

Sure, he was angry. Angry that he was weaker than the grabber. And that try as he may, there was no over powering a grown man twice his size.

In the end, his escape was pure luck. And he didn’t even do it alone- he had to obtain help from people who weren’t even alive. He couldn’t do it alone.

He’s always been stand offish, it’s just in his nature. So when the cops came to interview him, he was as stiff as a board. Not answering a thing they asked for over an hour until he was sick of sitting in the blinding lights of the interrogation room. Then he proceeded to answer their stupid fucking questions with short annoyed responses, finding their pitying expressions extremely irritating. He absolutely fucking hated the way they looked at him- like a hurt kitten. They spoke to him like he could break any second. It made him want to pull his fucking hair out.

When he was finally able to go home, the main goal in mind was to get a shower. He took his time, gently scrubbing at his bruises and scrapes. Watching the water pour down his body and pool around his feet- turning brown and red as it mixed with the blood and dirt previously smudged into his skin. Then, he redressed his wounds, changed into some fresh clothes and laid in bed.

He thought he would finally be able to get a solid nights sleep.

Of course, that was just too much to ask for.

No matter how many times he tossed and turned, he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable under his blankets. He felt wrong. He’s use to having too many feelings that he doesn’t know what to do with, but never before like this. The feelings he has are far more persistent. No amount of beating the shit out of others or playing pinball to dissociate would ever make him forget what happened to him. He can’t even look into a mirror without seeing that piece of shit’s finger prints etched into the skin on his bicep.

In pure frustration he tosses and turns erratically until he can take no more and throws his comforter off him with an angered grunt. He’s so worked up from all the movement that he’s panting with anger, balling up his sheets in his fist until his knuckles turn white.

He closes his eyes tightly in an attempt to calm himself down, and the first thing he thinks of is you.

And that’s when it hits him.

You! He completely fucking forgot he had you! God, what a fucking idiot. How could he forget the very thing that kept him motivated to escape in the first place?

You couldn’t have heard the news yet. They were yet to announce it on live TV. He imagines you must be worried sick about him, and his dumbass has had the power to make that suffering end this whole time.

He rushes to stand up from his bed, wasting no time to hurry to the phone in his bedroom. At first, looking at it makes him cringe as he unintentionally remembers the one in the basement. However, he soon shakes away that feeling, moving forward to pick it up off the receiver and place it against his ear. His fingers move quickly to dial the only number he had ever memorized. The same number he tried dialing in that damn basement oh so many times. Your number.

It rings for a few moments, and he begins to worry that he’s calling too late. After all, it’s already nearly midnight and your goody two shoe self always went to sleep at 11 on the dot.

Just as he’s losing hope, he hears a click followed by some shuffled noises.

“H-Hello?” You mumbled out groggily.

His face lights up in excitement, already feeling at ease by the mere sound of your voice.

His voice gets caught in his throat as he thinks of what to say, until he finally settles on keeping it simple. “Hey, sweetheart…”

If he could see your expression now, he would probably laugh.

Your eyes just about fall out of your school with how wide the burst open. You literally drop your phone in surprise before hurriedly rushing to pick it up again.

“V-Vance?! Where are you?! Are you ok?! Do I need to call 911?!” You rush out, choking back tears as you clutch the phone tightly.

He chuckles softly, shaking his head despite the fact that you can’t see him. “Nah. I already talked to those fucktards. They’re still as shitty as they were before I went missing. I’m at home. I’m alright now. Just a little bruised up- nothing too bad.”

“Y-You’re ok? What happened to you?” You stammer out, wiping away any stray tears that managed to escape you.

Though you’re trying your best to hide the fact that you’re crying, he can clearly tell by your irregular breathing and the shakiness in your voice.

With a slight frown he replies, “I…was…taken. By the fucking grabber. But I killed that motherfucker. Snapped his neck with a fucking phone cord. I bet he’s rotting in hell as we speak.”

From the sound of his voice, you would never be able to tell he was just kidnapped and trapped in the confines of a basement hours before. It’s honestly concerning. You know how Vance can be. He bottles up his emotions and then explodes at an innocent bystander for breathing too loud. But the worst part about him bottling things up is that he forces himself to suffer alone. And you’re not having that.

“I’m coming over. Now,” you decide sternly, hanging up the phone before he even has a chance to reply.

His heart flutters at the determination in your tone. Though he would never admit it, he always appreciated the way you would stubbornly force him to allow you to comfort him. He really needed someone to push his boundaries right now. To force him to let their love in.

Within a few minutes, he hears rustling outside his window, and looks over just in time to see you throw the panes open and clumsily falling through. You land awkwardly on the floor. He snorts at your idiocy, though is quickly cut off when you bounce right back up and practically throw yourself at him.

He stumbles back into his bed, barely saving himself as you throw your arms tightly around his neck and kiss his face again and again.

He feels heat creep up his neck and fights the urge to shove you off and cuss you out. Normally, he isn’t the hugest fan of affection beyond the occasional hand holding, but after everything he’s been through, he just can’t bring himself to deny your touch. He didn’t want to waste the very lucky opportunity he’s been given to feel your warmth once more. So, he carefully wraps his arms around your waist, allowing you to lay atop him as his eyes slowly shut in relief.

This is what he needed. You. In his arms. Your hair tickling his cheek. The scent of your shampoo lingering in the air around him. Your soft skin against his. God, he needed it so bad.

His hold on you tightens as he realizes this, unintentional tears strolling down the sides of his face.

“I missed you so bad,” you admit, your voice shaking and inevitably cracking towards the end of your sentence as you begin to tremble with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

He hums lightly in response, simply showing his appreciation for you by holding you tight.

“Can I stay the night?” You ask hopefully.

He remains silent for a moment, but eventually replies, “yeah, alright. If that’s what you want. I don’t really care.”

You smile. Because even though he says that, his hold on you had just increased ten fold- showing no signs of letting up even if you had changed your mind.

Vance had a funny way of asking you to stay. Not by using his words, but rather through his actions. You knew when he called he was secretly asking you for your comfort, without actually saying that. He made it seem like what happened was no big deal, knowing you would come running to his aid.

Not everyone was cut out for a relationship with him- but to you he was complex. And you were willing to take your time and put your pride aside to understand him.

And later on, when he assumes you are sleeping, he ever so quietly whispers, “thanks for sticking around.”

And you just smile, pretending not to have heard a thing.

[merakiui]

I absolutely LOVED your yandere twst fic it was beautifully written! My favorite characters are Cater, Rook, and Lilia and I was just curious about your thoughts on them as a yandere or your thoughts in general? I’m curious to hear what you think about them!

Thank you for reading it!! My yandere!Rook thoughts can be found here.

(cw: yandere, stalking, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, non-consensual photography, manipulation, obsession, mention of kidnapping)

Cater will document every moment of your life whenever he has the chance. What starts as innocent selfies or candid photos he snaps as a joke turns into something far darker, with Cater behind the lens of the camera. He has an entire photo album dedicated to you on his phone and new photos are constantly being added every day. Most of them are taken with your knowledge because he’ll ask to take a quick picture of you or he’ll wrap an arm around you and pull you into him so that you’re in frame. That’s just normal Cater behavior. But he also takes plenty of photos without you knowing, most of which are just you doing simple things and going about your school life completely unbothered. 

The moment you feel like something or someone is watching you, you’ll never be able to undo that feeling. It will stay with you, always clinging to your back like moss. You can partner up with any of your friends (safety in numbers, as they say), but even then the sensation that someone is staring at you never leaves. If anything, it only persists.

Cater really likes to take pictures of you. You’re just so photogenic! How can he not capture every moment of your precious life? Moments where you’re frustrated at Grim, moments where you’re laughing with your friends, and even moments where you’re alone and crying, homesick and lonely. Some of his favorite photos of you are the ones where you’re at peace. It almost fools him into thinking that you’ve adjusted to Twisted Wonderland and are content with living out your life here. But he knows that good things don’t often last and that it’s only a matter of time before Crowley finds a way to send you home, if one even exists. He hopes in the deepest, darkest pit of his heart that such a way does not exist. 

Cater will do everything he can to charm you, both when he’s with you and when he isn’t. He’ll rely on his unique magic so that he can be at multiple places at once, always getting great angles of you for his secret photo album. It’s also become somewhat of a fun parlor trick he uses to impress and amuse you. 

And it comes in handy when he needs to restrain you, using his clones to hold you down and cover your mouth as you struggle under him. He’ll always be gentle with you and he doesn’t dream of hurting you, but moving you into his dorm is going to be a little difficult if you keep putting up a fight, darling. 

- - -

Lilia is oh so wise and kind, despite the impression he may give off to some. He’s aware that Diasomnia’s vibe and decor may seem a little frightening to those who aren’t well-acquainted with it, but everyone is always willing to get along. What he hopes for the most is just that, so when he first meets you and sees the goodness in your heart and the purity in your actions he’s immediately intrigued. Most humans aren’t as selfless as you are. When he learns of your budding friendship with Malleus and how you treat Silver and Sebek with continued kindness no matter what, he is quite pleased. Lilia knows you aren’t a threat and that your intentions are always so pure, so he doesn’t have any problems approaching you. 

He’s nice. That’s how you’ll see him: a nice third-year student who is happy to assist you when you’re in need. Lilia will offer some very helpful words of advice and he has many tales of the past to tell you if you’ll choose to listen. Whether you actually believe such tales is entirely up to your judgment. Lilia is grateful that you listen to him, which only adds more fuel to the fire that is his obsession. You’re just too sweet. How has the world not broken you yet? Or maybe it has and you’re just good at hiding your true feelings. Although he doubts that, considering you’re usually very honest in his presence. And Lilia enjoys honesty.

He doesn’t feel as bad as he should when he leads you astray slowly but surely. You won’t realize you’re walking into his trap until it’s too late and he’s finally able to enjoy your company without any interruptions. He knows what’s best. After all, he is very wise. You mustn’t forget that. It may seem like a difficult thing to adjust to, but Lilia is patient. So incredibly patient. And he’ll always wear the same expression, even when you act like a brat. A calm, almost endearing smile. It’s a smile of understanding. It’s a smile that tells you that he could do this all day. 

Lilia manipulates you in a way that has you reeling when you finally realize his words and actions weren’t as pure as you once thought. As you struggle to accept his love, if such an obsession can even qualify as love—although some days it just feels like blatant, insatiable lust—Lilia downplays all of your protests and emotions. It’s almost insulting when he tells you in a calm voice that running away isn’t safe. If you truly want to go outside, take someone with you, preferably him or someone else who he trusts most. He’s your protector first and foremost, so if there’s anything you ever want to do just tell him and he’ll make it happen. See? He’s very forgiving and generous, allowing you to do as you please so long as it’s acceptable. Now, now, there’s no need to weep or frown. Sometimes it feels like he’s babying you more than anything, dismissing your emotions with halfhearted validation and an empty smile. 

Just when you think you’ve gotten away from him for a moment—and Lilia will allow you to enjoy that moment every now and then—he’ll pop up beside you with a playful grin. You didn’t think you could leave him that easily now, did you? You’ll have to try much harder than that if you want to play a proper game of cat and mouse, sweetheart. Although Lilia wouldn’t prefer to go through the trouble of looking for you, he will track you down every single time. And he always manages to find you no matter what. One day you’ll learn that your fate is to remain by his side, always and forever. Until then, it’s a consistent learning experience for you.