#if i sound incoherent it’s because it’s LATE and i need to sleep

[underfell]

What Papyrus & Asgore think about eachother? We know that Pap is a hater but is it mutual? Has Papyrus forgiven him? Undyne? Anyone?

I’d imagine Papyrus definitely just hates Asgore. He has that picture of asgore in his room with a bunch of darts and sharp objects thrown into it.

And Asgore just does not care enough to have any kind of feelings towards anyone who isn’t a direct threat to his main objective.

Therefore, I’d imagine he doesn’t even see papyrus as a threat that would even consider conspiring against him due to the circumstances regarding Sans. Asgore, fully believes everyone is under his command and is devoted to him regardless if it’s from fear or pride.

Papyrus being fear, Undyne being pride.

For Undyne because she’s known Asgore for a long time (if I remember correctly) she still would’ve followed the same path, with more hostility and pride. A Royal Guard captain that would jeopardize her fellow guardsmen in order to remain loyal to Asgore.

I think Undyne would forgive Asgore.

It’s harder for Papyrus to forgive Asgore.

[minisugakoobies]

It's You - Choi San | 3 AM

Pairing: San x Reader Genre: smut, crack, fluff, angst, roommates to lovers, BFF’s Lil Bro!AU Series Rating: M (18+) Drabble Warnings: sneaking around, sloppy making out, lots of cuddling and kissing, honestly this is super soft, drunk San is a whole different type of menace, a little angst on OC's part, pet names deployed as weapons (baby) Word Count: 2.1k Disclaimers: SFW, obviously I don’t own ATZ - they just inspire me

Summary: He was only supposed to be a temporary roommate. Your best friend’s little brother, crashing on your couch for a few weeks. That’s it. How did this happen?

A/N: This started with talking about drunk San with @minttangerines and @kiestrokes, and then @moni-logues made me miss this couple, so boom! New vignette! I should warn you that I wrote this over the course of 2 days, entirely between the hours of midnight and 5 am because I've been staying up wayyyy too late to watch the Coachella livestreams (can we talk about Chellateez?! because holy shit!), so it's probably a mess and it's unbeta'd, so… blame any typos or incoherency on my fucked up sleep schedule! 🥱

Lyrics are from "Moondance" by Van Morrison, inspired by that one toktoq of San singing that song, which absolutely killed me.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment, or send me an ask to be added! You can also send me any ideas/thoughts you might have for a future scenario - who knows, it might end up in a drabble! 💕

It’s You Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ ATZ Masterlist 🐈‍⬛ Main Masterlist

It’s three in the morning, and you’re wide awake, at your desk, working frantically on an article whose deadline is mere hours away. For not the first time tonight, you curse your natural inclination towards procrastination and scrub your hand down your face, wishing you’d chosen a different career. 

There’s some noise outside your door and you realize San must be home. He’d been down at the Blue Bird with Hongjoong, drinking and hanging out with Wooyoung as he bartended. From the way San’s shuffling around, it sounds like Woo had been his typical kind self and given San more generous pours than he should have. A loud “oof” resonates, and you hear the armchair scrape the floor a bit, as if he were setting it back in its place. You wince, hoping he didn’t wake his sister, who has an early shift and needs to be up at dawn.

“Noona. Nooooooona.” Tap tap tappity tap. “Are you up? I can see - I can see your light.” 

San raps on your door, calling out to you in a voice that’s hushed but maybe not quite as quiet as he thinks it is. From his spot on your bed, Nero lifts his head off his paws at the sound, then blinks at you with his bright green eyes. 

“I know. He’s loud as fuck, isn’t he?” With a cluck of your tongue, you quickly hop up and open the door. San must’ve been leaning against it, because suddenly you’ve got a mountain on top of you, a loose-limbed one at that, eagerly but clumsily wrapping its arms around you. “San!” 

“Hiiiii,” San coos into your shoulder, where he’s buried his face. You shudder slightly as his breath tickles your skin exposed by the tank top you wear, and stagger away from the door enough to close it quietly as you can, not an easy task to do given the giant mass of man hanging his dead weight on you. 

“You know, your sister is sleeping just on the other side of this wall,” you remind him, but he doesn’t respond, too busy lathering the column of your neck with tiny kisses. “San. Come on, sit down.” 

With some stumbling from San and a not insignificant effort on your part, the two of you make it over to your bed. Your attempt at coaxing San into a sitting position fails miserably as he promptly splays on his back, pulling you on top of him. Nero hops off the bed in a huff. 

You go down like a sack of flour, not a gram of gracefulness in your fall, but San appears not to notice when your chin bounces off his sternum or your knee rams his thigh. He sighs contentedly, wrapping his arms around your back, tucking you against him.

“Mmmm. So nice,” he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head. 

It’s three in the morning, and you need to finish this damn article. Except that right now, your body is telling you that what you really need is to stay exactly where you are. Because the minute the warmth of San’s embrace surrounded you, your stress melted away. The steady rise and fall of his chest calms you, makes your own breathing slow. You close your eyes, nestling closer to him, sliding your own arms around his waist. You could so easily fall asleep like this. 

But he can’t sleep here. 

“San. San, are you awake?” 

“I’m awake,” he replies, but with closed eyes, which doesn’t really give you a lot of confidence in his response. “I am,” he insists when you shake him, rolling his head away, but he still doesn’t look at you.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you warn him sternly. “I mean it!” 

San smiles, the one that tells you that he knows you’re going to give in to him, which is the smile you tend to see him flash the most often, because you’re weak for him and always giving in. But this isn’t one of those times when you can indulge him. No matter how much you want to. 

“Wish you’d come to the bar tonight. Wanted you there.” 

You knew that. He’d told you as much when he’d texted earlier. Unfortunately, you had to turn him down for the sake of remaining gainfully employed. He’d tried to convince you otherwise at first but finally said he understood. And then sent you a series of sad selfies, each one more pathetic than the last, lips puffing to an extreme. Because he understands the power that pout holds over you.

It’s embarrassing how bad you’re down for this man.

San’s fingers dance idly down your spine, and you sigh, eyes slipping shut again as you speak. “Believe me, I would’ve rather been there with you.” 

He hums, fingertips quickening their light minuet. He mumbles something into your hair, low and unintelligible from the way his lips are smushed against your head, so it takes you a few seconds to realize he’s not talking, he’s singing. 

“... marvelous night for a moondance, with the stars up above in your eyes…” 

“San,” you begin, but before you can warn him not to get any louder, he does so anyway, raising his beautiful voice a little, starting to get into it. 

“A fantabulous night to make romance, 'neath the cover of October skies…”

“Shhh!” Your shushing is cut short by your giggling, as you clap a hand over San’s mouth. “Oh my god, now is not the time for this!” 

This is one of San’s more notable habits - when a song gets stuck in his head, you’ll hear him singing it for days, just walking around the apartment humming the melody or, if he has an audience, belting out the lines. He knows how much you love his sweet tenor. Another fact about you he’s filed away to devastate you with at the most opportune times.

Like when you need to kick him out of your bed. 

He continues singing despite your hand pressing on his lips, slurring the words directly into your palm. His eyebrows are working overtime, top half of his face playfully conveying whatever lyrics are being smothered against your skin. He’s so ridiculous, so over-the-top, even at three in the morning when anyone else would be exhausted, like you felt before he walked into your room, since his energy is infectious and perked you up better than the multiple cups of coffee you downed in your desperate attempt to stay awake. That’s San for you - he’s always giving you something when you need it - his time, his help, his energy. 

So you decide to give him something back, and replace your hand with your mouth, drawing him into a tender kiss, imbuing it with all those things you feel but never say. His muffled singing becomes a hum becomes a moan, at first surprised, then pleased. One of his hands drops to your thigh and with a bit of urgent tugging, he maneuvers you on top of him, chest pressed to chest.

His kissing is only the slightest bit sloppier when he’s been drinking, wetter from his tongue caressing yours with somewhat less skill than usual, but it’s never bothered you. You like seeing this side of him, looser with his inhibitions, with whatever holds him in place - or holds him back. One day you’ll ask him to show you more, when you’re both sober. 

And when things are different. Less… ambiguous between the two of you. 

If you reach that point. 

“Noona.” San whispers, thankfully pulling you from the heavier thoughts threatening to sink you right out of the moment. You open your eyes to look at him as he pecks your cheeks.  “I like kissing you.” 

You grin, letting your forehead knock against his. “Yeah, I kinda noticed.” 

“Aren’t you going to say it back?” The look he gives you would melt the hardest of hearts. This is why you’re not afraid to be needy with San. There’s no reason to be, not when he’s just the same. 

“I like kissing you too,” you declare, kissing the tip of his nose, laughing at the way his eyes cross as he follows your lips. “But now’s not the time for that, either.” 

“Then what time is it?”

Laughing, you gently guide him into a sitting position, keeping your arms looped over his shoulders. His lust is morphing into sleepiness, eyelids drooping as he gazes at you, and your heart goes so soft at the sight of him. 

“It’s time for you to go to bed.” 

“Okay,” he chirps, immediately flopping onto his back again. 

“Ohhhh no, not here. You gotta go. I still have to finish my work, and you…” The words stick in your throat. You can’t be here. You don’t want to say them. You want him to be here. Tonight, and tomorrow, and on and on. 

But that’s a conversation for another time. Not three in the morning.

“You have to go,” you groan, sliding off the bed and grabbing his arms, less gentle and more insistent this time. “Come on, get up!” 

San lets out a whine of protest. “But baby, why can’t I stay here?” 

Oh, he would drop a ‘baby’ now, slipping it in so casually, so naturally, like there’s nothing unusual about him calling you that. As if it’s not something new he only started doing the other day, happening maybe a handful of times since. 

Since the two of you have been doing this undefined thing, there’s really only been one unspoken rule. You sleep in your bed, and he sleeps on the couch. Even on the nights when Haneul’s working the late shift, or she’s over at Jongho’s. You never know if she’ll come home early, so you don’t risk it. It’s just easier this way.

Doesn’t mean you like it, though. 

“Because. If Haneul catches you coming out of here - “

The sound of a door opening makes you freeze right down to your tongue, leaving your sentence unfinished. Your head swivels towards your own door. A pair of feet pad down the hall, getting closer, then fading away, until you hear another door being closed. The bathroom. 

“Noona.” 

You turn to find a sober-looking San staring at you. He reaches out, hands settling on your hips, holding on to you as you stand between his legs. Clinging again. 

“She’s in early today, right?” 

The two of you probably know Haneul’s schedule better than she does. You nod.

“Then I’ll just stay in here. She’ll think I never came home.” 

He makes it sound so simple. So reasonable. He’ll stay here until she leaves. Why didn’t you think of that? Is it because you don’t like thinking of San with someone else, even if said person is an imaginary person who exists solely to provide an excuse that will allow you to get what you want? And if you get what you want now, it’s only going to hurt more when you can’t have it anymore?

Yeah, that’s probably it. 

“I don’t know…” you bite your lip.

“Come on,” he wheedles, drawing you into his lap again, cupping your face with both hands. “Let me stay with you. Don’t you want me?” 

And there it goes, the last remaining bit of your resistance. 

“Okay.”

San seems a little shocked, face lighting up in delight, and you wonder if it’s at how quickly you agreed, or that you agreed at all. Maybe both.

“But we have to be quiet. So, you know…” You trail off, gesturing wordlessly. 

“No moondancing?” He emphasizes the word heavily, lifting a brow, and you roll your eyes but grin as well.

“Right, none of that.”

“Just cuddles?” 

As if he needs to ask. You nod. “But I’m not coming to bed until I finish my work.” You reclaim your seat at your desk, folding your arms over the back of it, trying to give the appearance of someone with a solid backbone, since yours is apparently made of pudding. 

“That’s okay,” San says, already tugging his shirt off, then his pants, until he’s only in his boxer briefs. He peels back your comforter, sliding into the soft sheets, and again the action is so natural, so normal, like he does this every night, that something in your chest constricts. “I’ll just wait for you.” 

Your first thought is that you should inform him that he’s going to be waiting a while, but then again, maybe he won’t. 

You’re feeling suddenly inspired. 

(It’s three in the morning, and you’re falling in love.)

If you liked this fic, please consider reblogging! Likes do not help it get seen by other readers. 💕

Taglist: @sweetnspicy-noona @krystal-a @jennylychee @hiefisch

© 2023-24 by minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost. I do not allow translations of my work.

[hyperballart]

pls we need what happens after patrick finds repressed art's porn history pls pls pls 🙏🙏🙏

prev.

they definitely don’t want to bring it up out of guilt from both sides. patrick wants art to be selfish for once, for him to take what he wants from him and let go, but that’s a wish that would be hard to come by. art is in a different headspace — he finds it difficult to sleep next to patrick for the first time in the years since they’ve started pushing their beds together (they always said they were too small but won’t admit that it’s because they like staying close.) he’s paranoid of acting on all the wet dreams he’s been having, waking up with a gasp and grinding his cock with the mattress until he runs to the bathroom and waits for it to go down.

it seems as if their overthinking paired up and cruelly manifested the present; where patrick is rudely forced awake at an ungodly hour by some rustling. he is used to art kicking the blankets off in his sleep and he’s about to pull the duvet over himself with a huff when he suddenly realizes he is actually warm — too warm, in fact. it’s then when he registers the whining, an incoherent chant coming from the body that is directly pressed behind his own.

he doesn’t move. art is asleep, but he grinds into patrick from behind, fully hard and almost piercing through his boxers. they’re not cuddlers so patrick is confused even more when he feels the tightening grip art’s arms holding him. he really is at a loss of knowing what to do, the moment his brain computed that his best friend was using him to get off from a wet dream his mind fogged and cock twitched in interest.

a particular push of art’s hips has him moaning subconsciously, he quickly shuts his mouth, but when art suddenly groans out a patrick, nnghh a louder sound escapes him. that is what jolts the blonde awake. it takes him about 30 seconds of silence to understand the scene and figure out that patrick was conscious to know as well. his face is burning and he flops on his back while he tries to say something, “oh my fucking god, i don’t know what— it’s not what it looked like,” and he can hear patrick stifle a laugh.

“are you good?” patrick sounds a lot more calm than what the situation calls for, as if he’s not leaking through his underwear. art shoots him a look even though the darkness of the bedroom conceals his expression, “sorry, lately i’ve been a little off. i haven’t really — um — you know, gotten off in a while or whatever,” he’s scrambling, “i was just having a dream, i guess — and um, you were there and i don’t know.”

patrick opens his mouth without thinking, “why are you making this weird, man, i don’t mind.” a beat of silence.

“what?”

“what i’m saying is, you’re my best friend. i’m doing you a solid,” he tries to rationalize without sounding desperate, “you just need a warm body s’all, you can keep going — it’s not like we’re technically touching each other.”

after a bit of dubious back and forth, art hesitantly brushes up against patrick’s ass and let’s out a long sigh. patrick feels him holding back and he puts a stop to it quickly, “it’s okay artie, do what feels good.”

and so, he does. the tent in his boxers is so hard and warm against patrick, he makes shallow grinds and keens when the brunet subtly arches his back to push back. “f—fuck patrick, i can’t stop , ah—“

“don’t fucking stop art, i know it feels good—hmm,” art’s hands grip the sheets to keep them from grasping at patrick. he takes a peek over his shoulder and sees his friend’s bare chest; dusted by hair and filled out with muscle. his eyes trail lower and he sees the way his stomach is sucking in deep breaths of his restrained arousal, but then he looks lower and spots that he is also very hard — the sight pushes him to a hard thrust and a whine.

the fact that he has been wanting this for a long time (even if unknowingly) makes it so much hotter. the fantasy of seeing the cocky boy he’s shared clothes and cigarettes with struggling to act unaffected — eyes shut and lip held between teeth — is quickly sending him to his end.

“patrick — i think i’m gonna —“ art can’t stop himself from letting go of the duvet and grasping on to patrick’s hips instead and making him fuck back on his cock through the fabric. “oh shit, i’m there — i’m almost there, just let me use you a little more—“

patrick himself is on the verge of coming untouched, being used activates a slutty part of himself, “c’mon keep fucking me like you mean it — ah — that’s right.” he slips in something that can be misunderstood by the boy behind him in his state of ecstasy, but will still take his breath away: “cum in me, art. i want you to.”

art squeals out a pitiful sound, almost like a sob, before he spills out against patrick. his cum is bleeding through both of their boxers and none of them seem to be alarmed by this. he leaves bruises on patricks hips while he rides out his high and melts into the mattress with his mouth panting behind his neck.

when he’s coming down and gaining consciousness he mutters three words before falling back to sleep, i’m not gay.

patrick wants to bring up his search history, but he’ll save it for another day.

[guiltysungho]

— boynextdoor when you need help to sleep

genre : tags. fluff, suggestive (18+), established relationship, comfort (?)

wordcount. 150 - 300

a/n. you might feel the quality degrade as you continue but i really just wanted to post something. its not too bad i hope, enjoy 😭

@onedoornet

sungho is used to your tossing and turning in bed whenever falling asleep becomes a task, and whether it’s a nap or full night’s rest he knows what to do to get your melatonin up.

he’ll keep you close, enough to feel body rise with each tired breath. gentle pats on your head as he sings a sweet melody to you, humming the instrumental part quietly for you to travel with the sound.

earlier in your relationship you had told him about this song, your childhood nights filled the same harmony he sung to you. he’d learnt the song just for you, for nights like this one when sleeping wasn’t so easy.

you remember the first night you heard the song from him, such a cherished memory. you dreamt of wonders that night, of you and him in a fairytale where that song played throughout the kingdom.

even when he was away from home where he couldn’t hold you, his voice would still be at your reach. after seeing how much you enjoyed his singing, he’d recorded the song for you, saving it on your phone so you could always sleep soundly even when you were miles apart.

when you can’t sleep neither can riwoo, he needs to see you sleeping soundly for the slumber to settle in. he doesn’t know exactly how to make you fall asleep but he tries to figure it out based on general opinions.

so when it’s time to sleep the whole mood in the room switches. rain ambiance noises added to a white noise in the background, cool toned led lights, air purifier, assuming at least one thing would work so got everything.

most of the time you end up laughing, watching him put on every appliance in the room to set the mood right just makes you smile. checking with you on the settings, asking if you want to change the rain sounds to fire place sounds since its winter.

while laughing doesn’t help you sleep, whenever you did fall asleep you were at ease. no matter what happened in the day, you could look forward to the sleeping sessions because of the joy they brought.

at times he would go the extra length and start counting sheep out loud for the both of you, giggling together at each number when you should be sleeping.

the truth was you knew exactly how to fall asleep, you’d fall asleep in the first couple minutes, just lying down on his chest, arm around his torso, but you liked the whole drama of it all so you would let it happen.

jaehyun is like a homemade podcast, you’ll lay there between his thighs while he tells you all about everything. sometimes he’d tell you about his day, depending on how interesting it was and other times he’d tell stories.

he knows you like listening to him so plays with that, telling you all sorts of things that grow more unbelievable as he goes on. at times you’re unsure if he is even saying coherent words or just making sounds that sound like words.

it never did bother you though, if anything you loved it the more incoherent, the easier the slumber came. you would let him play with your hair as he told a story you’d never heard of before, braiding it to the best of his abilities.

something about having his fingers tangled up in your hair and his voice so close to your ears made sleeping such an easy task, you wonder how it was ever hard for you.

you’d fall asleep to his sweet voice, bedtime stories from your one and only. even when he’s far from you he finds a way to make it work, late night calls were he'd just take you along with him, narrating his every movement.

he knows by your soft hums through the line that it works just as well so he continues till all he can hear is your quiet snoring.

slow relaxing tunes fill your room whenever it’s bedtime. you get so close together under the sheets, cuddling as you let the music transport you to a deep slumber.

most of the time that’s all you need to fall asleep, his arms around you and sweet melodies playing from the speaker. the only downside being that it wasn’t an immediate solution to your insomnia.

for taesan there’s only one way to help you sleep immediately and if the tiredness is too much for you he’s always willing to help with a little stimulation. he’ll help you relax completely and release all tension from your body.

he finds it cute the way you always fall asleep immediately after an orgasm, the way your small hands would wrap around his wrist when you felt it coming and stay wrapped there once you passed out. if you need an orgasm to fall asleep he'll give it you with the most pleasure.

whenever it came to it his main focus would be you, wanting you to feel the most pleasure so the slumber could settle as soon as you orgasm. he plays with your most sensitive parts, teasing and pleasing you, kissing you wherever you ask for it.

when you finally finish your eyes are already shut as you slowly regain your breath falling into a deep sleep. he gives you a kiss on the forehead to telling you did well before letting you sleep comfortably.

leehan is particularly gentle with you when you're sleepy, to be honest he enjoys listening to your little yawns and groans that come whenever you were tired so he's a little more unserious in his ways of helping.

when you're tired in bed with him he'll whisper to you while you're craddled in his arms but it's more of an asmr session that a soothing moment. while his gentle touches help you relax, the sound of his voice by your ear whispering the script to a cartoon movie keeps the sleepyness from reaching it summit.

occasionally he will add sound effects to the show, mimicking sounds of bubbles with his mouth and flicking his cheek with his finger to remake the sound of water drops, trying his best to not burst out into laughter.

so most nights instead of sleeping you're giggling in a dark room with your boyfriend whispering the script of nemo to you telling you to imagine the movie while he narrates. with all the laughing you do you always end up falling asleep in the middle of his story, imagining your self in the movies.

he never lets you miss out on his late night asmr, even when he isn't with you he send you voice memos whispering to you in the most erotic way while telling you to tuck yourself in bed tight. giving you some sort of guided meditation session so you can sleep soundly.

[dilfdemolisher]

ETERNAL - Hannibal Vampire AU

Summary: Recently turned by your physiatrist after being found on the brink of death causes more then emotional turmoil when you can no longer fight the feeling of hunger - Comments and critiques are encouraged.

Content Warning: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, cannibalism, gore, it's implied the reader attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, manipulation, implied death

Word Count: 1.4k

You shake your head in disbelief. “This is ridiculous. I did not consent to this.” 

He smiles, “This specifically? No, but you did consent to be bitten. It is not my fault you are regretting your choice.” 

You cannot stand his smug satisfaction that he draws from your discomfort. 

“I wasn’t given full specifics of what this would entail, and I was vulnerable and incoherent. Someone on the brink of death doesn't understand things clearly.” 

He steps closer; you can’t help but tense at his body nearing yours. "You said yes because you trusted me, and why should you stop now?” His chilly hand cups your own cold cheek. 

Everything is so firm, as you’ve noticed since you turned. It makes you so inhuman that you’ll never get to appreciate warmth again—no hot baths, no more feeling the sun’s heat on your skin. You are now chained to a cold castle, inhabited by a cold, cruel man. 

“You transformed me into a monster; you’re the last thing I’d ever want to be, and you’ve cursed me with just that.” You insult while looking into his eyes. It’s hard to believe you once admired him as an intelligent, handsome man. But now, when you look into him, you understand what a dark, hollow man he is inside. 

His nails dig into your cheek slightly. You feel that he should pierce through your skin, but despite the pain blooming, your cheek stays taught, and no puncture wounds form. 

The physicality of your transformation continues to surprise you. The cold skin that covers your body reminds you of porcelain in a sense; it’s impossible to damage without shattering, causing complete destruction. 

Nevertheless, you are persistent in your standing. “I was your patient; it was your goal to keep me sane. You failed and corrected your mistakes, once too late.” 

After stealing a moment to observe you, he pulls away. “You’ll cave much sooner than you expect; I can already smell your hunger.” He says before walking away, leaving you alone with your thoughts and drying throat. 

Hannibal was right. You’re caving. 

At first, your mind started reeling at the ways you could most ethically eat. But it didn’t take long for morality to leave you alone, perpetually cold and hungry. 

The noise in your brain is consuming you and is now too loud to ignore. It claws at your stomach and mind; it didn’t take long for you to start wailing. You falsely assumed you could go much longer without eating, like a reptile or spider. But it’s only been days since you’ve turned and hunger is crawling out of your throat in desperate cries.

Your bedroom door opens; it’s odd to call it that. It’s just a room in Hannibal's house with a bed, nightstand, and bookshelf—a place that should be cozy. But it’s not like you sleep in it. It's simply a space with four walls to wallow about your stolen death.

“I have something for you.” You hear his voice say. You are too exhausted to even acknowledge his presence. You don’t want a gift; you want to die.

He sighs, you hear him step closer to the bed in which you lay. “She’s unconscious, she won’t know a thing.” 

When his attempt to soothe isn’t met with a single sound of recognition. He places a hand on your cheek, guiding your eyes to his. “She’s going to die either way, you can eat while she’s unconscious or I can devour her while she writhes.” 

You could say no; you could shake your head and beg for a rat, you’d even morally compromise for a cat. But you’re so hungry.

An image of a woman drained and pale, fragile and lifeless that your head conjures does nothing but give you the energy you need. “Please.”

“Then come,” he smiles, holding his hand out to you. 

Shakily, you rise. His hand stays firm on your lower back as he guides you into the living area. 

And there she is, the human you’ll steal their life from, her future, her life, her love. All to be greedily swallowed by you. 

Hannibal watches your reaction closely, the intensity of his gaze piercing through the dimly lit room. You can feel his satisfaction, his anticipation. The human lies motionless on the couch, her chest rising and falling in a slow, rhythmic manner. She’s so fragile, so warm. You catch the faint scent of her blood, a scent that suddenly fills the room, sharper and sweeter than anything you’ve ever known.

Your throat tightens, a raw, burning sensation that pulses through you with every breath. You step closer, feet moving of their own accord. The hunger gnaws at you, each step a battle between what’s left of your humanity and the predator you've become.

Hannibal’s voice breaks through the haze. “You’re fighting yourself, but why? This is what you are now. Accept it, and the pain will subside.”

His words dig into you like knives. You hate him for it. Hate him for turning you, for binding you to this monstrous existence. But most of all, you hate him for being right. The hunger is unbearable, an insatiable craving that dominates every thought, every fiber of your being. You clench your fists, your nails biting into the skin of your palms, but the pain does nothing to distract you from the scent of the blood calling to you.

Hannibal steps closer, his breath cold against your ear. “She’s yours. Take her.”

You close your eyes, trying to remember who you were before this nightmare. But those memories feel distant, slipping through your grasp like sand. All you can feel is the hunger, a relentless, throbbing need that clouds everything else. You open your eyes, staring at the woman lying before you, her life hanging by a thread. It would be so easy, just one bite, and the hunger would be gone.

You lower yourself beside her, hands trembling as they hover above her throat. Her pulse is steady, the sound of her heartbeat deafening in your ears. Your fangs ache, desperate to sink into her soft, warm skin. You hesitate, but Hannibal’s presence looms behind you, his shadow pressing you forward.

“You don’t have to suffer,” he whispers.

With a gasp, you lean forward, your lips brushing her neck. The warmth of her skin against yours sends a jolt of electricity through your body, and before you can stop yourself, your fangs pierce her flesh. The rush of blood fills your mouth, hot and intoxicating, more powerful than anything you could have imagined.

For a brief, terrible moment, everything else fades away. The guilt, the shame, the hatred—it all melts into nothing as the hunger is sated. The warmth spreads through your body, filling you with a twisted sense of satisfaction. You drink deeply, feeling her life drain away with every pull, her heartbeat growing fainter as she rushes down your throat.

But then, something shifts inside you. The realization of what you're doing, of what you’ve become. You pull back, breath ragged, her blood still staining your lips. The woman lies there, pale and barely breathing, her life slipping through your fingers. You look down at her, horrified by what you've done, by what you are.

Hannibal is beside you, watching with that same smug smile. "You see now, don’t you?" he says, voice laced with dark satisfaction.

You stumble away from the woman, the taste of her blood still clinging to your tongue. “I don’t want this,” you whisper, but the words feel hollow, meaningless; you know you’ll want it again. The hunger never truly goes away. It’s always lurking, always waiting for the next moment of weakness.

Hannibal steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. "The sooner you accept what you are, the easier it will be. You’re free now—free from the limitations of mortality, free from the weaknesses that once held you back."

You shake your head, backing away from him. His smile fades, replaced by something darker, more dangerous. "You’ll learn in time, the gift I’ve given you" he says quietly.

Without another word, he turns and leaves the room, his footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You're left standing there, trembling, staring down at the fragile life you’ve just torn apart.

[a-small-writer-in-a-big-world]

The Roommate Series drabble

@mysticalgalaxysalad and @nuria1244 post inspired this one

Soap is called John

It was late when you saw lights through the living room windows. A small smile pulled onto your face as you turned the TV off and walked to the door, ready to greet Simon as he got back from his night out with his friends.

You had to convince him to go out with them earlier because he hadn’t been outside of the house in a while and you wanted him to go have fun since you were worried he might start to feel cooped up.

“But I have fun when I’m here with you.”

“I’m with those blokes enough at work.”

You somehow got him to go and with a text from John, you knew he was having fun a few hours ago. You decided to let yourself relax while he was gone, doing a small selfcare routine and having a drink of your own, though you did miss having his presence around the apartment.

You opened the door before either one of them could knock and you chuckled when you saw that Simon was leaning against John as the two of them swayed, unable to stand straight.

“It’s your roommate!” John exclaimed his words slurred as if he hadn’t fully expected you to be on the other side of the door.

“My roommate…” Simon’s words were also slurred but he looked at you as if you had hung the stars themselves.

Simon pushed off of John and pulled you into a tight hug that nearly toppled you over. He hummed deep within his chest as he stuck his nose in your hair and took a deep breath.

You grinned and hugged him back, peeking around him at John who stared at the two of you with a smile.

"Do you need to stay the night?" You offered but he shook his head.

"Price is out-" You could hardly understand what he was saying since his words were so slurred and his accent had gotten thicker.

You somehow managed to slip out of Simon's grasp and you walked to the door. You watched John get back in the car that Price drove, the older man giving you a wave while Kyle shouted something from the front seat.

Before long they were gone and you could hardly close the door before you were practically yanked back into Simon's chest with a yelp.

"Simon!”

“Stop walkin’ away from me.”

You were about to say something when he hid his face in the crook of your neck. You heard him breathe in deeply and he placed a few sloppy kisses against your pulse that made your eyes flutter shut.

He wrapped his arms around your waist firmly and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to get out of his hold this time. He continued to place kisses against your neck while he hummed to himself.

“Missed you.” He grunted as he swayed in place.

“It was only for a few hours.” You giggled and placed your hands over top of his. “We should sit because you’re about to make us both fall.”

“Only if…you stay with me.”

You laughed again and somehow managed to walk him to the couch, where he plummeted onto the cushions and took you done with him. You yelled as you were tangled up with him trying to find a comfortable place to lay as he practically laid his entire weight on you.

Simon laid his head on your chest and wrapped his arms around you like you were a stuffed animal. He mumbled something incredibly incoherent, accent thicker and words slurred to the point you wondered if maybe he was just making sounds.

“Are we sleeping out here tonight?” You wondered as you ran a hand through his soft locks.

He practically purred as he buried his face into you chest more, a heavy content sigh leaving him as he shut his eyes.

“Get up in a sec.” He groaned. “Just wanna be with you.”

You smiled and placed a kiss on his head as you felt more of his weight being pressed against you. You said something to him, expecting an answer but all you got back was a snore which made you scoff.

In the morning your back hurt and even though you told Simon that he should be the one resting, since he was dealing with a massive hangover, he decided to take care of you instead since he, “hurt your back by being a prick.”

[vnamps]

LIKABLE . lee minho x gn reader

authors note: I'm such a procrastinator and not consistent this was written by a random midnight impulse so its really dumb but please send in some fluff reqs bc we love romance

summary: in which a drunken late night call to your enemy reveals that title may not be so true

four in the morning. A timing in which, especially on weekdays, most people should be sleeping, preparing themselves for another recurring cycle of what people would call "adulthood" Despite this, Minho found himself awake, lying in bed. He did nothing but stare at the ceiling as he tried so hard concentrating on how to make those stubborn "chemicals" mix so that he could finally be out for the night. On the other hand, you were completely wasted, also not sleeping. You had been dropped off home by one of your friends who you arrived at the club with but they didn't think to further make sure you were doing alright such as staying out of trouble and not calling the one person who absolutely hates you, possibly ruining their sleep.

It wasn't that you hated Minho, for you two are actually very compatible, at least so you think. In fact, you thought he was gorgeous. It was just the long dramatic sighs he gave whenever you spoke, almost like he was bored; The numerous times he basically humiliated you by ignoring you In front of everyone. It was clear to you that he didn't enjoy your company and so you tried your hardest to stray from him. It isn't easy though considering that somehow fate always places you two together.

Minho was aware of his cold behavior towards you. It was a mechanism he tried using to get rid of that stupid feeling he felt whenever his eyes bore in to your soul unknowingly or whenever you smiled at him, even when he knew it was fake. His attempts at this were quite useless considering they do say the heart grows fonder when apart.

To him, you couldn't possibly want someone like that in your life, something you both tried convincing yourselves. So when he got a call with your name labeled, it's quite obvious he was both confused and shocked to say the least. Nonetheless, he pressed 'accept' and brung the phone to his ear.

"hello?" it was quiet, his voice fragile.

"oh. you answered." You replied, letting out a small breath which resembled a airy chuckle.

"y-yeah I did. is there something you need?" He could feel his heart pick up a tiny pace as the anticipation ate at him.

"why do you hate me?" It was direct, bold even. Minho could even hear the little quiet catch of breath after, almost as if you were trying to hold back tears.

It was silent for a bit, Minho stunned as you continued.

"y-you dislike me a-and everything I do. s-sometimes you make me even wonder if i- if I am even l-likeable." Minho can sense that you're crying by how broken it sounds when you speak and he can feel his heart break a little.

"when have I implied that I hated you?" It was a dumb question because even he knew of his behavior.

you scoff, letting out an airy laugh. It was cold, unlike the earlier comparison.

"you didn't have to, minho." you reply, sounding a little incoherent as you began to rant on about all of the stuff that he's been doing.

It all confused him why you'd call him so late bringing up a topic like this but none of that mattered because none of it is as important as digging himself out of the shit he'd put himself in.

"I don't hate you." It was small, true nonetheless and very impactful as you stopped speaking, taking a bit to process what was said

"you don't hate me?" you repeated in question, almost sounding like some sort of affirmation on your tongue, almost like a potion how it sobered you.

"so... you think I'm likable?" you had an eager tone in your voice, causing him to smile to himself as he let out a small giggle.

"more than likable."

[possibilistfanfiction]

happy new year! maybe a prompt for sleep/nap bc i need one lol

bea 🧑🏻‍⚕️🐝❤️‍🩹 (4:27 am): If you’re done with your post-op and would like to stop by, I’m in the on-call room. 

it’s so late it’s almost morning, and you really should be headed home because, technically, your shift is over and you’d been at the hospital for, like, too many hours to really want to keep track of at this point. but bea — beatrice choi, md, the resident in charge of you — is, like, so handsome, and kind, and an incredible teacher, with her perfect handwriting and her free gender-affirming clinic and all the languages she knows fluently. you think you’re a little in love with her, but who can blame you — you’re sleep-deprived and sometimes in awe of the skill and calm she has, even in just her third year. 

Dr. Ava Silva (4:31 am): sweet yah omw :)

when you open the door, a little harried, you immediately still and quiet as much as you can. bea has the room darkened, the only light coming in from a sliver under the window curtain, blue and red from the ambulances and easy white-gold from the street lights in the hospital parking lot. you’ve spent so much of your life — way too much of your life — in dark rooms in hospitals in uncomfortable beds that, for years, you could barely even feel, so you should want to run away. you should want to leave as soon as your shift is over and go home to your cramped apartment with its rickety table you found on the side of the road and its lumpy couch and the chipped mug in the kitchen — it’s not much; you can’t afford more, but it’s yours.

but you’re starting to think in some way maybe beatrice is yours too. all of the tension in your shoulders from the day — from countless central lines and three boring laparoscopic surgeries and one fatal stabbing in the er, from sutures and journals and so much to learn — melts away when you see her fast asleep. bea is on her back, scrub top off, one arm over her head, the blanket pooled around her waist, her phone face down on the flat plane of her chest — scars you haven’t seen before there that make you smile, just a little, beautiful — like she’d fallen asleep texting you. based on the fact that it’s only — you check your watch — 4:35 am, you’re pretty sure she did. 

camila keeps pestering you, and probably bea too, knowing her, to just talk to chief superion about your feelings so you can be on another resident’s service, so that there won’t be any issues and you can kiss bea if you want, but it’s, like, totally terrifying to imagine not only telling beatrice your feelings, let alone dr. superion, who puts up with your antics but just barely. 

you could leave. you could sneak out the door right now back to your apartment. it feels like a cliff to jump off, or a knife’s edge — but maybe it’s not that. maybe it’s something warm and easy and not really a choice at all, to love the steadiest person you’ve ever met. 

it’s easy to pull your running shoes off and discard your white coat and climb into the small space in the small bed next to her. she stirs a little, and so you say, ‘hey, i’m here.’ and she puts out her arm so you can lie down. it’s an invitation, albeit a sleepy one, so you make sure: ‘is this okay?’

she hums and nods. ‘hi ava.’

her voice is heavy with exhaustion; later you’ll come to find out that the hardest part of residency for beatrice — beyond literally everything else you personally find abhorrent and impossible — was just a lack of sleep. 

‘hey bea,’ you say, close enough to count her freckles and take in the warmth of her skin. she curls into you when you scoot closer to her, and it’s cramped and these beds are horrible for your back but it’s still basically heaven. you feel such deep fondness for her, small and in the dark like this, so different from her ramrod straight posture and clever hands in the light. 

she mumbles something incoherent and pulls you closer, and you fall asleep just like that. you’re awakened by the sound of her pager — a crime in your book, totally homophobic — just as the sun has risen. she’s disoriented, seemingly, as she wakes up painfully, and you kind of expect her to panic upon seeing you. but she smiles apologetically, a little nervous but apparently happy you’re there.

‘i don’t remember you coming in,’ bea says, searching for her scrub top until you hand it to her from where it was discarded over the side of the bed. she looks at you questioningly for one second, the tiniest bit of trepidation crossing her face, and so you just smile. 

‘you were very asleep, mere minutes after texting me. kinda rude to knock out after inviting me, don’t you think?’

her little blush is worth everything as she checks her pager and slips into her clogs. ‘you’re lucky i even managed to get that text off.’

’the er was that bad?’

she groans. ‘worse than.’ 

you’re ready to just lay around for a few minutes before you go home, but then she pulls on her quarter zip and you think about the scrub cap she’d had on earlier, blue with little otters all over it, unexpectedly adorable, and you decide to get up anyway. ‘have time for me to grab you a coffee as i head out?’

‘i’m sorry i kept you here. that can’t have been comfortable.’

you have to physically hold back the urge to tell her about how good she smells, even smooshed near her armpit. you’re, like, the best at all things self-control though, obviously, and so you don’t. instead you just shrug and stand, thankful for the last round of jillian’s shots that seem to be helping your back. ‘well, if you weren’t so ripped.’

she rolls her eyes, but her blush remains. camila is right, you think, because all you want to do is kiss her right now. but you don’t, you’re good for once, and you get ready too, as quickly as you can, and then hold the door open for her. she blinks a few times at the light, rubs her eyes behind her glasses, but then smiles at you — just for you.

‘maybe, soon,’ she says, taking a brave little breath after you’d waited in easy silence at the coffee counter, ‘you might want to join me on a hike? i go most days off if i can.’

and, like, that’s a terrible idea for you maybe, but whatever, some of your most ambitious terrible ideas have earned you an md and a phd and this very cool person in front of you, offering. ‘i’d really love that,’ you say. ‘text me.’

she nods, definitely pushing the time it would take to answer a page — lilith is going to be pissed, a delightful detail — and then reaches out to squeeze your hand, just once.

‘have a good day, dr. choi.’

she smiles. ‘see you soon, dr. silva.’

[writingwhimsey]

Hello! Can I just say I adore your writing? I’m too nervous to come off anon but I would love to request if that’s alright. #9 with Hideyoshi, some more suggestive fluff? He’s definitely gotta have freckles, and I want to kiss every single one and love all over this man 🥰 my apologies if I’m misunderstanding how to make requests, though! Ignore this if I’m doing it wrong <3 thank you if you consider this though!

Sorry it has taken me so long to get to this (and to get back to my smut is in the air requests). But here we are with some sweet and fluffy Hideyoshi! I hope you and everyone else enjoys!

Smut Is In The Air Event

Suitor: ikesen Hideyoshi

Prompt(s): "I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips."

Sweet and fluffy, slightly suggestive

Early Morning Kisses

The first rays of dawn’s light had barely started peaking through when I began to stir from my slumber. I rolled over, seeking the warmth of my own personal sun, only to find the other side of the futon empty. I mumbled incoherently in my sleepy state as I heard the sound of fabric rustling close by.

“Did I wake you? I’m sorry, go back to sleep.” The words were murmured from close by and I felt something warm brush against my forehead.

“Hmm, do you…have to get started so early?” I asked, cracking my eyes open, searching for the man I loved.

My bleary searching eyes were soon met with that familiar warm smile. “We have a new ally visiting. I have to make sure things are ready.” Hideyoshi replied, reaching his hand out to gently stroke my hair.

“But…he’s not coming for another few days right?” I asked. “You work too hard Hideyoshi.”

“Says the woman who was up all night working on her sewing.” Hideyoshi countered.

“Says the man who had worked all day and late into the night before coming home and putting me to bed.” I countered.

“I suppose you have a point.” Hideyoshi replied. “But still there are a lot of preparations to make. And I can’t leave it all up to everyone else.”

My vision soon came into focus in the low morning light. That was when I realized I had caught Hideyoshi mid-dress. He only had his lower half dressed. The early sun and shadow danced over his sculpted upper half. My heart picked up its pace a bit, just taking in how handsome he was. Every part of him was so perfect…and the freckles that dotted his shoulders were especially adorable.

“Your cheeks are flushing. You’re not getting a fever are you?” Hideyoshi asked, his hand coming to my forehead.

My face only reddened further. “No…” I was then pushing myself up into a sitting position beside him.

“I thought I told you to go back to sleep.” Hideyoshi said, his smile turning into hi scold face. “Especially if you’re getting sick…”

I leaned in and placed a light peck on Hideyoshi’s lips. “And miss seeing you?” I replied. “I’m not sick. No fever.”

“Then why…”

“Because my handsome and sexy lover is right here beside me, only half dressed.” I answered, giving him a coy smile.

Hideyoshi’s cheeks reddened ever so slightly. “Oh…”

My eyes drank in his form. “Don’t you have a little time to spare for me?” I asked with a slight pout.

“Not as much as I would need to spoil you properly.” Hideyoshi replied.

“Hmm, that’s okay…because I want to spoil you for a bit.” I told him. I followed my instincts and leaned in, placing a kiss on his shoulder. “I want to count every one of your freckles with my lips.” I kissed along his shoulder, following the trail of freckles up to his neck before going across his chest.

As I kissed across his chest, I could feel Hideyoshi’s heartbeat picking up its pace. Hear his breath catch in his throat. “You really have no idea what you do to me.” He murmured.

I smiled as I looked up at him, mischief dancing in my eyes. “I might have a few ideas.”

Hideyoshi reached for me, pulling me into his lap before opening the collar of my kimono. “If we’re counting freckles, I want to count yours.” He said before kissing along my shoulder.

I gasped. “Hmm…no fair turning my trick against me.” I replied, pouting up at him, though I could never be disappointed in having Hideyoshi loving and spoiling me.

Hideyoshi smiled at me. “You are the one who started it.” He reminded me. “Besides, I can’t let you spoil me without returning the favor.”

“But I barely got to spoil you at all…I didn’t even make it to the other shoulder.” I replied, turning to kiss his other shoulder.

Hideyoshi let out a groan as soon as my lips touched his skin. The next thing I knew he had me on my back and he was over me. “I guess I can start my day a little later today.”

I smiled up at him. “Good. I don’t think anyone else will be awake right now anyways.”

“You have a point.” He agreed.

I was smiling up at Hideyoshi as I pulled him close. “Now, let’s continue counting each other’s freckles.”

Our early morning soon devolved into giggles, breathless and loving kisses, a sweet passion building between us and leading to a great, but late start to the day.

Taglist: @limonzu @oda-princess @zulablaise @kisara-16

[fairy-writes]

Please could I order a large Cappuccino with Monro from Grimm 💙💙

BE THERE FOR HIM

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Prompt: A hurt/comfort imagine with Monroe from NBC Grimm

Word Count: 1.2k

Fandom(s): NBC Grimm

Pairing(s): Monroe x Reader

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH,

Notes: I am giving Monroe and Rosalee’s triplets names in this because idk what their names are (if they even have any) in the show

YES, I KNOW I WENT OVER THE WORD COUNT I SET

DON’T COUNT ON IT HAPPENING EVERY TIME

__________________________________________________________________________

You got the call at three in the morning. 

The ringing woke you up from a rather pleasant dream, and you slapped your hand on your phone in an attempt to bring it closer to you. It slips off your bedside table, and the crash is what officially wakes you up. You squint at the call screen and answer it. 

“This had better be good, Monroe.” You say sleepily, rubbing at your eyes as you disconnect your phone from its charger and roll over in bed. 

It’s silent except for a sniffle.

That was your first clue that something was terribly wrong. 

You are alert in an instant. 

“Roe? What’s wrong?” You say and sit up in bed. It was too early for him to be awake. Weren’t you just nagging him that he needed all the sleep he could get before the triplets came?

“She’s gone.” He whimpers over the phone, and you feel your heart stop. 

There was a multitude of people that could mean. But if he was this distressed…

“Monroe, what happened.” You cradle the phone between your shoulder and ear as you rifle through your closet for clothes and shoes. You end up just putting on yesterday’s clothes, and by the time you are on your way out to the car, Monroe has dissolved into tears. He’s making incoherent sounds, and all you can gather are the words “labor,” “complications,” and “bleeding.”

None of which sound good. 

Eventually, you get out of him where he is and speed all the way to Providence Portland Medical Center. Literally, your foot is pedal to the metal the entire way, and you’re pretty sure you run at least half a dozen stoplights.

But it was three-thirty AM on a Tuesday. You weren’t too worried about hitting anyone. All that mattered was getting to Monroe. Somewhere along the way, he hangs up. 

You do a horrible job at parking and all but run inside, barking out Monroe and Rosalee’s name to the receptionist at the desk. She hurriedly gives you a room number, and you’re sprinting up the stairs, taking two at a time in your haste to get to the room. 

Nick is in the hallway outside and spots you before you spot him. He is about as half-dressed as you and looks just as stressed. He runs a hand through his hair and meets you halfway down the hall. 

“What… happened...” You huff, hands on your knees, as you try to catch your breath. 

“It isn’t good—” He gets cut off by the hospital door opening, and Monroe steps out. 

He looks awful… Dark bags under his red-rimmed and puffy eyes, shirt rumpled, and you spy dried blood on his hands from where he had been supposedly clenching his fists. He sees you, and you’re all but yanked off your feet and into a hug as he dissolves into tears again. He’s taller than you, but he seems oh so small as he clings tightly to your shoulders. Wrapping your arms around his broad back, you rub up and down as you try to help calm your best friend. 

Now isn’t the time for answers. 

But you get them anyway as a body covered in a white sheet is rolled out of the hospital room and down the opposite hallway.

Oh no…

“Did Rosalee—”

“She went into labor late last night. She didn’t make it.” He says, and you hate how his voice sounds. It sounds torn, as if all the emotion in the world is poured into his words. He had always been an emotional man. It was something you admired about him. The fact that he could wear his heart on his sleeve. 

Now wasn’t the time for reminiscing. 

You whisper what you hope are words of encouragement in his ear as he cries. Nick steps away to make some phone calls, probably to Adalind or Hank. Monroe stands there, hugging you so tightly it almost hurts, for what seems like hours, but in reality is likely only minutes. 

Eventually, the doctor comes out of a room down the hall and approaches you all. 

“Mr. Monroe?” He says gently, and Monroe jumps in your arms before pulling away to face the man. 

“Yes?” He says, voice cracking in the middle. 

“Would you like to see the triplets?” He asked, and Monroe paused before wiping his nose on a handkerchief and nodding. His hand clutches yours, and you can’t bring yourself to make him let go. So you follow. There was only so much you could do in this situation other than just be there for him. 

Given it’s so early in the morning, the neonatal unit is quiet. There’s the odd sound of a baby crying, but overall, most of them are sleeping. You squeeze Monroe’s hand, and he squeezes back as the doctor instructs you to wait outside and look in through the glass as he shows you Monroe’s children. 

They’re tiny, pink little things swaddled in white blankets. Two pink hats, one blue hat. Two girls and a boy? 

They were precious. 

“What are their names?” You ask softly, and Monroe jumps, fingers tensing where they had been resting against the glass. His eyes had been locked on the three little cribs that held what was left of his wife. You were delighted to see the beginnings of a smile on his lips.

“We—we decided on George for the boy. After her dad.” He said, and you smile, they were ever the nostalgic couple. 

“And the two girls?” 

“Marie, after Nick’s Aunt Marie. We felt it was appropriate, given what Nick has done for us. And Winifred after Freddy. Rosalee said—” He scrubbed a hand down his face with his free one, “Rosalee said she always liked the name.”

You squeeze his hand again and lean your head on his shoulder. 

“They’re wonderful names. You guys did a good job.” You say, and he barks out a harsh laugh. 

“I did barely anything. Rosalee was—”

“Don’t do that to yourself.” You say gently and pull him into another hug. He gets snot on your sweater, but that’s the least of your worries. 

“You are going to be a wonderful dad. You already did so much for Rosalee while she was pregnant. Playing the cello at odd hours of the night when she couldn’t sleep? The absolute batshit crazy food runs she’d send you on? The—”

“Alright, alright, I get it!” He says, chuckling an actual happy laugh this time. Well… as happy as he could be at this point in time. He holds you close, and you rock him back and forth as the babies begin to wake up and cry for their mother. 

There wasn’t much you could do right now.

But you could be there for him and his new kids. 

[inhibitionfreewriting]

Ludwig is a golden retriever drunk and you cannot convince me otherwise.

--

(1:18) Ludwig: hey

(1:18) Ludwig: heyyyyyy

(1:18) Ludwig: he

(1:18) Ludwig: y

(1:19) Ludwig: heeee3y

(1:19) Ludwig: are.you up?

You had barely shut your eyes to go to sleep for the night when Ludwig decided that he needed to talk to you right now. You lifted your phone from the side of your bed you kept it on, opening the message stream to glance if it was anything important. It wasn't. You continued to lay in bed,  holding your phone against your chest instead, contemplating putting your phone on silent and just going to bed.

(1:20) Ludwig: you just read my messages

(1:20) Ludwig: so YEA

(1:21) Ludwig: yoooooou're up

Ludwig started a call with you

The now steady buzzing had you irritated and you sleepily swiped the answer button,  knowing your fate would just be more and more calls until you picked up.  Your voice was hoarse and quiet.

"Lud, it's one in the morning... what could you possibly-"

"Shh sh shh. I was- I was streaming and I may be a feeeeew, maybe more than a few, beers in and the stream is over,  right, but I... I was in bed and I was thinking about you and-" He continued to ramble, becoming randomly incoherent at times, definitely drunk or almost there.  "I just... really miss you and you should come sleep in here."

If it wasn't so heartfelt, despite how inebriated he was, you might have laughed over how pathetic he sounded. Before you could say anything, he continued. "With me. I miss you... miss you so muchhh..." His voice was slurring.

"Lud-bug, I think you're in the wrong bedroom?" You sat up and stared at the closed door. It wasn't out of the ordinary for Ludwig to message you when streams were going late and talk to you while you were still up, even send dumb selfies or clips from stream when shit was going funny- but this was a first. Almost crying because of how much he missed you when you were literally in his bed.

"Huh?" You could the shuffling of fabric as you assumed he stood up, mumbling, "oh. Mother fucker." Click. The door swung open and he leaned against the doorframe, acting like he hadn't just been laying in bed with one of your roommates. "Well hello there... you come here often?" At this point you were laughing, covering your face in the darkness of the bedroom, watching him take off his shirt and kick the door closed with his foot.  He quietly cursed at how loud it was when it slammed.

"What are you-" With all of his body weight, he pushed you back down on the bed and nestled his face against your shoulder, humming. He didn't quite reek of it, but he definitely smelled like beer. "You are crushing me a bit here."

"Don't wanna crush you..." You could feel his body shudder with a held-in yawn, wrapping his arms around you and pressing himself into your further. Ludwig mumbled something unintelligible and started to press lazy, sloppy, kisses into your skin while his feet worked to pry off his socks.

"You know, it'd be much easier to kiss me if you were under the covers." He nodded and mumbled something about you being right, so right always so right, as rolled off of the blanket to throw it into the air and roll smack back against you. Immediately he nestled right against you with his arms around your torso, legs and freezing feet tangled up with yours. He could barely get another kiss or two on your skin before you could feel the even breath (and drool) of a sleeping Ludwig.

You stifled a quiet laugh, fishing your phone out from your side and placing it back onto the nightstand.

[memphisnovels]

Evermore

Chapter 26. Giselle

Previous chapter

Masterlist

I hope you all enjoy this update, very sorry they have been so few and far between! I'm hoping to be back on track now and the updates should be more consistent <3

pairing: Pietro Maximoff x OFC

warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of PTSD, Nadia knows how to hold a grudge, supportive + protective Pietro

I sat at the breakfast table, turning over a single piece of strawberry with my fork. Pietro was going on assignment in a week, the assignment that we were supposed to be going on together, the assignment that I was taken off of. He didn’t know that yet. I’d tried to tell him more than once, but the timing just never seemed right. He was struggling with the article he’d read in the newspaper and everything it had brought to the surface. I could see it in his eyes, there seemed to be a thin intangible cloud over him now, a shadow over his eyes that hadn't been there before.

The cold metal between my fingers had become warm from the grip I’d maintained around it. Everything felt like it was falling apart and these stupid fucking visions refused to let up. Steve reassigned the mission a week ago and I’d barely slept since I was beginning to think I was incapable of it now. Maybe I’d never sleep again. Most of my time was spent avoiding the others, I’d go to the training room late, when everyone had turned in for the night and I’d eat meals separately. It wasn’t a matter of anger, well not entirely, I just needed to be alone. Pietro had been having more nightmares than usual as well, they were usually about Sokovia but sometimes they were about Strucker’s experimentation. It made my stomach twist and churn, the thought of him being in pain but at least it gave me something else to focus on. When we were talking, or even when I was just listening, I only thought of him and what he felt; it was a nice break.

The sound of the chair across from me scrapping against the floor caught my attention. Dark facial hair filled my line of sight. “So, what now?” I chose to ignore his words. “You’re just never going to speak to me again? Instead, you’ll spend your days skulking around the compound mad at the world?” Anger simmered in me, but I simply looked down at the strawberry that I’d been poking at with my fork. “I’ll be honest, I’m a little disappointed. I know you can do better than the silent treatment.”

“It isn’t the silent treatment; I just have nothing to say to you.”

“Or anyone else it seems.”

I stabbed the strawberry. “Don’t you have a home to go to?”

He shrugged. “Yes actually, I’m going there now, just saying goodbye and all that.”

“Goodbye,” I spoke, not an ounce of warmth in the tone as I stood from my seat and dumped my now empty plate in the sink.

“You’re being very childish right now; it’s not making me regret my decision.” I clenched my hands at my side but before I had the chance to say anything voices filled my head.

“You’re a child.” The word seemed to drip with venom.

I clenched my fist tighter, forcing my feet to move beneath me and carry me from the room. My head felt like it was spinning as the voices continued, muffled, jumbled incoherent but maddening, nonetheless. Flashes of light blinded me; the door was thrown open hands grabbing me. There were gunshots all around me and I could feel the way my heart thumped against my chest. I shook my head, it’s not real. I had to cover my ears because they were so loud. Another pair of hands grabbed me then, shaking me roughly. The covers were being ripped off of me and the light from the door was still blinding me as a large figure loomed over me. I grabbed the side of his neck pulling him down and slamming my knee into his stomach, before elbowing him in the side of the head and falling to the ground to punch him but before I could move my arm was grabbed by someone else within seconds I was pulled from the man. I thrashed in the hold, but they pinned me quickly. It was then that the shouting cleared in my ears, finally coherent. It was a familiar voice, actually more than one. When I opened my eyes, I saw red hair and frantic eyes above me. Nat pinned me down, calling me again and again. My chest was rising and falling rapidly; body still tense. I saw Pietro at her side uninjured, with an immensely concerned expression on his face. When I looked to the side, I saw an unfamiliar man holding out a United States government clearance badge, his other hand covering his nose that was nose pouring blood all over his white button-up. My body loosened, fists unclenching. Jesus Christ, what was wrong with me? When she felt me go limp, Natasha let me go, pulling me to my feet as she stood.  

“Are you okay?” She asked, just as Pietro stepped forward to take my hand.

“What the hell is going on here?!” Steve spoke, emerging from the kitchen flanked by Sam and Tony. I swallowed heavily.

The bleeding man pointed accusingly at me. “She attacked me.”

“You shouldn’t have grabbed her like that!” Pietro immediately snapped stepping in between the agent and me.

“She’s psychotic.” Steve grabbed Pietro before he could launch forward at the man and that was when Tony intervened.

“Let’s all just take a beat here-”

“It was my fault.” I intervened, all eyes on me now. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, glancing at the man who was dabbing at his nose with a handkerchief. He didn’t seem particularly forgiving. I pulled away from Natasha and walked quickly down the corridor.

Pietro was in front of me when I turned the corner, eyes furrowed with concern. “What’s going on, Nadia?”

When I swallowed it, it felt like there were shards of glass in my throat. “Please, I just need to be alone, Pietro.” He furrowed his eyebrows opening his mouth to continue. “I’m okay, or I will be… just let me be alone for a while. That’s what I need. That’s what I want.”

A long moment passed between us, it was evident that he didn’t want to leave me, that turning away was a war for him. “Will you please come and talk to me later?”

I nodded, turning and stopping for a beat, one step in front of him. His fingers grazed mine and I had to walk away, or I wasn’t sure I would.

The door to the study hit the wall when I threw it open, stopping only a few feet into the room.

“I want them gone. I want you to get rid of them.”

Wanda looked at me with slightly wide eyes, a little startled by my abrupt appearance. “Get rid of what?”

“Everything.”

She closed the book then and placed it aside. “Okay.” Her eyebrows were furrowed. I dropped into the chair across from her. “Could you maybe be a little more specific?”

“I don’t understand what I’m seeing but I feel like I’m losing my mind, I want whatever it is gone, if I have to forget it then let’s do that. Whatever it takes just get rid of it.”

It was late when I went to talk to Pietro, part of me expected him to already be asleep, perhaps I’d hoped he would be. I could hear Wanda’s voice echoing through my mind as I walked down the hallway.

“This won’t be easy. I’ve never really done something like this before, so it is going to take a while. I don’t know how to select the root of the things you’re seeing without filing through the rest of your mind.”

Uncertainty was evident in her gaze when I looked at her. “Whatever it takes,” I repeated the phrase to her, the same one I’d been saying to myself over and over.

Pietro wasn’t asleep when I entered the room, though he didn’t look far from it. The circles around his eyes were darker than normal and his eyelids were drooping. He livened up ever so slightly when I entered the room. “You look tired,” I stated plainly, wringing my fingers together.

He shrugged. “I am.” I remained planted in my spot as if he might forget I was there at all if I were still enough. “We still need to talk about what happened; you know I won’t let it go until you tell me what’s going on with you.”

“He just… He got me at a bad time, Tony and I were arguing and then that agent startled me. I shouldn’t have reacted like that but I’m fine.”

“He startled you?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

There was silence for a long while, Pietro’s eyes never leaving me as he assessed each freckle and twitch. “He startled you?”

“That is what I said, Pietro.”  There was no real bite to my tone, despite my words.

“Yes, I know but I think you’re full of shit.” I raised an eyebrow at him, and he ran a hand over his face. “When has anyone ever been able to sneak up on you before? You said it yourself the only reason I’ve ever had the element of surprise with you was because of my enhancement. Now you want me to believe that some idiot in a suit managed to take you by surprise?”

I shrugged at him this time.

“That’s all you have to say, really? He caught you at a bad time, that much is obvious and if it was because he touched you, I’d understand reacting but… but what happened was not you, Nadia.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

He shook his head. “Don’t start this again. Not tonight, please.” His words were gentle, exhaustion heavy beneath them.

“Fine. You’re right, I’m sorry but I don’t want to talk about this now. I know that is not what you want to hear but that’s the truth. I’m tired and today has been a complete shitshow so I’d really like to just go to sleep and it’s pretty clear that you need the sleep just as much as me.” I crossed my arms over my chest and exhaled deeply. “So, you can either let it go for now and just accept that it was a bad day or stay up and keep festering on it all night, either way I’m going to bed. My bed.”

His jaw tightened and he looked away from me, out toward his window where pale moonlight filtered around the side of his half-open curtains. I was half out the door by the time he spoke again, it was quiet, resigned though there was an undertone of displeasure, perhaps even irritation in it. “Goodnight, Nadia.”

…

My heart was thudding in my ears when Wanda sat down before me. She’d asked me if I was sure no less than 10 times since I’d stepped foot in the study. I told her I was, but there was a small, niggling voice at the back of my mind that seemed to call out to me. Waving its hand frantically to get my attention. She rubbed her hands together for a moment before stopping and looking up at me. “Nadia, are you sure?”

I swallowed heavily, silencing the voice before responding. “It’s fine. Just do it.” Whatever it takes. I gripped the sides of the chair slightly as I felt her enter my mind. It was a strange itch of discomfort behind my temples and then things were pulled forward.

For a while there was nothing. Nothing but her concentrated face before me, red tendrils emanating from her hands that hovered either sit of my forehead, the strange beams dancing across my flesh. “Tell me what you see, and I’ll try to move through quickly until I find the right area.” Her eyes were glowing red, and it was not lost on me just how ludicrous it seemed to invite her into my mind after I’d spent so long guarding it from anyone who might try to take a peek. After I’d been so disturbed by her looking in last time. At some point I closed my eyes, the darkness a strange comfort to me.

In support group, I’d heard people talk about associating a certain smell with a memory, like the aroma of freshly baked bread reminding them of being back at their grandmother’s home in the winter months. I never really understood that until now.

It was petrichor like rain and the faint smell of smoke. A splash of someone’s boots in the sludge and I was no longer sitting before Wanda in the study.

The only word to describe Moscow in the bowels of winter was frigid. A flash of blonde hair caught my eye between the trees. Yelena. I pressed my back to a flaking trunk, boots sliding slightly against the frozen ground. A single deep breath and closed eyes allowed me to focus on each distinct sound around me, the crunch of snow beneath her footfalls alerted me to her location. I waited patiently until I was sure she was close before launching outward. With my legs wrapped around hers we tumbled to the ground, we tumbled and sparred until she managed to get on top of me, pressing my face into the bitter snow.

I clenched my hands into fists, shutting my eyes tightly.

“This isn’t it. This is real, a memory.” In a second, I was out of the snow.

Cold, spindly fingers ran across my shoulder blades. A measuring tape was wrapped around my waist tightly. Matron Katerina scribbled numbers on her sheet, a consistent look of discontent present across her features.

I shook my head and Wanda pulled me out.

The smell of cigarettes and the prod of a wooden cane against my spine. “Stand up straighter,” Saskia said. The sharp burn of the cane against my calves had me shaking my head again.

“It’s the Red Room, this isn’t it.”

“Okay,” Wanda spoke. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

Freshly baked bread seared my flesh as I hobbled toward a train headed anywhere other than Russia. I felt death creeping upon me as I lay, barely conscious, in the train car the rise of the sun and rocking of the vessel over the tracks were the only things anchoring me to reality.

When I shook my head, I was suddenly in the apartment in Berlin with Anna, a cold sweat spattered across my forehead which she soothed with a bowl of cool water.

I stretched my arms as much as the restraints allowed. Anna had insisted upon taking them off, but I’d refused, not trusting myself when the red was still living at the precipice of my mind. Abeni was resting in another room after a particularly trying night.

I shook my head yet again. It went on like this for what felt like hours. I relived meeting Nick Fury, the Red Room, Abeni’s treatments, and my S.H.I.E.L.D. assignments. It was all my memories laid out before me and nothing of the visions that had been slowly deteriorating my sanity for weeks now.

My back slammed into the hospital wall as Steve bunched my shirt in his hands. “Tell me what happened to Fury?”

“I don’t fucking know.” I seethed.

“Oh really, because it doesn’t seem like much ever takes you by surprise, Pimenova.”

I glared at him, not flinching as he accused me of being a double agent. “Let. Go.”

I shook my head and then it was a metal hand clenching around my throat, slamming me through a flimsy wooden table.

My eyes were narrowed, confusion seeping through me as I realized he was not here to drag me back to the Red Room. “Who the fuck are you working for Barnes?” He seemed to falter when I spoke. Some peculiar flash of recognition tainted with confusion passed over his face, his hand loosening just slightly on my neck but it was enough for me to slam my foot into the center of his chest and slip away.

When I was pulled out of the memory the next one had me pausing, Pietro’s face above mine as he restrained me in the snow, that cheeky smirk present even before we knew each other.

“You are very pretty. Although, you’re quite mean and you seem to have some anger management problems… that might actually make you more attractive. It’s hard to say.”

I shook my head slowly, fingers tightening around the arm of the chair. “It’s too recent.” The way I spoke you’d think I was realizing it in real time. Wanda pulled me from the memories letting me just sit with her in the room for a second. I took a deep breath, swallowing down my hesitations. “If we’re going to do this you have to go back… All the way.”

She looked unsure but nodded nonetheless, slowly bringing her hands back up. My eyes darted between them, the red enveloping me until I let my eyes shut again. There was darkness and quiet and then… nothing. I waited and waited but it never changed. I opened my eyes to see Wanda’s own closed, eyebrows knitted together, exertion clear on her face. “What’s happening?” She shook her head, eyelids creasing as she closed them even tighter.

“I’m trying to go back but… I can’t.”

I asked her what she meant.

“It’s like your mind won’t let me pass, like there’s an invisible fence blocking me out. Nothing else was hard to access, they were all right there, even the older memories there wasn’t resistance.” She opened her eyes, dropping her hands to her lap for a moment. “Let’s try this a different way. Just try to focus on opening your mind to let me in, we can go through the steps together, you unlock the doors and I’ll come through. Does that make sense?”

“Not even slightly.”

She sighed heavily. “Just close your eyes and relax, we’ll figure it out as we go.” I followed her instructions, letting my back rest against the seat and trying my very best to let the tension slip from my muscles. The darkness was engulfing me, and I sat wondering how the hell to open my mind to her. I let out another deep breath, letting the grip I’d maintained on the arm rest loosen. The one thing I could remember from my stint of seeing psychiatrists, ordered by Fury when I was a new recruit, was to imagine my body was melting into whatever surface I was sitting on. It was supposed to help me soothe the rage I was filled with… or something. Dr. Stanley had said to let my arms go limp and then focus on letting my legs drop once my body was effectively melted stop focusing altogether and let yourself be completely untethered and uncontrolled for a moment. I tried it, letting my shoulders drop. Still, there was nothing and a twinge of frustration ran down my neck but then something changed. I heard something so faint and I distinct that it was hard to tell if it was a sound from the compound or if Wanda was getting somewhere. I chose to keep it to myself until I’d deciphered what it was. Then another sound erupted, like music maybe, but it was only a second and then it was gone. I heard Wanda tsk and mutter something in Sokovian. “I still can’t get through, it’s like I’m rebounding off of a wall each time. I don’t know where it’s pushing me, but it almost feels like it’s redirecting me, like a magnet pulling me in another direction.”

I shut my eyes tighter. “Keep trying… Please.”

She did. For a long while there was still nothing; until there wasn’t.

The stage, a tight leotard and tutu skirt, shoes that made my toes ache, and music, loud, booming, classical filling my ears. Swan Lake; Dreykov in the front row watching. I twirled and twirled until my feet went out beneath me and when I hit the hard floor I was in a different dress, white and flowy with cap sleeves and tulle. I smoothed a hand over my hair, realizing it was pinned back, flowers at the top. My heart was thumping against my sternum, the only thing I could feel. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I looked out toward the audience but there was only darkness and when I blinked it was as though the whole scene glitched, a scratching sound, and suddenly the picture shifted before coming back into focus. I moved slowly to my knees, standing up to move closer to the lip of the stage. But it was as though an invisible wall had appeared, fencing me in and keeping me in a square at the center of the stage. A loud sound echoed through the otherwise silent room, it was only then that I realized there had previously been no sound, not just a quiet room but as if the entire scene were on mute. Suddenly sound exploded around me, classical again but a different tune. This was not Swan Lake; I was supposed to dance Swan Lake, that was Dreykov’s favorite; that was the ballet I had to perform. The music continued, so loud it drowned out my racing pulse and thoughts. I squinted to see who was in the audience, but I could not make it out. My next blink had everything shifting again, the static sound, the glitchy vision, and then I was no longer on the stage but watching someone else twirl around and around. She died in the ballet and that’s when I realized what I was watching.

Giselle.

I was standing in the space between the first row of seats and the stage, watching intently as the dancer moved across the stage. It was like I couldn’t speak; I’d open my mouth and no words would come out. She stopped right before me, right at the edge of the stage and I reached out to her as far as my arm could go but before I managed to touch her a black-gloved hand snatched my wrist and pressed it against cold metal. When I looked up Giselle was gone and only a grey static-filled TV screen remained. It sat on a trolley that was shoved out of the way and replaced by a man in black-framed glasses. The man who had been haunting me. He narrowed his eyes, inspecting every inch of my face before standing back to his full height and fiddling with my hair. I was completely still, afraid to move, though I wasn’t entirely sure why. When he bent down again I saw his eyes, dark grey, or maybe they were brown, it seemed to change each time I looked at him. He opened his mouth but what came out was garbled, inaudible. When I didn’t respond he stood, disappearing from my line of sight, which was very little beyond what was directly in front of me. I attempted to turn my head but there was resistance.

When he returned things got a little fuzzy.

“Tell me your name.” Then the static was back. I didn’t hear myself respond. Giselle returned to the screen music filling my ears. As hard as it was, I fought to cling to the image, fought to stay in it.

“Tell me your name.”

“Nadia Morozova.” I heard it this time. Clear as day. The voice was small and barely even sounded like me, but I knew it was.

“And where were you born?”

“Russia.”

“Where were you born?” His voice was like ice, and it made me shrink into my chair.

“St. Petersburg.” I clarified.

“Where are your parents?”

The static came back then. I gritted my teeth as a deafening ringing began in my ears. Gripping the sides of the seat as it continued. I wasn’t entirely sure if the sound was happening in my mind or in real life. Giselle was twirling across the screen before me again. I was hypnotized by the liquid movement of her dress, curving to her every maneuver.

“That’s it!” It was Wanda’s voice then. “I’m getting through hold on to what you’re seeing, Nadia.” Her words sounded rough like she was in pain. I gripped onto the image with everything I had, fighting to stay there.

“Tell me your name.”

“Nadia Morozova.”

“Where were you born.”

“St. Petersburg.”

Giselle was spinning so fast it seemed almost impossible. The music was getting louder and louder to the point it seemed like it was going to blow my eardrums out.

“You’ll keep watching until you get all the answers right.”

I gripped my head, the music was becoming unbearable, and I was getting dizzy.

“Where are your parents.”

The leotard was too tight, I wanted it to be Giselle again, why did I have to dance?

“Subject 114…”

“My name is Nadia Morozova; I was born in St. Petersburg on the 7th of November, and I am an orphan.”

The man in the glasses injected something into my neck before grabbing ahold of my chin and inspecting my face, perhaps looking at my eyes. It made my head get fizzy and heavy.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Nadia Morozova.” I couldn’t breathe. “I never knew my parents.”

The man was gone, and I was staring up at the familiar black ceiling, the Red Room. I struggled against the body that lay beneath me, the girl’s arms cutting my air supply. I knew I was stuck, but I refused to tap, searching for a way out instead. My vision was greying, becoming cloudy.

The more time went by, the less there I was. Soon they were different arms, tight around me in a different way. Arms that had no intention of causing me harm, arms that were warm with comfort, that warded off the bad. My head rested against someone’s chest movement disorienting me. Rocking, I realized eventually, we were rocking side to side.

“Stars shining bright above you.” It was back again only this time it was different, quieter, a soft hum against my ear. “Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you’” A kiss was pressed to my temple. I had to squint as the sunlight dappled brightly through leaves, warming my skin, whiteness all I could see. There was a breeze that traveled through the strands of my hair, and I could smell… Jasmine and sandalwood. A strand of blonde hair dusted over my cheek tickling my flesh. Not my hair, I realized as I looked back. Things became jilted then, unsteady and barely there.

“I’ve got it, you’re right there, I think I can get rid of it,” Wanda spoke up.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Soft, adoring, a voice I’d heard before. The American woman who sings to me in dreams. I was small in her arms, but I still couldn’t see her face.

“I’ve nearly got it… I’m going to pull it out at the root.”

“He’s just… intensely passionate about what he does, he always has been. He loves his work.” The warmth from her chest radiated onto me. A smooth hand moved up and down my forearm. “But he doesn’t love it more than you. How could he? You mean everything to him, you and-”

“Stop!” I shouted. Barely even registered what I was saying. The moment faltered. I stood so abruptly I was surprised the seat stayed upright.

Wanda looked startled, her eyes turning back to their normal shade. “What happened? Are you okay?”

I ran a shaky hand through my hair, swallowing heavily. “I’m fine, I-” It was as though I was out of breath and still struggling to bring air into my lungs. “I just don’t want to do this anymore. Sorry for making you work so hard.” I braced myself on the back of the chair.

“Don’t be sorry. You seemed pretty sure that you wanted me to get rid of it all, what changed your mind?”

Another voice entering the room startled me. “What the hell is going on?!” Pietro. I hadn’t even heard him come in. His eyes were wide with what appeared to be a mixture of disbelief and utter concern. He saw the red tendrils creeping around Wanda’s hands. “What exactly were you getting rid of?”

Wanda stepped forward. “I was just trying to help.”

“Help?! Really?” His chest heaved; eyes wild as he glanced between the two of us. “How exactly is wiping your mind helping?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, but I saw her wringing her hands.

“Just stop, Pietro! I’m the one who made this decision. It’s my responsibility. So, if you’re going to yell at someone, yell at me.”

“Oh, I’ll get to you.” He spoke pointedly before turning back to Wanda. “Right now I’m still waiting to hear what the hell you were thinking.”

I rolled my eyes heavily, glancing at Wanda who gave me a knowing look before slipping out of the room. Pietro watched her leave, exasperation evident across his features. “You need to take it down like 80 percent.”

“No! Not until you tell me why you would do something like this.”

“Because I’m losing my fucking mind, Pietro! Do you not get that? I can’t sleep or train or just have a day where I’m not overcome with these strange… things.” My eyes were stinging as I watched him, my heart still thumping against my chest, exhaustion making a home in my bones.

“What are you talking about? The nightmares?”

“It’s more than just that now.” I shook my head, laughing humorlessly. “Steve reassigned the mission because he doesn’t trust me to get it done. Honestly, I don’t trust me either right now.”

A tear steamed down my cheek and before I had time to process it Pietro had engulfed my face with his hands, standing before me now with eyes so soft they looked like they were melting.

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” He shook his head. “I-I didn’t know any of this, I just thought… you have nightmares, we both do I never thought that things had gotten so bad. I had suspicions that you were keeping something from me after what happened the other day, but I didn’t... Why didn’t you tell me?”

Another tear followed the first and I let it, allowing my clenched fists to loosen. Slowly I moved them to slide over his arms, his hands still holding my face, stoking my cheek tenderly. “I didn’t tell you…” I closed my eyes for a long moment, swallowing heavily. “I didn’t tell you because I was scared.”

“Scared of what.” His voice was soft, quiet; just for me.

“Scared because I don’t know what’s happening to me. Because I might really be going crazy, and I know you think I’m not but you’ve always been too nice to me.”

He shook his head again, forehead pressing to mine. “You deserve everything I am to you and more, Nadia. You are not going crazy, and even if you were I meant what I said to you.” Another tear. “Steve does trust you, of course he does, we all do. Especially me. It’s okay that you’re scared but we will figure it out together, you can’t just go doing things like this.” He gestured around the room and then smoothed his hand over my temples and hair. “Please just… I need you to just talk to me about these things you can’t put yourself in danger like this, I-I…” He was stumbling over his words, struggling to get them out and his eyes were glassy now. “I need you to be okay, Nadia. I can’t lose you too. I can’t do it.”

We were so close that our air was shared. I furrowed my eyebrows at him, unsure what he meant but when I saw the look in his eyes, the immense fear and the sadness that had, evidently, been with him since he was young, I brought my hands up to his cheeks, mirroring the way he held me.

“You’re not going to lose me. I’m not going anywhere. I just need my mind back.”

He nodded against my forehead. I let my eyes fall closed still resting in his embrace. There was near silence around us for a long while, the only sound our breaths. My mind whirred as I went over and over the things I’d seen. I was utterly terrified, struggling to speak it aloud, lest I breathe life into the thought. But then Pietro’s grasp was gentle and solid all at once, warm and safe and I exhaled again.

“I don’t think they’re just visions anymore.”

“What do you mean?”

“I remember the Red Room. I dream about it, I can see it in my mind. I remember it because I lived it.” My hands dropped from his cheeks and his fell from mine, moving down my arms to hold my hands. “The other things I don’t remember as clearly but they’re still there with my other memories.” The second the words left my mouth my heart was racing again, and I felt panic set into my chest. I took a deep breath and instead of shutting my eyes, I looked at Pietro.

He was seemingly taking in my words, nodding gently. “So, we’ll figure that out too.” His thumb rubbed back and forth across my cheekbone and somehow it lessened the twisting, white-hot feeling that had been setting into my stomach. There was silence again for a moment before he spoke up. “Does this mean we can sleep in the same bed again?”

I laughed gently. Wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace, needing to feel his presence here, now, more than ever.

[goatcheesecak3]

HI UR WRITING IS INCREDIBLE UR SO COOL

i was wondering (if your requests are still open) if you could do a dean taylor fic with a GN reader where he lowkey has a breakdown and his partner helps him through it??

just rewatched the entitled, so brainrot is strong lmao

feel free to ignore !!

Nightmare

Dean Taylor x gn!reader

A/n hello! I've actually had this fic in the drafts for about a month, I just never got round to finishing it, so thanks for the suggestion and giving me the metaphorical kick up the arse I needed to finish it :^))) and thank you so much for saying you like my other stuff! It means a lot :^)))

Contains: angst, fluff, not catered to any gender in particular, brief mentions of hostage situation, gun violence

It had been nearly a year since that fateful night. The night you'd stopped Dean from making the worst mistake of his life, the night neither of you were supposed to survive, the night that still haunted both of you. That scumbag Paul had had Dean and Jenna both wrapped around his fingers, with empty promises of a better life and revenge against those who'd wronged them. You'd never bought Paul's act, but it want until it was almost too late that you realised just how awful he really was.

That sinking feeling, when you finally realised what was to happen to Dean was nothing short of mortal dread. You had been sat in your apartment, having opted out of the scheme, because something about it just didn't seem right. Pondering, desperately trying to find the cause of this uneasy feeling, when all of a sudden the pieces just fell into place, and your worst fears were confirmed. You recalled the pit in your stomach bubbling, with rage, fear and nausea all at once, because you'd just realised that Paul had planned to kill your beloved Dean that night.

Almost a year on from that night, you and Dean were both finally leaving those memories in the past. The pair of you had moved to a new city, began to get your lives together, and from an outsider perspective, you almost seemed like a normal couple. But in the dead of night, when no one else was around, you knew that the two of you were bound by your secrets, by your shared pain, sorrow and scars.

"Get off her/him/them" Dean mumbled in his sleep. He was having that dream again.

You held him close to you, hoping that by some miracle your touch would be enough to stop him from reliving that night.

You knew exactly what part of the night he was dreaming about. You'd gone to the house where the scheme was taking place, and were trying to find a way to get Dean out without alerting anyone else. That was when Jenna found you lurking about the property, and had frogmarched you into the house at gunpoint, all too eager to finish you off execution-style. Thanks to Dean, you'd both made it out alive, but it was a close call. You were certain that your fate had been sealed, and you'd never forget that feeling.

It would appear that Dean was never to forget that feeling either, as he stirred in his sleep. You watched his brows furrow, his lips quiver as he mumbled incoherent sounds and his hands gripped the bedsheets. He'd wake himself up soon.

You got to work turning the lamp on, and cracking the window slightly. The cool air would hopefully help bring Dean back to reality, and the warm orange glow from the lamp that illuminated the room, would help him realise he was safe in his bedroom the second he woke up.

Dean let out a choked gasp, as he sat bolt upright. His eyes huge and bug-like, his breathing shallow and fast. His hands scrambled across the bedsheets, searching for nothing in particularly, until your hands found them.

"Dean, honey?" You said, taking his hands in your own and rubbing them softly.

His eyes darted to you, and without hesitation, he threw himself at you in a hug, holding you tight and hiding his face in your chest, letting out small quiet sobs.

"Shhhh, baby, it's okay. It was just a dream. That's all, just a bad dream," you rubbed his back soothingly and kissed the top of his head.

"Sh.. she was gonna kill you," Dean blubbered, trembling in your arms like a lost puppy.

"But you saved me, baby!" You whispered reassuringly, "look at me, Dean, come on"

You tenderly held his chin and tilted his face to look at you, running your thumb over his skin to calm him as you did so.

"My brave boy, you saved me, didn't you?"

Dean's big sad eyes blinked away tears, as he nodded timidly. It pained you to see your usually cocky and laid back boyfriend so frightened.

You pressed a gentle kiss on his forehead and ran your fingers over his cheek.

"It's okay, baby. It's over now, we're safe."

He nuzzled into your chest again, his clammy hands gripping tightly at your nightshirt.

"Every time I close my eyes it's like I'm back in that fucking house" he cried, his tone sounding ever so slightly angry, but mostly just defeated and hurt.

"I know, I know" you cooed, stroking his head and rubbing his back, "come on, let's get you some fresh air, it'll calm you down."

You picked up a blanket from the end of the bed and wrapped it around Dean's trembling shoulders, carefully taking him out to the balcony.

Two rusty iron chairs sat facing out to the city, with an equally dishevelled iron table, home to an overflowing ashtray. You and Dean took your seats and let the cool midnight air wash over you, listening to the distant sounds of cars and late night party goers. After liberating two cigarettes from their packet, you handed one to Dean who took it eagerly. His hand shook like a leaf as he smoked, causing Ash to drop all over the balcony. You watched as Dean inhaled with deep, slow breaths, savouring every last bit of nicotine he could get. It wasn't your typical breathing exercise, but at least he wasn't hyperventilating anymore. These technically being your first cigarettes of the day, rendered the pair of you quite light headed and dizzy.

"How you feeling babe?" You asked quietly, not wanting to startle Dean.

"Tired.. and cold" he replied, groggily, sounding ever so slightly stuffy from crying.

"You wanna try going back to bed?"

He nodded, and stood up to head back inside, you followed.

He seemed calmer now, still clearly not doing well, but collected and less afraid.

The pair of you climbed into bed, and Dean crawled over to you, resting his head on your chest and draping his arm over you. He looked so sweet, his pink lips puffed out in a sleepy pout, his soft hands curled into relaxed fists, and his eyelids droopy.

"Night night, Dean" you whispered.

"Wait..." he mumbled

"Hm?"

"Can you do that thing where you rub my back again? It feels nice" he said, without opening his eyes, only shifting on his side slightly, to give you better access to his back.

"Course I can, babe" you smiled to yourself.

"Love you" he murmured, clearly more asleep than awake at this point.

"Love you too, big guy".

A/n hello! Sorry if this wasn't exactly the most "Dean" fic, it's really hard to write for him without either completely flanderizing him, or making him too cute and fluffy you know? I hope I did him justice though!

Replies and reblogs are very much appreciated! I thrive on your validation lmao

Requests are open! Check my pinned post for details and masterlist! <3

[caspersickfanfics]

Late Arrival Chapter 2

Read Chapter 1 Here

This was written to fill @monthofsick day 14: Can't Keep Anything Down

Prompt List | AO3 | Ask | Rules

Warnings: Vomiting, fever, nightmare mention, slight anxiety, bad jokes

Anon asked:

Could I make a request for can’t keep anything down with sick Cyno? I feel like Tighnari would try really hard to get him to eat or stay hydrated or try some home remedies but…Cynos stomach just can’t handle it right now…

Tighnari wakes, warm and cozy, curled up against Cyno, only because of his alarm. There’s a moment of disorientation, confusion because he isn’t in his own bed or even in his own home. He doesn’t often use an alarm, instead rising with the birds and the sun. There’s no birdsong, here. Only background noise from the city, and Cyno’s labored breathing.

The sound brings Tighnari both clarity and concern. He remembers why he set the alarm while in the process of blearily shutting it off. With heavy limbs, he stumbles around the place until he manages to grab a glass of water and some medicine from his own belongings, which still rest in a messy pile near the door.

When he returns to the bedroom, he hesitates. He loathes to disrupt Cyno’s rest. If he ignores the rattle in the his airways, the sweat on his temples, and the way his whole body occasionally shivers, the matra looks peaceful. It’s reassuring to see him relaxed to this degree. Outside of playing cards and eating meals, the two of them often spend their precious little time together snuggling or napping for this very reason. With the intensity of their jobs, they both struggle to unwind. For Tighnari, at least, there’s something about watching his partner sleep that helps rebuild a sense of safety. He can convince himself that nothing bad will happen to either of them when they’re wrapped up in blankets together, secure enough to close their eyes and sometimes, now, even dream.

Still, the last thing Tighnari wants is to let his sentimentality get in the way of what is necessary. Cyno is a light sleeper - that he slept through the alarm is moderately disquieting - so Tighnari traces the soft lines of the sick man’s face with a hovering touch and scratches his head. He barely stirs.

“Cyno,” Tighnari speaks quietly, absently teasing white hair. The fever has risen. His voice is an odd pitch and louder than he intended when he speaks again. “Hey, Cyno. Wake up.”

There’s an incoherent mumble, muffled by blanket. Tighnari peels layers of off him and Cyno makes a noise of distaste.

“I know.” A slight note of regret shimmers in the air, but apology loses in the war against pragmatism, at least for Tighnari. “We need to get your fever down.”

“’s too cold,” the matra slurs. His hands grasp at the air blindly, no doubt seeking the covers.

Tighnari nods and helps him to sit up. “Chills,” he explains. “From the fever.” He mixes the medicine in - a natural herbal powder that’s meant to lower and stabilize body temperature - before handing the glass over. “This might taste a bit odd, but it should help. Do you think you can keep medicine down right now?”

Cyno nods, looking suspiciously more determined than he does confident. His hands shake as he takes the glass, so Tighnari helps guide it to his lips. “Drink slowly. Just a few sips is enough.”

“A few sips” is all it takes for Cyno to clamp his mouth tightly shut. His throat bobs threateningly and he leans back, eyes closed. He’s clearly trying to keep his stomach under control, but he’s so feverish that he can hardly hold his head up.

“Breathe in through your nose. Slowly,” Tighnari instructs. He reaches for the trashcan beside the bed and pulls it close. When Cyno lurches forward with an aborted heave, tears escaping out of the corners of his eyes, Tighnari sighs and lifts the bin onto the bed.

“It’s okay, Cyno.” He brushes sweaty hair away from his partner’s face. Cyno shakes his head and Tighnari can’t help but smile fondly. Stubborn as usual. Sure enough, though, it doesn’t take long before a coughing fit racks Cyno’s body. Tighnari helps him lean forward and rubs his back, wincing as he begins to retch. Inevitably, the fluids come right back up, splattering against the plastic. Cyno continues to gag, his body straining unforgivingly until there’s another splash of liquid. He groans, shudders, and flops back onto the pillow behind him. “I’m sorry,” he sniffles miserably, rubbing at wet eyes and coughing weakly. 

“Hey,” Tighnari looks at him sternly. “It’s not your fault. The medicine must have been too much.”

Cyno might agree, if he had the energy, but he’s too busy trying to prevent his teeth from chattering.

“I’m going to get some plain water. When you’re ready, we can try that, okay?” 

Tighnari looks painfully hopeful, but Cyno can’t even bring himself to nod. His stomach aches, hollow and angry. Now that it’s been upturned, it refuses to settle. He’s left burping up rancid air, drool pooling in his mouth until he’s spitting it into the waste bin. He’s suffering through lingering dry heaves when his partner returns.

“Oh, no.” There’s a clink as Tighnari puts the glass aside in favor of rubbing Cyno’s back through each painful retch. It’s a sweet gesture, both grounding and comforting. It’s nice not to be alone. Tighnari nudges him and offers a glass of water once his stomach lets up. “Just rinse your mouth out, for now.”

It doesn’t take the nausea away by any means - queasy tremors still rattle through him relentlessly - but Cyno feels moderately more human once the nasty taste has lessened. His eyelids droop. 

“Cyno, honey,” Tighnari says. Cyno’s thoughts are a fog of confusion, but his chest warms pleasantly. It’s not common for Tighnari to use terms of endearment, even when they’re alone. The mood is quickly dampened by his next words. “Do you feel up to a bit of water?”

Cyno can’t help the pitiful whine that escapes him. “Sleep.” He’s halfway to begging and hates how fragile his voice sounds. Then Tighnari’s hand is weaving through his hair, feeling like salve on a burn wound.

“Soon,” Tighnari agrees. “Drink this first?”

If Cyno were to firmly resist, he knows that Tighnari wouldn’t force him. He also knows that Tighnari is worried. He breathes slowly and manages a few sips. 

Instantly, the water sloshes in his stomach. That persistent chill is replaced as his body warms over uncomfortably, pricks of sweat forming on his temples. He closes his eyes and hands the glass back to Tighnari, feeling the forest watcher’s eyes on him all the while. Cyno suppresses a heave. 

Exhaustion weighs heavy upon him; he can fall back asleep, he thinks, and then it will be fine. Surely, it will stay down. That’s all he really needs - just a bit of water in his system to prevent dehydration, to reassure Tighnari. Tired as he is, sleep takes him quickly enough.

———

The next time he wakes, it's brief. No more than an hour has passed. Cyno is dizzy. He feels ill. He’s hardly aware of his surroundings. He doesn’t hear Tighnari asking if he’s okay, so he doesn’t respond. His stomach dips, and burning liquid hurtles up his throat, out his mouth and nose. Some clarity returns to him, then. He’s made a mess. His bare chest is sticky. He thinks he might be crying, because Tighnari is soothing him with great care, wiping him down with towels. Cyno is cold again, and very saddened to find that he still has no covers. “I’m sorry,” he hears Tighnari say, and then the world drifts away.

———

Tighnari watches Cyno curl onto his side, trembling, and aches. He massages the sick man’s back. Any patient unable to keep fluids down for going on six hours, at a minimum, is concerning, regardless of whether a bond with an otherworldly being enhances their body’s general durability. Tighnari’s expertise in first aid only goes as far as the tools he has at his disposal. If, for example, intravenous fluid administration becomes a necessity, he’ll have to drag Cyno to the Bimarstan, kicking and screaming - maybe literally, with the near-delirious state he’s in. Considering his traumatic history with Akademiya “medicine,” his reluctance is justified. In all fairness, Tighnari is also not fond of the idea, for reasons of his own. The Bimarstan is truly a last resort.

“We need to get your fever down,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. He isn’t sure Cyno can hear him, but he gives him one final head scratch before standing. “I’ll be right back.”

By the time Tighnari returns with lukewarm water and a few clean towels, Cyno has drifted off again. Even in sleep, his body shivers. “This is probably going to feel cold to you,” Tighnari warns. He’s relieved when, as he places a wet towel on his forehead, Cyno only shifts slightly. For the next few minutes, Tighnari works to cool the matra’s skin with the additional towels, careful not to dampen the bed.

There’s little to do after that but wait and repeat the process roughly every hour. The time passes slowly. Tighnari cleans the trash bin out and tidies the apartment. He makes mint tea, and then soup. He writes Collei and Kaveh with updates: he plans to stay in the city for at least another three days to ensure Cyno’s full recovery, and may stay longer if necessary. He entrusts Collei and a few other forest watchers to assist in covering his duties while he’s away. Tighnari aches a bit, thinking about Gandharva Ville, and he drifts back to Cyno’s side to, once again, simply watch him sleep.

This time, though, his brow is furrowed, teeth clenched. His body tenses and curls further inwards. When Tighnari touches his shoulder, he wakes with a gasp.

“You’re okay.” Tighnari speaks softly, watching the other man attentively. He’s still tense and breathless, but he nods. He’s trying to play it off. Tighnari lets him. He waits, giving Cyno space to calm his body.

“I’m okay,” Cyno echoes, simultaneously reaching for his hand. The forest watcher offers it without comment and waits for Cyno’s breath to returns to a more normal speed. Despite the nightmare, Cyno looks better. More lucid, certainly. Tighnari touches his wrist. “Hey. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Cyno says, smiling. “‘m still sleepy.”

Tighnari nods, a sigh of relief shaking its way out of him. “I would expect so. Your body is healing, after all.” He checks Cyno’s temperature and is pleased to find that, though the fever is still there, it has definitely improved since a few hours ago. Cyno drinks water without complaint and appears unfazed afterwards. Rest really can work wonders.

“Tighnari,” Cyno speaks slowly. “Can the stomach flu impact your memory?” The question instantly shoots fear back through Tighnari’s veins; as though it never really left. His chest feels tight and his brows furrow.

“Well, you did have quite a high fever, which can have that effect, although it’s highly unusual and would be cause for concern. Why? What’s going on?”

Cyno’s expression changes minutely. He doesn’t smile, but the glimmer in his eye is the equivalent of a smirk. Tighnari realizes what’s coming a second too late to interject. “It’s just that, I once heard a pun about amnesia, but I can’t remember how it goes.”

Tighnari groans. He knows his expression is blatantly fond, so he hides his face in his hands. It’s reassuring that Cyno is joking again - albeit less so that it may be at the cost of Tighnari’s sanity.

“What?” Cyno continues. “A little joke when you're sick never hurt antibody.”

“Stop.”

“Fine. I have a joke about the flu but I’d hope you don’t “get it,” anyway.”

Tighnari gives up. He rolls his eyes and simply doesn’t respond, letting Cyno rattle off some justification as to why puns are hilarious. The frustrating thing is that the jokes really have relaxed him, which was no doubt their intended purpose; silly as it is, hearing Cyno back to his usual antics has eased some tension that Tighnari hadn’t even noticed building inside him. Not that he would ever admit it out loud. For once, though, he doesn’t cut Cyno’s explanation short, content letting the words wash over him, even if he pays little attention to the meaning behind them. Cyno looks tired but proud as he wraps up his little speech, and Tighnari doesn’t hide his affection this time.

It’s only another 30 minutes or so before Cyno falls back asleep, but he’s been able to keep the water and a bowl of soup down for the duration. With the worst of his worries placated, the exhaustion catches up to Tighnari all at once. He snuggles in next to Cyno. If he can’t stay awake to watch him rest, then sleeping right beside him is the next best thing.

———

Chapter 3

———

If you enjoyed the fic, feel free to let me know by replying directly to this post, by sending me an ask, or by sharing your thoughts with me privately and anonymously through this survey! Thank you so much for reading!!

[pollenallergie]

Morning Negotiations

Something short I wrote for Billy Knight because not enough people write for him.

Ps. I’ve really been struggling with writer’s block lately so that’s why I haven’t posted anything in a while. I know that I teased a part of my upcoming jitterbug x grub oneshot, but I’m honestly not sure when I’ll actually have that completely done and ready to post, so I’m sorry about that. Hopefully I can get my inspiration/motivation back soon.

If Billy had to pick his least favourite part about living with you, you guess that he’d probably pick the numerous alarms you use to wake yourself up in the morning, mostly because he expresses his dislike for them very openly.

“Turn it off,” Billy whines hoarsely as he pulls the duvet over his head in a feeble attempt to shield himself from the sounds of the overly peppy song you’d chosen for your alarm tone. It was a song you used to love, back when you’d first chosen it, but now both you and your partner loathe it entirely. This is the sixth time that song has sounded throughout the room this morning and you can tell Billy is beyond sick of it, but neither of you are quite ready to wake up yet.

You groan tiredly as you grab your phone off the nightstand and turn off the alarm before setting it down on your pillow and nuzzling back into your bed, ready to fall back asleep. A very tired Billy suddenly drapes one of his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him as he rests his forehead against the space between your shoulder blades.

“No, turn ‘em all off,” he grumbles grumpily, “no more.”

You huff out humorously, “Can’t, baby, gotta get up for work.”

“Too early, sun’s not even up yet,” Billy points out before pressing a gentle kiss to your spine.

You yawn tiredly, finally opening your bleary eyes, before replying, “Training starts today, so I’ve gotta be at work an hour earlier.”

You then stretch out your back as best as you can while still trapped against your boyfriend’s front, the movement causing him to sleepily mumble incoherent complaints under his breath.

“Not lettin’ you go,” he pouts as he wraps his arms around you more securely, effectively pinning you to him, “ y’need your rest.”

While you certainly agree with him on that last bit, you also know that you need the money.

“I’ll tell you what, Billygoat, if you let me get up, I’ll grab takeaway from that Indian place on the corner on my way home tonight,” you say, attempting to bribe him.

“Butter chicken?” He asks simply, too tired for full sentences.

“Of course I’ll get butter chicken,” you assure him before offering, “I’ll even order extra naan if you do the dishes while I’m gone.”

“‘S gonna take more than extra naan to get me to do that,” he grumbles.

“Would a back rub sweeten the deal?” You inquire.

“Depends. Does it come with a happy ending?” He asks bluntly, his tone still heavy with sleep, causing you to laugh.

“It can,” you reply between bouts of laughter, causing him to smile and hum happily.

“Then you’ve got yourself a deal, pretty lady,” Billy murmurs as he reluctantly relinquishes his hold on you. You climb out of bed just as reluctantly, still not quite ready to leave your bed, stretching out your tired limbs once you’ve finally gotten up.

“Pleasure doing business with you, handsome man,” you remark before leaning over to plant a gentle kiss on Billy’s forehead, dotting a couple of kisses on his rosy cheeks too for good measure.

[ravensvirginity]

I just saw your post about Raven’s relationship to sex and I knew it was probably sort of out there in the comics, but I didn’t actually know her total origin.

I’m like, half working on this DCYA graphic novel concept around and older Raven (idk how she ages, but the concept art I’ve made has her in her mid to late thirties), adopting a younger relative found on another planet. I don’t really know the lore well, so I wasn’t sure if younger half brother, or nephew, or something else makes the most sense, and I was basing him loosely off of Razer from Green Lantern the animated series.

The story is ultimately more about him and his love interest because it’s a YA concept, but I thought it was interesting I got some of the Raven lore right on accident. As the story idea revolved around a teenage alien with powers tied to strong emotions falling in love with a robot who secretly has a soul and the drama and angst that comes with it. I had him ask Raven how to have a relationship when you have emotion powers and her answer was basically you don’t.

My logic was stemming from her powers and also the fact I can’t really think of any love interests that make sense to me (Damien and Beast Boy being the only two, and I don’t really care for either as a love interest tbh). But the trauma of what happened to her mother would add a dimension to it, since this adopted son character would not really know much if anything about the demon side of his family.

Anyways, I really need to read the classic comics! Sorry is this is sort of incoherent lol, I’m running on not a lot of sleep. But I just wanted to share my idea and Raven concept. I’m glad I found this blog because a lot of the modern Raven stuff feels like a flanderization of the 03 show. I imagine the departure is even stronger to a fan of the OG raven.

Okay wow, you have no idea how excited this ask made me! I would love to hear more about your graphic novel concept. It sounds really fun!

I think either half brother or nephew could work, though I'd personally lean more towards half brother. In the original version of Raven and Trigon, Raven is his only surviving child after over a hundred failed attempts. However, this was retconned in 2008 and since then Raven has had some form of either brothers or siblings in general (generally she's relegated to being the only girl though).

That being said, there is a noncanon graphic novel that takes place during the 80s timeline where it's revealed that Raven had a forgotten sister who kind of slipped through the cracks. Her sister goes insane without anyone to teach her how to use her powers, and Trigon doesn't know she exists so she's just kind of left to languish on Earth. I feel like this is the most similar to your concept! New Teen Titans: Games, though I'd recommend reading the regular series before you read the graphic novel.

"I had him ask Raven how to have a relationship when you have emotion powers and her answer was basically you don’t." This is incredibly Raven imo. I think she could mostly be a good mentor, but she has a lot of baggage related to how she was trained to use her powers and her trauma from Trigon in general, and she'd probably inadvertently end up passing that along to a sibling who has the same heritage as her.

Yeah, I'm not big on either of those ships either. Raven having to teach her relative about their family would be so interesting and is such a fun concept! Unfortunately, I'd imagine that he would have been conceived in a very similar way to Raven, given the way Trigon behaves. I'd be really curious to know what happened to his mother and how he ended up in Raven's care. Seriously, I'd love to read this story!

I totally recommend the classic comics, I love them dearly. While some elements of them have definitely aged poorly, I don't think any future version of Raven managed to be better than the original. I really agree about modern Raven feeling like a flanderization of 03 Raven, unfortunately. Toon Raven is not a perfect adaptation of Raven's original comic characterization and there are changes that I would've never made myself, but she's a much better version of Raven than whatever is going on in the current comics. Her current appearance and personality is really like someone trying and failing to guess what made toon Raven popular and pumping out an almost completely unrecognizeable character as a result.

Thanks again for this ask, feel free to send me more if you'd like! I'm always so happy to talk about Raven.