#is to use it where it's necessary and leave it alone otherwise

[grison-in-space]

Has Biden actually done anything at all? There's evidence going around and I think it's compelling, the alternate to voting is instead doing actual social work and participating in protests and organizing political action, which is a good idea i think

1) Yes. Inarguably this has been the most effective progressive domestic administration since I have been alive, and I'm in my thirties. What in the fuck are you talking about? It's not perfect, but it's better than we've seen in fifty years: Obama tried, but Democratic Congressional organization was just not yet used to working with a completely obstructionist GOP Congress in the wake of the tea party.

Even in terms of foreign policy, this is also pretty much as good as US involvement gets. Sorry. Our foreign policy has been shaped by monsters for decades, and that's even without dealing with our huge and active branch of Christian doom cultists. There ain't a candidate in the world that could stop the entire accumulated momentum of geopolitics with a snap of the finger, and I'm not really willing to pretend that Biden is particularly notable for not managing to fix Israel/Palestine relations.

2) In your own words, anon, what precisely does organizing political action entail without participating in the political process? Do you think that abstaining from the part of the gig where you, the citizen, get to say which official gets the job somehow makes your opinions matter more to your elected public officials? Have you ever organized to get so much as a municipal one-time library project budget expanded? Are you perhaps only skilled at political argument with people who already agree with you on the Internet?

What is your leverage, and could it reasonably be described as "extortion" or "blackmail" or "political corruption?" Because those are pretty much the only things on the table that can work more effectively to drive an elected official than a disciplined coalition of political allies (who can be purchased with, you guessed it, votes) or a reliable bloc of voter support. Your vote matters less than the ones you bring with you, sure. Do you think that not voting yourself somehow helps people organize to drive more votes? Have you perhaps replaced your complex reasoning skills with a rapidly dying jellyfish?

3) Holy passive vagueness, Batman! "Evidence is going around." What a masterpiece of a sentence! How it suggests everything while providing nothing! What evidence? Who collected it? Who is talking about the evidence "going around?" Who is listening? How many of them are there? What did they think before? The more I think, the more questions I have, and damn if they ain't predisposing me to be even less charitable.

Like, this is so catastrophically poorly supported that I have to confess that I not only believe this is probably an ask in bad faith (i.e. by someone who is expecting to piss me off or otherwise engage with me adversarially, probably spammed to a whole host of blogs at once with no expectation of response) but I actively hope that it is. The alternative is to have to grapple with the reality that some people are so uncomfortable with the responsibility of moral agency that they're willing to release useful levers of legal and social power just so that they never do anything problematic with that power. Much better, of course, to wash one's hands of anything that might have the stink of responsibility clinging to it. Might fall from the membership of the Elect if you actually get yourself all muddy by doing things, I reckon.

I don't even believe that voting is the only lever we have when it comes to our elected officials or that votes are necessary to secure change, and I am certainly not talking about the presidential ticket alone when I talk voting. What I do believe is two things: one, that voting is a potential lever of power on the emergent chaos of the society in which we live. And two, that anyone telling me to leave a lever of power on the ground without a damn good reason is either incompetent, malicious, or both.

[ilovemitsuya]

Hiii!!! Can I request a ff where reader is sick and is trying to hide it from Sylus but he notices right away and insists he take care of her.

sylus x reader

The first signs were easy enough to ignore. A dull ache in my chest, a persistent weariness that clung to me no matter how much I rested. I told myself it was just stress, but as the days passed the symptoms grew worse. My strength began to wane, and the pain became harder to hide. I stared at my computer not noticing a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay? You’ve been staring at your screen for a while now.” I look over my shoulder to see Tara staring at me.

“I’m fine, just feeling under the weather.” I said as I looked away from her.

“I think you should take it easy. You’ve been overworking yourself a lot.” She thought for a moment, her finger resting on her chin. “I know! Me and the others are going to do karaoke you should join us.”

I thought about it for second. I could really use the time to go out but I couldn’t even speak, let alone sing. “I’m sorry can we do it next time?”

Tara put on a frown “Awh, next time you better go. Promise?”

I looked at her with a smile

“Promise.”

Besides, I’m meeting up with Sylus later on. Suddenly i remembered that he had a business trip he was talking about. He said I had to go but I can’t let him see me like this. Otherwise he would stay with me and not even go himself. It was an important trip I didn’t want to ruin it for him.

I knew Sylus would notice eventually.

He was too observant, too attuned to every detail of my life.

So I hid it. I avoided his gaze when I would have to excuse myself when the coughing fits became too intense. I thought I was being careful, and that I could keep this secret until I found a way to manage it on my own.

But I underestimated him.

╔══════╗

“You're late, sweetie." he said, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “If I had to wait any longer I would’ve sent Mephisto out looking for you.”

Sylus said leaning back on his motorcycle.

“Yeah, that won’t be necessary.”

Sylus gave me one last look before he threw a motorcycle helmet my way nearly dropping it.

He patted the seat behind him when he noticed I wasn’t moving.

I was way too tired to even move.

“Get on or I’m leaving without you.”

I snap out of my thoughts and quickly scram to sit behind him.

———-

At first it was subtle. A slight hesitation in her step, a flash of pain quickly masked by a practiced smile. Sylus watched her from the corner of his eye, his mind a whirlwind of calculations.

She was careful. Too careful. Avoiding his gaze when she thought he wasn't looking, suppressing coughs when she thought he wasn't listening. But Sylus knew. He always knew.

He sat in the chair by the window, the vastness of the space outside doing very little to calm his mind. His fingers tapped against the armrest, each tap a mark of his growing frustration. Something was wrong; he could feel it in his bones.

“Mephisto, keep a close eye on her.”

caw caw

She had been acting differently for days now. And while she thought she had done her best to hide it, Sylus was not one to be easily deceived.

╔══════╗

I knew he started watching me more closely. His eyes narrowing with that sharp, calculating look I knew so well. I could feel his suspicion growing, could sense the weight of his gaze on me even when I wasn't looking. But I kept up the act, clinging to the hope that I could keep him in the dark just a little longer.

Later that evening he barged in the room without warning, his presence filling the room with an intensity that made my heart skip a beat. I looked up, startled, meeting his eyes only to see the truth in them - he knew.

"You're sick," Sylus stated, his voice low and void of the warmth he had once reserved for me.

For a moment, I tried to deflect, to brush it off as nothing. "What? I’m perfectly fine.” I said trying to hold in my cough. Perfect timing.

But it was the way the energy shifted in the room. The way he loomed over me with a commanding presence, his expression unreadable made it clear there was no escaping this. "Don't lie to me." he hissed, and the force of his words sent a shiver down my spine.

"You're hiding something."

I shook my head, standing to meet him. But there was a hesitation in my movements, a reluctance I couldn't fully hide. "No, I haven't. I've just been... tired. There's nothing to worry about."

But Sylus was done with her evasions.

He grabbed her wrist, not roughly, but firmly enough to stop her from retreating.

"Don't lie to me, Sweetie." he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

"Something's wrong. I can see it. You've been hiding it from me, and I want to know why."

I pulled my wrist from his grasp and took a step back, shaking my head. "It's nothing, Sylus. I'm fine.

You don't need to worry."

"Don't you dare try to shut me out," he growled, his tone sharper than he intended. "I know something is wrong, and I won't let you deny it."

Sylus thought she might continue to deny it. But then she crumbled, her shoulders slumping as she finally let her guard down.

"I've been feeling sick," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "It started a few days ago, and it's just been getting worse. I didn't want to tell you because I wanted you to let me go to that business trip with you.”

He shook his head, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek with a surprising gentleness.

“Is that what this is all about? You were hiding your sickness because you wanted me to let you go on the business trip?”

I leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding me in a way I hadn't felt in days. "Yes, I’m sorry.”

His expression hardened again, but there was a softness in his eyes that made my heart ache. "Well, you’re right, you’re not going."

“But I—“

“I’m canceling the trip. I’m staying here with you until you feel better.”

He looked back at me, and for a brief moment, I saw something tender in his gaze, something that reminded me why I had fallen for him in the first place.

“I knew something was wrong. Mephisto snitched you out.”

That damn bird.

"Let's get you to bed," he said softly, his voice gentle but firm. "You need to rest."

He picked me up bridal style and held me in his arms.

"I'm fine, Sylus. I don't need to be treated like-"

He silenced her with a look, one that she couldn’t argue against. "You need to rest," he repeated, his tone leaving no room for discussion. "And I'm going to make sure you do."

Without waiting for her response, Sylus guided her toward the bed.

She hesitated for a moment, but the exhaustion was too much, and she allowed him to help her lie down.

Sylus moved with a surprising gentleness, adjusting the pillows and smoothing the blankets as he settled her in.

Once she was comfortable, he sat down beside she on the edge of the bed. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. His touch was soft, tender. A stark contrast to the man who ruled Onychinus with an iron fist.

"You've been pushing yourself too hard," he murmured, his eyes studying her face with an intensity that was almost protective.

"You need to let me take care of you. You’re like a sick kitten who needs to be monitored."

I looked up at him, my eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability.

"I didn't want to worry you,"

Sylus's expression softened even further, his thumb gently tracing the outline of my cheek. "You worrying me by hiding things is worse," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't have to do this alone. I'm here for you."

He leaned down, pressing his cheek to my forehead, lingering there for a moment as if he was attempting to strengthen me.

When he pulled back, my eyes were already starting to droop, the weight of the day finally catching up. But even as sleep began to claim me, I reached out, my hand finding his.

"Sylus," I murmured, voice drowsy. "Stay with me?"

"I'm not going anywhere,” he promised. His voice steady. He slipped under the blankets, his arms wrapping around me protectively. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

Sylus held her close, his fingers gently stroking her hair. He listened as her breathing slowly evened out, the tension in her body melting away as she drifted into sleep.

For a long time, Sylus simply watched her. His mind racing with plans for when she wakes up. As she slept, Sylus allowed himself to relax, the tight coil of worry in his chest loosening for the first time in days. He would take care of her, no matter what it took. Because she was worth protecting at all costs.

I’ll kiss anyone who requests

[leth-writes]

yandere batfam x vampire reader

BRUCE

You wake up chained to a corner in an ornate room. It seems that Bruce Wayne has caught you. The chain is iron but the collar is a plush fabric, preventing chafing. This really symbolizes your period of captivity with Bruce. Harsh rules, soft application.

He keeps you in that room, absent of any furniture except a bed and the bathroom, which you have to ask to use, until he can fully trust you. Even then, you won’t be able to ever leave the grounds of the manor. Alfred is intrusted to taking care of you during the times where Bruce can’t be around you.

He completely shifts his sleep schedule to match yous; sleeping during the day, in a room right next to your so he can hear you through the walls and watch the live video feed of you curled up, napping, as he falls asleep. He wakes during the night and cuts down on his time as Batman, at least until he can trust you.

When it comes to drinking blood, he prefers if you drink from him, usually from his wrist as he stands, hovering above you, but he’ll let you use some of his extra stash in the cave if necessary.

DICK

With Dick, you wake up in his bedroom. You’re probably in a pen, cordoning off part of the room; he wishes he could trust you but he just can’t, not yet. There’s silver bars that’ll burn you if you get too close, but otherwise you aren’t chained up.

He’ll push to psychologically break you as quickly as possible. He’s forcing you to stay up and stopping you from drinking any blood until you’re begging and pleading in a heap on the floor, crawling toward him when he opens the door and steps into your pen.

He holds your exhausted, weak bodhy in his arms and feeds you his blood, watching and smiling as you lathc onto the small incision he’s made on his wrist. He’s practically rocking you back and forth, soothing any anguish you’ve been feeling.

The sudden absence of pain, combined with his touch, trains you to associate him with pleasure rather than fear, and you’re suddenly clinging onto him, refusing to let go.

This was his plan all along, and now you can come cuddle on the bed with him :)

JASON

You’re completely tied down with thick leather straps. He isn’t letting you budge for at least a year, but due to your vampiric abilities, you won’t get hurt from that. The only exception is when he feeds you laced blood and lets you go to the bathroom.

He only feeds you blood he’s gotten from the family; as much as he wants to, he can’t feed you his for fear of corruption due to the lazarus pit. It kills him that he can’t feed you, but he’d rather keep you soft and compliant.

So, he laces every bag until you’re comfortable with him touching you and moving you around. This is when he stretches your limbs and makes sure your muscles don’t fully atrophy.

He secretly likes how weak, how dependent, you are on him. You remind him of a younger version of himself, and he’s incredibly protective. Won’t let any other member of the family into the safehouse, let alone in the same room. Various members try, he threatens to shoot them, they leave.

Your feedings are soft and comfortable, all cozied up in a blanket on his lap as he feeds you from a mug. It’s kinda weird but he also warms it up. Don’t ask, he swears it’s better for you.

If your teeth start to hurt from not being able to bite, he’ll massage your gums. Don’t fight it, he’ll tie you back down and pump you so full of drugs you’ll see stars. Jason doesn’t mess around when it comes to your health, it’s his main priority, even over your pride.

Eventually starts to wean you off the drugs, and you’ve come to rely on him for practically everything. being able to nurture you and keep you safe heals that vulnerable part of him he’s pushed deep down, under the pit, and lets that old part of him blossom.

TIM

Tim takes the longest amount of time to get you used to him. He probably gets you set up in this old victorian mansion, and you honestly have the run of the place, except for the windows and doors, which are lined with silver bars. Blood bags are delivered through a slat in the door, covered with his scent. It’s the only connection you have with the outside world.

You spend over a year in this mansion. At first you’re convinced you’ve got it easy, until the touch starvation starts to set in. You start spending more and more time just lingering by the door, hoping that he’ll come in and finally talk to you. You spend more time begging and pleading through the slat than you do drinking the blood, and you find yourself clutching the thick bag to yourself, just to keep that scent, that connection, for even a moment longer.

Finally, he starts talking back. It’s slow at first, just little one-word answers here and there, maybe once a week, then he slowly ramps it up.

Eventually you’re having hour-long conversations, trying to beg him to just come in and hug you, you’re so desperate.

That’s when he swoops in and takes you back to the manor. All of your old relationships are completely decimated and you’re entirely reliant on him to keep yourself sane, latching onto him like a lighthouse in the storm. It took a while but honestly your bond is probably the strongest out of all of the examples. He knows what he’s doing.

[mypussytasteslikeharibo]

Tight plans

Summary: Viktor buys Reader a nice little (lacy) present. They discover it while Viktor is still working hard at the lab. Maybe they put it on to see if it fits.

No gendered pronouns used for reader. Afab reader. Not proof read, no guarantee for quality oops

Notes: I'll probably do a part two, depending on how fucked my time management and sleep schedule is going to be the following week. Sorry about the language, I'm not a native speaker. My English professor would be disappointed at my use of inverted sentence structures. I'm sorry. You'll see me again next semester still. Anyway, have fun everyone! Hope you'll never be able to wear tights again :)

It's not unusual for Viktor to be home late from the lab. He's always working hard, that's what you love about him. His attitude towards his passion and his great mind to match it make him as endearing as he's always been to you.

What IS unusual though is the present sitting on your bed. No special occasion. Did you forget your own birthday? No. You might be getting slower but not that slow. Maybe it's meant for someone else. But you throw that idea out of the window as you're holding a small card in your hands, spelling out your name and signed by your loved one with a Love, Viktor.

Well. As it's not an anniversary, and there's not been any big, big news about his or your work either, you decide to just open it. If it was a bomb then Viktor probably had his reasons to blow you up anyway.

You unravel the bow on top of the golden present, hands slightly shaking in anticipation. You wonder what could be inside? Maybe it's the earrings you've looked at longer than necessary at the shop three weeks ago, or a useful tool for your work in the lab. Even though that would not require a bow as decoration. It would've been enough to just... Lay it on your desk and let it find it's way to you while you're working.

But no, it is instead... A pair of tights. Well even with winter on the way, these tights are not made for cold weather or even day to day going out, no matter the season.

Made of black net, with an artistic rose pattern on the back of the calves and sitting at an angle that makes the seam disappear into your ass, these tights can only have one use.

They're... sexy.

A shudder runs through you. There has to be an explanation to this.

Yes, you and Viktor have been together for a few months now and it's going amazing. He's affectionate, he's gorgeous and he understands you better than anyone else in this whole city, if not world. You love even his droopy morning faces or his annoyed expressions when he comes home frustrated after an unsuccessful lab day. But what you love most, right now at least... Yes, well, it's the sex.

You've been with people before and you've had great sex before. But for Janna's sake, the way this man makes you quiver under his body while he fucks into you like a machine built only for one purpose and one purpose only, it drives you insane. He isn't rough but loving in a way that still makes you see stars for the next hour.

So you are not only confused at the reason for this kind of foreplay but also incredibly and utterly horny about it. The thought of Viktor having to shop at a store and pick out this pair of tights specifically for you, paying for them with his hard earned money while he thinks about you and the way you would look in these tights... Him having to plan when and where to give these to you and ultimately deciding on leaving them on the bed while he's at wor-

He's at work. He's at work, knowing that you'll be home earlier than him. He knows that you will unpack this present as soon as you see it, knows that you get too impatient otherwise. And he counts you opening it without him, alone. In your bedroom, right in front of your bedroom mirror. He's thinking about you, seeing these tights and figuring out all of his plans, even playing along with them.

He knows that you will put them on and he knows that you will be waiting for him at home.

Your pussy pulses.

To think that this is the same man that couldn't hold your hand without getting crimson red ears four months ago.

A shudder runs through you. You don't even know what to do. Viktor could be home anytime but he could also stay at the lab for two more hours. It would be nonsensical to put on these tights without him here, just walking around in them without him there, knowing that he pictures you in them but doesn't see them until he's finished at the lab-

Ah, yes.

That makes sense.

It is slightly cool in the apartment when you take of your clothes bit by bit. It's not that you're freezing or anything. You're cold but it's not uncomfortable, it's... ironically, very hot.

You can feel your nipples getting hard underneath your lace bra.

You've put it on since you've had plans of your own on your way to Viktor's place. It doesn't help that your skin feels overly sensible right now. The thought of Viktor thinking about you at this very moment and what you could be doing in his bedroom without him there to observe...

It drives you crazy.

It tingles at the spots where your bra meets with the sensitive skin of your nipples. You can feel your pussy getting wetter by the second, pulsing to your heartbeat. All you can think about is Viktor, his hand on your lower stomach, your tits, your throat, the other directing itself to your burning core, only waiting to be touched by his calloused hand-

You snap out of it, panting. You've not even finished undressing, let alone putting on the beautiful pair of tights driving you crazy right now.

You wonder what his reaction will be. Before you lose yourself in thought again, you decide to finally let this pair of art decorate your body as you wait for the artist to arrive.

You bunch up the fabric until it reaches the toe end of it. Slowly, you let the toes of your right foot enter the smooth net. It stretches beautifully around your foot and spreads up your calves. As it reaches your knees, you see how the pattern paints the back of your calf with black roses and thorns. They follow your hand up to the start of your thighs, as you become a hot mess again.

It is as thought they are his hands wandering over your body. His eyes following every movement your hands make up your body, landing on your inner thighs and the burning desire waiting between them.

What a cruel man to do this to you.

You continue. The tights crawl up your thighs as you enter with your left foot. The same torturous process plagues you until both ends off the tights have reached your hips. At this point you've reached the part where the tights should end and close at your waist.

Instead they continue.

They're not normal tights.

Pulling them further up, you realize that these tights also double as a lace bra. They are as see-through as the rest of the tights but they also repeat the pattern from the calves in the stomach, leading up to your breasts. So you take of your own lace bra, letting it fall to the floor as you don't expect Viktor to have a problem with that later on. He would probably be too distracted to notice anyway.

As you lay the fabric down onto your breasts, one by one, you shiver from the sensation. The pattern and the lace of the fabric stimulate your hardened nipples and make you yearn for a hand similarly stimulating as the pattern, smelling of cologne and freshly brewed coffee.

The fabric closes in the middle of your breasts, creating an oval hole on your stomach. Not only does it look incredible, it also grants easy access for... Later activities.

As you put the straps of the tights on your shoulders, you turn to the mirror standing in the corner of the bedroom. The view makes you gasp. Not only that you feel so hot and ready to be banged against all surfaces of the apartment, you also look unbelievably lewd. It's not something you're used to but it makes you feel powerful. Like you're a goddess waiting for her pray to seduce. Letting your eyes wander across your breasts, your stomach, your hips you turn to look at your ass, which looks fucking burning hot.

But you also notice the hole cut into it.

Hm.

You can feel how wet you are without touching yourself. The anticipation is wrecking your body apart. How much longer is he going to take to come home? You can't walk around like this for hours. It would drive you to the brink of insanity.

You run your hands down your breasts, your sides, your stomach. You can barely touch your thighs before your knees buckle. As you turn your ass to the mirror again, your hands follow your direction. You massage it, feeling the net prickle at your skin and sending irritating shock waves towards your wet pussy. It is driving you bananas.

You bend forwards, looking back to your ass. As you actually see how wet and hot you are between your legs, you clamp your knees together from all the arousal. How can this little piece of fabric make you feel this unbearable way?

As the mirror stands directed towards to bed, you get up on the edge of it on all fours. Bending down your head, shoulders and upper back to the soft plush of Viktor's bed, you look back towards the mirror again.

Wow.

You've never seen yourself in this kind of state before. As you're only hearing your heart beat and your own panting, you don't even register the door keys turning in the front door.

"My fucking god."

You sit up out of surprise.

"No, no please stay like that! My love, you are simply..."

He sighs from endearment.

"...enthralling."

You blush. How come you still blush at his compliments seven months into dating?

"Well-" you lay down your upper body again. "-you were the one who chose and bought this for me, correct?"

You spread your legs just a little wider.

"Frankly, I feel like I should thank you for this gracious present."

You lock eyes with him while running a finger down your dripping pussy.

"How may I repay you, Darling?"

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

A/n: Hope you enjoyed this small... Whatever this is :) I'll try to do a part two soon. Hopefully ruined your night with this open ending, let me know if so. Love you xoxo (no, I don't have any lacy underwear to give you)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Gorefest.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo x Reader (Jujutsu Kaisen).

Word Count: 1.3k.

TW: Gore, Blood, Major Character Death (Reader Is Fine), Implied Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Touching, Prolonged Stalking, and Delusional Behavior.

You found his latest gift on your doorstep.

It was a heart, this time – deflated but otherwise fully intact, blue viens still visible against pink flesh. A small puddle of blood and other gelatinous viscera surrounded it, but you ignored that in favor of wrapping the disembodied organ in your cardigan and unlocking the door to your apartment, too exhausted to fumble with your keys and too worn down to pretend you still thought you could get away from him on your own. His present was dropped into the ever-bubbling vat of crimson slurry you used to boil down his gifts until they’d been reduced to a less incriminating state, your shoes kicked off and left by the door. You didn’t bother turning on any lights. You were home, but you didn’t want to let yourself acknowledge that until he was gone.

You found Gojo in his usual spot; on the floor of your bedroom, his hands still stained red and one of your threadbare sleepshirts crumpled at his side, the dark material stained with something white and awful. That made two articles of clothing ruined, tonight. A few months ago, when the most he ever brought you was a half-beaten bouquet of roses and a list of questions for the strange man whose favorite place in the world seemed to be your living room, you would’ve been tempted to demand that he pay for the damages. You’d learned better than to imply you wanted anything from him, since then.

He was lying on his side, toying with something large and vaguely circular, his grin that of a cat dropping a slaughtered mouse at its owner’s feet. He was surrounded by more of his ‘presents’ – the disembodied organs of whatever poor criminal or curse user he’d taken it upon himself to dissect. You were glad you’d kept the lights off. You could see the outline of small intestine strung along the walls, assorted gore left in carefully considered piles wherever Gojo deemed it necessary. It’d take hours to clean up, after he left. Demanding that he help would only give him the impression that you wanted to spend time with him, and you weren’t going to make that mistake twice.

You moved to speak, but as always, he just had to be the center of attention. It was like he couldn’t imagine a world where you might’ve done anything but focus on him. “Welcome home,” he half-sung, pushing himself up and pulling his oblong, mishappen keepsake into his lap. “Do you want to start with dinner, or should I run you a hot bath? Or, if you want, you could always have a little of me—”

“Shut the fuck up.” And then, pointing in the general direction of your front door, “Get out.”

“So cold, babe. And after I went through all that trouble to set this up.” The coppery stench was starting to get to you. You could only pray the neighbors wouldn’t notice, or that you’d be able to think of a feasible enough excuse by the time they did. “I got hurt for you, too.” He held up a hand, gesturing towards the faintest, shallowest cut on his cheek. “Aren’t you going to dote on me? You know, like you used to – after you found me in that alley and bandaged my wounds. What was the first thing you said to me? That I was too pretty to bleed to death alone?”

You didn’t encourage him with a response, only crossing your arms over your chest and deepening your scowl. “Get out,” you repeated. “I don’t want you here.”

His grin only broadened. “If you keep saying things like that, I might start to think you’re trying to get me to leave.” Exasperation bled into your agitated expression, and Gojo let out a bark of a laugh. “Look, I know you like to play shy, but I’d really like it if we could use tonight for us. We could watch a movie, or—”

You let out a frustrated groan, dragging your hands over your face. “You know what? Fine. If you want to be here so badly, then stay.” You shut your eyes, standing a little taller. “I’m getting out of here.”

“Running off to spend the night with another man? Ah, what a cold-hearted temptress I’ve fallen for.”

“Oh, I’m going to do more than just spend the night with him.” You really should’ve shut your mouth. You should’ve bitten your tongue, swallowed your pride, refused to tell him anything save for the fact that you weren’t going to stay here any longer. But, the blood in the air was getting to you and you could still feel the cold flesh of the heart against your palm and you needed to get away, and you needed Gojo to know you were never coming back. “I met someone – a sorcerer. He knows you’ve been stalking me, and he offered to help.” You flashed him a grin, almost as awful as his own. “His name is Nanami, and he’s strong enough to keep me safe from people like you.”

You waited for him to laugh, to say he didn’t believe you, or better yet, to get angry, to feel a fraction of the dread and the rage he’d forced onto you. When he didn’t say anything, didn’t scream or yell or gloat, you opened your eyes. He was still staring, but his smile was softer, his eyes half-lidded in a way that could only mean something bad. “Oh, baby,” he started, his voice dripping with faux sympathy. “Whose heart do you think I went through so much trouble to bring you?”

A pebble threatening to slip off of its cliffside; two ends of a torn wire, a hair’s width away from connecting. Whatever he was trying to tell you, you just couldn’t seem to process it. “What?”

“Right. I’m sorry, sweetheart – that’s on me,” Gojo chuckled. “You were always more of a visual learner.”

The object in his lap was taken up and rolled towards you, coming to a teetering stop at your feet, where the residual light from the hall could illuminate it properly. In a daze, you dropped your gaze to it, allowed yourself to recognize blonde hair, razor-sharp cheekbones, and glassy brown eyes staring lifelessly back at you. There was a dark bruise on his jawline, paled by blood loss, and the mangled stump that used to be his neck was encircled by ragged flesh, as if it’d been torn from his shoulders. Despite everything, his mouth was closed, lips still pressed into a thin frown. As if he didn’t have time to so much as scream before Gojo got to him.

You must’ve passed out. One second, you were staring down at the disembodied head of your savior, and the next, you were on the floor, lying limp and breathless as Nanami’s blood formed a puddle underneath you. Gojo was already at your side, hauling you up and against his chest. You felt his arms around you, then plush of your mattress against your back. You were aware, distantly, that he was straddling you, that his mouth was pressing into the dip of your shoulder, then the curve of your throat. “It’s alright,” he muttered, his voice partially muttered by his closeness. “Why don’t you come stay with me for a while, after this? I’ve got a room ready for you back at my place and everything.”

He didn’t wait for an answer. Straightening his back, he let his lips crash into yours – his kiss lingering and deep and filthy. By the time he pulled away, he’d drunk the air from your lungs and frozen the blood in your veins, leaving you as empty and as lifeless as one of his gifts.

You thought, idly, of the heart being reduced to viscera in your kitchen, and wondered if you should’ve held onto it for just a few minutes longer.

“I’ll be able to spoil you properly, once I’ve got you where you’re supposed to be.”

[moonchildstyles]

sin

y/n is an angel and harry is a demon whos taught her how much fun it can be to sin

wordcount: 7.8k+

—————

The first time (Y/N) floated down from the clouds, she had no idea what a Pocket was, let alone where to find one. That time felt so long ago with the way she could now navigate herself to her favorite Pocket without a second thought. The route had become one of familiarity, guiding butterflies flitting through her stomach the closer she made it with every step. 

Slipping out of sight of the main street, she counted thirteen paces down the quiet alleyway before finding the brick that needed just the right touch before it would show off the hidden doorway she needed. The brick was grainy and rough under her palm, her skin catching on the mortar as she pushed against it until it finally gave away underneath. Just like that, the seemingly solid wall opened up, revealing an entryway for her eyes only. 

(Y/N) felt giddy as she stepped inside, the doorway vanishing behind her when she crossed the threshold. She knew it was secure once more when there was a breeze that skated over her skin and fluffed through her wings, seemingly sealing her away from the rest of the world. In a way, it was, but there was still a waiting invitation to the one other person who knew about this Pocket—the one that had shown her the way in the first place.

Getting comfortable while she waited, (Y/N) was happy to see the place was untouched from her last visit. When she had first seen this Pocket, it was the closest thing she had ever seen to an interdimensional "bachelor pad". There hadn't been much of anything to see that first time, only the bones of someone’s presence though they were too busy to return much. She remembered it had felt stale as if it had been abandoned for years despite the unmade bed in the corner with messy sheets and tufted comforter. 

Harry had told her it was a place he barely used—it was one of the first Pockets he conjured on his own, and he'd since honed the craft into bringing something more extravagant to life. He still visited just to keep the curse fresh, but he otherwise only stayed there if it was necessary and no other options were available. 

His last resort had since become their hideaway. Special for just the two of them; another secret for them to share with one another. 

It had come a long way from when she had first visited with Harry on her tail, leaving behind the less than ideal bed set up, and vacant walls. (Y/N) had used all of her inspiration from seeing countless humans decorate their homes, turning the dreary Pocket into a cozy getaway. Heaven didn't necessarily allow for a lot of individualism when it came to living spaces, seeing as how everything was ordained to be pristine and creamy. Here, (Y/N) got to use as much color as she wanted—as long as it didn't spur any headaches for Harry, anyway. 

Now, there was an actual bed frame holding up a cushy mattress, the pillows feather soft and always cool to the touch. The bedding was a warm orangey color, playing off of the greens and pinks throughout the space. There were pictures—canvases full of paint Harry said he "found" through his travels—pinned to the walls, playing into the bright hues (Y/N) was toying with. A rug now sat in the middle of the room in the shape of a paint blob in a creamy green shade that made her think of Harry's eyes. The kitchen—though near unnecessary given their statuses—was given the same treatment as the rest of the studio-sized space. There were magnets covering the unused fridge, appliances and bowls of always fresh fruit sitting on the counter. A bouquet of flowers that never died were sitting on the bedside table, perfuming the air with a light fragrance that drew her in. Her favorite part was the mirror by the bed, ornate and carved with cherubs. 

Walking in felt like a breath of fresh air. As much as she loved being an angel—guiding humans in need, taking care of those who needed her touch, changing lives for the better—being here in this Pocket was the one thing she could see herself loving more.

It would be a little bit better if she wasn't alone, though. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, fluffy wings tucked against her back, she fixed her eyes on the doorless portal, waiting for the telltale creek and scrape of concrete that would signal Harry's arrival. This was the bad part of being chronically early, she thought, never being sure when the other would show up and keep her from being lonely. 

Lucky for her, it was only another handful of minutes before her ears picked up on the familiar sound of footsteps trailing over the pavement. Her breath caught when they stopped just outside where the Pocket's door was, a smile unfurling on her features when that first creek sounded through the room. She rose to her feet just in time to see the first uniform crack in the wall before the rest of the doorway came to be. 

Slipping inside, Harry didn't wait for the portal to shut behind him before he was crossing the room to meet her. 

"(Y/N)," he sighed, his grin toothy and completely with dimples, "Sorry I took so long." 

Wrapping his arms around her, (Y/N) melted into his embrace. His hands settled just below her fluffy wings, holding her close while she rested her cheek on his chest. 

"It's okay," she murmured, eyes fluttering to a close as she soaked in his warmth, "I'm happy you're here." 

Harry's response came in the form of a small kiss being dropped on the top of her head, the contact decidedly delicate as opposed to his nature. He'd told her before that she was the only one that could draw that side of him out—the docile side that had no alignment with chaos or sabotage. This side of him was just for her, he'd shared. 

Shifting his hands on her, his fingertips brushing her wings with a shudder shooting down (Y/N)'s spine, Harry repositioned until he had his hands cradling her cheeks as he tipped her head up to face him. His dark eyes shimmered green, taking in each of her features as if it were the first time again. 

"I've missed you," he crooned, "So much, darling. What have you been up to since the last time I saw you?" 

Despite there being no way for anyone, mortal or otherwise to overhear them, every word he spoke to her was uttered like a secret. Just for her. 

"I missed you," she smiled, unlooping her own arms to settle with her hands on his chest, "But, I've been okay. Just doing angel stuff." 

His lips quirked into a lopsided curve, his thumb brushing along the height of her cheekbone. "Always angel stuff with you. No breaks." 

"No breaks," she played along as if she wasn't currently in the middle of a break with him right now, where not even her creator could spot her if she tried, "What about you?" 

"Just the opposite of angel stuff," he teased, managing to bring a smile to her face despite knowing the reality of his joke. He had a certain way of putting it, describing his job, that made it not sound so bad when it came to (Y/N)'s sensibilities. (Truthfully, it could be because she just liked his voice. He could make anything sound heavenly). 

"Fun?" she smiled, letting him walk her back towards the bed. 

"Always," he hummed, escorting her backwards until her legs hit the edge. 

Tumbling back, a bubbling laugh left (Y/N)'s lips as she clung to Harry. He fell atop her, her thighs splitting to settle him between. Underneath, the mattress conformed to the shape of her wings, Harry's hands pressing into the planes of her back as if she wasn't close enough as is. 

Before the world had a chance to settle around her, Harry tipped his chin and pressed his lips to hers. Though she didn't have much to compare it to, (Y/N) had little doubt that there could ever be a better kisser out there than Harry. Her point was proven every time he sealed his mouth to hers, her top lip cradled between his two. 

This was never going to get old, she knew. Not with the bubbling that ignited under her skin at the contact, the way there was nothing more she wanted than to cling to him and bask in his warmth. With every angling and tipping of their heads, movements made in tandem, she was drawn deeper and deeper in everything that was him. Tucked underneath him like this, mouth coming together and parting with soft breaths between, it was hard to think that the universe had crafted them to be enemies. 

Tracing his mouth down from hers, dotting a line over her jaw, Harry murmured in her ear, "I don't have much time, darling." 

"No?" she asked, a pout evident in just the single syllable, "Why not?" 

Harry drew back only to give her an apologetic smile. "Opposite of angel stuff, remember?" 

"Since when does that have a schedule?" She sounded petulant even to her own ears, but if there was one sin she was willing to commit, it was greed when it came to Harry. 

"Since I told Sarah I would meet up with her soon," Harry offered the challenge with a raised brow. Sarah wasn't like the others of his kind, she was more stubborn and would actually go looking for him if he stood her up, if only to wreak havoc for him personally as revenge. 

"To do not-angel stuff that I'll have to clean up later?" she pressed, feeling her attitude leak away now that she knew her time was limited with him. 

His smile was brilliant at her words, wide with bracketing dimples. "Of course. That's why we work so well, darling." 

It was that kind of language, the sweet one that made even demon activities sound silly, that had her splitting into a smile before tipping her chin in hopes of coaxing him into a kiss. It didn't take much convincing for Harry's lips to press into hers, resuming the lingering kissing he'd interrupted before. 

On her back, Harry shifted his hands until he grazed the stem of her wings. The second his fingertips glanced against the base of one fluffy, tightly packed feather, a shudder wormed down her spine. Her breathing stuttered in her chest, a furrow pinching at her brow. From the way he had to keep from smiling against her mouth, she knew he was aware of the effect of his touch—undoubtedly intentional. 

It was the easiest way to get her riled up, and that was exactly what he needed for their time limit. 

Just as he'd surely hoped, there was a change in the pacing of their kissing. (Y/N) leaned into his touch, anticipating another lingering touch against her wings. Her hands slid over his chest, fingers denting the blocky muscles that made up his body, landing on the shelf of his shoulders. Her fingertips hooked into the solid muscle, clinging to him. 

Her heartbeat stutters behind her ribs when she felt his hands shifting on her back. This time, he dared to run his fingers through the feathers, the structure underneath down was grazed by his warm touch. An involuntary moan slipped from her mouth and into his.

Instead of something smug crossing his features, Harry only kissed her harder. His mouth was hot, taking in her sudden pants from his touch. 

"Harry?" she murmured, breathless against his mouth. He didn't bother drawing away from her as he hummed, the pillows of his lips dragging over hers. "Do we have enough time?" 

This finally had his lips quirking. He nodded his head gently, the tip of his nose grazing her own. "I'll make time."

When she felt his hands drift away from her wings, she wanted to complain. She wanted to whine enough for him to know she didn't like that he was moving on, but that need was quieted when she felt his palm settle on the plush of her thigh. His touch was heavy and warm, denting into the soft skin while the other hooked around her waist in a cradle. 

In one fluid motion, he had her on her back with her mouth dropped open in a gasp. Instinctively, she had tightened her grip on him, her legs wrapping around his waist during the roll. By the time Harry was underneath her, her surprise had morphed into laughter, her chest pressed to his as she slumped into him. 

"You scared me," she bubbled, shifting in his lap with her knees bracketing his hips. 

"Sorry, darling," he murmured with a soft smile, the pitch of his pupils blown wide as he took her in. 

Steadying her, he settled his hand on her hips as she planted her hands on his chest to prop herself up above him. She could feel her wings fluff out behind her, no longer confined against the mattress. Harry's eyes followed the span of her feathers, the stretch reaching just slightly wider than her shoulders. He'd told her more than once how cute he thought her wings were—he'd never seen any quite as fluffy as hers, especially compared to his own. 

He looked up at her with reverence in his gaze, something adoring and smothering dancing in his irises as he watched her from below. She felt warm under his eyes, her fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt to keep herself from preening like a dove under his attention.

His adoring gaze translated into his soft hands trailing over the curve of her form, his palms warming the ladder of his ribs with his thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts. Even through her dress, his touch elicited a round of gooseflesh to prickle her skin. Her breath lagged in her lungs. 

Though time hadn't ever felt like much for (Y/N), seeing as she was immortal, Harry had made her impatient. It'd been a handful of days since the last time they had snuck off to their Pocket, but those days had felt like years to her body without his touch. 

The trail of his gaze almost felt tangible, warm and heavy, the longer he watched her. 

"What?" she asked, feeling breathless when he ran his thumbs against the swells of her chest. 

He didn't bother to pull his eyes from where they lingered on her body, especially liking the way her thighs were split around his hips under the hem of her dress. "Nothing," he mumbled, shaking his head against the pillows cushioned underneath, "Jus' haven't had y'on top in a while. I like it." 

She had thought before that greed was the only sin he could inspire in her, but lust was quickly overtaking the top spot. He was right; she didn't usually get a chance to look at him like this. While she loved lying underneath him, at his mercy while he drove himself home between her legs, there was something to be said about the perspective she gained while sitting astride his lap like this. 

His hair laid in soft waves against the linen of this pillows, curling towards his face as if a frame for a portrait. His lashes were long and dark, framing his eyes and drawing his prey in at a glance. There was a spray of freckles glancing off the bridge of his nose, faint against the cream of his skin. Though his eyes were dark, there were shatters of green that could be seen if one were close enough to spot the hues. His body was made of strong lines and angles, his jaw, much of the same despite the soft skin of his lips and the gentle way he admired her. 

He was the perfect demon—the perfect temptation. If not for the fact she knew what was hidden away, she would have argued he was an angel like her. 

"I like it, too," she told him, breathless, "I like it when you look at me like that." 

"Yeah?" he prodded, tucking his bottom lip between his teeth when he finally matched her gaze. His hands on her sides drifted down until he met the hem of her dress, taking the delicate material between his fingers. "Can I see more of you then, darling? Promise I'll keep looking at you like this."

Biting back her smile, she drew her hands away from his chest to grab for the hem of her dress. Moving his own hands back, he watched as she pulled her dress over her head, wings tucked against her back with the material drifting over her feathers. The familiar butterflies that came with revealing her body in a way she had never anticipated she would in her angel life flittered through her stomach. Their fluorescent wings flew high enough to glance over the chambers of her heart, feeling just as real as the warmth of his eyes draping over her newly exposed skin. Between Harry's legs, she felt a ridge thicken, pressing into her core with every drawing breath she pulled into her lungs. 

Throwing her dress to the floor, her form was left with only a dainty pair of underwear sitting on her hips and a matching bra barely covering her breasts. 

Harry's dark eyes seemingly left behind the slight hue of green, instead revealing only pitch black irises that blended seamlessly into his pupils. If any more of his control slipped, the whole of his eyes would match the inky darkness—a sight (Y/N) used to fear that now had her blood pumping. 

He couldn't help himself before he had his hands on her once more. His touch was adoring, lingering and warm. 

"Y'planned for this didn't you?" he mused, raising a brow when he met her eyes. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, canting her head with her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.

"You know," he drawled, his hips shifting underneath her own with a cursory roll, "I thought y'were an angel, and here y'are dressing in lingerie to seduce a demon. How'd y'even get into heaven, hm?" 

The way he spoke to her was thrilling in a way that could rival his touch; he made her feel dirty, questioning how someone like the girl in his lap could have snuck into heaven, while touching and looking at her with reverence she could only keen under. 

"I thought you liked it when I did this," she countered, her lips tugging into a faux-frown. 

"Oh, I do, darling. Can't you tell?" 

With that, the slow roll he'd given with his hips morphed into a strong buck against her hips. The ridge she'd felt before was now a bulge, heavy and pushing. Her wings fluttered recalling the last time he had stuffed himself inside her, her legs thrown over his shoulders and tears in her eyes. 

The memory had her shifting her hips against his, rolling her core over the bulge she felt in his lap. Harry's breath hitched just as a petite moan hummed from her chest. His hands on her waist tightened, fingertips denting the soft flesh. 

"Do that again for me, darling," Harry murmured, his voice a low rumble as if it were a secret only to be shared with her, "Put on a pretty show for me." 

Planting her hands on his abdomen, feeling the blocks of muscle underneath his shirt, she steadied herself on him as she began rolling her hips against his once more. The rough texture of his jeans could be felt through her thin panties, both his thickening cock and the seaming of his pants pressing into her clit. Her knees planted on either side of his hips were digging into the mattress, spreading that much wider the more she rocked against him to sink herself onto him that much more. Her wings fluttered behind her, her feathers fanning in a short fluff at her back. 

Under her hands, Harry's stomach was tense, muscles densely bunched together. She glanced up at him to find him watching her with hooded eyes, his gaze feeling just as heavy and tangible as his hands on her waist. The sight had her grinding her hips that much harder against his cock, a shiver thrilling up her spine until a breathless moan fell from her lips. 

"I could watch you all day, darling," Harry mused, his voice rumbling under her hands as much as it reached her ears, "But, we don't have that kind of time, do we?" 

"No," she answered automatically, a whine to her voice as she shook her head. She didn't really feel like thinking about how quickly their time would be cut short. 

His hands on her waist slid down until he reached her hips, his grip solidifying until he had her stopped in her tracks. Her fingers curled in the material of his shirt, her bottom lip sinking under the weight of her teeth. 

"Get me out, darling."

Maybe it was the deep rumble of his voice, or the steadfast contact of his eyes with hers, but (Y/N) could have melted in that moment. Her lungs squeezed with her heart rattling behind her ribs. It was only when a smug smile tugged at the corner of his mouth that she realized she had lingered too long admiring him. 

Unfurling her hands from his top, she fumbled at the waist of his pants. Every shifting of her hips against his lap had her in a daze, making it that much harder to concentrate on following his instructions—something he was well aware of with the way he had his own pelvis rocking upwards as if he didn't know what he was doing. 

Pulling down his jeans enough to expose his black briefs, (Y/N) could have breathed a sigh of relief when she was able to hook her fingers in the waist of his underwear. A spray of goosebumps touched at his skin, his cock visibly jumping when she reached for his cock. 

His skin was heated, shaft thick with his head leaking by the time she had her fist wrapped around him. Shoving his briefs down enough to pull him out, (Y/N) had her attention stolen and pinned to his cock. The head was leaking and red, a pearl of precum glossing from his slit. She instinctively wrapped her hadn't around his shaft, feeling the ridge of his head under her palm and the pumping of the vining vein wrapped around. A heavy breath shuddered through his chest at the touch. (Y/N) couldn't keep her eyes off of him, lusty adrenaline sparking through her system at the thought that he was in this state because of her. 

"You're so cute, darling," Harry said, breathless as he drew her out of her head. 

"Huh?" she murmured, tearing her eyes away from his ruddy cock and the shallow pumps she made around his shaft. 

If he'd had an answer at the ready, he'd cut himself off as he sank into the mattress with a sigh. The pristine pillow compressed under his head when he threw it back in the preludes of ecstasy. 

"Jus' you," he murmured, recovering with his eyes only opening to a slit, "'S always like the first time with, isn't it? Y'always look at me like you've never seen me before—'s cute."

She felt shy all of a sudden, as if she didn't have his cock in her hand. Her wings tucked to her shoulder blades, cocooning her together as if they could shrink and hide her. 

"I like you," she told him, "That's all." 

"Yeah?" he pressed smugly, his cheeks beginning to flush as (Y/N) just laid her hand on him without offering the relief of her fist, "Jus' like me?" 

A bashful tug had her lips curling into a small smile. "I love you." 

"That's what I thought." 

With that, one of his hands on her waist abandoned post only to land on the back of her neck. His palm was a cuff around the warm skin as he curled upwards and tugged her down in the same sweep. His lips met hers in a warm press, his tongue snaking out with the tip dragging along the full of her bottom lip. She didn't have to think before she was opening up for him, running her own tongue across his to get a taste. 

It was (Y/N)'s turn then to get a taste of his pleasure, a moan spilling from his throat and settling on her tongue. Her hand around his cock tightened, the grip snug and clinging. The longer he played with her, his hand tight on the back of her neck as if in fear she would pull away before he was ready, the seat of her panties grew that much more wet. Her toes curled in the bedding at his sides, her free hand pawing at his chest in the lone need to feel him. 

Drawing away just enough to speak, (Y/N)'s lips brushed against his own as she whispered, "I-I want to see you, Harry." 

"'M here, darling," he answered her simply before attempting to dive back in for more. 

"No," she practically pouted, puckering her lips for one more kiss before pleading again, "No, I want more—it's not fair if I'm the only one without my clothes on" 

She could feel him smile into her mouth, his hand offering an affectionate squeeze to the back of her neck before he pulled away. 

"When have I ever been fair, darling?" he prodded, giving her a raised brow as if he wasn't going to give into each and every single one of her demands. 

"You are with me," she countered with a cant to her head.

Something softened in his expression then, as if she didn't have her hand wrapped around his cock. "I suppose I am, aren't I?" 

Peeling his shirt off, the material becoming a black puddle on the bed behind her to reveal the tan skin and inked marks covering his musculature. 

(Y/N) had heard time and time again throughout her existence how demons could never be trusted, that they were a creation that an angel like her shouldn't taint themselves by even breathing next to. She had been told they were slimy skinned, rows of teeth stuffed in their mouths, with eyes that could pull you straight to hell if you looked into them long enough. 

Looking at Harry the way he was now beneath her, she could see why her ancestors would craft such tales; if she had known there were creatures out there that looked the way Harry did, she would have tried to find him the first time she floated from the clouds. 

She couldn't help the way her hands drifted up his chest. Her fingers skimmed over his chest, dancing over the butterfly inked on his stomach and he birds up high by his collarbones. There was a flight layer of goosebumps that rose in her wake. 

A breathy laugh that fell from his lips brought her attention back to the surface, pulling her gaze to flick up and match his. Amusement floated in his irises, a slight smile on his raspberry lips. 

"You're cute," he told her simply. 

"I'm not trying to be cute," she answered, a stubborn set to her jaw. 

That only seemed to amuse him more, a dimple now denting his cheek as his smile grew. "Right," he drawled, "As much as I love letting y'touch all over me, I don't think we have enough time left for y'to have too much fun." 

The reminder was enough to have her mouth fixing into a pout. That wasn't what she wanted to hear.

"Oh, yeah," she answered sullenly, stilling her hands on his shoulders with her body leant over his. 

"I know," he said, craning his neck to press a small kiss to the corner of her mouth in a lingerie draw, "Next time we're here, we'll spend all night together. I promise."

A dreamy sigh fanned from her lungs at the thought, her eyes falling closed. It'd been a while since they had been able to spend a whole night in the Pocket together—the last time had left her in love and flying wonky the next day. 

She could hear the smile in his voice when he pressed, "Sound good, darling?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, "I want that now." 

"I know y'do," he murmured, "You'll jus' have to settle for me fucking y'fast, then." 

He said it like it was a punishment, as if her heart wasn't in her throat with adrenaline when he flipped her over once more. She was flat on her back, wings cushioned against the mattress when he sunk in between her spread thighs once more. Now, she could feel the weight of the muscles she had grazed her hands over, the width of his form she had been grinding against. 

The movement had stolen her breath, leaving her chest heaving as he looked down at her. The intensity was back once more, keeping his irises dark as he glazed his eyes over each and every line of her body. He lingered on the line of her bra, surely pinpointing where her rattling heart was scheduled by her ribs. 

"What do y'need from me, darling?" Harry mumbled, the blunt of his nails grazing the soft skin of her stomach as he dragged his hands towards the waist of her panties. 

Speaking through her shudder, she shook her head, "No-Nothing—I want you." 

Harry looked entirely too smug, the curl on his lips one she recognized even as far back as the first time they met. Back then, she couldn't stand the sight—unsure of how a demon could be proud of anything they did. Now, it was one of her favorite things, knowing she had made him feel proud of himself (at least she liked to think of it that way). 

"Y'can have me, darling," he assured her, one of his hands dripping from the waist of her underwear and down between her legs, "But, are y'wet enough for me, or do y'need some help?" 

His thumb grazed her clit, her body jumping at the slight touch. She could feel her insides pulsing, grasping for something that wasn't there yet. 

"I-I don't need help," she stuttered, pushing her hips against his hand in impatience, "Harry, please. I don't want you to leave before we're done." 

A pinch appeared between his brows then as he hooked his fingers into the gusset of her underwear, pulling the material to the side. "I would never leave y'like that, you know that. I'll always take care of m'angel."

As if to prove his point, she watched as he fisted his cock and ran the head along her folds. The air had been seemingly sucked out of the room at that moment, leaving her with a shuddering breath leaving her lungs and eyes fighting to close. She could feel his heavy gaze watching her as he nudged his cock against her pulsing opening, a small tease before he pulled back to slide through her folds once more. 

"Y'sure you're ready for me?" he teased, drawing out his words for just a second longer of the torture. 

"Harry, please," she told him, sounding a bit pathetic to her own ears though there was no guilt in the act. "I need you." 

He loved it when she pleaded with him like that. On longer nights, he would have pressed for more, taken any and every bit of begging she could offer, but she was sure the time limit was in the back of his mind when he didn't continue teasing. 

With a fluid push of his hips, he sunk in between her hips. (Y/N)'s lips fell open at the stretch, a moan getting stuck in her throat to leave nothing more than a heavy puff of air falling from her mouth. Harry's gaze was concentrated on where they were connected, his length disappearing inside her. His hand stretching back her panties let go when he bottomed out, his base pressing into her budding clit. 

His chest was heaving when he finally looked up at her once more. She could see the boundary of his irises beginning to waver, the black bleeding into the sclera. He was losing control in the most thrilling sense, the idea causing her walls to pulse around his splitting length. 

"'S been too long, darling," he told her, voice a low rumble. 

"Uh-huh," she sounded, giving a pathetic nod of her head with her hands fisting the bedding at her sides. She wanted so badly to reach for him, feel his skin under her palms, but feared flying away if she let go before she had her head on straight. 

"Never gonna wait this long again, 'kay?" Rearing back his hips, he grunted when he pushed through her channel once more. 

A puff of air left (Y/N)'s lungs once his hips pressed against hers in a slap, as if he had knocked it right out of her. Settling his hands on the bones of her hips, his thumbs stretched up towards the curve of her waist in a gentle sweeping that opposed the strength of his grip. He held her steady as he curated a fluid pace, knocking the breath out of her each time he sank inside her. 

(Y/N)'s breathing came in puffs every time she felt his tip nudge deep inside her, her body being pushed further and further into the mattress. Without his hands on her body keeping her place, she would have hit her head on the headboard by now, she figured, the thought being one that would have made her laugh if not for the fact that she was in the middle of something. 

"You're so tight," he gritted out, his voice deep and rumbling through his chest, "Thought y'said y'were ready for me." 

"I am, I am," she rushed out, pausing when he gave her a particularly punishing thrust, "I-Its been too long, re-rememeber?" 

His hands squeezed her hips that much more at her words. "I know, darling. Gonna have to make this one last then. Can't stretch y'out every time we fuck, can we?" 

Mindlessly, she shook her head, willing to agree with any and everything he was saying at the moment. She wouldn't mind him taking the time to stretch her out every time he pulled her to bed, but now wasn't the time to get greedy—she already had his cock rearranging her organs, there wasn't much more she could pine for, was there?

Except for maybe touching him herself. 

Not wanting to distract him from his job, (Y/N) unfurled her fingers from the sheets at her sides, reaching towards the thick of his arms. Her fingernails sunk into the skin, leaving small moon shapes that would no doubt still be pink by the time he was having to slip out and meet his friend. She liked the idea, her fingers clenching that much more, that a part of her would remain with him even when they couldn't be together. 

Harry was seemingly spurred on by the touch, hips knocking into hers in heady strokes. She was going to have bruises tomorrow, but she didn't care. Her mouth dropped open, small uh's leaving her parted lips in time with every push of his hips. 

"Harry, I-I," she started, her voice catching in her throat before she could say much more. 

"'M right here, darling, 's alright," he attempted to soothe her though his voice was strained and breathy with every thrust he sunk inside her. 

Her mouth was dry by the time she found her voice again, her eyes fluttering to a close. "I—Can—I want to touch—" 

That was all she managed to get out before a bubbling moan fell from her lips when he dared to grind against her once bottoming out. Through her taut underwear, he pressed against her clit, her body jumping at the touch.

"But you are touching me," he drawled, bringing her back down as he pulled his hips back. 

She knew he was only trying to goad her, get her stubborn and petulant in the way that always made him laugh, but she didn't care. It was going to work, but she would leave her scolding for later. 

"You know what I mean, Harry" she argued, peeling her eyes open to find him looking at her with that smug smile as if he wasn't exerting all of his energy into stealing her breath away. "You're being so mean to me!" 

"I'm being mean to you?" he repeated, the rhythm of his hips slowing just a hair when he brought the intensity of his gaze to match hers. "You really think that right now, darling?" 

"Yes, I do," she whined, now upset by the fact he was slowing down and not letting her touch him. She wrapped her legs around his hips from where he was knelt between her thighs in hopes of spurring him on, feeling the ridge of his length pressing through. 

One of his hands on her hips slid up her body, skating over her tummy and between her breasts until he landed on her neck. His palm laid flat on her collarbones with his fingers wrapping around her throat, a slight pressure. His hips worked in shallow thrusts, barely pulling his length out before he was pushing in once more. 

"Are you sure?" he pressed, a slight pressure closing in on the side of her throat as he squeezed that much more, "If this isn't enough for you, I can show y'how mean I can really be." 

(Y/N) felt her eyes round out as she gazed up at him, her heart stuttering in her chest. Time seemingly stood still in that moment, every detail melting away to leave only Harry in focus. 

"Oh my god," she murmured, her voice squeaking through her throat.

A slow smile tugged up the corner of Harry's lips. "No god, darling. Jus' me." 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to buck her hips against his, urging him for more. She could feel her walls fluttering around him, her wings at her back struggling against the mattress with their own restless energy begging to fluff out. 

Harry kept his hand as an anchoring weight on her throat as he dropped back into the rhythm of his hips, tightening in pulsing squeezes just long enough to have her eyes rolling to the back of her head before lightening up once more. His own control—despite the facade he was offering to (Y/N)—began to waver that much more. His eyes were almost completely black, the inky veins snaking out to envelope the sclera with every punishing thrust. The moment (Y/N) was back on Earth, peeling her eyes open enough, she swore she saw glimpses of his glamor fading, revealing the large black wings shrouding his back. 

He was close, that much she was sure of. 

"A-are you going to cum?" she asked, voice rumbling under his hand.

Shaking his head, he sunk his teeth into his bottom lip. "Not until you, darling. Angels first." 

"But, I can see your wings." 

His breathing came in pants. "I know, but you're still finishing first, darling." 

Taking his hand off her neck, the ghost of his warmth left behind, Harry wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her off the bed. Repositioning himself, he knelt on the mattress as he dragged her into his lap. His cock was snug inside her when she settled over his thighs, feeling just that much deeper with the new angle. 

Wasting no time, he had his hands stationed on her hips once more, setting a pace for her to bounce on his cock. 

"Think y'can fuck yourself like this, darling? Do all the hard work for me?" he murmured, dragging his lips over the same parts of her neck where he had choked her moments before.

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," she answered, a mindless reflex as he concentrated on matching his grip. 

Using the leverage of her knees on either side of him, she lifted herself off his cock, allowing his head to stretch through her pulsing walls, before sitting herself back down in a smack of her skin against his. It was a relief to put her hands on him, feeling every inch she could reach. Her palms skimmed over the broad of his shoulders, planes of his back, and the thick of his arms all with her nails following closely behind.

Harry did much of the same, trailing up the curve of her spine until he found the base of her wings. (Y/N) couldn't help but to keen into his touch, back arching through it took everything in her to keep from getting distracted and keep riding him like he had asked. 

The first graze of his fingers over her feathers was enough to get her stomach tightening, and mouth dropping into a moan. She could feel him smiling against her neck, too proud over her reaction. 

"Always so cute, even when y'don't mean to be, you know that?" he murmured, dotting a kiss just below her ear, "All I've got to do is touch your feathers, and you're done for." 

She wanted to say something, tell him that it wasn't that easy, but there was nothing that would escape her lips other than puffs of heavy breath and whining moans.  

Rocking his hips up to meet hers, that much more pleasure settled in her stomach. As much as she wanted to argue with him that she wasn't that easy to make cum, there was some truth behind the fact that she was flying towards the finish line with every brush of his fingers and rock of his hips. 

"I can feel y'squeezing me, darling," he murmured, dragging his mouth over the line of her jaw in a lingering kiss, "Y'gonna cum for me? Did I finally work hard enough for you?" 

Despite the fact he'd asked her a question, there was no way he had been expecting an answer with the way he wiggled his fingertips through the brush of her feathers and coasted along the bony structure underneath. He knew she wouldn't be able to survive that, a long moan choking out from her throat with her stomach too tight to bear. 

(Y/N) tried to keep her pacing as best she could—something she couldn't believe Harry was able to do all the time—, but the rhythm was undoubtedly interrupted as she came around him. She could feel every inch of him as her insides pulsed around him, taking in the ridge of his head and the length that had split her open in the first place. His base was pressed heavily against her clit, rivaling the pressure of his fingers dancing through her feathers. 

She wanted to be present but the heavens called to her then, the Pocket left behind for a few lingering moments. By the time she was floating back down to Earth, Harry's hands settling on her hips as he lifted her off his cock, the sight before her was enough to get her back to square one, wishing they more time. 

Harry's eyes were now completely pitch black, no more white sclera or shatters of green to be seen. His glamour had faded away, leaving the leather stretch of his wings visible, the span much larger than her own as they fanned out around them. The webbing cocooned around them, creating a curtain around her body as if there wasn't enough of him touching her already. 

His cock shone in the low light between them, her slick coating him as he fisted the length. It only took a few passes of his hand before his cum blurted out in thick ropes across her stomach. 

"Fuck—(Y/N)—I—" Nothing of coherence fell from his lips then, every bit of concentration laid to rest as he watched himself cum on an angel. 

A furrow had his brows pinched together, his eyes hooded and dark. His mouth was stagnant in a gape once he stopped trying to speak. 

It wasn't until the remaining spurts of his cum rolled down his shaft and his ruddy head was seemingly beginning to stain purple that he pulled his shaky hands away. Using his wings as well as his hands, he hugged (Y/N) to his chest with his softening cock between them. Even with the mess that was beginning to dry on her stomach, he held her tight, pressing hard kisses to her temple and side of her face until he met her lips. 

"Y'okay?" he panted to her, the tip of his nose nudging against her own. 

"I'm okay," she murmured, wrapping her own arms around his neck. 

"Happy?" he asked, just the same as he always did in these quiet moments after the storm. 

A small smile stretched over her lips. "Happy." 

Gently laying her backwards, Harry kept himself glued to her, wings and all, as they settled among the sheets. Despite the fact he had no discernible pupil, she could feel his gaze traveling over her features and taking her in as he always did. She felt bashful under his eyes, her own wings shyly tucking into her back. 

"What is it, darling?" he asked, sweeping a few stray hairs from her face. 

"Nothing, just... You." 

"Just me?" he countered, reaching blindly for his discarded shirt he'd tossed earlier. 

"Just you," she repeated with a breathy laugh, allowing him to wipe his mess away with his shirt. (How he had the courage to clean her up with it knowing that he'd have to wear it out to meet his friend later, she wasn't sure). "How long can you stay?" 

Harry's features took on a somber set at her words, just the same as she felt. "Not long, darling. Jus' long enough to make sure y'get to sleep, then I'll have to leave." 

"What if I don't fall asleep?" 

The smile he gave her told her that he was very familiar with the game she was beginning to play with him. 

"Guess I'll have to stay." 

Despite the black eyes and leathery bat wings sprouting from his back, the sweet smile and boyish dimples in Harry's cheeks could rival that of any angel in (Y/N)'s opinion. 

That was why they worked, she thought as she snuggled closer to him: she brought out the angel in him and he showed her just how fun sinning could be.

—————

ahhhh I guess this is my little contribution to the valentines day vibe this year! thank u sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas send them in!! I also have more writing available on my patreon if you want more :)

[niki-phoria]

THERE'LL BE NO MORE SORROW / I'LL SEE YOU THERE TOMORROW

pairing: fushiguro megumi x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: hurt comfort word count: 781

notes: very (possibly ooc) megumi heavy, not proofread, mentions of blood/injuries, set immediately after shibuya arc, spoilers for jjk s2 lol, title from txt - i’ll see you there tomorrow

the makeshift hospital in jujutsu high smells like artificial lemons and bleach. the lights above are blindingly bright as FUSHIGURO MEGUMI squints up at the ceiling, patiently awaiting shoko’s return. there’s a dull ache somewhere in his shoulder and his vision is still a little hazy, but his injuries are otherwise superficial. 

unfortunately, the same cannot be said for yours.

megumi bites his tongue. crying will do nothing to help you, but it’s so hard not to. he curls his trembling hands into fists, tightly holding the blue blanket covering most of his body in his grip. his sadness and worry has slowly begun turning to anger. anger towards the higher-ups who sent two teenagers into shibuya with no preparation. anger towards the curse who hurt you so carelessly - leaving your body bloody and broken and bruised. anger towards himself for not being there. not being fast enough. not being strong enough. 

swallowing the lump forming in his throat, megumi stares up at the chipped paint coating the ceiling. it’s a light beige - a colour that reminds him of nanami’s signature suit. nanami. the tears in his eyes slip down his cheeks.

megumi pulls his knees up to his chest, curling his body in on itself. he lets his eyes flutter closed once again, focusing on the slow and steady inhale and exhale of his breathing. 

time passes. hours, maybe? megumi jumps when the door swings open; the once silent room now filled with the familiar clacking of shoko’s heels against the floor. “fushiguro,” shoko’s voice is cold as she enters the room. her piercing glare meets megumi’s gaze, making the boy lower his shoulders slightly in defeat. “i thought i told you to be more careful.”

“i’m sorry.” her concern isn’t unfounded, but it does little to soothe megumi’s worries. 

shoko notices, and sighs. she steps forward to rest a hand against the wooden bed frame. “your injuries weren’t that severe. i’m giving you a few days to rest, and then you’ll be ready to return to your missions.” she pauses. megumi looks up at her expectantly. “y/n is in the room next to yours. they haven’t woken up yet, but their condition is stable. you can go see them whenever you’d like.”

he swallows the lump in his throat. the tension in his shoulders falters, but only slightly. her sharp gaze lingers on the bandage wrapped tightly around megumi’s head longer than necessary. he shifts uncomfortably under her gaze; his hands play with a loose thread on the blanket. shoko’s fingertips nonchalantly flip through the papers with surgical precision. it’s not like there’s any need to keep a record of his injuries, anyway.

“thank you, ieiri-san,“ megumi murmurs. shoko purses her lips. whatever words she wants to say thankfully remain left in her throat. her heels clink against the cold, tile floor as she turns to exit the room, finally leaving megumi alone in the silence once again.

megumi stares at the wall for too long. time passes without him noticing. he waits until his legs ache from the stillness and his eyes burn. the world around him has fallen into silence once again. finally, he stands up on shaky knees, carefully making his way towards your hospital room. 

you’re exactly where shoko said you would be - in the state she said you would be in. megumi notices the bandages wrapped around your arms and the bruises littering your skin in patches. his breath hitches in his throat. 

your room is colder than his was. or, maybe it’s his imagination? megumi isn’t sure. he moves in a daze as he sits down beside your bedside, watching the steady rise and fall of your chest. 

megumi leans his head against his hands, sending prayers to gods he isn’t sure he even believes in. he waits for what feels like hours, until-

“megumi?” your voice is quiet and cracks, but it’s yours. you blink a few times, squinting up at him. he stares at you in shock; wide eyes bore into your own before he’s scrambling, throwing his arms around your body and pulling you against his chest. you wince slightly but return the hug nonetheless, wrapping your own arms around his shoulders. 

“megumi,” you repeat, breathless.

“i’m here,” he whispers. his voice is muffled against the fabric of your shirt. tears sting against your skin as they roll down his cheeks in waves, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. 

megumi pulls away just enough to look at your face; his teary eyes and flushed cheeks match your own. despite himself, he smiles, leaning in to press a chaste kiss against your cheek. “i’m here.”

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vamxpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho

if you liked this fic, please consider leaving a like, comment, feedback, or rebloging !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[atomicladytimetravel]

Quiet Type

Summary: Joel Miller doesn’t really care for small talk and he finally meets someone who respects that. Slow burn romance and PWP. Jackson era Joel, no mention of Ellie. Cannon game places mentioned but it’s HBO Joel.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. MDNI. Smut. Oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v, light choking, pet names, some rough sex. Joel is really sweet.

I’m actually really proud of this one, I hope you guys like it!

Word count: 5,444

Joel Miller doesn’t really like people. With the exception of his brother Tommy and his wife Maria, Joel keeps to himself. He does his patrol, eats his meals (mostly alone) at the Tipsy Bison and goes home to his empty house. He likes it this way - or at least he likes to think he does.

Everything starts to change when you show up in Jackson. You were wounded, on the run from a group of raiders that ransacked your camp and took out half your group. The surviving half got split up as you fled the area, just trying to get out alive. You had run straight into Jackson’s patrol unit, hands in the air and begging for help.

“Stay right there, do not come any closer.”

It had come from who you would later find out to be Tommy Miller. You stopped where you were and plead your case with the group of people that had their guns trained on you.

“Please, I’m not sick. Just wounded. Raiders attacked my camp and I lost my group.”

Tommy instructed the dog at his side to sniff and you stood as still as possible as it circled you, smelling for signs of the cordycep infection. The dog returned to Tommy’s side, having found no trace of the illness.

“She’s fine, lower your guns.”

Your wound was nothing too serious; you had been grazed in the shoulder as you fled the camp, but you escaped otherwise unscathed. After a quick recovery, Tommy and Maria asked if you’d be willing to take patrol shifts. This is where you would meet Joel Miller for the first time.

After getting up at the ass crack of dawn, you get dressed and sling a pack with food and water over your shoulder. You meet Tommy at the stables and you see him talking with another man. He’s a little older, his hair a little more silver, but you can see a family resemblance - a brother, maybe a first cousin. You can’t deny that he’s ruggedly handsome, the kind of guy you would probably go for under different circumstances. He doesn’t look nearly as relaxed as Tommy.

“Ah, here she comes,” Tommy says as you approach the two. “This is my brother, Joel. He’ll be your patrol partner today.”

Joel nods in your direction, but says nothing. You’re pretty decent at reading people and, judging by Joel’s stiff body language and silent greeting, he’s not a people person. You nod in return, figuring that actually speaking would be a waste of time anyway. Tommy shows you which horse to take (his name is Toast) and you’re already up on the saddle when he turns to ask if you know how to ride.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“I took lessons before the world went to shit.”

After making sure you know the rules, Tommy leaves you and Joel to it. You let Joel take the lead and the two of you ride out of Jackson silently. As a matter of fact, you do everything silently, save for when Joel is barking instructions at you. When you return, Tommy asks Joel how you did when he thinks you’re out of earshot.

“Fine,” Joel replies. “She didn’t get us killed and she doesn’t talk my fuckin’ ear off.”

Tommy laughs and claps his brother on the back. The corner of your lip twitches upward into a half smile as you walk away from the barn and to your house.

You end up being on patrol with Joel more often than not. You suspect it’s because you leave him alone and speak to him only when necessary. You don’t seek him out when off duty and if you do happen to see him, a curt nod is the most that’s ever exchanged. He likes it this way - or at least he likes to think he does.

——————

Joel might be a quiet man, but he is still a man with (mostly) working eyes. He takes notice of your shape, the way your ass moves when you walk and the way your smile lights up whatever room you’re in. He never gets to see that smile unless he happens to see you talking to other people. He likes to see you smile and, even though he would rather die than admit this to himself or anyone else, he wishes you would smile at him. Sometimes he wonders why you talk to everyone but him, but then he reminds himself that he doesn’t care because he likes it this way.

One morning, after a couple of months of silent patrols and nodded greetings, Joel actually speaks to you when you enter the stables.

“Hey,” he grunts, and that’s all he says. But it’s one word more than what’s usually spoken.

“Hey,” you reply, making brief eye contact. You’re a little surprised, but you don’t let him see. Much like a stray dog you might try to coax into letting you pet it, you don’t want to scare him off by getting too close too soon. Eventually, “hey” evolves into “mornin’”, but nothing past the initial greeting is ever said. You don’t push him, figuring if he ever wants to talk, he’ll say something.

One day, he does. His voice makes you jump just a little, not expecting him to be speaking in the moment. You’re walking through the Mountain View ski lodge and you’ve gotten to the point on patrol where Joel doesn’t need to instruct you anymore.

“You’re, uh…pretty quiet, huh?”

“Sorry?” You’re a little caught off guard by the question.

“You don’t talk much,” he clarifies. Your eyebrows knit together in a confused expression.

“That’s because you don’t seem like the kind of guy that likes to talk,” you shrug.

“I don’t.”

“Alright then. If you’re not interested in talking, I’m not gonna force you to Joel.”

That’s the first time you’ve ever said his name out loud in front of him. He curses himself mentally because he likes the way it sounds coming out of your mouth. He just looks at you, his turn to wear the confused expression. He’s not exactly used to people actually picking up on the fact that he doesn’t care for small talk.

“I’m pretty good at reading people,” you explain. “Your body language screams ‘leave me alone’. So I leave you alone.”

“Hmph…wish other people could pick up on that.”

You let out a short laugh through your nose, and that is the end of the first conversation you ever have with Joel Miller.

——————

One night, you find yourself dreaming of him. In the dream, you’re patrolling the ski lodge. Once you’ve cleared the place and there are no signs of danger, Joel holsters his gun and turns to you.

“C’mere,” he says, beckoning to you with his hand. You walk up to him and he grabs you by the waist, pulling you the rest of the way in. His eyes are dark with lust and he kisses you with those soft, supple looking lips. Things quickly get explicit and you wake up with a throbbing cunt, arousal pooling in your panties. You’re perplexed, never having experienced any feelings for Joel other than your initial recognition that he’s a handsome man. You chalk it up to being around him so often and brush it off, going about your morning as usual.

When you meet Joel in the stables, your stomach flutters momentarily when you lay eyes on him. You take a deep breath and shake the memory of the dream out of your head and you go in to saddle up Toast. You’re pleasantly surprised when Joel speaks as the horses trot off toward Teton County.

“So…uh…where you from?”

“You mean recently or before?”

“Before. I heard you tell Tommy you took riding lessons before.”

That was months ago. You’re honestly shocked he remembered that.

“Oh yeah. I’m from Dallas.”

“No shit,” he says, sounding surprised. “Me and Tommy are from Austin.”

“Well shit, what a small world.”

You smile at him and a tiny piece of the icy wall around his heart melts.

——————

“So Tommy, I hear you’re from Texas. Me too - Dallas.”

You’re sitting across from him and Maria at dinner. He looks up from his plate, confusion evident on his face.

“Where’d ya hear that?”

“Your brother told me,” you shrug, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

“Joel just volunteered that information, huh?” he asks sarcastically.

“Not really. He asked me where I’m from. When I told him Dallas, he said y’all are from Austin.”

Tommy and Maria are both looking at you like you’d grown a second head. They glance at each other suspiciously and then back at you.

“Joel…asked you where you’re from?” Tommy asks incredulously. You grin and stab a piece of meat with your fork.

“Turns out if you just leave him alone, he gets curious.”

“What are you, some sort of witch?” he jokes, to which you laugh loudly.

“I just have good people skills.”

——————

Everything you and Joel learn about each other comes in increments through the micro conversations you have on patrol. You let him control when the conversation begins and when it ends. He doesn’t tell you, but he appreciates that. You never ask for more than what he volunteers and vice versa. It’s gotten to the point where he’ll talk to you at least once during patrol. He asks questions about what life was like before the outbreak and before you got to Jackson and he tells you a little about himself in return.

You know he was a contractor in Austin and that he, too, likes horses. He doesn’t like to talk much about how he lived after the outbreak before Jackson; he only says he’s not proud of some of the things he did to survive. He did tell you about how he and Tommy went their separate ways and it was years before Joel finally found him in Jackson.

Joel secretly looks forward to your little conversations. He finds that he actually likes being around you. He likes that you don’t prod and ask too many questions. He likes that you seem to be able to gauge when he’s ready to stop talking. He likes it when you walk ahead of him because the man in him can’t deny you have a fine ass. Truth be told, he just likes you, but that’s a feeling he’s not ready to deal with yet. He can’t deny his physical attraction to you, though. More often than not, he finds himself fucking his fist imagining it’s you wrapped around him instead of his hand.

You like him, too. You perk up when he speaks and it makes you feel warm and fuzzy to know you’re one of the few people he talks to. You can’t help but think about him when you’re lying in bed. You fantasize about him fucking you; you imagine he’s a little rough, a little dominant. You make yourself cum thinking about him whispering filthy things in your ear.

Sometimes you think you can feel the sexual tension between you two as you’re walking side by side on patrol. You’re certain you can feel his eyes on you when you take the lead. Part of you thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might like you. You don’t say anything for fear of losing what you already have.

——————

You fuck everything up on patrol one day. You’re in the library in Teton Village quietly weaving through the book cases while Joel does the same on the opposite side. You hear the telltale clicking and see an infected coming at Joel from his right side, but Joel doesn’t seem to hear it. He sees it right as it tackles him to the ground and he gets into a wrestling match with it.

“Hey!” you shout, turning the attention of the clicker on you. It leaps off of Joel and barrels in your direction, but you’re quick on the draw and you’re able to shoot it before it makes it to you. You rush over to Joel to make sure he isn’t hurt.

“Are you fuckin’ stupid?” he growls angrily, hoisting himself up off the ground.

“Umm, you’re fuckin’ welcome,” you respond, crossing your arms defiantly.

“You could’ve gotten yourself killed,” he seethes.

“I stopped you from getting killed! If that thing had bitten you, I would’ve had to shoot you, too,” you argued. “Besides, it’s dead, and we’re not. Isn’t that why we go in pairs?”

“Whatever,” he grumbles. “Just don’t do stupid shit like that again.”

——————

He doesn’t talk to you for almost a week - no little bursts of conversation throughout patrol, not even a greeting when you meet in the stables. You don’t know what you did that was so wrong, you had only been trying to help. You’re riding through Teton Village again and you relive the moment when you pass the library. Your anger at him for his outburst reignites, the fact that he won’t even speak to you fueling your rage. He senses your shift in mood and you’re about to open your mouth to tell him off when he speaks.

“I’m…sorry.”

You close your mouth and look at him. He sees that, not only are you angry, but there’s a little bit of hurt hiding in your eyes. Now he’s mad at himself.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you and I definitely shouldn’t have called you stupid. You probably saved my life and I need to thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome Joel. And thank you for the apology,” you say. Then you do something you wouldn’t normally do - you prod. “Why the hell did you get so pissed?”

He’s silent for a long while and you’re afraid you’ve fucked up again. You’re relieved when he speaks again, but the response you receive isn’t one you would have ever expected.

“You…scared me,” he admits. “I saw the clicker running towards you and I was afraid you were gonna get hurt while I was fuckin’ layin’ on the ground.”

“I was scared, too. It was coming right for you and you didn’t seem to hear it and it was too late for me to say anything before it attacked. I figured I had a better chance at killing it than you did.”

“You did the right thing,” he assures you. “I would’ve done the same for you.”

And he means it. He would face a room full of the things to save you. Having acknowledged that fact, he makes the decision to open up to you then.

“I’m mostly deaf in my right ear. That’s why I didn’t hear it.”

“Oh. Well that makes sense.”

You’re not really sure what else to say, other than to ask him what happened, but you don’t want to push him. If he wants you to know, he’ll tell you. And he does.

“I tried to take myself out right after the outbreak. My daughter died on outbreak day and it destroyed me.”

You gasp softly and a hand goes to your mouth in shock, partially because he’s telling you something so personal and partially because you feel so bad for him.

“Joel, that’s awful. I’m so sorry.”

He waves the apology off and continues.

“I missed somehow - obviously, because I’m still here - but it fucked up my hearing.”

You’re quiet for a little bit. You’re in disbelief that Joel willingly shared such an intimate detail about himself. In a soft voice, you finally say, “I’m glad you missed.”

He gives you a little smile and you fall back into a comfortable silence for quiet a while. On the way back to Jackson, he surprises you again.

“Hey…wanna eat dinner with me tonight?”

“Sure, I’d love to,” you say with a grin.

You don’t ask him if it’s a date for the fear of him taking it back. It took almost a year and a brush with death for him to ask you to do anything besides patrol with him and you weren’t about to risk messing it up.

When you walk into the Tipsy Bison, you see him sitting at his usual table in the corner, eyes flitting around the room nervously. You’re glad you decided to dress up a little, throwing on a skirt and one of the nicer tops you have; he’s dressed in a button up flannel and clean jeans, his hair slicked back. Your cunt throbs just looking at him.

“Oh god,” you think to yourself, “I didn’t think he could get any hotter, but damn.”

Tommy catches sight of you and calls your name, waving you to his table. You wave at him but continue walking towards Joel.

“Sorry Tommy, I have plans.”

He watches you take a seat across from Joel and pauses mid bite as his brother actually smiles at another human being. Maria nudges him and he looks away quickly.

“Sorry I’m late,” you apologize as you sit down. “I couldn’t decide what to wear.”

“You look really pretty,” he says. You feel your cheeks heat up and you hear Tommy loudly whisper, “did he just say she looks really pretty??”

You and Joel glare at Tommy simultaneously and the younger Miller puts his hands up in surrender. You giggle when Maria chastises him and Joel doesn’t know when he’s ever heard a prettier sound.

“I really like your hair like that,” you say, turning your attention back to Joel. “You look really nice.”

It’s his turn to blush now. You think it’s absolutely adorable.

“Thanks. I uh, I wasn’t too sure what to wear either.”

He reaches up and rubs the back of his neck, the material of his flannel tightening around his bicep. You have to will yourself not to drool over the muscle flexing underneath. He’s trying to shake his nerves. It’s been…fuck, it’s been over twenty years since he’s been on a date, back when restaurants and movie theaters were still a thing. Wait, did he ever clarify that this is a date? Before he can say anything, you speak up.

“Can I ask you a question Joel?”

“Go ahead sweetheart.”

He doesn’t know where he got the confidence to say that. It makes your heart skip a beat and your stomach do a backflip.

“Is this a date?”

He chuckles heartily.

“Yes darlin’, this is a date.”

——————

Your first date with Joel goes exceptionally well. You both relax and you have a full blown conversation, laughing and joking with each other and acting like nobody was staring at the two of you. Nobody in Jackson had seen Joel happy, probably ever. You leave the Tipsy Bison together and you both ignore how everyone’s heads turn to watch you leave. He walks you to your front door like a true southern gentleman.

You stare at each other for a long moment, and then you both move in for a kiss at the same time. You grab the front of his shirt and reach behind you to turn the door knob; you pull him into your house without breaking the kiss. You push him onto your couch and he looks up at you with admiration as you straddle his lap.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asks between kisses.

“I’ve been sure since I walked into the Tipsy Bison and saw how fuckin’ hot you look.”

He growls, deep and throaty, and it rumbles through his chest; he palms your ass underneath your skirt, squeezing roughly. His tongue is in your mouth and your hands are in his hair, ruining the slicked back style. His lips move to your jaw bone, then to your neck where he sucks harshly. There’s going to be a mark there for sure, but neither of you care. You both want the whole town to know Joel Miller marked you as his.

“I think about you all the fuckin’ time,” he confesses into your skin, his breath against your neck making you tingle. “Not just about this. In general.”

His words are sweet and they make you feel as though you could explode with joy. You smooth your hand down the back of his hair as he buries his face into your cleavage, kissing the exposed tops of your breasts.

“I think about you, too. I really like you, Joel.”

He looks up at you and smiles, his hand coming up to cradle your face. He uses his thumb to rub your cheekbone and he kisses you softly.

“I really like you, too.”

You smile and put your hand over his. You remove it from your face and kiss his palm before placing it over one of your breasts.

“Do you ever think about me like this?” you ask as you begin to grind your hips on him. His breath hitches but he recovers quickly, kneading your breast over your shirt while his other hand squeezes your hip.

“How could I not? Got a gorgeous fuckin’ thing like you ridin’ next to me almost every day, shakin’ your ass when you walk in front of me.”

You giggle, your hands moving to his chest to unbutton his flannel.

“I had a dream about you once,” you tell him as your fingers slowly work his buttons. “We were in the ski lodge. You kissed me and then you laid me down and fucked me on one of the couches. I was so wet when I woke up.”

“Baby girl,” he groans. “So fuckin’ hot. Do you touch yourself thinkin’ about me, hmm?”

You’re finished unbuttoning his shirt now and you push it off his arms, revealing his toned biceps.

“All the time,” you respond, dragging your nails lightly down his bare chest. His lips crash against yours again in a needy, desperate kiss. He breaks it just long enough to pull your shirt over your head and then he wraps his arms around you, his touch cool against your burning skin.

“Let’s see if I can still do this,” he says, his mouth moving against yours.

He grabs the clasp of your bra with one hand and, with one flick of his fingers, your bra unclasps and hangs loosely off your shoulders.

“Damn, that was impressive. And very hot.”

He chuckles and slides your bra off your arms, tossing it carelessly to the side. He does this without breaking eye contact and he presses another kiss to your lips before admiring your naked breasts.

“Fuckin’ perfect,” he says, cupping them in his hands. He rolls your nipples between his fingers and your head falls back, a soft moan escaping your throat.

“Let’s take this to the bedroom, yeah?” he suggests, his nose brushing your exposed throat. He stands with you still on his lap and you wrap your legs around him.

“Mmm, a big strong man,” you tease, squeezing his biceps. He laughs through his nose and carries you to your room, tossing you gently on the bed. You giggle softly when your back hits the mattress. You sit up on your elbows and watch with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth as he comes out of his jeans. His cock is perfect. It’s big, but not big enough to be intimidating, and it’s rock hard.

He gets to his knees on the mattress and tugs your skirt off your hips, your panties going with it. You’re now completely on display for each other and neither of you can stop staring. He’s fit but a little soft around the middle; it drives you absolutely wild. He thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“You are so god damn beautiful,” he says softly. You smile up at him.

“Come kiss me, you gorgeous fuckin’ man.”

He does, his tongue licking inside your mouth. He sucks on your tongue and you moan into the kiss. Your hips rise to meet his, your cunt desperate for some kind of contact.

“Patience baby girl,” he coos, pushing your hips back down. “I wanna take my time with you. Been dreamin’ about this for a while.”

He kisses your neck again, sucking and biting at the sensitive skin. He presses open mouthed kisses to your chest before sucking your nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the hardening bud. You’re absolutely soaking now and you can feel arousal sliding down your thigh.

“Joel…my god…please,” you breathe.

“Shhhh, let me play baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good, I promise.”

He switches to your other breast and you’re sure you’re going to explode before he touches you. Your clit is throbbing and you’re desperate for his touch. He takes his time, finding the most sensitive parts of your body and kissing, sucking, biting. You feel like you’re being worshipped.

“Does this turn you on?” you ask breathlessly. “Because, fuck, it turns me on.”

“What, touching your beautiful fuckin’ body like this? Absolutely,” he assures you. “My cock’s hard enough to cut glass right now.”

You both laugh a little bit and you’re reassured that he’s enjoying himself. He spreads your legs into the butterfly position and settles onto his stomach, his head between your legs. He kisses your pubic mound and then spreads you open with two fingers.

“Mmm, look at this pretty pussy. She’s jus’ fuckin’ soaked baby. You’re dripping onto the fuckin’ sheets. Can I taste it?”

“Please,” you manage to squeak out.

He kisses your clit and you gasp. He blows softly on the area and you moan, your hole clenching around nothing.

“Oh, she likes that,” he teases. He massages your clit with the tip of his tongue and a high pitched, breathy moan falls from your lips. Finally, some relief. His tongue feels so good, swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves. All you can do is pant and moan as he buries his tongue into you.

“God, you got the sweetest fuckin’ pussy.”

He wastes no time diving back in, moving his head from side to side. He laps at your cunt and you can feel the buildup of pleasure getting ready to release.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m gonna cum,” you warn. This only spurs him on and he sucks hard at your clit. That pushes you over the edge and your hips rise as your orgasm hits. You let out a long whine of his name and he only stops when your hips meet the mattress again.

“Good job sweet girl,” he praises. “Let’s see if you can take another.”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer before he’s between your legs again, alternating between licking and sucking your clit. Your hand is in his hair, keeping his face between your legs because you’ll take whatever this man decides to give you. You notice that his hips are rutting into the mattress; he’s just as desperate for release as you are but his priority is you. You feel your impending release and you’re cumming before you can properly voice it.

“Oh god…I’m…f-fuck - cumming, I’m cumming,” you wail. He doesn’t stop when you’ve come down and the feeling of overstimulation makes you scoot back from his mouth. He wraps his arms under your thighs and pulls you back to him.

“C’mere baby, give me another. You can do it.”

You breathe in deeply and exhale through your nose and you relax into his touch again. This time, he slides two fingers into your hole, pumping in and out as he laps at your clit. He hooks his fingers and your eyes fly open as his hits that spongy spot in your walls.

“O-oh god don’t stop,” you pant. He pumps his fingers faster, curling them with every thrust.

“Oh yeah baby, you’re so close. I can feel you clenching around my fingers. Listen to you making those pretty sounds. Let go for me pretty thing. Cum for me.”

A few more strokes of his fingers and you’re coming undone. You cry out his name, gripping the sheets until your fingers hurt. He kisses the insides of your thighs softly.

“That’s it baby, you did so good f’me.”

He sits up on his knees and takes his cock in his hand. You watch as he strokes it, the sight stoking the fire in your belly once more. You need him, need to be full of him.

“You want my cock, pretty girl?” he asks, as though reading your mind.

“Please…,” you utter pleadingly. He settles himself between your legs and drags his cock through your folds. You both moan as he slides in slowly, pushing all the way to the hilt.

“God, I jus’ wanna fuckin’ rail you,” he says through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ perfect pussy. Gotta go slow though.”

“No, rail me. I can take it.”

“Baby if I rail you right now I won’t last. Let me go slow for a minute and then I’ll destroy this little fuckin’ pussy, yeah?”

“Oh god, yes,” you mewl. He takes his time, sliding in and out of you slowly. He enjoys watching how you suck him back in, your arousal making his cock shine.

“She’s so wet for me baby,” he whimpers, and you think it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. “Oh fuck, your pussy feels so good.”

He picks up speed a little and you wrap your legs around him. He rests his hands on either side of you, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His tip hits your g-spot with every thrust and you moan and whimper pathetically.

“Joel, just - fuck, just like that. Gonna make me cum so hard.”

“Fuckin’ cum for me baby girl,” he groans. He reaches between you and rubs your clit with his thumb. The extra stimulation sends you reeling and you’re clawing at his back, babbling about how hard he’s making you cum.

He pulls out and flips you into your stomach, pulling you back by your hips. He slams back into you all the way. He thrusts into you over and over, railing you just like he promised. At this point, you’re certain you can be heard by anyone outside but you’re beyond caring. All you can do is cry out for Joel as he continues slamming into you.

“Yeah, keep clenching around my cock, dirty fuckin’ girl. So tight f’me baby, fuck.”

He lands a smack on your ass cheek and it makes you cum again without warning, eyes rolling back.

“‘m cumming Joel,” you mumble. Your body quakes with pleasure as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“God fuckin’ damn baby girl, you take this fuckin’ cock. Take it like my good fuckin’ girl.”

He’s lost in the way you feel, hips slamming into you so hard you’re actually moving forward on the bed. Deep, guttural growls rumble from his chest.

“One more time baby,” he pants. “Need you to cum o-one more time.”

He pulls you up so that your back is against his chest. He puts his lips to your ear and kisses the shell of it, his hand cuffing your throat.

“You’re gonna cum again for me baby, then I’m gonna fuckin’ paint you with my cum.” His voice is low in your ear and he applies light pressure to your throat. His free hand reaches down to rub your clit. “Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours baby. All yours,” you whisper.

“That’s fuckin’ right. Mine. Cum for me baby, I wanna feel you.”

With a few more thrusts, you cum around him one last time, the cry you let out slightly strangled by his hand around your throat. He pulls out and jerks himself a few times before you feel ropes of cum splash against your back and ass. He rests his head on your shoulder as he catches his breath and you reach around to run your fingers through his hair.

“Holy hell woman. That was…”

“…fucking incredible,” you finish for him. He breaths put a “yeah” in agreement and kisses your shoulder. “Stay here, let me clean you up.”

He finds a wash cloth and wets it in the bathroom sink. He comes back and gently cleans his spend off you. He lays down with you and spoons you, kissing any part of you he can reach.

“Was that really okay? Was I too rough?” he asks.

“It was way more than okay. That was amazing - and I like it a little rough. Definitely do more of the choking.”

“Noted,” he chuckles softly.

“Will you stay?” you ask, and he doesn’t even have to consider his answer.

“Of course.”

[ddejavvu]

What about Hotch sneaking wife!reader and Jack into his hotel room during an away case and getting caught? He just wants to sleep by his love cause he can’t sleep without her since they got married 🥹

Aaron doesn't think much about forgoing an alarm when he falls asleep by your side. Their case is over, they've done all they need to, and they're just waiting on a delay at the airport that's preventing planes from taking off. There's no reason he needs to be out of bed early, and there's definitely no reason he needs to wake you and Jack up at an ungodly hour with an alarm. He's lucky enough to have gotten scheduled for a case alongside one of Jack's soccer tournaments, and for once in his life all of the pieces fall into place perfectly. He'd snuck you into his hotel room, he'd tucked Jack in on the couch, and he'd crawled right into your arms. He's going to take the opportunity given to him by the suddenly-gracious universe, bury his face in your shoulder, and sleep, no alarm necessary.

However, Aaron Hotchner should know by now, that the universe is never gracious. Not to him.

"Hotch?" JJ's voice is muffled by the door, incessant knocks beginning when there's no answer, "Hotch, the storm cleared, and planes are starting to take off again. We're schedule for an hour from now. Are you up?"

"Aaron," You hiss, suddenly filled with a panic you're not sure how to deal with, "Aaron, your- wake up!"

"Daddy?" Jack, evidently roused from the racket, rubs blearily at his left eye, "Daddy, is that Auntie JJ?"

"Is- Is that Jack? Hotch, open up." JJ tries the handle, but of course, it doesn't budge. Jack, ever the helper, takes his dad's groggy, half-awake silence and your own petrified one, as permission to help his aunt out, and almost trips on his blanket as he rushes for the door.

"Jack-" You whisper, trying to shout quietly. When he doesn't hear you, you try louder, even though it'll give you away, "Jack, no!"

"Auntie JJ!" Jack gushes, swinging the door wide open to greet her. The slim blonde is given a full, unobscured view of Aaron's bare chest pressed against your clothed one. He's awake, but barely so, and he's pushed himself off of where he'd been laying over your chest. But you're also trying to sit up, and it just pushes you together again.

JJ's eyes are wide and dancing with amusement, something you know she's going to channel directly into a gossip session with Penelope later. You suppose you understand, you'd want to share the juicy details too, but it's mortifying as she sees you now in bed with her boss.

"Well, good morning," She smirks, ruffling Jack's hair when he hugs her leg, "Uh, sir, I was just coming to let you know that we're scheduled for a flight soon, but if you're otherwise occupied, I can just tell the others you'll meet us back in Quantico?"

"Do not tell anyone anything." Aaron orders, apparently not needing much time in the morning to get his grumpiness going. He narrows his eyes at JJ, "What time do we leave?"

"10:30." None of his sternness can wipe the grin off of her face.

"We'll be gone by 10." You assure Aaron in a soft voice, too embarrassed to let JJ hear you speak.

"Perfect." She gushes, and you're even more mortified that she picked up on your soft murmurs anyways, "Well, sir, sounds like that's all set. But if you want, I can take Jack, and you two can have some alone time? I'm sure the team wouldn't mind, we can ask him all about-"

"No." Aaron snaps, but Jack's already latched onto her leg, sitting atop her foot, "Absolutely not. Jack, come back inside, please."

"Soccer." She clarifies with a knowing smirk, already backing away from the door with the little boy stuck to her, "We'll ask him all about soccer."

[thistoowillpasss]

Reviewing the Prayerbooks

Assassin

tastes bitter, like licking a well-traveled road that was dipped in earwax. Do not leave food on the surface.

Text requires concentration to read due to inattentiveness making words vanish or move on the page.

Can't find it half the time because it casts darkness on itself when unobserved. Have to keep it in a fucking box.

Smells weirdly good? Not even in a book smell it's like a sun-warmed cat. good page flipping feel, almost like cardstock. Unexplained and mysterious.

6/10 the mystery outweighs the irritation, but not by much.

Principia

Tastes pretty good. Corners of pages tend to be missing because scholars tear them off to use as a sort of stand-in for bay leaves. However this is a sin, and must not be continued.

very small text, but the pages have sketches and art to supplement concepts.

Heavy and warm. The buckles make a good snap and click noise when interfaced with. pages have a texture from engraved portions but are soft otherwise. Smells faintly of linen and cedar.

Strange sensation in fingers after reading.

9/10 easy to fall asleep while reading it

Godskin

Tastes extremely good. Never lick it, as nothing else will ever taste as good. This is the only warning you will receive.

Text is sparse and often only a few words per page, repeated multiple times. Theory appears to be less crucial than execution.

A faint pulse can be heard when pressing the spine to one's ear. Squeezing the book increases the pace of the pulse. Concerning.

Sulfur smell. Unpleasant combined with the odd dampness that the pages sometimes have, which are already uncomfortably limp to the touch. the bookmark tail will move on its own accord when untied.

5/10 unless eaten, which in that case 10/10

Ancient Dragons

Unexplained cinnamon taste. Licking discouraged due to the book disliking it.

Construction of the tome uses beastman clergy techniques, making the book larger and used differently than traditional prayerbooks. Text is not read, but listened to--clasps must be locked when not being used, as the book's voice is loud and it will roar when left alone.

The book holds a charge at all times, grasping it will cause a shock. This is considered necessary according to the author's note in the beginning pages.

Smells like rain when opened. There is an oddly pliable nature to the extremely heavy pages, due to being made of gravel stone.

8/10 fascinating but also electrocuting

Giant

Tastes like salty, overcooked meat.

Text is overly elaborate for incantations that are brutally simplistic in execution. The prelates were scholars, one has to grant. Rough sketches in charcoal accompany the text on opposite pages.

Sheds hair fucking, everywhere. Wear red while handling if you don't want to clean shedding off.

Front cover's sigil is hot to the touch, can keep a cup of tea warm for over an hour.

Pages are thick and smell like a forest fire. In spite of the shedding and heat, a pleasant book to handle and read. Wear gloves.

7/10 have to sweep the floor where it was read

[meanbossart]

What's DU's thoughts about disability? I know you've said he sort of sees Astarion's vampirism as a disability which I find extremely interesting. does that color his opinions on other disabilities?

And, well, would he still stay with Astarion if something disabling (not just the vampirism) happened to him?

I know you've said DU is a sort of, "Til death do us part" type of man, but if their style of adventuring had to change drastically...

Regardless of the reason being wheelchair, prosthetic limb(s), blindness, deafness, multiple... How would he cope with such a change?

I would imagine there would be conflict, at least until they're both used to things and have trained together enough, with new solid ways and workarounds that let them continue their adventuring?

I've sent so many questions today, I apologize haha. I just love DU Drow! You do an amazing job of fleshing him out!

Shockingly, DU drow is fairly reasonable when it comes to this. He will harp on a person's clothes, appearance, cadence, and all kinds of other dumb things if he feels like being a prick, but physical disability is something he leaves alone. I've said before that he has an unexplainable soft spot for children and mothers, and I think this falls into a similar category as something he deems too uncouth to bring attention to.

His patience only goes as far as his understanding, though. He's the type of guy who respects people trying to adapt and overcome - but quickly loses patience if your needs go beyond what he deems "reasonable". His "pull yourself up by the bootstraps" attitude colors his outlook on many things, this included.

And as always, he's going to be far, far more understanding of someone he's close to. Meanwhile, If we're talking about someone he already has strong animosity towards, all bets are off.

Which connects nicely to the Astarion portion of this question. Yes, DU drow is a "Til death do us part" type, and if something happened to Astarion that reduced his capacity to be independent, or just had a big learning curve, DU drow would adapt in whatever means necessary to accommodate him - he'd be his eyes, ears, legs, whatever he needed, - In fact, he would be all too eager to slip into a caretaking role.

DU drow isn't malicious in the way he yearns to be depended upon by his significant other, but it is an on-going point of tension in their relationship that needs to be continually addressed. I think if Astarion became disabled, that process would take twice as long and be thrice as hard, as he would have to to learn to juggle this significant life-change while also keeping his partner from completely and finally reducing him to a damsel in distress full-time. Yes, DU drow would ruin his own life and more to accommodate a disabled, or otherwise in-need Astarion - and yet Astarion would probably be far more uncomfortable and unhappy with that arrangement than if he didn't do that.

Ideally, both in this hypothetical and otherwise, DU drow can learn to be more than just his lover's lover and balance a relationship where he's caring, helpful, but understanding of someone wanting to value their own independence and otherwise not be completely smothered in love 🤷‍♂️ but yes, it would be way harder to achieve it in this situation - though not impossible!

Thank you so much for the interesting question!

[contentloadingandstuff]

Jealousy Bits - Zhongli, Diluc & Alhaitham x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's my second time writing for Fem!Reader, so C&C is more than welcome! CW: Alhaitham might be a little OOC.

Zhongli

Jealousy is a foreign concept for Zhongli. For eons his mind was preoccupied with more important matters than petty insecurity. Centuries passed, and never once have you given him a reason to worry. But as time passed and Zhongli, along with you, stepped down from his position, he started connecting more with his human side. He experienced many things he never got the chance to as a god - including a certain kind of longing.

"I'm leaving, dear!" You look over the contents of your purse, making sure everything necessary is contained within. Your hand moves to rest on the doorknob, but you pick up the sound of steady footsteps. 

Turning back towards the living room, you see Zhongli standing in the corridor, his eyes resting on you. "If I may ask, where are you going today?" 

"I managed to convince Ganyu to have a proper meal at Wanmin Restaurant. Poor thing needs to quit starving herself, don't you think?"

Smiling slightly, he nods. "Yes, that would be good for her health. Ever since the… choking incident, Ganyu has never been the same."

You both chuckle. Zhongli crosses his arms over his chest. 

"I shouldn't keep her waiting. You know how anxious she tends to be." Once again, you turn towards the door. 

Something sparks in his mind. The mental image of you, laughing and smiling with somebody else while he is alone evokes a specific feeling, an itch that urges him to keep you in place, here, with him. Zhongli wants to stop you, and he stretches out his arm, but thinks better of it. You turn the key in the door, and the sensation comes back. He feels the need to act. 

Zhongli clears his throat. "I… I am having tea when you return. If you'd care to join me."

When your gaze meets his amber eyes, he seems unsure, and looks down at the floor in unusual embarrassment. His arm drops back down to his side. You approach him with a smirk, resting your hand on his chest. 

"Aw, is someone jealous?" A slight blush forms on his face at your gentle touch. 

"Perhaps." He answers after a moment. 

You slide your hand into his, and squeeze it gently. It's warm and bigger than yours, his gloves adding a pleasant texture. Zhongli looks back at you when you cup his cheek with your other hand. 

"It's okay. We'll take a nice bath when I return, have tea, and then… we'll see where the evening leads us." You plant a featherlite kiss on his lips, and send him a smile before turning to leave. 

Before you can open the door, he speaks again. 

"I love you, Y/N."

"I love you as well, Morax."

Diluc

Diluc cares only for those strangers he absolutely must, but he keeps his loved ones close. Although he keeps a steady facade suggesting otherwise, he gets possessive at times - just as anybody else. Cool as he is, Diluc won’t stop himself from acting upon his feelings with his characteristic decisiveness.

His eyes skim over the paper in his hand. Thirty barrels, twenty-seven million Mora - everything seems in order. He grabs the pen and scribbles his signature. The man thanks him and leaves shortly. Diluc sighs and rubs his temple.

It was supposed to be your night out. Just some casual drinks, grape juice for him and some light alcohol for you to finish off the work week. Despite explicitly stating that he is off-work, the recent delivery of Harra Fruit extract decided to arrive at that exact moment. With who the other party was, letting one of the staff handle him would be bad for his image. Begrudgingly, Diluc welcomed the merchant and finished the deal. Although he lost an hour or so, the evening was still salvageable. 

The noble turns back from the loading bay towards the Angel’s Share back door, and pushes it open. His eyes see the familiar scene of many men and women enjoying their evening to the tune of a mediocre ballad, sounding out from the small stage. The notes are fine, but the occasional mishap doesn’t go unheard by his sensitive ears. Despite that, the tavern goers seem to pay no attention, possibly too drunk to notice. Still, if his memory serves him right, the last performer had far more lyrical talent. 

He looks around the tables Venti frequents, but doesn’t find him there. Where did this rascal go-

“Y/N, do you perhaps wield the power of Anemo? Because your beauty blew me away!”

His eyes turn sharply towards the counter. The cyan-clad bard, his back leaning against the wood, smiles in satisfaction. In front of Diluc sees you, blushing slightly and giggling. 

“That was… wow. Horrible.” You smirk. “But I’m sure you can do better.”

Diluc watches as Venti looks away, smiling, his mind rushing with ideas. He suddenly looks back at you, a wide smile on his lips. Barbatos clears his throat theatrically. 

“It’s handy I have my library card on me, because I am totally checking you out!”

Both of you laugh. Diluc furrows his brows, and his heart starts beating faster. How can such crude humor make you laugh? You never laugh as hard at his jokes…

A small blush creeps up his face as he looks on, suddenly hyper-aware of his thoughts. He brushes the shame off. He is right - this evening was supposed to be “Diluc and Y/N talking and drinking” and not “Venti and Y/N talking and drinking while Diluc handles business”. There is no way the drunkard Archon steals your attention tonight.

“Two rounds, please! One for me, and one for the prettiest Windblume in this locale!” Venti says, raising two fingers.

Charles nods and reaches for the cups, but Diluc glares at him and shakes his head slightly. The bartender makes his understanding known and turns to a different client. The aristocrat looks around the tab record and quickly finds a small piece of paper, labeled with the bard’s name. Nine rounds… That would equal seven thousand three hundred Mora. Drawing another note, he writes down the numbers and places the paper inside a mug. He leaves the serving area and circles to approach you and Venti from the side. 

The bard, too deep in his flirty conversation, fails to notice his approach. With a fairly loud sound, Diluc puts down the mug right next to Venti. His aqua eyes dart straight towards the tycoon. 

“Oh! Hello master Diluc! How is the evening going?” The innocent tone that reaches Diluc’s ears annoys him even further. 

“You ordered two drinks, I believe.” He walks in front of Venti, arms now crossed over his chest. “You will get them upon paying for the nine so far. If you don’t, I will ask you to leave. You’ve drunk enough.”

The mug is picked up, and Venti draws the paper. Upon looking at the sum, he smirks and puts the utensil down. “Why, of course! Let me get my coin pouch really quick.”

After patting his sides and drawing the leather container with a small Aha!, Venti peeks inside, and his confident smile turns into an awkward one. He chuckles. 

“It seems that I forgot most of my Mora tonight, how unfortunate, truly! Can I just… add it to my account?” Venti looks at Diluc with big, puppy eyes. The man scuffs, unmoved.

“The one counting three hundred thousand Mora? Sure. If you pay it up now, that is. Do you have the money?”

The bard smiles nervously. “Ehe~” He turns to you. ‘My oh my! Look how late it is! Sleep is important, miss Y/N, and so I will rest now. Goodnight~”

Venti evacuates with practiced ease, Diluc’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head. You turn to look at Diluc. 

“Does he really drink this much…?” You ask, feeling a bit awkward after witnessing their interaction.

Your lover shrugs, and sits down on Venti’s place. He turns to you, a confident smile gracing his lips. 

“Well, I’m here. What about your other two wishes?”

You smile and chuckle at his unexpected goofiness, covering your mouth with your hand to stop yourself from laughing out loud. Diluc swears it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard from you.

Alhaitham

Alhaitham holds most strangers in a neutral regard. Their squabbles, bold flirts and personal drama doesn't interest him, and as such rarely anything can get him possessive and needy. Someone flirts with you? You can handle things on your own. Spending less time with him? No matter, you have things to get done as well. Talking to another man? If he is nothing more than a coworker or a friend, it's none of his business. Despite this solid and logical reasoning, Alhaitham assumed he would be jealous at some point - just in case. Yet he expected a human to be the cause, and not… an animal.

A cat, to be precise. 

It all started when, coming home from shopping, the two of you were approached by a stray. Alhaitham recalls the unfortunate creature resembled a wet, rotten rag more than an actual feline. It started meowing at you while rubbing its filthy face on your leg. Instead of repulsion, however, you felt pity for the animal. After a good five minutes of pressure and puppy eyes, Alhaitham agreed to take the cat in. On the condition that you would take responsibility and care for it, of course. 

After being taken to Amurta veterinarians, who cleaned, bandaged and prescribed the right medication to the poor animal, it started resembling an actual cat. When the researchers confirmed that the cat would be fine, it was given a name, one that stuck in his mind ever since. 

Alibaba. 

Or Ali for short. 

It was just as he expected, and true to what you promised. You fed the cat, cleaned his litter box, gave him medicine, played with and groomed him. Over time, Alibaba returned to his former glory. His fur grew back, now long and lustrous. It was mostly white, with light brown patches near his paws, tail, ears and mouth, perfectly complimenting his deep blue eyes. Alibaba soon got plump and lazy, which you found greatly adorable. He was an obedient cat with a loud purr and a gentleman's meow that stole more and more of your heart each time. 

Alhaitham didn't pay much attention to your new pet. That is, he didn't until you started calling the cat names. It's normal, he knows that. That’s just what humans do with pets. But something about you calling Ali a “handsome boy” and a “gentleman” doesn't sit right with him. He gets those compliments on occasion, but Alibaba gets it daily for just existing… 

He couldn't believe he was getting jealous over an animal. Just when he pushed the thought away, the creature already noticed his feelings. It started running away from Alhaitham, and moving away when he tried to pet it. Ali didn't even eat the food and treats he provided, but dined on yours just fine. The cat didn't restrain itself from looking smugly at Alhaitham while being praised and showered in affection by you, seemingly mocking your boyfriend. 

The whole situation was silly, and he knew it. It was only right for him to resolve his jealousy in an equally amusing way. 

One day, after returning from work, you were greeted by Alibaba, just as per usual. You went to put your things down on the table, the cat following your actions by jumping up on the furniture. It meowed, rubbing its face against your hand. You smile. 

"Who's a handsome boy?" Alibaba meows in response. "That's right! You are!" 

You move to the fridge, and grab a bag of cat food. The animal rubs its body all over your shins as you pour the food. After leaving Ali, absolutely inhaling the contents of his bowl, you go to the bedroom. You open the door and freeze. 

On the bed, resting on his side, is the shirtless Alhaitham. The sight of his chiseled chest fills your eyes, and a small blush of surprise heats up your cheeks. 

For a solid minute or so, you stand there, unsure of how to react to this unusual situation. Alhaitham looks at you with a slight smug. 

"Am I a handsome boy as well?" 

Thanks for reading!

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

𓅨 Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: Chapter Eight

Sleepy Bitch Syndrome: You've got narcolepsy and have been visiting the Dreaming daily for years. Then its Lord and King finally return and he doesn't know quite what to think of you.

Warnings: Angst.

To Note: Morpheus/Dream x Narcoleptic!Reader, for you dear @aralezinspace.

Word Count: ~2.5k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You're sitting at your desk, hunched over your computer, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you once again. The fluorescent lights above flicker and hum, casting an eerie glow over the sea of cubicles that stretch out before you. It's another monotonous day at the office, and you can't help but feel a sense of restlessness creeping in.

Just as you're about to give up and head to the break room for a much-needed coffee break, Karen pops by your desk. "Hey," she says brightly, "I need some prints done for a presentation later today. Can you help me out?"

You force a smile and nod, grateful for the distraction. "Of course," you reply, standing up and stretching your legs. "Lead the way."

Karen leads you to the printer room, which is tucked away in a dimly lit corner of the office. The air is thick with the smell of toner and paper, and there are stacks of printouts piled haphazardly everywhere. You can hear the low hum of printers churning out pages as you make your way through the maze of machines.

"I need these printed double-sided on 11x17 paper," Karen explains as she hands you a USB drive filled with the necessary files. And as she speaks, her eyes seem to sparkle with excitement—a stark contrast to your own weary gaze.

You take the USB drive from her and insert it into one of the nearby printers. As it begins to churn out pages, you can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction—a small victory amidst an otherwise mundane day. You haven’t fallen asleep yet. You watch as each page emerges from the printer, crisp and clean, ready to be assembled into Karen's presentation.

As you stack up the finished prints, Karen comes back into the room, leans against one of the nearby machines and crosses her arms over her chest. "So," she says casually as she watches you work, "how are things going? I haven't seen much of you lately."

You pause for a moment before answering—unsure of what answer Karen is looking for. Lucky for you, she doesn't wait for an answer, just goes into a rant about someone not following office policy. You glance up at Karen, surprised by her sudden change of topic. "Oh, you know," you reply, trying to sound nonchalant as you finish stacking the prints. "Just busy with work and stuff."

Karen doesn't seem particularity interested in listening to your response. Instead she mutters about needing to run to the accounting department to pick up some files before leaving you alone in the copy room.

You're in the middle of stacking the printed pages when a sudden wave of drowsiness washes over you. Your eyelids flutter, and you struggle to keep them open. It's as if an invisible force is pulling you down, dragging you into a deep, dark abyss.

You try to shake off the sensation, but it's no use. Your legs buckle beneath you, and you stumble backward, your head striking the corner of a nearby printer with a sharp crack.

The world spins, and then suddenly, you're not in the copy room anymore. The smell of toner and paper is replaced by the scent of ancient tomes and a cool, otherworldly breeze. You're sprawled on the marble floor of a vast library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with books that seem to whisper secrets.

Matthew, Morpheus' raven, flutters down from one of the shelves, his beady eyes widening in surprise. "Whoa! Where did you come from?" he caws, hopping closer to you.

You groan, your head throbbing from where it struck the printer. Slowly, you sit up, rubbing your temple and wincing at the pain. "Great," you mutter under your breath. "Just what I needed."

Footsteps echo through the library as Morpheus himself appears, his presence commanding yet ethereal. His dark eyes narrow as he takes in your disheveled appearance. "You have arrived most unexpectedly," he remarks, his voice like velvet.

"Yeah," you reply, your voice strained from the headache. "Narcolepsy struck again."

Morpheus kneels beside you, his expression softening just a fraction. He reaches out a hand but hesitates before touching you. "Are you well?" he asks, concern threading through his words.

You nod slowly but can't suppress a grimace. "Just a massive headache," you admit. "I hit my head pretty hard."

Morpheus' eyes darken with something akin to guilt or worry. He gestures to Matthew with a flick of his wrist. "Fetch Lucienne," he commands softly.

Matthew flaps his wings and takes off immediately, leaving you alone with Morpheus in the cavernous library.

"You should not have to endure this pain," Morpheus murmurs as he sits beside you. He reaches out again and this time allows his fingers to lightly brush against your forehead. A cool sensation spreads from his touch, easing some of the throbbing ache.

You close your eyes for a moment, savoring the relief. When you open them again, you find Morpheus studying you intently.

"I'm sorry for startling everyone," you say with a weak smile.

"There is no need for apologies," Morpheus replies gently. "Your condition is beyond your control."

Lucienne arrives swiftly, carrying a small vial of something that glows faintly in the dim light of the library. She kneels beside you and hands it to Morpheus without a word.

He uncorks it and offers it to you. "Drink this," he instructs softly. "It will help with the pain."

You take the vial gratefully and swallow its contents. A soothing warmth spreads through your body, dulling the sharp edges of your headache.

"Thank you," you murmur as the pain begins to ebb away.

Morpheus gives a small nod before helping you to your feet with gentleness. He has a frown upon his lips and his face is etched with worry. "You say you hit your head? That is cause for concern."

You nod, feeling the residual throbbing. "Yeah, it wasn't the best landing."

Morpheus' eyes flicker with a mixture of concern and determination. "We should ensure no lasting harm," he says, his voice firm. "Lucienne, prepare a place for them to rest."

Lucienne nods briskly and heads off without another word, leaving you alone with Morpheus once more. He gently guides you to a nearby chair, the cool marble beneath your feet sending shivers up your spine.

As you sit down, Matthew flutters back into the room, landing on the armrest beside you. "How're you holding up?" he asks, tilting his head curiously.

You manage a small smile. "Better now, thanks to Morpheus and Lucienne. I think I really cracked by head open, haven't had a headache this bad in ages. I'm usually good at landing softly…"

Morpheus stands by your side, his presence both comforting and worrying. He had better things to do than fuss over you. "You should rest," he insists softly. "The Dreaming will keep you safe while your mortal body is tended to."

You take a deep breath and nod again, feeling the warmth from the vial still coursing through you. "Alright," you agree reluctantly.

Lucienne returns with a plush blanket and pillow, setting them on a nearby chaise lounge. "Here," she says gently. "This should be comfortable."

With their help, you make your way over to the chaise lounge and settle down, pulling the blanket around yourself. The softness of the pillow cradles your head as you close your eyes, exhaustion finally taking its toll.

"Thank you," you murmur again, feeling a sense of peace wash over you.

Morpheus lingers for a moment longer before stepping back, allowing Lucienne to take over. She watches over you like a guardian as sleep begins to claim you.

Matthew perches on a nearby shelf, keeping a watchful eye as well. "Rest easy," he says softly. As your eyelids grow heavy and your breathing steadies, the sounds of the library fade into a soothing background hum. The pain in your head recedes further into memory, replaced by an overwhelming sense of tranquility.

And with that final thought, sleep takes you fully into its embrace.

"It's been days," Morpheus' voice cuts through the silence like a knife, laden with an emotion he rarely shows. Worry.

Matthew's feathers rustle as he shifts uncomfortably on his perch. "Yeah, it's not like them to be away this long. You think something happened?"

Lucienne's measured tone follows. "We can't rule out the possibility. They have never stayed away for this duration without informing us."

Morpheus paces back and forth, his footsteps barely audible on the marble floor. His eyes are dark pools of concern, fixed on some distant point. "They did mention their episodes have become more frequent," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That means they should be here more often. With me."

Matthew flaps his wings and lands closer to Morpheus. "Boss, we gotta find out what's going on. What if they're in trouble?"

Lucienne nods in agreement. "We should reach out, my lord. Their absence is unusual and worrying."

Morpheus stops pacing and turns to face them both, his expression resolute yet shadowed by concern. "You are right," he concedes. "We must ascertain their well-being."

Lucienne steps forward, her eyes meeting Morpheus'. "Shall I send a messenger? Perhaps someone could visit their mortal realm?"

Matthew's feathers ruffle as he hops closer to Morpheus, determination in his beady eyes. "Boss, let me go. I can search for them in the waking world."

Morpheus stops pacing and regards his raven with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. "You would do this?"

Matthew nods vigorously. "Yeah, I know the way. Plus, I'm quick and can cover a lot of ground. They’re our friend and your— we can’t just sit around here."

Lucienne steps forward, her face softened by concern. "It's a sound plan, my lord. Matthew has spent the most time with them in the Waking. If anyone can find them swiftly, it’s him."

Morpheus nods slowly, a flicker of hope igniting in his dark eyes. "Very well," he says, turning to Matthew. "Go swiftly and return with news of their well-being."

Matthew spreads his wings wide, casting a shadow on the marble floor. "I'll be back before you know it," he promises before taking off in a flurry of feathers.

You wake up to the sensation of cool grass beneath you and the soft rustling of leaves overhead. Opening your eyes, you find yourself staring at a landscape that's achingly familiar—Fiddler's Green, with its rolling hills and vibrant foliage. But something feels off. Everything looks much larger than it should, as if you've shrunk.

You try to sit up but instead feel a strange weight shift in your body. Looking down, you see sleek black feathers where your hands should be. Panic grips you as you realize you're no longer in your human form. Instead, you've become a raven.

"What...?" you croak, startled by the guttural sound that escapes your beak.

Fiddler's Green himself appears before you, his kind eyes filled with sorrow and understanding. "Ah, you've awakened," he says gently, kneeling down to your level. "I feared this might happen."

You try to speak, but the words come out as unintelligible squawks and caws. Frustration wells up inside you until Fiddler's Green places a comforting hand on your head.

"Calm yourself," he soothes. "You can still communicate. Focus on your thoughts; You will find your tongue."

Taking a deep breath—or at least the raven equivalent—you concentrate on forming coherent sentences. it takes you a few tries, but you finally manage to get the hang of your new tongue. "Why am I like this? What's happened to me?"

Fiddler's Green sighs deeply, his expression one of deep regret. "It seems that while you slept in the Dreaming, your mortal body succumbed to its injuries."

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut. You had always said that your narcolepsy would kill you one day. "I'm... dead?"

"Yes," Fiddler's Green confirms softly. "Your spirit now inhabits the form of a raven."

You shake your head—or rather, tilt it from side to side—struggling to process the information. "But why a raven? How is this possible?"

"Those who pass in their sleep belong to the Dreaming, taking on the form of a raven. The same happened to Matthew." Fiddler's Green tells you. "If I remember correctly, you have been missing for nearly ten days. Lord Morpheus is besides himself."

10 days? What was your body doing in those ten days? Lying in the copy room? Don't be silly, you tell yourself. Karen would have found your body… the question is what happened after you had been found.

"Matthew has been desperately searching for you in the Waking," Fiddler's green continues as your mind spins.

Your heart—or whatever beats within a raven's chest—pounds as you take in Fiddler's Green's words. The realization of your death, of Matthew's frantic search, Morpheus being beside himself, sends you reeling. Without another word, you spread your wings and take off into the sky, your new form carrying you effortlessly through the air.

You navigate the familiar paths of the Dreaming with an instinct you never knew you had. Every beat of your wings feels both foreign and strangely right, as if you'd been born to fly all along. You find yourself heading toward the library where Lucienne would be found. She'd know what to do.

As you swoop through the grand entrance, Lucienne glances up from her book, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in the sight of you perched on a nearby shelf. "Another raven?" she murmurs, half to herself. "I don't recall summoning any more."

You gather your thoughts, focusing on forming coherent words with your new avian voice. "Hi Luce," you croak, the sound rough and unfamiliar to your ears.

Her eyes widen in shock, the book slipping from her hands and thudding softly against the floor. "Y/N? Is that really you?" Her voice trembles with disbelief and a touch of hope.

"Yeah,” you manage, flapping your wings slightly to steady yourself. "It's me."

Lucienne's expression crumples into one of heartbreak as she steps closer, her hand reaching out as if to touch you but stopping short. "Oh, Y/N... what happened? How did this come to be?"

You recount Fiddler's Green's explanation, each word feeling like a jagged stone in your throat. Lucienne listens intently, her face a mask of sorrow and understanding.

"You must go to Morpheus," she insists once you've finished. Her voice is firm but laden with grief. "He needs to know what's happened He has— He is not taking your absence well."

You shake your head vehemently, feathers ruffling in agitation. "No, I can't. Not like this."

Lucienne's eyes soften with empathy but also resolve. "He has been searching for you tirelessly, Y/N. He needs to know. Your absence, it wears on him."

"I can't," you repeat, your voice breaking slightly. The thought of facing Morpheus in this form—of seeing the pain in his eyes—is too much to bear.

Without waiting for further argument, you spread your wings and launch yourself into the air, leaving Lucienne standing there with tears glistening in her eyes.

As you fly through the corridors of the Dreaming, the wind ruffles your feathers and carries away the echoes of Lucienne's pleas.

Date Published: 8/28/24

Last Edit: 8/28/24

Previous | Masterlist | Next

[to-thelakes]

breakfast dates

pairing; frank castle x fem!reader

summary; frank had been out of town for the past week and your insomnia had made a grand return but you weren't gonna let sleepiness stop you from having a much needed breakfast date

warnings; fluff, reader has insomnia

notes; another day, another fluffy one-shot! i'm honestly semi-surprised i managed to do this because much like the reader in this, i am very sleep deprived today (due to trying to fix my sleep schedule)! but here is day two of fluffbruary! the prompts i used today were 'scent' and 'jam'. once again, this has been proof-read but my aforementioned sleepy state might have meant that i missed any grammatical errors so apologies in advance! otherwise, enjoy some fluffy frank <3

ao3

To say you didn’t want to get out of bed was truly an understatement. You were exhausted and your insomnia had been flaring up for the past few nights. It was frustrating but you needed to get up. You were starting work at midday and you were supposed to meet Frank for breakfast. He had been out of town for the past week and to make up for missing your birthday, he was taking you out for a birthday breakfast.

Logically, you knew that if you just texted Frank and told him that you were tired that he’d be happy to come over instead. But he had made the effort after he definitely had a long night of driving just to be back in New York for you on the one morning you had free this week. Plus, the diner he was taking you to had been where you’d gone on your first (not really) date so you wanted to go.

It took 10 minutes of inwardly fighting with yourself before you kicked the covers back and got up. You rubbed your eyes, picking up an outfit that would be suitable for work and your impromptu date. You brushed your teeth, downed a glass of water and sprayed the new perfume your mom had gotten you for your birthday before leaving the house.

It was only a 5 minute walk to the diner and when you stepped inside, Frank was sitting at your usual booth waiting for you. He had a cup of coffee in his hand and a grin spread across his face when he spotted you. You couldn’t help but smile back even if you were still a little sleepy from your early start.

He greeted you halfway, wrapping you up in a hug and pressing a kiss to your lips. He muttered a soft hello and his gruff voice made you want to melt right into him. It had been too long without him and there was something soothing about the return to his presence. You held onto him for probably a little longer than necessary before you broke apart and sat on opposite sides of the booth. 

Frank took another sip of his coffee while you settled in your seat, discarding your coat to one side and adjusting your dress shirt.

“That a new perfume?” He asked as you pushed your hair behind your ear. You nodded.

“Yeah, my mom got it for me,” You explained. He smirked, leaning back in the booth. You narrowed your eyes, “Hang on.” You paused and watched as Frank’s lips grew from a smile to a grin; teeth and all, “You told my mom to get it didn’t you!” You suddenly exclaimed, unable to help the smile that spread across your face at your sudden realisation. He lifted his coffee up to his lips, taking a sip to hide how his smile had somehow grown even more.

“You kept talkin’ about it.” His words were punctuated with a small shrug and you scoffed. But before you could make any response, the waitress came over to take your order. Frank ordered pancakes, maple syrup and bacon and you ordered sunny-side up eggs, bacon, waffles and a side of toast. The toast always came with the most delicious jam. You had begged the waitress more than once for the brand but she always refused - it was a company secret, you had been told.

Once the waitress had taken your order and brought you over a glass of water and a cup of tea, she disappeared to the back. This left you alone with Frank again.

“You look tired, sweetheart.” Frank’s voice had softened as he reached his hand out across the table. You leant forward so that you could lift his hand to be resting against your cheek. His hands were so warm and even if they were callused from the years of intense work and suffering he had to endure, they were perfect for him.

“I wasn’t the one driving all night,” You muttered, letting your eyes fall closed as you settled into the warm feeling of his hand. Frank chuckled and you opened your eyes to admire him. The past week had been rough without him but seeing him again made it all so much better. Your intertwined hands dropped down to the table and he gently pulled his away so he could pat the seat next to him.

He knew that you needed the closeness of him just as much as he needed to be close to you. Frank was hopelessly attached to you and it terrified him most of the time but in moments like this, he longed to protect you and hold you. 

Without even a second thought, you obliged him and switched to sit beside him in the booth. Then, you snuggled up to his side, wrapping your arm around his waist. He buried his face into your hair, inhaling the scent of the new perfume that was clinging to every part of you. He had suspected that it’d smell perfect on you and he was right, it did.

“You’re sleeping in my bed tonight,” You declared. You felt the rumble of his chuckle in his chest and that sound was the most soothing thing in the world to your deprived ears. If you didn’t have any responsibilities for the rest of the day, you would have let yourself fall asleep pressed against him. But you still needed to go to work later.

“I ain’t gonna argue with that,” He said, pressing a kiss to your hair. You turned your head up to look at him, your back aching from the slightly awkward position that you had got yourself into.

“You better not.” You were grinning now and he cupped your cheek, pulling you up to connect your lips. It was a soft kiss - like all of them had been recently - but it was just what you needed. After a moment longer of enjoying his embrace, you pulled away and returned to your side of the table. You talked a little bit about how the job had been before the waitress came back over with your orders. She placed them down and you wasted no time digging into the pot of jam and spreading a thick layer across the buttered toast.

Frank watched in amusement as you wolfed down the slices of bread. But once you had sufficiently enjoyed the toast, you returned back to civility and the two of you went back and forth about your plans for the day. Frank said that while you were at work, he’d go home and take a nap. Then he’d come over to your place later.

He offered to make you dinner but you insisted that it was okay. You kept reminding him that he had been driving most of the night and he needed to relax. But Frank was ever the gentleman and he wanted you to be pampered. 

Even if neither of you said it, he could tell that you were tired and that the insomnia had reared its ugly head again in a way that wasn’t so easily solved. It had already been bad before he left for the job last week and you had both come to the conclusion that his presence had been the best cure. So, he could only guess how much worse it had become while he was gone.

But you were stubborn and weren’t going to give up easily so he simply decided that he wasn’t going to give you a choice in having a pampered evening. You deserved to be loved and you deserved to be able to relax and he would be damned if he didn’t help you feel that way.

<3

[stervrucht]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 30: Vampire

1730 words

Blood crawls where it can't go

[Part1] Part2

There’s something wrong with him.

Eddie has felt it ever since he woke up in the Upside Down, alone, clothes torn to shreds, soaked with blood, but otherwise unharmed. He still remembers the way those teeth tore into him. How the bats gnawed and bit, tearing at his skin until it gave way. 

Yet, there’s nothing to show for it. Nothing at all.

Did he dream it? Wouldn't that just be so like him, dozing off post-battle in some weird-ass hellscape? Fucking good for nothing.

He was surrounded by bat corpses and Dustin was gone. The bedsheet rope from the portal was cut off, just as he remembers, only now a new makeshift rope had taken its place—ratty curtains tied together. The others probably left through there. 

When Eddie makes his way through the portal, the world is a mess. He is instantly hit by the whaling sirens: the air alarm, ambulances, fire trucks. The whole shebang. 

The trailer park looks like an earthquake ran through it and pulled the ground apart at places he’s sure used to have dwellings standing there. There are people everywhere, clutching at each other, pulling at debris. They’re shouting names and consoling crying children.

Eddie is spotted as soon as he leaves what remains of the trailer. 

He freezes, staring right back at the wondering eyes of a woman. Her eyes widen with a small flame of recognition until—

It dies behind her eyes the next second. She carries on, hauling arms full of belongings towards a car.

That’s weird.

That’s so fucking weird.

He has no time to dwell on it though. Definitely shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. 

He could head to Reefer Rick’s again. Thinks he could do it mostly unseen. Maybe lay low for a few days until things calm down. He’s pretty sure he still saw some cans of mushroom soup deep within the kitchen cabinets. A roof over his head and a stomach full of food would certainly help him sort his thoughts.

He moves carefully through the remains of the trailer park. Every now and then, people stare, but no one says anything. No one cries ‘bloody murder’ or crosses their hearts. After a while, Eddie realizes stealth seems hardly necessary. 

The people just don’t care.

Fair enough. Hawkins looks like the apocalypse rolled in and went to town. There’s probably bigger fish to fry than some suspected satanist-turned-murderer. 

He isn’t sure when he goes from sneaking to walking, but he does eventually. And maybe he died after all. Maybe he’s nothing but a ghost wandering the mortal realm. A wraith maybe, that’d be pretty cool. 

Except, people are looking. They stare at him, open their mouths, only to close them again, thoughts seemingly slipping away.

No one stops him the whole way out to Reefer Rick’s.

—

He tries eating the soup, but the moment it hits his tongue he gags. He can’t keep it down—can’t even swallow it. After his so manyth attempt, he decides to throw it out. It’s no use.

He’s so hungry.

He’s starving, gut aching with sharp pain.

He wanders around Rick’s house, unsure what to do with himself. His legs are restless and his stomach won’t stop its incessant aching. 

That is until he enters the boathouse. He hears the padding on nails on wood before he sees them.

Rats.

There is nothing he can do to stop himself from chasing them. He’s much faster, more agile than he remembers—much more than any rat.

He captures the pest with ease, holding the little rodent by the scuff of its neck. It struggles against his fingers and squeaks with fury. Eddie stares at its brown fur, cocks his head as he studies it with newfound interest. He feels its heat under his fingers and hears its heartbeat inside his head like a song.

The next thing he knows, he feels fur on his tongue and tastes blood on his lips.

—

He visits the hospital the next day. 

He walked all the way from Reefer Rick’s with no one to stop him. He enters the hospital without a problem and asked after all the names of his friends. The receptionist gives him the same strange look: a second of recognition before her eyes turn glassy and it’s business as usual.

He gets two hits: Maxine Mayfield and Steve Harrington.

He visits Max first and finds Lucas by her side. He feels a little bad about how they left things—he hasn’t really spoken to him since the campaign. 

That seems so long ago. 

There is no use in addressing it now though. Lucas has other things on his mind. Max lies bent and broken in bed. The gentle beeping of the heart monitor assures him she’s alive, even though she doesn’t seem like it. He gives Lucas’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze and tells Max to hang in there before moving to his second target.

Steve Harrington is in much better shape than Max. 

He lies in bed, his torso bare except for where it’s wrapped in bandages. An IV hanging off his arm, clear fluid in the bag by his side. Steve stares at the little TV, unaware of Eddie’s presence.

A strange feeling swirls in his gut as he stares at Steve. He takes in the soft pink of his skin, a little more pale than normal, but full of life nonetheless. His eyes move to the gentle curve of Steve’s neck where tendons draw tight lines as he leans his head to one side. 

Eddie can’t stop staring, saliva pooling in his mouth. Did Steve always look this good? He wants to sink his teeth in, crawl under his skin and consume him. Taste his mouth and drink his sounds—

What the hell is wrong with him? 

He swallows thickly, hands clenching and unclenching as he tries to compose himself.

Steve turns his head.

His eyes widen and Eddie sees it again—should be used to it by now—the dying of realization, words slipping from the tip of the tongue. Whatever got Hawkins in its grip, it’s doing a damn good job of keeping Eddie out of trouble.

There must be something wrong with him. Steve’s frown confirms it.

Eddie clears his throat, willing his unease away. “Hey, man. How’re you holding up?”

“Been better.” Steve raises his arm with the IV. “Preventative antibiotics. Something about sep…sepsis?”

Eddie nods, eyes finding their way back to Steve’s neck. He can hear his heartbeat from here, doesn’t even need to look at the little screen to know it’s elevated. Is Steve nervous or is it the drugs?

“I—” Eddie pauses for a moment. He doesn’t know what to say. “Did you get him?” he whispers that last part, afraid of who might be listening in. 

Steve nods. “Torched the fucker. Nance shot him to pieces too.”

Eddie feels some tension leaving his body. “Good. That’s good,” he sighs.

“You and Dustin did well.” Steve’s eyes are on him, gaze intense. “We couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

Steve doesn’t mention the fact Eddie woke up, alone, in the Upside Down. 

Abandoned.

It’s strange. Somehow it feels too significant to omit, yet he doesn’t say it either. He lets it hang unspoken between the two of them. 

“You need anything? I can get you something,” Eddie says eventually. He points a thumb over his shoulder towards the door. 

“Actually,” Steve starts, a small smile playing on his lips, “I’m dying for a soda.”

Eddie gets two sodas from the vending machine in the hallway, and they drink them together while making small talk. Eddie doesn’t have much to say—can’t form too many coherent thoughts really—with Steve’s presence next to him. It’s calling out to him like a siren’s song, the sound of Steve’s voice like a melody.

He forces his eyes down. Makes sure not to look at the way Steve’s throat bobs as he drinks. 

Once they finish their drinks, Eddie excuses himself. His hands are itching for skin, and he tastes the ghost of metallic blood on his tongue. 

The rat thing. 

It had been fucking weird, yet something within him calls for it—screams for it. The moment he hears the rapid beat of their tiny hearts in a back alley a few streets away from the hospital, he starts running.

—

Steve stirs awake and the living room is dark and quiet. He sits himself up on the couch, back hurting from the strange position he fell asleep in. The table is clear of D&D attributes and all chairs are back in their rightful place. Did he dream it all—his living room filled with kids, joyously shrieking in victory under the careful narration of Eddie’s voice?

“Jonathan and Nancy came to pick them up.” Eddie sits across from him in a chair, legs crossed, his form illuminated only by the gentle blue light bouncing inside from the pool. He speaks like he reads Steve’s mind and his eyes shine bright, reflecting light like a cat’s would. 

Steve shudders. The scratches on his knee ache, the phantom of Eddie’s nails still present.  “You’re still here.”

Eddie uncrosses his legs and leans forward, lower arms resting on his knees. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone.”

His tone sounds sincere, normal even. 

“I’m always alone.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, tries to tame it a little after it got messed up by lying down. His heart is still thundering in his chest, nervous anticipation running through his veins like a drug. 

Eddie is silent for a moment, two glowing orbs staring at him unblinkingly. “You don’t have to be.”

Steve licks his lips. He can feel it now. A choice. It feels like he’s balancing on the edge of a cliff, staring down the deep void and considering whether he should jump. “You’re asking to stay?”

“If you’ll have me?” 

Eddie’s words are deceptively simple, but there’s more to them. An unspoken question. Steve considers it, imagines the warm embrace of what’s down at the bottom of that cliff. 

Wonders if Eddie will be there to catch him. 

It would feel so good to give in. Run away from suffering and pain and the knowledge of what horrors are out there. 

“I would,” Steve says finally. His voice is surprisingly steady. He feels confident in his words.

---

To be continued.

This turned out much longer than I anticipated. I will post a full version on Tumblr and AO3 once I get around to it <3

[canisalbus]

I hope this isn’t unwelcome but here are a few of my personal Vascete modern AU headcanons:

As a child, Vasco was usually voted as a team captain when playing sports with other kids. Not necessarily because of his sporting ability, but rather because of his leadership qualities and general agreeableness and ease with others.

Machete always uses perfect grammar when he texts, but can take a while to respond. Vasco often responds instantly but with less attention to grammar. Machete texts in unbroken paragraphs (when he has a lot to say) but Vasco’s texts come through in small, sporadic flurries.

Machete is very familiar with hospitals, particularly so in his childhood due to his various medical issues. As a result he actually finds their cleanliness, and the politeness of the doctors, comforting. These experiences also made him more patient than he might otherwise have been.

Vasco donates blood and is on an organ donor registry.

Machete always carries hand sanitiser around and is constantly offering it to Vasco, who always carries hand cream around, and is constantly offering it to Machete.

Both are well-versed in music and have refined musical tastes.

Vasco hums wholeheartedly whilst doing the dishes - a chore Machete likes to avoid where possible. Vasco knows this, so he pretends he doesn’t mind doing them.

Machete often has a headache and Vasco’s usual first response to this is to ask Machete if he’s had enough water today. He’s often right.

Vasco scarcely thinks of the other paths his life could have taken. Though he knows pain, he feels very fortunate for all the good he’s been dealt in life, and attributes his good luck mostly to happy accidents. Machete on the other hand has unexpected moments of stark awareness of all the possible forks in his road. It’s a sudden deja vu that creeps up on him when he’s alone, almost as if he can remember all of his and Vasco’s past/ potential lives together. The feeling vanishes just as soon as it arrives.

Hot dang anon I LOVE these. Unwelcome UNWELCOME? You come to my house and present me with thoughtful interpretations of my characters, I feel nourished.

I can definitely see Vasco being a popular choice for a team captain. He's physically active but not ultra sporty, and even though he can get excited and carried away, he's never been that competitive (he's got that 'I just hope both teams have fun' sort of vibe that people tend to like).

The texting bit is terribly cute. Vasco rapid firing message after message vs Machete intermittently slapping half an essay in the chat.

Machete is hypochondriac and his threshold for seeking threatment is low, especially if he's experiencing anything he's not already familiar with. To my understanding Italy has a good quality universal public healthcare, but he typically chooses to go with private sector anyway and has been investing in pricey health insurance for years (probably way more extensive than what is necessary or reasonable).

I also thought of Vasco as a habitual blood donor. He wouldn't like it per se (medical surroundings unnerve him), but I think he might just get a kick out of being a good boy and potentially helping people. (I know gay, bi and msm men used to be banned from donating (or at least severely restricted) but it looks like many countries have revised their criteria significantly in recent years and there's a good chance he'd be eligible these days.)

The hand sanitizer/hand cream combo is so good. It made me chuckle. (Are you a hand sanitizer person or a hand cream person?)

Their respective tastes in music and cinema have more overlap than you might initially think, and they keep aligning closer and closer over time.

Machete wouldn't like doing dishes. Having to touch wet food (weird texture + unhygienic) is bad times all around. But he genuinely enjoys a little bit of vacuuming, dusting, laundry and general tidying and organizing. He doesn't leave that much for Vasco to do, just the occasional visibly messy jobs that squick him out more than he cares to admit.

That's very considerate of him. That's a very considerate thing to do to anyone in general. Dehydration and low blood sugar can really sour your mood and you wouldn't even notice they were the reason you're feeling so bad all of a sudden. (When I'm having a difficult day I try to remember to ask myself whether things are truly collapsing or am I potentially just a little too thirsty and hungry and unaware of it. Usually it's the latter).

Ah yes, Machete and the horrors. Vasco might be aware of the horrors as well, but perhaps he possesses the specific kind of galaxy brain that is near immune to this particular flavor of existential dread.