#it’s a glowing lasso sure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sceletaflores · 2 months ago

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he’s a good time, cowboy casanova!

pair: cowboy!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 9.4k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, alternate universe/no powers, swearing, drinking, smoking, probably some inaccuracies about ranch life idk i haven't been around a horse in like two years, logan working a lasso yes god, age gap (early 40s/mid 20s), THE COWBOY HAT RULE RAAAHHH, nasty dirty talk, i was so horny for kissing when i was writing this jesus, p in v, unprotected sex (do as sex ed tells you, not as i write), semi-public sex, riding, creampie, some emotional constipation cause it’s me, porn with a little too much plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: another purely self indulgent work...i just fucking love cowboys what can i say. it's practically ingrained in me by this point. logan would never dance but like who cares he's my barbie i can make him do whatever i want! kisses <3

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

a cowboy and the governor’s daughter walk into a barn...

The ranch is alive like you've never seen before, almost every acre lit up in celebration of your father's recent inauguration.

Twinkling lights strung around the barn's ceiling cast a warm orange glow all around you, flickering like fireflies on a summer night.

People are everywhere—laughing, mingling, drinking. Their faces both familiar and new, dressed in everything from head-to-toe denim to their Sunday best.

The lively music from the band floats through the space, couples on the makeshift dance floor twirling to the familiar twang of an acoustic guitar.

You take it all in from your spot against the wall, drink in hand as your eyes scan the room.

You did your share of mingling earlier in the evening, greeting the higher-up’s in your city with hugs and thanks.

You posed for pictures that’ll be splashed across the front pages of Monday’s paper, listened to your father’s speech as you stood by his side with a smile.

This is the first moment you've gotten to yourself since the ball started, one you've spent in content silence while enjoying the perks of an open bar.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all by your lonesome?"

The honeyed rasp of a voice filtering in from your left paired with the jingling sound of spurs against the soft ground grabs your attention.

At first, you turn ready to greet a stray boutique or feedstore owner you may have missed earlier. You’re pleasantly surprised to see Marie sauntering towards you instead, a bright grin on her face that makes you smile right back.

Marie was one of the first people you met after moving to Texas at the beginning of your father's campaign, and you've only gotten closer since she started as a ranch hand down at Blackbird.

Her unruly red curls spill out from under her Stetson, the bouncy strands swinging in time with the white fringe of her show-shirt as she opens her arms.

"Thought you might have gotten lost in all the fancy folk," she teases, nearly crushing you with the strength of her hug.

You laugh as you hug her back, the warmth of her embrace a welcome interruption to your moment of peace and quiet. Her scent wraps around you, the familiar dust and lavender that's seeped into her clothes.

"Definitely not lost," you say, stepping back to meet her gaze. "Just taking it all in."

Marie smirks, leaning a shoulder against the wall beside you, crossing her arms as she watches the crowd.

"Sure is a good night for it," she says, glancing over at you with a glint of mischief in her eyes. "Lookin' for anyone in particular? A nice night cap?"

You snort, taking another sip of your drink. Marie has always been more invested in your love life than you, hand picking guys from around town she deems worthy enough of your attention.

You know she means well, and it's almost as endearing as it is pesky, so you let her play matchmaker from time to time.

“I don’t need a night cap,” you laugh, shaking your head sluggishly. "I’m perfectly fine spending tonight alone."

Before Marie can respond, a stir from outside filters in. Loud cheers and hollers, hooves beating against dirt, the distinct whistle of a lasso slicing through the air.

Marie practically squeals, excitedly bouncing on the balls of her feet as she peers through the barn doors. “It’s starting!”

You don’t have time to ask what ‘it’ is before she’s snatching up your wrist and turning to haul you outside.

"Marie! Where the hell are we going?" You practically trip over your own feet trying to keep up with her, your drink splashing up against the rim of your glass precariously.

Marie laughs as she pulls you out into the cool evening air, her boots crunching on the gravel as she drags you toward the commotion. “You’ll see!”

You weave through the crowd forming around the training ring, Marie’s grip still tight around your wrist as she pushes toward the front until you’re right up against the railing.

You peer over it, eyes adjusting to the floodlights surrounding the ring, illuminating the clouds of dust kicked up by the different ranch hands perched on horses.

A few riders take turns showing off their skills, each of them in the same show-shirt as Marie, expertly swinging lassos and wrangling cattle with practiced ease.

The energy is contagious, and you find yourself smiling, soaking in the excitement pulsing through the crowd.

Marie leans closer, her voice low and laced with something knowing. “Just wait for it, honey. It’s about to get good.”

You give her a puzzled look, but she’s already grinning ear to ear, her attention fully focused on a new rider that chargers into the ring.

You follow her gaze, and your breath catches in your throat.

He rides in like he owns the place, his coal black horse cutting through the fog of dirt like a shadow, sleek and powerful beneath him.

A black Stetson sits low over his face, casting shadows that only add to the rugged allure of his jawline, a jawline that could cut glass.

As he leans forward to grab the rope tossed at him by one of the other riders, his muscles flex, a kind of strength that isn’t there for show, but for real work.

His show-shirt is stretched over the width of his chest, over broad shoulders that look like they were carved from stone, made for lifting hay bales and hundred pound feed bags.

The sleeves rolled up to expose forearms dusted with dark hair and more than a few scars. His gloved hands rest on the reins with an ease that tells you he’s more than familiar on a saddle.

He’s not the flashiest rider, but there’s something commanding in his presence as he races his horse towards the steer, lasso circling high above his head.

He doesn’t even look like he’s trying to put on a show—he is the show.

Marie’s grip on your wrist tightens, and she leans in again, her voice loud enough to be heard over the crowd.

“That’s Logan,” she says, practically glowing with pride. ”He’s the foreman down at Blackbird, might just be the best damn cowboy in the whole state.”

You blink, hardly able to tear your gaze away from Logan, who’s riding like he’s part of the horse, one seamless, commanding figure cutting through the chaos in the ring.

His focus is sharp, and as his lasso snaps through the air, catching the steers back leg in a clean loop, the crowd erupts in applause.

A satisfied smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of amusement flashing beneath the shadow of his hat.

Marie nudges you, her grin widening as she catches the look on your face. “Told you he was worth watching,” she teases, winking. “And he’s got a bit of a reputation for bein’ hard to impress—one of those strong, silent types, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, but your heart beats a little faster as Logan turns his horse, his gaze sweeping over the crowd before it lands on you.

Your cheeks warm under his stare, trying to subtly make out the different features of his face from this far. His head tilts just slightly, as if he’s sizing you up from across the ring.

For a second, it feels like the two of you are the only ones there. The cheers from the audience dulling into white noise all around you, everything in your peripheral blurring together—everything but him.

“He’s good…” Your voice has gone light, airy as you watch Logan turn his horse back to lead the steer into the ring's stall with all the others.

Marie's grin only widens as she leans against the post, clever eyes trained on the side of your face. "You still 'perfectly find spendin' the night alone'?"

You don't respond, too busy watching the strong muscle of Logan's back ripple under his shirt as he rides out of the ring—to your complete dismay—almost as fast as he rode in.

You're only snapped out of your trance when you can't make out his silhouette any longer. The crowd around you dissipates, filtering back into the barn while you're stuck to the fence straining your eyes for broad shoulders and a black cowboy hat.

“Show’s over, sugar.” Marie says with a snort, gently tugging you away from the post. “Come on, let’s get you another drink.”

You lost your company ten minutes ago, but you knew you didn’t stand a chance when Remy found the two of you huddled at the bar.

Sheepishly coming up to Marie with his hat in his hand, pressing it to his chest as he asked her for a dance.

You waved them off with a smile, assuring Marie you'd be fine on your own for a couple songs.

It gave you a chance to step out for some fresh air, to lean against the side of the barn and sneak a cigarette while your father was busy dancing with the town's best real estate agent money can buy.

You take a slow drag, eyes peering up at the stars so you can trace the constellations. You think that this might just be your favorite part of the move.

Nevada has never been known for its clear skies, you can count the times you’d been able to see the stars on one hand.

You still remember the first night after you settled into your new house, the stress of the move and your fathers inauguration weighed on you enough that sleep was hard to come by.

You finally crept out of bed around three, climbing over your balcony to perch yourself on the roof, carton of cigarettes and a lighter shoved in the waistband of your shorts.

The first time you looked out over the horizon was like stepping into a whole new world.

The stars had never felt so close, hung through the air like diamonds. So bright against the vast nothingness that stretched out beyond the too-big ranch house on the too-many acres the state appointed you and your father.

It was like you could almost reach out and touch them, pluck them from the sky like fruit off a tree.

You’d been used to the city lights, the constant hum of noise that swallowed up the stars, but here? It was different.

The air smelled of dust and rainwater, and the silence was louder than anything you’d ever known.

You remember the deep, quiet hum of the night, almost like it was waiting for you to catch up, to adjust to the new rhythm of the world you were suddenly a part of.

It was a moment of peace, a brief stillness from the mess crowding your head, and you found comfort in that isolation.

You take another long drag, letting the smoke curl around your fingers, the orange embers glowing bright against the darkness.

As the faint scent of tobacco mixes with the cool air, you find that same sense of peace returning, the same stillness settling over your chest.

You tilt your head back to rest on the barn, eyes fluttering shut as you let the crisp breeze lull you into its serenity.

"Those'll kill you, y'know."

A voice comes from just over your shoulder, warm and low. A smooth drawl ringing out from the shadows.

You slip your eyes open, expecting to see one of the older ranch hands or maybe even a city official looking to lecture the governor's kid.

It takes you a second, but the black Stetson and squared shoulders register quickly enough—Logan.

You nearly swallow your tongue, eyes widening as you take in the way he leans against the barn a few feet away from you. You don’t know how long he’s been standing there, watching you.

The moonlight dances across his face, highlighting the rough line of his jaw and the confident tilt of his smirk.

“I didn’t think cowboys were one’s for giving lectures.” You’re shocked at the stillness of your voice, the beat of your heart picking up the tiniest bit.

Logan’s smirk only widens as he pushes off the wall, gravel crunching under his boots as he makes his way over to you, slow and deliberate. He’s still dressed in the same outfit from before, a lasso still coiled in one hand.

He comes to a stop next to you, leaning his shoulder just inches from yours. "Not usually. But when I see a pretty girl puffin' away on somethin' that's bound to ruin her, I make an exception."

You smirk, lifting the cigarette to your lips again just to make a point, even as your pulse jumps a little under his gaze. "Guess we all have our vices.” You say, blowing out the smoke slowly, watching the way his gaze tracks its lazy drift.

Logan’s eyes trail back to yours, and you can see the color of them now that he’s closer. A mix of different greens and browns fading together, like a forest in the thick of summer.

The lightest dusting of freckles decorate the bridge of his nose, trailing along his cheeks until they disappear under his beard, a product of being out in the sun so often.

You’re struck by how pretty he is, all long lashes and red lips.

Well, pretty for a cowboy anyway.

“You plan on sharin’?”

You can’t stop the laugh that bubbles from your chest, brow raising skeptically. “That’s a little hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Logan just shrugs, a lazy half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I reckon’ it’s rude to let a lady smoke alone.”

You huff lightly, reaching into the pocket of your dress. You flick the top of your Marlboros open, slipping a cigarette out and offering it to Logan silently.

He takes it, his fingers brushing against yours enough to send a spark through you. It travels up your arm and all around your shoulders to seep down through your entire body, resting in your stomach to swirl through the heat simmering there.

“Got a light?” He asks, words muffled around the filter.

You roll your eyes, but reach back into your pocket regardless. Logan leans closer as you flip your zippo open, taking his hat off to cover the side of his face, blocking the flame from the lazy breeze.

Your heart stutters in your chest as he nears closer. You didn’t expect he’d want you to light it for him. You will your hand to steady as you raise the flame to the tip, holding it close enough that the small light illuminates his face.

The intoxicating mix of leather and musk invades your senses. You fight the urge to lean into it entirely, to close the gap.

When the flame flickers and catches the end of his cigarette, Logan pulls back, taking a languid drag, the embers glowing between his lips.

His eyes don't leave yours as he exhales deeply, the smoke curling from his lips in slow tendrils. You can’t tell if it’s the nicotine or the way he’s looking at you that’s making your head spin.

You break eye contact, feeling the flush creeping up your neck, and lean back against the barn to cool yourself off. Logan leans beside you, a comfortable silence settling over the two of you, just the soft crackling of cigarettes and distant music filling the space between.

Logan puts his hat back on, his voice breaking through the quiet as he does. “You’re Governor Wright’s daughter, ain't you?”

You nod slowly, exhaling another long plume of smoke. It’s still weird hearing it out loud. “I am.”

Logan hums, turning his head to face you again. The silver moonlight catching the glint in his eye.

“Saw your picture in the paper.” His gaze rakes from the top of your head, all the way down to the tips of your boots. “Looked real nice.”

The air feels heavier as Logan’s eyes travel over you, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle, before meeting your gaze again. His eyes hold a hint of amusement, the green of them darker than before. The heat swims through you faster, stronger.

“Congratulations.” He adds, almost like an afterthought. A quick pivot to take some attention away from how his eyes swept over your body so shamelessly.

You snort before you can stop yourself. If you had a dollar for every time you’ve heard that over the past few weeks. “Yeah,” you say, kicking at some rocks near your feet. “Thank you.”

You can see the way Logan’s brow raises out of the corner of your eye, his gaze burning a hole along your profile.

“Don’t sound too excited,” he comments, exhaling lazily. “That why you’re hidin’ out here?”

You shrug, leaning back against the barn and tapping your cigarette to shake off some ash. “Maybe I just like the quiet,” you say. “Or maybe I’m avoiding another round of ‘how proud are you of your daddy’ small talk.”

Logan stays quiet, and you feel the overwhelming need to explain yourself. A need to fill the silence, like he’s some kind of magnet that soothes the truth from people.

You sigh, turning your eyes to the dark sky again. “I’m happy for my dad, of course I am but…” You trail off, searching for the right words. “It’s just a lot.”

He chuckles lightly, a low rumble that feels more real than the sounds of laughter from inside the barn. “Hell, I don’t blame you,” he says, his eyes flicking up to the stars too. “Nothin’ wrong with takin' a breather now and then.”

You both stand there in comfortable silence, the night stretching out around you, as vast and open as the sky above. You let yourself study Logan out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way he seems at ease, like he’s as much a part of this land as the grass and stars.

Finally, he looks over, and you feel that sharp gaze settle on you again. “You keep starin’ like that,” he says, a teasing note creeping into his voice, “I’m gonna start thinkin’ you’re more interested in somethin' other than the stars.”

Your mouth drops open slightly, heat rushing to your ears as you search for something to say.

Logan’s smirk widens as he catches the way your breath stutters, and for a moment, the silence is thick, the air between you charged.

You force a laugh, trying to play it off, but it’s weak, and you can feel the heat creeping up your neck again. "I—"

Back inside the barn, the band switches songs, saving you from your embarrassment. A softer melody floats through the air, slow and sweet as molasses. It’s muffled enough that it sounds almost hazy, like a soundtrack to the most wonderful dreams.

Logan turns to watch the shadows move in the light spilling through the open doors. Couples pairing off, taking to the dancefloor. All warm embraces and slow moving circles, swaying to the gentle beat.

He turns back to you, running his thumb over the coarse lasso in his hand. “Care for a dance?”

You raise your brow, skepticism written all over your face. “I don’t really do that.”

Logan doesn’t back down, tilting his head with an easy grin. “Seems like a waste not dancin’ in a dress like that.”

You can’t fight the smile that tugs your lips up, shaking your head with a quiet laugh as you peer down at the nice floral fabric of your sundress. The wind makes it swish along your sides, the flowy fabric swaying over the knee of your boots.

“Maybe another time, Logan.” You try to ignore how good his name feels rolling off your tongue.

He takes one last drag off his cigarette before he’s stubbing it out on the worn leather of his belt and slipping the butt in his jean pocket. It’s both the strangest and most endearing thing you’ve ever seen—a cowboy that refuses to litter.

“Well I’m gonna have to insist.” He crosses his arms over his chest, straining the fabric around his biceps. There’s a challenge in his eyes now, a dare.

“Oh, you’re insisting, are you?” You repeat doubtfully, lolling your head to the side languidly, your hair flowing with it. ”And how are you gonna do that?”

Logan doesn’t answer with words, just raises his arm to start twirling his lasso through the air with a smug grin. He circles once, twice, three times before a deft flick of his wrist sends the rope across the way to you.

It slips over your shoulders, sliding down to catch on the curve of your hips.

You raise a brow, reluctant smile still playing on your lips. “Do you carry this thing with you everywhere you go?”

Logan cocks a brow, tugging on his end of the rope so it tightens around you, forcing you a step closer.

You stumble forward with a soft laugh, eyes darting up to meet Logan's. The lasso feels snug, but not tight enough to hurt, just enough to let you know he’s in control, and the thought sends a spark straight down to your core.

“You sure you don’t dance?” He tugs you a few steps closer, his smirk only deepening as he effortlessly reels you in.

You bite your lip to stifle a smile, shaking your head. “You sure are persistent, I’ll give you that.”

Logan doesn’t wait for you to say anything else, instead taking that final step forward. His grip tightens slightly on the lasso, pulling you closer until there’s barely any space between you.

You can feel the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of your dress, his chest rising and falling with each slow, deliberate breath.

“Some would say it’s my best quality,” he teases quietly, voice dropping to something lower, like gravel and velvet. “Now, you gonna fight me the whole way through, or are we gonna dance?”

You glance up at him, your chest fluttering in spite of yourself. A thousand lame excuses run through your mind, but all you can manage is a breathless laugh, the sound caught somewhere between amusement and nerves.

“I guess I don’t have much of a choice,” you murmur, hands tentatively coming to rest on his shoulders. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Logan’s smile softens, his hand slinking around your hips to loosen the lasso, letting it slip down your legs so you can step out of it.

Big hands settle on your waist, brushing the soft fabric of your dress, sending a fresh wave of warmth through you. His touch is firm and gentle all at once, guiding you effortlessly into an easy sway.

The moment you fall into the rhythm of the music, your body moves naturally against Logan’s, and you can feel the charge between you intensify with each step.

His boots scrape against the dirt as he leads you in a slow, almost languid circle. Your feet match his without thinking, the sound of your boots in sync with the soft country tune playing from the barn.

“See? Not so bad, huh?” His voice is low, a soft whisper against the backdrop of the music.

You nod slowly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. The rough scrape of his jeans against your bare legs sends a delicious shiver skittering up your spine.

“Not so bad,” you agree, your voice quieter now, the playful edge slipping away as something deeper stirs between you.

You tilt your head up, breath catching in your chest when you find him already looking down at you. His lips quirk up slightly, but there’s a new intensity there now, something sharper than the teasing glimmer from before.

"Logan," you murmur, but your voice is barely a whisper, lost to the night air.

His free hand slides up the length of your spine, trailing along your neck until he’s cupping the side of your face. His thumb grazes your cheekbone with a gentleness you never thought men like him to be capable of.

The space between you shrinks even more as Logan dips his head, his nose brushing against yours in a featherlight touch that sends a shiver down your spine

“You gonna tell me to stop?” He murmurs, his lips so close now you can feel the warmth of his breath ghosting over your skin.

Your throat works to form words, but they’re gone, stolen by the way his hands slide a fraction lower on your waist, pulling you flush against him.

Your breath hitches again, and without thinking, you close the space, lips pressing against his, soft at first, unsure. Logan deepens it almost immediately, tugging you impossibly closer.

It’s tender–achingly so. Logan’s lips are surprisingly soft, he tastes like top-shelf whiskey and your Marlboro Golds. They mold to yours with a gentle pressure, warm and inviting. His hand on your face tilts your head slightly, angling you just right as his thumb continues to trace soft circles over your cheek.

The warmth of it spreads through you, settling low in your stomach, and you think you could stay like this the whole night, wrapped in the quiet safety of him.

All too soon, Logan’s pulling away. You whine pathetically, lips chasing his own. You’d be embarrassed if it wasn't for the pure need coursing through you.

“You were right,” he mutters lowly, running his thumb along the slick expanse of your bottom lip. “This is a hell of a lot better than dancin’.”

“Shut up.” You drag him back down by the fistfuls of his shirt, your own lips hungrily seeking out his again.

This kiss is different, something filthier, something messier. It’s like a dam breaking to let a rush of water break free, all the tension unraveling itself as you meet again.

The gentle tilt of Logan’s head changes, and when his teeth catch your bottom lip with just enough pressure, your knees feel dangerously close to buckling.

His hand slides down from your cheek, skimming your jawline before tangling into the hair at the nape of your neck. His tongue sweeps past your lips, and the taste of whiskey and smoke is heady, stronger, dizzying.

Logan’s mouth moves against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

You let out a soft, involuntary sound, and that only spurs him on, the hand in your hair tightening as he presses you back against the rough wood of the barn.

It digs into your body harshly, scratching at the bare skin of your shoulders and backs of your thighs. You hardly care.

Your hands come up to tangle in his hair, knocking his hat off so you can tug him closer as your tongues slide together lewdly. Logan groans into your mouth at the sting of his scalp, you can feel the rumble of it in your bones.

His beard scratches against your chin and cheeks so deliciously that you can’t help but imagine where else it might rub your skin red and raw. The thought alone has a shudder running through you, your hips arching off the barn unconsciously.

The subtle grind when your hips slot together is enough to have Logan’s grip tightening around your hips. His fingers flexing where they’re still tangled in your hair. You moan softly at the hard length tenting his jeans, pressing insistently against your lower stomach, big even trapped in the rough denim.

Your body reacts to the thick plane of heat almost viscerally, your pussy aching with the need to be filled.

When you finally break apart, it’s only because neither of you can breathe.

Logan pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, his forehead resting against yours, his chest rising and falling in heavy breaths that match your own. His pupils are blown wide, dark and intense. You dazedly think back to the sleek coat of his horse, black as ink and shining under the rings lights.

His lips are an angry red and slightly swollen, glistening in the pale moonlight, and the sight of him—disheveled and wanting—sends another wave of heat blooming through your core to leak wet and sticky in your panties.

“Your daddy would shoot me between the eyes if he caught us like this, darlin’.”

You hide your pleased smile in the crook of his neck, trailing soft kisses from his jaw to his ear. “Then we should find somewhere a little more private, shouldn’t we?”

Logan groans, hands bunching the fabric of your dress in tight fists as your lips brush against the lobe of his ear with every word, teasing. “I reckon’ we should.”

You step back, fingers trailing down to toy with the shiny belt buckle sitting pretty on his waist. “Lead the way.”

Logan smirks, tongue swiping along his bottom lip. “Yes ma��am.”

He bends to grab his hat from where it lays at his feet, pushing his hair away from his eyes before dropping it back on his head. His hand finds the small of your back, turning to lead you away from the barn.

You try not to notice how well it fits.

Turns out, ‘somewhere a little more private’ is just another barn. This one filled with stray mountains of hay and empty horse stalls instead of the watchful eyes of partygoers.

You can’t bring yourself to care, not when Logan’s got you pressed to the closed door, his hands roaming down your body like he’s memorizing every curve, every dip.

“Christ, you’re somethin’ else,” Logan mutters, his voice thick with want as his lips ghost along the side of your neck, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that make your knees shake.

His breath is hot against your ear when he adds, “Bet you’re soaked for me already, aren’t you, darlin’?”

The rough pads of his fingers drag along your bare thighs as he hikes your dress higher, the fabric bunching at your waist. The cool air kisses your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat between your legs as his palms knead the soft flesh.

You bite your lip to stifle the embarrassing moan that threatens to escape, but he catches the sound anyway, pressing a cocky grin to the side of your cheek.

“C’mon, don’t get shy on me now.” His hand slides between your thighs, calloused fingers brushing against the damp fabric of your panties.

The low groan that escapes him when he feels how wet you are is pure sin, vibrating against your neck as his fingers trace over the damp cotton. “Fuck, barely touched you and you’re already drippin’ for me.”

“Logan—” You start, but your words dissolve into a sharp gasp as he hooks a finger beneath the fabric, pulling it to the side.

The first drag of his finger through your slick folds has your head falling back against the wall with a dull thud. A high moan falls from your parted lips, embarrassing and needy as your thighs clench around his wrist.

Logan just hums, pressing a kiss to the corner of your slack mouth. “Is she hurtin’ real bad, baby?” he asks softly, his thumb pressed over your pulsing clit. “Just gotta give you some sweet kisses and she gets all worked up, huh?”

Your only response is a breathless whimper, your fingers clutching at his shoulders for stability as he teases you with slow, torturous circles around your clit.

His thick pointer finger slides through the slick seam of your pussy, catching on your dripping entrance before it’s sinking to the knuckle in one slow thrust.

You arch into him, your hips rocking instinctively to take him deeper, desperate for more. His other hand comes up to cradle your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek as his gaze locks onto yours.

The intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip, your breath hitching as he watches every little expression cross your face.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he coaxes, sliding his finger in and out at a maddeningly slow pace. “Look at you, so fuckin’ beautiful. Takin’ my fingers so good, baby.”

“Please,” you gasp, the need in your voice making his smirk widen.

“Please what?” he teases, curling his finger inside you and grinning when you nearly sob at the sensation. “Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

You whimper, thighs trembling as you manage to stutter out, “Kiss…kiss me.”

Logan groans, brows twitching up like that wasn’t what he was expecting to fall from your slick, kiss bitten lips. He doesn’t waste a second, leaning in to capture your mouth with his in a kiss that’s equal parts desperate and bruising.

His lips part against yours, tongue sliding in to meet yours, hot and eager, as he sinks a second finger inside your clenching hole.

The kiss deepens, becoming a rhythm of its own, each stroke of his tongue matching the languid thrust of his fingers.

Logan's lips move hungrily against yours, his pace never faltering even as his fingers curl inside you, searching, teasing, until—there.

The moment he brushes against that spot, your back arches off the barn wall, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. He grins against your lips, breaking the kiss just long enough to murmur, “There she is.”

The slick sound of his fingers pumping into you fills the quiet barn, mingling with your soft, breathy whimpers. His thumb circles your clit with devastating precision, each pass of his fingers inside you coaxing your body closer to the edge.

“You’re squeezin’ me so tight, honey,” he groans, his voice rough and dripping with praise. “Can feel how close you are. Bet you’re gonna fall apart for me so pretty, aren’t ya?”

You shake your head, your breath coming in soft pants. “No.” Your hand snakes down to his wrist, halting his movements. “Wanna finish with you inside me.”

Logan stills, his breath catching as your words hang heavy in the air. His fingers stay buried inside you, the slight curl of them making your thighs quake as his eyes search yours.

The fire there burns hotter now, feral and barely restrained.

“Yeah?” The raw hunger in his voice makes your pulse spike. “You want me inside you, huh? Wanna feel me stretch you open, baby?”

You nod eagerly, your chest heaving as his words fan the flames of your desire.

“Alright,” he mutters darkly, voice gone low and smoky. “I’ll give you what you want.”

Logan slips his fingers from the warm grip of your pussy, the sudden emptiness stealing all the air from your lungs. You miss the stretch almost immediately, clenching around nothing with a soft moan.

He lifts his hand between you, his fingers glistening with your wetness in the dim light. “Look at that,” he says softly, almost in awe, before slipping his fingers into his mouth and groaning at the taste.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your cheeks burning at the sight.

Logan catches your gaze, a wicked smirk spreading across his face as he leans in close. “C’mon,” he whispers softly against the skin of your neck, hands slipping around the backs of your thighs and squeezing gently. “Up.”

You hitch your legs up around his waist, a soft breath escaping you at the way he lifts you with ease, like you weigh nothing.

You can’t help but run your hands over the thick muscle of his biceps as he walks you further into the barn, lips trailing wet kisses along where his shirt’s top button popped open, exposing more of his tan skin to your greedy eyes.

Logan falls back against a knocked over bale of hay, you feel the hot length of his hard cock grinding over the slick fabric of your panties as he positions you over his lap.

You waste no time, stray pieces of hay digging into your knees as your trembling hands reach for his buckle. Your fingers brush over the cool metal as you fumble sliding the worn leather through his belt loops.

Logan just watches you, leaning back on his forearms with a smirk—cool as ever.

Once his belt is undone and his zipper dragged down, you shove at his jeans, watching with a mix of anticipation and desire as his cock springs free, thick and heavy and already leaking for you.

You’ve heard the expression ‘hung like a horse’ countless times. You always thought it was a gross exaggeration, until now.

Logan’s hand glides down his stomach to start stroking himself lazily, his eyes never leaving yours. “Been hard since the second I laid eyes on you tonight. Could barely keep my hands to myself, watchin’ you all dolled up like that. Drove me fuckin’ crazy.”

Your mouth waters with the need to taste, eyes tracking the thick line of pre-come leaking from his flushed tip.

The phantom ache in your jaw almost has you dropping to your stomach right there, but you know that your time here is limited, and you need Logan inside of you more than anything.

You lean back, lifting your legs so you can shimmy your soaked panties down and off, tossing them behind you haphazardly the same way you tossed his belt.

His eyes are locked onto yours as you crawl back towards him, situating yourself over his lap all over again. You take a steadying breath as you reach for his cock, nearly moaning at the heft of it in your hand, at the near scalding touch of his silky skin against your palm.

“Hang on, baby.” Logan’s hands fall to your hips, stopping you just as the tip of his cock brushes against your dripping pussy. “You wanna ride, you gotta look the part.”

He drags his hands lower, calloused palms rough against the soft skin of your thighs. It’s enough to make you shiver, hips twitching down with the desperate need to be filled.

“Got the boots,” he murmurs idly, thumbs sliding along the back of your thighs. “Just need the hat.”

Logan reaches up to grab his hat by the crown, pulling it off his head to drop it on yours.

You left out a soft breath, feeling the worn felt settle on the top of your head, still warm from his own.

It’s too big, slipping down to shadow your eyes. Logan’s gaze darkens as he adjusts it, tipping it back just enough to frame your face.

“Much better,” he says, flicking the brim once before his hands fall back to your hips. “Alright cowgirl, give it to me good.”

The words shoot straight to your core, igniting something wild and reckless inside you.

You bite your lip, spurred on by the way his hands knead the meat of your hips. Not forcing or pushing, just two steady weights as you slowly start to sink down.

It's nearly torturous, but in the best way possible. The stretch of each inch a pleasant burn as your hips slot against his after what feels like an eternity.

“Fuck.” Logan grits out, his hands tightening on your hips as you settle, giving yourself a moment to adjust to the overwhelming fullness.

Your body trembles, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you slowly begin to move, rolling your hips in slow, deliberate circles.

Logan’s eyes track every movement, darkened with need, a quiet groan slipping from him as his hands slide lower, gripping your ass, urging you to pick up the pace.

“That’s it, darlin’,” he murmurs, his voice husky. “Takin’ it all so good.”

His praise only encourages you, and you lift yourself up before sinking back down, your hands gripping the scratchy fabric of his shirt for leverage.

The feeling of him filling you up, stretching you with every downward movement, makes your head swim, the pressure building in your core.

The barn is filled with the sounds of skin slapping together lewdly, with the wet gush of your pussy leaking around the base of his cock messily. It has your ears burning, shame and arousal a heady mix in your lower belly.

Logan’s hips start to rise from the barn floor, snapping up to meet yours with every bounce. You can feel him deeper like this, brushing against places that make your legs shake with pleasure.

You’re dangerously close to the edge already, a mess from all the teasing earlier. But from the way Logan’s muscles flex and tense beneath you, you can tell he is too.

“Goddamn,” he growls, his hands moving to grip your thighs, helping you bounce on top of him impossibly faster. “You feel so fuckin’ good, baby, so fucking perfect. Don’t stop.”

His words make your head spin, the filthy praise sending a fresh wave of heat pooling in your belly. You can’t hold back the moans spilling from your lips, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge.

Your hands scramble for the front of his shirt, tugging and pulling until it’s loose enough to show off the toned muscle of his chest.

You rake your nails through the dark hair decorating his skin, hardly paying any attention to the brand burned into the skin across his left pec.

"Tell me how it feels," he groans, his voice dark and commanding. "Tell me how good I’m makin’ you feel."

"So good," you manage to gasp, your voice breaking as he grinds against that perfect spot inside you. "Logan, I—"

“You’re close,” he rasps, his grip on your hip tightening as he drives into you harder. “I can feel you, baby. So fuckin’ close. Gonna come for me, aren’t ya? Gonna milk my cock like a good girl?”

You’re too far gone to answer, your body trembling as the coil in your stomach clenches, tighter and tighter. Your head lolls back to the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut as you near the edge.

"C’mon honey," Logan groans, his thumb finding your clit again, circling it in time with his thrusts. “Come for me, let it all fuckin’ out.”

You're helpless to deny him, the thick stretch of his cock paired with the gentle pressure of his thumb on your clit tightening your body like a bowstring threatening to snap.

“Logan—oh God—Logan!” Your orgasm crashes over you, leaving you trembling and gasping as your walls shake around him.

Logan’s hips stutter, his rhythm faltering as he groans low in his throat. “Goddamn,” he growls, his voice wrecked. “So fuckin’ perfect, squeezin’ me so tight—fuck—”

With a few more rough thrusts, he buries himself as deep as he can go, his body going rigid against yours as he finds his own release, groaning your name like it’s the only word he knows.

You slump onto him gracelessly, your body spent and trembling as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. His cock jumps and pulses inside you, sending little aftershocks through your sensitive core as you feel the slick spray of his come painting your walls.

The rough fabric of his shirt feels oddly comforting on the overheated skin of your cheek as you rest your head on his chest, trying to catch your breath.

The brand catches your eye again, more pronounced now that the wiry hair dusted along his chest lays flush, slick with a thin sheen of sweat.

You raise your hand, gently tracing over the raised skin, feeling the rough texture under your fingertips. A curved ‘X’ scarred right over his heart.

The same ‘X’ that was embroidered on the front of Marie’s shirt, that hangs above the doors of the very barn you lay in, that’s scattered all throughout the property.

You read once that not all cowboys choose the brand, only the most loyal to the ranch. A kind of fierce loyalty that knows no bounds, that has no limits—it may be the only loyalty most will ever know.

You think back to your grandmother sitting you down at her weathered kitchen table a few days before your father and you made the move. The stern talking to she gave you felt silly at the time, useless information that you’d never actually need.

Now that you're here, her words ring in your ears for the first time in months, blaring and unavoidable.

“Don’t go and get mixed up in any cowboy business, honey. They’ll never love you more than the life, you’ll always be in the rearview mirror.”

Logan takes your hand in his, bringing it from his chest to his lips for a quick kiss before pointedly lowering it to his jean clad thigh. You can feel the way his fingers flex around your wrist, telling.

You swallow hard, the air in the barn suddenly feeling thick and heavy.

You're pushing yourself to your feet before you even realize what you're doing, ignoring the dull ache as his spent cock slips from inside you.

Logan hisses at the sensation, but he's pushing himself to his feet all the same. You're dying to sneak a peek at the look on his face, but you refuse to turn to him.

Maybe out of shame, maybe out of fear for what you might find if you do.

You straighten the wrinkled fabric of your dress, trying in vain to make yourself look as half as presentable as you did before walking into this barn.

The distant sound of a zipper being tugged up and the whisper of denim against denim catches your attention. Your eyes flick to the doors, your brain going a million miles a minute as you consider your options.

You could always beat him to it. You could walk out right now and pretend this never happened, avoid Blackbird like the plague for the rest of your fathers political career.

You doubt you'd ever see Logan outside these fences, it would be so easy to forget.

You shift on your feet, lip caught between your teeth. The sweet ache between your legs only matches the one in growing your chest, all those good feelings sour at the thought of walking away.

Against your better judgment, you turn back to him.

Logan’s already looking at you, hands busy with slipping his belt back into place.

You’ve always been good at reading people, at gauging what they might be feeling, but as your eyes scan along the flushed skin of his face, you find yourself unable to describe what you see swirling in his eyes.

“When will I see you again?” It’s weak, barely a whisper. You want to kick yourself for sounding so small, for getting so caught up in a man you hardly know.

Logan lets out a soft breath, hands coming to rest on his hips as he searches for something to say. “Whenever you have a reason to I reckon'.”

The words hang heavy in the air between you.

His answer is honest, unpolished—just like him. Something about it hits you deeper than you expect, a bittersweet sting that tightens your chest.

It’s not a perfect answer, but it’s something.

You try to stomp down all the feelings of hope filling your mind, pointedly ignoring the eruption of butterflies in your stomach.

“Well if that’s the case,” you say slowly, eyes never leaving Logan’s as you step closer. “Then I guess you better keep these.”

You reach around his waist to slip your panties in the back pocket of his jeans, patting the denim a few times for good measure before you step away again.

“Gives you a reason to come see me again, cowboy.”

Logan chuckles, soft and sweet as he shakes his head bemusedly. He raises his hand, gently taking his hat from your head to drop it back on his own.

“You’re really somethin’ else,” he mutters, brushing a strand of hair away from your face, the gesture tender in its unexpectedness.

You let out a shaky breath, heart pounding in your chest, and for a moment, everything feels raw.

Too raw. Like you're teetering on the edge of something dangerous and intoxicating, something you’re not sure you’re ready to handle.

You let your gaze drop to the floor, biting the inside of your cheek as you resist the urge to say something else, to push the moment further.

Instead, you turn, taking a slow step toward the barn doors.

Just before you reach them, you hear him again, his voice steady, but there’s something in it that makes you pause, hands lingering on the doorframe.

"Don’t be a stranger, alright?" he calls after you.

You glance over your shoulder, meeting his eyes one last time. "Wouldn’t dream of it."

tags are now in the comments! if you want to get tagged for any of my works just fill out this form!

mini nat's note: lowkey want to make this a series...like this was so fun to write and i have a few more ideas...let me know chickens <3

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havanillas · 7 days ago

Note

Heya! Person who went/goes over gender swap?? Female version?? Of Ratiorine, or just the way you draw women in general here. I'm an artist (not really but I do draw and paint from time to time) I just wanted to ask, (sorry if this is really silly or inappropriate) How do you draw breasts semi realistically?? Or just draw them the way you do. I honestly don't know how to draw human anatomy at all, I just kinda wing it but breasts, male chest alongside legs and hands are a STRUGGLE for me. (Been slowly getting better) YET BREASTS ARE ALWAYS JUST NOT LOOKING RIGHT AND IT MAKES ME WANT TO SOB They're always very anime looking in a very very bad way (because I grew up watching mostly anime and using old anime drawing tutorial books) No need to respond/answer if you don't want to! Just wanted to ask!

breasts are affected a lot by the angle of the shoulders and the pull of gravity, which are both pretty daunting factors for learning artists

i'd recommend anatomy studying but that's not what you asked for(tell me if anyone's interested), so i'll take the opportunity to draw more fem!ratio

behold, a booba tutorial with veritas ratio. only open if youre interested in boobs

breasts don't really have a fixed form, so they're tricky to make them look natural. as i mentioned, i consider the gravity and angle of the shoulders, as well as clothing when drawing them

i'll go over an easy method to paint them. for demonstration, i unbuttoned ratio's shirt. for educational purposes.

i like to use shaded tones as base color and add light afterwards

with some lassoing and glow layer (overlay/add/anything that works) it already looks fairly alright, but i'm gonna do some blurring to make it look better

i blurred and erased around the edges to make the light blend in more naturally to the lineart and the shirt

i added a little bit of redness around the edges of the light to make it look more like flesh as well as reflected lights (the blue circles), they'll give clearer indications on where the breast starts and ends

i usually end the details here when i don't feel like going for high quality render

and there it is, a pair of shiny boobs

im not sure how to lay out the higher quality render process, i haven't really figured it out enough to explain it to someone else yet

anyways i like how this one turned out, so i'll try fancying it up tomorrow, i'll post it when im done

#havanillas art guide #yuri ratiorine #dr ratio

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zylev-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Danny was pissed. He was chilling in the Speedforce, waiting on his dad—the Flash—to show up when he felt something shift around him. He exited the speedforce to find that the timeline had changed again, and he had been written out of the timeline. He technically was a time anomaly now, and didn’t exist. So he talked to Clockwork, a ghost he’d gotten to know extremely well after Danny’s creation.

Danny was a clone of the Flash and Green Lantern(Hal Jordan) as part of an experiment that Lex Luthor had taken prior to cloning Superboy. Lex had wanted to know if the power ring was able to transmit anything genetically (it couldn’t. It was a wearable weapon, not a genetic thing.) but Danny had inherited Flash’s superspeed, so he wasn’t a complete loss. Danny wasn’t sure if he looked more like either man, considering they both wore masks. He had brown hair and green eyes. Beyond that, he tanned well, was tall for his age, and packed on muscle far easier than the Flash did. He hadn’t ever seen either man out of the costume.

After a talk with Clockwork, he decided he was just going to force his way back into his Dad’s life. Both of them, if possible. He arrived years before his creation by mistake, right near the start of the Justice League. By his estimates, the team had only been formed for a year before he’d arrived. It was strange; he both didn’t exist and was from the future. He guessed that it was around nine years before his birth, and since he was technically six months old, he was 9 years in the past. Thinking about this was going to give him a headache.

The Justice League was severely mistrustful of each other. They didn’t go out of their way for teamups, didn’t have weekly meetings, and almost pretended if the other members didn’t exist. The most recluse of them was Batman, of course. If any hero set foot in Gotham, they were booted out before they even got to downtown. Danny highly suspected Batman had the entire city on camera. The situation was weirding him out more than before. What had happened to the team?! He was used to everyone being one big family, and even the sidekicks having their own teams… speaking of sidekicks, why was Robin so small?! Wait a minute, that wasn’t the third Robin that he was used to, that was the first Robin! Baby Nightwing!

Thankfully for him, he still had his costume on this entire time as he zipped around the country, spying on the younger members of the Justice League. It was surreal watching everyone try to capture him, but he wasn’t going to be caught that easily!

Eventually his presence forced the Justice League into another teamup. Batman laid the trap out, and Flash lured him into it. The plan was so beautiful that he didn’t even realize it was a trap until he was caught in it. Green Lantern took off Danny’s mask, and for the first time, he looked at his fathers without a mask. They didn’t make the connection to him right away. It wasn’t until Wonder Woman’s lasso made its way around his wrist that the truth finally came out.

“Who are you?” Wonder Woman asked.

“Oof , hard question—ow ow oww—I’m being honest!” He struggled against the lasso as it started to burn him. “My designation was Dn-y, I go by Danny, though. I’m a clone.”

“Of who?” Batman demanded.

“Flash and Green Lantern.” The lasso was glowing brightly, indicating that he was telling the truth.

“How did you escape?” Flash asked.

He didn’t answer right away. He was trying to think about how to phrase the whole time traveling—timeline erasure thing when the lasso started to burn him again. “Ow ow! Sorry, I’m thinking! Ow! Turn down the settings on that thing, holy shit—okay, okay.” He winced, his words coming out in one breath as he quickly talked, “What do you know about time travel?”

Diana’s eyebrows were rising. “How are you able to resist the lasso for so long?”

“I’m not really resisting it.” He answered, noting the obvious deflect of his last question, “I just-oww—okay! My mind moves too fast for me to put into words sometimes and it makes me stop to think about it, but like, I’m not good at controlling the speed in which I speak all the time—owww make this thing stop burning me! I’m speaking honestly!”

Diana revoked the lasso, and he rubbed his wrist where his costume was starting to singe. He was still trapped in an anti-speedster prison, so it wasn’t exactly like he was going anywhere anyway.

“Why were you asking about time travel?” Batman asked.

“Based on the crickets chirping I heard earlier, that leads me to believe you guys haven’t had any experience in it yet.” He leaned against the wall of the prison, wincing as it shocked him with electricity. “Seriously? How paranoid are you, Batman?” He rubbed his shoulder. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting with you people, but I feel so attacked right now.”

“So we have experience with it in the future?” Superman piped up.

“Yeah?” His tone of voice equated to a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I ask what you knew if I wasn’t from the future?”

“How far in the future are you from?” Green Lantern asked.

“Nine years, maybe close to ten? Timelines are weird. I’m technically six months old, but at the same time I’m sixteen. Cloning is odd, but I was like, the first clone ever, so I don’t really have a basis for this sort of thing, if you catch my drift.” He shrugged. He seemed like he talked a lot more than the heroes did, but he didn’t know if that was because he was a chatterbox, or because they weren’t comfortable in each other’s presence. Either way, the silence was odd to him.

“How did you end up here?” Batman asked.

“Honestly? I don’t fully know. Don’t give me that look, Diana! I’m telling the truth.” He added quickly as Diana fingered her lasso again. “All I know is one minute, I’m chilling in the Speedforce, and the next, the timeline is changed and I’m nine years too early for my birth. You’d think the timeline would at least have the decency to spit me out in my own year, but nooo, it wanted to—“

“What’s the Speedforce?” Superman interrupted.

He tilted his head at Superman’s question, then turned to the Flash. “How long have you had your powers?”

Flash shifted uncomfortably. “Two years.”

“Oh boy.” Danny’s green eyes widened. “You don’t know anything about them, do you?”

“I do know things!” Flash deflected, “My suit doesn’t catch on fire anymore! I can run up to Mach 2! I can get from either end of the country in thirty minutes!”

He groaned loudly. “Oh no. Oh no.” He chewed on his thumb, trying to recall everything he’d learned about his powers from his Flash. While he hadn’t learned his or Green Lantern’s identity yet, he knew almost everything about their hero personas and a lot of personal information. They were just worried of the Cadmus connection and didn’t want their identity to fall into the wrong hands if they still could see inside of Danny’s head.

“What’s wrong?” Diana asked.

“Okay.” He ran his hands through his brown hair, making it spike up. “Hypothetically—“ he cut himself off as Batman glared at him. “Okay, totally real, but uh, Flash, let’s just say that I’m faster than you right now. A lot faster.”

“How much?” Flash took a step forward, obviously curious.

“From what we can tell, I’ve topped out at Mach nine.” He responded with a dry laugh, “But your speed was still a lot faster than mine. You’d never tell me what it was. I’m still growing though, and I’m getting faster. I’m able to beat my precious time by almost double each time we test. But my situation was complicated, and things were happening, and it was a mess.”

“Like what?” Superman asked.

“World war three. I think?” He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture that he had picked up from Green Lantern, “Things got complicated. That’s why I was going to wait for…” his eyebrows scrunched together as the last piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “It was you!” He turned to Flash. “You!” He jabbed a finger at the speedster. “You set this up! You set ME up!”

The heroes took fighting stances, but Superman took a step forward, blocking them from Danny. “What are you talking about?”

“Okay okay.” He was trying to calm down his anger, but he had been told by Green Lantern in the past that he had inherited the man’s anger issues. “Let me start at the beginning. This is going to be a long story, you might want to take a seat.”

Nobody moved, but everyone was tense.

“Or not. Okay. So my creation starts with Lex Luthor.” He noticed Superman stiffen. “He used me as his trial, if you will. Once he got a successful attempt at cloning—me—he moved onto his real target. Cloning Superman.” Danny’s green eyes hovered onto Superman’s blue ones. “He was successful.”

“What happened?” Superman’s voice was unnaturally quiet.

“Well, at first, Conner wasn’t showing that he had all the powers of Superman. So Lex tossed him aside and tried again. The second attempt was more successful than the first. But cloning Kryptonian dna was hard, I guess.” He shrugged. “The second clone lacked basic emotions. Empathy, remorse… it made him the perfect little weapon for Lex. But eventually, the clone’s anger and Lex’s greed got to a point of no return. Lex was elected President of the United States and uh…you can probably see where this is going, right? While the fighting hadn’t like…’officially’ started,” He used his fingers to create air quotes around the word ‘officially’, “Things were getting tense. See, we couldn’t take the clone down because Lex had wrote out the Kryptonite deficiency out of his weakness. And the clone had all the strength of Superman and none of his remorse…”

Superman looked pale. “I see.”

“So Flash and I came up with a plan.” He turned back to his father, “We were going to travel into the next dimension for help. From what we could tell, that dimension was full of god-like beings, and one of them actually helped me out earlier! But for a lot of them, they ask for a price for their help. But anyway, Flash and I were going to take our case to the King and plead for help. I was waiting for Flash when the timeline reset and I found out that not only did I not exist, but I was nine years too early.”

“What are you going to do now?” Green Lantern asked.

“Dunno,” His voice dropped as the reality hit him. He wasn’t going home—his home didn’t exist anymore.

#dp x dc au #dp x dc writing prompt #dp x dc #dp x dc fanfic #dp x dc prompt #dp dc crossover #danny phantom crossover #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #dp crossover #dpxdc prompts #dpxdc #dcxdp #Danny is a clone #green lantern #the flash #time travel #speed force

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distant--shadow · 24 days ago

Text

Laudna shrouds herself over Imogen's back, their legs intertwined under their shared blanket.

When they lie so close Laudna can easily believe the warmth she syphons is her own; that the regular, slow and deep breaths that caus her own body to rise along with Imogen are shared and just as beneficial between the two of them.

If she believes it then it can be magic.

Magic, she delicately draws the tip of her ichored nail down Imogen's forearm, following a path carved by a lightning strike scar before tangling in the welcoming snare of a knot of green ribbon and red thread.

She thumbs over the bracelet, aware of how her own is pressed between their arms in one of the many places that their bodies currently meet, aware of how it would leave an imprint on her flesh if it had more fat and elasticity, aware of the feeling of the further fray on Imogen's bracelet verses her own, the worries she has worn into its fabric with her anxious habitual movements.

(aware that it seems wrong to cast mending without asking.)

The green of the ribbon is silken, especially in comparison to the unravelling nature of the red twine, a blood-dyed sturdier fiber like threads of muscles tweezered apart, for it must be robust enough to tie skulls to taxidermy, to hang her utilities from her belts, and so it seems fitting, that the ribbon should be silk, be bows of green accentuating softness in all curves and fur.

Imogen's positioned like one of the things on Laudna's belt; not noosed at giant knuckle but a Ruidian specimen all the same, curled in and alien-in-a-glass-jar fetal - her subconscious laying her prone on their bed roll, her mother's voice in her nightmares, in her dreams

Laudna wonders how far the bracelet frays when she stands in the red storm

how often Imogen counts each braid of it between the pads of her fingertips like a bead for a prayer

if it ever unravels and lays itself out as rope, ties around rock and helps her escape

good thing then, that Laudna’s twine is supportive, that Fearne’s is soft to her touch

if it could tether them there, to her dreams

to where there is the moon

and so is here-

Laudna acknowledges one of the many things she often has to, but would rather she didn't. Subtle as the purple glow from inside of her chest.

(if everyone didn't know otherwise she could say that the glow was Imogen’s.)

but they know otherwise. they were there when she woke up, they stood around the experiment-cum-operating table.

and all of the Hells can see this too

the string of glowing red energy that stretches across the dark natural stone cavern that lends itself as a bedroom.

ties Imogen to Fearne.

Laudna parts her hand from Imogen's wrist, reaches out, her bony elbow cushioned by the swell of Imogen's hip.

Her index finger unfurls, beckons at the god-eating tether as if she could pluck it like a lute string, wonders if the note would change with their distance, grabs at it as if it were a lasso Imogen had cast and that Laudna could grasp and reel Fearne towards them

the mental image of it makes Laudna chortle, her brittle bones surely sooner snapping as a dissonant chord plays-

Imogen stirs

"Honey, did you say somethin'?" she blearily whispers

"I'm sorry, were you sleeping?"

"No, I was just thinkin'."

"With your eyes closed?"

"With ma eyes closed." Imogen turns over her shoulder and kisses Laudna on the end of her permanently broken nose. "What were you laughin' about?"

Laudna's focus darts to where her hand had grasped for unattainable energy.

"I was thinking about my arms popping out of their sockets after trying to wrangle Fearne."

Imogen stifles her laugh, her dimples drawing in shadows.

"There is a lot of her."

she quiets as from a few feet away, Fearne gently snores.

the scoff Imogen's throat gives is affectionate, a reverberation of rumble travelled between them sympathetic and synchronised.

"mm." Laudna shortly hums. She can't disagree.

She returns her hand to lay ontop of Imogen's upturned, though it is hard for her eyes to ignore the only source of light in the room, despite her dark vision.

Imogen's fingers thread between her own, squeeze tentatively.

Laudna's head is rested over Imogen's shoulder, sunken into the crook of her neck, her soft lilac hair pillowing her castle ruin cheek

their line of sight can't be too dissimilar, surely Imogen can't ignore the spectral tightrope illuminating between them.

Laudna hadn't done a good job of making it across the one over the river.

Imogen can most likely feel it even if her eyes are closed.

The gold of her circlet a juxtaposition of hot flesh meeting cold, a flux permanently balanced between their two body tempratures.

"You have said before that we're a lot..."

"We are, but we wouldn't be us if we weren't. It's what makes us right, it's why we work." the hush to Imogen's voice doesn't dampen its affection.

Laudna props herself up on her left elbow, right arm still draped over Imogen but now her head hovering over the other woman's, their hair a mass of wiry blacks and wavy lilacs covering the pillow

Laudna wonders how the two would look braided,

of seafoam green-

"And Fearne?"

Imogen's brow furrows.

Fearne?

Imogen opens their mental connection to excuse the third woman from their conversation.

The two of you…

Imogen's cheeks flush, imperceptible to anyone else within their nook or the neighbouring-nook ‘rooms’ (Laudna would know easily how to make a room of them), despite their sleeping, despite Orym’s perception. He can't see in the dark. He can't get to know everything. And Chet-

well he'd probably argue he could smell the blood anyhow.

I am not jealous. I do not envy your posistion. I am glad you have someone-

Laudna, what you talkin’ about? I have you.

You have both of us, and I really am thankful for that.

#imodna #laudna #imogearne #critical role #bells hells #coven #is this anything???? 👉👈#is this the start of something?#maybe #browz writes #imogen temult #fearne calloway

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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

Text

A year in illustration, 2023 edition (part one)

(This is part one; part two is here.)

I am objectively very bad at visual art. I am bad at vision, period – I'm astigmatic, shortsighted, color blind, and often miss visual details others see. I can't even draw a stick-figure. To top things off, I have cataracts in both eyes and my book publishing/touring schedule is so intense that I keep having to reschedule the surgeries. But despite my vast visual deficits, I thoroughly enjoy making collages for this blog.

For many years now – decades – I've been illustrating my blog posts by mixing public domain and Creative Commons art with work that I can make a good fair use case for. As bad as art as I may be, all this practice has paid off. Call it unseemly, but I think I'm turning out some terrific illustrations – not all the time, but often enough.

Last year, I rounded up my best art of the year:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/25/a-year-in-illustration/

And I liked reflecting on the year's art so much, I decided I'd do it again. Be sure to scroll to the bottom for some downloadables – freely usable images that I painstakingly cut up with the lasso tool in The Gimp.

The original AD&D hardcover cover art is seared into my psyche. For several years, there were few images I looked at so closely as these. When Hasbro pulled some world-beatingly sleazy stuff with the Open Gaming License, I knew just how to mod Dave Trampier's 'Eve Of Moloch' from the cover of the Players' Handbook. Thankfully, bigger nerds than me have identified all the fonts in the image, making the remix a doddle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/12/beg-forgiveness-ask-permission/#whats-a-copyright-exception

Even though I don't keep logs or collect any analytics, I can say with confidence that "Tiktok's Enshittification" was the most popular thing I published on Pluralistic this year. I mixed some public domain Brother's Grimm art, mixed with a classic caricature of Boss Tweed, and some very cheesy royalty-free/open access influencer graphics. One gingerbread cottage social media trap, coming up:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

To illustrate the idea of overcoming walking-the-plank fear (as a metaphor for writing when it feels like you suck) I mixed public domain stock of a plank, a high building and legs, along with a procedurally generated Matrix "code waterfall" and a vertiginous spiral ganked from a Heinz Bunse photo of a German office lobby.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/22/walking-the-plank/

Finding a tasteful way to illustrate a story about Johnson & Johnson losing a court case after it spent a generation tricking women into dusting their vulvas with asbestos-tainted talcum was a challenge. The tulip (featured in many public domain images) was a natural starting point. I mixed it with Jesse Wagstaff's image of a Burning Man dust-storm and Mike Mozart's shelf-shot of a J&J talcum bottle.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/01/j-and-j-jk/#risible-gambit

"Google's Chatbot Panic" is about Google's long history of being stampeded into doing stupid things because its competitors are doing them. Once it was Yahoo, now it's Bing. Tenniel's Tweedle Dee and Dum were a good starting point. I mixed in one of several Humpty Dumpty editorial cartoon images from 19th century political coverage that I painstakingly cut out with the lasso tool on a long plane-ride. This is one of my favorite Humpties, I just love the little 19th C businessmen trying to keep him from falling! I finished it off with HAL 9000's glowing red eye, my standard 'this is about AI' image, which I got from Cryteria's CC-licensed SVG.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/16/tweedledumber/#easily-spooked

Though I started writing about Luddites in my January, 2022 Locus column, 2023 was the Year of the Luddite, thanks to Brian Merchant's outstanding Blood In the Machine:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/26/enochs-hammer/#thats-fronkonsteen

When it came time to illustrate "Gig Work Is the Opposite of Steampunk," I found a public domain weaver's loft, and put one of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes in the window. Magpie Killjoy's Steampunk Magazine poster, 'Love the Machine, Hate the Factory,' completed the look.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/12/gig-work-is-the-opposite-of-steampunk/

For the "small, non-profit school" that got used as an excuse to bail out Silicon Valley Bank, I brought back Humpty Dumpty, mixing him with a Hogwartsian castle, a brick wall texture, and an ornate, gilded frame. I love how this one came out. This Humpty was made for the SVB bailout.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/23/small-nonprofit-school/#north-country-school

The RESTRICT Act would have federally banned Tiktok – a proposal that was both technically unworkable and unconstitutional. I found an early 20th century editorial cartoon depicting Uncle Sam behind a fortress wall that was keeping a downtrodden refugee family out of America. I got rid of most of the family, giving the dad a Tiktok logo head, and I put Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes over each cannonmouth. Three Boss Tweed moneybag-head caricatures, adorned with Big Tech logos, rounded it out.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/30/tik-tok-tow/#good-politics-for-electoral-victories

When Flickr took decisive action to purge the copyleft trolls who'd been abusing its platform, I knew I wanted to illustrate this with Lucifer being cast out of heaven, and the very best one of those comes from John Milton, who is conveniently well in the public domain. The Flickr logo suggested a bicolored streaming-light-of-heaven motif that just made it.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/01/pixsynnussija/#pilkunnussija

Old mainframe ads are a great source of stock for a "Computer Says No" image. And Congress being a public building, there are lots of federal (and hence public domain) images of its facade.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/04/cbo-says-no/#wealth-tax

When I wrote about the Clarence Thomas/Harlan Crow bribery scandal, it was easy to find Mr. Kjetil Ree's great image of the Supreme Court building. Thomas being a federal judge, it was easy to find a government photo of his head, but it's impossible to find an image of him in robes at a decent resolution. Luckily, there are tons of other federal judges who've been photographed in their robes! Boss Tweed with the dollar-sign head was a great stand-in for Harlan Crow (no one knows what he looks like anyway). Gilding Thomas's robes was a simple matter of superimposing a gold texture and twiddling with the layers.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

"Gig apps trap reverse centaurs in wage-stealing Skinner boxes" is one of my best titles. This is the post where I introduce the idea of "twiddling" as part of the theory of enshittification, and explain how it relates to "reverse centaurs" – people who assist machines, rather than the other way around. Finding a CC licensed modular synth was much harder than I thought, but I found Stephen Drake's image and stitched it into a mandala. Cutting out the horse's head for the reverse centaur was a lot of work (manes are a huuuuge pain in the ass), but I love how his head sits on the public domain high-viz-wearing warehouse worker's body I cut up (thanks, OSHA!). Seeing as this is an horrors-of-automation story, Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes make an appearance.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

Rockefeller's greatest contribution to our culture was inspiring many excellent unflattering caricatures. The IWW's many-fists-turning-into-one-fist image made it easy to have the collective might of workers toppling the original robber-baron.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

I link to this post explaining how to make good Mastodon threads at least once a week, so it's a good thing the graphic turned out so well. Close-cropping the threads from a public domain yarn tangle worked out great. Eugen Rochko's Mastodon logo was and is the only Affero-licensed image ever to appear on Pluralistic.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/16/how-to-make-the-least-worst-mastodon-threads/

I spent hours on the sofa one night painstakingly cutting up and reassembling the cover art from a science fiction pulp. I have a folder full of color-corrected, high-rez scans from an 18th century anatomy textbook, and the cross-section head-and-brain is the best of the lot.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/04/analytical-democratic-theory/#epistocratic-delusions

Those old French anatomical drawings are an endless source of delight to me. Take one cross-sectioned noggin, mix in an old PC mainboard, and a vector art illo of a virtuous cycle with some of Cryteria's HAL9000 eyes and you've got a great illustration of Google's brain-worms.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/14/googles-ai-hype-circle/

Ireland's privacy regulator is but a plaything in Big Tech's hand, but it's goddamned hard to find an open-access Garda car. I manually dressed some public domain car art in Garda livery, painstakingly tracing it over the panels. The (public domain) baby's knit cap really hides the seams from replacing the baby's head with HAL9000's eye.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/15/finnegans-snooze/#dirty-old-town

Naked-guy-in-a-barrel bankruptcy images feel like something you can find in an old Collier's or Punch, but I came up snake-eyes and ended up frankensteining a naked body into a barrel for the George Washington crest on the Washington State flag. It came out well, but harvesting the body parts from old muscle-beach photos left George with some really big guns. I tried five different pairs of suspenders here before just drawing in black polyhedrons with little grey dots for rivets.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income

Illustrating Amazon's dominance over the EU coulda been easy – just stick Amazon 'A's in place of the yellow stars that form a ring on the EU flag. So I decided to riff on Plutarch's Alexander, out of lands to conquer. Rama's statue legs were nice and high-rez. I had my choice of public domain ruin images, though it was harder thank expected to find a good Amazon box as a plinth for those broken-off legs.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/14/flywheel-shyster-and-flywheel/#unfulfilled-by-amazon

God help me, I could not stop playing with this image of a demon-haunted IoT car. All those reflections! The knife sticking out of the steering wheel, the multiple Munsch 'Scream'ers, etc etc. The more I patchked with it, the better it got, though. This one's a banger.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

To depict a "data-driven dictatorship," I ganked elements of heavily beribboned Russian military dress uniforms, replacing the head with HAL9000's eye. I turned the foreground into the crowds from the Nuremberg rallies and filled the sky with Matrix code waterfall.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/26/dictators-dilemma/#garbage-in-garbage-out-garbage-back-in

The best thing about analogizing DRM to demonic possession is the wealth of medieval artwork to choose from . This one comes from the 11th century 'Compendium rarissimum totius Artis Magicae sistematisatae per celeberrimos Artis hujus Magistros.' I mixed in the shiny red Tesla (working those reflections!), and a Tesla charger to make my point.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/edison-not-tesla/#demon-haunted-world

Yet more dividends from those old French anatomical plates: a flayed skull, a detached jaw, a quack electronic gadget, a Wachowski code waterfall and some HAL 9000 eyes and you've got a truly unsettling image of machine-compelled speech.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/02/self-incrimination/#wei-bai-bai

I had no idea this would work out so well, but daaaamn, crossfading between a Wachowski code waterfall and a motherboard behind a roiling thundercloud is dank af.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

Of all the turkeys-voting-for-Christmas self-owns conservative culture warriors fall for, few can rival the "banning junk fees is woke" hustle. Slap a US-flag Punisher logo on and old-time card imprinter, add a GOP logo to a red credit-card blank, and then throw in a rustic barn countertop and you've got a junk-fee extracter fit for the Cracker Barrel.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/04/owning-the-libs/#swiper-no-swiping

Putting the Verizon logo on the Hinderberg was an obvious gambit (even if I did have to mess with the flames a lot), but the cutout of Paul Marcarelli as the 'can you hear me now?' guy, desaturated and contrast-matched, made it sing.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/10/smartest-guys-in-the-room/#can-you-hear-me-now

Note to self: Tux the Penguin is really easy to source in free/open formats! He looks great with HAL9000 eyes.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

Rockwell's self-portrait image is a classic; that made it a natural for a HAL9000-style remix about AI art. I put a bunch of time into chopping and remixing Rockwell's signature to give it that AI look, and added as many fingers as would fit on each hand.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/20/everything-made-by-an-ai-is-in-the-public-domain/

(Images: Heinz Bunse, West Midlands Police, Christopher Sessums, CC BY-SA 2.0; Mike Mozart, Jesse Wagstaff, Stephen Drake, Steve Jurvetson, syvwlch, Doc Searls, https://www.flickr.com/photos/mosaic36/14231376315, Chatham House, CC BY 2.0; Cryteria, CC BY 3.0; Mr. Kjetil Ree, Trevor Parscal, Rama, “Soldiers of Russia” Cultural Center, Russian Airborne Troops Press Service, CC BY-SA 3.0; Raimond Spekking, CC BY 4.0; Drahtlos, CC BY-SA 4.0; Eugen Rochko, Affero; modified)

#pluralistic #illustration #collage #fair use #creative commons #stock art #blogging #art #practice makes perfect

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supercap2319 · 11 months ago

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after clark gets brought back to life he forgets everything even y/n, so he attacks y/n and after a long and close fight y/n gets hurt which jogs clark’s memory and he instantly rushes to y/n aid

Y/N knew the consequences of bringing Clark back to life, and at the time, he didn't care. He was willing to pay it in full to have the love of his life back in his arms again, despite Arthur's warnings. They had used the Kryptonian ship and Flash's lightning to resurrect Superman like Frankenstein, but so much more deadly than a monster with bolts on the sides of his neck.

Clark flew to the broken Superman monument. His reasoning? Y/N wasn't sure. All that matters is that Clark was back, and Y/N couldn't be happier until Clark viewed them as threats. It also didn't help matters when Victor fired a missile shot at Clark because his weapon defense systems sensed danger in Clark. It was true.

Despite Y/N and Diana protesting for him not to do it, Clark attacked Victor with his heat vision and almost injured a cop in the process. They tried to go on the defensive side and restraint the Kryptonian, but Clark's immense strength was stronger than all theirs combined. Nothing was strong enough. Not Diana's lasso or the Flash's speed. Clark bested them all. And when it came down to it, he walked towards Y/N and Batman.

Y/N didn't want to fight his boyfriend, but he wasn't going to let him kill anyone. "Please don't make me do this, Clark." Y/N begs.

Clark said nothing, which made him so much more menacing and scary.

Y/N had no choice. He tried to summon a blast of magic. This would hopefully work, but Clark must have sensed his attack because he super sped towards him and grabbed Y/N's arms and held them out the side.

A headbutt to the head hurt like a bitch and Y/N grimaced at the pain, but he headbutted the Kryptonian back, which only served to piss Clark off even more. He threw a lightning fast punch at Y/N's face, and a battle ensued.

Y/N believed that he was on Clark's level. That he could match him in a fight, and it was only then did Y/N realize one horrible thing: Clark had been pulling his punches. All those times Y/N beat Clark in their sparring matches were just his way of making Y/N feel better. Now he realized Clark could kick Y/N's ass whenever he wanted, and right, he was giving him an asswhoopin.

Blurs of punches that hit like bricks all over his face and body as Y/N struggled to stand up after the torrent of attacks. He looked up at Clark as he knocked Y/N to the ground, the cement breaking down around him.

And when Clark stood over him, eyes glowing red to finish it; Y/N began to cry. He cried tears of sadness, pain, frustration, and fear. Fear of Clark, and fear of dying before he got him back. "Clark, please? I love you."

And when that single tear dropped down Y/N's face, everything came rushing back to Clark. His life. His parents. Y/N. He gasped and hid blue eyes widened with surprise and guilt. "Y/N?" He picked him up. "I'm so sorry." He hugged him close and flew them away.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #superman #superman x reader #Superman x male reader #henry cavill #Henry Cavill x male reader #clark kent #clark kent x male reader

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coirinthyurilo · 10 days ago

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Imagine Will with actual light powers.

Okay. Look. Will call canonically light-bend or something. He can glow.

If that's not light-bending, I'm sorry. Argue with the wall.

Now continuing. I will be listing the usage and possible abilities for this kind of power. And it's consequences or disadvantages.

First off, LIGHT BEAMS.

He CAN do that. In TSATS, he shot an entire light beam from his chest onto Epiales. (Nightmare demon.) And he literally disintegrated. Now imagine light beams coming from his hands.

With enough training he could literally hit an entire monster and watch it disintegrate. Like imagine. How cool is that?? Considering light burns. He culd burn people using the power of the sun. Maybe even cast sunburn or something.

But the problem with this is that it causes a whole lot of energy from him. And he would collapse. After shotting one or two light beams he passes out. Going more extensive than that. He could be sent into a coma.

And maybe with the concept of light burning other things. He could literally melt shit. He could possibly even burn flesh and people by accident if he's not careful enough.

But there comes another problem with this. He could get blisters, swollen skin and burns across his body. But if he can heal while doing that in the process then it wouldn't be a problem. The other problem is that— that shit? Would literally drain him. To probably the point of his life force he could die.

Next. BENDING LIGHT.

He could cast an entire ball of light, like a little hodable sun in his hands. He can turn light into so many things. And physically shape it.

The problem is that he gets a nosebleed while doing this. And him casting an entire portable sun on someone. (Which can burn and melt shit.) He could even start vomiting blood. And maybe to the point he lost so much you can see little strings of light passing through his veins as a desperate attempt to replace whatever blood he lost.

And there is this thought I had. That he could make little strings, like he can physically make a strong of light, and use it to probably lasso someone or use it as a rope. He can even use this as away to lead himself through the dark.

But doing this for too long like an entire week of bending light like over extension of use with healing probably would cause him to have maybe migraines. Which could be extremely intense and cause him to pass out.

But this could be useful for lighting up paths as long as he doesn't continue to do it over and over again.

Next LIGHT-TRAVEL.

Nico would actually uno-reverse on him about the "stop shadow-travelling" on Will doing this. But I'm pretty sure if he does ever light-travel extensively he could actually die.

Similar to how Nico almost faded into shadows the only thing about Will is that it could drain him so much he could die.

Similar to how Nico's shadow travel work. The more people and the more distance from his place to another could take a lot out of him.

For Will? He could die and possibly lose his divine energy or something that power all demigods to do their powers. To the point it makes him mortal but it goes even father to the point he could die.

But it would be so cool in a whole lot of orher scenarios but that's all I can think of for Will's light powers or smth.

Feel free to add more though.

#pjo #rick riordan #riordanverse #will solace #pjo headcanon #will solace headcanon

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widowsistersandfriends · 1 year ago

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Lasso of Tickle Truth

Summary: You are Wonder Woman's most evenly matched enemy, but she has a combination of ways to win.

Note: This was just an idea swirling in my head, and I apologize if some of the details about her aren't portrayed that well! Thank you for your patience!

Word Count: 1133

-----------------------------------------------------

You stumbled into a run-down shed, desperate for any hiding place. You were finally out of view from an ongoing chase with your arch nemesis: Wonder Woman. You two were in constant battles, trying to defeat the other once and for all. Your current heist was to steal a sacred document that was too important to lose. You were successful in this task, but were too late in escaping before being seen. This is how you were in the position you were in now.

You breathed heavily, fleeing by car and then foot. It was dark in the shed, a place that probably hadn’t been visited in decades. A wood chip fell off the ceiling, startling you. You silently cursed, knowing that you needed all the help you needed. Having things fall apart only meant more noise to be made and a higher chance of you being found.

You heard footsteps outside, getting closer by the minute. You held your breath, hoping it was any random bystander. Anyone but her.

“Sorry I’m late,” you heard, just outside of the shed. You scooted in as far as you could, trying to disappear in the darkness.

“Not gonna speak?” Wonder Woman asked.

Your eyes widened when you saw a golden glow appear outside of the shed. If she used her lasso of truth on you, you knew you were done for. She would find out where you hid the document. All of that planning to escape would be wasted.

There was a moment of silence, and you were unsure of what you should do next. You were too scared of what her next move would be.

After a moment, the flimsy door to the shed flew open, revealing the superhero and her lasso in front of you. You backed up against the wall, knowing that you were stuck. You felt around in the darkness for a secret back door. Your hand felt the shape of a knob and quickly turned it to open the door. You pushed it open and sprinted out, not getting very far before her lasso was roped around your torso.

You fell to the ground, struggling to get out, as she quickly caught up, pinning you to the ground.

“Well well well, what do we have here?” Wonder Woman asked, raising an eyebrow. With the lasso of truth around you. Luckily for you, your power was a strong ability to fight against this.

“N-noth-ing,” you struggled to say.

“I know you stole the sacred document. You’re not going to fool me,” she said, smirking down at you.

You turned your head away, refusing to fall for her trap.

“I can fight your silly lasso you know,” you spat back at her while glowering.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, and it felt as if you were two siblings fighting rather than two arch enemies.

“Maybe I’ll need something a little more powerful then hmm?” Wonder Woman suggested. With the lasso still around your torso and arms, she began to tickle your sides.

“NOHOHO NOHOT THAHAHAT,” you shouted, knowing that this is one thing you could never defend against. Especially when you were stuck in her lasso.

“What’s this? The big bad schemer is ticklish? Who would’ve thought this was how you were gonna lose…” she commented with a grin.

“AHAHAHAHA IHIHI WOHOHONT LOHOHOSE,” you squealed, as her fingers moved up to scratch away in and around your ribs.

“You may be able to fight the lasso pretty well, but combining it with tickling will make you spill for sure,” she said, now taking her finger and wiggling it in your belly button.

You shrieked, bucking so hard that you were able to flip onto your side, desperately trying to protect your sensitive giggle button.

“Awww does that tickle? Is that what this button does? It makes you laugh?” She asked, repeatedly poking into it, causing you to scream for her to stop.

“Tell me.” She demanded.

You were weakened by the tickles, and the lasso of truth was getting more and more difficult to fight against.

“N-never!” You barely said, as she flipped you back to your original position, face up.

“We’ll see about that. You know the thing is, I have intel on all of my enemies. I happen to know a little someone has very ticklish feet,” she said with a wicked grin and sat on your shins.

“NO! DONT YOU DAHAHAHARE,” you laughed while screaming and thrashing around. You desperately tried to take the lasso off, but Wonder Woman was quick, turning around and squeezing your hips, making you collapse again with a squeal.

With that, she continued to rake her nails over your sensitive soles, holding your toes back and tickling underneath.

“OHOHOKAY IHIHI GIHIHIVE,” you shouted, as she slowed her evil fingers.

“Speak now or forever hold your peace,” she said with a wink. You squirmed uncomfortably, before blurting out the location when she gave your knee a squeeze.

“IHIHIN THE HEHEADQUARTERS,” you squealed out.

“Thanks for the confirmation,” she said with a smirk.

“What do you mean?!?” You asked.

“Oh I figured, but at the same time it’s always fun to pick you apart,” she replied, as you flopped backwards with an eye roll.

“It is so funny though that you’re so weak to tickles,” she commented, gently flipping you over and tickling your back and neck while you were still in her lasso.

“NOHOHOOHO PLEHEHEHEASE IHIHIVE HAHAHAD ENOHOUGH,” you squealed, turning bright red.

“It’s fun messing with someone who’s supposed to be equally matched with me,” she said, now letting you out of her lasso. You quickly tried to yank it, wanting to expose her secrets. However, it backfired as she gave it a much stronger yank, as she captured you and tickled up and down your sides. You entered yet again another fit of laughter, smacking her to tap out. You cursed yourself for this evil weakness. But being human, you knew she had to be ticklish as well.

“Oh big bad Wonder Woman~are you ticklish?” You asked, before tackling her and pinning her arms above her head.

“I’m not even touching you yet,” you teased, as she was already giggling like crazy. With that, you used your free hand to tickle her armpits, letting her experience the torture you just went through. You blew a big raspberry on her stomach while tickling her sides, which got a great reaction.

You finally let her up, knowing how bad it was.

“Maybe we have more in common than we thought. Shall we team up?” Wonder Woman asked jokingly.

“Yeah we should just go and use tickling as our new power,” you joked in reply.

“Oh I know you’d love to stay the villain though,” she teased, as you avoided eye contact and blushed.

“Knew it.”

—————————————————————————

If you made it this far and would like to support my writing or request a commission, check out my Ko-fi!

#wonder woman #wonder woman x reader #diana prince #diana of themyscira #ticklish!reader #ler!wonderwoman #ler!reader #lee!reader #tickle fic #dc fanfic #dcu #tickle fics

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elvisbdoll · 19 days ago

Note

Hey!!! I was wondering if I can request a fic of 60s!army!Elvis, where he sees reader during a party and is instantly in love with her? Like just finds her to be the most prettiest, cutest girl he has ever seen and is determined to get her attention?

Take all the time you need, girlie!❤️

The One in the Polka-Dot Dress

Request by @jhoneybees

TW: nothing really, just Elvis being Elvis

Words:2.300

A/N: HI Love! Thank you for requesting this, I really hope you enjoy and keep requesting! Love you so much ENJOY.

The officers’ club buzzed with energy, a cacophony of conversation, laughter, and the faint strains of jazz from a crackling record player in the corner. The room was dimly lit, the kind of soft, amber glow that made everyone look a little more glamorous.

Elvis Presley stood near the bar, fiddling with the silver cufflinks on his neatly pressed uniform. He’d been stationed in Germany for months now, and nights like these—filled with small talk and stiff drinks—were beginning to blur together. But tonight felt different, though he wasn’t sure why.

He surveyed the room lazily, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he exchanged nods with a few familiar faces. But then he saw her.

At first, it was just a flash of movement—her skirt swishing as she turned to laugh at something one of her friends said. The light caught the soft waves of her hair, framing her face like something out of a dream. She was standing by the window, her silhouette outlined by the faint moonlight streaming through the glass.

She wore a polka-dot dress, black with little white spots, cinched at the waist and flowing just enough to show off her figure without being too much. Her bare shoulders gleamed under the light, and her laugh—it wasn’t just a sound, it was a melody, cutting through the noise of the room and wrapping around him like a lasso.

Elvis froze, his drink halfway to his lips, his heart thudding hard enough that he was sure someone nearby could hear it.

“Lord have mercy,” he muttered under his breath.

“What’s that, EP?” one of his buddies teased, elbowing him.

“Nothin’,” Elvis replied, his Southern drawl a little thicker than usual. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—no, not just beautiful. There was something about her, something that felt like sunshine on a cold day or the first few notes of a song that you know is going to be a hit. She wasn’t just pretty; she was magic.

For a moment, he considered staying put. After all, what were the chances she’d notice him? Sure, people back home always said he had a certain charm, but this was different. She wasn’t just another pretty girl at a party. She was the girl, the kind you’d write songs about, the kind who could ruin you in the best possible way.

But Elvis Presley had never been one to back down from a challenge.

Taking a deep breath, he set down his glass and adjusted his tie. His palms were sweating, but he wiped them discreetly on his uniform trousers as he made his way across the room. He’d faced screaming crowds and flashing cameras, but somehow, the thought of saying hello to her felt like the most nerve-wracking thing he’d ever done.

As he got closer, he caught snippets of her voice—soft, lilting, with just a hint of mischief. She was telling a story, her hands gesturing animatedly, and her friends were hanging on her every word. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, his voice low but steady.

She turned, and for a second, Elvis felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Up close, she was even more stunning. Her eyes—bright and curious—met his, and a soft blush rose to her cheeks.

“Yes?” she said, her voice as warm as he’d imagined.

“I don’t mean to interrupt,” he began, his hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck, “but I just had to come over and say… well, you’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Her friends giggled, and Elvis felt his own face heat up, but he didn’t break eye contact.

“That’s quite the compliment,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you always talk to girls like this?”

“No, ma’am,” he said quickly. “Only the ones who take my breath away.”

Her lips curved into a smile, and Elvis felt like he’d won a prize.

“Well, thank you,” she said. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N,” he repeated, savoring the way her name felt on his tongue. “I’m Elvis.”

“I know,” she said with a little laugh. “It’s hard not to recognize you.”

Elvis chuckled, his nerves starting to ease. “Yeah, I guess I’ve got one of those faces, huh?”

Her smile widened, and she gestured to the empty spot beside her. “Would you like to join us?”

“I’d be honored,” he said, sliding into the space and feeling a little like he’d just been invited into heaven.

For the next hour, Elvis forgot about the rest of the party. The room faded into the background as he hung on her every word. She told him about her travels, her family, her favorite books and movies.

#elvis presley #elvis #elvis fans #70s elvis #elvis history #elvis the king #elvisedit #60s elvis #elvisaaronpresley #reader x Elvis #elvis fanfiction #60selvis

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danistartt · 2 years ago

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When Worlds Collide (it is Wonderful)- Dani Rojas

pairings: dani rojas x reader, the richmond team warnings: nervous reader, language about: request! dani introducing you to the team

Dani is ecstatic. He��s been ecstatic for three days and pre-ecstatic for two, grinning at you brazenly when he remembers today.

You… aren’t, so much.

You should’ve told him, you think as he leads you inside the Richmond building, chattering away excitedly about each member of the team. He mentions how nice Sam is and you’re reminded of how much he loves them. You stop abruptly, Dani tugging on your arm when he fails to notice.

He turns back to you and cocks his head in the sweet puppy way he does, saying your name in question. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m nervous,” you blurt.

“I thought you were excited?” he asks, stepping closer. You stare up at him worriedly and squeeze his hand.

“I was. I am. I want to meet them, they’re important to you, but that’s why I’m so nervous, too.” Your eyes round in concern. “What if they hate me? They’re a big part of your life and if they hate me, I—”

“Why would they hate you?” he wonders incredulously. “Mi amor, I do not think anyone could hate you.”

“But what if they do?” you insist. “What if I’m actually awful and I’ve trapped you with my siren song without even knowing?” you whimper.

“No,” Dani murmurs, wrapping his arms around you. You melt on contact, the unbelievable heat of him immensely comforting. “You do not have a siren song. And if you do, then I do not mind. They will love you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. I talk about you all the time and I love you. If they are not at least a little in love with you already, I will be surprised.” Dani smiles at your stilted laugh. “They told me they were excited to meet you.”

“I don’t want to disappoint them. Or you.”

Dani pulls away to make sure you’re looking him in the eyes. “You could not. Even if you tried really, really hard.”

Your face crumples.

Dani panics. “Did I say something?”

“Yes,” you cry, pulling him back to you. You raise a hand up to your eyes and wipe away your fear. Taking a deep breath, you nod. “I’m ready,” you tell him, standing up straight and squaring your shoulders.

“Wonderful,” he says pleasantly, picking right back up where he left off. “Coach Roy screams a lot, but he is very kind. He has a niece named Phoebe who he brought one day and gave us all friendship bracelets.” His own drags against the hand he holds, a bubblegum bead at the end of thick string bouncing on your wrist. “Jamie, of course, is my best friend.”

You laugh. “I can’t wait to meet them all.”

“I cannot wait either,” he says, very nearly bouncing on his heels. “This is like two of my favorite worlds colliding into one big, even more wonderful world.”

You chortle, squeezing his hand.

“All the coaches are there. Coach Lasso was very excited about meeting you. I think he got cupcakes.”

“Really?” you ask.

“I talk about you a lot.”

Another squeeze, desperate to send a loving spark up his arm. You think it reaches when he squeezes back.

You both pause outside the door, staring at the doorknob. Dani buzzes in your hand, but he glances up at you, soft eyes wonderful and kind. “Do not worry, okay? Javier is much tougher than them and he liked you a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

When Dani pushes the door open, you are not prepared for the silence. You expect what you think is common of a locker room—loud guy noises, strewn exhausted footballers. Instead, you find all the thirty-something footballers standing straight in a very organized line, the coaches standing in front of what you assume is the office. One holds a small, pink box in his hands, a carton of cupcakes against his hip.

“Hello,” you say awkwardly, glancing at each face that stares back at you.

“Dani!” One bellows happily. “We were waitin’ for ya, bruv.”

“Yeah,” another chimes, “we was standin’ here for, like, five minutes.”

“Good impressions,” one at the far end chimes in.

Dani is glowing, agreeing with everything they’re saying. “This is my amor,” he says proudly, presenting you to the team. They stare for a second before the room erupts in elated noise, men coming up to you to tell you varying introductions. You catch some names and recognize some faces, trying your best to keep up with each person.

“Oi!” Someone yells, the team quieting and parting for the source of the voice. Low, bushy brows atop a dark beard introduce you to Roy. “Will we show some fucking manners?” He smiles at you a little gruffly and offers you a hand, the blue tail of a bracelet matching Dani’s swinging lightly against your wrist. “I’m Roy.”

“I’ve heard,” you reply, accepting. His handshake is as firm as you’d expect.

“So’ve we,” he tells you.

“Hi there,” Treats Man says, peeking over Roy’s shoulder with a friendly wave. “I’m Ted. That’s Coach Beard over there.” He gestures to a man off to the side, arms crossed across his chest. He offers you a nod. “We hear you’re with our little ray of sunshine, huh?”

You’re inclined to agree. “I’ve heard a lot. About everyone. I didn’t expect such a… big hello. Dani said I’d just come by after practice and put some voices to faces.”

“Nah. We showered and everythin’,” a player says proudly. “Isaac said we should.”

The man who had first spoken ducked his chin in agreement.

“Thank you,” you laugh.

“Are you impressed?” a man with short hair asks.

“Definitely.”

They all cheer, must to Roy’s dismay.

Dani takes this as a cue to start speaking, pointing players out and telling you their names. Sam smiles at you warmly and gives you a hug. Jamie nods at you, Colin tells you about one of the things Dani’d said about you, Moe kisses your hand, and Zoreaux says Dani hadn’t done you justice. Even Rebecca Welton comes down to meet you, offering free box seats for the next game.

You become very well aware that the team may already know you better than you had thought. Dani seems pleased about this fact. You can’t find it in yourself to be upset.

At the end of the meet, you realize every member of the team wears a colorful bracelet. You kind of can’t wait to get yours.

#dani rojas #dani rojas x reader #ted lasso #dani rojas fanfiction #dani rojas imagine #dani rojas x y/n #dani rojas x you #dani rojas fanfic #dani rojas fic #dani rojas fluff #richmond team x reader

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alwritey-aphrodite · 1 year ago

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Paint The Town Blue

Chapter Five of There’s Nothing Like This

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Jamie Tartt x fem!footballer!reader

Warnings: drinking

Word Count: 2.9k

Author’s Note: I love how every Ted Lasso fic series has a gala chapter, we’re so cute like that

The rest of the week passes in a blur of glittering gowns and sweaty training sessions, face masks and bruises. It was surprisingly easy to find a dress for the gala, and you settle on something simple enough so you can hopefully wear it again after looking at the price tag. Training is rough, and you leave every day wondering how you’re able to walk, but your mood had improved considerably after Monday’s episode.

By the time Thursday morning rolls around, you’re nothing more than a bundle of nerves, terrified for the match and the gala and what everyone is going to think of you. You’d always assumed that people’s opinions of you wouldn’t affect you as much as what you think about yourself, but now that seemingly everyone has something negative to say, it’s starting to wear you down. It’s like there are two different forces propelling you forward: one that wants to win and one that needs to prove everyone wrong.

You know your teammates feel the same way.

The dressing room is thrumming with energy and tension about to snap, all of you primed and ready for the match ahead. Your nervous energy has peaked and dissipated after spending time in the dressing room, laughing and smiling with your teammates while you prepare, securing your hair back and waiting for one of the coaches to give the pre-match pep talk even though you’re paying more attention to readying yourself mentally than anything that comes out of their mouths, and you leave the dressing room feeling ready for whatever happens on the pitch.

When you return to the dressing room ninety minutes later, it’s to the jubilant singing of your teammates. It’d been a harsh fight, but you managed to score in the seventieth minute to secure a 1-0 win, pushing you higher in the standings.

“Oi!” Roy breaks through the revelry, “Don’t get too shit-faced tonight, you still have training tomorrow.”

“And free drinks tomorrow night!” Keeley adds as she enters the dressing room, causing another wave of fanfare to erupt, more for the woman herself than her statement.

“So maybe we push off the celebration?” Elena offers, and even though she’s met with a chorus of booing, you all eventually agree that tonight will be for resting and tomorrow can be for celebrating while bringing attention to whatever charity is at the center of the gala.

As much as you want to bask in the glow of the win, you change out of your kit as fast as possible, already dreaming about the warm shower waiting for you at home. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to some takeout instead of whatever leftover meal prep is sitting in your fridge. You say your goodbyes to the girls, congratulating Naomi, your goalkeeper, on all her amazing saves as you leave the dressing room to wait for Mackie in the hallway, where it’s cooler and less crowded and you can breathe deeply for the first time in ninety minutes.

Checking your phone, you see a text from Jamie and are a little embarrassed at how quickly you open it.

Congrats on the win!! You played great today, might have to ask you for some pointers

You hate the way you smile down at your phone as you type a response, reminding yourself that Jamie is your friend and a new one at that.

Thanks! Are you sure you could even handle any more training?

The three little dots appear as Mackie leaves the dressing room, so you close your phone and slip it into your pocket as quickly as possible. Knowing Mackie, she would make everything into a big deal, and you didn’t want to ruin one of your first friendships in Richmond outside of the team just because Mackie loves jumping to conclusions.

Driving home with Mackie is always the perfect way to end your evenings, she always knows if you want quiet or talking or hype music or relaxing music, and even when you don’t talk it’s wonderful to know you have someone next to you. Today, she’s a chatterbox, going on and on about all the calls she thought should have been fouls or yellow cards.

By the time she’s dropping you off, you’re laughing so hard there are tears pouring out of your eyes and you never want to spend a moment apart from her ever again.

“Alright, get out, I wanna go to bed,” Mackie says through the remnants of her laughter, pushing at your shoulder until you leave the car.

Your evening plans are very similar to Mackie’s, and you order takeout before you take a long, hot shower to relax your muscles that had gone into overdrive before you slip into your bed and turn on mind numbing television while you scroll through your phone. You text back and forth with Jamie for a while, confirming that he’s coming to the charity event Keeley has planned for Friday and he tells you that he’s pretty sure Keeley stuck you at the same table as him.

It’s terrifying how nervous that makes you feel, nervous like you’re about to hit the peak of a roller coaster or walk down the aisle in a white gown.

When you wake in the morning, it’s after a solid eight hours of sleep where you were plagued by the strangest dreams of weddings and fancy dresses and cars driven by Jamie Tartt. As odd as your dreams were, it was the best sleep you’d gotten since you arrived in Richmond and you’re finally starting to feel less keyed up.

Training is easy as well, and most of your day is spent reviewing game footage and reevaluating certain tactics and laughing so much you’re a little bit worried you’re going to pee yourself. As serious as you all can be, as anxious as everyone is on match day, it’s hard to feel anything but joy when you’re surrounded by your team and you’re riding high on the win from yesterday and the promise of free booze later.

As everyone’s packing up and showing pictures of dresses and shoes and hairstyles, Keeley pops in, clearly looking frazzled.

“Remember to be on our best behavior, yeah? At least until all the old people get tired and go home,” she smiles then, and you just wish you could tell her that tonight will be perfect and have her believe you.

Your training ended at the same time as the men’s team, giving everyone ample time to get ready for the gala, and you pretend to ignore the way Mackie stares at you when you wave goodbye to Jamie. She drops you off, promising to pick you up at seven and you know she’s refraining from making a joke about you finding a “better date” with a certain striker and you’re grateful for her self control.

When you finally make your way inside, all the stress and pressure from the week, from the month, come crashing down around you but you do your best to work through it, knowing you have a weekend full of absolutely nothing to look forward to. You take your time getting ready, luxuriating in the shower and spending longer than you ever have on your hair and makeup, the threat of a red carpet and paparazzi making bile rise in your throat.

Still, you manage to finish getting ready before Mackie arrives, giving you plenty of time to marinate in your own self doubt and anxiety. Never in your life have you needed to attend an event like this, let alone an event when most of the attention will be on you and your teammates. All you hope is that everything goes smoothly, for your sake and for Keeley’s. You know it’s eating at her how poorly received the women’s team has been, and you know she needs a win from the press.

Hopefully tonight goes well and she raises lots of money for charity before getting absolutely shitfaced with the Greyhounds.

As expected, Mackie arrives right on time, looking absolutely stunning in the suit you’d picked out together on Tuesday. She gives a wolf whistle as you lock your front door and make your way to the car, pausing to give her a little spin so she could see the dress, and you, in all its glory. You’ve never been one for fancy dresses, but Mackie’s reaction makes you think you should dress up more.

The drive to the venue only serves to give your anxiety time to grow, despite the gentle way Mackie tries to distract you with her talks of nonsense. Throughout your years of friendship, she’s always done her best to support you through events and nights like these, even though standing in the spotlight has always come naturally to her. By the time you slip out of the car and spot the photographers and the carpet and the rest of your teammates, you’re on the verge of throwing up and considering making a run for it when Mackie grabs you gently by the arm and steers you towards the carpet.

Finding your team waiting to get their pictures taken, you’re met with excited shouts and whistles and expletives as you and Mackie approach, as if they’re not also dressed to the nines and looking more beautiful than anyone you’ve ever seen. There are a few of the men’s players hanging around and chatting with your teammates, but they usher you forward onto the carpet, letting your team bask in the spotlight for once.

Mackie, as if sensing the anxiety radiating off of you in waves, grabs your hand and pulls you forward, stopping and posing with you until you make it safely to the other side of the carpet. Already overwhelmed, you simply squeeze her hand in silent thanks before dropping it as you make your way inside, dazzled by Keeley’s hard work and dedication.

The entire space is transformed, and what was before an empty, boring ballroom is covered in silver twinkling stars and ambient lighting and a sea of tables complete with numbers and place cards. Keeley truly never ceases to amaze you, and the fact that she could pull all of this off while working at her own PR company and helping to run the Greyhounds’ social media is mind boggling to you. As much as you want to tell her how great of a job she’s done, you can see her bouncing around from table to table and you can’t even imagine the stress she’s under, so you promise yourself you’ll tell her later.

When you finally find your table in the sea of others, Jamie, Colin, and Isaac are already sitting down, and the way Jamie smiles when he notices you makes you feel a little bit dizzy.

“Well, now it’s a party!” Colin says when he glances up and sees Mackie after noticing the spaced-out look that had appeared on Jamie’s face, and he stands to get everyone a drink. Your seat, apparently, is right next to Jamie, and you have to wonder if Keeley had planned it that way or if someone might have meddled.

By the forced look of nonchalance on Isaac’s face, you’re guessing it’s the second one.

“You look really nice,” Jamie says as he scrambles to pull your chair out, and you shamelessly let your eyes rove up and down his body, taking in the way his dark trousers hug his thighs and the exposed skin of his chest underneath his mostly unbuttoned shirt. Friends are allowed to admire how their friends look, you tell yourself, forcing the word ‘friend’ into your brain over and over again.

“So do you,” you tell him truthfully as you take a seat, and your heart flutters a little as his cheeks redden slightly.

The chatter throughout the room and the music playing softly creates a gentle hum in the background, but you’re not paying attention to anything except your table. Colin’s boyfriend, Micheal, was giving you all an earful about all the pains of dating a footballer, and between the way he’s cracking jokes and the drink you’d all but pounded to calm your nerves, you’re laughing harder than you have in ages. Lucky for you, your entire table seems to be in a similar position and the tables around you are so wrapped up in their own conversations that no one notices your rambunctious group.

After the food is served, though, you all manage to calm down to respectable levels, preparing yourselves for the long, drawn out auction that’s to come. Keeley is still fluttering around, and she stops by your table shortly after the entrees. She’s grinning, but you can tell she’s more than anxious from the way she keeps asking if everyone’s having a good time.

“Everything’s great, it’s beautiful in here,” you tell her, casting a glance around the room to look at the decor again.

“You guys look beautiful!” She counters, a genuine smile taking over her face and you just hope that the charity portion of the event is over soon so she can enjoy herself.

“Go eat!” You shoo her away, and you see Rebecca send you a wink out of the corner of her eye when she comes to steer Keeley back to her table.

Almost as soon as the plates are cleared away, Rebecca is thanking everyone for coming and thanking Keeley for planning such a beautiful night before beginning to auction off signed kits and match balls and VIP tickets for the rest of the season. You’re not sure if everyone’s been making good use out of the open bar or if the event is always this successful, but those items go for more money than you would have ever imagined.

While a few other guests continue to chat and sit by the bar to savor one last free drink, much of the remaining crowd works at Nelson Road in some capacity, and by the way Keeley glances around the room from her spot by the door, thanking everyone for coming as they leave, she’s clearly waiting for something.

Once it looks like the last guest has left, leaving behind the Greyhounds, Keeley takes to the stage, finally looking relaxed and bouncy and ready to party.

“Thank you guys for your good behavior,” she says to the crowd, and you all cheer back at her, “now let’s fucking party!”

If everyone had cheered for the first part of her sentence, then everyone was going crazy now, yelling so loud your ears hurt a little. The tables were all pushed away and some apparently famous DJ took the stage, and then it was time for a night of drinks and dancing with your friends, the perfect way to celebrate your win from yesterday and Keeley’s successful charity event.

Despite never being one for the club scene, the drinks and the company were making you feel like you could conquer anything, so you join the mass of swaying bodies, finding space to dance near Mackie and Amelia. You can’t remember ever feeling this loose, this carefree, so you intend to savor it.

After a few songs, though, your feet start killing you and you navigate your way out of the crowd to find a seat at the bar. Luckily for you, Jamie was sitting at the bar, watching the crowd with a beer bottle in his hand, and you know you light up when you see him. With all the drinks coursing through your body, you forget to be nervous around him, forget to remind yourself that he’s just a friend.

Plopping down next to him and unbuckling the tiny straps on your shoes, you sigh in relief once you can feel your toes again, giving yourself a little break before going back out to dance.

“Want a drink?” Jamie asks with a little nod back to the bar, an amused smile on his face as he watches you staring at your feet, willing them to feel better.

“Sure!” You chirp, talking louder than you normally would to be heard over the music. Jamie, ever the observer, remembers your drink of choice from early in the evening and slides one to you from across the bar.

“Why aren’t you dancing?” You ask him after taking a healthy swig from your drink.

“Don’t wanna,” he shrugs, looking from the crowd to you to the bottle in his hand, “someone here should be responsible, yeah?” Instead of a response, you just clink your glasses together with a smile.

Soon, you’re so wrapped up in Jamie that your mission to get back on the dance floor is completely forgotten. The two of you make your way outside, to hear each other better, and your heart ticks up when Jamie carries your shoes out for you, making no comment on you being barefoot in London.

He takes a seat on the steps and you follow suit, sitting closer than you normally would. You talk for what must be hours, trading stories from training and old clubs and your childhood determination to make it to the top, and much too soon for your liking, Elena is coming outside with Mackie on her arm.

“I promised I’d bring these two home,” she says, Mackie immediately pouting at the older woman.

“I guess it’s time for me to leave,” you sigh, gathering your shoes and standing as Elena attempts to get Mackie down the stairs, “thanks for talking with me.” You lean back down to plant a kiss on his cheek without a second thought.

You turn to leave, and you don’t notice the way Jamie tenderly touches the faint lipstick mark left behind on his cheek.

Tags: @andr0medafallen @buckychristwrites @benedictscanvas @whimsical-roasting @sokkigarden @guccilongboard @onceuponaoneshot @presidential-facts @yepyeahuhhuh @loveslide @allthefandomtherapy @gibby31 @buddyjuststop @ellietartt @cancvr @brianandthemays @sonyume @aiyaiy @captainfrisbee @dalebo3 @theloud-yet-quietone @imsoluckyeverythingworksoutforme @rockchickrebel @legobatmans9thab @curlypeter @lostinwonderland314 @yokolesbianism @jamietarttdodo @fan-goddess @innocentbi-stander @skewedcherries

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x you #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt fluff #jamie tartt imagine #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction

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takami-takami · 2 years ago

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Stray Dogs Will Crawl Home.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. angst (with a happy ending).

warnings— gn!reader. breakups. keigo's trauma because i can't give this man a break and he needs to heal.

For better or for worse, Keigo has always been thrust into the role of decision maker.

Sure, on the inside, his emotions pick and chew at his open wounds; but the man has driven the proverbial and literal knife into far too many backs to hesitate when he leaves you.

He can do what needs to be done. It's for your own good. You deserve more than half a man, more than the scraps of whatever is left crawling to your door after another day of putting his goals of building a peaceful society before you.

The night before he left you, stone-faced to contrast your tears and begs of 'why' on the cold of your doorstep, he lay on his side and watched you sleep. Tracing the bridge of your nose with the tip of a finger, he wondered, throat tight, what you'd think of him if you knew the truth of what he's done.

He can't bear to offer you a man who's already sold himself. You shouldn't have to shoulder the weight of his sins. He tells himself it's for the greater good, but under the cobwebs of his bed, he knows a smaller, childlike voice is telling him you deserve someone who isn't dirtied by a life counting shades of moral grey.

It aches like he's dying, sure, but that's what hero work is for, right? He can throw himself into the trenches, hour after hour, until the sun looms over the horizon and the lovebirds' chirps announce the arrival of another morning without you.

For what everyone in the media says about him being a 'golden boy', he just doesn't feel the sun without you.

His subordinates ask more than a few questions about the bags under his eyes, why his glowing smile has fizzled to a mere plastic performance. It's even easier to brush them off than it was to brush off you, to smile wider and turn the question on them— an unspoken order to fucking drop it.

But Keigo's kryptonite, the deep burn that itches under the layers of his skin, is that he's well aware of what happens after someone like you becomes single. The thought crawls under the remains of his bones, and as he perches on the highest point of the city, he makes the mistake of allowing himself to entertain it. If he wasn't weighed down under the drags of sleep deprivation, he'd curse himself for being so weak.

Deep down, he knows what happens after the weeks of digging through tubs of comfort food on the couch are over. You'll stop sobbing over the phone with your best friend. You'll probably start scheduling little dates with people who remind you less and less of him with each passing one.

You're going to move on.

Someone else's fingers will press against your skin. Someone else's quips will cause you to laugh into your sleeve, someone else will hear your shaky breaths under the cover of the night, someone else will whisper promises they can't keep.

Someone else is going to make a spouse of you.

He winces. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he takes a single stride off the ledge and surges upwards with the beat of his wings.

He makes a note to add another shift to his schedule. Maybe two.

Are you thinking of him? If you were here, he knows you'd tell him to be open with you, to stop 'being so goddamn stubborn'. You'd tell him he deserves a break from pushing his emotions down, that you knew damn well what you signed up for when you decided to be his, and to just trust your judgement for once.

To make matters worse, you'd frame it sweet, hook the words around his heart like a taffy lasso, make it so he can't resist. You do know how much he likes it sweet.

It picks at the anger thrumming in his veins. You expect him to lay himself bare? To expose the rawest parts of him, despite the commission's repeated orders not to? You expect him to be selfish?

Why does he want so badly to be selfish?

He should definitely add two more shifts to his schedule.

His phone begins to ring, startling him from his musings. He knows exactly who it is from the first note. Your favorite song plays on his speaker; the one you confessed reminds you of him, with your thumb swiping over the raised hairs on his skin. His heart hammers in the cavity of his chest, pleading to be let out.

He can't be fucking rid of you. Keigo's heart, his mind, his very bones crackle with the fire he frantically tries to put out. God, he wants to burn, wants to drag himself by his fingertips to the door of your chapel and beg you to just finish him off. He wouldn't mind serving as the ash of your incense. He'd do anything for a chance to fill your lungs.

Shit. He scrambles to dig his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it like hot coals when he attempts to pick it up.

"H-Hey, sweetheart!" He cringes at the puppy-like excitement in his voice at the mere sound of yours. "I'm s-sor— I," he stutters for far too long before he finally gives up. Sighing into the speaker, resigned, he squeezes his eyes shut and says exactly what his mind is screaming he shouldn't.

"Can we talk?"

#GRIPPING KEIGO IN MY FIST. HEAL DARN YOU.#hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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scenteddelusion5 · 10 months ago

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"Two households, both unalike in dignity, In our unsightly hell, where we lay our scene," PART 4

Vox x gn reader (Alastor's child)

Note: I had so much fun writing this!!! I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 3174

Trigger warning: suicide attempt (This is based on Romeo and Julliet after all).

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

"HahaHAHAha," Alastor's laugh could be heard through the entire restaurant.

Denizens left early so they could get away from him as soon as possible. There were a few tables that stayed, however. One of them was a group of girls in the corner. Y/n couldn't really see them, but they could hear a giggle come from there every once in a while. The worst part of the dinner was how well Alastor and Paris got along. It was agonizing.

"You are one hell of a gentleman, Paris," Alastor joked. "Don't you think so Y/n?"

"Yeah, sure."

The overlord had noticed how out of his child had been after their conversation. He tried to cheer them up the whole time, he hated seeing them frown, but nothing would work. Alastor supposed it was his fault so of course it wouldn't work. Instead, he tried to get the attention on Paris in hopes he would be able to cheer them up. This was another failure.

Velvette had been texting Vox the whole night. She couldn't enjoy her food, only a few of her girls could to be honest, so instead she stared at the table in the middle of the restaurant. She sat in just the right spot where she wouldn't be noticed by the other two overlords.

They is frowning the WHOLE time Like they look like they want to leave real bad

Can you take pictures? Send me pictures Should I come over and help them?

RELAX!!! I'll take your stupid picture

Just as Velvette was about to sneakily take a picture of them, she saw Paris pull out a small box from his jacket.

"No fucking way," she mumbled under her breath.

"I know Y/n and me have only been seeing each other for a little more than a week," Paris started his speech, "I've fallen deeply in love with them and I'm personally ready to tie the knot." He opened the little box with a very fancy ring in it and presented it to them.

This seemed to take Alastor by surprise, there was no possibility his little fawn would say yes to such a premature proposal. Y/n was more... Refined than that.

"I- uhm, I will..."

What? This wasn't like them. Alastor didn't have much time to ponder what was going on when the wall exploded. His head snapped 360° to look at the destruction. As his head was turned, from the other side a glowing lasso wrapped around Y/n.

"Ẁ̸̟͎͙̰̑̂̿ͅH̷̞̦̕ͅA̸̗͉̣̝͓͆T̶̨̫͍̖̽ͅ!̵̤͍̱͓͑́̎͘͠" They looked down to the obviously angelic rope. They tried to tug out of it but was unable to.

As he heard their voice, Alastor's head turned around again. He saw the lasso around them, on the other end stood an imp with a cowboy hat. Alastor's shadow tentacles immediately shot out, but he was too late, the imp had pulled them back.

"I̴̘̹͍̒̄̚ ̴̻́W̵̨̺̌̂̉̐Ǐ̵̥̖̀̑L̶̜͂͒̑L̸̮̼̳͖͒ ̷̫̋ m̷̎͜a̴̖͂k̴̢͗ȩ̶͋ ̶̺̌ȳ̵̹o̶͙͌u̶̞͝ ̵͈̋r̷̨̈e̴̢̓g̸̳̎ṙ̴̫e̵͕͌t̴̙̍ ̶̡͗̈Ţ̶͉̥͛͌̕H̵̜͎͝I̴̭̩͛́̔͑͜ͅS̶̮͔̯͕̐!̵̡̘̀͑̓!̸̜̣̤̤̎̾!̷̦̤͕̦̄̍͆" His voice was distorted and his antlers grew triple in size. More and more shadows showed up to get to Y/n.

"Then you better hurry." Striker tightened the rope causing Y/n to scream.

Rosie was quick to help her friend but she was quickly distracted by another explosion, and another. Before they knew it, the whole building exploded and Y/n and Striker had disapeared.

Alastor's eyes widened, staring at the now empty spot where they just were. Everything become distorted around him, static filled the air and the Radio Demon grew to an enormous size.

"W̴̤͂̇H̸͔̓E̸̙͝R̷̫̩͌̌E̴̳͝ ̸͙͌̚A̵̖̻̐R̴͇̜͋͛E̸̘͠ ̴̛̫̔Ỳ̸͓O̴̳̟͒Ų̴̲̽͐?!!" Blood streamed out of his mouth down to his chin, his eyes turned into dials and the parts of hsi eyes that were usually red turned black. "W̷̘̯͕̾H̸̨͒Ë̵̢N̶̯̈́̂͐ ̸̞̠̈́I̵͉͚͌̓̀ ̵̼̦̎F̸͍̑Ḯ̸͔͔̚ͅN̶̖̆D̵̠̻̱̾̕ ̷̡̥͔̊̃Y̶̰̕͘Ȍ̵̭̜̈U̵̹͊̂̔͜!! When I F̶̼̺̲̥͕͉̖̓̄̓̍I̸̯͝N̸̡̮̥̯̲̦̩̒̋̏̂̊̒̚D̵̙̀̿ YOU!!! I WILL D̸͓͛̂̇̉Ȩ̴̟̗̫̼͎̙̏͗̓̿́S̴͖̩̹͉̣͖̑̉̈́ͅT̸̜͚͔̮̬̩̮̏R̴̟̪͓̍̍̑̽̉̃Ọ̴̡̺̝͆̍̈́̚͘Ỳ̶̙̠̻̱̥́̊̀̋ͅ ̸͈̆͗̿̂͠you!!!"

Alastor started destroying everything around him, pushing over buildings and throwing around random sinners. He couldn't find them. WHERE WERE THEY?

Velvette got blinded by the light that came from the explosion. Once she had rubbed her eyes and looked up again, she saw Y/n being pulled away by an imp. More explosions went off around Rosie and Alastor.

"God DAMN, you owe me Vox." She quickly got up and ran out the building, doing her best to follow Y/n and the kidnapper. Her efforts were in vain, when she lost them in the Vee's district.

It took hours for Alastor to calm down enough to stop his rampage. He sat down on the rubble scratching his claws into his leg.

"It's going to be alright Al. He wanted them alive so we still have a chance to find them." Rosie sat down next to him. "Paris and me will help you."

"What the FUCK happened to this place?" A voice came from the left.

Vox was sitting at home, blowing up Velvette's phone. She had just promised to send him a picture and suddenly she ignored him. What was happening over there? Maybe he should check it out, just for a second. Vox walked down to his car and got into his limo.

On the way there a notification popped up on his screen; a 666 news broadcast just started. He quickly put it on the TV he had hanging by the minibar.

"Good evening hell, we just got news that the Radio Demon was spotted reaping chaos." Katie Killjoy talked a mile a minute. The little box in the corner showed glitchy footage of a giant Alastor destroying the city. "Eyewitnesses say he is after someone. I wouldn't want to be in their position."

"Drive faster!" Vox yelled at his brainwashed employee.

Alastor's attention snapped to the Vee that just got to the scene. One of his tentacles shot out to the TV demon.

"What did Y̴̦̥̩̝̱̥̬̑̃̏͑̿̈́̀̋͝O̸̢͙͈̖͍̱̞̹̘͖̳̝̓̌̕͜͠Ü̶̦͖̿́́̄ do to Y/n?!" Alastor's shadows pulled Vox by the limbs. He was ready to tear the other overlord apart.

"I didn't do SHIT do them!!!" Vox buffered. "Where ARE they?!"

"Alright, alright, stop it Alastor." Rosie put herself in between them. "I dislike the guy too, but tearing him apart isn't going to find Y/n."

The Radio Demon let go of Vox but did keep a close eye on him. "You have one minute tell me where they are."

"I DON'T KNOW WHERE THEY ARE!!!" Vox yelled. "I don't even know what the FUCK is going on!"

"Y/n just got kidnapped by an imp with angelic weapons," Rosie explained.

"And how are we planning to find them?"

"WE?" Alastor asked. "You are going to get us to them before I destroy you."

"I didn't do it!"

"You've been trying to use them to get to me from the moment you two met."

"If you loved Y/n half as much as I do you would notice the FEET KISSING FUCKER that has actually been using them." Vox retorted while pointing at Paris.

"Me?" Paris put on his best confused face. "You're ridiculous."

Alastor was slowly growing in size again. He had enough of Vox's act. He would find Y/n even if he had to kill all of hell. "How D̸͎̤͉͑̈́͊À̸͙̱̹͎͓̀Ȑ̴̻͈͉̪͈͖̘̻̔̓E̷͍̤̲̻̠̾ you suggest I don't love them enough!" The Radio Demon shot out his shadows reaching for Vox. When he got the TV Demon by the leg, he pulled him back and imprisoned him with his claws.

Vox had to act fast. "Y-you really think Y/n would have agreed to that bastard's proposal if he wasn't blackmailing them!!"

The Radio Demon stopped in his tracks. He was right, they would never had agreed. He shrunk again, now turning to the cannibal demon. Y/n had been acting weird... But what would be enough to blackmail his child? He was one of the most powerful overlords in hell, anyone that messed with them messed with him. Y/n had to just come to him and he would take care of everything.

"Stop spewing such nonsense, of course Y/n would want to marry me!" Paris yelled literally looking down on Vox who was still pinned to the rubble. "Only someone like me is worthy of marrying the Radio Demon's child."

Alastor had never heard Paris spoke in such a way before. If the demon was just an acquaintance, he wouldn't have mind it, hell maybe even encouraged it! But this was the man who had been courting his child. His child who would've hated to be put on a pedestal, especially if it was for simply being the Radio Demon's child.

Alastor turned to the man. "Paris? What did he mean by 'if he wasn't blackmailing them'?"

"... You aren't believing what this filth is spewing, right?" Paris' face gradually turned from confusion to fear when he realised the demon wanted actually wanted an answer. "I... Of course, I didn't!" He began to sweat. "I-I would never..."

Alastor knew how men looked when they were scrambling for anything that would save them, a lie, a knife, a rock, anything. He had seen it over and over again on his victims, on his father.

"Listen, you have Ỡ̵͉̰͋̀̅̄̀̈́N̵͉͎̦͖̼̖̣̼̣̈́̌̃E̶̛̖͐̀̕͝ chance tell me the truth or you will be the next voice on my broadcast." Alastor loomed over Paris, symbols and static surrounding him. "I'm all ears."

"I- uhm..."

"It's not wise to lie dear," Rosie advised him, "it'll only make things worse."

"I-it's true." He mumbled but it was loud enough for Alastor to hear.

Before Paris knew it a black hole was opened up underneath him. Giant, black tentacles dragged him down, deep in the unknown.

"I'll deal with him later, now, you." He turned to Vox who was still traumatised by what he just witnessed. "E̵͙͇̳̬̬͐́X̷̣̭̫̞̄̔̿̀͘P̸͍̜̯͉̂̀̓̾̋̕͜Ĺ̵̪͌̋͌͘A̷̤͍͎̓͂͊̏͜ͅI̸͍̊͝N̶̫͇̥̅̆̒́̍͐!̵̡̭̲̱̭͝ Please."

"It doesn't matter how many times you threaten me-" Vox slowly stood up. "- or how many times you beat me up." He continued to confidently walk up to Alastor. "My answer is still the same fuckface!!!" His face was pulled into a frown and he shoved his finger into the Radio Demon's face. "I LOVE Y/N!!!!"

Alastor was put off by his enemy's attitude. This wasn't his usual front in which he pretended to be strong and confident. For the first time he saw the genuine Vox shine through.

"Fine then, prove it." The Radio Demon straightened his suit jacket. "Are you willing to risk your life and soul finding them?"

"Without a doubt and I know exactly where to start."

The three overlords were walking into the Vee tower, up the elevator to Vox's office. For anyone walking by it was a strange sight. Vox, the overly controlling and vengeful overlord inviting his rival into his office... And Alastor agreeing! This would have been the talk of the town if Vox hadn't mind controlled every single one of his employees to stay quiet. He has an image to uphold after all.

Alastor looked around the office, it was... Something. A circular door with the VoxTech logo on it let the three overlords into what he could only describe as a monstrosity of a workspace. The Demon's office was a circular platform surrounded by a sort of, very deep, mote. In the mote swam robotic sharks. The walls held a thousand screens, each showing the footage of a different camera. On the platform hang even more screens in front of a single chair and a desk.

"Talk about being paranoid." Rosie said looking around the room.

"Only a madman would have this much surveillance." Alastor quipped.

"Well the surveillance of this mAdMaN is going to find Y/n, so shut up and let me concentrate."

"Of course." The Radio Demon nodded his head. "And how exactly?"

Vox rolled his eyes. If Alastor wanted to look down on him that's fine but the man isn't going to distract him from finding his love. "Well I'm going to try and restart the tracker in their phone."

"Their what now?"

"Their phone that I gifted. I had disabled the tracker but I might be able to restart it remotely," Vox explained.

"You gave my child one of your picture phones?" Alastor's eyes turned into dials. He couldn't believe how much Y/n had been hiding from him, it was a lot to find everything out in one evening.

"Yes, I wasn't able to contact them otherwise because of their overprotective freak of a father." Vox was typing away on his computer, getting past the firewall and excessing their phone settings.

"You-"

Alastor promptly got cut off by Rosie. "How about we deal with all this fighting and secrets later? Now we should focus on Y/n."

"Fine," Alastor sighed, "how long will this take?"

"Almost done I just have to excess the hidden settings and..... it's turned on!" Vox zoomed in on the map that showed the entire pride ring to the little glowing spot. "That's weird, it says they're on your territory, right by your garden."

"I doubt this kidnapper would have taken them to my house."

"How about I go take a look and you two try looking for something else?" Rosie proposed. "As long as you two stay civil with each other, of course."

"Don’t worry." Vox mumbled while all his focus was on the screens.

"That's not going to be a problem," Alastor said with a strained smile.

Rosie left the two of them alone. Maybe this would be good for them, she thought.

"I will never accept you as my son in law." Alastor stated.

"I know." Vox connected himself to the computer. This way it was easier to look through the thousands of security camera's around hell. "But I also never wanted to hide it. Whether you hate me or not, Y/n deserves better than sneaking around to go on dates."

"Then tell me my old friend, what makes you think YOU deserve them."

"I don't think I do, however, Y/n loves me and they deserves to be with someone that actually loves them back." Vox was following the tracker in Velvette's phone and looking through the cameras on that route.

"Tell me, how far along has your... affair with Y/n come?"

"If you're asking whether I've fucked them, then the answer is stage minus twenty. We've just been going on dates and talking."

Alastor scuffed at the overlords bluntness

"Look at this, I've got the two on camera."

He turned to the screen that showed the footage and there they were. Y/n bound with angelic robe with that imp dragging them along.

"They are headed for the edge of town." Vox skipped to the cameras there and sure enough, there they were. The imp dragged them into a warehouse.

"Hey dearies-" Rosie entered the office again, broken phone in hand. But as soon as she stepped inside the two men were already gone. Alastor disappearing in his shadow while Vox zapped through the camera.

"Who are you? What do you want from M̴̨͈͕͍͂͘Ȩ̷̛̙̪̱̤͊͒̑̇̋ͅ?!" Y/n yelled doing their absolute best to get their hands free from the bounds, alas it was pointless.

"It's no use fighting back. Not even Goetia would be able to get out of those." The imp's tail smashed against the wall in a whip-like motion. "Now be a good little sinner and wait, he wants to come down here and kill you himself."

"Your boss is a stupid man." Y/n was able to stand up, their hands and torso still bound. They looked around, they were inside some old buidling. Angelic weapons lined the wall, from guns to knifes.

"Hah! Tell him that yourself, he'll be here soon enough." A knock came from the door. "As if right on que." Striker opened the door and as he did, he was immediately shoved against the wall by black tentacles.

Through the doorway came Alastor and Vox. Y/n started running up to them.

"Fawn, I-" The Radio Demon stopped talking when he realised they weren't running to him but to Vox.

"VOX!!" Y/n cried throwing themselves onto them.

"Y/n." Vox took off the angelic bounds. "Are you alright?" He cupped their cheek.

They leaned into him. "I am now."

Alastor was fuming at the sight. He quickly grabbed the angelic rope and bound Striker before turning to the two. The Radio Demon proceeded to pull Vox away from them, pulling him in four different directions by his limbs.

"Thanks for the help but I have no use for you now, Ģ̵͖̯̅̂͜Ỏ̴͚̥̖͍̃O̷̳͙͗̍D̴̤̽̅̚B̸̢̦͇͑̔͋̿Y̶̪͕͔͎̹̱̊̎̓̕Ë̴̫͇̘́͋͜͝!!!"

"S̶̛̛̹̮̘͔͕̰̓́̀̋̾͛̕T̸̢̡̥̤̬͇̖̟͙̜̳̦͐̋O̷̢̨̫̰̪̯̟̼̞̼͈̥͜͝P̴̙͎̓̋̔̊̅͌̈!!!" Y/n stood by the wall of angelic weapons. "Let him go, I love him."

"Darling, I know what you think but you are confused, I will fix this for you." Alastor pulled harder earning a scream from Vox.

"DAD, let go of him, or... I will die with him." They pulled a knife from the array of weapons and held it to their neck.

"Y/N! Don't!!!" Vox yelled out. "It's not worth dying for me!"

"NO! If you die, I will die PERMENANTLY!"

"Little fawn, you will have to bluff better than that." The Radio Demon chuckled. "I will teach you one day."

"I'M NOT-" They yelled, -BLUFFING!!!" Y/n pulled the knife back and stabbed themselves into their shoulder, leaving the knife in, for now.

Alastor's antlers shrunk, his eyes focused on the wound, looking at it in horror. "Y/n, this man isn't worthy of you." Unconsciously, he had let go of a now coughing Vox.

He slowly made his way to them, coughing and limping.

"That's for me to decIDE-" They pulled the knife out, blood pooling out of the wound. "And HE IS!"

Y/n tried to push the knife right into their chest but something was blocking the blade. Vox had thrown himself at him and the knife went right through his suit and into his arm.

"V-Vox, what are you?"

"You are really stupid, you know that?" He joked. "How could I just stand by and watch you get hurt?"

"I love you," they whispered.

"I-I lo... Love..." Vox fell down, all his weight came down on them.

"Vox..? Vox? VOX!" Tears spilled out of their eyes. "VOX!!! WAKE UP! Ple-ease wake up!"

Alastor just stood there, as Vox of all people, saved his child. He tried to come closer, his hands shaking.

"STAY AWAY FROM HIM!!" Y/n glared at their father.

"Y/n, you're bleeding too, l-let me help you." He tried to take another step.

"S̶̛̛̹̮̘͔͕̰̓́̀̋̾͛̕T̸̢̡̥̤̬͇̖̟͙̜̳̦͐̋O̷̢̨̫̰̪̯̟̼̞̼͈̥͜͝P̴̙͎̓̋̔̊̅͌̈!! D-don't... you'll h-hurt hi-" They too lost consciousness.

The Radio Demon carefully picked up the couple, two tentacles wrapped around their wounds putting pressure on them. Before he could leave with them, a voice came from the door.

"Stricky!! Sorry, I'm late. I saw the broadcast though." The door slowly opened. "I can't wait to kill the whore and get my Voxy ba-"

Valentino saw what was actually happening inside. Striker was bound up, Vox and Y/n knocked out and he now stood face to face with a incredibly pissed of Radio Demon.

"Shi-"

Alastor quickly pulled Valentino and Striker into a blackhole. He really wanted to pull them both apart but he had other prioritise right now.

"Rosie! Get the first aid-kit!" Alastor barged into the emporium carrying the two.

Rosie looked at the wounds. "I'll get the town doctor too, wait here."

Alastor sat down next to his child. He gave them a kiss on the forehead.

"I'm sorry Y/n, please forgive me," he whispered.

Part 5

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Taglist: @hxzbinwrites

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #reader insert #hazbin hotel radio demon #hazbin hotel vox #x reader #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin hotel vox x reader

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