#listen if you were there you’d understand the depth of me thinking that

[livvyofthelake]

accidentally felt genuine real and true emotion at a bbc merlin edit on tiktok to taylor swift’s electric touch. do you still think i’m cool and detached and ironic.

[wandaslovey]

ᴀ ᴡʜᴏʟᴇ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ; ᴀ ᴋɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ᴋɴᴇᴡ

➺ dom!wandanat x sub!fem!reader

word count ~ 5.3k

authors note: part two is here!! let me just say, thank you all SO so much for all the love you gave me for part one 🫶🏻. there’s a little treat for y’all at the end 🤭 comment to be added to the tag list! this is not proofread.

authors note: for part three, i’m probably going to do a time skip where the contract has been signed and their relationship has begun. don’t worry though, it will still be in the beginning stages!

content warning(s): legal age gap, dom/sub dynamics, in-depth discussions about bdsm and bdsm contracts, kissing, brief mentions of masturbation

if you haven’t yet, read part one here

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you pop in your wireless earbuds, scrolling on your phone to one of your comfort playlists. it was saturday and you were currently in a taxi on your way to the maximoff-romanoff household. it felt so surreal being in this situation. the more you thought about it, the more nervous you felt, so you opted for listening to some music to calm your nerves.

they’d texted you their address the day before, and you were surprised to find out they lived outside the city in the suburbs. not just any suburbs though—the rich suburbs. scarsdale to be more specific. it was just over 20 miles out of manhattan, so the drive usually took between 30-40 minutes, depending on traffic.

you found yourself feeling grateful that mrs. romanoff texted you early in the morning, telling you she insisted they cover the cost of the taxi as when you glance up at the meter halfway through the drive, it was already almost $100.

you’d thought a lot about your coffee “date” with the two married lawyers. you’d taken it upon yourself to do some of your own research on google the afternoon after returning home, but you quickly regretted it as all the images of people tied in uncomfortable positions frightened you. it didn’t help that the majority of the websites listed first were amateurs who didn’t truly understand bdsm dynamics or relationships—but you didn’t know that yet.

there was something else that made you uncomfortable. well, rather something that made you feel shamefully hot in a way you weren’t familiar with. you think back to a few days ago at the coffee shop, noticing all the little ways both mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff gently asserted dominance: they both waited outside, the door was held open for you, they ordered and paid for you, mrs. maximoff guided you gently through the shop, mrs. romanoff hailed you a cab and they both saw you off.. it was all in the little things. all those little things which were carefully calculated and amounted to you feeling safe—cared for. you never imagined you would notice, let alone care for someone to take charge in that way, but you did. you couldn’t begin to imagine all the others things that were typically encapsulated within a dominant. things you were sure both mrs.romanoff and her wife possessed. how far did their dominating desire go? was there anything they didn’t like to have control of?

the cab driver turns down their street, slowing down after passing the first 3 well-spaced out houses and you look out the window to see what you assume to be their home. their house had a clean, modern vibe with some bold design elements. the exterior was wrapped in crisp white paneling, which contrasted against the deep black roof and window frames. the windows were framed with sleek black trim, giving the house a more modern/contemporary feel. the front porch had a few steps leading up to the door, and above it, there’s a simple black square awning that extends out, adding a cool architectural touch. it gave the entrance a little extra character while still keeping things minimal. to the side, there’s a driveway that leads to the garage, and the front featured a circular driveway that made for an easy and elegant arrival or departure. the layout felt both functional and stylish, and modern yet still welcoming.

it’s mrs. maximoff that comes out of the house to greet you. she was dressed in a simple black long-sleeved button up with some white wide leg jeans. her hair was up, twisted in a messy knot that still managed to look elegant. she looked beautiful.

she quickly makes her way over to the taxi driver, handing him a wad of cash without batting an eye. you couldn’t see for sure, but it looked like more than the actual fee that was meant to be paid.

“hey, you,” her greeting paired with what seemed to be her signature smile made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. she seemed genuinely happy to see you again, and for that you felt delighted. you were equally as excited to see her again, even if the circumstances were a bit nerve wracking.

you return her greeting with a small hello, feeling a little flustered when she looks you over in a not-so secretive way.

“look at you…

you know, you really didn’t have to get all dressed up for us,” she grins blithely before leading the way back through the circular drive to the front door.

“this? oh i sort of just threw it on… should i have chosen something else?” you ask shyly as you keep pace with her, walking right by her side.

you’d chosen to wear a rose taupe ruched mini dress with white high tops, and you did not in fact ‘just throw it on.’ it was the 5th outfit you’d tried on before deciding that was what you’d wear.

“i’m messing with you, dragotsennaya veshch. you look very beautiful,” she appraises you and you feel yourself blush at the attention. you remember the nickname from the last time she called you that, but you still had no idea what it meant.

she steps in front, reaching to open the door for you before you both step inside. you marvel at the interior, which was just as beautiful as the outside, however it was less bright. there were more dark tones in here mimicking that of the office at their law firm.

“wow…you guys have a beautiful home,” you muse, admiring the high ceiling in the entry way and the minimal decor.

“well, thank you. follow me.” she speaks warmly, stepping ahead of you to lead you through the house. you find yourself looking around as she walks in front of you, noticing that there weren’t very many personal touches, but they were there if you looked hard enough. in a way, their house almost look like a museum—free of dust and exceptionally organized.

she leads you into a huge open room which appeared to be a cozy living space and just a little past that, the kitchen. there were black pendant lights dangling from the ceiling above the island, which had a black and white marble countertop. you see mrs. romanoff with her back to you, pouring herself a glass of filtered water.

“natasha, our guest is here,” she announces, placing a hand on your back and gently nudging you forward closer to the counter top. natasha turns, an easy smile gracing her features.

even with just a brief glimpse, you couldn’t help but observe how she seemed to be much more at ease in her home. her usual more stiff posture relaxed and the air around her felt a little lighter than normal.

“hi there, pretty girl,” she looks you over, just as her wife did, only she does it even more obviously. “wearing another cute outfit i see,” she murmurs, but it seems like the observation was mostly meant for herself as her eyes continue skimming your figure.

“i thought the same thing! i told her she didn’t have to dress up for us,” mrs. maximoff chuckles, her wife joining in. for that moment, it was as if they were talking about you like weren’t even there, which brought back a now familiar feeling of being small in their presence.

you shrug, ducking your head forward so your hair falls into your face, covering your blush. you hear mrs. romanoff set her glass on the countertop before she rounds the kitchen island, walking until she was standing right next to you. you watch her through your peripheral vision until she’s close enough that you half turn to face her. her hand comes up to gently lift your chin, her finger curling underneath it.

“hey, we’re just teasing you. don’t hide your face from me.” her voice was gentle yet you could sense that she was being serious about you trying to hide your bashfulness from her. you nod your head very slowly, now captivated with her closeness and the air of dominance she carried over with her.

“good. i’d hate to miss seeing these cheeks blush. it’s very cute,” she adds, making your cheeks flame even hotter. she smiles at that, immediately noticing the difference in shade.

“wanda, look at her,” she muses and your eyes dart from hers to mrs. maximoff who steps over to her wife’s side, appraising your pink cheeks with a smile of her own.

“da—dragotsennaya veshch. i told you the name suits her perfectly,” mrs. romanoff hums at her wife’s comment. they both gaze at you, desire and sinful admiration gleaming behind their impossibly green eyes. you fight the urge to suck on your bottom lip, figuring it would only give them more fuel to embarrass you.

you were about to ruin their little moment and ask what name it was that wanda kept referring to you as, but mrs. romanoff suddenly drops her hand, the both of them stepping back away from you.

“do you want some water, (y/n)? are you thirsty?” mrs. romanoff asks, already rounding the counter to the cupboard to retrieve a glass.

“yeah sure,” you nod politely, reaching to grab the glass from her once she’s filled it with water. you take a swig, regardless of not actually being thirsty.

“here, come sit,” mrs. maximoff puts a hand on your elbow, guiding you into the living room area which was just a step down from the kitchen. there was a large sofa towards the center, facing a whole glass wall which stretched across the large open room and overlooked their beautiful backyard. it was so green; many trees, bushes and grass to marvel at.

mrs. maximoff sits on the couch, patting the spot next to her. you sit down, your glass in hand, which she gently takes from you and sets in a cup holder to your right. as she reaches over you, even for the brief moment, you smell a trace of her perfume which smelled something like pears, fig leaves and sandalwood. it was heavenly and somehow seemed to fit her perfectly.

“so, how was the rest of your week? how were your classes?” she asks, propping her elbow on the back couch cushion and resting her cheek on the palm of her hand. something about having her full attention on you in such close proximity made your heart stutter.

“it was good! i only go in person 3 days a week and the rest is online. the homework load was about a medium for this week, so i wasn’t too overwhelmed or anything.” as you speak, mrs. romanoff enters the living room, sitting next to her wife on the couch. she crosses her legs, leaning close to her wife so she can see you just as well.

“what does a ‘medium’ homework load look like to you?” mrs. romanoff asks with a smirk. she must’ve remembered what you’d said at the interview about loving homework.

you sigh amusedly, giving wanda a quick glance to see a touch of a knowing smile on her face. you two were fellow academic lovers it seemed like.

“2 short essays, 3 discussion boards and 1 little worksheet thing.. no big deal,” you giggle softly when mrs. romanoff rolls her eyes at your response.

“right - okay,” she mutters though there’s an affectionate smile curling at her lips.

there was a small bout of silence which was comfortable given the light-hearted tone of the conversation, but that didn’t last very long.

“so, have you thought any more about our conversation at the coffee shop?” mrs. romanoff asks. your tummy does a flip flop at the change in subject, but you knew this was ultimately what you were here for.

“a-a little yeah,” you say, not offering anything else just yet. you look down at your lap, your hands playing with the hem of your dress ending several inches above your knee.

“anything you’d like to share?” mrs. romanoff presses, her features etched with amused interest. she loved the way you instantly became more shy with the new topic of conversation.

“uhm.. well i found some stuff on the internet.. more pictures and some examples of the..um..contracts you mentioned,” you pause, your eyes flickering up from your lap to mrs. maximoff’s face and then her wife’s. mrs. maximoff nods encouragingly, wanting you to continue.

“the contracts largely consisted of rules? is that accurate—like something you guys want from me?” you ask slowly, fighting the urge to bury yourself in a hole and hide. you could feel your skin crawling from how out of your element you felt.

“yes, our contract would have rules. we only have a few set rules for each submissive, but the others we come up with will be personalized just for you once we begin our..relationship,” mrs. maximoff tucks some hair behind your ear, her hand resting just above your knee, trying to be reassuring.

you swallow, gathering up the courage to ask your new follow-up question. “what sort of rules?” your mind thinks back to the many drafted up contracts on the internet, wondering if any of the rules you saw there were ones they’d want for you.

“before we answer that—how do you feel about rules? just thinking about it right now, how would you feel if there were rules we asked you to follow?” mrs. romanoff asks, leaning forward as she rests her elbows on her blue-jean clad thighs. you ponder her question, playing out a scenario in your mind. you remember one “sample” rule you saw online: ‘always greet your dominant kneeling by the door upon their arrival.’ that one was more extreme. you thought of two others: no touching yourself without permission and always address your dominant by their honorific. those ones made your cheeks flush red again, a deep blush gracing your features that couldn’t be ignored.

“look at that blush.. now you have to tell us what you’re thinking,” mrs. maximoff gently nudges you with her shoulder, giving your thigh a little squeeze.

you clear your throat, your fingers drawing imaginary patters on the thigh mrs. maximoff wasn’t holding. “i was just remembering some of the rules..” you reply vaguely. mrs. maximoff hums, sounding unsatisfied with your concise answer. she gently lifts your chin as her wife did earlier, her pointer finger curled under your jaw and her thumb holding your chin in place.

“hey, listen to me. if talking about this truly makes you uncomfortable, we can stop right now. we don’t have to do this if it’s not something you want,” you look into her green eyes, reading the gentleness and sincerity there. your eyes flicker over to mrs. romanoff who had a similar expression, and she nodded at her wife, drawing your attention back to mrs. maximoff.

you hold eye contact with her for a few seconds, finding great comfort in the tenderness held in her green orbs. “that’s not what i want,” you manage to speak, pausing for a second to gather your thoughts. “i’m just not used to talking so openly about this kind of stuff…or having this much attention,” you admit softly, wanting to look down but wanda’s fingers hold you firmly in place.

“you don’t have to be so embarrassed, honey, though it is really cute. still.. this is a safe space. you can ask or tell us anything,” mrs. romanoff reaches her hand across her wife and affectionately traces down your nose, smiling as she does so.

“you think it’s cute?” you blurt the question aloud without really thinking to stop yourself. mrs. romanoff grins wider, a gleam twinkling in her eye.

“it is. i don’t know if i’ve ever met somebody so innocent. it’s equally as cute as it is sexy.” you smile shyly at her words, looking back from her to her wife. mrs. maximoff smiles, her eyes flicking down to your lip which you coyly sucked into your mouth. she uses her thumb to pull your lip free from your teeth, tsking gently as she does so. your breath hitches at the action which both mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff notice but don’t comment on.

“how about this, why don’t we start somewhere else? how about you tell us why you didn’t say no right away when we posed the question the other day?” mrs. maximoff asks. you don’t have to think about her question long before you have an answer.

“i guess i was just intrigued.. i mean i guess the thought of being able to submit in some ways is..appealing to me?” you say it as a question, unsure you’re using the correct words to communicate your feelings.

“that’s a good start, detka. tell us more along those lines. what about it appeals to you?” mrs. romanoff encourages you.

you inhale slowly, looking off to the side as you think of how to expand upon your answer. “i think similar to other people, i would like a space or time where i don’t have to have control over all aspects of my life. kinda like…like i want to be able to shut my mind off sometimes - if that makes sense?” you half shrug your shoulder, looking between the two women to see if it looks like they understood your explanation.

“that makes perfect sense, sweetheart. that’s exactly what submission does. when you turn yourself over to your dominant, there’s a sense of freedom that comes with it. knowing that there’s someone you trust that is going to take control and steer you in a certain direction—and you don’t have to think or worry about anything.” mrs. maximoff’s explanation was very appealing to you. you think back on moments when life was really stressful and realize how much more doable those moments would have been had you been able to silence your mind for a little bit.

“that does sound really nice,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, but both of the lawyers noticed. the two of them chuckle softly at your admission, thoroughly entertained by your cuteness.

mrs. romanoff and mrs. maximoff continue educating you on the many beauties of being a submissive. they’d told you it wasn’t just about the sex, in fact, the sex was never really as good if the dynamic wasn’t always held firmly in place in other aspects of life as well. you listen intently to their words, becoming more and more intrigued by the idea of signing a contract with them by the minute.

“(y/n)?” mrs. romanoff asks after a little bit of her and her wife talking at you.

“hmm?” you look at her curiously, her tone making you slightly nervous to hear her question.

“what was it earlier that had you so embarrassed? something about some rules you found online?” you swallow thickly, remembering the two rules that made you blush so deeply. up until this point, the three of you had all managed not to make this conversation so much about the sexual aspects of bdsm, but rather more the dynamics. your answering the question would change that.

“well…there was one about always addressing your dominant using their honorific and then, um.. well the other said..” you trail off, pressing your lips together as you bounce your leg a bit anxiously.

“it said what, dragotsennaya veshch? come on, i can see it on the tip of your tongue,” mrs. romanoff encourages, a devious smile curling at the corner of her mouth.

“nottotouchyourselfwithoutpermission,” you mumble quickly, the beginning of a blush coloring the apples of your cheeks.

“ah, what was that?” mrs. romanoff makes a show of cupping her ear and tilting her head to show you she was listening, that same wicked smile still plastered on her face. she’d heard exactly what you said.

“natalia, bud' s ney milym,” mrs. maximoff says in what sounds like a gentle scolding tone.

mrs. romanoff just laughs, reaching over and cupping your jaw with one hand. “i can’t help it, look at her!” you pout at what you now knew was her teasing.

“it really is hard not to tease you when you look like that..” mrs. maximoff murmurs in her wife’s defense, tapping your nose as she has her own more subtle version of a wicked smile.

“i can’t help it! when you guys talk to me like that, i have to blush!” you explain, a little exasperated.

“like what?? like you’re the most adorable thing ever? i could eat you up (y/n), i swear to the gods,” mrs. romanoff grins at her own words, seemingly high on the current air in the room which was very light and fuzzy. mrs. maximoff chuckles, purposely squeezing what she guessed would be a sensitive part of your thigh to get you to join in their light laughter. you shake off the ticklish sensation, stubbornly pressing your lips in a firm line as to not smile as they were openly teasing you without mercy.

“not funny..” you mutter, making a show of crossing your arms over your chest and pouting cutely.

“you’re right - we’re getting off topic. so, back to the rule about not touching yourself…” mrs. romanoff starts, her tone teasing.

“okay! we can go back to teasing me again,” you say a little too loudly, feeling less embarrassed about the topic now, but still a little nervous.

“sorry little girl, you’re not gonna wiggle your way out of this one for a third time,” mrs. maximoff pokes your side before reaching down and casually lifting your legs to drape across both her and her wife’s lap. the sudden change of sitting position and new physical contact made your tummy flutter, your attention suddenly fully locked in on the two of them.

“would you have a problem with that rule?” mrs. maximoff asks, the tone in the air quickly changing again.

“uhm..well i-“ you clear your throat, running your hand nervously through your hair. “is that one of your set rules?” you feel mrs. maximoff’s fingers begin to lightly trace a small line up and down your thigh. she and mrs. romanoff both looked so in their element and you were just here—a clueless little thing.

“yes, it is,” mrs. maximoff responds. you swallow thickly again, a dull ache beginning to settle in your lower tummy. just the thought alone was beginning to make your body heat up. what did they do if their submissive did touch themselves?

“oh…what would you do if your submissive broke that rule?” you ask curiously, unable to keep that question to yourself.

mrs. romanoff looks at her wife and you could see a brief silent conversation happening with their eyes. they both turn their attention back to you before mrs. romanoff speaks up.

“there are a few punishments we would most likely choose from: a spanking, edging or overstimulation. the punishment our submissive would receive would depend on who is delivering the punishment and also what the submissive is okay with and work within her limits.” she explains it so casually, but you find her words anything but casual. you were surprised that the thought of being spanked made you shamefully hot. it was starting to seem like they were awakening something in you you didn’t know existed.

“edging..? is that like an orgasm denial thing?” you ask the clarifying question, both of their ease and openness on the topic beginning to rub off on you a bit. it really did feel like a safe space.

“mhmm, that’s exactly right,” mrs. romanoff nods her head, giving you an encouraging smile.

“so…why that rule?” as you ask your question, the short lines mrs. maximoff was drawing on your leg turn to intricate circles. she seemed to be doing it absentmindedly.

mrs. romanoff purses her lips, her eyes gleaming with desire. “because, detka. if you agree to be our submissive, your pleasure will belong to us. every sound you make, every twitch, every thought we want to be apart of—to possess and control.” her facial expression turns a little harder as she speaks, an air of dominance surrounding the three of you like a little bubble. you feel your mouth go dry, your legs unconsciously pressing together at her words.

“are you alright, sweetheart?” mrs. maximoff asks, noticing your cheeks flush and your legs press together as they still lay across her and her wife’s lap. she knows exactly why you’re suddenly more restless, but she can’t help but tease you a bit with it.

“mhmm, i’m fine,” you squeak, your voice cracking which you try to cover up by clearing your throat. your mind scrambles to think of another question—anything to get the intense attention off of you, even for a moment.

“what do your submissives call you?” you ask, hoping their answer wouldn’t make your panties any wetter than they were already becoming.

mrs. maximoff raises a hand to the side of your face, curling some hair behind your ear as she simply replies, “mommy—they address me as mommy.” she then reaches blindly to the side, cupping under mrs. romanoff’s chin. “and they call natasha, daddy.”

you hear your own breathing hitch, their honorifics taking you back a bit. somehow, they encapsulated those names perfectly but hearing mrs. maximoff say them out loud was a different thing. you picture yourself addressing them as such, and you feel your panties becoming wetter. you mentally slap yourself. you needed to get a grip otherwise you were going to start dripping onto your thigh.

“you like that, don’t you, krasivaya devushka?” mrs. romanoff asks in a low voice, her eyes drinking in your thighs which were now noticeably pressed firmly together.

where your mouth once felt dry, it was now watering. your lips part as you exhale breathily. you look from mrs. romanoff to mrs. maximoff who was now leaning closer to you, glancing at your lips. you lick them subconsciously, leaning closer to her. you feel her hand come to cradle the back of your head, her other hand cupping under your jaw, gripping it more firmly than you’d expect. your breath is shaky as your heart begins to pound in your ears, the smell from mrs. maximoff filling your nose as she leans even closer to you until your faces are merely inches apart.

“do you want this, dragotsennaya veshch?” her voice is seductive and slow as she enunciates her words. her green eyes were hooded, her lips looking so very tempting.

you nod your head, not taking your eyes off of her lips. you see a hint of a smile there as she closes the small gap, her lips parting slightly before she presses them against yours. her lips tasted faintly of grapefruit and you instantly want more of it.

your arms reach up to wrap around her neck as she kisses you slowly but deeply. she hums into your mouth, one of her hands sliding down your arm to your hip and gripping there firmly. so caught up in the sensations of her lips on yours and her hands touching you so expertly, you let out a small whimper. mrs. maximoff gives your hip a squeeze after hearing that, her tongue tracing your bottom lip. just as you part your lips to give her access to your mouth, she pulls away, a pleased smirk on her face.

“a little eager, are we?” she chuckles and it’s only after her comment that you realize in the midst of your kiss, you’ve curled your legs up in her lap, your arms wrapping tightly around her as you cling to her body.

you loosen your hold, feeling a little shy at having so easily gotten carried away. “m’sorry,” you mumble, your legs stretching back out so they’re sprawled across mrs. romanoff’s legs again.

“oh sweetheart, you don’t have to apologize. it’s very cute,” she coos at the end of her sentence, her finger coming up to delicately trace your bottom lip. you look at her, your soft eyes full of wonder and adoration.

“i want to do this,” you announce, looking between mrs. maximoff and mrs. romanoff who had begun stroking your legs as they rest on her thighs.

they both chuckle softly at your pronouncement, finding your sudden enthusiasm amusing.

“patience, pretty girl. there’s still some things we need to discuss before we have you sign the contract,” mrs. romanoff says before continuing, “i think we’ve explored enough for today. why don’t we send you a copy of our contract, you can review it,,and then when we get together next—if you still want to—you can sign it.” she suggests and you readily agree, knowing how badly you already want to see them again and how anxiously eager you are to continue exploring this new world.

you decide to see each other again tomorrow, which was at mrs. maximoff’s suggestion, but they both seemed equally eager to spend more time with you.

they order you an uber, insisting on paying the fee. mrs. romanoff got all stern when you’d said you really didn’t expect them to pay and she told you that was nonsense and that she didn’t want to hear you say another word about them covering costs of things for you.

as they walk you to the door, you say your goodbye’s, excited at the prospect of seeing them tomorrow. you make your way over to the uber parked in the circular driveway, mrs. maximoff lingering the doorway as mrs. romanoff walks you to the car. just before you reach for the door handle, you turn to say something to her and gasp softly when you realize she’s standing very close to you. you could sense a switch had flipped in her—the one that causes her to exude so much more dominant energy.

your posture becomes less dignified, your bottom lip sucked into your mouth as you glance up at her. she leans down close to you, her finger tilting your chin up.

“don’t touch yourself tonight,” she says firmly, her eyes locking in on yours.

“wh-what?” you breath out, feeling a little disoriented with her closeness and the energy she was exuding.

“you heard me—i know you’ll want to. regardless of the contract not being signed, i don’t want you to pleasure yourself. do you understand?” her voice is sinfully sexy as she commands you in a way no one ever has before.

your cheeks blush as you glance from the front door where mrs. maximoff was still standing and then back to her wife. you slowly nod your head, swallowing harshly as your neck was still extended from your chin being lifted up.

“good girl,” she praises, closing the gap and placing a peck on your unsuspecting lips. she releases your face, stepping back and opening the door for you as if nothing had happened. you climb inside in a daze, your eyes fogged over as your mind feels a little fuzzy.

“see you tomorrow, (y/n),” she drags your name out in a slight teasing tone before shutting the door, the car driving off as you’re left sitting there stunned.

there was no way you weren’t going to sign that contract.

——————————

tag list: @poppyshuman @xenaizogie @ashadash0904 @kittnii @hayeeonn @gh0sstss @beggingonmykneesforher @natashalover3000 @msvenablesbitch @ihartnat @leesromanova @alwaysgoodnight @lowlifejuliett @azaleavolkova @caramelcat123-blog @daretodream1307-blog @ctrlaltedits @sweetmissnothing @gecko1 @karmasgxrl @marvelwomenarehot0 @elle161989 @waaayoutofline @snazzysprig @simpforlizzie @just4natasha @rosekjsses @moon3thereal @reginassecretlover @flyleaffreak @vanessashands @tigerlillyruiz @noturlondonboy @remuslupinschocolat3 @ssasa-romanoff @eccaterina1 @wandanatskitten @chiar4anna @womenarehotsstuff

[girliism]

nerdy!art who based on his physique and good looks should be getting any and every girl he wants but instead he chooses to hide away in his books. he’s top of all his classes and does extra credit work for fun on the weekends, according to his roommate patrick he’s kind of a loser that needs to get out more. patrick invites him out to a lot of parties but art just ends up in the corner nursing only one drink before leaving early.

you were the opposite everyone on campus knew you. you went to every party thrown but you weren’t some slut you just liked being around people. now you weren’t stupid by any means but you also weren’t top of your classes.

“what do you mean i’m failing.” you looked at your math professor who just told you that if you don’t pass this upcoming test you’d fail his class. “i don’t think you’re understanding the material very well that’s why i assigned you a tutor.” a tall blonde with thick rimmed glasses walks up to your professors desk. “this is art, i’ve asked him to help.” art gave you a small wave. you’ve seen art around campus sitting under trees reading or stuck in the corner at a party. he was quiet only spoke when spoken to, you had no idea he was even in this class.

art cleared his throat. “you can come by my dorm tomorrow if you’re free.” art held on the door for you to walk out of. “tomorrows fine with me. you’re patrick’s roommate right?” art nodded “cool! i can get your dorm number from a friend of mine.” you smiled big at him. art gave you a closed mouth smile back before you guys waved goodbye.

“can you please not be here when she comes over.” it was saturday the day of yours and art’s tutoring session and he’s been cleaning up their dorm. “right i forgot you’re having a girl over.” patrick says raising eyebrows up and down before placing his cereal bowl in the sink not bothering to wash it. art pushes his glasses back up his nose bridge. “we’re just studying.” he mumbles going to wash patrick’s dish. patrick ended up leaving so art had the dorm to himself when you showed.

you sat on the couch in their dorm studying the place instead of the math problem art was trying to explain. “you got lucky pairing with zweig this dorm is partially an apartment.” art stopped talking to look around his dorm before shrugging going back to teaching you. “ugh i’m so jealous i’d kill for a dorm this big-” “you like to distracted yourself from your work when you don’t understand it.” art said cutting you off. you just stared at him not knowing what to say. art senses the awkward tension he created. “i’m sorry i didn’t mean to make you feel bad just if you payed attention i think you could really get it.” art spoke softly and you just nodded finally shutting up and listening to him.

studying with art was kinda fun. every saturday you’d meet at his dorm and listen to explain more in depth what your professor didn’t. at first art was very rigid but after a while you got him to loosen up. he now laughed openly with you and made stupid math jokes.

“ART!” you ran over to where he was sitting under a tree. art closed his book standing up when he saw you rushing toward him. “look what i did.” you shoved you test paper in his face smiling. “a B congratulations you’ve officially passed.” you couldn’t contain the squeal that came out of you when you pulled art into a tight hug. “no thanks to you. how will i ever repay you.” you pouted. art just shook his head saying there was no need. you gasp. “delta phi is having a party tonight you have to come and hang out with me.” the second art heard the frat name he was already declining. “parties aren’t really my thing.” art scratches at the back of his head. “bullshit dondalson, you saved me from failing which mean we have to celebrate. you’re coming weither you like it or not.” you gave art an excited smile and he gave you a nervous one back.

(a part 2 will be happening 🙏🏽) part 2.

[xoxovanillq]

🍄‍🟫 and 🕷 with luke castellan maybe? Have a good day! ❤️

“REALLY?”

Pairing- Luke Castellan x reader

Warnings- Kissing, angst, crying, hiding emotions, hurt/comfort.

A/n- Sorry if this feels a bit rushed, I was struggling with trying to end this!

“C’mon, you gotta admit it, you and Y/N would make a good couple.” Chris comments. Chris, Luke, Clarisse, and you were all hanging out on the dock. Luke was layed down beside you, propped up on his elbows, head occasionally resting on your side. The comment caused your heart to flutter, your unspoken feelings for Luke coming to mind.

“No offense, but I’d never date her, we’re friends, and I wouldn’t want anything else.” Luke says with a light scoff, causing a pit to form in your stomach. Your sudden upset must’ve been somewhat present on your face with the way Clarisse immediately raises her eyebrows and then looks between the two of you in a knowing gesture. You quickly stifle a laugh, trying to make it seem as if you weren’t upset.

“You sure? Not like you’re pulling all the ladies.” You tease in an attempt to hide how upset you truly were.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” He shoots back, making you sit up right, Chris and Clarisse also now paying more attention. “You know the new girl? Emma? We’ve been talking and I think we might start dating.” The news shakes you. It was one thing if he didn’t reciprocate feelings, because then he’d treat you as he always had, but a girlfriend could change your relationship. 

“Dude, that’s awesome, took you long enough.” Chris finally says, breaking the seconds of silence that had fallen over the group. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you’ve got someone now.” You say with a laugh, hoping he doesn’t hear the sadness in your tone.

“Aww, you happy that you’ll finally get to be alone for once?” He jokes back, push you lightly, causing you to rock a bit. You laugh, not quite knowing how to react.

It was hard watching the two of them walk around, the way she looked up at him, smiling at his laugh, hands on his chest. It burned, watching her get to do everything that you should be doing with him. He had been ignoring you in favor of her, acting as if you didn’t exist.

 Well, that was until a knock came at the door of your cabin. It was just you in there, sitting on your bed, reading your book. When you open the door, you’re met with Luke, his face red, hands shaking lightly.

“Can I come in?” He asks quietly, a tremor in his voice.

“Um, sure.” You reply, tone matching his own. The two of you move to his bed, sitting down on the edge of it.

“She- she said we couldn’t ever be together, I wasn’t good enough for her.” He says, turning to wrap his arms around you. You could tell he was trying not to cry, which broke you.

“Luke, I- I’m so sorry.” You say quietly, you wanted to be mad, but with how sad he was, you didn’t have it in you.

“I thought someone finally wanted me.” He whispers, head tucked into the crook of your neck as you held him in your arms. You could feel the tears warm your skin as he cried.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here for you.” You soothe, but you desperately wanted to pour out your feelings to him, to tell him you loved him, wanted him. 

“Can I just lay with you?” He asks timidly, picking his head up to look at you with glistening eyes. You nodded softly, moving to lay down in the small bed with him, tugging a throw blanket over you two. 

As you laid there, you began to find some sort of confidence, pulling it from somewhere inside you to finally tell him.

“Luke- I- fuck, I can’t believe I’m actually saying this out loud, but I- I love you.”

“I love you too.” He replies, not understanding the depth of it.

“No- I love you, like, more than a friend.” You breathe out, finally saying what you’d waited so long to say.

“What?” He says, moving away from you in bed and sitting upright. Your heart stops as he moves away from you.

“Listen- just forget I said anything. It just hurt to hear you say that you didn’t think anyone wanted you when I’ve wanted you for years and years.” You explain, also moving to sit up and meet his eyes, searching in them for some sort of reaction.

“No, no, I’m not mad at you, I- I just didn’t think you’d feel the same way.” He says, releasing a breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

“Really?” You ask in breathy tone, not believing him, even as he moved forward, placing his large hands on your cheeks. He moved forward, and finally, his lips pressed to yours, all the love, sadness, and anger the two of you had been to poured into the way your lips moved against each other. The feelings hidden for years finally revealed.

[multi-fandomsfreak]

Heya! I was wondering if you could make a lil fanfic of shadow the hedgehog and mobian!reader

where the reader has a fascination with death and everything morbid due to seeing and being in lots of tragedies and shadow is mostly unaware of this but finally starts noticing the reader’s obsessive like fascination with death and wants to confront them about it

Shadow With A Mobian!Reader Who Has A Fascination With Death

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

Sorry it took kinda long to do this. Honestly kind of lost motivation to write stuff lately but I think it’s coming back. I don’t know. Regardless, I hope you like it.

Pronouns: Not Mentioned

Warning: ⚠️Mentions Of Death + Suicide (Not Actually Committing But Talks About Wanting To) + Spoilers For Shadow’s Backstory⚠️

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mention Of Maria

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Art by CoffeeBearSama on Twitter/X + Banner by salintvll (Edited by me) on Pinterest

———————————

- Honestly at first Shadow never noticed or asked about your obsession when it comes to death. He’s quite the loner so he doesn’t really indulge in anyone or their personal interests. That’s just what he’s like. Not that he’s completely dismissive of any of your interests, it's just his response to you telling him or him hearing about it is just ‘okay’. Maybe you could persuade him to join in but it may take a while but he does partake in it.

- Though eventually he does notice your interest in death. He might have heard it from someone else, maybe from you or he just so happened to discover it himself. At first admittedly he was a bit put off by it not outright it’s just he’s never really seen someone even remotely interested in death unless they’re willingly want to experience it. And to be honest even before he discovers how obsessed you were with it he’s still a little concerned that you want to end yourself so he decides to keep a close eye on you in case you actually do want to end yourself.

- However, his worry does become way worse when he slowly discovers how obsessed you actually were with it. He started to notice how you talked about it. The fact you were talking about it so casually, talking in depth about it makes him more concerned than when he discovered it. In his own way he’s genuinely worried about you. I feel like this kind of evolved from what happened to Maria that he feels compelled to make sure it doesn’t happen to anyone else especially if he’s somewhat close with you.

- When he does confront you about it you may have to spend most of your time convincing him that you're okay. Honestly with the way you're talking about it he’s thinking you genuinely want to end yourself and he doesn’t want that. To him you’ve still got a lot to live for and you shouldn’t cut it short. It probably took a while for him to be convinced that you were alright. You’d probably have to explain how you gained interest in it, more specifically the shit you had to go through which made you like this.

- When you do tell him about the horrible tragedies that’s when it hits him about your obsessive fascination with death. Now he understands why you're like this. He does feel bad for you for experiencing the things you did and thinks that it must be a coping mechanism for you in a way. Even with you convincing him that it's genuinely an interest nothing more he’d still be concerned for you and tell you that if you ever need to talk he’d be there for you and listen to what you need to say.

- I do kind of feel like Shadow would be kind of interested in a way. Not like how you are, I have a feeling it’s mostly for confirmation or reassurance. It’s not that big of a surprise that he’s greatly affected by the death of Maria, someone who he’s undoubtedly the closest with. Even if a lot of time has gone by since it deep down even if he doesn’t want to admit it he still wishes that she was still alive and misses her greatly. With your interest in death he may go up to you and ask about it. He really would like your opinion about it though at first not going in that great detail about it. Even though he claims he is not interested in it he kind of wants confirmation that she’d be alright and is proud of him.

- Oddly enough, having these talks with you is very comforting for him. He finds himself being more calm about his feelings when it comes to death himself. I think the fact that he doesn’t have to bottle them up like he usually does and is free to just let it out. As soon as he’s done ranting he can feel himself just relax as he thanks you for letting him talk about it. He likes having these moments with you and he really appreciates you listening to him and the other way round.

———————————

[tinytinyblogs]

It’s not how I think it is, right?

Yandere Skz paranoia drives them to ensure, in their own way, that you’ll never leave them.

Hyung line, Maknae line

Stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

It all happened so quickly for you, a sudden shift that felt both surprising and confusing. But for Han, it was different; for him, it stemmed from a deep-seated paranoia. It was as if an irrational thought crept up on him, one he couldn't shake. In an instant, he made a decision—he wouldn’t let you leave the bedroom, holding you close as if he needed to keep you within his sight at all times, watching over you as though his entire world depended on it. At first, you didn’t understand what was driving him. He didn’t explain why he was behaving this way, keeping you so close, clinging as if you’d slip away if he let go even a little. But slowly, his intentions became clearer as he whispered the same words over and over: “Don’t leave me for anyone else. You’re mine, forever.” As you began to piece things together, you tried to reassure him, to find the right words to break through his fears. It wasn’t easy; telling him that you would never do such a thing, that his nightmare would never come true, seemed almost impossible in the face of his unrelenting anxiety. He clung to you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as though he feared even a sliver of distance could make you disappear.

Every time you tried to convince him, to calm him, he only seemed to hold you tighter, his gaze filled with worry, his grip trembling with fear of the imagined loss. He would listen to your words and, for a moment, a tiny sliver of calm would wash over him. But it wouldn’t last long—soon, his worry would resurface, and he’d draw you even closer, needing that constant reassurance. Each time he found a moment of peace, it was fleeting. You could feel him wrestling with his own thoughts, battling the terror of losing you. The cycle would repeat: he’d hold you close, anxiety pulling him back under, but with every gentle reassurance, he’d find a small piece of comfort, inch by inch. He suddenly enveloped you in a tight hug, nearly squeezing the breath out of you as he held you close. “I love you,” he murmured softly, his voice muffled against your shoulder, his face buried as he took in your scent, as if grounding himself in your presence. “I’m sorry for those terrible thoughts,” he whispered, his voice tinged with both regret and vulnerability. “Just… promise me,” he pleaded.

Holding on a little tighter, as though that promise could finally quiet his fears. He paused, his embrace tightening around you, as though he could somehow fuse his very being with yours, make you inseparable. You could feel the intensity of his heartbeat against you, each beat mirroring his quiet desperation. His fingers gently trailed down your back, pulling you even closer as he leaned in, his face nestled by your ear. His voice dropped to a low, almost hypnotic whisper, every word slow and deliberate, each one heavy with meaning, creating a tension that filled the space between you. “That you never…” he began, pausing as if he were gathering the strength to say what he truly felt, his tone both soft and unyielding, carrying a depth of longing that sent a shiver down your spine. “… ever leave me.” The words hung in the air, laced with an intensity that was both tender and possessive. It was as though he was baring his soul in that single request, seeking a promise that could quiet the storm of fear within him, a vow that would anchor him to the certainty of your presence forever.

Felix

That day, Felix seemed different—distracted, almost lost in his thoughts as he wandered around. Every task he normally stayed on top of had been pushed aside, his usual focus replaced by something deeper and more intense. Finally, he found his way to you, his gaze unusually sharp and serious. Before you even had a chance to greet him or ask what was wrong, he reached out, grabbing your phone from your hand with a swift, almost desperate motion. Without a second glance, he tossed it somewhere across the room, not seeming to care about where it landed or if it might break. All he wanted, it seemed, was for the phone to be out of reach—out of sight—so that nothing could pull your attention away from him. Without giving you a moment to process, he wrapped his arms around you, drawing you close and holding you so tightly you could hardly move. His weight pressed down, caging you beneath him as he looked down, his brows furrowed with frustration and something almost like hurt. “Why are you always on your phone?” he asked, his tone a blend of annoyance and vulnerability. “Am I invisible to you now?” The firmness of his hold surprised you, his grip so unyielding that you found yourself wincing.

You shifted uncomfortably, feeling his hands on your arms, and a quiet whimper escaped your lips. “Lixie, it hurts,” you whispered, hoping he’d ease up, but he didn’t seem to notice or maybe just didn’t want to. His hands stayed right where they were, holding you as if he was afraid you might slip away at any second. He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes dark and searching, as if they could read every thought running through your mind. “Are you texting someone?” he murmured finally, the question sounding almost like an accusation. His voice was low and controlled, but there was an edge to it, something he was struggling to keep hidden. The rawness in his expression, the tightness in his jaw, made it clear that there was more behind his question than simple curiosity. “No… I’m just scrolling,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady under the weight of his gaze. “I’m not texting anyone.” You repeated the words softly, patiently, even as you felt the tension in the air. For a few moments, he stayed quiet, his eyes searching your face like he was trying to read something hidden in your expression.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he sighed, a hint of relief breaking through the intensity in his gaze. “Alright…” he murmured, the frustration in his voice softening just a little. “Sorry for doubting you.” He pulled you a bit closer, and his grip loosened, though he didn’t let you go. Slowly, he buried his face back into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he nuzzled closer, as if seeking comfort and reassurance in your presence. A quiet pause settled over you, his arms still wrapped firmly around you, his hold just a bit gentler now. But then he spoke again, his voice lower, with a rough edge that made you shiver. “Just… if I ever find out you’re texting anyone else…” he trailed off, his tone carrying a warning that felt both protective and possessive, a reminder of the intensity behind his actions. He didn’t finish the sentence, but his words hung heavily in the air, leaving you with no doubt about the depth of his feelings and the lengths he’d go to keep you close. The silence that followed felt thick and loaded with everything unspoken between you.

Seungmin

Seungmin was known for his cool-headedness, the way he analyzed every situation with a level-headed logic that kept him grounded. But today, there was an unusual intensity in his eyes, a quiet storm lurking beneath the calm surface. He moved closer to you, his presence steady yet unmistakably firm, as if making his way into your personal space was the only way to calm his own thoughts. After a moment, he spoke, his voice soft but edged with a hint of something deeper. “You’re still talking to that guy, right? The one who’s always acting a bit too friendly with you?” His words were measured, careful, but his eyes gave him away, dark and assessing as he watched you closely, waiting for the smallest flicker of reaction. He wasn’t just asking; he was searching, dissecting every inch of your body language, every twitch, every glance. You shook your head calmly, answering his question with simple honesty, and for a moment, he looked visibly relieved. His shoulders loosened, his jaw unclenched, and he let out a quiet breath. But then he reached for your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a subtle possessiveness, as if needing that reassurance to truly settle his mind.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping even lower, almost like he was speaking only to himself. “I don’t want any misunderstandings between us.” His eyes met yours, more intense than you’d ever seen them, and there was a hint of vulnerability mixed in with his seriousness. “It’s just… I don’t like the way he looks at you, or how he smiles. It bothers me,” he admitted, his gaze unwavering as if daring you to challenge him. “Stay away from him, alright? I don’t want to be the one who has to remind you who you belong to.” There was a warmth in his expression, a softness even, but beneath it lay something stronger—a quiet yet undeniable warning. His fingers tightened around yours slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to let you know he was serious. And despite the gentleness of his words, there was a finality in them, a reminder that while he trusted you, he wouldn’t hesitate to remind anyone, including you, just how deep his feelings ran. After all, he’d put so much effort into building trust between you two, nurturing it carefully so that you felt secure with him.

He didn’t want to shatter that bond over something as fleeting as jealousy. Ending things over his insecurities was the last thing he wanted. Sure, he could’ve easily put that guy in his place, maybe with a well-placed jab to the nose, but he knew there were better ways to handle it. “Just… let me know when you need to go somewhere,” he said, his expression softening into a smile that was both adorable and a little mischievous. “Then we can go together—I want to spend more time with you.” His tone was casual, but there was an underlying warmth, as though he was trying to make it sound as normal as possible. But maybe it wasn’t just about spending more time together. Maybe he liked the idea of having you close, of keeping you within sight so he could observe everything and keep his mind at ease. Still, his smile, so genuine and bright, made it easy to agree without a second thought, as if his only real desire was to simply be near you.

Jeongin

Jeongin had been acting differently, a little withdrawn and unusually quiet. He kept his distance, his gaze a bit sharper than usual, as if caught in his own thoughts. Days went by, and he hadn’t been his usual bright self—no playful teasing, no warm touches or quick, mischievous glances. Instead, he seemed to be calculating something, perhaps needing time to calm himself down or to plan his next move. It was like he was working hard to find a way to make sure no one else would even think about getting close to you. When you finally asked him what was wrong, he looked up, as if your question had given him permission to speak his mind. His face softened, but a touch of vulnerability lingered in his gaze, his usual confidence tempered by something deeper. “You know,” he began slowly, his tone shy, almost hesitant, “I’ve had something weighing on me lately. It’s silly… but I can’t shake the feeling.” He paused, the faintest blush creeping into his cheeks as he tried to gather his words. “I keep wondering if… maybe someone’s getting close to you, if you’re giving them more of your attention than you give me.” He glanced at you,

his eyes never leaving your face, as though studying every little reaction. “And I keep thinking… maybe you care about them more.” His words hung in the air, and his shyness melted away slowly, shifting into something more resolute, his gaze sharpening as his fingers brushed your hand, grounding himself in that small connection. “But it’s not true, right?” he asked, his voice gaining confidence. “You love me,” he murmured, his tone soft yet insistent, his eyes now intent on yours. “You don’t have a choice either,” he added with a small smile, almost like he was reminding you of a fact he believed was written in stone. “We’re together forever, remember?” That smile widened, creeping across his face, but it wasn’t the innocent, playful one you knew so well. There was a hint of something deeper, a fierceness in it, as though he were stating a claim he would never let go of. “I just need you to stay close to me,” he said, his fingers tracing over yours. “I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they could be important to you.”

There was an intensity in his gaze now, a silent promise, as if he’d already decided he would do whatever it took to keep you by his side. His voice softened, almost a whisper. “You’ll always stay with me, won’t you?” His question lingered, more of a quiet declaration than a request, a gentle yet firm reminder of the bond he’d carefully built with you and intended to protect, no matter what. "Why so quiet, hm?" he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice as he slowly inched closer to you. His gaze was locked onto yours, and you could feel a flutter of fear rise within you as your eyes widened under the intensity of his stare. You felt your breath hitch, eyes widening with a flicker of fear under his unbreaking stare. His voice dropped to a soft whisper as he leaned in, his lips barely brushing your ear. The way he spoke made your heart race, and you instinctively leaned back slightly, trying to process the moment. "Come on," he coaxed gently, his words carrying a weight that sent a shiver down your spine. "Say it. Tell me you’ll always be by my side." His eyes searched yours, filled with an intensity that made it difficult to look away.

🩷 @chaoticfaelle

[pulisicsgirl]

gonna be the death of me - mason mount

summary: as his publicist, Y/N is willing to do whatever Mason needs to make him comfortable at his latest sponsored photoshoot

pairing: Mason Mount x publicist!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings/tags: no established relationship, suggestive language, sexual tension(??), they're both down so badly for each other it's insane

requested: no

notes: surprise!!! I think I speak for all of us when I say we were caught completely off-guard by Mason's new Nike ad... 🫣 But anyway, I was inspired by it to write out a blurb or two, but this one just kept going and it turned into a full-length fic 🤭 So... enjoy?? Also, I couldn't pick only one picture for this fic so please enjoy both of these

As a publicist, there was nothing unusual about you attending an event with one of your clients. Especially when it was for a sponsored ad that you’d had a large part in organizing. But something about this one felt different—a nervous, fluttery feeling in your chest as you walked in the front doors.

Maybe it was the fact that it was Mason, a client of yours that you maybe fancied just a teeny tiny little bit, no matter how hard you tried to convince others that it wasn’t the case.

Or maybe it was the fact that the partnership you had organized for him involved him modeling in nothing but his underwear.

Yeah, it was probably that.

In an effort to remain professional, you had done everything in your power to remain cool and collected that day. You had waited for Mason to arrive, meeting him at the doors before the two of you strolled into the building to determine what needed to be done and where he needed to go.

If Mason was honest with himself, he felt like he was a bit out of his depth with this photoshoot. He had never even been someone to parade himself around topless, let alone in only some tight-fitting underwear.

He had agreed to the shoot months ago, when things hadn’t been going so well for him. He had been struggling with his transfer to a new team and thought that maybe trying something new was just what he needed to snap him out of it. Unfortunately, it had taken quite some time to iron out the details, and now Mason’s nerves were getting the best of him.

So when one of the staff involved in the Nike shoot had approached him, a bottle of body oil in her hands, his stomach sunk to his feet. He only half listened as she explained that it would make the shots look more appealing.

“We understand that this can be a bit uncomfortable, so if you’d like to have someone from your team that you’re more familiar with help you apply it, that would be completely fine. If not, one of the stylists can assist you.” She gestured toward the team of people who had put a few light touches of makeup on his face just about 20 minutes ago.

The Nike team had been nothing but wonderful and accommodating with Mason the entire day, and he really appreciated the effort they had put into making him feel comfortable. He was momentarily relived by the alternative he had been offered, but the relief was short-lived when he realized that the only person on his “team” was you.

The staff member guided him to a cozy dressing room just off the hallway from the main area and explained that he could change and leave his things in this room until the photoshoot was over. There were a few sets of the underwear that he would be modeling laid out for him and a robe hanging to the left of the door.

Mason changed and spent the entire time trying to convince himself to just have one of the Nike staff help him. He didn’t want to make things weird. Part of him did want you to rub your hands all over his body, but he didn’t want the first time you did it to be for something like this.

No matter how much Mason tried to muster up the courage, he just couldn’t shake the way that the idea of a complete stranger oiling him up just compounded the nerves he was feeling, to the point that it made him feel sort of sick.

So minutes later, he was approaching you, body covered by the robe that they had provided for him. You noticed, as he shuffled in your direction, that he was fiddling with his fingers, a nervous habit of his. That, combined with the sheepish look he gave you as he stopped at your side, confirmed that he was feeling a bit anxious.

“Hey, Mase. You doing okay?”

Mason had to ignore the way his heart fluttered at both the nickname and the expression of concern on your face.

“Um, yeah, I-“ he started, stumbling over his words a bit. “If I’m honest, I’m pissing myself at the moment.”

Your eyebrows drew together in sympathy, knowing how difficult it must be to be paraded around like this.

“You’re going to do amazing, okay?” you smiled at him, and he only nodded in response. As he shifted back and forth on his feet, you knew there was something else on his mind.

“Um, could you… could you actually do something for me?”

“Anything, Mase. What do you need?”

Having worked with numerous high-profile clients, you learned that when a client asked for something, the answer was always “yes” and if it was something you couldn’t do… well you needed to figure out how to do it anyway. But Mason had never been one to give you much trouble. He had always been extremely kind and considerate of you.

“This is, um… well it’s a bit strange, and if you want to say no that’s completely fine, but,” he paused, taking a brief glance up at your face before he spoke quickly so he didn’t chicken out. “They gave me this oil I need to put over my chest and back and everything and they said I could have someone from my team apply it so it would be someone I’m comfortable with.”

He took another short pause as he tried to gauge your reaction. Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he was saying. He must have noticed the slight falter in your expression.

His team… you’re his entire team today. He means you.

“If you don’t want to, it’s completely okay. I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t—”

“Mason, it’s okay,” you rested your hand on his shoulder to reassure him. “I’ll take care of it. Don’t worry.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, still feeling a bit hesitant. “I would really appreciate it. I’m just… I’m feeling a bit nervous about the whole thing, and I’m not overly fond of the idea of a stranger putting their hands all over my body.”

But you are fond of the idea of me putting my hands all over your body?

You mentally slapped yourself, trying to rid your mind of the filthy thoughts that were running through it.

“Don’t worry about it, Mason,” you smiled at him reassuringly, masking the way that your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your throat. “That’s what I’m here for, right?”

That was absolutely not what you were there for.

So that was how you found yourself following Mason into the dressing room that Nike had set up for him.

You couldn’t help the little flutter in your heart as you noticed that, rather than leaving them on the floor, he had neatly folded his clothes in a pile and placed them on a table in the corner of the room. You weren’t sure why that small detail affected you the way that it did.

Mason untied the belt of the robe, slipping it from his shoulders and tossing it over the back of the chair. You cast your eyes to the floor, suddenly feeling flustered at the sight of his nearly naked body, covered by only a tight-fitting pair of boxer briefs that left very little to the imagination.

It blew your mind that anyone who looked like he did could be feeling nervous or insecure about showing himself off. But Mason was merely human, after all, like anyone else.

You did your best to be as calm and causal about the situation as you possibly could. Mason approached the large vanity in the room, pointing you to the bottle of oil he had been instructed to apply to his body sitting on the counter in front of the mirror. You unscrewed the cap, placing a bit in your hand and telling Mason that you would start with his back.

You figured starting there would give you a moment to collect yourself before you had to look at him, face-to-face.

You rubbed the small amount of oil between your palms to warm it before placing them flat over Mason’s back and the touch of his skin on yours felt like an electric shock. You didn’t miss the way that the muscles in his back tensed slightly when you first touched him.

You spread the oil over the soft skin, from his shoulders, down to his waist. As you rubbed it into his lower back, you couldn’t help but admire how the underwear he was modeling hugged his bum.

No! Stop! Get it together, Y/N!

You tried to force yourself to think of anything else—anything other than Mason and his bum and the fact that you were oiling up his naked back.

You began analyzing the kind of oil they were using for the shoot (you had to come up with something, right?). It was sort of light and didn’t make his skin look greasy, like a swimsuit model or anything. It more so had the appearance like he had done a light workout and worked up a thin layer of sweat.

I can think of a few activities we could do to work up a sweat…

You shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of whatever this effect was that Mason was having on you.

Deciding that his back was finished, you stepped around to Mason’s front, pouring a bit more of the oil into your palms and running your hands over his arms.

Then, the only bit left to do was the bit that you didn’t know if you would survive… his chest and stomach.

You discreetly tried to take a deep breath, biting the inside of your cheek as you started at the top of his shoulders, brushing your hands over his collarbones before your hands drifted lower. You felt the heat rushing into your cheeks.

Mason prayed silently that you couldn’t feel the way his heart was hammering in his chest as your palms smoothed over his skin. He felt like every inch of him was on fire as you touched him in a way that was more intimate than you ever had before.

But as he tried to focus on anything other than how much you were putting him on edge, Mason glanced down to your face and realized he wasn’t alone in how he felt.

He watched as your cheeks burned bright red and you refused to look even remotely close to his face. He felt suddenly a bit lighter at the realization that you were just as tense as he was.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one that was nervous here,” he mumbled quietly, attempting to break the tension in the room.

He could tell you were fighting the grin that took over your face almost immediately. “Oh shut up, you,” you tried to keep up appearances, but it fell flat and Mason could read you easily. You both giggled softly.

You finished up the last bit of his torso, smoothing your hands down his sides, over his Champions League tattoo that you tried to admire without him noticing, and across his tummy. You noted the tiny mole on the upper part of his stomach, swiping a finger over it as you brushed the last bit of oil onto him.

You took one step back from him. “Alright, I think that should do it,” you spoke as you tried to wipe at an itch on your face with the back of your hand.

Mason noticed a shining spot of oil that you left behind. He stepped forward, nearly closing the gap between you as he lifted a hand, wiping it off of the tip of your nose with his thumb.

You gazed up at his face, unable to get away with just gluing your eyes to his torso the way you had been before. The look in his eyes was unreadable as he dropped his hand from your mouth to your jaw, just slightly pulling your lower lip down with his thumb, watching your reaction closely.

The tension between the two of you could’ve been cut by a knife. You felt as though you had stopped breathing as the you stood there, neither daring to make a single sound. Your eyes darted around his face, taking in all of the features you had never noticed before. His hand continued caressing your jaw as you held your hands cautiously on either side of him, afraid to make more of a mess with your oil-covered hands.

Abrupt knocking on the door of the dressing room caused you both to jump, snapping out of the sort of trance you had been in.

“We’re ready for you in 5!” a voice shouted from the other side of the door.

Both of you took a step back from each other, suddenly aware of how close you had been standing. Mason cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck as he tried to gather himself.

“Will you be alright?” you asked, remembering how nervous he had been feeling just a few minutes ago.

“Y-Yeah, I-“ he hesitated for a moment. “Yeah,” he repeated, this time a little more certain.

Seeing how flustered you had been at seeing him the moment he had taken off the robe and how you had blushed at your fingers touched his skin had been the confidence boost he needed to be a little more sure of himself. Seeing the way that you had reacted to him made him feel ready to go out and do the photoshoot.

You watched a soft smile pass over his face, and you wondered what could possibly be going on in that gorgeous head of his.

“Alright,” you giggled at his expression, now seeming much lighter than he had before. “I guess you should head on out. I’ll clean up here and then I’ll be right there.”

Mason nodded, slipping the robe back over his shoulders before he turned to walk out of the room.

With the sudden boost of confidence, he spun on his heel, dipping his head to place a quick kiss on your cheek, and then he was out the door before you had the chance to react.

Your eyes went wide as you took a moment to process everything that had just happened. When you turned to the vanity to begin tidying up, you caught sight of your beet red cheeks. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as the biggest grin took over your face.

This boy was certainly going to be the death of you…

tag list:@landoslover @thoseboysinblue @lovelynikol16 @swimmingismywholelife @masonsrem @bracedes @neverinadream @lizzypotter14 @notsoattractivearenti @chilwellspulisic @mm-vii @10vnderhaze

[hueningsloverr]

౨ৎ 60 months !

pairing: taehyun x reader summary: a close-knit relationship with taehyun is something to be earned, and you seemed to have done just that. word count: 1.1k extra: have we all gotten over txt world tour? I HAVENT !! go terry fuck it up!! apart of my anniversary series that i accidentally never finished!

taehyun was unlike anyone you had ever met before - and that was saying something considering you knew many people. he was more reserved than others, yet at the same time he was so outgoing.

his duality was what drew you to him initially - how could one person have so many different personalities? then you found out he was an idol, and it made a decent amount of sense. it was apart of his job to act one way on camera and another for the different concepts. when he was off camera he was able to be himself.

what drew taehyun to you was the fact that you studied his behavior; every time he did something that seemed out of line for how he acted that day, you payed great attention to it. it was almost as if you took mental notes on how he acted so you could draw out a map of behavior.

but you’d never fully be able to uncover every last detail about the boy, and he’d never fully know everything about you either.

it was a fact that both of you had come to terms with early on in your friendship, and though at times you seemed displeased by it, you largely accepted the fact.

still, there were moments when you felt an unspoken understanding between the two of you, like you could read each other's thoughts without needing words. taehyun had a way of looking at you, his eyes soft yet probing, as if he were trying to see the depths of your soul. in those moments, the walls he built around himself seemed to crumble, even if just for a second.

as your friendship grew, so did your curiosity. you found yourself wanting to know more about the person behind the stage persona, the real taehyun who laughed at silly jokes and pondered over the mysteries of life.

and he, in turn, seemed equally intrigued by you. your quiet confidence, the way you seemed to observe the world with a discerning eye, fascinated him.

there were late-night conversations that spanned hours, where you shared your dreams, fears, and everything in between. it was during these times that you felt the closest to him, and you cherished these moments more than anything. yet, despite the bond you shared, there was always a part of him that remained elusive, just out of reach.

one evening, after a particularly grueling day of rehearsals, taehyun invited you to the rooftop of the building. the city lights sparkled below, and the night air was cool against your skin. he leaned against the railing, gazing out into the distance.

"you know," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "sometimes i wonder if anyone truly knows me. not the idol, but the real me."

you turned to him, searching his face for any hint of emotion. "i think people see different parts of you," you said gently. "and maybe that's enough. maybe we're not meant to be fully understood by anyone."

he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "maybe you're right. but hey, i'm glad i at least have you. you seem to see me in ways others don't."

your heart swelled at his words. it wasn't a grand declaration, but it was enough.

in that moment, you knew that the connection you shared with him was special, even if there were parts of him that remained a mystery.

as the night wore on, you stood there together, comfortable in the silence, knowing that some things were better left unsaid. and that was okay. because sometimes, the beauty of a relationship lies in its complexities, and the unspoken understanding that comes with it.

days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. your bond with taehyun only deepened. you became his confidant, the person he turned to when the pressures of fame became too much. you listened without judgment, offering him a safe space to express his worries and fears.

one evening, after a long day of interviews and photoshoots, taehyun showed up at your door, looking more exhausted than you had ever seen him. without a word, you let him in and led him to the couch. he collapsed onto it, letting out a deep sigh.

"rough day?" you asked softly, sitting down beside him.

he nodded, closing his eyes. "you have no idea. sometimes it feels like i'm being pulled in a thousand different directions, and i can't keep up."

you placed a hand on his shoulder, offering him a comforting squeeze. "you're doing amazing, tyun. it's okay to feel overwhelmed. just remember to take care of yourself too."

he opened his eyes and looked at you, a hint of gratitude in his gaze. "thank you. i seriously don't know what I'd do without you."

you smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "i'm always here for you."

in that moment, you realized just how much taehyun meant to you. he wasn't just a friend; he was someone you cared about deeply, someone you wanted to see happy and thriving. and you knew he felt the same about you.

as time went on, your relationship with him continued to evolve. you attended his concerts, cheering him on from the crowd. you celebrated his successes and comforted him during his lows. and through it all, your bond only grew stronger.

one rainy afternoon, taehyun invited you to his favorite café, a cozy little place tucked away from the bustling city streets. the sound of raindrops tapping against the window created a soothing backdrop as you sipped your coffee.

"i've been thinking a lot lately," taehyun said, breaking the comfortable silence. "about life, about us."

you looked up from your cup, curiosity piqued. "what about us?"

he took a deep breath, his expression serious. "i know we've always said that we can't fully know everything about each other, and i've come to terms with that. but i also think… maybe that's what makes our relationship so special. we keep discovering new things about each other, and it keeps things interesting."

you nodded, understanding where he was coming from. "i know what you mean - it's like we're on this journey, together, and there's always something new."

a small smile played on his lips. "exactly. and i wouldn't want it any other way. "i've been at this for sixty months, you know?" he added, pausing slightly while he tried to formulate the proper words. "and until you i've never met someone who wasn't one of the boys that could even somewhat understand me."

in that moment, you felt a profound sense of contentment. you realized it didn't matter if you knew every last thing about taehyun, simply knowing him in the slightest was enough.

"well, here's to me making sixty months of progress in just a few months." you grinned, raising your coffee cup in a joking manner.

"here's to you - to us."

a/n: finally returning to this series after like 4 months whoopsies

©2024 - all rights reserved to hueningsloverr, please do not plagiarise or translate any of my work

[awkward-walking-potato]

gambit x gn!vampire reader that’s 500 years old? I like to think Remy would want to get to know some past history that the reader had experienced?? Or maybe just getting to know more about the readers mutation day by day??

An eternity

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the grounds of the X-Mansion. Inside, the common room was bathed in a soft, warm light, the ambiance perfect for an evening of quiet conversation. You, a 500-year-old vampire, had been a part of the mansion for a while now, your presence adding an air of timeless grace and mystery.

Remy LeBeau, ever curious and eager to understand the people around him, had taken a particular interest in you. He found your age and experiences fascinating, and though he was charmingly laid-back, he was also genuinely intrigued by your long life and the stories you might have to share.

One evening, as you both sat in the common room, Remy settled into a comfortable armchair across from you. He had a playful glint in his eye, a sign that he was about to delve into a topic that piqued his interest.

“So, chérie,” he began, leaning forward with a casual, yet sincere curiosity, “I’ve been thinkin’. You’ve had a whole lotta years to collect some pretty interestin’ stories. Care to share any of ’em?”

You raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing at your lips. “And what makes you so eager to hear about my past, Remy?”

Remy’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and genuine interest. “Well, you’re a bit of a mystery, y’know? Five centuries worth of experiences, and I’d love to know what makes you tick. What kind of history do you carry with you?”

You considered his request for a moment, touched by his genuine curiosity. It was rare to find someone so genuinely interested in your past, and it made you feel valued in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright,” you said, leaning back in your seat, “I suppose I could share a few stories. What would you like to know?”

Remy leaned in, his attention fully on you. “I’m curious about the times you’ve lived through. What was it like during the different eras? What kind of adventures have you had?”

You began to recount tales from your extensive history, starting with the early days of your life, when you first became a vampire. You spoke of the grand cities you’d seen rise and fall, the significant events you’d witnessed, and the remarkable individuals you’d encountered. Your stories ranged from the beauty of Renaissance art to the tumultuous periods of war and revolution.

Remy listened intently, his eyes never leaving your face. He was captivated by the way you spoke of the past with a mix of nostalgia and insight. “That’s incredible,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “You’ve seen so much and been a part of so many different worlds. It’s like you’ve got a front-row seat to history.”

You smiled at his enthusiasm. “It’s been quite the journey. Sometimes it feels like a lifetime ago, and sometimes it feels like just yesterday.”

Remy’s gaze softened as he took in your words. “I can’t even imagine what it must be like to have lived through all that. But I’m glad you’re here now, and I’m glad you’re willin’ to share a bit of that with me.”

You felt a sense of connection and appreciation as you continued to share your experiences. Remy’s interest in your past was not just about satisfying his curiosity; it was a genuine attempt to understand you better, to see beyond the surface and appreciate the depth of your character.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself feeling more at ease with Remy’s presence. His genuine fascination with your past made you feel like your experiences were valued and cherished.

When you finally concluded your stories, Remy leaned back with a contented sigh. “You’ve got an amazing life story, chérie. And I’m glad I got to hear it. Thanks for trustin’ me enough to share.”

You looked at him, touched by his sincerity. “Thank you for listening, Remy. It means a lot to me.”

Remy reached out and gently took your hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Anytime, ma belle. I’m always here if you want to share more. You’ve got a lifetime of stories, and I’d be honored to hear ’em all.”

As the night continued, you felt a newfound sense of closeness with Remy. His genuine interest and respect for your past had strengthened the bond between you, making you feel seen and valued in a way that was both comforting and profound.

[aphroditeinthesea]

I love your work so much omg 😭 🙏🏻 you’re such a good writer 🫶🏻

I saw you were looking for requests 👀 and I was wondering if you’d be willingly to do Leo Valdez x f!reader where they are kinda rivals (yk they just bicker all the time) both working on the argo together or making weapons with a team in the forge. But then some guy joins their team and starts mansplaining the basic equipment. There’s just situation after situation where the reader will explain something to the guy and he won’t listen but then the second Leo says it he gets it. And at first Leo kinda notices but just thinks it’s because he’s in charge and stuff. At some point though he overhears the guy showing her how to do something (the wrong way) and he’s like “yo back off man, she knows what she’s doing”. Maybe he even protects her from open flames when the guy almost burns her handling the equipment wrong (something she’d told him a million times before)?? Maybe both happen idk?? The two just become close after that and he ends up confessing or something

Sorry about how much I wrote 😭 your request rules said you liked the requests to be specific and I wasn’t sure how in-depth to write… so if that’s too much you can totally take a bunch of it out lol (I work with power tools because I’m an arts major and I’ve had so many guys trying to explain basic power tools to me… so this has been on my mind for MONTHSSS)

“ i’m a feminist, obviously (but i wouldn’t really mind him saving me) ”

leo valdez x fem!reader 🔨

⚠️ o/c being creepy, mansplaining, almost getting set on fire

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

“That’s not,” Y/N stormed over to the boy. She grabbed the wrench out of his hands and began turning it, “righty tighty, lefty loosey.”

“What did you just say to me?” He scoffed.

“You were turning your wrench the wrong way, Valdez,” she replied, handing the tool back to him.

He grabbed it from her, crossing his arms, “for your information, that’s exactly how I wanted it.”

She rolled her eyes, “did you sleep, like at all?”

“A little.”

She huffed, “get some sleep, I’ll clean up.”

“No,” he defended, “I just need to finish this up-”

“If you try to use power tools why you're half asleep, you'll end up getting yourself killed,” she grabbed the wrench from him again, “and you know who’ll have to clean up your dead body? Me, and that’s gross.”

“You're too good to me.”

“Fuck off.”

He chuckled, wiping his forehead, “okay, fine. I’m heading out.”

“Bye,” she waved him off.

“See you later, sweet cheeks.”

“Shut up!”

He closed the door of bunker nine behind him, leaving her alone. She sighed with relief, tightening a few loose screws.

She hummed to herself as she began cleaning the mess around her. She picked up some tools, placing them back on their shelves.

“Nice song.”

She jumped at the voice. She turned around to see a boy standing by the stairs. “What are you doing?”

“I’m Marcus,” he replied, walking closer to her, causing her to slowly back up, “son of Hermes.”

“Well, what are you doing here?”

He put a hand on the ship, “heard you're working on this Argo thing, figured I could give a few pointers.”

She grabbed a toolbox, quickly walking away, “we don't need any help, thanks though.”

“Come on,” he smiled, following her, “you can always use some help, the more the merrier, right?”

“Take it up with Leo,” she answered, avoiding eye contact with her. She rushed to collect her things and made an escape to the door.

“I’ll walk you back.”

“I’m fine,” she sighed, opening the door and walking out.

She almost forgot about the incident the next day when she walked into the bunker. She found Leo with an annoyed look on his face, digging through a toolbox.

“What’s up with you, Bernard?” She commented as she walked towards the son of Hephaestus. She knew it was a stupid name, but she did love how much he hated it. She also loved the fact that he didn't understand it (she started using it more after finding out he had never seen the Santa Clause movies).

He sighed, “Mr. Macho over there,” he nodded his head toward the boy from the night before playing with a blowtorch. “He convinced Chiron that he should be working on this, too.”

She scrunched her face, “he gives me the creeps.”

“You know him?”

“He came in here last night after you left,” she explained, “I think he has a thing for me or something.”

Leo’s face tensed, his fist clenching around the hammer he held, “you think?”

“Hope not.” She took a deep breath before walking past the tall boy to grab some extra wood.

“Hey,” he grinned at her, “miss me?”

She forced a smile, walking away from him, “you know it.” She cursed herself for trying so hard to be nice to the little fucker, but she really didnt feel like starting something right then.

The day went on with her desperately trying to ignore his comments towards her. She found herself staying by Leo’s side in hopes that Marcus would think they were dating. As much as the idea grossed her out, it was better than some weirdo thinking he had a chance with her.

“I’m gonna head out,” Marcus mentioned, wiping off his hands with a rag.

“Bye,” Leo spoke flatly. Y/N stayed silent but let out a breath of relief when the boy walked out.

Leo looked up at her, noticing her change in demeanor, “are you okay?”

“What?” She met his eyes, “yeah, yeah,” she nodded, “I’m fine.”

He raised an eyebrow, “are you sure? Because I can figure out a way to get him out of here, if you want?”

She shook her head, “thanks, Leo. But, I’m fine, really.”

“Okay,” he breathed out before looking back to continue what he was doing.

She grabbed the blowtorch Marcus had formerly been using. She began using it (i don't know how they work i’m sorry), when Marcus walked back into the bunker, he immediately rushed over to her.

She rolled her eyes as he wrapped his hands around hers, “you're using it wrong.”

“I don't think I am.”

“No, you hold it like this-”

“She knows what she’s doing,” Leo called over.

Marcus just shook his head, “see when you do this,” soon the flames blew back towards them. Marcus threw the blowtorch down in the direction of Y/N in a panic. The flames spewed out and before Y/N could react, she felt herself pulled into a corner, tanned arms wrapped around her.

“What’s the matter with you?!” Leo yelled, his arms tightening.

“Look, it was her fault,” the son of Hermes motioned his hand towards the girl.

“Are you kidding? Since she’s been here, nobody’s almost died (italic). Then the second you walk in you almost turn her into toast!”

She nervously sighed. She slowly reached her hands up to hold onto his forearms, brushing her thumb against his skin.

“You shouldn't have a girl working on this in the first place, there's no way she knows anything about this!”

Leo took a deep breath before yelling once again, “get out!”

“What?” The boy scoffed.

“Get out!”

Her heart rate quickened. Despite all her fighting with him, she had never seen him this angry. She watched as Marcus shook his head before stomping out of the bunker.

Leo’s grip on her loosened, letting turn around to look at him, “are you okay?” He asked, briefly looking her up and down for any wounds.

She nodded, “I’m okay,” she looked up at his face, yet avoiding eye contact, “thank you.”

He softly smiled down at her, “yeah, well, that guy was an ass.”

She giggled, nodding in agreement.

“Don't worry, I’ll set him on fire next time I see him.”

She wrapped her arms around his torso, “thanks, really.”

“Of course,” he nestled his nose into her hair, “if anything happened to you, I think I would have actually killed him.”

“Good to know.”

[grxmreaperx]

Professor Hoffman Pt. 2

Pairing: Mark Hoffman x reader

Word count: 2k

Warnings: 18+!! Smut! Dirty talk, cockwarming, p in v penetration, age gap (everyone is over 18!), mentions of spanking and oral (f! receiving)

Summary: You’ve grown accustomed to your weekly tutoring sessions with your favorite professor, but even if you are doing better in the class, Professor Hoffman believes you need a lesson in focusing.

read part 1 here!

here is the highly requested part 2 to my professor hoffman au! hope you guys like this one, i included a cockwarming kink since i wasn't super happy with how the last fic with that kink turned out. let me know what you guys think <3

“Now, someone tell me what you thought of the interrogation I just showed you.”

The deep voice of your professor drug you out of your daydreams. Your gaze fell onto the man at the front of the room, his hands pushed deep in his pockets as he waited for an answer. It was an understatement to say you had been distracted in that course, even more than you had been before your “meeting.” Your mind wandered even more than it did before, except now it wandered to memories of your so-called tutoring sessions.

He did help you with course work during your session, but not in a conventional way. He would reward you for completed assignments and an understanding of the concepts, typically involving his head buried between your thighs. And for any wrong answers you gave, you received punishments, walking out after your session with handprints on your ass.

“How about you, Miss,” he said, staring straight at you. “What did you think of the interrogation?”

He smirked. He knew where your mind had been, he knew what you thought about during his class and it sure as hell wasn’t the video you were supposed to be watching. He watched you intently, tilting his head slightly, waiting to hear your response.

“Well, the suspect’s body language was very interesting. He was closed off and held his arms around himself for comfort, hinting that he may be guilty, or at least very uncomfortable with the subject.”

He nodded. “Very good observation.”

You decided to press your luck, wanting to get back at him for picking on you. “I have another observation too, if you’d like to hear it, Professor.”

He furrowed his brows slightly. “Go on.”

“Well, in the interrogation, you didn’t exactly try and build rapport with the suspect, which probably would have been ideal in this case. You were quite aggressive, Professor.”

You hardly registered the turning heads, other students’ eyes widening as they listened. Professor Hoffman was known in the criminal justice department as a hardass, not taking any disrespect from faculty and students alike. You knew your classmates were shocked; no one else would dare talk to him that way.

You watched his jaw clench slightly, looking down as he tried to compose himself. Trying to stop himself from dragging you back to his office right then.

He looked back up at you. “I don’t believe I asked for your thoughts on my behavior in the interrogation.”

“No, but you did ask what I thought of the interrogation. And I thought you were a little too aggressive.”

He sucked in a breath. “I suppose I did. How about you see me after class and we can talk a little more in depth about your thoughts, hm?”

You tried to keep the smile off of your face. “Yes, Professor.”

You heard whispers around the lecture hall, heard the disbelief that someone had spoken to Professor Hardass that way.

Your friend turned to you, a look of shock glued to their face. “What the fuck was that?”

You shrugged. “What? I was simply sharing what I thought.”

They let out a small laugh. “You’re fuckin’ crazy. You must have a death wish.”

“Something like that.”

--

Later that day, you made your way through the now familiar hallways leading to Hoffman’s office. You tried to keep your pace steady, trying not to appear too excited in case anyone saw you. You knew what you were in for, you couldn’t get the look on his face when you had talked back to him out of your head.

You knocked softly as you stood in the open doorway, attempting to look as innocent as possible. “Hi, Professor. You wanted to see me?”

He set down his pen, leaning back in his chair as his eyes took you in. “Sit.”

You closed the door behind you, setting yourself down in the chair facing him. You took him in: the neat hair that was slightly tousled after a long day, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his elbows, his tie loosened around his neck.

“Do you think you’re clever, sweetheart?” he asked in a low voice.

“I do, actually.”

He chuckled. “Of course you do. How clever do you think you’ll feel when you can’t walk out of this office, hmm?”

You squeezed your legs together, trying to stop the blush from rising in your cheeks.

“What’s the matter, baby?” he asked mockingly. “Not so clever now?”

You tried to think of something to say, some sarcastic remark to wipe that look off of his face.

“Did you bring your book with you like I told you to?” he asked.

You nodded.

“Good girl. Get it out and get over here.”

You pulled the criminology textbook out of your bag before making your way around his desk. You set yourself down on his lap, laying the book out on his desk. His hand snaked around your waist, fingers drawing small circles around your hipbone.

“I think we should try something different today, what do you think sweetheart?”

You looked at him. “Something different?”

“Well, it’s obvious what we’ve been doing hasn’t been working. You’re still not paying attention in my class. And now you’re talking back to me. It’s time we try something different to teach you.”

You shifted slightly on his lap. “What are you thinking?”

He smirked, gently grabbing your hand and moving it to palm him through his dress pants. “I’ll tell you what we’re gonna do baby,” he started as you felt him harden against your hand. “You need more focus, don’t you? So, you’re gonna open that book and explain to me every concept in the reading for tomorrow. And you’re gonna keep my cock warm while you do it. We’ll see how well you focus then.”

Your eyes widened at his words, feeling a spark between your legs.

“How does that sound, sweetheart? You gonna strip for me, or you just gonna sit there and stare at me all day?”

You quickly stood, discarding your clothing as he undid his belt. You made your way back over to him, facing his desk as he guided your hips. Your mouth fell open as you sunk down onto his cock, not stopping until you were fully sitting on his lap. He wrapped an arm around your waist, placing teasing kisses along the back of your neck.

“Go on, baby. You better get started.”

You opened the textbook, staring blankly at the words on the page. You tried to focus on the words, tried to take in any information you could as your eyes scanned the page. You gripped the arm of the chair, forcing yourself to focus on anything other than the feeling of him inside you. He held you still, not allowing you to move.

“You gonna tell me about what you’re reading, or are we going to have to stay like this all day?”

You tried to clear your head, tried to focus on the words in front of you instead of the ache between your legs.

“The strain theory,” you began, before he shifted underneath you. You froze, letting out a small sound at the movement. “That’s not fair,” you cried.

“What’s not fair, baby doll?” he asked, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Go on.”

“The strain theory says that…” you sucked in a breath as he ran a hand over your thigh. “That people turn to a life of crime if they can’t reach their goals.”

He thrusted up into you slightly. “Good girl. That’s right. Keep going, baby.”

Your nails dug into the soft leather of the chair, trying to keep the little bit of composure you had left. You tried to roll your hips slightly, to get some sort of relief, before a hand wrapped around your throat.

“I wouldn’t do that, sweetheart. Do what you’re told, or I won’t let you cum.”

You let out a small whine, eyes fixing back on the book in front of you, quickly trying to absorb enough information to please him.

He ran a hand over your stomach, pressing gently just below your belly button.

You let out a soft gasp, even more aware of the feeling of him inside you. “You’re such a bastard,” you breathed.

He chuckled. “You still think you’re clever, baby?”

You tried to ignore him, quickly reading the next page. “Self-control theory says that crime is caused by…” you let out a breath as he ran his lips down your neck. “By people looking for instant gratification.”

“Good girl,” he praised. “Do you think you’ve learned how to focus?”

You could tell his restraint was failing: his breath was growing shallower, his hips shifting in his seat. You decided to test your luck once again, rolling your hips against his. You felt his forehead press against your back, a small groan leaving his lips, and this time he didn’t stop you.

“Yes, sir,” you moaned, and he let himself go. He quickly stood, pressing your front down onto his desk, hand wrapping in your hair.

“So good for me, aren’t you sweetheart?” he said, beginning to thrust into you. You could’ve sobbed from the feeling, the feeling you had been yearning for. You wrapped your fingers around the edge of his desk, trying to keep yourself steady. You let out a loud moan as he set a quick pace, your punishment tormenting him as much as it did you.

His hands roamed down your back, settling on your hips. He gripped them tightly, pulling you back to meet each of his thrusts. The sound of your whimpers filled the room, legs beginning to shake. You were so sensitive from your punishment you could already feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

He grabbed your leg, hooking a hand under your thigh, and lifting it onto the desk. You cried out as he pressed deeper into you, filling you to the brim.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum for me, baby?” he groaned.

You nodded frantically against the wood, a chorus of “yes’s” falling from your lips. He speed up his pace, hands gripping you so hard you knew you’d have bruises. You felt you body shake as you reached your high, holding the edge of the desk tightly to keep yourself grounded.

You felt his forehead press against your back as his pace faltered, one hand coming to rest next to your head as he reached his own climax, spilling inside of you.

He slowly pulled away, helping you up off of the desk and setting you on the edge. He grabbed your clothes off of the floor, handing them to you before zipping his pants back up.

You noticed the textbook on his desk as you began to dress. You had hardly even registered it underneath you, but some of the pages were torn, the paper covered in sweat.

You gave your professor a look, gesturing to your ruined textbook. “You better buy me a new one of those, that shit is expensive.”

He chuckled, fixing his shirt. “Yes, yes, I’ll buy you a new one. I see where your priorities are.”

You smiled at him. “Listen, that’s a lot of money you just ruined right there. And if you want me to be able to focus in your class, I’m gonna need a new one of those.”

He shook his head, smiling. He grabbed your chin, pulling you closer as his lips met yours. The kiss was surprisingly soft, his hand moving to rest on your cheek.

“Have I told you lately that you’re my favorite student?” he asked, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

You laughed. “You’re my favorite professor.”

tag list: @bee-who-isnt-french, @enigmatic-blues, @kujofam, @aliengutzstuff, @mysunfishpeedinmyroom, @slut4hoffman, @schrodingersjigsaw, @hoffmansnightmare, @karmaswitch, @mrs-hotforhoffman, @returntodustsblog, @capan-deveraux2, @switchbabeeexo, @librababe99, @honimello

[yanphobia]

Athazagoraphobia - Chapter 8

Athazagoraphobia: The fear of forgetting, and being forgotten.

Pairing: Yandere Male Merman OC x Reader

Warnings (for the entire story): Yandere, Horror, Graphic Discriptions of Injury and Death, The Ocean, Body Horror, NonCon Touching, Dubcon, Female Reader, Extreme Dead Dove Do Not Eat

Chapter 7 Index Chapter 9

Author's Note: Yearly update ig @creepysweetie @my2phetaliaheadcanons @smolnuggie911 @spicylove4ever @acaribeau @mel-vaz

Lotan's grip on your arm tightened, pulling you deeper into the endless void of the ocean’s depths. His movements were erratic, driven by some darker emotion you couldn’t quite place. In the oppressive darkness, the silence between you stretched out, thick and suffocating. The sounds of your desperate breathing and the rush of the water around you were all that remained.

When he finally slowed his pace, you barely had the strength to keep your eyes open. The cold water seemed to settle in your bones, dragging you further into the numbness you’d come to rely on. You had been drifting for so long — physically, emotionally, mentally — trying to block out the horror of your situation. But now, it was impossible to ignore.

Lotan turned to face you. His eyes — such dark, fathomless depths — bore into you, and you were paralyzed in place. There was no escape from the tension, no more dissociation, no way to pull away from him in your mind.

“Why don’t you tell me what you did?” His voice was low, angry, but there was something else there — something raw. If you trusted your instincts, then you’d say it felt like the edge of panic.

You swallowed thickly, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. You were shaking.

“I-I didn’t mean any harm,” you managed to choke out, hating the lie as it left your mouth. “I just wanted to introduce myself. To- to the colony. I didn’t think—”

“Introduce yourself?” His laugh was sharp, cutting through the water like a blade. It made your stomach churn. “Did you think they’d just let you in like that? You think I’d let you just- swim up to them, all innocent and naïve? Did you really believe they wouldn’t see you for what you are?”

Each of his words felt like a punch to the stomach, with the lingering taste of bloody water in your mouth only amplifying the sensation. You closed your eyes, but there was no escape. Not from him, not from this. You couldn’t go back to the shore, couldn’t go back to Sammy, couldn’t go back to your mother. You couldn’t even close your eyes without seeing his face, his terrifying smile, his grip tightening around you.

He continued, his tone growing darker. “You thought you could just ask for help? That they’d listen to you? You’re not one of them. You never were… and you never will be!”

You flinched as his fingers dug into your skin. You tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go. You were stranded out here, out in the wilderness… and Lotan was the only one who would ever give you a second thought. Such a dire realization made you so tired, too numb to fight. All you could do was listen as Lotan’s words began to unravel in a slow, suffocating cadence.

“I watched you for so long,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. “Back when you were… human. You were so different, so… free. So beautiful. I couldn’t stop watching you. I needed to see what it was like. To be close to you. To understand you. I thought that, maybe, if I could just be close enough, you’d finally see me. That you’d finally understand…"

The words hung in the water, swirling around you like a dark cloud.

“It was so awful, so you know… being the weakest one. Out here, they don’t care about how - how kind you are. They don’t… if you’re smaller, or weaker, than the other males… no one will want to mate with you. No matter what I would do, how affable I was, none of the females would have me…! I -”

He stopped for a minute to compose himself before returning his attention to you.

“I thought you were different. I knew you were! Humans are so much more - they’re - you -!”

He needed to catch his breath again. His claws dug into your forearms - even though your skin was much tougher now than it had been as a human, the pain was intense. You meekly uttered his name in an attempt to stop him, which seemed to snap him back to reality.

“You’re so much better than them,” he said, his gaze boring into you, “from the moment I saw you swimming, nearly a decade ago, I knew that you were my chance.”

His eyes softened, but there was a twisted, ill-concealed intensity in them, one that made your stomach churn. “You were the answer to my loneliness. You were the one thing that could save me. I could feel it in my bones. You’d make it all better. I was going to fix you. I thought that, maybe, everything would be okay. Everything would finally make sense.”

You shook your head, trying to grasp onto the fragments of your former self, trying to pull away from the words that were wrapping around you like seaweed, suffocating you. You wanted to run. You wanted to scream. But the fear had already rooted itself so deeply inside of you, it was hard to remember what it was like to feel free. You wanted to remember Sammy, to recall the warmth of the sun on your skin, the air in your lungs, the soft embrace of your mother, but it was slipping away. All of it was slipping away…!

His voice was growing louder, more frantic now. “Do you understand now? I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I saved you. I gave you a chance. Your friend wanted to let you die, to let you fade into nothingness… but I didn’t. I made you perfect. I made you mine.”

The words echoed in your head, rattling like bones in the dark. You had wanted to escape, hadn’t you? To escape from him, to escape from this underwater hell. But now, now there was nothing left. He had made sure of that. You were lost to the depths. How could you ever return to a life that was so foreign to you?

“And you know what?” He leaned in, his voice softer, almost tender, and he spoke as though he were telling you a fun anecdote, “Before I even knew your name, I started calling you Brizo! Do you remember? The goddess of calm seas? The one who watches over sailors and gives them peace? I thought that, maybe, if I could make you Brizo, if I could make you my goddess, and I would be your God... and everything would be perfect…!”

You felt a heaviness settle in your core, one that threatened to drag you into the bottomless pit below. Brizo. A name you hadn’t even known you had, but now it felt like a brand on your soul. He had seen you as an object to possess long before he ever truly knew you. This wasn’t love. It wasn’t even affection. It was something darker. Something so, so twisted.

His eyes searched yours, searching for something. His hand was on your cheek now, the touch almost gentle in its madness. “Can I still call you that, Brizo? …Please? Let me keep calling you that. You… you’re mine. You always have been.”

You wanted to say no. You wanted to scream that you were still human, still [Y/N], still you. But the words felt foreign in your mouth. You had tried to fight for so long, but now, in this cold abyss with only Lotan’s presence to anchor you, you realized that you were nothing. You weren’t Brizo, and you weren’t the girl who had once stood on the beach, so full of life and hope. You were just his.

And the last shred of your humanity, the last flickering light of your former self, slowly, agonizingly, began to fade.

“I—" The words caught in your throat, but when you finally spoke, your voice was hollow, broken. “Yes.”

Lotan smiled, and it was as if the entire ocean exhaled with him. For a brief moment, you almost thought you saw a tear in his eye, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. His smile stretched wider, and the suffocating pressure in your chest grew, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fight it anymore. Not when escape was so futile.

You no longer knew what you were, but it certainly wasn’t human.

[wakebymoonsleepbysun]

Untitled Spamton X Reader fic Ch1

The stress of election night made me cave and start writing a self-indulgent Spamton x Reader fic...that I was hoping to finish that night but as you can see it took me a bit longer because writing 6k words in one night is hard. T_T

Anyway, he's my entry into the genre of "Reader finds Spamton in a dumpster and takes him home" fics. Maybe there's room for one more in that category? 🥺

Not sure if/when I'll continue working on this but uh. Here y'all go.

(Also sorry I spend the first few paragraphs writing an actual vent post about my actual job adfajdafjdal)

------

Today hasn’t exactly been noteworthy. It’s just another day, like so many you’ve had before. Wake up, trudge over to your desk, sign on to work, pretend you’ve been awake for at least an hour longer than you have been, and rub the sleep out of your eyes while you gnosh on a cereal bar because (as usual) you don’t have time to make anything else before your morning meetings start.

You pay no more or less attention than usual, picking away at your own tasks while two of your coworkers have an in depth discussion on something you probably don’t need to concern yourself with. With your camera off they are left to assume you’re listening just as raptly as they’d wish you to.

The meeting ends and you dive fully into your work. You enjoy programming. The product itself (some productivity-helper app that’s not much different than dozens of others) is not of particular interest to you. You don’t even use it in your personal life--only for checking on work-related things.

You get a ping from a coworker. The dev environment is down. Again. He doesn’t know how to fix it. He heard you do?

You suppress a sigh that he wouldn’t’ve heard through the screen anyway.

You fixed it once, about a year ago, out of desperation. It had been an easy fix but somehow it had been enough to convince people you Knew What You Were Doing, and a couple more fixes later, you found yourself in the unenviable position of “The Guy (gender-neutral)”. 

You close several windows and open several more, your previous task for the day forgotten. Two more people ping you. Did you know the dev environment is down? Yes. Your boss pings you. Did you know? Of course you know.

You dive back into the spaghetti code you still don’t fully understand. The person who wrote it left six months ago. You follow a thread of convoluted logic, only to lose your train of thought when another colleague messages you.

Did you know?

YES.

Line by line, search query after search query, you toil to untangle the mess.

And suddenly find your own code staring you back in the face. The very first fix you’d made had been defective. Impermanent. A flimsy rubber band that had finally snapped.

You frown. You wonder what you’d been thinking when you’d fixed it before. The flaw in your approach seems obvious now. And yet somehow it had been good enough for you to be crowned “The Guy (gender-neutral)”. 

You sure weren’t “The Guy (gender-neutral)” then…but maybe you are now. Or close to it.

A couple more keystrokes and dev is back in business.

…It’s also the middle of the night, your colleagues have signed off, and you forgot to eat dinner. Again.

You crash down from the high of your accomplishment--deflated, hungry, and tired. You message chat that everything’s fixed but you’ll be late tomorrow, and close your work computer.

How had you worked for twelve hours without even noticing? Maybe you like programming more than you thought.

You’re not sure how you feel about that.

You rise from your chair with a tired groan, padding out to the kitchen.

…Where you promptly see--and worse, smell--the bag of trash you meant to take out this morning.

“Ugggghhhh…” you groan in disgust and self-pity, your shoulders slumping.

You grumble to yourself in frustration as you pull on your coat, grab the bag roughly by the handles as if it had any more say its fate than you, and proceed to name-drop every one of your coworkers in your mumblings as you make your way down four flights of stairs.

…Only to realize it’s raining. Not exactly a downpour--light enough that you didn’t hear it from your apartment, but heavy enough that you’ll definitely be soaked if you try to get to the dumpster.

Whatever. You’re not lugging the trash bag back up the stairs only to get your umbrella. You were going to change into your PJs while dinner was cooking anyway.

You grit your teeth and cross the dimly lit parking lot to the three-wall, roofless structure that contains the dumpsters and recycling bins. 

The rain in your eyes, the dim lighting, and your own grim determination to be done with your task almost cause you to miss it, but as you’re attempting to dry your hands before stuffing them back in your coat pockets, you see it.

A small white boot sticking out from the gap between the dumpster and the enclosure. You’re not sure what draws you to it--at first you think it’s just an old discarded piece of clothing that fell out of the overflowing bin.

Your gut instinct realizes what your conscious mind hasn’t yet, forcing you to take a step towards it and get a closer look.

Your stomach twists as you realize the boot is definitely still attached to something. At first you think it’s a child, but the figure’s odd proportions dismiss the idea before you can even so much as cry out in alarm.

The head accounts for about a third of the height, and the shoulders are strangely broad, with the legs being rather short in proportion. Though all that is trivial compared to the distinctly inhuman face.

Well…it’s probably meant to be based on a human, you realize, but it certainly isn’t one. The large mouth is fixed in a permanent, uncannily huge grin, and the pointed nose is cartoonishly long. A pair of glasses cover the eyes, the lenses of which are currently dark.

It’s too big to be a doll. A ventriloquist puppet, maybe? The jaw looks articulated in the way that such puppets usually are. Not that you know much about puppets or puppetry.

But you think they’re usually expensive…though price aside, even this scuffed up, damaged figure seems deserving of a fate better than being tossed into some dumpster. You’ve always been the sentimental sort who feels sorry for lost and damaged toys, despite knowing full well that they’re not “real”.

Someone had once believed they were, and then they just…stopped.

You shake off the melancholy thought with a literal shake of your head, flinging raindrops from your hair. 

You crouch down beside the puppet, tucking your hands under its arms and hoisting it up, only to nearly drop it as your grip fumbles. It’s way heavier than you’d expected! You’d assumed ventriloquist puppets were mostly hollow, but this one certainly isn’t. Maybe your assumption had just been wrong?

It’s going to be more of a pain to lug this thing back to your apartment, but well…in for a penny, in for a pound. Or fifty. Whichever.

There’s also something a bit odd about its joints…its limbs don’t flop around as much as you’d expect, but you chalk that up to the joints being partially stuck.

You carry it upright, your arms around its waist while its arms drape over your shoulders. You swear you hear a slight groan from it as you push the stairwell door open with your hip. It must have a voice box? Did puppets usually have those? Either way, the low, droning suggested the batteries were almost dead. 

You finally make it up to your unit. If it hadn’t been raining you’d’ve been drenched with sweat now. As it is, it’s probably still mostly rainwater, but you try not to think about how much of a sweat you worked up carrying the heavy thing upstairs. 

You kick the door shut behind you, flinching when it closes a bit louder than you’d meant it to. You take the puppet to the kitchen, laying it on its back on the counter. Or trying to…one of its hands gets caught on the hood of your jacket. When you reach up to pull it free, you realize the joints of the hand had curled in at some point, gripping the hoodie.

There’s something…off about that, about this whole thing, but…it’s just a puppet…right?

There’s nothing else it could be, really…

You remove your jacket, tossing it over the back of one of the dining chairs for now. There’s really no reason for you to tend to the puppet before yourself, but…

You grab a paper towel and begin wiping the grime and rainwater from its face, occasionally glancing at the darkened glasses that obscure its eyes. What an odd looking thing…but puppets often are.

You can’t quite tell what it’s made of. Wood or plastic are your best guesses but neither of them quite fit. It has the smooth rigidness of plastic but somehow, paradoxically, it also seems somewhat organic and is a bit warmer than you’d expect a rain soaked toy to be. The material’s even a bit malleable. The nose even has a bit of give, you realize as you push on it experimentally, bending it downwards. Foam, maybe?

As you push on the nose, the head abruptly turns away, and another low, rattly moan plays from the voice box.

With a gasp, you quickly pull away. Does…this thing have some kind of mechanism to move on its own? Maybe it’s only meant to look like a puppet, but is actually more of a robotic toy? That would explain the weight, you suppose…

But it certainly adds to the mystery of why anyone would throw it away.

You cup its cheek in one hand as you use the other to wipe some grime from its hair.

Your gaze drifts downward and you realize its clothes should probably be removed and hung up to dry.

…Why does that thought cause your face to heat up? You’ve fixed up old dolls and toys before, with no particular regard for their modesty.

You’re just tired. You’re tired and had a stressful day and it’s making you just a bit silly. That’s all.

You reach down and start attempting to remove the puppet’s blazer. Before you can undo the first button, though, its arm shoots up, its small hand wrapping around your wrist.

“[[ Showroom model only--not available for purchase! ]] [[ Break it you buy it!! ]]” Two audio clips in two different voices play from somewhere within the puppet.

You scream in surprise, pulling back so quickly you accidentally drag the puppet off the counter before it can let go of your wrist. You don’t fare much better as your heel catches on the leg of a dining chair, causing you to land hard on your rear.

You place a hand over your chest, trying to calm yourself. There’s a rational explanation for the puppet’s movement on the tip of your tongue, but it flies out the window almost immediately.

The puppet stirs. His glasses go from black to grey static as he lifts a hand to his forehead, struggling to get his bearings. The corners of his mouth are turned down in what you guess must be the closest thing to a frown he can muster with his large, semi-permanent grin. 

“Wh-What the hell…” you breathe in a strained whisper.

“[[ Temp--Temp--Temporarily out of service!! ]]” This audio clip is yet another voice. It sounds like the clip was originally recorded in a peppy, upbeat tone, but the playback is so low and garbled you can’t help but compare it to someone at the brink of death struggling to speak.

The puppet goes limp once again, the grey static on his glasses fading back to black. He’s collapsed on the floor, laying on his side in a growing puddle of rainwater as it slowly runs off his clothes.

You stare at him in stunned silence for several moments.

It’s mechanical. Robotic. A weird toy robot…thing…with low batteries and probably a busted circuit board or two.

It’s not alive.

But why would an expensive toy robot be in the dumpster?

Why would a living puppet be in the dumpster???

Your brain’s just fried from work. You need rest. And probably food. The puppet can wait.

You bite your lip. He’s not alive, but…that’s no reason to just leave him on the floor, right?

You quickly grab one of your fluffy bath towels from the linen closet and wrap the puppet in it, carrying him to the living room and laying him on the couch with far more respect and dignity than a totally-not-alive puppet actually needs, even putting one of your throw pillows under his head.

The rainwater’s going to soak through the towel and you’ll have a damp sofa by the time you finish dinner, but…well. It’ll dry. Whatever.

Still…you take a moment to look him over again as you kneel beside the couch. You place a hand on his cheek, turning his head slightly towards yourself. The grimace from before seems to have relaxed into a fairly neutral smile…you guess that must be his “default” expression.

You brush a few stray locks of hair from his face, then adjust his arms so that his hands are atop his chest--a more comfortable resting position than them splayed haphazardly beside him. As you do, you lightly grip one of his hands. It’s a bit smaller than your own, and the joints are fully articulated, giving it the same range of motion as a human hand.

The hand twitches and you quickly drop it. It lands with a soft thud atop his chest.

Enough silliness. You can look over the puppet once you get your head together.

You go into the bathroom, finally stripping out of your wet clothes and hanging them on the curtain rod to dry before changing into your PJs--some flannel lounge pants and an oversize T-shirt. As you walk back to the kitchen, you glance at the puppet on your couch, but force yourself not to stop and check on him again.

You hope some mac and cheese will pull you out of whatever temporary insanity working for twelve hours straight has inflicted upon you.

*

Spamton stirs as the sound of the soft thudding of a wooden spoon stirring a pot of boiling pasta reaches him.

Where…is he? The towel slides off him as he sits up, and he glances at it curiously, running his thumb over the soft, fluffy fabric. There was never anything this nice in the dumpster, that’s for sure.

But he’s also clearly not in his dumpster. He takes in the sight of your dimly lit apartment, the only light coming from the kitchen.

It doesn’t quite look like any sort of Cyber City apartment he’s ever seen. He can’t quite put his finger on why, but…after a second of thought, the word “mundane” pops into his mind. This place is more mundane than any part of Cyber City he’s ever been to. Though…he supposes he’s really only seen the highest highs and lowest lows…maybe the middle tiers of the city are a bit more mundane. It would make a certain amount of sense, though he can’t help but think the answer’s more complicated than that.

He slides off the couch, looking towards the light spilling from the kitchen.

“Mundane” aside, how’d he get into any apartment? As desperate as he’d gotten, he’d never committed B & E…at least for the purpose of sleeping on some stranger’s couch. And how long has it been since anyone had invited him into their home?

How long has it been since…anything?

Spamton wracks his brain, trying to pull up his most recent memory, whatever he was doing before he ended up here. The last thing he can remember--clearly, anyway--is just sitting in his dumpster in the back alleys of Cyber City, about to doze off.

But…somehow that memory seems like it was from long ago. Weeks, at least. And there are glimpses of something more recent that he can’t quite place.

Green wires.

The rollercoaster, with three carts speeding towards him.

A blue-haired, blue-skinned Lightner.

The latter, he had no idea who they were…and that thought caused a pang of guilt in his chest. They were…important. Why couldn’t he remember?

His gaze drifts back towards the kitchen and he slowly steps towards it.

How do you fit into any of this, he wonders?

*

You’re pouring the pasta and water into the strainer when you hear a sound behind you.

The quiet click of hard-soled shoes on kitchen tile.

You turn to glance behind you, more out of instinct than any expectation to actually see anything.

The puppet is up and walking towards you, a sight so shocking on its own that you don’t even notice the curious, borderline timid expression on his face, nor the way his hands are raised slightly as if to assure you he means no harm.

You wish you’d simply frozen at the sight of him.

Instead, your fatigued, nervous, downright jittery brain panics immediately, spinning fully to face him, despite the pot of boiling water in your hand. Lucky for you it’s nearly empty, but “nearly” is still enough for a decent sized splash to land on your bare forearm.

You cry out in pain, clutching your burned arm to your chest as you collapse onto the floor, your back pressed against the cabinets as you stare wide-eyed at the puppet.

“WOAH !! RELAX [[ valued customer ]]!!” the puppet speaks, his voice far clearer than it had been before. Though there’s still a slight static to it, as if it’s being played over a worn out speaker. “[[ Apologies for the inconvenience ]], I’M NOT--”

Spamton cuts himself off when he realizes you’re now staring down at your burned arm. Your hands are shaking as you stare at your blistering skin, tears of pain--and probably fear--welling in your eyes.

“[[ It Burns! Ow! Stop! Help Me! It Burns! ]]”

Your gaze snaps back to him. “What?!” you yelp, incredulous despite the bizarreness of the situation. Why’s he acting like he’s the one who got burned?

No sooner than the thought enters your head than you notice his slack expression, his glasses once again going staticy. But once again, things seem to pivot on a dime and he snaps out of it so fast you wonder if you weren’t just seeing things.

“SORRY!!” he says, holding up his hands. “DIDN’T MEAN TO [[ all kinds of surprises!! ]] YOU!!”

Spamton steps towards you and you shrink back against the cabinets. He takes the hint and backs off, still holding up his hands. After a brief pause, he snaps his fingers, and to your utter astonishment, a miniature, cherub-like version of himself appears and flitters towards you.

You’re too stunned at the sight to even consider pulling away, your jaw going slack as you watch the little creature land weightlessly on your arm and gently pat the blistering, reddening skin. A wave of green sparkly lights washes over your injury and the burns, along with the cherub, disappear.

A one word question echoes in your mind and you can’t help but speak it aloud in a strained, wavering voice.

“Magic…?”

Spamton dips his head in a nod. He holds up a hand, and the cherub reappears, perching on his finger and giving you a little wave. “YEP! JUST A [[ simple, one-stop solution ]] FOR [[ all your routine medical needs ]],” he says, dismissing the cherub with a wave of his hand. He hesitates, then steps towards you again. When you don’t flinch away, he closes the distance between you two, lightly touching your arm.

“NO MORE [[ It Burns! ]]?”

“U-Uhm,” you stammer. The way his voice sounds so pained when switching to the “It Burns” line is unnerving…you guess it’s just a soundbyte, that he’s not actually feeling the pain or distress the voice line suggests. His expression certainly seems to hold genuine concern, despite the semi-permanent smile. “Y-Yeah…I…” You glance down at his hand on your arm.

He really did heal it. Just like that. The pain and blistering just…gone in an instant. You’d guess you were dreaming, but…there’s no way you’d sleep through such intense pain, imagined or not.

“You…do magic,” you say weakly. The laugh you let out borders on manic. “I mean sure, why wouldn’t you do magic?”

Either he doesn’t notice your sarcasm or chooses to ignore it, for he takes a step back, grinning and puffing out his chest. “WHY NOT INDEED? SPAM   SPAMTON G. SPAMTON [[ #1 Rated Salesman 1997 ]] IS A MAN OF [[ dozens of unique skills ]]!” he declares.

“S-Spamton? That’s…your name?” you ask.

He grins, pointing at you while a DING DING DING chime plays, his glasses lenses switching colors on every beat. “AND [[ who do I have the pleasure of speaking to? ]]”

You tell him your name, still dazed.

He stays silent, canting his head and looking up at you uncertainly, seemingly waiting for you to recover.

“Wh-What are you?” you blurt abruptly.

Spamton blinks, but far from being offended at the question, he tosses his head back and lets out a hearty laugh. “HEAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The cadence is a bit faster than a human would typically laugh, almost like the rapid fire of a machine gun…but as laughs go it’s far from unpleasant. “[[ Doll ]] I WAS JUST ABOUT TO [[ Ask Away! ]] YOU THE SAME THING!!”

You blink. “Um. I-I’m…a human. Surely…you’ve seen humans before?”

“OF COURSE!! [[ And don’t call me Shirly ]],” he quips. “BUT I’M NOT SEEING ANY [[ Heart-shaped Object ]].”

“H-Heart shaped object?” you repeat, absently rubbing at your chest. You assume he’s not talking about your actual heart.

“YOU’RE NO DARK >n3R…NOT A LIGHT >n3R EITHER?” he asks, canting his head curiously.

“I-I…I mean I guess not, not that…that I know of?” you say helplessly.

You’re a bit surprised he’s the one questioning you. It hadn’t occurred to you that he’d be just as confounded by his situation as you are.

“IS THIS THE DARK WORLD OR LIGHT WORLD?”

You stare blankly. “I…I don’t know? Neither, I…I think?”

“SO THEN…WH    WHERE IN THE [[ Tri-County Area ]] AM I?”

You stammer a moment, not even sure what sort of answer he’d want for that. “M-My apartment?” you say inanely. At his deadpan, unimpressed look you tell him the name of your city, and when that doesn’t ring a bell, you add your state.

He frowns, tapping his chin with one hand.

“Where are you from, then?”

“CYBER CITY, IN THE DARK WORLD.”

“Doesn’t sound like any place near here…I-Is it…really an entirely different world?”

“[[ Survey Says: ]] YES.”

It’s as likely as anything else. Living puppet with healing magic…why not add world-hopping on top of that at this point?

“[[ You may ask yourself, well, how did I get here? ]]”

“I…don’t know. I mean, I found you in a dumpster and brought you up here. I have no idea where you were before that…”

“BROUGHT ME [[ all the way up ]] HERE? WHY?”

“I um. Well,” you shift uncomfortably. “I…uh, thought you were a toy or puppet or something…”

“TOY NO, PUPPET YES,” he says. As he admits it, his glasses briefly go staticy and his smile fades, but he quickly shakes it off. “SO, DUMPSTER DIVING FOR [[ marketable goods ]], EH?” he chuckles.

“N-No! It was just--” You bite back your protest. You probably should have just said yes. It’s probably less silly than your real reason. At his expectant look, you feel your cheeks heat up. “I-I just…I like…fixing up old toys and it’s just…k-kinda…sad to see them get abandoned…and you just seemed too--” You cut yourself off again. You should have stopped a sentence or two ago, but once again Spamton is looking at you curiously and you feel compelled to complete your statement. “--F-Fancy…to just…be tossed in some landfill…”

You can see his eyes blink in surprise behind his glasses. His slightly open mouth closes with an audible clack and he chuckles. “WELL I AM A BIT OF A [[ Mr. Fancy-Pants ]]...OR AT LEAST I WAS,” he adds, his grin seeming to fade slightly.

A beat of silence passes as he seems to get lost in his own head for a moment, and you think you start to see bits of static appearing in his glasses. The corners of his mouth start to droop as his smile fades.

“W-Well, nothing a bit of mending won’t fix, right?” you say, assuming he’s only referring to his torn up suit and some of the scuffs on his face and hands.

Spamton snaps out of whatever trance he’s in, looking at you in confusion for a moment before his previous smile returns. 

“...RIGHT. WELL, ANYWAY [[ doll ]], THANKS FOR THE [[ solid assist ]] BUT IT’S ABOUT TIME I [[ hit the road ]].”

You blink. “Um. What?”

He raises a brow. “[[ Hit the road ]], [[ Make like a tree and leaf ]], [[ head off into the sunset in your brand-new cungadero ]]?”

You can’t help but blurt out an incredulous, “To where?” Your cheeks warm and you glance away awkwardly, rubbing your arm. “I-I mean, n-not that it’s any of my business, but…a minute ago you didn’t even know what world you’re in…”

Spamton stares at you a moment before throwing his head back in another laugh. “HEAHAHAHAHA!!” You can’t help but notice the laugh seems a bit forced. “[[ Doll ]], DON’T YOU KNOW A TRUE [[ #1 Salesman 1997 ]] WILL [[ never give up, never surrender!! ]]?”

You finally manage to give a weak smile. “Well…that’s all well and good, but…do you even have a plan?”

“DO YOU?”

“Heh,” you chuckle nervously. “N-Not…a super long term one, but…I’d uh…I’d…feel bad sending you away like this…drenched and dirty with nowhere to go…”

His head tilts slightly to one side as he regards you. “WILLING TO MAKE A [[ Specil Deal ]], [[ doll ]]?”

You blink at his phrasing. “I…don’t know about a deal, but…I-I mean…you can…crash here for tonight? Get washed up, dry your clothes at least?”

“AND WHAT”S THE [[ payment method required ]]?”

“No payment!” you say quickly. “Just…”

“[[ Complimentary service ]]?”

You laugh slightly. “Exactly.”

He considers, rubbing his chin as he tries to figure out what possible catch there could be. Finally, he holds out a hand. “[[ Terms & Conditions Accepted !! ]]”

You let out a more earnest laugh, nodding. “Alright, Spamton,” you say, wrapping your hand around his and giving a hearty handshake.

Spamton steps back, glancing around at the mess you’d made. The pan had clattered to the floor, and there was a puddle of spilled water and a few stray noodles on the floor. Luckily dinner itself is salvageable--the majority of the noodles are still safely in the strainer in the sink.

“[[ Tired of cleaning up after dinner? Why not let -- ]] YOUR [[ good pal ]] SPAMTON TAKE CARE OF THAT?” he offers, going over to pick up the pan, handing it to you as you finally get to your feet.

“Thanks, but…” You lift your gaze past him, seeing the muddy footprints he’s tracked into the kitchen. You smile weakly. “Maybe you should get yourself tidied up first? The bathroom’s just down the hall, I can finish up in here while you shower?”

He follows your gaze to the dirt he’s tracked into the kitchen, then smiles up at you sheepishly. “GOOD POINT. BUT WHY DON”T WE [[ get the best of both worlds ]]?” He snaps his fingers, and two cherubs appear. They smile cutely at you before one of them flies down to the ground to begin gathering the spilled noodles and the other pulls the towel off the oven handle and drapes it over the puddle.

“Heh…s-sounds good…” you say, once again caught off guard by his ability to just…manifest helpful little creatures.

The cherubs finish cleaning while you shake the last of the water from the pasta strainer, rinse out the pan, and start mixing the cheese in with the noodles.

They finish the cleanup before you finish the cooking, and all you have to do is open the cupboard so they can toss the floor noodles away.

“Um, thanks guys?” you say uncertainly.

Their little grins get even wider at your praise and they perch on the edge of the stove, watching you stir the noodles.

You notice they seem to be watching a bit…intently. Their heads bop slightly as they track the motion of the spoon, the reflective pink and yellow lenses on their glasses making it hard to read their expressions.

“Hey uh…m-maybe this is a weird question…” Though you wonder if anything’s a weird question when posed to a pair of tiny puppet cherubs summoned by a magic living puppet from another world. “D’you two…get hungry?”

Their attention perks to you so raptly that you have to assume the answer is a firm yes.

You chuckle weakly at that, scooping out a spoonful of noodles and blowing on it. “D’you like mac and cheese?”

They nod eagerly, making a squeaky trilling sound as they abruptly take off towards the spoon.

“H-Hey! Careful, it’s hot!” you say, holding up a hand to try to block them before they burn themselves.

Your attempt fails, but it doesn’t seem to matter. They dart around your hand and perch on either side of the spoon, greedily shoving the cheesy noodles into their mouths. If the heat is even remotely uncomfortable to them, they’re not showing any sign of it.

“Guess you were hungry…” you say, amused. You grab a piece of paper towel and wrap it around your finger, wiping the cheese from their faces. They make a faint sound of protest, the red on their cheeks growing a bit redder at your attention.

You set the spoon aside and turn the stove to low to keep the food warm. “I’d better check on Spamton,” you say to the cherubs.

As you walk down the hall to the bathroom, you hear the shower switch off and the door opens. A faint cloud of steam emerges, followed closely by Spamton.

One of your hand towels is wrapped around his waist and the other is around his shoulders. He’s using the corner of said towel to wipe the steam from his glasses lenses. Locks of damp hair fall across his forehead and cling to his neck and shoulders, a few droplets running down his bare chest.

His shoulders are wider than you’d expected--seems his blazer isn’t as padded as you’d assumed. His whole frame on the stocky side, and he has a slightly protruding gut that hadn’t really been noticeable under his blazer.

You wish you could blame the cloud of warm steam for your burning face.

“HEY [[ doll ]], WOULD YOU HAPPEN TO HAVE A [[ clean-pressed ]] [[ size L T-shirt ]] I COULD BORROW? MY BLAZER IS--” He places his glasses back on his face and cuts himself off when he notices you staring.

A beat of uncertain silence passes before you snap out of it. “Oh! U-U-Uh--Of course!” you squeak. “L-Let me just grab that for you!” you say quickly. You duck into your bedroom without waiting for a response, grabbing one of a large T-shirt and a pair of boxers. You’re not sure how well either will fit him, but you’ve got nothing better to offer right now.

When you get back to the bathroom, he’s standing on the counter in front of a portion of the mirror he’d wiped the fog from. He’s helped himself to one of your combs and is brushing his damp hair from his face.

You try not to look him in the eye--or anywhere else--as you pass him the clothing.

“THANKS, [[ doll ]]!” he says brightly.

You nod, mumbling some lame excuse about needing to check on the food before scurrying back to the kitchen.

When you get there, you see the cherubs have been busy. The table’s been set, and they’ve even taken a couple throw pillows from the couch and piled them on one of the chairs for Spamton. Glancing into the living room, you notice they even refolded the towel Spamton had been wrapped in.

“Oh, thanks guys!” you say, earning another set of happy squeaks from the little pair.

You busy yourself with dishing out the macaroni, and by the time you’re done, Spamton’s emerged from the bathroom.

The PJs you lent him are…suitable. They hang a bit awkwardly on him, but given how different your body shapes are it’s a miracle you had anything that was even remotely wearable for him.

“THANKS AGAIN FOR THE [[ brand-new threads ]] AND [[ hearty, nutritious dinner ]]!” he says, effortlessly hopping up onto the chair and taking his seat. He looks at the bowl of macaroni before him and hesitates, looking up at you uncertainly…perhaps even guiltily. “AND…YOU”RE SURE ALL THIS IS [[ complimentary service ]]?” 

“Sure,” you say easily. “The little guys certainly seemed hungry…I’m…guessing you are too?”

Spamton gives the two cherubs--who are now sitting on the table between you two--a disapproving look. “MANNERS,” he says, pointing the spoon at them accusingly.

You laugh, waving a hand. “Oh no, they were very polite!” you say. A bit overeager, and a bit messy in their own eating, but in your mind all the extra cleaning they did more than makes up for it.

“GOOD,” he says, waving a hand. And with that, the two cherubs disappear, leaving only a few green sparkles in their wake.

“Oh…you didn’t have to send them away…” you say.

Spamton chuckles. “THEY WERE SLEEPY.”

You give a bemused laugh. “I…see. You’d know best I suppose,” you concede. “I’ve never even seen magic before today…”

He glances up in surprise. “NO? NOT EVER?”

“Not real magic, no. Not like…healing burns and conjuring cherubs,” you say.

“MINITONS,” he corrects.

“Pardon?”

“MINITONS. MINI SPAMTONS,” he clarifies with a playful smirk.

“Oh!” you laugh. “That’s…actually kinda cute,” you say.

Spamton gives you a wry look. “IT’S MEANT TO BE [[ concise and informative ]], NOT [[ adorable ]],” he says, though despite his look he sounds more amused than exasperated.

“It can be both,” you retort.

“IF YOU INSIST,” he says with a good natured eye roll.

The conversation ceases as he digs into his meal. His manners are much better than the Minitons of course, but he can’t completely hide the urgency with which he eats…though he does decline your offer of seconds, you sense it’s more out of a sense of guilt at how much you’ve given him than him actually being full.

And possibly being too tired to eat any more. Even with his glasses you can see his eyelids starting to droop by the time he drops his spoon into the empty bowl. But as soon as you get up and make as if to take the dishes to the sink, he snaps back to life.

“WAIT!!” he says, hopping up to stand on his chair, grabbing his bowl before reaching up and taking yours out of your hand. “SINCE YOU COOKED [[ delicis 5-Star meal ]] I’LL [[ cleans and polishes your dishes with a sparkling shine, guaranteed no food residue ]]!!” He grins up at you. “IT’S THE [[ bare minimum as required by law ]].” He blinks at the last part of the statement, his smile turning markedly sheepish. Apparently those little phrases don’t always come out sounding quiiiiite how he wants.

You take it in stride, laughing. “It’s alright, Spamton, really.”

“I INSIST!” he insists, hopping down from his chair and pushing it towards the sink.

“W-Well…I suppose it’s fair…I’ll get the couch set up for you, then,” you say, assuming he’ll want to turn in for the night after he finishes the dishes.

*

Spamton isn’t sure why you’re so keen on helping him, but…he also can’t afford to say no. He assumes he’ll be on his way tomorrow…even though he still doesn’t have an answer to the question you posed earlier.

To where?

He has no idea how to get back to the Dark World, and he gets the feeling he’s not exactly going to fit seamlessly into this one.

If he were more awake, anxiety would be gnawing at him, but even his anxieties are too tired for that right now.

He finishes the dishes, and despite his fatigue he does get them spotless as promised.

He hops down from the chair, forgetting to push it back to the table, and trudges tiredly into the living room.

Spamton stops, staring in surprise at what he sees.

Apparently your couch has a pullout bed, which you’ve set up with two blankets and a couple plush pillows, despite the fact that the couch itself had been more than big enough for him to sleep on. Hell, he could have scraped by with just one of those pillows to curl up on for the night.

“ALL THIS FOR [[ lil’ ol’ me ]]?” he asks, stunned as you finish fluffing the second pillow and toss it into place.

You shrug. “Sure, why not? I got a pullout couch for a reason,” you say. “Besides, the cushions were still damp, and the mattress is a bit more comfortable, I think.”

Spamton looks up at you uncertainly, his mouth opening and closing a couple times. Insisting that the couch is fine would only mean you having to re-fold the pullout bed. He runs a hand over the soft blankets, far cleaner and softer than any bedding he’s had in a long time. “[[ …thank you… ]]”

Your cheeks warm at the quiet sincerity in his tone. “No problem, Spamton…” you say softly. “I-I’ll um…see you in the morning, then?”

He hops onto the bed, scooting to the pillow and pulling the blanket back. “YES. OF COURSE, [[ doll ]].”

You nod, readily giving him his space and heading to your own room and climbing into your own bed.

You’d said he could stay for the night, but in reality, you have the same doubts Spamton does…and if anything, you have a more realistic idea of how unrealistic it is for him to just…leave and make his way in the world.

A conversation to have over breakfast, you suppose.

[daryltwdixon]

The Promise of Us: Chapter 21

You

The two of you move through the woods, your boots crunching over fallen leaves as Daryl keeps a steady pace ahead. His eyes are focused on the ground, tracking, but you can tell by the stiffness in his shoulders that his mind is elsewhere. You keep your distance, the silence between you heavy and tense.

Your own thoughts are a tangled mess of anger and betrayal, each step making the frustration inside you grow. You’d been waiting for this moment, waiting for the chance to say something—to make him understand the depth of your hurt. But the words stick in your throat, caught somewhere between fury and pain.

After a few minutes, you can’t hold it back any longer. “So, you were just never gonna tell me, huh?” you snap, your voice sharp enough to cut through the silence.

Daryl’s head jerks up, but he doesn’t turn to listen to you, and after a moment, he continues on walking, “What ya talkin’ about?” he says under his breath.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You know damn well what I’m talkin’ about, Daryl,”

His expression shifts from confusion to annoyance as he stops abruptly to turn to you, “Y/N, I ain’t a mind reader so if ya got somethin’ to say–”

You step closer, your tone clipped. “The Governor wants me, Daryl. I was the damn bargaining chip. And you—you just let me walk around clueless while you and Rick decided to change your minds and offer Michonne instead, you know how fucked that all sounds?” His eyes widen, and there’s a flicker of something close to panic before he forces it down. His jaw clenches. “We ain’t tradin’ nobody,” he says defensively, voice rising. “Rick changed his mind, woulda never been you anyway,”

“That’s not the point,” you snap, voice cracking with anger. “You didn’t even have the guts to tell me! I had to hear it from Merle!”

He looks away, his shoulders hunched. “I was just tryin’ to keep you safe,” he mutters, but there’s a rough edge to his voice, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. His hands tighten, knuckles going white as he holds his crossbow down.

Your hands shake with the force of your anger, and you step even closer, voice low and furious. “And what about what I wanted, Daryl? You didn’t think I deserved to know?”

His head jerks back up, his eyes burning with guilt and frustration. “What good woulda come from tellin’ you? You’d just be more scared, more pissed off—and for what?”

“Maybe I had a right to be pissed off!” you shout, your voice raw. “But I didn’t even get the chance, did I?”

His face darkens, and he takes a step toward you, his voice low and rough. “You never told me what happened Y/N. You never said a damn word about what went down between you and the Governor. I’m tryin’ to protect you, but I don’t even know what from!”

You freeze, the rawness of his words cutting through the rage. The memories flood back uninvited, and the shame twists deep in your chest. He softens, his own frustration melting into something closer to desperation, “You don’t gotta tell me or nobody else what really happened. But I can’t protect you if I don’t know what he’s after. Rick said he wants you as some kinda pet or some shit,” his lip curls at the last words, fury blazing across his features.

You open your mouth to respond, but then you see movement ahead. It’s Michonne, slicing cleanly through a walker’s head with her katana. You and Daryl both tense, the argument shoved aside by the immediate need to confront her.

Daryl raises his voice, “Hey!” he growls, filled with urgency and anger as he approaches her through the tall grass in the clearing, “Where’s my brother?”

Michonne looks up, eyes hard and focused. She doesn’t say anything as she takes in the two of you, and your heart pounds in your chest as you look around the open field, dead walkers scattered. He slows as he approaches her though, and you’re right on his heels, watching for any sign of Merle or worse around you.

Daryl slows as he gets closer, his earlier fury replaced by something colder, more fearful. You stay on his heels, your senses on high alert, every rustle of the wind making your skin prickle. “You kill ‘em?” he asks, his voice quieter now, but still carrying the weight of everything ahead.

You steal a glance at Michonne, trying to read her expression, but her face is stone—unreadable, as if she’s gauging Daryl as much as he is her. Then, slowly, she shakes her head, her eyes never leaving his.

Your breath catches sharply. So, he’s alive. Did he go back to the prison? Did he keep going? Where the hell is he headed? 

Oh–the trade. He was at the farm.

“He let me go,” Michonne finally says, her voice low, almost gentle.

Daryl’s face hardens at her words, but there’s a flicker of relief in his eyes. He takes that as a cue to keep moving, his steps purposeful but frantic. As he passes her, he mutters, “Don’t let anyone come after me,” and then he breaks into a run, pushing past her and continuing along the path he believes Merle took.

You don’t hesitate. You jog to catch up, your gun raised and ready, but you pause briefly in front of Michonne. Your eyes lock, both of you sharing an unspoken understanding—a mixture of pain, regret, and resolve. There’s a flicker of something else in her gaze, a silent apology, maybe even guilt.

You feel a tightness in your chest as the weight of what Daryl is about to face—what you’re both about to face—settles over you. You force yourself to look away, swallowing back the rising lump in your throat, and sprint forward after him.

❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥・・❥

As you approach the deserted barn for the second time that day, a chill snakes down your spine. Something feels terribly wrong. Your eyes narrow at the sight of a black car, abandoned in the dry grass. Bodies litter the ground—both walkers and people, their limbs twisted unnaturally in death. Instinct kicks in, the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You lock eyes with Daryl, your gut already coiled tight with dread. You signal left for the field and point for him to circle right behind the barn. He nods, but his eyes linger on you, filled with a silent urgency, almost like he’s trying to say something he can’t put into words. You tear your gaze away, rifle raised high and ready, and press forward.

As you continue on, you can hear the unmistakable growl of a walker up ahead, and see it crouched down over a body. It’s gnawing on the flesh of someone you don’t recognize– the wet, sickening squelches of torn muscle and skin filling the air. The walker’s eyes suddenly snap up when it hears your footsteps, meeting your gaze.

The sight knocks the wind out of you. A strangled sound escapes your throat as you take in the familiar features—the skin close buzz cut, the piercing blue eyes now bloodshot and hungry. 

You want to scream, to rage, but all you can do is stand there as Merle Dixon gets on his feet, nearly tripping over the bloodied body that was his meal to come for you. His steps are unbalanced, shuffling, but persistent as he comes at you. Fresh blood and bits of flesh hang from his mouth, but when you look lower to his chest you can see the dark, crusted, old blood that was his death blow. 

“Merle,” you choke out finally, voice breaking as he comes in front of you, arms stretched out to you. Tears blur your vision as you step back, letting the rifle fall and swing back as your hands slip from it to push him away. You shove, hard, and he snarls, fingers still trying to reach for you. Sobs come hard and fast out of you as you gasp for your breath, looking at the man who was bitter, crude, violent, but fiercely loyal and always by your side.

“You damn idiot!” you scream, throwing your hands on him again and shoving with all your might. He stumbles back like he’s drunk, but his hungry eyes still meet yours, as if he’s still there underneath it all. It’s a twisted, horrifying reflection of the man who’d been like a brother to you. He’s the closest person you’ve ever lost to this fate. Sophia was a gut punch, but this? This feels like your heart is being ripped out. Your face is hot and wet with tears as strands of loose hair cling to it, your expression twisted in anger and grief. Merle keeps coming at you, and after you push him one more time, your knees buckle underneath you. You collapse, sobbing uncontrollably, the grief overwhelming. He falls fro the impact of the push. It takes him a moment to gather his limbs again to come back up. 

“Daryl!” you scream, your throat raw, voice tearing from the depths of your soul. It’s a desperate, terrified call for the man who knew Merle better than anyone. Footsteps pound the ground behind you, and you glance up to see Daryl rushing forward, knife raised—but he stops short. Your sobs feel like they’re breaking your ribs as you watch Merle from the ground. You're shaking so badly it’s almost like the earth underneath you is moving, quaking with your grief as well. 

Merle is back on his feet, his eyes piercing at you with a new frustrated snarl curling his lip as his rattling breaths come closer. Daryl is suddenly in front of you, and he pushes him back. It’s not as hard as you had shoved, and as Merle comes back for him, Daryl is backing up, almost cowering as the cries come from his mouth. 

The sight of Merle, now a walker, seems to shatter something inside him. He falters, his steps becoming hesitant, the knife lowering as he takes in the horrifying reality. You watch, paralyzed by your own grief, as Daryl’s face crumples, the tears streaming down his cheeks unchecked.

Merle snarls, lunging forward again, and Daryl backs up, choking on sobs that rip through the air. He’s not fighting anymore—he’s collapsing under the weight of everything Merle was, everything he lost. His cries mix with yours, a cacophony of pain that fills the empty field. 

“Daryl,” you manage to choke out through your own sobs, your voice barely a whisper, “we need to—” 

But before you can finish, Daryl surges forward, a guttural roar escaping him as he tackles Merle to the ground. His knife plunges into Merle’s skull with brutal force, once, twice, over and over again. The impact is fueled by years of rage, of lost moments and broken promises, of love that never found the words. It’s raw, violent, the blows landing harder each time until Merle’s face is unrecognizable—reduced to the mangled remains of a man who once fought tooth and nail for his brother.

You clamber up to Daryl as he pushes the knife in one more time, your hands gripping his shoulders. He falls back easily, his cries louder as he collapses back onto you, onto the ground. You hold him back against your chest, arms wrapping around his shoulders and chest, pulling him close. His back presses against you, his body shaking with raw, uncontrollable sobs. You hold him tight, your own tears wetting his neck, your face buried in the crook of his shoulder.

The two of you remain there, tangled in each other’s grief, as the full weight of the loss settles over you. Merle, who had sacrificed himself to save you, to save Michonne, is gone. And in this moment, all you have is each other—the one thing neither of you can bear to lose.

[gay-dorito-dust]

soft shy insecure reader comforted by s/o raiden? headcanon or oneshot, hes so cute i need his hugs!

This went on for a bit, maybe ooc but I can never tell cuz once again I was half asleep when writing this so…yeah. 🦦

The moment Raiden finds out that on this particular day that you were feeling insecure within yourself, he knew what he was going to do and that was going to help you through it the best way he can.

Raiden didn’t think it would be right of him to just not be there for you when you needed someone to be there to stabilise your footing when you tripped and be ready to catch you when you’d inevitably fall later on. Raiden was more than ready to be that person, it was practically engraved within his heart and soul, it was his code.

He stood stand tall and strong like an oak tree in order to uphold and protect those who could no longer carry themselves any further.

Upon reaching you, Raiden would sit himself down next to you and would then ask in a low and steady voice;

‘is there a particular reason as to why you don’t like the way you look?’ Wanting to hear you speak your mind, to speak your feelings. He genuinely wanted to understand your perspective because not once would Raiden interrupt you or cut you off midway but instead chose to listen to you intently; his warm, understanding eyes reused to look away from your own.

His eyes looked at you so deeply that you couldn’t help but become vulnerable and open beneath his gaze, but in the way where you knew that you were in a safe space to shed a few tears, have bouts of frustration and allowing yourself to be angry without fear; even going into great depths as to why you didn’t appreciate nor accept the body that you were in, recounting events that enforced this awful and damaging mindset, telling you that you were just that fucking hideous and disgusting to even look at that.

And god forbid if you were to be seen at in any other way that wasn’t negative, your mind made you believe that you were a joke to be laughed at -or even a bit gullible- to ever believe that such words of kindness and adoration could ever be used to describe someone of your physique. It just wasn’t possible and you didn’t think it would become reality either but then Raiden came into the picture...until you replaced through no fault of his own.

Raiden throughout this was so kind and so incredibly patient with you, that once you had gotten everything off of your chest, of which that had been weighing you down on for as long as you could remember and then gradually being crushed beneath it’s unbelievable weight; you felt a weight had been taken off of your shoulders and yet it didn’t make much of a difference as to how you felt before.

‘I just don’t think I’m worth you Raiden.’ You finalised, looking at him from beneath your eyelashes before gesturing towards your reflection within the mirror before you. ‘I mean, look at me.’

‘I am looking at you right now.’ Raiden replied, not looking at the mirror but more so at you directly. ‘And all I’m seeing is a beautiful/handsome/viberant soul at war with itself over imperfections that I wholeheartedly adore as I do the rest of them.’ He could see the disbelief within your eyes as they stared deeply into the pair staring back at you from the reflective surface. So Raiden then stood up, catching your attention almost immediately, as your thoughts raced to every possible conclusion as to why he chose to stand up but before you could get the words out, Raiden had already offered out his hand to you with a gently smile.

‘Take my hand.’ He said softly.

‘Why?’ You questioned, skeptical.

‘Just trust me, my heart, I want to show you something.’ Raiden gently ushered.

You didn’t question him any further and reached out for his hand, where he’d then grasp it gently and then Raiden proceeded in pulling you up from your bed, bringing you closer to the mirror.

‘What do you see?’ Raiden asks before moving himself behind you so he could hold you against him and rest his head upon your shoulder.

‘I see a person who isn’t pleasing within any sense of the word.’ You began. ‘I see someone who spent putting too much effort into being someone their not and are now realising that they’ll never be desirable to anyone because they were never meant to be desired. They were meant to be mocked, shamed and belittled for even attempting.’

‘We couldn’t be looking at two different very people.’ Raiden tells you, his eyes meeting yours through the mirror. ‘For the person you speak so ill of is the same person that I have devoted my entire heart into loving for the rest of my life.’ He then presses a kiss to your shoulder, then a couple more after that in quick succession, cussing a warmth to spread across your body. ‘I adore the person I see before me because to me, they took both my heart and my breath away the moment I saw them, then leaving me desperate as to known their name as it left their lips sweetly.’

When you didn’t say anything, just absorbing his words and letting them sit within you, Raiden then continued. ‘The person I see before me has enchanted my mind, consumed my every thought and even graced my dreams with their presence, something they still do to this very day and do you wanna know who their name is?’

‘My name.’ You replied meekly, pointing toward yourself and Raiden smiles as he presses a kiss to the side of your head, making sure to linger there before pulling away. ‘Yes y/n, it’s your name, my love.’ He muttered softly, tugging you closer to have you against his chest, all the while his strong arms kept you in place. Raiden’s embrace was warm, soft and loving, so much so that you couldn’t help but melt just that little bit deeper into his hold; burying your head into his neck, having become a little exhausted as a smile gracing your lips.

[wo-mary]

Letter from the Abyss

«Oh, Louis.

How many years have passed since you killed me? How many years have passed since the poison coursed through my veins while you gazed at me with loving yet distant eyes, unaware of what you were doing? How many years since you embraced me from behind while I sat with my throat slit, drowning in my own blood? How many years since your heart shattered from killing the one you loved?

I was slowly and agonizingly dying an impossible vampire death. Every cell of my body, every fragment of my soul, was pierced by unbearable pain. And all I could feel was how I sank into your strong arms, descending into the inescapable darkness. At least, I was grateful that it was you who did it, and not someone else.

Did you at least believe that I loved you, mon cher?

You didn’t think I was perfect, but you felt that I was a lot. But I couldn't help my love, and from the lack of yours, I made sure we both drowned in my bottomless, soul-crushing love together.

You didn’t think I was sane and saw me as a bloodthirsty, unbalanced killer. But that was my language of love — hysteria, tears, abuse, demands, and keeping you in an iron grip. Every time you tried to get close to someone else, I nearly turned myself inside out. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to destroy everything around me. So I destroyed everything around you.

You didn’t think we were meant for each other, but I saw in our impossible love the most sincere and genuine thing. Yes, it was built on your suffering, on your immense black void, which gradually consumed me too.

You didn’t believe I was faithful to you, and only saw my betrayals. But they weren’t infidelities; they were weak, miserable attempts to get your attention, to stir strong feelings in you, to make you love me as much as I loved you.

I tried to be gentle and tender. But you didn’t respond, and every time, I chose my demons to show my love for you, Louis.

I tried to speak openly, but you didn’t listen, so I committed all sorts of foolish acts just to reach your heart.

Oh God, how I loved you, Louis de Pointe du Lac. I loved you so much, mon cher, that I became cruel. To you. To myself. To the world. I was a raw, exposed nerve, capable only of erupting with emotions and suffering. And when you were killing me, I thought — yes, God, yes, I’ll stop feeling this. He will end my life, and there will be no more love. He will end my life, and there will be no more suffering. He will end my life, slit my throat, poison me, burn me in the furnace… the same one where I burned the useless human bodies that meant nothing to me…

But you didn’t finish your mission. I remained in pain. In suffering. With a soul shattered into pieces. Fully united with my own black hole, the one I so desperately tried to escape by making you my lover, by making you fall in love with me, by loving you all my life.

I was left alone with an impossible, imperfect love for you. Left without you. Oh, Louis, you can’t imagine how immense this pain was. It cannot be measured by instruments, by years, by the depth of a soul. It cannot be compared to anything. But it can be felt. And, you know, maybe if you had known back then that I hadn’t completely died, you would have thought that I was preparing to kill you too, to give you that same unbearable pain, and you’d be right. But while I was dying and regenerating at the same time, I faced unbearable despair and gave up. I stopped fighting. Stopped struggling with you. Stopped making plans against you. I just broke apart and let that despair swallow me to the very depths.

Oh, Louis. How many years have passed? And only now are you reading this letter. And if you’re looking for a reason why I did this, then read the letter again. Then again and again. And understand that I’m still slowly dying. I’m still alone with this impossible love for you, mon cher.

And maybe, with a small part of my soul, I still wish you would finish killing me. Because I can’t do this anymore.

Forever yours, relentless and unbearable, Lestat de Lioncourt»