#once I get there I get better about it but until then it’s an Unpleasant Time

[elprupneerg]

I hate knowing that I’m bad at asking for help. At least when I was ignoring the issue and struggling to do things by myself before I knew I could just feel bad about not being able to do things well enough/fast enough/at all. But now that I know it’s a problem I get to feel bad about all that stuff and also the fact that I haven’t gotten over my internalized shame about needing help

[sunderwight]

Luo Binghe needs to make better friends with Shang Qinghua, because Shang Qinghua's the one person who would know how to get Shen Qingqiu to top Binghe in bed.

Like if Binghe ever got to the friendliness level of actually bemoaning the situation, Shang Qinghua would be like, oh yah no problem leave it to daddy I got this for you. And then he'd go visit Shen Qingqiu and be all, so how's the sex life going?

After Shen Qingqiu finished yelling at him for asking the question, he'd of course provide some details -- which Shang Qinghua would translate out of Cucumber-ese into Normal Person Speak for concepts like "I'm a huge size queen so I'm really enjoying that WMD you gave your protagonist" and "I haven't figured it out yet but I really need to start using a better quality of lube" and etc, until there was an opening for him to get in the question of, has Shen Qingqiu topped Luo Binghe yet? Has he plumbed the depths of his heavenly love cave?

Which would probably inspire a two minute rant about the euphemism before Shen Qingqiu is finally like, of course I haven't topped, are you insane, I would never besmirch the dignity of an alpha male like that!

Shang Qinghua nods and hums thoughtfully and delivers the critical strike:

"Yeah, I guess he isn't really pretty enough to bottom."

Shen Qingqiu's expression goes through several different flavors of emotion before settling on "outrage". What the fuck, Airplane? Not pretty enough? Who gave him that face? What is that face if not "pretty"? Maybe some more advanced versions of the same concept, but that's the only case you could make, the case that it's actually "beautiful" or "gorgeous" or something because "pretty" is just too inadequate to describe it! You'd dare imply Binghe is ugly?! Is it crack that you're smoking?

Shang Qinghua just shrugs and goes well no the face department is probably not bad for that kind of thing, it's really more the body that's unsuitable. All those muscles and all, who wants to see those kinds of curves underneath them? And that ass. Totally inadequate for the job. He doesn't really blame Cucumber-bro for finding the whole prospect too unpleasant to contemplate! (Says man who regularly tops Mobei Jun, but it's not like Shen Qingqiu has figured that out, man's firmly stuck on yaoi tropes that say Airplane always bottoms because he's shorter.)

This, of course, inspires a fifteen minute rant on why Luo Binghe's ass is the most attractive ass ever, and all Shang Qinghua has to do is imply that if that were actually true, Shen Qingqiu would have had his husband bent over a bench at least once by now. And he's done it. This conversation can now only end with Shen Qingqiu storming off in a fit of righteous fury to go grab his husband and prove his point by bridal-carrying him into the bedroom and not coming back out until he's won the argument by ravishing Luo Binghe beyond a doubt.

Shen Qingqiu would be halfway through smugly informing Shang Qinghua that Binghe was the best lay ever the next day before it would even occur to him that he'd been had.

But Luo Binghe's too bad at making friends to ever unlock this feature, I think.

[megapteraurelia]

neighbour!kuroo, who ever since that day, throws sour looks at your boyfriend's door whenever he walks to and from work, hoping that his hard stare would melt through the wood and give the idiot guy hemorrhoids. or, well. any unpleasant experience, really.

who thought about taping his mailbox shut just to be an inconvenience, but kuroo's not a child anymore. ('maintaining his youthfulness' probably isn't an excuse anymore that he can let fly.)

neighbour!kuroo who looks down at the tupperware in your hands once he opens the door when you knock a couple days later, the sheepish and tired look on your face speaking volumes for how thankful you are.

he rubs his neck, partly in embarrassment, partly in confusion, but also to keep his boyish excitement in check. it's also been a long time since he's had a woman gift him food — since he's had anyone gift him food.

"thank you," you say, clarifying, "for taking care of me when i was sick."

"ah, actually there was no need..." he trails off, because even though there isn't any need, he sure likes the idea of enjoying food that he didn't have to put effort in. he's not a stickler for free alms in the form of nutrients, especially if it comes with such a sweet face. he thinks it's stupid to notice the way you look so soft and pretty when—

he absentmindedly looks over your shoulder to your boyfriend's half-opened door, which you had just come out of, tip-toeing over the hallway's cold floor towards his apartment.

kuroo wonders whether you're going to forgive your idiot of a boyfriend and with a twist of his lips finds himself hoping that you don't.

with another weird, dry bobbing of his throat, he also realises that he'll be pretty pissed at you if you do end up forgiving him.

but when you turn around to go back inside, his eyes trail after your form, and he shrugs to himself, the lunch box heavy in his hands.

after all, he is no one to you and you aren't anyone to him, so if you want to stay with somebody like that, he'll just have to get over it.

neighbour!kuroo who, despite that, still eats the warm food out of the tupperware on his kitchen island, the chopsticks digging into his chin, lost in thought, until faint yelling through thin walls comes to his attention.

for a second, his heart is still and his body, too, but once it jumpstarts back into action, his limbs follow suit. chopstick clattering onto the wood, he ignores the mess behind him and his long fingers wrap around the handle of his entrance door.

neighbour!kuroo who chews his lip in thought and slight worry, wondering if he should intervene. is he overstepping any boundaries? are those the duties of a neighbour? is he being overbearing?

but as soon as a crash sounds out, he is already steps deep into the hallway, knuckles rapping against the door harshly, waiting, jaw hard, ears fuming.

"everything good?" he presses out, more a threat than a question and your boyfriend's face grows weird, ugly in the sudden influx of heavy dislike.

"what's it to you? you here to pinch my girl again? you best back off, this ain't none of your business."

neighbour!kuroo who whishes for the day when he didn't remember your boyfriend's face and didn't have a reason to get involved into lovers' spats — except now, he can't not help once he knew, so he levels a pissed stare at the guy, "you better hope she's unharmed—"

who, once you fight your boyfriend's hold of the door and come out to the hallways with heavy breaths and a tears-streaked face, feels like maybe taping his neighbour's mailbox shut isn't that childish.

who fixes your (ex-)boyfriend with a hard look and a harder touch to allow you time and space to gather your things, because you looked at him with your pink nose, that flushed mouth and the tears clinging to your lashes and told him you didn't feel safe.

neighbour!kuroo who opens the door to his apartment for you a second time, who ignores the aggression from your ex behind him with a smile he knows is aggravating and finger wave that serves as a reminder that while he may be a door away, his own fists (and the cops) aren't that far behind.

neighbour!kuroo who makes tea for you and awkwardly stands still in his own kitchen, wondering if it's weird to serve you the food you brought over for him. who shrugs and ends up doing so anyway, because he still feels hungry.

putting down the plates at the coffee table, the sounds make you snap out of the dissociated daze, and you look up to find your ex-boyfriend's neighbour with his dark cow-licked hair and the observant eyes.

his hand comes up to rub his neck, and he lets himself fall on the other end of the couch with a big sigh, "not to address the elephant in the room, but you still have your shoes on."

taglist | @takes1

[bagofshinyrocks]

Biting (Affectionately)

Prompt: TF141 with a S/O who affectionately bites them [Requested by @airghostlyfox]

Featuring: TF141 - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.6k

Warnings: a wee bit suggestive, but nothing nsfw

John Price

John doesn’t mind all that much (i.e. he finds it endearing, but won’t tell you so). As long as it’s in private. 

When watching TV, he expects for you to curl up with him and start “chewing” on the muscles in his arms. When he’s messing with you, pinching your cheeks and flicking your nose, he expects for you to start nipping at his fingers like a playful dog. When he blocks the doorway and refuses to move, of course you’ll lunge at him and start biting at his face until he has no choice but to move.

But he gets embarrassed if you do it in public view. He’s not sure why. He knows you don’t mean to make him uncomfortable, but he still gets that unpleasant reaction in his abdomen. So you don’t, saving your love-filled chomps for the privacy of your shared home.

Simon Riley

Simon teases you for it (but still finds it adorable). And like all expressions of your love for each other, it is never in public. Might not even want his teammates to know about or see it, though he’ll feel more comfortable with you and them together over time

I beg you to chew on this man. Shove your head under his hoodie and chew on his abdomen and chest. Push aside his shirt collar and pretend to be a vampire. When you wake up from your nap on the couch to him putting his legs on you, get his fucking calves. 

“No one’s gonna see it, Simon. You dress like a fucking nun.” You kissed the bite on his bicep better. “If anyone sees my teeth marks, it means you’re cheating.”

“Johnny does have pretty eyes,” he teased. Then yelped when you tried to nip his nose.

Kyle Garrick

Oh boy, oh boy is Kyle a giggling mess when you start biting at him. The hilarity of your mouth wide open as you try to catch his arm. Your happy shout muffled by his skin as you gently pressed your teeth into him.

Bothering him while he’s watching his show, chewing on the slight squish of his cheek like a cow on grass. Biting his hand and fingers when he tries to snag your food. If you nip a little too hard, you immediately kiss and rub it better. Apologizing. Sometimes he yelps just to laugh at your change in demeanor.

After a few weeks of your shenanigans, he decided to fight fire with fire. You absentmindedly handed him some piece of food to try, and instead of taking it with his own hand, his teeth nipped your fingers.

You yelped at the novel feeling. Then pinched his nose with your free hand. He chased after your hands with an open mouth, both of you laughing as he fell on you and gave back to you every single nip and chew you’ve given him over the past few weeks.

Johnny MacTavish

Discovered: New aspect of physical affection - Biting… press [J] to open journal.

The two of you will lay on the couch or in bed, lazing about on the few days off you share. And your mouth will be attached to the meat of his arm while he looks for something to watch. Once one has been selected, Johnny scratches your back and talks through the whole show.

When your handsome man gets out of the shower, and you tell him that he smells nice and “cute enough to eat”. Give him a little chomp on the chest or back.

When he’s walking around the home shirtless, showing off his physique, bide your time. When he least expects it, get those nips of his. Unfortunately, he will return the favor when you least expect it, but if you are gentle with his, he’ll be gentle to yours.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2024 February 7

[moonsaver]

Finished penacony. Sunday. Oh dear oh dear.

Yan!Sunday who seems obsessively off with you for the early start of something like a relationship. Calm, but underlying warning tones. One wrong word and you might tip him off too much. You've learned one way to decode his emotions are his wings. They tense up whenever you mention something.. unpleasant. Its a warning. You cut yourself off in the middle of your sentence. The silence passes, and his wings relax. He turns to you with a calm smile on his face. You barely squeezed through, this time.

Yan!Sunday who's just a bit delusional. He deludes himself into thinking about righteousness, and you're some sort of reward for him, for him to keep, and shelter, and nurture, like a christmas gift pet, but something more tender. Tender like a bruise, anyway.

Yan!Sunday, who seems.. to be slipping indisputably. In the corners of your eyes, in private, where he meticulously plans everything, every second where you breathe. He helps you dress and laces up your clothing just as he normally does, but huffs, and insists on doing it again. The first few times, he redid it only twice. His frustration would bleed through his fingers the more things proceeded in time, tightening the lace so much, your limbs almost went blue. He apologizes through gritted teeth, and you forgive him. It doesn't help the fact he practically suffocates you with the way he kisses you, though. His lips land on yours a bit too harshly, and you wonder if he actually hates you. Those thoughts dissipate when he relaxes more into it, though.

Yan!Sunday, who stares at you unblinking, waiting for you in the dreamscape, in the reverie, anywhere. Robin's.. departure has put him under more strain, so just for his sake.. ignore the way he tightly grips your arm, fearing it'll snap.

Yan!Sunday – you can't leave his watchful gaze. The last time you did it, he practically forced you to walk through the real dreamscape, deathly shivering as the atmosphere almost froze you, being forced to walk through unyieldingly harsh and twisted paths, doors never staying in the same place, being forced to use rough traversing methods, the dizziness of the memoria almost feverish. He waits for you at the end, a much gentler version of him. You fall into his arms, sobbing and weeping, and for once he handles you with care. Gently wiping your tears, stroking your hair, his hand guiding the back of your head to his shoulder, burying your nose into the crook of his neck. You notice just how much more warmer he feels in the dreamscape, not just due to the cold atmosphere. His wings gently flutter on your face. Let's leave now, he says. I trust you've learnt, my dear.

Yan!Sunday, who decides that maybe keeping you in the alternate dreamscape, Golden Hour, would be much more preferable. He seethes watching you be eyed by everyone – officials, businessmen, representatives, whoever it may be. He gently lulls you into the dream fluid, kissing your hands, up to your arms, neck, til your cheek, until you finally fall asleep. He places you down and gets to work in a second. When you panic, not being able to wake up, he's right beside you in a heartbeat, telling you there's just been a slight error.

Yan!Sunday, who would even go as far as to construct an entirely new dream for you and you alone. No one would be allowed to visit except him. He tells you it's for the better. Everyone lies in Penacony. Stay put and let him take care of this. Let him take care of you. Of everything. You dont miss the way his hands harden their grip around your waist. His gaze settles gently on yours. It's a harsh contrast to his eerily peering one, in reality. If you even remember what it's like being there, of course.

[genderlessdude92]

A CLEAN MIND

[First part >.<]

PAIRING: Alastor x Wife!Reader SUMMARY: After a long night of doing Lucifer’s Tango with the infamous Radio Demon, limbs sore to the brim, Alastor decides that it’s best to give his darling some proper aftercare. Of course one thing had led to another, but what would they do once they were caught in the net with a knock on the door? WARNINGS: Fem!Reader, reader is sensitive, shower sex, mentions of terrible soreness from the night before, Alastor is a little bit of a rascal 🤓☝️ *snort* (apologies), Nifty almost catching them in the middle of it, sexual content in general, mature language, dubious consent, power dynamics, violent language (not too degrading though), unprotected sex, Exhibitionism, relationship dynamics. LMK if i missed anything!!!

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Property of @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

WORDS: 1.2k (not including the bonus fic at the end)

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

Y/N was awoken by the weight shift in her shared bed. Slowly, she sat up, stretching the soreness out of her, to see Alastor getting up from bed and walking over to his dresser. Y/N sighed and laid back down in the red silk sheets, but then felt a hand on her forehead one moment later.

“I see you’re awake,” Alastor said, smiling. “How do you feel?”

Y/N groaned and turned her head away. “Not good…”

“Ah, well, I figured so.” Alastor chuckled, running his fingers through her hair. “But I will fix it for you, as always.”

He grabbed her arm and helped her stand up, but Y/N protested. “Just a couple more minutes, Al,” she stated, “I’m sore as a dam’s log…” Alastor laughed softly when he heard her say one of the old sayings from their time.

“Alright… But you need to get up soon, honey. It’s not healthy staying in bed all day…especially without a proper cleaning after last night.” He smiled more softly and leaned down to kiss her lips, then went into the bathroom. Y/N lay back down again, welcoming the feeling of the twisted sheets once more.

After about two minutes, Alastor came back out with a warm washcloth. He bent down next to the bed and gently swipes the cloth on her face, wiping away old sweat or…anything else that might be there. Y/N blushed at the thought, but still let him cleanse her face.

…makeup- he’s wiping off makeup.

When he finished, Alastor tossed the wet rag into the hamper and walked back towards the bedroom, leaving the door open. He stopped right beside the bed. “Get up, sweetheart. We need to take care of your sore muscles and such.”

Y/N rolled her eyes and got off the bed, walking into the bathroom. Alastor followed behind her, closing the door. She stood in front of the mirror as Alastor started the water in the shower. Y/N inspected at herself.

Damn, i looked better when i was alive.

Seeing that Alastor was taking off his unde rgarments, Y/N decided to do the same.

After they were finished with that, Alastor moved his head to the side to look at her, “Let me help you get cleaned up, yes?” Alastor grabbed her shoulders and turned her around.

“Okay.” Y/N nodded and stepped under the showerhead, letting the water pour over her body. Alastor stepped inside, grabbing some body soap and pumping it into his claws.

Alastor ran his hands slowly across her back. He continued to caress her skin until she reached forward, grasping her shoulders and pulling him closer. His hands were still moving, but now against her breasts. He squeezed them lightly, knowing how much it would turn her on.

Y/N gasped, “Alastor!” She looked up to meet his eyes, blushing profusely.

Alastor let out a laugh, “apologies, darling.” he continued to rub soap onto the contents of her body. After washing her front, he washed her backside. Then, he began to massage her neck and shoulders. She moaned in pleasure, causing him to smirk. “Enjoying yourself, love?” he asked teasingly.

Y/N laughed softly, “Does it not show?” she asked sarcastically. Alastor grinned, stepping closer and pressing his lips against hers. Y/N wrapped her arms around his waist, holding him close.

Alastor broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “I want you,” he whispered. Y/N smiled, leaning in for another kiss. Alastor moved his hands from her shoulders to her hips. He pushed her against the wall, using his strength to hold her there.

Alastor pulled back, looking down at what was happening. His cock was fully erect, sticking straight out like a sword. He smirked and rubbed the tip against her slit.

“Alastor…I’m still a little sensitive from last night…” Y/N worried.

He scoffed, “You’ll be okay darling, I’ll be gentle.” Then, Alastor pushed his cock inside of her in one thrust.

Y/N slapped his shoulder, hissing, “You said you’d be gentle!”

He hushed her, kissing her collarbone, “We just need to be quick dear, yes?” He then suckled on her collarbone after pulling away.

“Wait…why?” Y/N asked.

He groaned and pulled away once again, beginning to thrust slowly, “Because Nifty is supposed to come in and clean in about…” he looked at the picket watch on the counter, “…hm, ten minutes? maybe less.” He smirked and sped up his pace slightly, causing her to grip tightly onto his forearms.

Alastor kissed along her jawline, then made his way back to her lips. The sound of the running water drowned out any sounds that may have been coming from their mouths.

As if on cue, there was a knock on the bathroom door. “Sir?” Nifty called from outside. Alastor pulled away quickly, cursing harshly under his breath. “I have to clean your room early because Charlie is beginning an activity soon…should i give you time in the shower, Sir?”

Y/N groaned, burying her head into the junction of his shoulder, “You can’t be this fucking old to forget Charlie’s plans-“

“Of course, Nif, I’ll be out in a jiffy!” Alastor immediately shoved himself back into Y/N, thrusting violently.

She gasped loudly, gripping tighter onto his forearms. Her legs wrapped around his waist, locking him in place.

Catching her volume, she moaned pathetically quiet, grinding her hips into his. “Faster, please..faster…” she whimpered. Alastor obliged, slamming his cock deeper into her cunt. Y/N groaned, arching her back and hoping for the best the shower’s water was muffling her noises.

Alastor, although, was practically overjoyed could hear her cries even through the sound of rushing water. He picked up speed, pounding harder and harder into her. Y/N squealed, digging her nails into his arms.

He grunted, “Darling, you’re going to leave marks.”

She moaned, “You wanna talk about m-mine?”

His thrusts became erratic as he neared his release. Y/N wrapped her legs tighter around his waist, squeezing every muscle she had left in her legs.

“Shit.” Alastor cursed, thrusting deeper and deeper into her. He slammed into her cervix once more, causing her to squeeze around his cock tightly. He held himself deep inside of her as he filled her womb with cum, groaning in ecstasy.

After a moment of catching each other’s breaths, both failing miserably, he pulled out, “That’s better.” He patted her cheek, setting her down on the ground after seeing that she would refuse to stand on her feet, and turned to turn off the water. He dried himself off and put on his robe, quickly ruffling his hair in a towel and tossing it.

He turned to see Y/N sitting in the shower’s tub, rubbing her hips, “Darling? You need any help getting out?” Alastor walked over to her and bent down, titling his head to the side like talking to a mindless toddler.

Y/N took a moment and sighed, switching the water to go through the bath faucet, and turned on the water to the hottest temperature, “just tell Nifty to skip the bath tub while she cleans.”

Alastor chuckled, “will do.” and turned to leave the bathroom

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

BONUS ☆♪

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

300 words

Nifty hummed to herself as she tidied up the bedroom, her cheerful demeanor contrasting with the unknowingly steamy scene that had just unfolded in the bathroom.

As she finished straightening the sheets, Nifty heard the sound of the bathroom door opening. She glanced up to see Alastor emerging, fully dressed in his signature attire, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Good morning, Nifty,” Alastor greeted her with a smile.

“Morning, Sir,” Nifty replied, eyeing him curiously. “Is everything alright? You seem, um, a little off today?”

Alastor chuckled, a playful twinkle in his eye. “Oh, everything’s just fine, my dear Nifty. Just had a little… unexpected delay in the bathroom.”

Nifty raised an eyebrow, but decided not to pry further. After all, she was used to Alastor’s cryptic comments and eccentricities. “Well, if there’s anything you need, just let me know.”

“Actually, there is one thing,” Alastor said, his smile widening. “Could you do me a favor and skip cleaning the bathtub today? Y/N is… not done with her bathing. A little sore. I’m sure she’ll clean up after herself so don’t bother to wait or come back for when she’s done.”

Nifty’s eye widened in understanding, and she couldn’t suppress a giggle. “Consider it done.”

“Thank you, Nifty. You’re a gem,” Alastor said with a wink before sauntering out of the room, leaving Nifty to finish her cleaning with a knowing smile.

As she worked, Nifty couldn’t help but feel a sense of amusement at the antics of her eccentric employer and his mysterious guest. It was just another day in the Hazbin Hotel, after all.

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END NOTES: This is even more rushed but do i give a fuck? Heck’s nah. Guys ty for the support in my past posts and thank you to people who have already sent WRITING REQUESTS!!! (I love y’all). Stay tuned, yah??? Notes, Submissions, and support in general is always appreciated :3 And credits to @alastorssimp for requesting this lovely fic!!

-Lynn

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Masterlist link

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Hey, hey, i saw your werewolf bsd hc’s and now I can’t stop thinking of the boys with a vampire s/o cause i know some of them would find pleasure of the feeling of your fangs in their neck, the sting the bite would provide and the act of you drinking their blood. ESPECIALLY if your a vampire with aphrodisiac spit.

Also imagine eating one of them(CHUUYA CHUUYA CHUUYA!!) out on their period, who needs pads/tampons if they have your mouth??

SO TRUE!! I bet 90% of bsd characters would be into vampires…or just biting/vampire roleplay in general 🤣

We must be on the same wavelength, because the only thing on my mind this week has been Chuuya. And, yes, it would be very hot to eat him out, you know Chuuya would be a writhing, misty-eyed mess once your tongue works its magic. But I can't help thinking about the intimacy of this too–

One of Chuuya's hands is buried in your hair, tugging at it every few seconds. His lips are parted in a breathless moan as you hold his hips and dig your tongue deeper into his pussy, sucking up any blood that trickles out before it can reach the couch underneath. Sweat begins to form on the small of Chuuya's back and around the frame of his face, body temperature rising as another wave of painful cramps cause him to tense up and hiss at the unpleasant sensation crawling through his abdomen.

Of course, you're there to rub his side soothingly, chasing away the pain and replacing it with delectable pleasure.

Chuuya lifts his head to get a better look at you, and as your eyes lock, the corners of your lips curl upward into a smirk, and your little snack ruts against your mouth until a strong orgasm overtakes him. His voice is shrill and full of relief, and Chuuya falls back against the cushions as every muscle in his body relaxes.

A thin line of cum drips from his hole, which you eagerly lap up like a parched dog. You kiss his still-pulsing cunt, then gently kiss each of Chuuya's thighs before resting your head against them. Warm smiles and post-sex giggles are shared between you two, but your insatiable bloodlust kicks in and it's not too long until you go back in for round two~

[strang3lov3]

Asleep

Roman can't sleep, so he fucks you to tire himself out. 2.6k Tags - it's a mixed bag today, guys. stepdaddy!roman, smut, somno kink, unprotected piv, roman roy jerking off, daddy kink, blowjobs, dirty talk, cunnilingus, creampie, comeplay, masturbation, does roman roy want to be your father or fuck you, both, general fucked up-ness, biting, bruising, alcoholic mom mentions, roman roy getting a little emotional and teary-eyed, mentions of roman's balls for that one anon who knows who they are A/N - howdy!! it's been a while since we've heard from stepdaddy but i've been on a somno kick and well, here we are. I planned for a stepdaddy somno fic to come later but I’ve outlined the rest of the series so…whoops. Anywho, i missed this weirdo so much and i hope you enjoy ♡ love ya love ya. Also this is like loosely proofread so if you see glaring issues, let a girl know 💀

Stepdaddy!Roman Masterlist

It’s so cold. You’re not sure what it is about your room in particular, but when it gets cold out, your bedroom seems to take the hardest hit. Roman won’t let you keep a space heater in there, citing your inability to ever blow out your scented candles or turn off your heat tools for your hair. He doesn’t trust you to not accidentally start a fire in his house. 

You cup your palms and bring them to your mouth, then blow hot air into the little space you create with your hands. It helps momentarily, but your toes are still numb. 

Sliding out of bed, you tiptoe out of your room and into the dark hallway. Next to your mother’s and Roman’s shared bedroom is a guest room, which is where Roman sleeps. Your mom spends a lot of nights on the couch, but sometimes she comes to bed and wakes Roman up in doing so, who already has a difficult time staying asleep. It’s just easier for him to have his own space, for a multitude of reasons. 

After opening the guest bedroom door, you find Roman sleeping on his side, moonlight casting a gentle glow on his pale skin. As you approach him, you see better his toned biceps, his soft and slim middle, how that curve deepens between his ribcage and his hips. The difference in width between his forearm and his wrist. Roman’s such a beautiful man. 

Carefully, quietly, you slip under his covers and inch yourself closer to him on the sheets until your tummy is pressed against his back. You wriggle your arms underneath his and tuck your feet between his legs, then squeeze him tight. Roman’s body heat soothes you immediately as you press your cheek against his bare shoulder. 

Reprieve is only momentary. A split second, maximum. Roman jolts awake, hissing at the feeling of your cold hands and feet on his warm body. He’s groggy and confused, and pushes you away frantically. He knows it’s you when you cuddle up to him again and he can smell you as you wrap your body around him once more. “Jesus Christ, kid. You’re fucking freezing, get away from me.”

“So cold,” you mumble, nuzzling closer to him. Roman’s on his back now, and you’re resting your head on his chest. You’d crawl inside his skin if you could. 

“It’s rude to invite yourself into people’s beds, do you know that? Or did you miss that memo.”

“Mhm, I missed that one,” you yawn. 

Roman chuckles. It’s sort of nice being woken up like this, by you, despite how unpleasant your cold extremities feel. Roman’s heart swells in his chest as he pulls you a little closer, pressing his nose against your hair. “C’mere and fucking give me these,” he huffs, taking your hands in both of his as he rubs them gently. “Before you give me frostbite.”

“I’m surprised it bothers you this much.” You wiggle your feet, rubbing them up and down on Roman’s legs to generate some friction. “I figured you’re so cold and heartless on the inside that you wouldn’t even notice.”

“Mm. That’s clever.”

Once Roman warms your hands enough, he lets them go and you wrap your arms around him again. Hands tucked under his torso, your head rising and falling a little with each of his rhythmic breaths. You’re curled up like a cat, soaking up all of him at this moment. The faint smell of his cologne and sweat, his warm breath on your skin. How soft he is. He’s tugged up your sleep shirt a bit, and his long fingers are now gently scratching up and down your back, soothing you right to sleep. 

“This is all I am to you, huh? Just a fuckin’...human radiator-pillow hybrid thing.”

“Mhm,” you answer on autopilot, farther from conscious than unconscious. Roman can hear in the way you’re breathing that you’re dead to the world. He chuckles again, smiling as he looks down at your sleeping form. He kisses your nose and your forehead, then traces your facial features with his free hand, smirking at how your nose crinkles and your brows knit together. Your pouty lips. If you were awake, you’d call him an asshole for tickling you. 

Roman puts two fingers on your chin, tilting your head back so he can kiss your lips. “Goodnight, baby girl.”

He just watches you. Watches and admires. He’ll go back to sleep in a few minutes, but for now, Roman savors the quiet, peaceful moment. You’re so limp, but clinging to him almost desperately. Roman knows it to be true by now, that you need him. Because you’re letting yourself need him, just like you used to. And inversely, Roman loves to feel needed by you. He feels valuable, he feels protective, masculine as he wraps his arms tighter around you. His arms are so much stronger when he uses them to hug you tight. 

It’s been a long, long time since you’ve slept with him like this. Curled around his body, limbs entangled. It used to be a somewhat regular occurrence. 

It started out when Roman would be going to bed, and as he walked past your bedroom he’d hear you whimpering and making other noises of distress. He’d let himself into your room to stop you from tossing and turning and thrashing, and then would hold you close as you babbled incoherently about your nightmare until you fell back asleep. Roman wonders if you remember that at all. It’s not like it was talked about.  

And there’d be moments similar when you were younger, you’d have a fight with your mom that’d leave you in tears. Awful, screaming fights, that even scared Roman a little. He’d listen to it happen, safe from a different floor or separated by doors and drywall. How scared you must’ve been. Your mom would be drunk and belligerent, aggressive. When you left, she’d follow. 

Roman always, always felt guilt for never sticking up for you. He carries that guilt even now. But when the screaming would end, and you’d tiptoe into your bedroom and cry alone, Roman would follow. He’d hold you close as you choked on your sobs, petting your hair. “You’re safe, you’re okay, kiddo. It’s just me and you,” he’d whisper, holding your trembling hand while he rubbed your palm with his thumb, pressing it into that little pad between your thumb and forefinger to try and soothe you. Sometimes it worked. Sometimes it didn’t. 

Pressure builds up behind Roman’s eyes as he recounts the memory, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers, wiping them away before they roll down his jaw and onto your forehead. He’s not gonna think about it anymore. He’s gonna go to sleep, holding you close and tight.

-

Hours have since passed. Maybe Roman’s gotten some sleep, but it’s hard to tell. Nothing real, at least. He lies awake, his skin damp from sweat. For someone so cold, you sure don’t absorb warmth very well. You seem to just insulate Roman’s own body heat. Roman scoots away from you to get some space, just a little, but you follow, and drape your thigh across his lap. As you move to get comfortable, you rub Roman’s crotch, his cock hardening in his boxer briefs. 

“Oh, gr- that’s great. Fucking fantastic,” Roman whispers, moving your thigh off of his body. It’s was only seconds and already he’s rock hard, all thanks to you. He presses his palm against his bulge in search of relief, but it only worsens the sensation. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…” 

Roman slips his hand beneath his briefs and pulls out his leaking cock, then spits in his palm and wraps his fingers around his length. He turns his head so that he can see you lying on your side, and hikes up your shirt, exposing your nude body. You’re not wearing any panties.

Roman watches you as he begins sliding his palm up and down, squeezing his fist tighter. Roman bites his lip as he thinks of you, thinks of being inside you. Fucking his hand is a means to an end, if only he could fuck you instead. Your mouth. Your cunt. 

Roman slides his thumb over the tip of his cock, collecting the wet, sticky precum that sits upon his slit as he fucks his fist. He breathes shakily and quietly as he works himself, a little moan slipping out here and there. With Roman’s other hand, he reaches into his briefs and cups his balls, squeezing them gently as he pumps his cock. “Look what you fuckin’ - God, you suck,” Roman grunts, then spits in his hand again. 

You pout, brows pinched together in annoyance as you grumble in your sleep. 

“Shh- be quiet. Go back to sleep, sweetheart,” Roman hushes you. He’s gotten a little carried away, and that’s what disturbed your slumber. Roman takes a deep breath and slows down, taking his time as he pumps his fist. It seems that the gentle, rhythmic shaking of the bed as Roman fucks himself rocks you back to a deep sleep. How fucking twisted…

…Yet it makes Roman harder all the same. And he tries, but his fist isn’t cutting it. Roman bends forward to tug his briefs off all the way, tossing them on the ground, then carefully shifts on the bed so that he’s kneeling right by your head. He adjusts you on the pillow, tilting your face just a little so that he can fit the head of his cock between your lips. “You gonna let daddy fuck that pretty mouth? Hm, baby girl?” 

Roman inches his cock into your mouth little by little. 

“You’re sleeping. And in my bed,” he adds. “So it’s not like you have much of a choice, do you?” 

With that, Roman buries his cock in your mouth, sliding it towards the back of your throat. You accept the intrusion so gracefully and with such ease, but a small part of Roman wishes he could watch your eyes widen as you choke on his cock, feel you gag and sputter on him. Roman will just have to make a mess of you himself. 

He pulls himself out of your mouth, his shaft soaked in your saliva and glistening under the soft glow of the moonlight peeking in through the window. He taps your cheek with the tip of his cock, dragging it from cheek to cheek, across your lips. He pushes it back inside, burying himself all the way so that his balls rest against your skin. Roman draws his hips back and forth, fist tangled in your hair as he fucks your mouth gently.  

But it’s not enough. 

He misses the warmth of your body, the feeling of your skin against his. Roman pulls out of your mouth and gently shifts you onto your back, then backs down the bed. He spreads your legs wide and fuck, he can fucking smell you. That sweet, musky arousal between your thighs, that scent Roman’s committed to memory and yet, nothing compares to experiencing it in the present moment. He pushes your knees back toward your chest slowly, little by little, until you’re laid out like a platter for him. You’d be so shy if you were awake right now, fighting against Roman to close your legs. It turns Roman on more, knowing that you have no say in how he sees you, how he fucks you. “I can do fucking whatever I want to you, huh?” he breathes, bending down so he can kiss your inner thighs. “Whatever I want. And you don’t know a thing.” 

He kisses your asshole, rimming the tight muscle with his tongue before dipping it inside, pulling it out again so he can kiss his way up your cunt. He nips and sucks at your slick folds, your arousal soaking his face. When his lips attach to your clit and he sucks in just the way he knows that makes you squirm in discomfort, tugging at his hair as you push and pull away from him. You breathe heavily, panting and whimpering in your sleep. “Yeah, you don’t like it when daddy kisses you like that when you’re awake,” he murmurs. “Sensitive fucking thing.” 

Roman licks you a while longer, tracing the beautiful shape of your pussy with his tongue. He presses his nose against your clit, rubbing it around in slow circles. With his fingers, Roman traces your lips, toying with your damp curls. He loves the way your pubic hair tickles his face, the softness of it when you let it grow out a little longer. 

After eating his fill, Roman kisses his way up your torso, taking care to lick and tease your nipples. He slots himself between your thighs, his face buried in your neck as he notches his tip inside your slick entrance. And with one slow slide, he fills you. You’re so fucking warm and wet and pliant, taking him so well. Roman braces himself with one hand above you, the other on your hip as he squeezes the flesh there. “You’re so nice to me when you’re sleeping,” he whispers. “Oh, fuck. You’re so good.” 

Roman sets a pace, softly biting your skin as he rolls his hips into you. Each of his thrusts, every rock of his hips into your warm, wet, cunt has him biting into you harder, bruising you. He kisses your lips as he fucks you, relishing in their softness. 

“Rome,” you whimper, voice thick with sleep. 

“Shh, you’re okay, kiddo” he breathes in between kisses, “Daddy’s here. It’s just me and you. I’m right here.” 

Roman keeps kissing you, leaving your lips a swollen mess as he buries himself over and over inside you. “Fuck - I love, oh, fuck.”

Roman savors the feeling of you beneath him like this, the specific warmth of your body, your skin and his skin together. Roman’s thrusting builds quicker, rolling his hips a little more frantically while still maintaining that gentleness needed to keep you asleep. The pressure’s building in his balls and deep in his gut, his cock achingly hard and rigid. He pulls you flush against himself as he finishes, moaning while painting your insides as he milks himself inside of you, his muscles tensing and relaxing. Roman lets himself fall limp on top of you, his cock still inside you pulsing with every beat of his heart. He commits all of it - all of this - to memory. The private, secret pleasure of being the only one with knowledge of this moment. When Roman’s ready, he pulls out of you, his spend dripping from your hole and onto his bedsheets. He kisses you one last time before settling next to you, pushing you onto your side so he can curl his body around yours. 

When you wake in the morning, Roman’s gone. There’s a faint smell of coffee in the air but it’s quiet, and you can assume Roman’s already left for work. You’re a dripping mess, likely from the dream you had. You don’t remember much - just sensations, the sound of panting, the feeling of pleasure between your thighs and the occasional picture of Roman. You spread your legs and reach for your cunt, tracing your folds. There’s a slight pain there, a feeling of sensitivity. Maybe you were grinding against Roman in your sleep. You waste no time, circling your clit with precision as you pump your own fingers inside your pussy, unknowingly fucking Roman’s come back into yourself as you come once, twice, three times. 

In your bathroom, you turn on your shower. You take off your shirt and in the mirror, catch a glimpse of darkened, damaged skin on your shoulder. You trace the curved mark, the bruise tender under your fingertips. 

-

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[wakkass]

💜Teenage Sofia💜

On the right is some hairstyle searches

AU itself

Sofia sleeps through her first lessons and cannot concentrate on her homework, which is why she makes mistakes.

For some reason, Sofia’s energy is becoming less and less; she cannot easily join the busy rhythm of life as in childhood.

She considered it an uneven start to the school year, and therefore didn't tell anyone about anything.

Despite this, Sofia tries very hard to work, but the problem is that she never begins to accomplish anything.

The amulet began to behave strangely: it loses color and turns gray. And most importantly, it doesn't work as it should, sometimes completely switching off and depriving Sofia of her powers.

This causes problems with her missions: she cannot respond to calls for help in time and cannot talk to her friends. It also reminds her of the helplessness she felt when she was stuck inside the amulet.

Sofia is caught between her old responsibilities and her new academic demands, causing her to fail at both.

This begins to put pressure on her, and as a result, Sofia's emotions become uncontrollable, for example, she may suddenly cry or get angry.

It got to the point where Sofia yelled at Miranda and ran away in a fit of rage, not understanding why she was even angry.

At first, Sofia believes that the amulet is to blame for her strange condition. Something happened to it and it needs to be fixed. This is a reason to turn to Cedric for help.

However, when examining the amulet, it turns out that it doesn't affect Sofia, but vice versa. That is, the amulet reacts to her burnout due to permanent stress.

Sofia doesn't know the nature of her condition and how to fix it. If this is a curse, then it must be removed, and if it's a disease, then it must be cured, and who else but the royal sorcerer will help with this.

The more Sofia describes the symptoms, the more Cedric realizes that this is not an infection or a curse, but something that he himself once went through - depression.

To avoid this, Cedric does what Sofia once did for him: shows care and attention.

He tries to repeat the same actions that Sofia did for him many years ago, because this is the only way to deal with depression that he knows.

This doesn't always help, since she could suddenly cry, and he didn't know what to do about it. But Sofia felt better from the very fact of understanding and caring for her. What's important is that she was able to let her feelings out.

Sofia asked Cedric for medicine and he took her to the throne room where her parents were sitting. A friend nearby can help in difficult times, but there is nothing more healing than family support.

Sofia was scared to talk to her mother, because they parted on an unpleasant note. Sofia was afraid of making this worse, because she reacted extremely unpredictably to things.

I see their dialogue as somewhat awkward at first, which is why Sofia has a lump in her throat. But Miranda is not angry with her, although it's difficult for her to ask about what is happening. I think this will put pressure on Sofia and she will utter her words of apology quickly and incoherently.

It was amazing how much easier it became for Sofia when she didn't face her mother's anger, but her mother's support. What's happening to Sofia is complicated, but she's still loved and understood. No one will ever leave her alone, no matter how much she changes.

The amulet remains gray until Sofia deals with the amount of work she has to do, causing her to burn out.

In the future, Amber helps Sofia with her schedule and organization of things during the day.

Appearance info

Hairstyle:

I knew that Sofia's hair texture needed to be soft and light, so I was looking for a simple and full hairstyle. I chose between a ponytail and a half-ponytail, and in the end I settled on the hairstyle that I could feel best.

I like how in animation the movement of the tail reflects the personality and mood of the character, this is ideal for a pubescent AU, where emotions and feelings burst out.

Meg and Thumbelina are not only a great visual reference for hair movement, but also reflect facets of personality that Sofia might have at her age. And the hair in a high ponytail emphasizes this perfectly.

Cloth:

Amber and Sofia's costumes are similar because they wear school uniforms. They study together in a specialized educational institution, so I think there is a certain dress code there. It's different from the public school setting that was in the original series, and I wanted to highlight that visually.

At the same time, the palette is different for everyone and reflects the individuality of each student.

I took inspiration from Pinterest where I was looking for simple yet elegant clothes. Asian uniforms have the most variety in silhouettes, so I mainly focused on them.

A small example of the cut I relied on

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[celestelunia]

Yk what would be sad. A Vil x GN!reader who keeps changing themselves because Vil keeps insulting everything about them (not on purpose) but he doesn’t realize what’s happening until they just stop talking to him all together because being with him hurts them too much. Nice ending maybe? (I’m a baby and can’t handle angst endings😭)

Hi! So sorry this took a while! Hope you've been well!

First time writing for Vil, but I tried my best lol. Hope you like it!

TW: self-esteem/image issues

"Straighten up"

"That color doesn't look good on you. Try something ligther."

"Hm. That clothing style isn't right. This just won't do."

"No. No. No. It's all wrong."

As you walked down the halls of NRC, you kept a couple of style magazines pushed up against your chest as your once bright eyes seemed darker and less happy.

Vil Schoenheit was someone you always admired, and when you were able to become a part of the rare few people who he considered a friend, you couldn't have been happier. You knew being next to someone like Vil wasn't going to be easier, but you never expected something on this level.

At first, it started with little words of improvement. Ones that you gladly took to help improve yourself, but over time, that's all you heard. Negative words on how you could do better. Look better. Nothing was very good enough, and now it was starting to ware you down. Suddenly, it felt like Vil was saying "you" weren't good enough.

At that thought, you came to a stop as you looked down at the magazines in your hands. It was all too much, and it was getting to the point that you couldn't even look at yourself in the mirror anymore. With a sigh, you turned and walked towards the nearest trash bin before you threw away the very magazines that had become your life.

A month had passed, and Vil was starting to wonder what was going on with you. You had slowly stopped coming by his room, attending meetings, and just having lunch together. At first, he figured it was because you got busy since he understood time restrictions and all, but after a couple of weeks, he felt like something was off.

The few times Vil saw you in the hallways the moment you caught his gaze, the model watched as you would turn and head in the opposite direction. It almost felt like you were avoiding him, but that couldn't be right?

......could it?

Over the last couple of weeks, you felt like you could breathe again, but despite that, you didn't feel happy. You couldn't bring yourself to talk to Vil, so you did the next best thing you could think of.

You avoided him.

And that alone was painful. You missed his voice, his company, and when you saw that look of surprise in his eyes when you obviously avoided him cause pain to shoot through your chest.

Despite all of these feelings, you knew the relationship you had with Vil wasn't healthy. You couldn't constantly keep up with his approval, and you wanted him to accept you for who you were.

Faults and all.

"Y/N."

Hearing the very voice you were thinking of calling out your name caused you to freeze. In that small moment, your fight or flight senses went off, but before you could make up your mind, you felt Vil grab your hand.

"Do you have a moment? I need to talk with you." Vil asked as he had noticed that look in your eyes that you might run, so he did his best to cut off your options to do so.

You paused as you considered his question. While you weren't ready to talk about this, you got the feeling you never would be, so you decided to just nod your head as the popular model led you towards his room for some privacy.

Once alone in Vil's room, you glanced around the familiar setting and scent.

"What's going on?" Vil asked, getting to the point.

At the question, you turned to look back at him without answering the question. You could feel that nasty and unpleasant bubble building up in the center of your chest. Did he really not know?

"You've been avoiding me, and I think it's only fair that you explain why." Vil said in his usual confidence.

Feeling that tightness in your chest, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you lowered your head.

"Y/N, if you slouch like that, it will be bad for-" Vil had started to say but stopped when he heard you mutter something. "Speak up. Muttering is very unbecoming."

"This!" You snapped, which caused the blonde to jump as he was startled by your sudden outburst. "The constant complaining and everything!"

Vil froze as he watched your beautiful [colored] eyes glare at him as fresh tears welled up in them.

"I'll never be good enough for you! Why can't you just accept me for who I am? I can't keep being with you as you constantly put me down!"

"Putting you down? I-" Vil said, surprised, but his words got cut off in his throat when he watched you storm over towards him.

"Maybe think a bit harder before you finish that sentence." You said as you told yourself you wouldn't apologize for getting your feelings out. "Not everyone is perfect, Vil. Not everyone can be like you....."

The model just started at you for a moment, but before he could speak, he watched as you walked past him and out of the room. Now alone, Vil just frowned. He had never seen you like this before, and your words echoed in his head.

He didn't put you down. He would never do something like that to you....right? You were the only person (outside of Rook) who he could be himself around. He adored your company...

Taking a deep breath, Vil left his room as he headed towards his vice housewarden room. If anyone could help him right now, it would be Rook.

The next day, you decided not to go to classes as you stayed crawled up on your bed. While you did feel better getting your feelings out, you felt sad at the fact that you might lose your friendship with Vil.

It was weird how the world "friendship" had changed for you over time as you started to notice a change in your feelings, but it wasn't something you were ready to drive into it.

Hearing a knock on your door, you let out a moan as you pulled your blankets over your head. "Go away." You called out as you figured it was one of your friends checking up on you. After a couple of seconds of silence, you thought they had left, but instead, you heard your door open. Holding back another groan, you kept yourself hidden, hoping your friend would get the message that you weren't in the mood to talk.

"Staying in and resting is important."

Instead of your friends voice, you heard Vil's as you suddenly sat up in your bed and removed the blanket from your head.

Standing in the room was Vil as he closed the door behind him.

"What are you doing here?" You ask as even you could hear the coldness in your tone.

"I came to talk." Vil said as he just smiled softly. "And to apologize."

At this, you gripped the blanket that was resting in your lap. Vil apologizing? That didn't sound right.

Noticing that you weren't moving to kick him out, Vil decided to continue. "I want to apologize for my words. I know it's not an excuse, but I didn't even notice I was saying those....things to you. Or how often."

While Vil was a proud man, he also wasn't that proud to lose someone important to him due to his own mistakes. After talking with Rook, he finally had a good understanding of how he had been treating you. "Perfection..." Vil said with a sigh as he looked off to the side of your room. "...is something that has been pushed on me since a young age, and it appears I've picked up a rather nasty habit. I never meant for my words to make you think you weren't good enough." He said as he walked over towards your bed and took a seat on the side of it. "You're already perfect enough. Just knowing I can be myself around you and knowing you won't judge my imperfections..." Vil said as he reached out and placed his hand over yours that was gripping your blanket.

"...It means the world to me, and I'm sorry for making you feel like you weren't good enough. I understand if you don't want to be around me anymore, but I wanted you to know I never once thought you weren't good enough."

At Vil's words, your eyes widen before you glance down at his hand resting over yours. It was like a weight had been lifted from your chest. "It hurt..." You whispered as you closed your eyes. "I just want to be with you and not to embarrass yo-"

Before you could finish your sentence, you felt Vil gently hand on the back of your head as he slowly pulled you forward into an embrace.

"You've never embarrassed me. I was just wanting what was best for you, and that ended up turning into nagging stepmother's territory." Vil said with a small smile as he tried to lighten the mood. "And I'm sorry I hurt you...."

With your forehead resting against Vil's chest, you let out a long sigh as you took in his warmth. Something about his scent and being next to him always helped you to relax.

"Do you forgive me?" The model asked bearly above a whisper. The longer the silence went, the more he was starting to worry you wouldn't.

"I do...." You said before pulling back to look at Vil. "...but I hold the right to punish you if you make me feel like this again." You said with a playful smile.

"Deal." Vil replied as he mirrored your smile. "I've already spoken with Rook, and I plan on being more mindful. I don't make the same mistake twice."

Taking in a deep breath, you nodded your head.

"Now." Vil said as he suddenly stood up from your bed. "I've cleared my schedule for the rest of the day. How about we watch a movie and catch up a bit?" He asked before holding out his hand to you.

Surprised that Vil cleared HIS schedule for you made that familiar warmth spread through your chest again as you smiled. How you've missed it. "Who am I to turn you down?" You teased softly as you reached out and placed your hand in his.

[kasagia]

In death's arms

Pairing: Annatar/Sauron x fem!maia! reader Summary: There was nothing Sauron regretted doing. Every nasty thing he did to gain power paid off for him, and given the choice again, he would do it all over again. Or so he thought, until his path was crossed with someone from his past. It turns out that some of his mistakes are destined to haunt him forever. Author's note: A little sth that stuck in my head after watching Agatha All Along... this is pure fiction and probably wouldn't work in Middle-earth, but since I've written it... 😅 I've been completely out of it lately and everything's been going so fast in my life lately, so I'm terribly sorry if I've missed any messages/comments from you! I'm trying to catch up slowly! Anyway, enjoy! Halbrand's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist

“Have you come to torment me again?” He asks, gathering the last of his strength to mock you as you appear before him.

From the nasty grin you give him, instead of being angry at his mockery, he realises how bad a state he is in. Morgoth has just put him through one of his tests. Sauron no longer remembers what he had to do. But he remembers his master's anger when he failed. He remembers clearly every cut he inflicted on him, every wound, every spilt blood that stained his skin and clothes, or at least the shreds that remained of them.

He no longer counted how much of his blood had soaked into his clothes and how much into the stone floor and wall behind him. And the seemingly irritating digging of the bars into his neck and skin stopped bothering him as the metal and his body became one.

"Contrary to appearances, your new master is not willing enough to hand you over to me. Too bad. You'd look pretty in your grave, Mairon. Oh, forgive me. Old habits die hard, Sauron."

He trembles when you speak his true name. The name given to him by the Valar. It sounds both sweet and deadly on your lips. A reminder of what he has lost, of what he could have had, had his lust for power been kept in check, had he never left the forge…

"He needs me. He knows that only I can lead his army to the victory."

"Victory, death. What's the difference, right?" You reply with a smirk that sends an unpleasant shiver down his spine.

He feels... uneasy around you. It wasn't something he was used to. Your presence always brought him some kind of comfort and peace, but now... now everything was different. He and you had changed. Not necessarily for the better.

"I suppose it makes no difference to you whether you take me in a dungeon or on a battlefield."

"But your honour wouldn't allow you to be beneath me, would it, my sweet deceiver?" You mock him and laugh, which sends a cold, unpleasant shiver down his spine.

Your laughter is so different from the one he remembers. It is bleak and harsh as the blade he once forged for you, and which you now carry at your side.

He remembered loving to bask in the glow of your laughter, in the halls of the Valar, as you feasted and danced, living as carefree a life as could be. Sometimes he longed for those days... to spend another one like this, so that he could engrave it forever in his memory and cling to it to save himself from total corruption and rottenness.

"Why do you keep showing up? You know that you can't get your claws on me."

"I am aware about that. But every moment like this will only sweeten the day when I finally take you in my arms, my dear deceiver. And believe me... you will not escape once I finally get my hands on you. In the end, all paths lead to one person. And it is not Morgoth. It is not any of your Valar. It is not any being that you know. In the end, you will come to me. And you will suffer more than Morgoth ever made you do, my Dark Lord."

You press your lips to his forehead—the place where Morgoth smashed his skull into the wall and split his head. He trembles as your lips press against raw, bleeding skin. You groan, running your tongue over his wound, tasting his black blood. And he cries out as you send waves of pain through him worse than any Morgoth had inflicted on him.

He holds his breath as your other hand lazily caresses the skin of his arm, tracing patterns with your black nails, only to suddenly dig them into the open wounds Morgoth had inflicted on him. Sauron groans in pain, trembling in your arms. You press your lips to his, drinking in his every cry as you caress him with your gentle touch and send waves of pain shooting through every tiny particle of his body.

"I will drink in every one of your sweet screams, my dearest. I will bask in every pain your being feels. Until all you remember, all you know, is me and my blade." You whisper your promise, and as suddenly as you came, you disappeared.

You leave him trembling and crying on the cold stone floor, dirty with his blood. And though he hated the times you came to mock him, he was relieved that you didn't leave him completely alone. Even if you only came to drive the knives Morgoth had placed inside him deeper.

He needed you. As pathetic as it was, he needed those little moments with you to keep him from going completely crazy during his darkest hours and the tests his master put him through.

But he lived with the hope that one day he would be able to repay you with the same sweet torture. That one day he would be the one to listen to your sighs of pain... or cries of pleasure. He wasn't sure yet whether he loved or hated you more—even though you seemed to already have your mind set about your feelings towards him.

Adar has betrayed him. He has betrayed him in the worst possible way. Sauron lies on the floor, surrounded by Orcs who drive the blades of Morgoth's crown into him as their Lord-Father looks on passively.

This couldn't be the end. He couldn't end like this. He couldn't be defeated like Morgoth had been, not by the filthy stinking Orcs and someone he had considered a friend. His master had been right; if they didn't fear you, you were nothing to them. There was no ally so powerful, so loyal, and true as fear. And now he was learning his lesson once again. In the most painful way possible.

He took small, ragged breaths that burned his body every time his lungs tried to expand and draw in air. Blood dripped from almost every inch of his body. And suddenly, in the distance, a few feet from those nasty orcs, he sees you.

You watch his fall with complete calm. You play carelessly with the blade he gave you, waiting for his end, letting the orcs finish their work. He sees no emotion on your face. Ironic, considering that this is probably the best day of your life. He will finally get his punishment from you. There was nothing he could do to escape you... unless...

He gasps especially hard when one of the orcs plunges a blade into his heart. As if through a haze, he sees Adar above him, who, after making sure that his physical body has been completely destroyed, says something to his orcs. Sauron hears only a screech in his ears as his battered heart gives its last beat. And then there is only darkness. Bleak darkness, which is quickly interrupted by a song all too familiar to him.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms."

Sauron remembers the countless nights after Morgoth's torture, when you sang it to him and mocked him, giving him a taste of what you would do when you could finally take him in your arms.

Once it was a simple lullaby. A lullaby you made up for him when he couldn't calm his mind, when he spent too much time in Aulë's forge, too absorbed in his work to see you. Now you were attracting souls who were about to meet their end.

But he is not ready for death yet. He does not want to go like this. Not when he has known no power, not when the sacrifice he made of himself has brought him nothing at all. He does not want to go into your arms, knowing that he has thrown away everything he had with you for nothing.

"Look where your lust has taken you, my darling." You tell him with a smirk, taking your time as you walk towards him.

He kneels, swaying as he tries to keep his balance. He falls on both hands in front of you, taking in shuddering breaths as the black bonds of your magic close around him, crushing him in a tight embrace.

"I thought you loved my embrace? You told me so. Remember? When we lay together in the halls of the Valar, each held tightly, when you swore to me that you would not yield to Morgoth's influence, that what we have was enough, that you would never dream of more than what we have? Tell me, did you plan to betray me even then, or did you forget your promises in time?"

After each of your mockery comes a blow from you. Sometimes it's a simple kick, sometimes a punch delivered from your fist, and sometimes you pierce his body with a dagger, tormenting him even more and twisting him so that the blade grazes every single muscle of his. You were going for your revenge. And nothing was going to stop you.

"Pathetic. You wanted power. You wanted power so great that millions would kneel before you, and now you are on your knees. You were willing to do anything; you gave up everything just to fulfil your dark desires. Tell me, Sauron, was it worth it? Because I am truly happy with this turn of events."

He gasps as you grab him by the neck, forcing his gaze to meet yours. He trembles, staring into your black, dilated pupils. Your face is nothing like the one he remembers. You look like death. You are the real death. He trembles, seeing what the Vaalr did to you after he left and what punishment they gave you for loving a traitor. He looks away, wanting to momentarily ease his guilt and helplessness, but your tightening grip on his neck won't let him.

"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this. You have no idea how long I've wanted to tear out every last piece of you just to put you back together and present you to the Valar, to give you into their hands so you could suffer as you should. Do you think that what you became was all your fault? That they wanted to punish us for our love? I asked them to make me something you fear, something you must reckon with. I am what everyone sees at the end; I am what takes everyone, even the mightiest of men. I am the end of Morgoth, the end of all evil, all good, the end of everything. I am death." You growl and throw him across the room.

He groans in pain, but he doesn't try to run away from you anymore. He knows that without his physical form, without any power, he won't hide from you. He was in your world, in the thrall of your power. And if he wanted to somehow escape from your grip, he had to play his cards right.

"I never wanted this for you... I never wanted this for us." He gasps, glancing at you. You walk slowly toward him, your black outfit billowing behind you, giving you an ethereal, trash-like look. As much as he fears you, he yearns to have you by his side. But he's not foolish or naive enough to believe you'll ever be on his side again.

"You left me! You left me to rot in the light of the Valar!! You tore my heart, all my humanity, destroyed everything I was, and left me alone. What did you want then, deceiver? What did you want, if not my absolute destruction, so that the vestiges of my past would not torment you in your greedy quest for power?"

He grunts as you drive your sword through his side. He grabs your hand, the one resting on the hilt, and pulls you toward him. You land on the floor with him, and before you can react, he's straddling you, placing the metal against your neck as he leans over you. His blood decorates your skin as his hand cups your cheek. Any attempts to fight him die inside you as his skin touches yours. You freeze for a moment, unused to someone's touch after so long alone, and he takes advantage of it as much as he can.

"I… I've always wanted… I've dreamed of you standing beside me… as my queen. My equal… I… I would never turn my back on you completely." He mumbles, pressing his nose to your temple. You break your dark vision of death for a moment and show him the face he knew so well, the one he had missed for so long that tears came to his eyes. You kick him in the chest and push him away, trying to regain some control. You reach for your neck and wipe away his blood. Without taking your eyes off him, you lick your fingers clean.

"You would trade me for the power Morgoth had at the first opportunity. You have no heart. You never did. And I was too naive to see you for who you really were." With a flick of your wrist, the bonds around him reappear. His wrists and ankles are bound and he is immobilized as he waits for you to make your final move and take his soul from this world forever.

"I have a heart. As black and rotten as yours. And it beats for you. Always has, always will. Even if you seek to destroy me utterly… even if you are left all alone after you have done your duty to the Valar and taken me into your sweet, hellish embrace." He says, only half-feigning contrition for what he had done.

He loved you. If there was one thing he was certain of about his old life, it was that he had loved you deeply. But not enough to become just another servant of the Valar. He wanted more. He had to have more. If he couldn't have you by his side, he would be content to fight with you. Until death do you part.

"If you loved me, you would never leave me." The slight tremor in your voice gives him hope that this meeting will go as he had hoped.

He lifts his gaze to you, studying you as you stand before him. The dagger in your hand is still a painful reminder of what it could cost him if he doesn't say the right words, but for now all he can think about is how wonderfully terrifying you look, standing before him in all your glory and power.

You captivate him. You tempt him. The Valar knew what they were doing when they made you the Lady of Death. You would be his undoing. He knows it. Eventually he will fall, and there will be no turning back. But before he does... he wants to make sure he remains legendary and eternal.

"It was because I loved you that I had to leave you. I didn't want to taint you with my darkness. You were pure. You were the sweetness that I wanted to drink and destroy at the same time for my own pleasure. You would not have had a better fate with me." He tries to defend himself by touching your most sensitive spot. He sees your ardour slowly subside as you begin to really consider his words.

You hesitate. He can see it in your gaze. He can see that the vision of your dream future he's presented to you is starting to tempt you. If he'd pushed you just a little further, if he'd said a few more words, maybe you'd really join his side? Maybe you'd be a force against the world? Maybe if he hadn't left you completely alone, maybe you could have had it all?

You walk up to him and stop a few millimetres away from him. If he takes a deep breath, his chest can gently brush against yours. He wants so badly to drive the blade into you and simultaneously capture your lips in a kiss that it's a confusing feeling in his current situation. You wanted him dead. That's what you came here for. To take him away. And yet you still had your ways of making him want you.

You lean forward, your hair brushing his cheek as your tongue traces the shell of his ear. He shivers as your cold breath contrasts with the warm saliva you spread before you bite down on his skin teasingly.

"I was soaked in it long before you even thought about leaving, my sweet deceiver. Now, I am just darkness." You whisper in his ear. You move away millimetres, far enough to look him in the eyes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you raise your blade, preparing to deal the final blow and take his soul forever, locking him away in a cell next to Morgoth, most likely.

So in a desperate act of self-savement, or perhaps out of the lust you've awakened in him, or perhaps out of the pure desire to taste your lips one more time before he leaves this world, he leans down and kisses you.

And it surprises you. Sauron hears the dagger fall from your hand to the floor as you reach for his hair, tangling your hands in it. He groans and tugs at the bonds you've trapped him in so he can wrap his arms around you and take you in his arms like he wanted to all along, but you don't let him move an inch. He growls in rage and bites your lip in retaliation, drawing blood—a random action that saves him from his predicament.

With each drop of your blood, he feels the power within him begin to bubble up again. Before you know it, he breaks your bonds and pushes you against the wall behind you. You groan in protest, trying to push him away from you. You try to summon your powers to immobilise him again, but he plunges his blade into your arm, effectively distracting you.

You cry out in pain, cursing his name, but he has only one goal in mind. He tears your clothes and burrows into your skin, biting and caressing every exposed part, feeding on your blood and power, restoring his soul the vitality it needs.

You are a mess of black blood and tears as he feasts on you, outsmarting you and binding you in your own shackles that you used against him.

"You won't take me as easily as you take these mortals." He growls against your skin, drinking your blood as he uses his knife to carve tiny cuts into your skin, decorating it with both black liquid and hickeys, marks from his bites and fingers.

“You’ll pay for this.” You moan as he bites into your neck, leaving a messy, bloody trail. He licks his lips and grabs you roughly by the waist, pulling you closer so you can feel the bulge of his cock against your thigh.

"Then, my sweet death, you will take me as a happy man." He growls in your ear before smashing his lips against yours in another kiss. You don't register the moment he takes your amulet from you.

His kisses numb you to the point where you don't register anything but him. All that matters to you is the way his hands caress your body, the way his lips defile every little inch of you. It feels so good to finally feel someone's touch on you…so good to finally feel HIS touch on you.

"I think that few people have the privilege of saying that they fucked death..." He mumbles in your ear, drunk on the feeling of you beneath him.

And just when he's about to bring you the greatest pleasure, just when he's teased your core long enough that you clench around his fingers desperate for more, he does something far worse than drive your dagger through you. He leaves you completely alone again.

You scream, furious and frustrated, both for having him deceive you and sexually for not giving you the release you deserved. You pound your fists on the ground and scream long and shrilly—enough that he will surely be able to hear you, whatever pathetic form he has taken since breaking out of your realm.

And driven by hot fury, you know only one thing—he will pay for this. Even if you were to seek him out and ignore your duties. You'll get him in your arms.

There was something addictive about the way people were drawn to him.

Ever since Sauron took the form of Annatar, the people of Eregion had flocked to him like moths to a flame, seeking gifts from the great messenger of the Valar. He liked the power he had over them. How one of his (false) words could turn them into his obedient puppets who would do anything to fulfill the prophecy he had foretold.

However, with the number of creatures circling around him, he had increasing difficulty maintaining the illusion he had cast over the city.

This is exactly what has happened now.

Annatar/Sauron was cleaning up the mess he had made by killing one of the elves who had discovered too quickly what was happening beyond the walls of his safe illusion. He could not afford for the whispers of panic to reach the ears of the only blacksmith whose skills were satisfactory.

Lifting the body, he freezes suddenly as a cold shiver runs through him. The atmosphere in the room changes. The only lit torch goes out, the smell of sulfur begins to fill the air, the rats that were roaming the basement disappear, and the only sound in the room is his breathing. He looks around, trying to see through the darkness of the room, but all he can see is red blood on his hands..

He frowns, looking around him as he realises the body he was supposed to get rid of is gone. He walks over to the extinguished torch and relights it, illuminating the room once more. He looks around for the body, but all he sees are the empty corridors of the underground. He frowns and focuses his senses, trying to sense any additional presence or power that would mess with his head.

And then he hears it. A soft humming from down the hall. He automatically reaches to his side, where his sword is strapped to his belt, and slowly walks toward the sound of soft singing.

"Come, come, my lost soul, you will find your peace. Come, come, down your road, straight into my arms." He freezes in mid-step. Goosebumps rise across his body, and he feels his breath quicken.

Memories—unwanted, painful memories—flood his mind as he stands in the empty hallway, wondering if he should go down. Involuntarily, his memories go back to the day he survived one of Morgoth's most demanding trainings—the day he found out what the consequences of his actions brought to you...

"I didn't know you were a coward, Y/N! Are you going to show yourself? Or should I leave you to your work and go back to mine?" He asks cheekily, trying to get you out of your hiding place. He knows how dangerous you've become, and as much as it fascinates him, he doesn't want to be on the receiving end of your blade... or claws. "I bet you're as busy as I am these days." He mumbles, pacing the empty hallways where your humming still echoes.

He glances over his shoulder a few times, wanting to make sure that you won't surprise him with a dagger to his neck.

Sauron won't admit to himself that he's afraid of you; he just knows the threat you pose to him. There was nothing worse than a mad woman—especially an unpredictable woman. And he was foolish enough to get on your bad side, to betray you, and don't look back. But how could he possibly know that you would get punished for his action? How could he predict that you will be paying off his sins to Valar? That only showed how unjust they were. Not only to you, but to him as well.

"Won't you show me your face?" He asks, still searching for the slightest sign that will give away your presence. But your soft singing, the haunting song that makes his heart beat faster, pumping adrenaline through his body, makes it impossible for him to fully devote himself to the task of finding you. Not if he doesn't want to end up with a sword in his chest. "Valar knows how I missed looking at it."

He turns around and, as if on cue, you appear to him. He presses his lips together tightly, refraining from gasping in surprise when he sees you in all your glory. He swallows hard when his gaze falls on your deformed face that you show him. A bloodthirsty smile, full of black fangs, sunken cheeks, and no nose, is one of the less... drastic forms in which you like to show yourself lately. Sauron knows how much you want to scare him; he hopes he doesn't give you too much entertainment.

"I would have a lot less work to do, my sweet deceiver, if you would just give yourself to me as you should and stopped playing Valar. You won't fool me a third time." You warn him, stepping closer. You see his throat tremble as he swallows, and he gently closes his eyes for a moment to inhale your scent and take in a little of your closeness.

You were so damn dangerous, deadly even... and he wanted more. Even though he knew full well that this desire would probably lead him to his grave.

"But wthout me you'd be terribly bored, wouldn't you?" He asks, giving you one of his smirks. He was playing with death, literally. He wondered how many times he could get out of your cruel clutches before he finally ran out of escape routes.

He freezes when you gently place your hand on his cheek, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertip. He grits his teeth, staring at you wordlessly as you play with a strand of his blonde hair.

"Where's your elf?" You whisper against his lips, leaning in close enough that it’s a challenge for him to stay away from you. You should be a repulsive threat to him, nothing more than an enemy to be defeated. But for some reason, whether it’s your past, the pull that’s always been between you, or the power that’s bound you together, he can’t feel anything for you but pure lust.

"She left." He says shakily, wondering if you were jealous of him, if you watched him and Galadriel, if you planned her death when he declared that he wanted her to be his queen...

"Too bad... I would gladly take her in my arms. I guess I can only wait then. There is nothing more pleasant than meeting them all at the end of their path. They act as if they were truly immortal. You have no idea how surprised most of them are when they cross my path. Almost as surprised as you were when you first saw me in this form."

"I would appreciate seeing you more often if it weren't related to your current… job position." You chuckle darkly and grab his hand at his words.

You lift it between the two of you and pull out your dagger. You cut his palm, and he can only stand there, dazed, watching as you lick his black blood. You hum, tasting your power as it courses through his veins.

"Oh… but then it would be too boringly easy for you, right?" Your voice is velvety, like a balm to his frayed nerves. He allows himself to cling to you, completely forgetting that he should always be on guard with you. A mistake you won't fail to remind him of. "Tell me, Sauron… have you never heard of such a thing as being utterly charmed by death?"

Before his mind can process the meaning of your words, you have already pierced his hand with a dagger through and through. He groans in pain and tries to rip his hand from your iron grip, but you won't let him. You rip off your amulet that he stole from you, which he hung on a necklace around his neck, and you place it on his wound. You chant the appropriate words and drain him of all the power that he stole from you all those years ago—the power that helped him be reborn again.

"Next time you lay your hands on something that doesn't belong to you, I'll chop them off. I think I can find a much better use for them. A more… satisfying one, if you still know what I mean." You mock him, twisting his wrist.

He growls in pain and shoves you back, sending you crashing into the wall behind you. You raise your blade higher, pressing it against his neck as he steps closer to you. You laugh as you feel him press his own weapon against your chest.

"Well, well, well. I see you've learned something after all. Tell me, my beloved, are you afraid of me?" You whisper hoarsely, licking your lips as you lean into him. You make a move to bite into his neck, but he pulls away from you at the last second, frowning at your amused, dark chuckle.

"Only a fool wouldn't be afraid of you."

"Like calls to like, right?" You pose the question, raising an eyebrow at him. You take advantage of his momentary distraction and push him against the wall. You press yourself against him and capture his lips in a bruising, hungry kiss.

He gasps into your mouth and tangles his hands in your hair, pulling you even closer. Your darkness is addictive. He wants to bask in it, to experience it so deeply that he can become intoxicated by it. He wants to bond with you and experience the same kind of limitless power that you possess. A force that borders on death itself.

As the kiss deepens, he begins to feel you slowly draining his life force. He knows he has to pull away, but not yet. He wants to taste your lips, your sighs, and your soft moans as he caresses you through the material of your night-black dress for as long as he can. But he knows that with each little touch, kiss, and soft moan, he will want more, and it will be harder for him to pull away from you.

That's why he's reluctant to push you away. But when he does, he feels how much you've weakened him with that little kiss. He gasps, laughing thoughtfully as he struggles to even out his heartbeat and his breaths. Now he understands all that talk about deadly kisses. But if he had to choose how he died, your lips were a very tempting option.

"Enjoy the time you have left. We both know that eventually you too will find me at the end of your road. On the way… try not to bother me too much with all the dead bodies and souls you've forced me to take care of." You wink at him and blow him a kiss before disappearing, returning to the other side where the soul of the mortal he killed was waiting for you.

Sauron is surprised that you let him go so easily after his last... antics. But he knows that you didn't leave him alive out of the kindness of your heart. You enjoyed the cat and mouse game between you; you enjoyed tormenting him with the idea that you could take his soul at any moment. So he had to think of a way to make it harder for you.

He returns to the forge and absently strokes the box with the 7 rings for the dwarves. If he had divided his soul… left fragments of it in each of them, it would be impossible for you to gather them all and drag him to the world of the dead, where you could torment him as you pleased…

Or perhaps, in time, he would find a way to tame death itself and submit it to his will?

One thing was sure. At the right time, you will come for him. And you will take away everything he has worked so hard for.

Just like you always do.

He had a few centuries to figure out how to cheat death again. And how to make sure that you will be the one to fall into the trap of his arms. Not the other way around.

[kikyoupdates]

Made to Destroy ⭑˚💎⭑ 𝑡𝑒𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑟𝑦 ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒

bnha x op!reader

op!reader, my hero academia x fem!reader, reverse harem, over powered reader, f!reader

You are the product of a series of twisted experiments, an anomaly that shouldn’t have ever existed in the first place. Thankfully, you are taken into the arms of a hero and given a new purpose in life. But as you soon discover, it isn’t easy to deny your true nature, especially when you were made to destroy.

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“This is... food?”  

You blink, examining the strange item sitting on the plate in front of you. It’s made of several components, and when you hesitantly take it into your hands, it starts falling apart.  

Aizawa frowns as he helps you hold it together. “It’s a burger. Have you never eaten one before? Sorry. I wasn’t exactly sure what you liked.”  

You don’t even know what you like, so it goes without saying that he couldn’t possibly know either. But your stomach keeps grumbling loudly, demanding to be heard, so you figure there’s no harm in giving it a try.  

Aizawa watches, somewhat mesmerized, as you clumsily cram the burger into your mouth. Granted, you’re just a kid, and kids are notoriously messy eaters, but there’s something about the strange way in which you’re doing it that just doesn’t sit right with him.  

It almost looks like this is the very first meal you’ve ever had.  

“Burger,” you mumble breathlessly. Crumbs and sauce are glued to your face, and you turn towards Aizawa in disbelief. “This is so... so good.”  

“I’m glad you like it,” he chuckles. “Go ahead. Eat as much as you want.”  

You certainly don’t need to be told twice, and you haven’t yet learned what it means to pace yourself, so you chow down without a moment’s hesitation. Each bite somehow tastes better than the last, and you’re relieved to find that the painful, unpleasant feeling in your stomach is slowly fading away.  

Aizawa rests his chin on the back of his hand and keeps watching you eat, but truth be told, he’s more so scanning you over from top to bottom.  

You’re a little girl. He can’t place your exact age, but perhaps you’re about six years old? Regardless, you are far too young to have been roaming the streets unattended until a creep snatched you up. It’s possible you were separated from your parents, but so far, you’ve made no mention of it.  

And then, there’s your appearance. More specifically, the clothes you’re wearing. If you can even call them clothes.  

You’re dressed in nothing more than what appears to be a thin sheet, similar to a hospital gown. Your feet are completely bare, too. No shoes, or sandals, or anything else. Do most kids run around outside without shoes on nowadays? Aizawa can’t say for sure, but it seems strange.  

Everything about this situation gives him a bad feeling, and the way that you’re desperately stuffing your face—as if you haven’t seen food in a long time—doesn’t help either.  

You make quick work of polishing off the burger, and once you’re done, you look back at him expectantly.  

“I think I’m still hungry,” you say. “Can I have another one?”  

“In a bit,” Aizawa promises. “But first, I was hoping you might be able to answer a few questions for me. To start off, why were you all alone? What were you doing before that man kidnapped you? Do you remember?”  

“I was just walking,” you reply.  

“Alone?”  

“Yes. Can I have another burger now?”  

“Sorry. Just be a little bit more patient. A few more questions, and then I promise I’ll get you another one.” He laces his hands together and leans across the table slightly. “Who were you with up until you went outside? I just want you to try retracing your steps so that you can give me a better idea of what happened.”  

Up until you went outside...? Well, you suppose he must be referring to the brief time you spent with Dr. Garaki.  

“I woke up,” you say simply. “And there was this man. He didn’t tell me his name. But he hurt me, so I left. I didn’t want to stay there anymore.”  

Aizawa’s expression darkens. His worst fears have just been confirmed. You must have suffered some kind of abuse and ended up running away from home.  

“The man,” he presses. “What did he look like? It sounds like he did something awful to you, and since my job is to take care of bad guys like him, it would really help if I knew a bit more about him.”  

“He had a mustache,” you say. “And, um... these things covering his face.” You form shapes with your fingers and place them on top of your eyes. It takes Aizawa a few moments to decipher what you mean. 

“Glasses?” he frowns.  

“Oh! Yes,” you nod. “That’s what they were. Glasses.”  

Talking is quite a troublesome endeavor, you’ve come to realize. Some terms you’re familiar with, while others, you still have yet to learn. But your brain forms the connections quickly enough, and it actually feels rather nice, discovering all sorts of new things about the world.  

“A mustache and glasses,” Aizawa sighs, lowering his head in defeat. “That’s not awfully specific. Is there anything else about him that stood out to you? Something more unique that we could identify right away?”  

You shake your head. “I’m not sure. I don’t remember much. I wasn’t there for very long.”  

“And I just want to confirm, but this man isn’t your father, is he? Otherwise, you would have been able to tell me other things about him, like his name. Right?”  

His question makes you scrunch up your brow. The term father... it feels like you should know it, and yet, the meaning of the word evades you.  

“What is a father?”  

Aizawa wasn’t expecting you to answer his question with one of your own, and it’s safe to say that his concern has just skyrocketed.  

“Your family,” he frowns. “The people you’ve grown up around, who’ve raised you. Is that who this man is?”  

“I don’t think so. Maybe. All I know is that I woke up today. There wasn’t anything else before that.”  

Memory loss. The situation must be even graver than he thought. It’s entirely possible that you’ve unconsciously blocked out traumatic events, leaving you with gaps in your recollection. This much amnesia seems rather extreme, though. Perhaps you’re still hesitant to tell him the full truth. Perhaps the truth is simply too painful.  

Aizawa smiles empathetically. “Alright. Thank you for answering my questions. I promised you another burger, so when the server comes back, I’ll order it for you.”  

You’re getting another burger. You’re getting more food. More delicious food, for that matter.  

The thought of such a thing makes your heartbeat quicken, and before you know it, your lips are lifting at the corners and stretching across your face.  

“Thank you,” you say. This man isn’t like Dr. Garaki. The fact that he isn’t hurting you, and instead getting you yummy food, is proof of it. He’s a nice person, and something tells you that nice people deserve to be thanked.  

Aizawa smiles back. He’s relieved to see that you’re not too upset, despite the circumstances.  

But he's getting another weird feeling, exactly like when he watched you struggle to eat that burger earlier. 

It’s as if you’ve only just now learned how to smile.  

“The man’s been taken into custody. Thank you as always for your assistance, Eraserhead. And I’m guessing this is the girl you mentioned?”  

Aizawa nods. “Yeah. She was hungry, so I wanted to grab her some food while you were dealing with the perpetrator.”  

“I hope she’s feeling a bit better now,” the policeman says. He frowns as he looks you over, which seems to be a recurring trend. “Are you cold, young lady? Your feet must hurt, walking around like that.”  

“I’m fine,” you say. “I ate two burgers, and they were really good.”  

“Haha. I’m glad to hear that.” He looks back at Aizawa hopefully. “Well, I think she should probably come down to the station. We’ve got a lot of questions for her.”  

“Why? Aizawa already asked me some questions, and I answered them,” you frown.  

“Yes, but they’re the police,” Aizawa explains. “I’m a hero, so I fight villains, but the police excels at gathering information and getting to the bottom of things. They'll figure out everything they need to know and get you back home, safe and sound.”  

“I don’t have a home.”  

Even though it’s only been a few hours since you’ve taken your first breath, that much, you know for a fact.  

You don’t have a home. You don’t have a place in this world.  

If you want to live, like everyone else, you’ll have to forge your own path.  

“I think she’s forgotten some things,” Aizawa explains. “I think it might be a response to trauma. But she’s adamant about one man’s involvement, and it sounds like that’s who we need to track down. Maybe we should start with something simpler, like locating her family. Could you find them on the registry?”  

“We could try,” the policeman nods. He turns towards you again. “[Name], what’s your family name? Your last name. Even just knowing that would be a big help.”  

“I don’t have a last name.” You pause, frowning slightly. “Or maybe I do? But I’m not sure. I just know that I’m [Name]. That’s all.”  

Neither of them seems particularly thrilled with your answer, which feels unfair, because you’ve been nothing but truthful.  

Aizawa scratches his head. “Well, this is kind of what it’s like. There are clearly a lot of factors in play, and quite frankly, I’m not sure where to start. But it’s obvious that she’s been through a lot and needs our help.”  

“Of course,” the policeman nods. “We’ll do everything in our power to fix this. In the meantime, while we track down her family, we should find someplace for her to stay and get some rest. The police station probably isn’t ideal. Maybe child services is better equipped to deal with this sort of thing?”  

“I want to stay with Aizawa,” you say. Of course, you don’t really understand what they’re talking about, but so far, Aizawa has yet to let you down. You’d like for him to be with you from now on.  

The policeman smiles. “Eraserhead is a good guy, but being a hero keeps him pretty busy. Don’t worry. We’ll find other nice people to take care of you, and I’m sure you’ll love them.”  

After what you’ve already been through, you don’t really feel like taking any more chances. Aizawa is good. You like Aizawa.  

There’s no point in fixing what isn’t broken.  

“I’m staying with him,” you insist, grabbing Aizawa’s hand firmly. His eyes widen at the sudden gesture, but you feel his fingers instinctively squeeze yours.  

“I understand how you feel,” the policeman mumbles nervously. “But, um, there are certain things that we just can’t—”  

“No. It’s fine.” Aizawa looks down at you, and as he does, his dark eyes soften a touch. “I don’t mind. If it’s a temporary arrangement, I don’t mind looking after her. Whatever helps her feel the most comfortable until you guys get to the bottom of this.”  

“Won’t it interfere with your hero duties?”  

“I’m not the only hero out there. Besides, if something urgent comes up, I’ll make other arrangements so that someone watches over her, but odds are that you’ll have at least found a lead by then, right?”  

“True,” he nods. “A missing child warrants a lot of concern. We’ll probably start getting phone calls within the day.”  

“So, it’s fine. At least until then, [Name] will have somewhere to stay. I can have her rest for a while at my apartment. And if there’s anything you need, you know where to reach me.”  

The policeman nods once more, and after they discuss a few more details that you can’t quite make sense of, you are finally free to go. 

It doesn’t take very long to reach Aizawa’s apartment.  

“Sorry for the mess,” he mumbles sheepishly. He then stops to reassess his words. “Actually, I guess kids don’t really care about that kind of stuff.”  

He’s right. You don’t.  

“This is your home?” you ask, looking around. It isn’t like anything you’ve ever seen before, but you suppose that’s to be expected, given your lack of general knowledge.  

Aizawa nods. “Yeah, pretty much. I’ve got a TV, if you feel like watching cartoons or something. Hopefully you can find a show that you’ll like.”  

He picks up a device and uses it to turn on another device, and you jolt in surprise as moving images appear upon a screen which was pitch-black just a second ago.  

You shuffle closer to what you can only assume is the TV. “There are people in there,” you point. “But they’re so small. How?”  

“Have you never watched anything on TV before?” he blinks.  

You shake your head.  

“...huh.”  

Once again, he is completely lost for words. You tend to have that effect on people, and you’re not quite sure if it’s a good thing or not.  

“Maybe this has to do with her missing memories,” he mumbles quietly. But he composes himself quickly enough and sits down next to you, cross-legged. “Those people aren’t really inside the TV,” he explains. “Everything you see here was filmed beforehand, and the image was captured so that we could watch it later on. Here, let me find the kids’ channel. It’s bound to be more fun than the weather report.”  

He flicks through channels until he finally finds what he’s looking for, then turns towards you, waiting to see how you’ll react.  

These are... cartoons? All of a sudden, the TV screen is awash with bright, vibrant colors, which are perhaps a bit too harsh on your eyes. For some reason, though, you can’t find it in yourself to look away. Even though you are an artificial human, your mental maturity is still that of a child, and you feel as if you’re in a trance.  

Aizawa chuckles softly. You’ve clearly got a lot going on, but you’re just a kid, at the end of the day. An innocent little kid who likes to watch cartoons.  

For a while, it’s silent, save for the sound coming from the TV. You are completely transfixed, so you don’t bother saying anything to him, and he has no intention of interrupting you.  

Someone else decides to interrupt, though. 

“Yoohoo! Eraser, are you home? I see the light under the door, so you must be!”  

Aizawa rolls his eyes. God, what awful timing. The sound of that insufferable man’s voice must have caught your attention too, because for the first time since the cartoons came on, you frown and look his way.  

“Don’t worry,” he reassures. “It’s just someone I know. You can keep watching. I’ll only be a minute.”  

You nod absentmindedly and focus back on the TV, and soon enough, you’re completely zoned-out again.  

Meanwhile, Aizawa opens the door and finds himself face to face with a carefree, overbearing idiot. 

“My schedule was looking pretty free, so I came to hang out!” Present Mic grins. 

“Of course you did,” Aizawa scowls. “But no, now’s not a good time.”  

“Why not? Don’t tell me you’re getting ready for bed already. I know you like your sleep and all, but—”  

He stops midsentence, because he can hear the TV playing in the background, and being the nosy bastard that he is, he sidesteps Aizawa and sneaks a peek inside.  

Then, he lets out a loud, exaggerated gasp.  

“Eraser! There’s a kid in your apartment!”  

“Thanks,” Aizawa mutters sarcastically. “I hadn’t realized that until now.”  

Present Mic takes a moment to assess the situation. He’s normally obnoxiously loud, to the point that Aizawa has to tell him to shut up, so the fact that he’s been rendered speechless says a lot about the situation.  

Unfortunately, he can never keep his mouth shut for long enough.  

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” Present Mic shakes his head disappointedly. “I never took you for the type to have a secret love child. But what matters is that you’ve decided to take responsibility and look after her. And don’t worry! I’ll be with you every step of the way.”  

Present Mic flashes him a thumbs-up, and Aizawa has the sudden urge to punch him in the face.  

“I think my show is over,” you say suddenly. “And I’m hungry again, so I kind of want another burger. Also, who’s that guy?” 

Present Mic steps forward, puffs out his chest, and with great pride, promptly declares:  

“I’m your uncle!”  

Aizawa really should have punched him in the face while he still had the chance. 

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[l4zyb0n35]

HOLD ME AGAIN

ANGST-FLUFF FIC

PAIRING: Alastor x Reader

SUMMARY: Alastor has been neglecting you recently ever since a fight, and it gets to you.

WARNINGS: GN!reader (i think), usage of Y/N, Emotional Distress, Mental Health Issues, Self Harm but not physical, Depiction of strained communication, Intense emotional scenes, Brief mention of Physical discomfort, Subtle mention of codependency, really good writing skills, Overall angst but major fluff at the end because you will never see me write angst w/o fluff. Lmk if i missed anything.

NOTICE: please don't copy or steal or translate any of my work or you will be haunted in your dreams and i will spawn something unpleasant at your porch the next day. But...thanks for liking my work !! >.< Based off this post i posted an hour ago. Damn that means this was written in an hour. Property of @l4zyb0n35 and @genderlessdude92

Requests are open, support is highly appreciated!

WORDS: 1.4k

〰ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭ ..。.:*･ﾟ♫₊ ♪ *♬‧₊enjoy!~

You and Alastor loved each other.

That’s how it all began, too.

the two of you meeting, and at first sight, when those feelings sprawled in your hearts at eye contact,

you guys knew there was a connection.

So, what was happening now?

Well, you were sitting in bed…spacing out into the bayou. You couldn’t sleep because there was a light on, and it usually bothered you whenever you were going to sleep.

You were tired from today though.

But you couldn’t ask Alastor to turn it off, as he kept it on to sit in bed and write his script.

“…Alastor…how long are you going to be…writing your script tonight?” You looked over at him.

Nothing.

He ignored your question. His pen stopped writing for a moment, but nothing more than that as he continued on seconds later.

You felt like a failure.

When did this all start?

Alastor has been ignoring you for a while now- well- i wouldn’t say ignoring you…no, you’ve been feeling useless around him for a while.

It started after you guys had a fight about safety and how you were scared to lose him.

That was the topic.

It was settled, you forgave each other, Although he didn’t seem to forgive you deep down, you just needed to hear it.

And then he just started acting like this.

You hate comparing your relationship from before to now.

Alastor would stay in his office with the light on until he was done so you would sleep.

You would always conversate with Alastor before laying down for slumber.

Alastor would always know whenever you were upset, he would keep hearing about it until you burst.

“Hey.”

You snapped out your thoughts. You turned to Alastor,

“Yeah?”

“…You okay? You just…” He looked at your cheek and then back to your eye contact, “Have a tear down your cheek.”

“…I don’t know-no, it’s nothing.” You stammered out.

“…okay.” He went back to writing.

…You couldn’t stay here.

Quickly, you got up from your bed and walked over to the bathroom, trying to keep your composure as you closed the door and locked it.

You turned off the light,

Laid in the tub,

and slept.

***

You woke up to knocking.

“Y/N? Are you in there?”

Alastor.

You quickly sat up from the tub, “Coming, coming.” You stood up in a haste, ignoring the dizziness in your vision from it, and quickly opened the door.

“You look like a mess.” He said, furrowing his brows.

“I’m surprised you noticed for once.” You snapped back in a mumble, shuffling past him and over to your wardrobe.

“…Y/N.” Alastor said, making you stop in your tracks. “What has gotten into you, lately? You’ve been acting so strange, and now you just show me no manners whatsoever.” He said, stepping into the bathroom. “I expect better from you.”

…That bitch.

You quickly threw something on, (of your choice),

Took Alastor’s pillow, a picnic blanket,

And went off into the bayou.

It was quiet after a moment of entering, which pleased you.

You couldn’t hear the sink running from Al’s daily routine, nor the bustling sounds of the hotel from outside the door.

Only crickets, water, and leaves rustling.

You knew where you were heading, as well.

Alastor used to take you out to picnics in a certain spot a lot.

Before the fight.

And you haven’t gone since.

***

The walk calmed you down enough to settle down into the spot without recalling memories and seeing at the same time.

You set the blanket down, anchoring it with some rocks so the wind wouldn’t blow it away, and sat down in your usual spot, hugging the pillow to your chest as you closed your eyes, and daydreamed.

You were at a picnic with Alastor.

You were eating his mother’s dishes.

You were gossiping about cannibal town drama.

You were dusting off each other’s clothes after chasing each other in the Bayou.

You remember how much bruises and cuts you got from that ridiculous game.

“Y/N? What has gotten into you?” Alastor said from behind you.

You turned around to look at him.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffed, “First the bathroom and now far into the bayou. You could’ve gotten lost.”

You felt guilty now. Great.

“…Maybe if you just leave me alone, you wouldn’t have to worry so much.” You mumbled into the pillow.

He put his hands on his hips, “Y/N, it’s been 11 hours since you left the room to here i guess, how could i not worry.”

11 hours?

Now you felt the intense hunger in your stomach, the weight of your eyelids begging to close, the stiffness of your back.

“…Probably because you haven’t in a while, I supposed.” You said truthfully.

“…You’re acting like a child Y/N.” He said, walking around the blanket to look at you.

“…Can we talk, Alastor?” You said, clutching the pillow tighter.

“I feel like that would be best, yes we may.” He said, setting his cane down and sitting across from you on the blanket.

“…Why do you hate me?” You said, looking into the small lake next to you.

“…Hate you? I could never, why do you say that?” He said, clearly offended.

You held back a sob, “You…you never have conversation with me anymore and w-whenever i start one you just…blow it off…” You tried to keep your tears in as you finished your sentence.

After a moment of deafening silence with the crickets to keep you company, you looked up.

Alastor was frowning.

“…I-I know that’s just one thing, b-but,” You took a deep, shaky breath, “You…you also never check on me you…used to always freak out whenever i was upset, always harass me until i told you what was wrong- but now w-whenever i don’t t-tell you…i don’t know…you j-just blow it off as well…” You squeezed your eyes shut.

“…Y/N…” Alastor called out to you.

You didn’t answer.

“…Y/N…” You felt something block the breeze next to you.

And then, something rubbing your shoulder.

That’s when the dam burst.

You let out a sob sob into his pillow, feeling the relief of releasing all those tears, those breaths, the lump in your throat disappearing.

You cried even more when you didn’t feel warmth on your shoulder anymore.

Or when the breeze was back to blowing on you.

But only for a moment.

“Y/N, it’s cold,” Alastor draped his coat over you, “…Y/N…?”

You looked up at him.

He looked scared.

“…I’m sorry for crying Alastor…I-I just couldn’t hold it in…”

“-No, no,” he cut you off, “No, hey, I want you to let it out, okay?” He sat in front of you, and held his arms out.

You only looked at him, pathetically.

“…Come here, Y/N.”

Another sob broke out as you quickly crawled into his lap, discarding the pillow stained with your tears.

“…I’m so sorry Y/N…I’m so sorry i let all of this happen. It was never…never meant to be this way.” He said with an ache in his voice.

You only cried more at that.

And he only rubbed more at that.

He rubbed your back as sobs racked through it, he kissed your head as aches raged in it, and he only held you tighter every time he felt like you were going to slip away, recalling the memories he never thought would bring them here.

“…Am i making you uncomfortable, Alastor.”

“…I’m just uncomfortable with myself right now, darling.”

You squeezed him tighter.

“…I’m sure you’re hungry, no?” He sighed, picking up his cane as he stood up with and exhausted you in his arms.

He tapped it once, and both the blanket and pillow were held between your bodies, his jacket back over his body as well.

“Let’s go get some left overs.”

***

As the two of you arrived back to your room, Alastor set you down into the bed, putting the blanket and pillow away, and then walked back over to you.

“I’m going to get you a meal, okay?” He picked up your hand and kissed the palm of it.

“Don’t um…forget to smile.” You said just below a whisper, “…You aren’t smiling.”

He smiled softly.

“I’ll be right back.”

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

END NOTES: If you cried, HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON! If you didn’t cry, HIT THAT LIKE BUTTON! This fic is just pent up rage from a manga i just read that had no happy ending and my life in general , but that’s okay. I don’t have anything to say. Sorry it’s short xx

-Lynn Lazybones

¸¸♬·¯·♩¸¸♪·¯·♫¸¸¸♬·¯·♩

Masterlist Link

[callme-holly]

Hii!! I love your blog <3 Can I request a Johnny Cade x fem!reader who’s a soc but is really nice to him and the gang? I prefer if they met in school!

"𝐈 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮…" [𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐱 𝐬𝐨𝐜!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - not entirely sure how I feel about this... it's a little all over the place and I apologise for that but, hey, I tried. I might revisit it in the future and edit it. Not proof-read!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 2.1k words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mild swearing, Dally being Dally, and Johnny Cade being a total sweetheart <33

You were the last person Johnny Cade expected to find himself falling for. 

You were everything that he wasn’t; gentle, pure, honest. You stuck to the right side of the tracks, never looking for any sort of trouble or conflict, content with what you knew was right and proper. You had money and a place to call home,  parents who cared for you, and, most importantly, you had your whole life laid out in front of you on a silver platter. You were everything Dally had instructed Johnny to avoid in a girl, telling him that he'd only wind up getting hurt if he associated himself with you. 

“You'd be better off without her, man,” Dally had warned, a cigarette between his lips as he fumbled with his lighter. “Girls like that only want one thing and once they’ve got it, they kick ya to the curb and leave ya to the dogs.” 

Johnny frowned, breaking his gaze away from where he had been watching you instead of the movie being projected onto the screen in front of him. The way you smiled and the way your head tipped back when you laughed... it was all so perfect to him. It seemed impossible that someone like you would do such a thing, and Johnny told his buddy just that. 

Dally had laughed at him, earning a few harsh glares from the people sitting around them. 

“She's a soc, Johnny,” Dally said, voice quieting down as he took a drag from his cigarette. “She doesn’t give a shit about anyone but herself.” 

“Yeah,” Johnny mumbled, picking absently at his nails. “You're probably right…”

Dallas scoffed. “Probably? I am right, man,” He nodded to the movie, kicking his feet up on the chair in front of him. “Now, eyes on the screen. I didn't sneak you in here for you to just stare at some broad. You fall for her, you’re gonna get your feelings hurt.” 

But it was already too late, and Johnny couldn't take his eyes off of you as you moved past him in the halls to get to your locker. You looked perfect and he was so transfixed by you that he hardly noticed the group of socs approaching him until one of them grabbed a hold of his shoulder, their grasp a little harder than was probably necessary. 

The touch was enough to make Johnny jump, and his attention was quickly drawn away from you and to the boys surrounding him. 

“You got a staring problem, grease?” One of them asked gruffly, his face twisted into an unpleasant scowl. Johnny recognized him as one of the boys who had given Dally a rough time a little while back; apparently he still hadn't learned his lesson. 

He shook his head, eyes flicking down to his beat up converse. “Nah,” he murmured quietly, shifting uneasily from foot to foot as the boys loomed over him, circling him the same way a group of vultures would a dying animal.  They looked as though they could rip him apart, tear him limb from limb right in front of the entire school, not caring who saw them or what consequences they would face, if any at all. 

Johnny shivered, suddenly feeling very cold and very out of place. He stood up a little straighter. “I’m good, really.” He looked anywhere but them. “No problem here…” 

The boys snickered. The one holding his arm tightened his grip even more, leaning closer to him. “If there's no problem then why are you staring at my girl, huh?” 

Johnny froze. “Y-your girl?”

“Yep,” The guy smirked, his teeth bared in a grin that was anything but friendly and Johnny wanted nothing more than to turn and flee.  

Footsteps caught his attention, a new sound to add to the din of the hall, and he lifted his head up, expecting to see another soc ready to give him hell… But, what he found instead was you, a frown gracing your features, hands placed firmly on your hips. 

“Let him go.” 

Your tone left no room for arguments and the boys all paused, sharing glances between them, before the first one released Johnny, sending the dark-haired greaser stumbling backwards with an unceremonious shove and a look of pure disgust. 

Johnny stood frozen, watching you carefully as you stalked towards him. The boys made way for you easily, stepping aside with a mocking bow of respect before walking away, casting wary glances towards you as you neared. 

The dark haired boy swallowed, trying hard not to shrink beneath your gaze. It felt wrong for someone like you to be standing up for someone like him, and he hated that he was somehow deserving of your kindness. 

“You okay?” Your soft concern broke through the haze of fear that clouded his mind, making his shoulders sag in relief.

He nodded slowly, heart thudding in his chest as your gaze softened a little more. The way your brow crinkled as you watched him only served to remind him how gone he truly was for you. God, what was he thinking? A pretty girl like you wouldn't dare look twice at some scrawny, no good greaser like himself. 

Your hand reached out and he barely registered you touching him before he jumped again at the sudden contact, causing you to recoil almost instantly, your arm dropping to your side. Your eyes widened in surprise, and Johnny tried not to wince at the sight. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled, turning away and shuffling your feet nervously. “I-”

“No, no.” He quickly interjected, trying desperately to salvage whatever small amount of dignity he might have left. “It's fine... ya just startled me…” He trailed off, unable to continue on after his blunder. The words sounded lame, even to his own ears, and he felt his cheeks flush red in embarrassment. He was making himself look like a complete fool in front of you, and he hoped beyond hope that he hadn’t scared you off. 

You bit your lip, nodding silently. 

“You sure?” You asked tentatively, and Johnny gave you a smile despite his best efforts.

“Yeah, man, don't worry 'bout it.” 

Silence stretched between the two of you, and Johnny was almost afraid to speak in case he said something wrong, something stupid. You were beautiful, but what was he supposed to say to someone like you? He didn't know how to interact with you. Hell, he was fairly certain you didn't even know his name. How pathetic was that? 

He let out a breath he hadn't realised he had been holding, looking down at his shoes once more, finally opening his mouth to say something, anything, however, you beat him to it. 

“You hang around with Dallas Winston, don’t you?” 

Johnny gave a slow nod in response, unsure on what Dally had to do with all of this. Had he said something to you? God, please say he hadn’t told you anything… 

You let out a small hum, glancing down at your own shoes and then back up. “You don't seem like the type to hang out with guys like him. You're too nice.”

Johnny blinked. “Nice?” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “You don't even know me... For all you know, I might be as bad as Dally.” 

You laughed softly. “Maybe, maybe not.” Your expression grew more serious as you spoke, eyes locked on his. “But something tells me there’s more to you than people make out.” 

Johnny stared blankly at you, not really knowing what to say in response. There didn't seem to be any malicious intent behind your words and the softness with which you said it filled him with a strange sense of comfort. He wondered briefly if you were making fun of him, mocking him for his background, besides, you were you. You had no right to be talking to someone like Johnny Cade. He was practically a nobody in the grand scheme of things; he couldn't possibly compare to the other Socs in terms of looks. He wasn't rich, or popular... he was just... plain old Johnny.

And yet you were still standing up for him…

Before he could dwell on it any longer, the bell rang overhead, cutting the tension between the both of you short, and you glanced upwards, catching Johnny’s eye once more.

“I should go…” Your tone was hesitant, and he nodded once more, biting his lower lip.

“Right..”

For a moment, you just looked at each other, and he wondered whether he'd ever get the chance to talk to you again. Would you even spare him the time of day after this? Probably not.

He watched as you turned on your heel, starting back towards your locker before abruptly stopping and spinning around once more.

“I'll see you around, Johnny Cade.” And with one final smile in his direction, you were gone, swept up into the crowd of rowdy high schoolers that flooded the halls, leaving Johnny alone. 

The greaser stood stock still, breath caught in his throat, as a small tentative smile crept its way onto his face. 

She knew his name... 

After that first encounter, it became near impossible for you to avoid Johnny Cade. 

It seemed that wherever you went, he was there too, and before you knew it, the pair of you had formed what could only be described as a sort of strange friendship. He always managed to find you, no matter the place, and when he needed to escape from his family for a little while, he found himself going to you. You didn’t mind, of course, in fact, you quite enjoyed being around him. He was calm, grounded, respectful; you appreciated that about him as much as anything else. He seemed to open up to you too. He would go on for hours about his friends and how he loved them more than his real family, how his parents seemed to never stop arguing, and how the Socs treated him inside and outside of school. He confided in you about his problems, sometimes crying, sometimes getting so angry that you were forced to hold him close until he calmed down, whispering soft words of reassurance to him as he sobbed into your shoulder. 

He trusted you, not because you were kind and gentle, but because he could tell by your eyes that you genuinely cared for him and that scared him. What could you possibly see in someone like him? Was he even worth anyone's affection? Why did you waste your time worrying about him and wanting to help him? How could anyone care about someone so worthless?

The first person he had mentioned you to was Ponyboy. He had told him everything once night at the lot  and, although he had tried, his friend was unable to hide the surprise written across his face.

“Wait, so all those times you've been missing from group hangouts... are they all because you've been with her?”

Johnny nodded curtly, refusing to meet Pony's gaze. “I really like her,” he confessed quietly, “She makes me, I dunno, happy.” 

And it was then that Ponyboy Curtis knew that you may not be as bad as he’d thought. He wasn't blind. Johnny had looked happier these past few weeks, smiling more often and laughing more loudly. He didn't miss the look on the greaser’s face as you walked by, didn't miss the way his eyes light up and his lips quirk up into a smile. He was in love with you and Ponyboy  was going to everything he could to convince Johnny to confess to you.

A few weeks later, he had succeeded. It had taken a lot of work and a lot of coaxing on dear old Sodapop’s behalf, but he had finally managed to make Johnny ask you on a date. It had been awkward, and Johnny had almost backed out, but he found that it was worth every second for the smile that had graced your features when you'd finally agreed to go to the movies with him later that night. He could have cried on the spot, eyes sparkling with excitement as he smiled shyly at you. 

Needless to say, it had come as a major shock to everyone when Johnny had shown up at the Curtis' doorstep one Sunday evening, your finger linked with his, looking every bit like an excited puppy. 

They were wary of you as you introduced yourself, Dally glaring daggers at you from his spot on the floor, but Johnny didn't seem to notice, dragging you over to the couch to sit with him. The gang had never seen their friend so content, so utterly relaxed as he was now, and as you struck up conversation with Steve and Two-bit they couldn’t help but soften a little towards you. Sure, you were a soc, someone who they never thought would end up sitting on the Curtis' couch, holding hands with Johnny Cade, but if  he was happy, well, they weren't exactly complaining. 

Besides, what's one more member to their little dysfunctional family? 

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

[destructive-poet]

Getting Even

astarion x gn! human tav hurt/comfort (~1.5k words)

This display of tenderness makes Astarion’s innards tremble in a weird, crawling sort of way– foreign enough, but not entirely unpleasant. Despite this, he remains quiet and relaxes his breath instead, deciding he would rather focus on the ugly, tangible sensation of his torn flesh being prodded."

astarion gets hurt. astarion is a moody bitch about getting hurt. unnamed gn tav apologizes by letting him suck their neck.

rating: mature

warnings: slight slight description of wounds

minors dni!

“Astarion?” Came a voice at the draped-down entrance of his tent, accompanied by the sound of distant waters and the crackling of a small fire. Night had long since fallen, and the voices of allies had slowly reduced to only the barest hints of conversations, seemingly muffled by the darkness. “Could I come in?”

The elf grimaces, jaw clenched tight as he lets out a simmering, discontented agreement, narrowing his eyes (though whether this is out of pain or annoyance, he himself is uncertain of). Of course, of all the times they could bother him, the ignorant wretch waits until he is despairing on the wooden plank he calls a “bed,” fists clenching the ragged blanket so tightly the worn fabric is liable to disintegrate, to come knocking at his door. The muscles in his side are wound so tight he fears they may snap. But yes, let’s have a visitor.

They gingerly push the thick tent door to the side, stepping in with caution to observe his state. “Are you okay?” Their eyes scan across him, taking note of the way he breathes, shallow and fast, not unlike an injured animal. Mess is strewn about the tent, and the vampire attempts to mask the obvious pain on his face. Unsuccessfully, but the party leader thinks it a noble attempt nonetheless.

His eyes meet theirs, glowering.

“No, of course I’m okay,” He grits out, “Just nearly impaled a few hours ago! But yes, darling. I’m fine. A mere scratch.” He seethes. They frown, scrunching their brows. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. You know that...” Astarion glares in return, shuffling a little in his spot and then pointedly pouting at the wall.

They settle down onto the floor, pulling a woven bag from off their shoulders and setting it onto the ground, shuffling through it until they retrieve a small jar. “Salve. I went out and bought it for you.” The party leader states, gesturing the product towards him.

The vampire huffs, though shows no reluctance in letting them move closer, before their hands pause at the hem of his shirt, loose and untucked above a pair of cotton pants. “Can I lift your shirt to put it on?” They ask, looking at him. He grumbles out a yes, scoffing. As they shift the cloth up and away, revealing a gruesome puncture wound, he grimaces, moving back at the sensation. “It’s okay,” they say, reassuring, “this should help.” They hold up the salve once again. “It should numb and disinfect your wound. Do you want it?”

He nods, and they take a rag from their bag, gesturing it at him. “Want me to put it on, or do you want to do it yourself?” The party leader looks at him with worn eyes, tired and ragged by the troubles of their journey. Briefly, the elf’s eyes soften in response, before he exhales and mutters a yes. He sighs, “You may.”

They quickly begin their work, trying to apply the medicine as smoothly and painlessly as possible, only resulting in a few, minor winces of pain from the man laying aside them. “My sweet thing,” they whisper, “you’ll be okay.” Their free hand slowly comes to rest on his face, and they briefly rub his cheekbone. “It should be better very, very soon.” This display of tenderness makes Astarion’s innards tremble in a weird, crawling sort of way– foreign enough, but not entirely unpleasant. Despite this, he remains quiet and relaxes his breath instead, deciding he would rather focus on the ugly, tangible sensation of his torn flesh being prodded. When the human finishes tending to him and sets their items back in the bag, he feels relief. Finally, the pressure is taken off of his injury, and is instead replaced by a numb and somewhat minty sensation.

And though the pain is not completely gone, it is much better, and he has the strength now to sit up straighter, carefully observing his human rummaging through that ragged bag again, eyes flickering with reflections of a candle nearby. “Thank you, by the way. Sorry I was being a little bit… Difficult, earlier.” He states, quietly, and they nod it off, continuing to search their belongings, focused. He is about to call their name out again when they straighten up in relief, grabbing a little shimmering object in their closed hand and moving it into his.

“I found this earlier. I thought you might like it.”

In Astarion’s palm, now, is a little ring, embellished with white stones and gold trimmings. He turns it over, feeling the cool weight of it in his palm. His eyes flicker up to them, and he lets out a breathy laugh. A warm feeling settles in his chest, and he swallows it back. “Well, thank you, sweet. You do know just how to cheer me up.”

“No big deal, just reminded me of you. I took it from a skeleton.” They shrug, attempting to play the gesture off as casual, ashamed to admit how much they had hoped he would like it. The vampire hmphs, grinning. “That’s my little scavenger. Always bringing me the prettiest things. This one is almost as pretty as you.”

They smile, humming. “Then it must be impossibly distant from comparing to you, hm?” A blush and a laugh, they move closer to him, reaching back to cradle his face in their hands. “You are my love, much more valuable than any gold. I’m so sorry you got hurt today.” They press a kiss to his forehead, stroking his hair and leaning back, eyes tearing up. 

Astarion looks at them, unsure of what to say, feeling very present in an overwhelming (but not undesired) moment of softness. Away from crypts and castles and temples, rugged stone walls and painful, visceral struggles. Briefly, he lets himself imagine a softer life, made of blankets and forehead kisses, of thick draped curtains over glass windows teeming with morning sun. The human by his side, warmth, kindness, contentedness.

“It’s alright.” He says, reaching to hold their hand, feeling its energy thrum against his own. They sniffle, resting down by his side. “Are you hungry?”

His stomach churns, and he bitterly realizes that yes, indeed, he is. “No, darling, it’s really alright. I’ve got a bottle of something or another around here.”

“Astarion.” They say, unconvinced. “It’s no trouble. I like it.” The vampire smirks, and they quickly backtrack. “I mean— Whatever. You know what I mean. It’s not about that. Not…” They sigh, closing their eyes. “Not like that now.” 

He sighs exasperatedly in return, teasingly. “Well, if you insist… Since it so delights you-” They narrow their eyes at him, huffing. “Apologies, apologies. But yes, My sweet, if you would like to give me such a delicious meal, I would be very grateful.”

“Well, I’m glad you are back to your normal, mischievous self.” They mutter, sitting up to beckon him towards their neck, skin luminous in the dimly lit tent. “Go ahead, I don’t bite.” They say, giggling at their own joke. “As you wish, darling.” He firmly grabs onto them, one hand digging into the soft warmth of their waist, while the other pulls their neck into his jaw. He hesitates, mouth watering at the scent of his beloved companion’s thrumming pulse. “Is this alright?”

“Yes yes, I promise,” A reassuring hand cups the back of his head, “You’re alright, come on.” He hums, pressing an open kiss to their skin, and the human lays a milder one upon his hair, making a breathy noise that jolts into a gasp as his fangs punch into them, and they jerk in his grasp briefly before melting back into him, the teeth quickly replaced by a tongue soothing over the spot. “Thank you,” he whispers, between sucks and licks, drinking in their blood like the finest wine, like the last drops of water in sweltering heat. His human makes a little noise, fingers weaving into his hair and tugging him closer, and he feels them swallow.

He groans, laving against the wound. “Good job, such a good little treat.” They nod, and he continues drinking his fill. Right as they start to feel dizzy, Astarion pulls off, licking his lips and looking up to them, kissing first the holes in their neck, then the edge of their jaw, and then the swell of their lips. 

They meet his kiss before slumping into his arms, breathing slowly, relaxed. “Are we even now?” They ask, softly. “A wound for a wound?”

A gentle laugh and a cool touch pulls them to lay down, resting against his side. “Yes, darling, we’re even.”

[cirusthecitrus]

"Horde Prime was said to have two heads"

You know what, lemme bring my old sketches back, cause lord knows i wasnt annoying enough about this lil piece of wiki trivia about filmation Prime (literally the more i learn about the 80s HP the more insane I get about my Kur Twins au cause how does this fact fits it so perfectly)

Basically, this idea is an AU for an AU, where Horde Prime's backstory is the same except for the fact that he and his brother are conjoined twins Since in this version the boys look exactly like their planet's local deity (also known as The Comet Brothers) they were worshipped since day 1 and the religious community didn't even need to convince people that they were truly the ones. In this story Anillis and Hec-Tor actually believed in their divine origins and feared to be proven wrong, because if they're no saints then they're just... strange kids, a burden to their community, unlovable defects. They were certain that they had no other choice but to embrace sainthood

So they gladly played along and were exploited by the high priests until a massive investigation was conducted that proved to the world that the boys had no godly powers and thus couldn't be real protectors of Krytis. Feeling useless, lost, humiliated and unwanted, Anillis and Hec-Tor wished to be seperated for the first time in their entire life. Thus came the idea of making new perfect bodies for both of them. It took them way longer than in the og backstory, but in the end, they succeeded. The problem was - they didn't like being in seperate bodies. After decades of sharing a life and a body, such huge change felt weird, unpleasant and scary. The brothers had given each other a chance at normalcy but soon rejected it, despite it all

But once they switched back, they discovered that the new bodies could move and speak on their own, that those were not just bodies but fully developed sentient people. It is when it hit them - the brothers had just created life. Their scientific invention could as well be seen as magic. They do have powers, they are saints, they are stars. No, they are better, more powerful than all of the stars in the vast sky. And they shall be treated as such. And they will make Krytis and the rest of the known universe fear and adore them, everyone will pay for ever doubting the brothers and casting them aside. But at first - they still needed a new body. One body for both of them, but this time stronger, more beautiful, more perfect. And of course, they couldn't just leave their new brothers behind too...

The 80s Horde Prime had two heads, the spop Prime's design at some point had four arms. The assymetricall extra eyes, the clones he keeps calling his brothers. It's almost like there's always someone else with HP, unseen entity following him everywhere, a phantom limb that still hurts at times, a part of him that could complete him but is missing. In conclusion, Hec-Tor is real and he's been hunting the narrative even in the 4th dimention (this is in fact a joke) Also, funny enough, this is my only au where I can see Prime changing for the better and not dying in the end, since here they're only a little insane, Anillis and Hec-Tor do keep each other humble after all. It's even possible that the clones are having a slightly better time serving this version of Prime