#or how he knows what words human use to describe each other

[theallianceofcelestials]

Hello again, I have another question!: Does SEA!Eclipse have a music box, and can you put a name to or describe whatever or how many physical, psychological, or other conditions/disabilities he and those in his family may or may not have? Oh, and their pronouns please, if it hasn't already been said?

Hi! I'll answer to the best of my ability, but to be honest I'm don't know how well I'll do so with your second question

So first question, Eclipse doesn't have a music box, he mainly put kids to sleep during naptime by exhausting them during playtime and reading them stories. But he does know a couple lullabies, so he can sing

To your second and thus most complicated one, I'll be honest and just say I don't know all of them. So I'll just say the intentional ones and put a bit of a disclaimer up because I'm not a professional on these things, so take what I say with a grain of salt

The entire family is made of entirely co-dependent people, which is a rather unhealhty thing.

Eclipse has depressive disorder, though he'd be fine for the most part if he didn't have all his trauma. He also has PTSD and internalised a bunch of unhealthy things during his time in the daycare

Sun has his typical cleaning OCD and anxiety, and he's fine for the most part. I guess he's the weirdest in the family because he doesn't have the heightened predatory instincts all that much, which I guess counts as a condition in this case

Moon has his anger issues and he's touch averse. He also has troubles sorting through his own emotions and doesn't always pick up on the emotions of others. He also suffers from self-hatred

Killcode is the first one to have a physical condition, and even that's only because of his sheer size. On one end, most buildings aren't made for him so he doubles over a lot, which makes his back hurt. Combine that with gravity, and he's almost constantly suffering from back pains to just minor aches. So I guess he has gigantism. He also has anger issues, though he's a bit more emotionally intelligent than his eldest brother and knows how to work on it

Bloodmoon is an interesting case that I don't know how to properly describe. They're technically conjoined twins, though their nanomachine body allows them to separate. They're also the biggest mess mentally, because they're two people in one. They have many antisocial behaviours, seeing as they eat humans, however different species prey on each other all the time so I'm not even sure that counts. They're quick to anger but they're also two people so a bit of heightened emotions can be excused I think. They're pretty self-depraciating though

Lunar has dwarfism and he's rather forgetful. He has the old Lunar colour blindness thing where he mostly only detects blue and glowing things, though that might just be because old Lunar mixed up colours. Or he has dyschromatopsia, a term which I came across when I tried translating my language's word for mixing up colours

Solar Flare I don't think has anything for the most part, though it is somewhat selectively mute, and it has some minor body dysphoria because it can't properly emote

I don't know if this is good enough, but this is the best I can think of right now. But I do think it's better to go through my stories and try analysing them from an outside perspective because I didn't plan for most of the things in SEA, so some things might be there that I just don't see or don't know

But now onto the easy part, the pronouns:

Eclipse: he/him

Killcode: he/him

Solar Flare: it/they/he, though it's fine with anything so long as it's not feminine

Bloodmoon: they/them because Bloodmoon is a collective entity, but Bloody and Rusty both use he/him

Lunar: he/him mostly, though he also goes by they/them sometimes

Sun: he/him

Moon: while Eclipse mostly uses he/him for him, Moon doesn't care at all. His pronouns are everyone else's problem, not his

[blackcorvette]

Own My Mind

Summary: 1986. Hawkins, Indiana. It’s not your fault that you’re pulled into the messy secrets and hidden world of your small town. It’s not your fault that two of your new acquaintances seem to be fond of you, and not of each other.

Warnings: Language. Stranger Things central violence. Spelling errors, grammar mistakes, and rushed writing. Eventual smut… (buckle in, it’s a long ride.) MDNI

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Hello again, welcome back to this humble little- whatever. Week five is here, and I just spent the weekend writing nonstop for this fic- there is much much more waiting for you guys in the future :) Special thanks to my bestie, @djosfavewig who will always be the first to know what happens, before it even does. Now, let’s read.

Currently Reading: Part Five

Masterlist

It starts with Nancy, she begins the story from where it starts. Retelling what you had learned from Steve and the kids, only this time with more attention to details that you hadn’t heard before, it’s only a summarized version, but it’s enough to give you a better idea- and enough for Victor to form his own view.

Then, when she finishes, you take over, from the point that you’ve been present. You tell Victor about Chrissy, letting Nancy speak about Fred, then you come back to tell him about Eddie running, how you found him. You tell him about searching for evidence, the school therapists office, then Max’s experience.

“When he attacks, our friend described it as a trance.” You recall what Eddie had said about what he had witnessed in the trailer, trying to remember what you had read from the papers as well. “Like a waking nightmare. What’s why we think he’s coming for her next. Does any of this, anything we’ve told you, sound like what happened to your family?”

“Victor?” Nancy prompts when he’s quiet too long. “I know this is hard-”

“You don’t know anything!” He yells and the echo of it rings, it continues in your mind even when it’s gone.

“You’re right.” You say, keeping your voice quiet, soft, trying to ease his nerves even as you struggle to maintain your own. “We don’t know. That’s why we’re here. To learn, to understand.”

“We need to know how you survived that night.” Robin says.

He lets out a laugh that sounds more terrifying than humorous. “Survived? Is that what you call this? Did I survive? No, I assure you, I am still very much in hell.”

When he speaks, he reminisces. Its slow, a memory coming to mind that’s not too far gone, one that he thinks of often, maybe even always. A soft smile forms on his lips, out of place with the scars, but whist full.

“I had been back from the war, some fourteen years. Her great uncle had died, leaving us a small fortune. Enough to buy a new home.” He says. “A new life. It was…a magnificent home. Alice said it looked like it was from a fairy tale.”

“Alice? Was this your daughter?” You ask him, hoping that he doesn’t take it as a hostile sign.

“Mhm, yeah.” He nods, and his smile falters as he continues, a happy memory tainted. “But Henry, my…my boy, he was a sensitive child. And I could see he felt something was wrong. We had one month of peace in that house. And then it began. Dead animals. Mutilated, tortured, began to appear near our home. Rabbits, squirrels, chickens, even dogs. The police chief blamed the attacks on a wildcat. This, this was no wild cat. This was an evil. And evil neither animal nor human. This was a spawn of Satan- A demon. And it was even closer than I realized.”

“My family began to have encounters, conjured by this demon. Nightmares. Walking, living nightmares.” The way he reuses your phrase, it solidifies your belief in him, in the evil you’ve become entangled with, the evil you are now attempting to fight. “This demon, it seemed to take pleasure in tormenting us. Even poor, innocent Alice. It wasn’t long before I began to have encounters of my own. I suppose, all evil must have a home. And though I had not a rational explanation for it, I…I could sense this demon. Always close. I became convinced it was hiding, nesting, somewhere within the shadows of our home. It had cursed our town. It had cursed our home. It had cursed us.”

He drops down onto his cot, defeated.

“It took Virginia first. I tried to get the children out- to save them. But…I was back to France. Back in the war. It was a memory, I had thought German soldiers were inside. I ordered its shelling. I was wrong. This demon, it was taunting me, and I was sure it would take me, just as he’d taken my Virginia. But then- I heard another voice.”

He removes his hands from where he had been covering his ears to shield himself from the dark parts of his memory. “At first, I believed it was an angel. And then I followed her. Only to find myself in a nightmare far worse. While I was away, the demon took my children. Henry slipped into a coma shortly after that. A week later he died.”

The crying starts, and it’s horrible, bad enough you have to tighten your fists and dig your nails into your already bruised palms.

“I tried to join them. I tried. Hatch stopped the bleeding. He wouldn’t let me join them!” He’s sobbing now, curled into his cot with his head against the striped pillow.

“The angel you followed…” You ask, though he might be too far gone. “Who was she?”

He doesn’t answer, confirming your suspicions by humming a song, rocking back and forth in the cot in a way that only the most broken man would. Nancy seems not to realize, attempting to try again, calling his name several times louder each- until the cell door at the end of the hall slams open and makes you all jump.

“Is he everything you hoped he would be?” Dr. Hatch yells down the tunnel, in a sinister voice that tells you he’s found out everything you tried to hide in order to get here. “I just had a very interesting conversation with Professor Brantley. Perhaps we should discuss it in my office, while we wait for the police.”

Security removes you, forcing the three of you out of the cell while Dr. Hatch yells, storming ahead to lead you back out of the cells and through the asylum.

Nancy begins to spill everything, about Eddie, Max, and every little detail that her mind can pull up and spit out- and if you weren’t in your own head trying to organize your plan to escape- you would be telling her to shut the fuck up.

They take you through the building and back into the listening room- where your eyes linger on the patients listening to music.

Debussy.

Etta James.

Elvis.

Brenda Lee.

Beethoven.

They shove you out of the room, Robin yells at the guard who had physically pushed her, and you follow quickly. As soon as you’re out of the doors, into the grounds of the inner courtyards and gardens, she pulls you and Nancy close.

“Victor said the night of the attack, everything went on in the house.” She whispers in a hurried manner, eyes darting up to make sure the guards and Hutch don’t hear. “But he made specific mention of music. He said music was playing- and then when we asked him about the Angel? He started to hum-‘Say nighty-night and kiss me, Hold me tight and tell me you miss me-‘”

“Dream a Little Dream of Me.” You remember the title of the song immediately, having listened to it growing up, the radio always on at home as a child. “Ella Fitzgerald.”

“Voice of an Angel.” Nancy says.

“Yeah.” Robin nods, glad that everyone follows her line of thought.

“Hatch said that music can reach parts of the brain that words can’t.” You say, walking briskly beside them, eyes scanning the grounds of the asylum, counting staff members and patients.

Robin nods again, her voice raising slightly, but not enough to alarm the guards. “So maybe that’s the key. A lifeline.”

“A lifeline back to reality.” Nancy mutters.

“It’s worth a shot.” Robin says.

Carefully, you look over your shoulder, at the guards. There are maybe two yards behind, they leave a gap large enough to take a few minutes to close if you run at the right time. They could get you, but only if they expect it and predict your movements beforehand.

“I think we can beat him.” You whisper.

“What?” Robin gives you a concerned look.

“To the car.” You say, ignoring the look Nancy shoots you.

“Okay, I’m warning you right now. I have terrible coordination.” Robin stresses. “Like, it took me six months longer to walk than all the other babies-”

“Just follow my lead.”

Before she can object, you sprint. You can hear her yelling, but she and Nancy fall right into step beside you- the guard quickly realizing and chasing behind them.

The grass is soft, but the ground beneath is firm enough to keep you from tripping. The patients watch with wide eyes, the staff slowly clueing in and rushing forward to catch you. But you run, as fast as you can, as far as you can and then further. Your sides burn, your lungs acting fast in the sudden burst of adrenaline- your heart doubling its natural rate, but you keep going until you’ve lost your shoes and run through the open gates.

The car is unlocked, and you silently thank God that Nancy hadn’t locked the doors before the meeting. The three of you climb in, and are almost immediately met with pounding fists on the windows. Nancy starts the car quickly, Robin yells, and you curse as you scramble for the radio that a familiar noise comes in and out. Static and Dustin’s frantic voice.

“Robin where the hell are you? This is a code red! I repeat, a code red!”

Finally finding it, you extend the antenna and press the button. “Dustin- It’s me. We copy.”

“Holy shit, finally!” His voice filters in immediately. “Please, please tell me you guys have this figured out.”

“What’s happening?” You have to yell over him, hoping he’d listen. “Dustin tell me what the hell is happening right now.”

“He’s got her- She’s- fuck.” The desperation in his voice hurts and you can’t do anything but talk. “What do we do? Tell me you found out something before-”

“Music.” You tell him.

“What? We need-”

“I can’t explain it now. Music, Dustin. Her favorite song, okay? Something that she loves that has meaning!” You speak as fast as you can, Robin yelling for Nancy to drive faster and your heart racing. “Just do it, okay! Her headphones. Get them and play a fucking song.”

“Okay.” He sounds stricken, and the line falls into static, a sign you hope means he’s doing what you hope will save her.

“Is she okay?” Robin asks frantically. “She has to be okay, right? The music? Fuck the music has to work- if it doesn’t-”

“It’ll work.” You tell her, louder than you meant to be but you can’t handle it, not while you have no clue what is happening or where they are. “It will work.”

It might take minutes, hours or maybe only seconds. All you know is that you can’t ease the tension in your body, you’re sitting up, knee bouncing, and staring out the window. Your hands are clutching the radio waiting for a signal. Nancy speeds away from the asylum, and eventually finds a rural road to start heading back home. Robin is chattering nervously, her hands tapping against her legs. None of you attempt to comfort each other, because there is no comfort to give.

Between the three of you, the car is overwhelmed with anxiety and anticipation. Not a single one of you knows that to do or say, and once Robin no longer has breath…It's silent.

The noise of the road is loud in your ears, mingling with the memory of Victor’s humming, the tune of his song stuck in your head like a spinning record, broken, repeating the same segment.

One, two, four clicks later- still no answer from Dustin. Not a single second of static from his end, not a yell, or a cry.

Nothing.

It will work. It has to work.

Even when Robin takes the radio, attempting to call for a response herself, you sit there waiting and listening. All you need is a voice. Dustin, Max, Steve. You need someone to tell you is she alright or is she…is she alright?

No answers. Not the first or the fifth time she tries. And then Nancy takes it, one hand on the wheel while the other holds the radio. No answers for her either.

Eventually, the radio is set on the dash, sitting in the sunlight as you speed down the road toward Hawkins. You count the street signs, watching the mile markers as you get closer. You're passing the sign reading eighteen miles to town, when the radio finally makes a sound.

Dustin’s voice comes in, quiet, no longer yelling for answers he doesn’t know exist. Robin is the one to pick it up, asks him what happened. And he tells her. She’s alright, she’s sleeping it off now in Steve’s car. They’re heading back to the wheelers.

She’s alright.

====

A loud sound wakes you. Your eyes open slowly, still blurry with sleep. It takes a moment to register that the sound is radio static and a familiar voice coming through.

Sitting up carefully, you make sure not to bump into Steve’s legs, where he’s curled in a seemingly uncomfortable way in an armchair, the same position he had been asleep in when you arrived last night. You search the floor for the radio, before realizing that it’s behind Dustin’s head on the TV stand. Reaching for the radio, you take it and carry it away from the others, who are still sleeping.

In your half asleep state, you press the button in the middle of Eddie trying to reach someone on the other end. “It’s way too early for this, Ed.”

“Hey, sleeping beauty.” His voice lightens when he finally receives an answer. “Um, I'm gonna need a food delivery. Like really soon, unless you want me going out into the world-”

“No, no, no. Don’t do that.” You rub your eyes and stifle a yawn. “Just stay where you are and we’ll be there as soon as we can, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He responds quickly, barely giving you time to finish. “Listen, um, can you pick me up a six-pack? I know it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves-”

Behind you, you hear the sound of Nancy arguing with somebody. “Hey, hold on. I’m gonna have to call you back-” Eddie starts to protest, but you set the radio aside and hurry back in time to see Nancy shaking Dustin awake. “What’s going on?”

She ignores you, speaking directly to a startled Dustin. “Aren’t you supposed to be on Max watch?”

“Yup, yup, yup- Sorry-”Dustin rubs his eyes, still not completely aware of the empty sofa you’re now staring at.

“Where is she?” She asks.

“She’s right there-” He freezes. “A second ago- I swear, I just dozed off for…an hour.”

“Hold on guys-” You try to reason with them, but before either can listen, they shoot up the basement steps to search for her. “Or don’t. That’s a choice too.”

A creaking behind you makes you turn, your eyes landing on a disgruntled Steve Harrington waking up and shifting in the too small armchair, untangling himself.

“That’s what all this noise is about?” He asks groggily, his voice deeper than normal and his eyes squinted as he grunts, stretching his arms. “Max went upstairs like, thirty minutes ago.”

“Alone?” You ask, dropping onto the now empty sofa and refraining from shutting your eyes, still tired.

“Mrs. Wheeler’s up there with her. Making breakfast.” He runs a hand through disheveled hair, somehow making it sit more perfectly than should be possible. “Are you…wearing new clothes?”

“Sleepover, remember?” You gesture lazily towards your discarded backpack. “I brought a few changes of clothes.”

He hums, his eyes lowering to his two days old shirt and the jeans he’d slept in. For a while you sit in silence, both of you still trying to wake up, or maybe just unsure of what to say. But it’s not unpleasant, rather, it’s the opposite.

When he looks up again, his eyes hold yours, and you find that he’s sharing the same feeling. It’s easy to tell that both of you are tired, and comfortable. Here, beside him, you feel at ease in a way you hadn’t in days. Maybe it’s the quiet slowness of the morning, or the fact that you’re alone, save for the sleeping bodies of Lucas and Robin. And for a while, you both embrace the stillness. But like most things, it only lasts so long.

It’s been over twenty four hours since you’ve decided to be upset with him. And in that time, you’ve lost reason to care about it anymore, there’s not an ounce of you that wants to be upset. It’s long faded- but you still feel a wave of something like relief when he brings it to light again.

“I don’t think it’s his fault.”

You ask, sitting up. “What?”

“Eddie. I don’t think he caused this.” He says, his voice kept low and his eyes not leaving yours, holding them captive without trying. “I don’t think that he killed Chrissy.”

“He didn’t.” You look down at your hands, unable to hold his gaze, whether or not you’re greatful to hear what he’s admitting.

He says your name, and it’s almost too much to hear him say it in this context. Your voices are little more than whispers, trying not to wake the others, but it’s like he says it through cupped hands- loud and demanding your attention.

He doesn’t get a chance to continue.

“We’ve got something.” Nancy comes down the steps first, interrupting with a stack of papers in her hand, Max and Dustin right behind. They quickly wake the others, nearly scaring the shit out of Lucas and making Robin yelp.

“What do you mean?” Steve stands, and Robin clumsily clears the coffee table she had been sleeping on, dazed from her sudden wake. “What have you got?”

Nancy and Max begin to pay out the papers, page by page. They connect lines, the scribbled marks coming together like a spider's web. They continue through each page, fitting broken images together until everything aligns.

“What’s this?” You trace your fingers over the lines, frowning at the distorted images. “A map?”

“Almost.” Max says, taking creased pages and beginning to fold them, red and black shapes being manipulated into something else. “I saw this during… At first I thought it was a random mess, like an upside down junkyard. Everything was disconnected and in ruins, torn apart and separated, but it’s not random, it’s all pieces of the same place.”

Steve leans closer, looking down at the pages as Lucas and Robin crowd around. “Where?”

Slowly, she starts to arrange the folded pieces, Nancy helping to match the lines and shapes together. At first, it looks like nothing, but it’s familiar to you. Then, before the image is fully formed, it clicks into place within your memory. You take in a sharp breath, startling the people around you. “The Creel house.”

“What-” Robin gasps, her eyes wide as Nancy lays the last piece, the stained glass door. “Shit.”

“That’s where we need to go next.” Max says, her eyes locked onto the image. “We need to go there and look for something, anything that could be useful. A clue to give us more time or-”

“A cure.” Lucas says, tapping the papers. “If we get there, we can look for a cure. Then you’ll be safe, Max. We can get you the hell away from all this shit, away from Vecna.”

“Lucas-” Dustin attempts to slow him down, but he ignores it.

“A cure.” He says again, sounding nearly distraught. “We can get her out of it, guys. Once she’s safe we can figure out how to take him down, but if this place can fix her-”

“Fix me?” Max cuts him off.

Lucas freezes, stumbling over his words when he tries to recover. “Not fix you. Fix this. If we can fix everything, then it’ll all be over. But a cure-”

“And what if there’s not a cure?” She asks, her voice raised enough that you take half a step back. “What if instead of a cure, I die? What if we find out that I’m going to end up like Victor? If that happens, you still have to defeat Vecna! You still have to figure out how to stop him, so that no one else dies.”

“Max-” Steve speaks to her gently, his hand hovering a few inches from her shoulder, careful.

“No, Steve.” She snaps her head up to him, and for the first time since you’ve met her, you see the pain in her eyes.

They’re red, her cheeks flushed with the same color, and tears threatening to fall. Her eyebrows are furrowed, anger and sadness showing straight through her face. Her voice begins to shake, her hands flexing as she tries to hold herself together. The headphones around her neck sit there as a reminder, of what she’s close to.

“We don’t know what will happen when we get there, but we have to go, okay?” She’s looking at him while she speaks, but she directs it towards everyone in the room. “He needs to hear it- because it’s true. If I die, you need to keep going. You can’t stop, got it? Find out how to kill him, because you fucking have to-”

Steve's hand settles on her shoulder just as the first tear falls, her face crumbling with it. He hushes her, pulling her into his chest and down into the armchair. You can’t see it, because he keeps her face shielded, but you know. You know that she’s crying, her breathing too shallow, even if she falls silent while she cries. She doesn’t sob, she doesn’t yell anymore, she just stays there- and it’s enough.

Nancy clears away the papers, Robin helps her and they step away to talk. Dustin slowly moves across the room when the radio starts to go off again with Eddie’s voice. And Lucas…Lucas doesn’t move. His attention is not once taken off of Max where she’s curled into Steve’s embrace. And you realize that you can’t move either.

For three days, you’ve been involved with them. You’ve only known them for that long, and yet it feels like you’ve always known them. Every problem, you feel you need to help solve. Their triumphs are yours, and their pain…you feel it, every little bit of it. And some moments it seems like everyone is on the same page, because they’re all fighting the same evil. But now, when you look at them, you see that they’re children.

Max, she’s only fourteen. She’s facing a fate worse that anything you can imagine, she’s forced to fear every second- whether she can spare them or not. And now, even while she’s crying, she’s fighting for herself and everyone else. She doesn't deserve it at all, and you wish you could stop it. You wish that you could take all the fear and pain from her, and save her from this monster and every other one that’s looming over.

But you can’t, not now, without knowing how to. And it tears you up, this girl you had met only days ago, that you can’t help her yet. That you don’t know how to, or if you’ll even be able to. It weighs on you, clouding your head with what ifs and wishes you can’t hope for. Things that you never hope to feel again, after everything is over. And it only worsens when you look at Steve.

Only a few years older, Steve is taking responsibility. You can see it in everything he does. He might complain, but he wouldn’t ever leave them when he’s needed. He would never let them be lost, even if it means he has to pretend to know the way. He’s here, holding Max as she cries, as if she’s his responsibility. Because to him, she is. To him, each of the kids, even Robin and Nancy, are under his watch. He doesn’t expect anything from them, and part of you thinks he wouldn’t accept it.

He’s strong, you know it. You see it in the way he talks to her, quietly, trying to sooth her. It’s evident in the way he acts without being asked, in the way he wants to do anything he can. And most of all, it’s in the way he’s able to comfort her while he looks as though he himself might break.

The way his eyes water is nearly impossible to notice. The way his hands tremble on her shoulders, as he rubs her back. The way he has to pause every few seconds to take a deep breath, to keep his voice from becoming unsteady, because he has to stay strong for her.

And it burns a hole in your chest, watching it all unfold, being witness to the unnoticed. But you can’t look away, you won’t, because when it ends, you will be here if they need you.

Because, you have to be.

[daenysthedreamer101]

Daughter of Steel and Bronze ~ HOTD

Targaryen!OC Headcanons, HOTD Headcanons

How Vermithor bonded to Daena

This is basically ch 3 from Vermy's point of view.

HOTD masterlist

The first time they met, he was sleeping, as he usually does

Then he was disturbed from his sleep by a tiny little creature; it was a human, he realized

He blew fire across the air but it did not flee

He approached the little human and sniffed it

It was not just any human; the human's scent was familiar. Very familiar. It reminded him of Jaehaerys. He missed Jaehaerys.

However, this human was a lot smaller than he remembers Jaehaerys being.

The human also reminded Vermithor of Alysanne, they had the same scent; this little human was related to them and appeared to be what humans called a female

The human was small with a high-pitched voice. This was a human hatchling, Vermithor concluded.

He hasn't seen human children in a long time. He wondered why it was disturbing him. He growled in her face but she didn't budge.

Then the little girl, as humans called young females, started singing. She sang a song Vermithor hadn't heard in a long time

Jaehaerys used to sing it to him all the time

It softened his heart and he became curious. He looked into the child's eye and he couldn't help but be intrigued by her boldness

He read her heart and soul; it was still young, soft, and innocent, not yet corrupted and scarred by the cruelty of the world

He could see she would grow up to be strong-willed, audacious and courageous

The child then extended her tiny hand and touched his big snout. She came closer to him and leaned her head on him

"Lykiri." (Be calm) She said in a soft voice.

"Kessa ao mazōregon nyke?" (Will you accept me?) She asked.

He thought about it. He has been without a human rider for several years now, ever since Jaehaerys died. He will never forget the decades he spent with his first rider and will always miss him. But it was time for a new chapter in his life.

"Eman umbagon syt ao." (I have waited for you.) He thought.

He looked into the child's eye again and focused on the beating of her heart and her breathing. He reached out to her mind and soul to try and connect with her

The little girl seemed to be overwhelmed by the emotion but in a matter of seconds she surrendered herself to it

She closed her eyes and deep in his heart Vermithor could feel their minds connecting

He could feel their heartbeats falling in sync and their spirits intertwining

"Kirimvose." (Thank you) She whispered

He would share this bond with her until the end of his life

[sysig]

I also made a card for him (Patreon)

[sttoru]

hi!! could you write smut of sukuna w/ corruption kink x clingy reader? i need to see more of them 🤭🤭

 𝝑𝑒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒. true form!sukuna x concubine! female reader. smut, pwp. corruption kink. reader is described as clingy cute / innocent. voyeurism?// exhibitionism. double pénetràtion. cowgirl. cream pies. nicknames ‘slut, brat, woman’. combined 2 requests :3

it’s honestly your own fault. you’ve been sticking around sukuna the entire day, clinging onto him like he won’t let you experience the consequences of your own actions.

“eyes on me, brat,” sukuna scoffs, thumb and index roughly turning your chin back. he needs to see your face as he embarrasses you in front of the guests and other concubines standing around the throne.

you’re supposed to feel regret, yet you’re drowning in a state of pure lust. it’s the thrill that keeps your hips going, the ache in them temporarily ignored as you search for that grande moment of euphoria.

you can’t care less about the humans at the bottom of the stairs. they’re grovelling in fear of the king of curses, knowing their heads can fly off if they dare to look up at you two.

it’s a sign of disrespect—a sign that the king of curses can’t care less about what those lowlifes have come to see him for. sukuna’s doing so on purpose, using your clinginess to his advantage.

“hah, what a total slut of a concubine,” sukuna scoffs, leaning his head against one of his hands, elbow propped onto the armrest. this is a punishment for you, though it certainly does not feel like that. even if all attendants in the room can hear you fucking yourself silly on sukuna’s dicks.

you and those sloppy sounds of your two bodies connecting.

you try to hold back your moans, but a rough yank to your hair instantly opens your mouth again. your eyes roll back and your voice spews out. “mhh, my lord—‘s too much,” you whimper, however your body doesn’t stop bouncing on his cocks. sukuna responds by squeezing your middle while he watches his lengths being swallowed by your cunt and ass.

it’s funny how you’ve been reduced to a mess—a toy he can command to do whatever he pleases. your clinginess secretly pleases him, because it reassures him that you’ll do what’s asked of you. sukuna grins lazily, letting you work for it, “too much? tsk. weren’t you the one begging f’ my attention, brat?”

he does have a point. you nod mindlessly whilst his cocks drill into you—leaving no hole empty. your eyes dart to both sides of the throne, where two concubines are situated. you can see them tremble in embarrassment and envy.

sukuna’s showing you off to everyone and they don’t like it; none of the concubines do. they hate the fact that he chose you to show off to everyone else in the room. like you’re the only trophy he’s proud of.

the guests don’t dare to speak either. nor does uraume, who’s politely looking the other way as their master ravages his favorite little concubine. they’re used to his acts of exercising his power.

sukuna keeps a firm grip on your hair, threatening to pull your head back each time you dare look around you. “you have no shame. absolutely zero,” the king of curses says condescendingly. as if the humiliation of being watched isn’t enough, sukuna’s words add to the embarrassment you’re feeling, “cock hungry slut can’t go a minute without being filled, hm?”

your whimpers get louder and your pace grows faster. his fat tips hit your deepest parts over and over again, the stretch threatening to split you in half. you’re too turned on to care. the way sukuna’s staring at you with that menacing glare—his sharp nails digging into your skin so painfully . . . you need it all.

“this ‘s why you’ve been following me ‘round all day long,” sukuna grunts—one hand coming up to free your breasts from the confines of your robes, “y’ just needed to be dicked down.” the flicks against your stiff nipples make you tighten up around his cocks again and again.

you’re nearly screaming because of everything your senses are picking up on. your half lidded eyes catch a glimpse of sukuna’s cocky facial expression and you’re almost pushed over the edge. he’s so smug—knowing he has you in the palm of his hand.

his eyes are luring you in. there’s a hint of something so primal in there - a beast impatiently waiting to be unleashed - one that sukuna is trying his best to suppress.

“aren’t you just cute. . .” sukuna mocks with a dangerous chuckle. his thumb rubs your bottom lip before slipping into your mouth for you to suckle on.

“kehehe, isn’t that what those servants call you? cute.. innocent.. adorable,” he continues, faintly groaning at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his thumb. sukuna cocks his head to the right and your eyes follow. that’s where you spot your maids and lady-in-waiting in a corner.

you feel tears well up in your eyes from both pleasure and humiliation. everyone is seeing and hearing you being claimed by the monster of a curse you’re riding. your maids have always adored your innocence—how you don’t seem to be tainted by sukuna’s advances no matter what. it’s a first to them.

it has been a rumor around the estate for so long; you being the only concubine who can withstand sukuna’s wicked influence. you always seem to stay yourself, your cheery and sweet personality never changing. you’ve been known as the innocent one among all other concubines.

yet here those same maids are, watching your brain being corrupted by sin. you’re so sinfully enjoying how sukuna’s cocks are penetrating you. “n-no, am—fnghh—don’t wanna,” you stammer, speaking to no one in particular. your inner desires clash with your rational mind and your body seems to continue its erotic act.

“don’t you fight it, woman,” sukuna brings your attention back by thrusting his cocks all the way up inside you, balls slapping harshly against your ass. he’s proud with his accomplishments. you’re slowly but surely being tainted by him and it’s so pleasing.

soon enough, that damned innocence of yours is going to disappear. he’s going to turn you into a total slut driven by lust, for him and only him. he’s going to ruin you and your body until all you can think of is the pleasure he can give you.

your nails dig into sukuna’s shoulders. you moan loudly, losing the battle, as expected. the king of curses just knows how to make you give in. he takes great pleasure in seeing you lose yourself, with everyone watching how he strips you from that innocence.

“stupid, nasty fuckin’ thing,” sukuna grunts as the lower pair of his arms hold you by your hips. he halts your movements before starting his own. “y’re mine, ya hear?” he pounds up into you—making you mewl. a chant of his name leaves your lips. you simply cannot stop yourself.

“yes, ‘m yours, my lord!” you moan for everyone to hear. the pink-haired man grins in satisfaction and quickly plunges his cocks in and out of your holes, needing to release himself so he could fully claim you as his in front of the rest.

his dirty cumslut, his tainted and brainless doll.

sukuna wraps all four arms around you, leaving no room for escape. he presses you against him until you’re struggling to breathe. your head is pushed against his shoulder and your insides are being turned into mush. the gooey fluids drip down onto the throne and down the floor.

“fuck. not a drop goes to waste or i’m fuckin’ ya again,” sukuna warns before shooting loads of cum into your womb and up your ass. both your holes are stuffed full of white, sticky semen mixed with your own release. you desperately clench around nothing once sukuna pulls you off his dicks.

you try to reach your hands out towards him as he manoeuvres your body away once he’s finished. the king of curses pins your wrists at your back so he can turn you around on his thighs, forcefully spreading your legs like a trophy he’s showing off on his throne.

one arm wraps around your waist and his chin rests on your right shoulder. sukuna keeps you on his lap and continues to act like he didn’t just completely wreck your insides.

while you’re left in the intense moment, he seems to have moved on already.

“speak,” sukuna orders the humans who’ve witnessed the whole ordeal. their foreheads are stuck on the floor—none of them daring to look up at the sight, like everyone else.

you’re panting and your head is spinning. you’re totally spent. sukuna holds your limp body up on his lap as one hand is busy scooping the excess cum back into your pussy, not wasting a drop like said before.

one of the villagers finally speaks up, stating the reason for their visit to the estate. their voice is muffled due to a loud buzzing in your ear. you’re tired and can’t focus on what’s said either. you just want to sleep. . . in sukuna’s warm embrace, filled and half-naked, for the entire room to see as they continue discussing business as if you’re not even there.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon, yandere, stalking

♡ gn reader

There’s something very off about your roommate… something eerie that makes you keep your distance.

You can’t describe exactly what it was about the boy except that you felt it from the second you shook his hand. The way he introduced himself… you don’t know… you had this unshakable feeling as though he already knew you from somewhere.

It’s a weird thought to have of someone you’d only just met. You knew you were probably just being paranoid. It was your first time sharing your space with someone other than family, so it might very well just have been you being apprehensive.

Not that you’d ever let it show, though. You didn’t want things between the two of you to be awkward when you’d be living together for the next three years of getting your degree.

You just needed to get used to him, is what you told yourself. 

So you laughed at his jokes and listened to his brags with a polite smile as though nothing was wrong, even when he continued being strange. 

For starters, he had almost nothing to unpack – as though he only planned to stay about a month or two. Everything seemed newly bought as well – unused and sterile, like a movie set.

You don’t know… maybe he was a minimalist even though he didn’t seem the type.

It shouldn't really have made your skin crawl the way it did. But whether it made sense or not, you couldn’t shake the discomfort – walking around in a constant wariness of him. 

Everything about him seemed like a half-assed theatre act.

You’d see him in the lecture hall, walking from here to there, buying strawberry milk from the vending machines. His textbooks remained piled on his desk in your shared dorm room – but you’d never seen any one of them open. And when curiosity and suspicion made you flip up one of his notebooks, you found it was all blank except for a few shitty doodles on the first page. You never see him cram for exams or writing any papers. You don’t think you’ve ever even seen him pull a laptop out of his bag.

It’s like he isn't a student at all…

And something about the rest of his performance just rubs you the wrong way.

It’s as though he’s practiced all his facial expressions in the mirror – as though he’s studied social cues and body language in a human behavior manual instead of having learned them naturally. It makes you uneasy – how his smile is always a bit too wide and a bit too stiff to be genuine and how all his words are like dialogue off a script.

Somehow, it feels as though he’s wearing a second skin – hiding something… something that’s not quite right on the inside.

It grosses you out when he tries flirting with you. But you do your best to hide it. Brushing him off by changing the topic, inviting other friends when he asks to eat lunch together, laughing off his attempts as though he’s making jokes – always excusing yourself when you end up alone with him for too long. 

You try to avoid him as much as you can. Pretending to study when you’re in the dorm together – and otherwise going to bed early.

He tells you he’ll see you at the party later when you leave to pregame with some friends. You can only muster a smile and a curt “Sure.” before leaving. 

As for seeing each other later – you hope you don’t.

But of course you do. You can’t seem to escape him. Everywhere you go, he follows.

It doesn’t help that all your friends think he’s so hot, immediately calling him over, gushing over him as though he’s some type of celebrity. They don’t understand your reservation – if they were you, they’d have fucked him the first night of moving in together.

It’s not like you don’t find him attractive as well. You admit he is ridiculously handsome, and if the circumstances were different, you’d say you lucked out being assigned the same dorm room as him. 

But as it were – he gives you the same feeling as spotting a spider.

He’s got his arm slung around your shoulder as the two of you walk back together. 

He had a little bit too much to drink… And despite your thoughts about him, even you didn’t have the heart to say no when he was practically hanging off of you – cheeks dusted pink with his mothlike lashes droopy, drunkenly mumbling while blinking up at you with those awfully bright eyes, asking you to take him home and tuck him in.

“Ugh...” You sigh.

It’s a struggle carrying the nearly two-meter-tall boy, almost having to drag him down the hallway before stopping short at your door. He’s drooling on your shoulder with murmurs of sleep as you search for the key – not exactly sober yourself.

When inside, his bigger body presses you against the closed door – his face buried in the grove of your neck with slurred words.

“Dude.” You state with a grimace – as if saying his name was too much of a burden – sighing as you haul him off with the same exasperation of a parent putting an unruly child to bed. 

Ducking beneath his arm, you leave him kissing the door – thinking to yourself how you really should put him to bed before he can embarrass himself any further.

You open your mouth to tell him when his temper finally makes him grab your arm a little harder than intended. 

“This isn't how this is supposed to go.” 

You flinch instinctively, and his grip tightens in return. “Hey?”

You can’t see his face with the way he’s got his head bowed. But you don’t like the snuff growl that passes under his breath as he utters the next words.

“Why are you so difficult?”

You do more than flinch this time, yanking yourself out of his harsh grip before he can apologize for it – taking on a deliberate offensive stance. 

With your feet squared and your hands up to keep him at a distance, you look ready to try fending him off.

Something about it seems premeditated – something in the wary way you eye him. You don’t even look all that surprised – as if you had suspected this side of him existed all along and had only been waiting for it to surface.

Oddly, t feels like something you’ve kept secret from him – as though you’ve acted comfortable all this time when, in reality, you’ve been clutching your mental pearls.

He realizes then why you haven’t returned his affection – why all you’ve ever given him is cold-hearted rejection…

Of course. It’s obvious now – so obvious it’s funny. Even though he’s been the one parading around like someone else, it feels as though you’ve been doing the exact same thing around him – hiding your discomfort behind a sweet smile – hiding it so well that not even his keen eyes have picked up on it…

But it’s clear now….

You’ve both been playing a game of pretend – just a pair of perfect strangers – who've now shared their hand. Leaving you both feeling naked – raw out in the cold – just waiting for the next move.

“I guess the gig is up, huh?” He rasps, fingers twitching at his sides – looking ready to pounce.

You couldn’t defend why you'd kept the pepper spray in the drawer of your nightstand – but you were glad you had. Rushing for it, hands shaking as you pulled the handle and grabbed the bottle – twisting around and spraying it right in the face of your roommate.

He cries out from the attack, clutching his face with both hands – staggering back with a series of gruff curse words.

Still, he guards the door – preventing your escape.

The groaning turns to croaks instead, and you think he might be crying. It’s tough to see through the hands covering his eyes – but when he looks back up again, despite the red burns left by your pepper spray on his puffy teary cheeks, he’s got a smile on his face. 

He’s not crying – he’s laughing – as the hand covering his face slowly drags down the crazed expression – over crazed eyes, bloodshot and wet, staring at you through the gaps between his fingers.

The look alone is enough to give you goosebumps.

But when you try to make a run for it, he grabs you again – and this time, you’re not able to shake him off. It feels as though the tight grip splinters your skin as he pulls you back – shoving you down against your bed.

“Can’t say it hasn’t been fun, roomie. But I’m not completely satisfied yet.”

He’s on top of you before you get a kick in – pinning your wrists above your head as he leans over you – bright eyes gleaming with that sickness you’d almost convinced yourself you’d been imagining. You opt to shout, but he’s soon got his other hand clasped tight over the bottom half of your face before you get a sound out.

“You were supposed to fall in love with me, you know?” His voice is airy as though he’s confessing – but also on the brink of laughter as though he’s telling a joke in class. “That’s how it goes in the movies.”

You swallow beneath his hand – eyes peeled, heart beating so hard it hurts.

His eyes wander – roaming your neck and chest. It’s awfully quiet before he speaks again. “But I suppose we can act out a different plot line...” 

You whimper at his suggestive tone – already feeling the weight of his intentions bearing down on you, crushing you free of air. 

“I like romcoms, but horror stories have their charm, too...”

You shudder beneath the warmth of his breath, screaming into his palm once his warm lips mouth your throat, sucking on the tender skin with tongue and teeth in between words.

“An unfortunate college student finds themself moving into the same dorm as their unhinged stalker…”

There’s a thrill in his tone – something crazed and terrifying as he goes on.

“The two play a psychological game of endurance, trying to balance college and privacy while sharing the same space...”

Something hard and gross steadily ruts against your thigh. His voice gets thicker – breath hotter on your neck. The kisses turn sloppy. Tears burn your cheeks.

“Everything seems to lead up to a party held before Spring break, a fateful night on which their endurance finally runs out.”

He groans, and you sob.

“A rejected kiss, a can of pepper spray, a shared bed. What happens next?”

♡ BNHA – Denki, Kirishima, Hawks ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo, Yuuta ♡ HQ – Miya twins ♡ CSM – Yoshida ♡ BLLK – Nagi

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

Full fic with smut available here:

[freyadragonlord]

Recently I’ve been thinking about the different types of love languages in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, The S-Classes That I Raised, and Lout of the Count’s Family…

Not to say that each of the stories describes only one single kind of love language; they are, after all, all novels that focus on Found Family, with many different types of relationships between characters that express their love for each other in as many different ways.

Yet, I’ve noticed how at the core of each of these three stories there is one specific act of love that recurs more than others, and that becomes the true Theme each novel revolves around.

In Lout of the Count’s Family, the main love language is providing food and a home.

“Home” is such an important concept in LCF that Cale collects houses like they were pokemon cards. The source of his trauma when he was a child as Kim Roksu was that he was not given sufficient food, and that where he lived was not truly a shelter where he could feel safe, just a place he was trapped in.

And I don’t think there are ever more than 2 chapters in a row without a character offering food to others, or asking if they’re hungry, if they’ve eaten, why haven’t you eaten, here have some apple pie!!

Cale uses his newfound money and power to make sure his loved ones are provided for. That’s how he adopts bonds with most of his new family.

The first thing Raon does after he’s freed from the prison he’s been trapped in all his life, is to leave food for this hopelessly weak human.

Choi Han, who has lived alone in a dangerous forest for decades, would do anything to protect his home.

The Crown Prince, who has been isolated and untrusting of everyone ever since his mother died, makes sure to always have cookies in his bedroom in case guests “break in” for a visit at any time of the day or the night.

I love you, you’ll never be hungry again. I love you, my home is your home.

In The S-Classes That I Raised, the main love language is words.

Yoojin’s powers are literally activated by telling people “I love you”. Because all he ever wanted was to say “I love you” to his brother one last time.

Because the tragedy that starts the story happens because Yoohyun loved and protected his hyung in secret for years. Silence creates misunderstandings, it creates distance, it leads to loss.

Loving someone isn’t enough, tell them! Reassure them. Remember what they say, because their words are important!!

Ever since the regression, Yoojin always let people know when he loves them and appreciates them. “You’re perfect, you’re cute, you’re so talented, you’re so handsome, you are loved.”

And as the novel progresses, whenever Yoojin is in pain, or doesn’t know what to do, he turns to Sung Hyunje because he needs to be reassured, he needs to know he did well, he needs to hear he is still important to the people he loves.

I love you, please know that I love you! I love you, please tell me you love me back.

And finally, in Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, the main love language is time.

Time is one of the greatest sources of horrors in ORV. Eternities upon eternities of suffering, being trapped for ages in the same, hopeless loop, wishing for everything to just stop.

And yet, time is also the greatest gift characters give to each other.

Because the wounds Dokja suffered as a child, and then again and again through his whole life…. They need time to heal. They need so much time. They will probably take forever.

So let them take forever.

Despite how much pain and worry he causes his companions by giving up on himself over and over again, his companions never give up on him. And he doesn’t understand why!! He doesn’t think he’s worth it. But it’s not his choice, it’s theirs. And they will go through as many tries, as much pain, as much time as it takes, before they can finally save him.

I love you, so I will wait fifty years for you. I love you, so I will live through thousands of lifetimes to find you. I love you, so I will read and reread your story for the rest of time, just to keep you alive.

[witherby]

SORRY IF THIS IS TOO LONG EL forgeting about my last idea since its kind of generic (this one is also but whateverrrrrhahahsg)

so you know Starfire is an alien right?(tamaranean) how about something where reader is a sort of alien too? (x damian too bc im starting to hyper fixate on him) and like they meet as Damian does patrolling/a mission, kind of how Dick and Star met!!

ill leave if up to there and if you like it!! ANYWAY HI EL!!

—🦈

HI SHARKY.

I was gonna finish writing the vampire!Jason prompt but I saw this and immediately fell into a fugue state instead. When I came out, it was with this. I hope you like it 🩷

Flight of Fancy

Damian Wayne x Winged!Reader

Featuring: language barriers (gibberish), a shoulder wound, and a kiss.

It had started out as a routine track-and-report mission. Damian was supposed to investigate the suspicious cargo shipments in Gotham Harbor, try to figure out what was being delivered, and come back to the Cave with his findings.

Tim's bet was human trafficking. Dick's was illegal arms dealing. Jason's was drugs. Damian guessed poaching. Bruce wanted them to stop making bets about what horrible thing of the week was going on and please focus on getting the task done.

(Bruce was just upset that he wasn't allowed to bet anymore because he kept winning.)

As the night drags on and the boredom starts to creep in, Damian wonders if the ship sitting on the loading dock is actually conducting legal business for once. It wouldn't be the first time it's happened, and it would mean less follow-up work to do.

"Red Robin," Damian mutters into his comm, "there's been no activity for three hours. I'm about to declare this endeavor a wasted one and return to base."

"Copy," Tim says in his ear. "There's no spooky stuff happening on the computer, either. Give it ten more minutes and then come back."

"Understood." Damian shifts on his perch — an unsurveilled roof of a tailoring shop — and casts his gaze along the area for the thousandth time that night.

Cold, choppy waters, devoid of any suspicious activity. Dock workers walking around and doing their jobs as they chatter and whistle amongst each other, devoid of any suspicious activity. The cargo ship that docked an hour ago, devoid of any suspicious —

Well. It wasn't suspicious until he realized that the distant ringing he's heard all night wasn't interference from the dinky, little radio one of the workers has been using to blast old, jazzy tunes, but a shrill crying noise coming from the ship. A normal person wouldn't even be able to detect it, but years of training with the League taught Damian to filter and identify any and all noises he picks up automatically.

"Red Robin. I've identified a potential trafficking situation. Stand by."

"Copy. Standing by," Tim says. "Ready to dispatch EMTs on your word and receive that fifty bucks when you get back."

"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, grappling down the building and taking cover in the shadows, maneuvering his way around the harbor men and onto the ship without a sound.

The closer he gets, the louder the crying becomes. He can tell it's just one person making the sound, and that they seem to be locked in one of the titanium crates on the back of the ship. It's child's play to locate the right one and pop the lock open with the small hand laser from his tool bag.

The second it's gone the lid flies open, and Damian gets knocked down by someone he can only describe as ethereal.

You are a collection of stand-out features. Glowing, bright eyes. A wild mane of hair. Well-tailored, form fitting robes. And a huge, breathtaking pair of white wings, that unfurl from your back and shake out into their full width with barely a whisper of sound.

You're bleeding, Damian realizes belatedly. You're bleeding gold. It drips from a wound in your shoulder, running down the sleeve of your robe and soaking the fabric. Small beads trail down your fingertips and stain his chest where you're using your weight to pin him to the ground.

"Whoa," he mutters, because that's the only thing in his mind. Just. Whoa.

You furrow your brow and glare at him, muttering something in a dialect he doesn't understand. The confusion on his face must be evident, because you quickly become frustrated.

"Ira neshmi le-hyr!" You demand, waving the wrist of your other hand in his face, which has a LexCorp-branded tracking bracelet on it. There are faint scratch marks around the skin where you obviously tried to pry the device off.

"Robin? What's the situation? Am I dispatching EMT?" Tim's voice sounds in his ear, startling Damian into taking full stock of the situation again. He blinks a few times, picking up on bootsteps approaching his location, your increasing franticness from where you're knelt above him, and the riskiness of what he's about to do.

"No EMTs," Damian says, reaching for the handheld laser again. He holds it up for you to see, then gestures to your wrist.

You hesitate for only a moment, then offer him your arm and watch him slice the bracelet off and pocket it. With a quick sleight of band, he presses a tracker of his own into the sleeve of your robes, then urges you to get off him.

"Bad people are coming," he says, gesturing to the shadows of figures he can see getting closer. "You should come with me. I can get you somewhere safe."

You stare at him like you don't understand what he's saying. He lets out a frustrated sigh. There's no time for this.

"Me. You. Come with me. That way." He gestures to you, then himself, then points in the direction of the Bat Cave with urgency.

Your eyes dart to where he points, then you nod. He's about to try to figure out how to pantomime you tucking your wings in so you can sneak around better, but you stride forward, wrap your arms around his waist, and use them to take off into the air. Damian clings to you and yelps, drawing the attention of the men on the ship. There's a cacophony of shouting down below that quickly grows faint the farther away you fly.

"The package is escaping!! Someone call the boss!"

"Do we shoot it down?"

"No, you idiot! We need it alive! We'll track it down —"

The rest of their words are lost to the wind. Damian holds onto you with white knuckles and refuses to look down. It's too dark and too smoggy in Gotham to look up at the stars, so the only other thing to observe is you.

If he thought you were stunning on the ground, you're something else in the air. The wind pushes your hair around and out of your face, revealing small markings around your cheeks and eyes. The light your wings catch makes them almost glitter with every beat as you propel the two of you onward. Briefly, you travel over a more illuminated section of the city, which make your eyes look like little constellations.

He's utterly captivated.

"Nirr'm? Luola stesh?" You try to ask him, directing your gaze to him. Damian has no idea how to answer a question he can't understand, so he just points to the ground.

You scan around for a secluded spot to land and gently coast to the ground, setting him down. Damian locks his knees to keep them from buckling and takes several slow, deep breaths.

"I can't understand you," he says after a moment. You furrow your brows again. "And based on your expression, it's vice-versa."

"Robin, come in!" Tim says in his ear, and, oh, he'd forgotten that he stopped responding for ten minutes. "I'm tracking your location and it says you're four miles away from the harbor? What's your status? Do I need to send Batman in for backup?"

"Negative, do not send backup. Don't send EMTs, either."

"You said there was a trafficking situation?"

"Yeah," Damian says, "metahuman trafficking. Don't send anyone until I can figure out how to communicate that they wouldn't be a threat."

"Communicate? What, they don't speak any of the thousand languages you know?"

Damian doesn't respond.

"Oh, shit. Okay. Standing by."

While he'd been talking to Tim, you had inched your way closer and closer to Damian. When he focuses on you again, he almost flinches back after finding you less than a foot away. You perk up when you notice him give you attention and lift your hands up, curling them around his shoulders.

"Um," he mutters, "what are you doing?"

"De-ad'nin," you say, leaning closer. Your eyes don't leave his. "Hmnik?"

"I don't...I can't understand you," he says again. You're waiting for him to do something, he can tell that much. He just doesn't know what you want.

You lean in even more, practically sharing breath. Damian can feel his cheeks warming, but curiosity overwhelms the impropriety, so he doesn't move away. You seem to take this as some sort of permission.

Closing the gap, you press your mouth to his, and Damian freezes.

Soft, he thinks. Your lips are soft. His hands twitch at his sides as he fights the urge to grab your waist, but you have no such reservations as you press yourself practically flush against him and prod at the seam of his mouth with your tongue. A frankly embarrassing whine leaves him, but Damian relents and starts kissing you back with the same level of enthusiasm you show him. Even though his gloves, he can tell that your hair is ridiculously soft as he runs his fingers through it. He's briefly lost in a flurry of sensations, overwhelmed by you, and just when blood starts redirecting itself to other places, you pull away again and clear your throat.

"You helped me," you murmur, slowly and steadily, like you're testing out the words as you say them. "You set me free. Thank you."

"...you're...welcome?" Damian pants, his mind still a little gooey. "Wait, that's English. You're — did you kiss me to learn English?"

"I did," you smile. "I needed to convey my gratitude in your common tongue. I hope I didn't offend you."

Offend was definitely not the word to use. He gently pulls his hands from your hair, but you make no move to separate, so he settles them on your waist instead.

"You're wounded," he says, tipping his head in the direction of your shoulder. The bleeding has slowed, but not stopped. "Let me take you somewhere to get that wrapped."

"Take me where?" You ask. "Not back to the laboratory?"

"No." He doesn't know what lab you're talking about, but he knows he would never willingly put you back in Luthor's hands. "A cave. It has a medical ward where you can have that cut stitched closed."

You seem to give it some thought, idly playing with the hair at the nape of Damian's neck. It takes so much more effort than he anticipates not to melt into it. Your bare skin against his almost burns. You're exceptionally warm, near-feverish.

"Yes," you eventually agree. "You are..." You tilt your head as you search for the right words to use. "Trustworthy. I will go with you there."

Damian relaxes. He presses a finger to his comm.

"Red Robin, send the Batmobile to my location for extraction. I'm bringing the metahuman to the Batcave."

[etheries1015]

(In Lilias dream) General Lilia X reader : Hidden pregnancy

General warnings: The reader mentioned being pregnant, but no pronouns are used. Situationship described, mention of heat...honestly, just a shitty scenario I half-baked when day-dreaming at work the other day. really self-indulgent and not my best work, but ima share it anyway. Cause'. I like the idea, even if I can't execute it very well. HAHAHA

"You" general Lilia pointed during the dream, startling you as you ate peacefully at the food you 'humans' had so kindly put together for the fae army. You looked up curiously and tilted your head, heart pounding in your chest at the sight of the beautiful man you had known to be important to you.

"You're pregnant. With a fae child, nonetheless." He said bluntly. The suddenness of his comment left your heart drop into the pit of your stomach, and you were immediately alarmed. With a loss of appetite and eyes wavering, you threw a panicked glance at Sebek and Silver; both who were staring at you with wide eyes and spoons halfway out their mouths.

You hadn't a clue that fae were able to tell such things. Questions swirled around your mind all at once: Did Lilia in reality realize this? or perhaps his magic and senses dwindled so much he hadn't taken much notice? What are you to say in response? However, there were more pressing issues to think of at the moment. And that was the way the two boys rushed to your side in shock, Silver grabbing your hands and looking you in the eyes earnestly.

"You...you're what..?" The silver-haired boy peered into your eyes with concern, "You're...pregnant? Is it...is it his?" You pursed your lips and held back tears that threatened to pour out of your melancholy orbs and your hands trembled with fear. You gave a nod in response. You could feel the gaze and judgment of the fae surrounding you, including Sebek, who knew well enough to hold his tongue at this moment where you seemed to be at the edge of a breakdown. Bauer, his grandfather, on the other hand, scoffed in almost disbelief at the mere notion a fae would copulate with a human. Such were the times in the dream that Lilia was having, however, you felt no true judgment wafting off of the long-haired general.

"Yeah. It's his. But...he wanted to leave and I ...need to go home. I can't.. I mean, I want to stay, with him, but I know that he is losing his magic and he wants to go to a faraway land, and I...I don't want to hold him back from doing what he wants. Besides, he believes he's too old to start parenting all over again, I just-"

You started going off on a nervous tangent, vomiting every word and excuse that came to your mind. Bauer made a snide and astonished comment about the situation, Sebek following suit not without a piercing glare from Lilia and a sneer of dissatisfaction. Uncertain how to proceed, Lilia moved past Silver and placed an uncertain and awkward hand on top of your head in an attempt to console you.

"Fae are eternally loyal to one mate. If your fae lover is noble and virtuous, he will not abandon you. Speak to him, perhaps there's a misunderstanding." You almost winced at the word "lover," for could you really classify your relationship with him as such? Of course, there were times of flirtiness, but you two felt comfortable in each other's presence (clearly). Yet...Lilia Vanrouge is a very mysterious man who worked in ways that will forever be unfathomable to you. He kept his relationships at arm's length, and you were not far behind. You just so happen to be there at the time of his heat, the instincts of two bodies craving affection indulging in primitive actions. So...what he felt about your...relationship...was beyond you.

General Lilia averted his rosey gaze from your own trembling orbs, your lips pursed and embarrassingly staring at the ground unable to make eye contact with the others.

He would have insisted you stay behind in your state, however felt compelled to bring you with him under the guise that he would better be able to keep a watchful eye on you in case this was some sort of ploy to induce some sort of surprise attack. However, it was obvious to any onlooker the way he tended to your needs, protect you from harms way, and at random inquired of your state. The rest of the army that followed him was in awe seeing their general practically 'dote' (for lack thereof better terms) on this random human who was impregnated, to their knowledge, by some other fae.

You wanted to hold on to the belief that he subconsciously knew the truth, even in this dream world, the Lilia you had come to love was attentively paying attention to your fragile state at all times.

And...somehow you knew that it would be alright.

[vaguely-concerned]

when spite describes itself in lucanis' journals, it seems to consistently use the wording 'a small shade'. self-identified 'just a little guy (threat)' fhsak. I really like that wording, though. a shade, something cut off from the wholeness and living light that is the fade and made a shadow cast by someone else in the real world. 'small', under threat, vulnerable, sort of scrappy (and perhaps a little pathetic but in a 'don't touch me I'll bite!!!' kind of way haha).

I'm so in my feelings over how in the last journal it/he describes the two of them as 'a small shade and a wounded spirit sitting together', though. he's so confused and frustrated about what's going on with lucanis at the beginning, but once rook explains that lucanis isn't intentionally fucking with him, he's just hurting, spite seems to understand and accept that pretty readily (if not without some initial 'ugh FINE physical reality rules are so DUMB bitch you guys live like this' frustration lol). lucanis' early statements that spite doesn't, can't or won't learn are obviously bullshit and the game basically tells you so the moment he says it haha, but you know what. that is some deep learning spite is doing, and in like a year of being in the physical world too. I know plenty of actual real adult human beings who are not capable of that level of insight.

and also, as an aside... I think it's pretty conclusively proven in the series that spirits do have the ability to change and learn all on their own when they get the opportunity to and that it gets turbocharged for good or ill when they're exposed to the physical world. but I also wonder if some of it is the other side of the two way connection. just as spite flows into lucanis, surely that must happen after some fashion the other way too. does spite have some access to/come into contact with lucanis' kneejerk empathy response? to be in opposition to something or someone is not the same thing as not understanding them or where they're coming from, after all. in fact sometimes that can amplify the 'no no trust me I get it I understand. but fuck you doubly for it actually you still suck that why only makes it worse', so I don't feel that would go against spite's nature, even. lucanis already has such an interesting relationship to his own empathy all on his own -- he's a prime example of how 'empathy' and 'compassion' are not inherently the same process and one need not accompany the other. when he's in contract mode, empathy is just a knife, a way to understand people deeply so he can stab them better and more efficiently. when he's in family mode, empathy is accompanied with enough tenderness and compassion and warmth that it makes me feel ill to consider and makes it a bit hard for him to stay with, sometimes. it's the same skill/instinct, but shows up differently based on the context he's in. sure why not drop a demon in there and see what happens I guess lol. 'smells like tears and lying' anyone. spite's response to meeting compassion out in the world is 'GOD no don't make eye contact keep walking this is so fucking cringe', but uh. there's no way for him to escape it within the bounds of the person he's been frankensteined into, is there. aaaah it's so interesting.

there's something so fascinating to me about two souls who are so close they can't help but reflect and bleed into each other, but also remain two separate entities who can look at each other. and be mutually protective about it, clearly. augh.

[siddyyyyyyyy]

OHH okay! Thank you for answering my question! Then, if you can, how would bat boys(or kyle lol) flirting with Mc, who at the end of the convo reveals that they have a kid(like 5yo) and would completely understand if they didn't wanted to take this further?

OR! OR OR OROR-

Imagine Mc is Bruce's daughter who was not involved in bat business and went abroad, hiding from the media with their partner, living their best life when all of the sudden, batfam visits and they both look at Mc and the baby in their arms and everyone's like "WDYM YOU HAVE A BABY AND WE NEVER KNEW- WDYM IT'S BEEN 3 MONTHS???" (basically the case that, you never showed the sighs of Pregnant went to labor and suddenly you have a kid you didn't even know existed til last minute. And in your panic and stress forgot to inform them but this is just what I think would happen you don't have to use it lol)

you don't have to do this lol, ty for taking time to read this<3 HAVE A GREAT DQYY!!

BATBOYS REACTING TO YOU HAVING A KID

pairing: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake x Reader (seperated) summary: Batboys flirt with you until they realise you have a small child warnings: none a/n: I didn't put Damian Wayne in here, I thought it felt a bit off, so I added Bruce to it! Thank you for the request, I chose the first option you described, but I'll maybe consider writing something for the second option. This is a little different from my usual format, but I made sure this still looks pretty and can be understandable. Thank you again and also have a great day!!!

BRUCE WAYNE

He saw you before, once, when he was Damian's dog out for a walk at the park nearby. At first, he didn't plan on flirting with you when Titus walked over and sniffed at your bag.

At first he was afraid you'd get scared when a Great Dane came your way and curiously sniffed at your handbag, but you didn't budge a muscle at him.

So, of course, Bruce came over to pick up the dog and hopefully not make you freak out. With a light jog, he quickly put the leash back on Titus, already looking sheepish at the situation.

"Sorry about him, he didn't scare you, did he?", but you seemed even amused at this. Maybe he underestimated you.

Soon enough, you got into a conversation, petted Titus gently, becoming even more fund of this big animal.

Bruce sat down beside you on the bench and kept talking to you, thinking you have a charming and kind personality. He'd be damned soon enough, he knows it.

That's how he started flirting with you; it started with subtle compliments until he couldn't help himself anymore. His nice words became progressively more direct, but still respectful as ever. All in all, he was sure he already got your heart.

That was until a small kid came up to you with a big smile, hands a bit dirty from the playing in the mud. That small human couldn't be older than five years old. He was confused for a moment as he watched the interaction between the two of you, eventually realising that is your kid.

God, he felt guilty. You were probably happily married with someone way better than him and just kept up with his flirting so you wouldn't come off as rude. Once the child went back to playing with the other group of kids on the playground, he tried his best to keep his embarrassment aside.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a kid. Well... I have four of my own, so..." He really doesn't know what to say. But you still remain kind and sweet, even though he was shamelessly flirting wtih you a second ago.

With a kind smile, you wave him off; "Oh, don't you worry. It was nice talking to you anyway. And you have kids of your own? How old are they?"

And that's how he continued talking to you, getting back to good terms and his embarrassment long forgotten. Seems like you both do have more in common than it seemed. Bruce couldn't be more happy than to keep talking to you and spend time, but you eventually parted ways after a longer while, with each other's phone numbers exchanged.

DICK GRAYSON

He was out with Damian to get ice cream when he saw you in the line, hoping he can get some quick excuse to talk with you alone. Yeah, Damian will annoy him for days about it and tell on him, but who cares? That's a one chance oppurtunity he's got there and he will use it.

Dick got Damian away by getting him into a cool book and supply store nearby, making his own way to you.

He didn't want to come off as too desperate or obvious, 'accidently' cutting you in line so he can strike a conversation with you in that way. You responded kindly to his small accident, waving him off politely.

The conversation started with him introducing himself shortly after, getting to know the basics about each other before he starts basically showering you with compliments. But he was trying to come off as subtle and charming as possible, which came naturally for him.

His light-hearted jokes and loving words seemed to work on you, so he didn't mind keeping this up while getting to know you more. Now with ice cream cones in your hands, you settled onto a table inside the cool shop and continued talking.

You got into more conversation once you sat down together and enjoyed the ice cream together, getting to know the other a little more once he stopped overflowing you with compliments.

But he got a bit confused when you got up to get another portion of ice cream, in a small cup with a sweet waffle in it. Curiously, he just had to ask you about it.

"Another ice cream?" It was more of a mutter to himself, but you still heard it when you sat down across from him again. "Oh, just for my son. He's playing there right now, but he told me to get him some ice cream aswell." You gesture towards the playground next to the ice cream shop, making him search for a small kid that could be yours.

Why didn't he notice earlier? It was so obvious now that he knows, why would someone get ice cream next to a playground anyway? He really tries to not think too much of it and get back on track, but he also didn't want to get into such a situation at all. But of course nothing ever goes his way.

Damian is next to him out of nowhere, asking him to go home. He probably got some books from that store he was just now, judging by the plastic bag in his hand.

"Is that your kid? You guys have the same nose. Cute." You smile sweetly at them, completely unaware of them being brothers. Dick shoots a pleading look to Damian, hoping he'll play along.

"Uh, yeah... that's Damian." Dick chuckles nervously and gets up from the chair, putting his hand on his shoulder. Damian looks more awkward than before, keeping his glare on you.

With the final excuse of Damian being tired, he gets out of the shop and hurries home, ignoring all the questions and annoyed remarks from Damian. He knows he probably should've been more careful, but now he just feels guilty for leaving so quickly and lying.

Eventually, he thought more about the situation. A kid doesn't sound so bad after all. So, without wasting any more time he made his way to the shop again, hoping you'll be there again, even when a few days have passed already.

JASON TODD

In all honesty, he wasn't fond of kids at the start. But it quickly changed when he was patrolling as Red Hood and just had to protect the kids in Crime Alley and at the area where he grew up in.

He met you in the local library, having spotted you at the romance section and he really didn't want to disturb you searching for a book at the moment.

He eventually got his courage and walked to the same section, trying to not come off as intimidating. It didn't work, you almost immediately got to the section next to it to search for... 'children books'? Whatever, he doesn't judge.

Jason tries to ignore you as he searches a book for himself, keeping his eyes on the shelf.

Days have passed and he spots you in the same section more often. It was interesting to him, how you just appeared there out of nowhere a few days back and now he wants to get to know you. Something like this never happened before, maybe he should just ignore it as well.

Finally, he got his courage up and decided to talk to you. With a book of his own in hand, he gets up to you, hoping he won't scare you away or become awkward all of a sudden in front of you.

He asks you about what books you recommend to him in the romance section and he is actually surprised to see how kindly you respond to him. But ignoring the small surprise, he just listens and nods along. Phrases as, "Oh, really? Yeah, I've also heard that one's good.", or "I've read that actually...", and a lot of "Okay, I'll keep that in mind."

He was really sweet to you as well, actually hoping you'll see him here more often whenever you visit the library for more books to read for your kid. And of course, Jason made sure to visit the place more often just to see you and read the books you recommended to him.

Eventually, he got to ask you out for a coffee date. But you declined, explaining you can't leave you kid alone for a longer time and apologise sincerely to him over and over again.

A kid? He was speechless for a moment before his heartbeat speeds up again. What the hell should he do? Is he even allowed to ask you out? After a brief explanation of your situation with your child, he relaxes and feels more hopeful again. In reality, he wants to keep seeing you and meet the kid. He's been told he is good with them after all.

And the day came when you introduced Jason to your daughter. It was a peaceful evening spent at your apartment with you three spending time together with some board games. Your daughter soon grew on him and she was actually more than sad when he had to leave for the night.

So, basically it's hard to tell who Jason is more fond of. Of course he adores you for who you are but your kid is just another ray of sunshine.

TIM DRAKE

Tim rarely got out for his own enjoyment but he is glad he did so that one time, because now he has someone to crush on. As stupid as it sounds, it's also true.

When he first saw you, he didn't think much about it. Just a regular person who also likes comics and other 'nerdy' stuff. But when he saw you reach for the same comic he actually wanted for a longer while, that's when he had to go up to you and talk. Not that he'd do that to every other person, but it seemeed like a good idea at the time.

You were so sweet to him, you even offered to let him have it, but he quickly declined and instead settled on a casual date to show you his collection. But there was this problem...

After a week of texting together and even sharing a few flirty comments, he was sure this could work out. Until you mentioned your son.

At first, he thought you might be joking, but he soon found out that you were honest and he tried to not come off as a total douche since he has no idea about kids.

You both settled on just going for walks for now and you even went with your sweet little kid together. Tim was unsure of the situation and made sure to set boundaries and find out if you even want to keep seeing each other. Of course, for once, whatever God there is, listened to him.

He got more comfortable around your son and found out that most comics are for him. A six-year-old reading comics about aliens and complex alien-politics? Well... he wasn't better at his age.

Soon, they both became really good friends and even better friends with you. Although he was still hesitant to make a move on you.

Either way, he is also happy with just helping you out and being close friends, even when the kid manages to impress him with his immense knoweledge about comics.

←MASTERLIST

[alexiethymia]

MaoMao's Way of Affection

[spoilers up until LN 12 and WN 10 so read at your own risk]

After such a long time, we finally get a hint of reciprocation when even without orders or prompting, it's MaoMao herself who seeks out Jinshi after the harrowing ordeal she went through.

I'm not sure how the WN will differ from the LN but her words with how she describes Jinshi's arms around her, "heavy but not immoveable" and Jinshi asking her to make him let her go and eventually opting not such that she ends up falling asleep in his arms actually perfectly describes their relationship.

Despite their problems, I do adore this relationship. On the one hand, you have Jinshi who ends up falling for someone who cares not a whit for his appearance. MaoMao is actually the perfect person for Jinshi to fall in love with because of his complex. Should he succeed, he can be assured that his looks had nothing to do with it. For the first time in his life, Jinshi can fight for something with his own above average, but not excellent capabilities.

And tropey as it is, I think MaoMao does have a soft spot for that slightly pathetic part of Jinshi. Honestly, to compare him to the person she respects most in the whole world? A daddy's girl through and through. In other words, MaoMao, even as she denies it, is not impenetrable to that earnest side of Jinshi and because of that, even as she might snark and say she's just following orders, she can't help but be his support - a useful tool rather than a useless burden.

I love how the both of them mature and progress and how the relationship reflects that. As compared to that forceful scene back in LN5, it's actually this innocent scene that cements the progress they've made and that they're slowly meeting each other halfway. Jinshi tries to restrain himself, and MaoMao, thanks to Chue, slowly stops trying to hide behind that convenient excuse.

Because the thing is, MaoMao is a hypocrite. In the same way, she rebukes Jinshi for not being clear, she also gets to hide behind vague half-truths. Why not say no once and for all? "I don't want to be your wife." Is it just because he's the Imperial Brother? Compare and contrast how she treats Grand Marshall Kan for example. And even if he is the Imperial Brother, MaoMao knows in her heart of hearts that Jinshi wouldn't ever punish her for rejecting him. She knows, after everything, that he just isn't that kind of person (the certainty that he wouldn't ever be involved in any assassination plots, the almost unconscious instinct to prevent something she knows Jinshi wouldn't want even if it might be for the good of the country or for her own safety as long as she plays dumb). I really do love how like Suiren, MaoMao is his ally. (No wonder mother-in-law Suiren approves.)

Isn't it more painful - for Jinshi - and more troublesome - for her - to continue to have this hanging between them? But MaoMao is only human. There are things she knows would be the best course of action as long as she operated solely on rationality, but unexpectedly, Jinshi - despite not knowing it - brings out that irrational part of her. She knows it would have been in her best interest (if her best interest truly was to escape the marriage) to just let Jinshi continue being vague, to not put a name to his intentions, she later realizes that this is Jinshi's own consideration for her, but her true emotions push forth. She knows it - what Jinshi feels for her, compares it to a lovestruck patron, so what gain does she get from hearing it verbalized out loud?

She struggles with his special consideration for her, the proof of deeper feelings, in his words and actions. I think she would be able to justify it in her mind and accept being his wife if she knew it was only because she was a useful tool. Because if so, then she could also justify it to herself that she was staying with him only because he was useful, that it was solely on the basis of reciprocity.

I mean the reality of the world they live in is that it's not a place to cultivate love. Marriages are political more often than not. Within MaoMao's way of looking at things, a marriage of convenience might have been more palatable. For Jinshi's part, I can see him being ready to accept that even if MaoMao does accept his proposal, she would marry him while not being in love with him. On the flip side, I think part of his strong motivation to break away from the Imperial family would be to remove, without a doubt, from MaoMao's mind that she would be punished for rejecting him since he would no longer have that power. In other words, part of Jinshi is ready for MaoMao to reject him but he wants it to be solely her choice. In other words, he would also want her to give it to him straight just like she demanded he do for her.

Speaking of special consideration, it is hard to say whether MaoMao's actions towards Jinshi are those she would do for any other patient (since she's actually softer than she gives herself credit for), but the things she does without orders are telling - like stroking his hair while putting him to sleep, kissing his cheek, ingesting something she knows she's allergic to without his knowledge for a plan to sniff out his enemies (pity this didn't make it to the LN), getting mad that his accomplishments were getting stolen from him despite him not caring about it, and glaringly - attempting to break a taboo the person she respects most in the world imposed on her, just so she can better take care of Jinshi. For all that MaoMao is comfortable in her place in the world and doesn't want to venture out of her comfort zone, calling it too troublesome, she does exceed a lot of her limits - true because of that unexpectedly strong sense of duty - but also because of or for Jinshi.

MaoMao acknowledges to herself at this point that no other person besides Jinshi can give her the same comfort. She does want to have a child someday, if only for the experience of giving birth. It may not be a burning passion, this may not be enough for her to call it love, but I can also see a scenario where she accepts Jinshi because he's the only one she would be comfortable with so that she can give birth. In other words, another convenient excuse. But conversely, even after succeeding in having MaoMao for a wife, I can see Jinshi still pushing because for once in his life he can fight his hardest and win or fail on his own merits and no one else's, and also simply put, he loves her and so he would want her to love him back. Even if it isn't the norm in the world they live in. He'd still want to continue fighting for that elusive flower. A perfect push and pull. In other words, it's up to them how they decide to meet each other half way. And I'm excited to see what the future holds for them.

[incognit0slut]

Much Ado About Nothing (Act II, Scene II: The Crazy Idea)

After being cornered by your friends, you find yourself in an even more complicated position due to your impulsive decision.

Part warning: none, just my bad attempt at crack humor Words: 2.6k A/n: If you paid attention, I've been using his gifs from season 9 so the timeline is somewhere along there. And while writing half of this, I realized Emily wasn't even on that season, but for the sake of fanfiction and pure imagination, let's ignore the human error of this stupid author. Thank you. Let me know what you think!!

SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

It took you exactly seven hours and fifteen minutes to finally gather the courage to head to Penelope's lair. The morning had been a blur of paperwork and reports, leaving you mentally drained and chained to your desk. But no matter how much work you plowed through, your mind kept drifting back to last night's disaster and how your friends had planned the whole thing.

Frustration wasn’t enough to describe how you felt. You found yourself gripping your pen so tightly it threatened to snap in your hand, and your fingers pounded the keyboard harder than necessary as you typed out reports.

Eventually, you found yourself daydreaming about ways to get back at them. You imagined a dozen different ways to plot your revenge, each more elaborate than the last, and although it provided a temporary sense of satisfaction, it wasn't enough. 

By the time you wrapped up your last report, your frustration had reached its peak. You decided you couldn't wait any longer. You headed to JJ's desk first, hoping to catch her and get some answers, but it was empty. With no sign of her anywhere and your patience wearing thin, there was only one other person who might have the answers you needed.

You made a beeline for Penelope’s office. The moment her door came into view, you knocked sharply and then entered without waiting for a response. You weren’t surprised when you found Penelope and JJ huddled over a monitor, their heads snapping up in sync at your abrupt entrance.

“There she is!” Penelope exclaimed, turning around in her chair. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh, really?” you replied, crossing your arms. “I wonder what could possibly be so interesting about me.”

Penelope and JJ exchanged a quick look, barely suppressing their chuckles. 

“How did it go last night?”

You groaned at the memory. “I can’t believe you guys tricked me!”

JJ laughed and turned to you, her expression almost apologetic. “Look, we’re sorry, okay? We just thought it would be…” she looked over at Penelope, trying to come up for a word before settling with, “Fun.”

“Fun?” You exclaimed. “Manipulating your friends into awkward situations is your idea of fun?“

Penelope waved her hand dismissively. “It couldn't have been that bad. Did you guys talk it out?”

You stared at her pointedly as if the idea of you having that conversation with him was absurd.

“No.”

“Did he apologize for anything?”

“No.”

“Come on, there had to be some deep, meaningful conversation,” JJ chimed in, trying to hold back a grin.

You scoffed. “No.”

“Did he walk you home?”

“No—wait, yes, he did,” you admitted, recalling the memory. “But he complained the whole time about how inefficient my route was and how there were, and I quote, statistically shorter paths to my apartment.”

“How sweet of him,” Penelope observed, deciding to ignore the last part of your rant. Then she wiggled her eyebrows. “Did he lean in for a goodnight kiss?”

“What? No!” You sat on the only empty chair in the room, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “Nothing happened.”

“Did he at least say something sweet when he walked you home?” Penelope prodded, trying to dig deeper.

You shook your head, a resigned sigh escaping you. “No, because it was nothing like that. We talked, we ate, he walked me home. That’s it.”

“Sounds like the start of something to me.”

“Totally the start of something,” Penelope nodded enthusiastically.

You rolled your eyes. “There’s nothing to start because we can’t even stand each other.”

“Well you know what they say,” Penelope sang. “There’s a thin line between love and hate.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, trying not to show how unnerving her assumptions were. "That's ridiculous."

“But he walked you home,” she pointed out.

“So?”

“So that’s got to be something,” JJ joined in. “Spencer’s not exactly known for going out of his way unless he wants to.”

“He was just being polite,” you insisted, feeling cornered. “He walked me home because my apartment was on the way to his place.”

Penelope tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, on his way, or making a way?”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling a headache brewing. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Maybe he’s being subtle about it,” JJ suggested, trying to sound reasonable. “He’s not that forward when it comes to expressing his feelings.”

“No, guys, it wasn’t anything like that,” you insisted, your voice rising slightly in frustration as your eyes moved between the two of them. The room felt smaller with each passing second, the walls closing in as they stared at you expectantly. They were enjoying this way too much.

“Oh, but it could be,” Penelope persisted. “You’re both single, smart, attractive people who spend a lot of time together.”

“You two are unbelievable.”

“It’s okay, you can tell us,” she continued, her voice softer now as she reached out to pat your hand. “We’re your friends, and if there’s something more, we’d love to support you.”

“Or if you prefer to keep it a secret, we won’t tell anyone.”

“Exactly. You can trust us. We’re really good at keeping secrets.”

“So good.”

“So good.”

Your patience snapped, frustration and pressure boiling over. “Fine! Yes! We’re going on another date!” You blurted out, the lie spilling out in a moment of desperation before you could stop. “Happy now?”

Silence fell over the room as Penelope and JJ stared at you, stunned. Then slowly, realization dawned on their faces, and a chorus of excited squeals filled the air.

“Oh, I knew it!” Penelope exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight.

JJ grinned at you. “Really?”

The weight of your words hit you like a cold splash of water.

What had you just done?

“This is so exciting!” Penelope gushed, her enthusiasm mounting. Then she turned to you. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

You suddenly felt a wave of panic. You scanned their faces, seeing only genuine excitement and curiosity, no hint of doubt and discomfort swelling inside you. How could you explain that there was nothing to tell because there was no second date? That it was just a knee-jerk reaction to their relentless teasing? You couldn't possibly confess now, not without making everything infinitely worse.

But how were supposed to tell him? The idea of deceiving not just your friends but also involving Spencer in this lie made you feel sick. The room seemed to spin as you tried to come up with some way to ease the damage.

“I... I wanted it to be a surprise?” You managed to say, although the words sounded more like a question. Your lie felt hollow even to your own ears, but Penelope and JJ seemed to buy it, nodding and exchanging excited glances.

“This is going to be amazing,” Penelope said, practically bouncing in her chair. “So when’s the next date?”

Your mind raced. For there to be a next date, even a pretend one, you needed to talk to him. The realization hit you hard, the full weight of the lie you'd just created sinking in. You'd have to involve him in this deception and the thought made you feel queasy. You imagined the awkward conversation, the look of confusion—and likely frustration—on his face. This was going to be a mess.

You opened your mouth, then closed it, scrambling for a response. “Uh, soon. I-I’ve got to go talk to him about it, actually.”

Penelope’s eyes lit up even more. “Oh, planning it together! That’s so sweet!”

You forced a smile, slowly rising from your seat. “Yeah, super sweet,” you mumbled, your voice barely steady. You could feel your cheeks burning as you stumbled over your lies. “I, uh, better go find him now.”

Without waiting for a response, you bolted out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You mentally kicked yourself with every step. You had let them get to you, allowing their teasing to push you into this mess. You couldn’t believe you had let yourself get caught up in this lie.

You paused in the hallway, briefly considering turning back and telling them the truth. The thought lingered for a moment, the idea of ending this charade before it spiraled further out of control. But you quickly shook your head, knowing that backtracking now would only make things worse. You could already imagine how unbearable the teasing and explanations would be.

No, you’ve gone too far to back out now.

Continuing down the hallway, your steps quickened as you searched for him. You finally spotted him by the pantry, absentmindedly pouring too much sugar into his coffee. You walked up to him and leaned against the counter, watching him stir his coffee with more force than necessary.

“I did something stupid,” you blurted out, catching his attention. He looked up before glancing back down at his cup.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“No, listen.” You leaned in closer, lowering your voice. “It’s about last night.”

He finally looked at you, eyebrows raised, clearly surprised as to why you would bring up anything from last night.

“What about last night?” He asked, bringing his cup to his lips.

The words tumbled out in a rush. “I was with JJ and Garcia, and they were teasing me about us, how we supposedly have this… thing going on now. I couldn’t take it anymore. So…” You watched him take a sip of his coffee. “…I told them we’re going on another date.”

He choked, the drink catching in his throat. Coughing, he set the cup down with a sharp clatter, his eyes watering slightly as he regained his composure.

“You told them what?”

“I didn’t know what else to do!” You rushed to explain. “They wouldn’t stop pushing and I just wanted them to shut up. I thought if I said something like that, they’d just leave me alone. But now they expect details, and I… I need your help.”

He took a deep breath, trying to process what you were asking of him. “Let me get this straight. You, of all people, told them we’re going on another date, knowing full well how we—” He paused, searching for the right words. “How we don’t get along. And now you want me to help you keep up this lie?”

You nodded, and he called out your name in frustration.

"Last night wasn't even a date!”

“I know! The words just… came out.” When you saw him shake his head disapprovingly, you let out a groan. “I’m not thrilled about it either, okay? But I’m kind of… desperate here.”

Spencer took another sip of his coffee, his eyes never leaving yours. After a moment, he set the cup down, gripping it in his hand.

“No.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “No?”

“No,” he confirmed before turning around, walking back to his desk. “I’m not going to help you.”

You shuffled along, trying to match his pace. “Why not? This could actually get them to stop.”

“Do you even hear yourself? This is crazy. You can’t just spin lies and drag me into them because you want to avoid a little teasing,” he retorted, sitting down and starting to shuffle through some papers on his desk, clearly trying to end the conversation.

“It’s not a little teasing! They’re relentless,” You pressed, leaning against his desk. “Come on, don’t you ever get tired of them trying to set us up?”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend to date you. What’s next? A fake wedding?”

“Don’t be dramatic. We just need to show up together a couple of times, act mildly interested in each other, and then we can break up. We fake it, we tell them it didn’t work out, and we move on. It’s simple.”

“Of course, because nothing says ‘simple’ like faking an entire relationship.”

You crossed your arms and took a deep, calming breath. “Look, I know it’s not the greatest plan, but can you think of a better way to get them off our backs?”

Spencer stared at you, his eyes narrowing as he considered your words. “You realize you’re trying to deceive a team of profilers, right?”

He had a point, but you weren’t about to back down. “Wasn’t this your whole idea in the first place?”

“My idea was for us to act like we get along, not pretend that we’re in love.”

“It doesn’t even have to be convincing,” you argued, leaning in slightly. “Just enough to make them back off for a while. Besides, if you start laying it on too thick, they’ll never believe it. They know you don’t have much experience to begin with.”

Spencer looked offended, his brows knitting together. “I have experience,” he countered. “Just because I’m not flaunting it doesn’t mean I’m completely clueless.”

“Oh, yeah? When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and when you noticed the sudden change in his demeanor, you realized what you had just implied. There was a tensed pause as you both stared at each other. You both knew the answer to that question, and you both knew you were treading dangerous territory.

But before either of you could break the silence, a voice cut through the tension. “What are you two lovebirds fighting about now?”

You turned to see Derek standing by his own desk, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. And then you saw it, an opportunity. If Spencer wasn’t going to agree to help willingly, you were going to take matters into your own hands.

You straightened your shoulders and faced Derek. “We need to tell you something.”

Spencer sensed what you were about to do and quickly stood up. “Wait—“

“Reid and I are dating.”

You heard Spencer take a sharp inhale. There was no turning back. The nerves in your stomach tightened, but you decided to ignore it and focus your attention on Derek instead. His eyes widened in surprise, looking between the two of you.

“You’re serious?”

“Yes,” you said firmly, crossing your arms and standing your ground, while Spencer remained silent beside you, his expression unreadable. “We decided to give it a shot.”

“At dating? As in romantically?”

“I don’t think there’s another way to describe it.”

Derek stared at you both for a moment longer, then his shock gave way to a broad grin. “Finally.” He let out an amused laugh “Took you two long enough.”

He approached with a playful swagger, clapping Spencer on the shoulder and ruffling your hair, which you quickly swatted away. “Can’t say that I’m surprised, but congratulations.”

Spencer looked at you, and you glanced back at him. Derek, oblivious to the tension between you two, grinned widely.

“I guess all that tension was just unresolved passion, huh?”

Your eyes snapped at him. “Morgan!”

“Alright, alright.” He raised his hands in mock surrender, still wearing a broad smile. “I’m just happy for you both. Seriously.”

You stared at him, bracing yourself for more teasing, perhaps a joke about what supposedly happened last night, or worse, something embarrassingly inappropriate. But to your surprise, Derek didn’t press further. Instead, he simply nodded with a genuine smile and returned to his desk, resuming his work.

You and Spencer stood there, dumbfounded, not quite sure how to process the sudden shift. You both were so used to his relentless teasing that his quick exit left you momentarily speechless.

You slightly leaned towards him as you continued to stare at Derek hunched over his desk.

“Do you hear that noise?” You whispered.

“What noise?”

“Exactly. This is the sound of peace,” you replied with a slight grin, turning back to Spencer. “See? This is already working. If we keep this up, we can finally get them off our backs.”

“I still think this is a bad idea,” he muttered, giving you a pointed look.

“Do you have a better plan?” you challenged, raising an eyebrow. “Because I’m all ears if you do.”

Spencer sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. He studied you for a moment, his eyes searching your face as if weighing the pros and cons. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this…” He trailed off, looking genuinely conflicted. “This is going to backfire, you know that, right?”

Sure, he could be right, but at the same time, you believed this plan was harmless. It seemed like a simple solution: a fake relationship played out convincingly enough to appease your friends. It was supposed to be straightforward—an act, a performance without real consequences. Nothing could go wrong if you controlled the narrative.

You finally looked up at him. “Don’t worry,” you said, trying to sound confident. “It won’t.”

But as the words left your mouth, you realized, you weren't entirely convinced.

[venti-tangents]

General Rafayel Relationship Headcanons

F!MC, no use of Y/N. These are based on my interpretation of the text in Love and Deepspace

sfw

1. His works contains traces of his MC almost everywhere. Rafayel is known for not drawing humans, but that doesn’t stop him form incorporating his lover in everything he creates. Those who look closely will find the flow of the painted ocean to be similar to the flow of her hair, the colours of the fish lifted directly from her wardrobe—Rafayel’s devotion is clear in his paintings, for all to see.

Intertidal zone reveled a lot about how Raf gets inspiration for his craft—and how much of it comes form his MC (sometimes to the point where it concerns him)

2. He wants be around his lover at all times. They don’t have to be talking, touching or even directly interacting—just her presence is enough for him.

3. Cuddliest boyfriend on the planet. I think it takes a bit for his super cuddly side to come out, but when it does, he is almost always attached to his MC. He’s addicted to her warmth, and loves how soft she feels in his arms. Perhaps a small, yet ever growing part of him feels as though she will never forget him again, so long as he can keep her in his arms.

I just know that the MC and Rafayel are most annoying couple you know, if the recent event stories are anything to go by lol. They’re all over each other all the time

Abyssal Chaos gave us rafmc cuddling in front of a window, Tailwag Obsession gave us rafmc cuddling on the floor with a cat by their side, the list goes on and on

4. Banter never ends with this guy. No matter how long him and his MC have been together. On the other hand, long, philosophical discussions are also common place.

5. Raf can canonically sense his MC’s emotions. I read him to be incredibly emotionally mature, and knowing of what his MC needs, and how to provide it to her.

In many of his 4 star audio cards, Raf is shown taking care of MC emotionally. He pulls back when she needs quiet (Rainbow Strokes), is pushy when she’s hesitant, is reassuring when she feels insecure (flowery words). He pulls her out of the house when she’s down(sparkling traces), he lulls her to sleep when she needs him to (sleep aid, memory replay)

6. On the flip side, I think Rafayel loves to be pampered. He melts so easily when his MC provides him with reassuring words and actions (Omniscient perception, intertidal zone, sea god event story).

7. This is a bit of an underdeveloped thought in my head, but Rafayel has a rather possessive side, as shown in his most recent stories. The lumarian words he uses to describe his feelings for the MC literally translates to “You’re mine,” and he talks a lot about leaving his “mark” or “colour” on her.

I think he also likes being claimed by the MC—he wants her to possess him just as much as he possesses her. I wonder if part of this comes from his fear of taking too much from the MC, wanting too much from her, so her being possessive over him calms those fears

nsfw

1. I used to think of Raf as a switch top, but as I learned more about him, I would say he’s mostly a vanilla (no power exchange) verse (tops and bottoms/ gives and receives).

In other words, I think him and his MC don’t really exchange power in their dynamic outside of the sea god - devout follower bond. I think they’re very back and forth about giving and receiving, leading and following in almost every interaction they have.

When him and his MC do decide to play with power dynamics in bed, I think he leans towards taking the dominant role; as much as I love subby Raf, I can’t recall a time in the game where he *truly* summits to MC (in the context of bdsm dynamics). Even when the MC attempts to take control, he flips the dynamic the second she falters. Even when she ties him up (ie. Tipsy Invitation, Promised Wildfire), he makes demands of her in a way that goes further then provocation.

I’ve spoken on this before, back when gem affection came out, but I think Rafayel gets off on “turning the tables” on his lover. Very siren like of him

2. Body worship. He’s absolutely enamored with his lover’s body, obsessed with every part of it. He’ll leave kisses everywhere, so that even if his lover forgets him, her body will never forget his touch

On the other hand, he would love to have his body worshiped too. He wants his lover’s touch *everywhere*, to the point where he finds himself feeling the ghost of her lips all over his body long after their last encounter. In the moment, it serves as a reminder of her obsession with him, that his devotion is reciprocated. He is a god after all—what’s the job of a devout follower if not to worship her god.

3. Scent Kink. He’s OBSESSED with how his lover smells.

4. The biggest tease to ever tease. Off the top of my head, I think of fiery undercuts, but he’s a huge tease in all of his cards

5. I read Rafayel as an incredibly passionate lover. I think to him, intimacy is sacred—it’s not just pleasure to him, but rather him and his lover surrendering themselves to one another. It’s deeply romantic to him, and an exercise in trust

[planetdream]

AN EVENING IN THE WOODS !

CHARACTERS ! werewolf!bang chan, human!reader

GENRE ! horror/thriller but barely, smut [minors dni]

WORDS ! 3.3k

SYNOPSIS ! on a drunken game night, you're dared to take a little stroll through the woods after rumors of a werewolf lurking through the town.

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! more thriller than horror i think. mentions of alcohol. being chased/stalked; mentions of being 'kept'. reader desc. wearing long skirt + called 'good girl'. smut [dubcon(?)—reader is basically being used. d/s dynamics—predator versus prey. possessiveness. [rough] sex in the woods. monsterfucking ig. large cock channie <3. pussy eating. facefucking. cumplay + creampie. belly bulge oops. dumbification(?) growling..] used the word 'beast' a lot oops. it gets weird idk

💌 ngl...i think i forgot how to write smut u guys... this is partially inspired by a brief part in house of leaves by mark z. danielewski, but like, not really at all iykyk. anyway, as u kno, i always appreciate feedback <3

There’s a big difference between vampire hunters and werewolf hunters. The creatures are different from each other in both ferocity and nature; thus, the study and hunt of them will differ based on several factors. Hunters of said creatures are expected to know what to do in situations in which they are faced with such foul beasts. You, quite frankly, are neither a vampire nor a werewolf hunter. Inexperienced to the point where you couldn’t begin to imagine what you would do if faced with anything that is such a monstrous terror, let alone a werewolf. Yet, here you are, prancing around the cold forest like a delicious piece of meat, praying that you don’t cross paths with anything—man or beast.

About a month ago, men and women alike began disappearing from town in the late hours of the night, not to be seen or heard from again. In the following weeks, numbers of missing people have only risen, leading many to believe that there might be a serial killer on the loose. That, however, was only until word got around that a town drunkard had seen what he could only describe as a ‘terrifyingly large rabid dog’. ‘It had to be about six feet tall just standing there’, he said, swearing solemnly, even vowing to quit drinking in an effort to portray his seriousness. The man wept, “It was one of them werewolves. I swear by it.” 

Only from there did word travel through the town. Though, no one believed the drunk old man, laughing at his testimony—‘A werewolf? In this town? That’s impossible’—some treating it as some fable, or a game, even. Which is what leads to you, alone, in the woods tonight. A fun game of truth or dare with your friends—being a chronic truth picker, tonight (with a little liquid courage) you decide that you want nothing but to humor your associates, you chose dare—turns into you blindly making your way into the dark forest with nothing but a lamp, pocket knife, and a few neon stickers to help you make your way back; and that’s only if you’re not murdered. 

By the looks of it, the surrounding forest is empty. The only sounds come from the rustling of tree leaves mingling together due to the wind, the sounds of birds squawking in the far distance, and the snapping and crunching of twigs and leaves beneath your shoes. You trek your way through the trees and dirt extremely unnerved. Nothing has happened at all, and although you’re thankfully still alive and breathing, making your way through the clutter of trees and dead wood, you cannot help but be a bit frightened about the dreariness and uncertainty of the situation. 

It’s a cold night, predicted to snow a bit; temperature dropping lower and lower with each hour that falls. The sun had set a while ago and the purple-orange hue leftover has now faded from blue into black. And while the stars are beginning to show themselves—pristine and beautiful—the dark sky only adds to the dreariness of your walk through the forest. The sudden additional silence is eerie, nature has stilled completely. Although the echo of stillness is inexplicable, unusual; it comforts you—knowing that you would hear your assailant coming, should you come close to being attacked. 

When looking at your watch, you find that you’ve only been in the forest for fifteen of the required thirty minutes—it’s very possible that you can go the distance, turning on your heels and deciding to make your fifteen minute walk back to the edge of the dark forest; and most importantly, to safety. After all, your friends must be worried about you by now; maybe even surprised that you’ve really stuck to the dare. In a matter of minutes, this will be all over and you will be resting at home.

You had to have been walking in one straight direction, right? Maybe because it’s dark, and you, admittedly, have drunk quite a bit, but the placemarkers you remember sticking to the trees along your path are nowhere to be found. The light of your lamp shines against tree after tree, but they remain in their natural state, unchanged. Your eyes widen, heartbeat increasing as you look at the leftover placemarkers you hold in your hand, only six remaining of your original twenty—so you know you’ve used them. 

You stop in your tracks, not willing to venture any further than you already have. Mind racing, scanning and assessing all the possible things you can do, slowly slipping into a panic. You could scream as loud as you can, vocally expressing your need for rescue; but how likely is it that you’ll be heard, especially given how deep into this unchanging landscape you are. Perhaps you can continue walking ahead, only praying that you make your way out unharmed—after all, safety should have been just a fifteen minute walk ahead.

As you lift your foot a few centimeters off of the ground to make your first step, through the darkness of the forest and out of your peripherals, you swear you see a large shadow for just a split second—lurched over and next to a thick tree to your right. A chill runs down your spine and you shudder as you realize the presence of this creature; intimidating and dominant. Taking no chances, feet hitting the ground hard as you sprint through the woods, doing your best to escape this nightmare; real or otherwise. 

The action of running when you feel like you’re being chased, versus running because you are being chased, are quite similar. It’s all instinct, a gut feeling that you jump on, increased heart rate; it’s choosing to flee rather than to fight. The difference, in this moment, you realize, is the definite risk of getting caught. The consequences could prove to be unsatisfactory, at the very least, if you were to be caught by whatever it is that may be following after you. Although, looking behind, there’s nothing in sight—no sign of disaster nor danger. You continue along, albeit a lot slower than before, attempting to catch your breath a bit. Walking off trail just a bit to slow down and assess your next course of action. 

The snapping of a twig within your vicinity has you darting from the temporary hiding place. However, the predator is right on your trail, persisting in its hunt for flesh. You weave your way through the woods, brain firing off about escaping quickly without harm. The chase does not last long, though. One misstep taking you down, tumbling. Briefly, in your panic, you appear to meet eyes with the foul beast. Fear lodged in your throat, dry and brittle—crumbling into tiny little pieces that pester your insides like a million tiny beetles finding a dark, cavernous home. Stomach clenching, seizing as you cower in submission to your terror. Hands buried into the freshly fallen snow—previous footsteps already blanketed over and long gone. Never have you thought you would give up so easily; unsure if you’ve got it within you to fight back in the absolute worst case. 

Body stuck in place, paralyzed with fear once you hear the snow behind you crunch, a sign that the creature is inching closer to you. It’s like your life flashes before your eyes once you feel the snout of the creature pressed against the back of your neck, heat blowing against the back of your neck, followed by a short, deep snarl emitting from within the beast. The large presence behind you is undeniable. The way the creature towers over you is horrifying—a domineering and overbearing sense of power, exuding pride and strength in the form of body heat. It circles you, though you are too terrified to look towards it, despite the daring growl it emits. Heart racing, nearly about to jump out of your chest and run away itself. The creature begins to circle around you, and out of the corner of your eye you can see its feet—huge black paws. Oh great! You’ll be eaten alive. 

But then the feet of the beast turns into man, and slowly you raise your face to get a good look at its true face. He starts off as a blur initially, but the longer you look at him, the more recognizable he becomes. A face you’ve always seen lurking around town. Though despite the area being rather small, you’ve never formally interacted—only stared at each other from a distance then kept it moving. Tonight, however, you finally decided to walk up to him at the local bar whilst with friends, only for him to walk away without a word. ‘Oh, him? Yeah, Chan is just like that.’

“Mmm. What’s that smell?” Chan asks while humming. Arms caging you in against the tree as he presses his nose against your neck, right near a particularly sweet spot. “Smells heavenly. So sweet and delicious.” 

He continues to sniff you out, planting a small kiss to your neck before traveling lower, nose now pressed to the fabric of your clothing. Face pressed in between the valley of your breast, Chan takes a long, deep inhale. His eyes are closed as he pulls back, slightly smirking with clear contentment. Chan takes the material of your shirt pinched between his fingertips before tearing the shirt down the middle, groaning at your now exposed chest. His hands cup your tits, thumbs teasing at your nipples, as he runs his nose down the valley, before swiping back up with his tongue. 

Chan isn’t done, nose still pressed against your skin as he sinks down to his knees. Rough hands cupping your ass, squeezing, as he stops—nose pressed against your mound, breathing you in while trying to pull you closer, finally finding the source of that sweet, heavenly scent. He’s breathing heavily to the point that you can feel his hot breath against your skin through the thin material of your skirt; snarling as he takes in your scent. And he’s mumbling something down there—pussy hungry words about how fucking delectable you smell. Perfect to devour. 

Contrary to the petrifying circumstance, the rush of adrenaline you get in the moment is euphoric and exhilarating. Chan’s touch is hot against you, almost scorching, and leaves you wanting—no, needing more of him. 

He hikes up the long length of your skirt with ease, throwing your leg over his shoulder to force your hips towards his face, diving face first into your cunt. Tongue lapping up hungrily at your wetness, moaning and groaning without a care in the world as he gets the first taste of his meal. Plump lips sucking your clit, vibrating when he moans, causing you to shake and squirm, but Chan has a strong grip against you. He’s messy as he eats you—occasionally breaking free, not for air, but to spit against your cunt—as the lower half of his face is covered in your nectar; which he hopes never washes off, absolutely frenzied by your scent, cock hard and leaking cum, jumping at the thought of finally getting to fuck his cock into this sweet little cunt. 

While Chan is usually a patient man, having no problem in waiting—stalking his prey and then teasing them for hours upon hours on end—he finds himself struck with need. A particular need to feast. To fuck and destroy his prey. Days and days of stalking you, taunting you from afar, and you played right into his palm—obviously fated to be found afraid and lost, deep in his territory. It is at this point he thinks to keep you. Perhaps hide you away somewhere cold and dark where only he’d be able to find you. Keeping you bound to him until he gets sick of you—or until you cease to exist. Aching to fuck you over and over and over again until it becomes too difficult for you to even think about moving a muscle, succumbing fully to his torturous pleasure. He stops himself from thinking too far ahead all too soon, clearly entranced by the sweetness of your cunt. 

Chan springs to his feet; cock heavy, hard and curving to the right, tip swelling red with need and dripping with precum. Your eyes are glued to his cock as you watch him massage his right hand over it; even in his big palms his cock is huge. The excitement to take him spreads from the pit of your stomach and up your chest, visualizing into the form of goosebumps all over your arms. He just laughs at the look on your face; how equally intrigued and dismayed you appear. A perfect little lamb stalked and caught by the big bad wolf, unable to flee due to their own fascination despite their fright. 

Chan leans in, his lips against yours briefly. A hand curling into your hair to bring you down to your knees, you follow suit. His hand stays tangled in your hair, pulling harshly against your scalp. With his other hand, Chan strokes his cock, running his thumb over the tip; then pulling your head towards his tip. Eagerly, your tongue slips from your mouth, ready to taste everything he’s giving you. You swirl your tongue around him, but Chan has other plans, slowly sliding his cock into your mouth; helping you savor the slightly salty taste of his seed. Fixing your mouth open as wide as it can go, with both hands now tangled into your hair, he thrusts his cock in and out of your mouth, slowly increasing the speed of his thrust. 

“You just take it like a good girl, huh?” You don’t say anything, but that dazed look in your eye and the moan that escapes from deep in your throat tells Chan all he needs to know. 

“Perfect little mouth, but I bet that pussy is even better.” Chan frees his cock from your mouth with a trail of spit. His hand around his cock once again, the slick sound like music to your ears. Though, it’s at this point that the cold air is starting to get to you—the snow is light but still continuous—yet you power through it for just another taste of Chan. 

“Want you so bad,” You bite your lip, looking into his eyes, eyebrows furrowed together. You stand and stretch to turn your back to him, looking over your shoulder as you wiggle your backside towards him like a bitch in heat. Chan smirks at you, a small laugh erupting from him at the sight of your shamelessness.   

In the heat of the moment, Chan licks the palm of his hand before bringing it down to rub at your cunt from behind. He doesn’t say anything, but you can hear a long, deep snarl come from within his chest. The closer he gets to you, the louder the growl echoes, and the more he warms you with his body heat—caging you in against the tree. You grind into his hand, greedily taking anything he gives you. While Chan is steadily becoming just as impatient as you, he always spares time to play with his food; teasing the tip of his cock against your slit. Chan slowly slides into your cunt—a rough hand clenching onto your hip, nails digging into your skin; not nearly enough to keep him from losing his cool as your wetness encases his cock, wet and tight. 

You’re barely taking half of his dick before the stretch of it nearly becomes too much—but he’s one step ahead of you; arm snakes across your belly and down to your cunt, two wet fingers ready to play with your clit. Chan works his fingers against your clit slowly winding you up, all while planting a quick kiss against your shoulder; tongue drooling out to lick a long wet stripe against your neck. It’s only once he receives a moan from you in response that he starts thrusting into you slowly; the thrusts of his hips syncing with the movement of his fingers. 

It isn’t long before you’re taking more and more of his cock, being stuffed and stretched deliciously. Cunt leaking and begging for more of him. Chan lets out these harsh growls and grunts that contrast with the pitch of your moans. His nails dig into your hips, using a minimal amount of strength to pull your hips back against him, making you meet his thrusts. His hips smack against your ass roughly, cock stretching you further, but your cunt swallows every inch perfectly. That’s only until he slides out of you, wordless, yet, still letting out a snarl. He pushes you onto the ground, hands and knees crashing into the new layers of snow. You yelp out in response, but Chan can only laugh at you. 

“Just letting me push you around like this? I think I should keep you,” He follows you, kneeling onto the ground, cock in hand. Laying  a quick smack at your ass, he hums. “How would you feel about being my little plaything, huh?”

His free hand kneads against your ass while he plays with his cock. “Keep you locked up with me ‘n only let you out in these woods at night, hmm? All cute ‘n naked for me to hunt down and fuck again.”

“And you can’t even hide cause I’ll always find you, pretty.” He finally slides into your cunt, still not letting you have all of him, yet. “How does that sound? Do you like it?”

His words are filthy and so are his touches but somehow he’s got you entranced. You let out a loud, cracked sob of a yes in response to his inquiries as if he bullied it out of you. “Good girl.” 

Chan finally allows himself to break—hips snapping harshly into yours. Not caring if you go limp from the way he’s fucking into you, instead his hands are once again clenching your hips, grinding his hips against your ass whenever he thrusts his cock back into you. Your fists clutching onto the snow as you take his cock, unable to do much but drool and mewl for him. 

He presses his chest across your back, caging you onto the cold ground. His tongue once again flat against your skin, licking every inch of what exposed skin he has access to. Still pounding into you as he chases his impending orgasm. Then he sinks his teeth into the skin of your shoulder, letting out a whine rather than the usual growl as he fucks his cum into you. It’s hot, sticky, and heavy—and it seems like it’s unending; seemingly producing more and more as he pumps his cock into you. Slowly Chan reaches a hand down to press against your lower abdomen; feeling how your belly swells with all the cum his cock is feeding your cunt. 

You moan at the feeling when Chan pulls out of you with a sigh of exhaust. Cum coating his cock and spilling out of your cunt, staining your thighs. So much of his seed has spilled out and he’s no longer stuffing you with his cock, but yet you feel so full. Chan continues to incite, two thick fingers dip into your cunt to scoop up and play with the excess cum that’s dripping from your hole. 

Chan pulls you back to him by your arms, caging you against his chest. He whispers to you. “What if we played a fun little game, hm?”

He grips your chin and those same two digits that were once inside of you, force into your mouth, offering you another taste of Chan’s cum. There’s a hint of a smile in his voice, “Let’s say, I give you a ten second head start to run.”

Chan kisses the back of your neck and a chill runs down your spine. “The ten seconds start now.” 

He frees you from his hold, and springs to his feet leaving you dumbfounded. But by the time you stand and face the direction of Chan, legs weak and cold, he’s no longer there.

It seems his fun little game has officially started. 

© PLANETDREAM 2024

[yandere--stuck]

Imagine: Familal Yandere Stanford AND Platonic Yandere Bill, who are both obsessed with Dipper and Mabel.

REAL AS HELLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

---

“Isn't this great?” Grunkle Ford asked, taking a seat beside Dipper on the Living Human Flesh couch. 

Dipper ducked away from a six-fingered hand attempting to ruffle his hair. “That's certainly an adjective you could use to describe this situation.”

“WOW!” Bill shouted (as if he had any other means of emoting.) “A three and four-syllable word in a row! He really is a chip off the ol’ block, Sixer.”

Dipper could feel Grunkle Ford Stanford's eyes on him, practically beaming at the thought that he and his grand nephew were so alike, so much so that they could be considered father and son. Never mind that it was said by an interdimensional demon.

An interdimensional demon that also happened to be currently braiding his sister's hair as they sat in front of a fireplace in the ‘penthouse suite’ of the Fearamid.

One might even think it a sweet moment between an odd family. Two great uncles, one attempting connection with his nephew, the other lounging in a recliner and trying to pretend everything was normal. And his sister, being doted on by what was one of the most powerful beings in the universe, if not every universe. Mabel might have looked happy to anyone looking in from the outside, but Dipper knew his sister better than he knew himself. If she were truly happy, she'd be grinning ear-to-ear, gabbing a mile a minute, talking to Bill about all the hair styles they could try and how he should manifest himself some hair so she could braid him next.

But no, she simply sat in silence and let Bill work through her locks. She forced a smile and stared into the fireplace, flinching whenever Bill moved too fast.

It made Dipper sick.

And maybe, maybe all of this could have been passable if this were something Stanford had been forced to do in the heat of the moment. Something he'd regretted. And that's what he claimed.

But Dipper knew. He knew Stanford was lying. He was enjoying all of this too much for him to regret it. How stupid was Dipper to think that the biggest con artist in their family was Grunkle Stan when it was the guy grinning in his face, yucking it up in the face of destruction and tragedy just because he got to play house with Bill - his so-called mortal enemy.

He wanted to believe that this wasn't Ford's plan all along. Wanted to believe that his great uncle had been corrupted or mind controlled or tortured past the point of sanity. That this wasn't what he'd set out to do from the beginning. But Dipper didn't know what to believe anymore. 

“WA-BAM!” Bill snapped a full-length mirror into existence, allowing Mabel to see what he'd done to her hair, “Whaddaya say, Shooting Star?”

A simple French braid, with little glittery stars woven into her hair. In any other case, Mabel would have been ecstatic. But now, Mabel simply looked up at the demon, an unsure grin forced onto her face.

“Thanks, Bill,” She managed, not able to look him in the eye.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Bill waggled a finger in her face. “Try again.”

Mabel's face sank momentarily and she locked eyes with Dipper. The look in her eyes… It was like she was trying to scream so many things at once through expression alone. It felt like forever, the twins trying to communicate to each other in silence, but it was probably less than a second. If seconds even existed anymore.

Then, Mabel looked up at Bill and put on her best smile. “Thank you, Grunkle Bill, I love it.”

‘Grunkle Bill.’ Ugh. Dipper couldn't help the disgusted grimace that made its way onto his face. He thought he'd hated the triangle when he was actively trying to kill them all, but that was so much worse.

“See that, Pinetree?” Cipher whipped around, floating above the boy. “Why can't you be more like your sister?”

“Oh, Bill,” Ford waved him off with a smile and roll of his eyes. No malice, no contempt, just exasperated fondness.

“I'm just sayin’! We're trying to do family bonding over here, but Pinetree and Fez are being a coupla sticks in the mud!”

“He and Stanley just need more time,” Ford replied, speaking as if either of them weren't there.

Dipper felt sick. Sick from anger, sick from betrayal, sick from utter disgust. Bill's actions were understandable from the perspective that he was a creature from a different dimension. A monster without any need to identify with human morality systems. But Ford was human. A human with family and people who loved him and trusted him and counted on him. A human whose world had been destroyed because of his allegiance to a monster. Because of his feelings for a monster. And he just expects them all to be okay with this? To smile and clap and nod along and pretend everything is okay?

Mabel spoke up, drawing Dipper from his thoughts. “Well, um, Grunkle Bill, if we're doing family bonding time… Would you wanna meet me and Dipper's parents?”

“Say, that's an idea,” Bill turned to Ford. “Whaddaya say, Fordsie?’

Dipper whipped his head back to face his great uncle. He bit his tongue, holding his breath. He felt himself screaming from behind his eyes, trying to will his uncle with his gaze, hoping his expression was enough to implore him to say yes, to be merciful, to at least give him and Mabel their parents back. 

“I…” Ford breathed. “No, I don't think so.”

“WHAT?” Dipper couldn't control his outburst, his shout loud and sudden enough to make his great uncle jump.

“Sixer, c'mon,” Stan spoke up.

“You said it yourself, Stanley, the only ones you count as family are the children.” Ford countered. 

“That was- I didn't mean it.”

“Still,” Ford crossed his arms. “I have no loyalty to them. This is for the best,” Then, the old man turned back to Dipper. “You'll understand one day.”

Dipper glared up at his uncle, baring his teeth so hard he would have sworn they would have broken. But then, a noise broke his concentration.

He turned to see his sister, her sweater pulled over her head as she rocked back and forth, sniffling and surely crying underneath. 

“AWW, now look what you did, Pinetree,” Bill chided, daring to pet at the bit of hair that peeked out of Mabel’s sweater. “You made your sister cry!”

“Me?” Dipper balked, incredulous. 

A six-fingered hand came down to Dipper's shoulder for a comforting squeeze - and the boy bristled with rage, wrenching himself away and off of the couch. Every inch of Dipper's body was over one with disgust, with anger, with hatred. Just looking at Stanford made him sick.

“I hate you,” Dipper spat, trying to fight the tears welling in his eyes. “You're a monster and you're not my uncle anymore.”

Just for a brief moment, Dipper felt satisfaction at the look of absolute hurt on Stanford's face. Then, he all but dove into his Grunkle Stan's hold, burying his face into his jacket. Stan held him protectively, one hand holding the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. And for a few moments, Dipper can pretend he and Mabel were back at the shack and he'd had a nightmare or something and needed reassurance from his uncle. Something he should have grown out of, something Stan would give him shit for later, but even still, Stan would have let him settle into the recliner and drift off to sleep to the sounds of Gravity Falls’ public access TV.

“Please, he didn't mean it,” Mabel's voice was barely above a whisper as she pleaded. “Don't be mad at him.”

“He's just scared,” Stan added, holding Dipper tight. “We all are.”

“There's no reason to be,” Ford insisted. “Dipper, please, look at me. You're my s- my, my nephew and I love you. None of this is meant to hurt you.”

He sure had a funny way of showing it.

He could hear Bill let out a frustrated groan. “Alright, I think this has gone on LONG ENOUGH.”

In a flash, Dipper was suddenly back on the flesh couch, cuddled up next to his not-so-great uncle Ford. He couldn't bear to look at him, simply staring ahead. At his sister. At the fire. At Cipher.

The triangle spoke. “Now, kid, I get this is a big change and all, but the only reason Gravity Falls and all your little friends have been left untouched is because of your uncle here. I think you should be a little more grateful. That is… Unless you don't want your friends to be safe?”

A sneer overtook Dipper's face. All of the anger boiling inside him threatened to burst out in the form of calling Bill every curse word he knew - and even the ones he didn't. 

But he knew better. Dipper gritted his teeth. “No, I do.”

“Then, I feel an apology is in order!”

“Sorry,” Dipper mumbled noncommittally. 

“Not to ME, Pinetree,” The demon laughed. “Though, I appreciate the thought!”

Dipper let out a shuddering sigh. Slowly, as though just looking in Ford's direction took great effort, he managed to meet his great uncle's eyes. And he had the gall to look condescending. As if Dipper were just a child throwing a tantrum.

He hated him. He hated him more than anything. He couldn't believe he ever believed in him, ever obsessed over his work, ever thought he was great, ever thought he was a hero, ever thought to leave behind his sister to follow someone like him.

“...I'm sorry, Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper spoke robotically. “I didn't mean what I said. I don't hate you. You're still my uncle.”

“ANNND?” Bill egged him on.

“And. I love you.”

Ford had the audacity to smile. To open his arms wide. To ask, “How about a hug?”

Dipper felt he had no choice. As he was wrapped into a hug by the man who'd betrayed his family, betrayed the world, betrayed the universe, Dipper let himself bury his face into Ford's turtleneck. At least he could hide his tears now.

For a second, it felt as if his hat had disappeared from his head. A four-fingered hand ruffled through his locks affectionately. Then, his hat was back in place.

Dipper fought not to be ill.

“Say, how about an ‘I love you’ for your Grunkle Bill, huh?”

…

“Not now? Eh, that's fine! We've got an eternity for you to come around!”