#so i went but utterly exhausted without doing the things i needed to do like mapping the route out and planning my approach

[dan-sing-in-the-rain]

I went to TIT tonight! Unfortunately I am so not in the place to be able to handle something like that, but they are cool and I am glad I at least tried something new by going.

(rambles in the tags, no tit spoilers though)

[celuere]

Even MORE HCs of Arlecchino taking care of her pregnant wife.

pairing: Arlecchino x fem!reader

context: nothing, domestic Arlecchino is simply consuming me atm.

cw: pregnancy, SOFT Arle, FLUFF, mentions of throwing up

Somebody sedate me I love her so much.

Starting off with how you would quite literally never wake up on your own when pregnancy nausea forced you out of bed again. Arlecchino would literally be right next to you and gently scoop your hair out of your face the moment you bent over the toilet to empty your stomach. Gently stroking your back, whispering soft words of encouragement, telling you it will be over soon. She’d carefully help you back up and lets you rinse your mouth of the awful taste only to carry you back in her own arms.

If you happen to suffer from Hyperemesis gravidarum (which quite literally means that your nausea lasts for the entirety of the pregnancy and not just the first weeks), she either sits down next to you on the bathroom floors offering her lap as bed or she‘ll have a bucket placed next to your bed. But even then she would always be awake when your stomach is acting up.

I don’t think she‘s the type to talk to your belly but she’d definitely lean against it or gently rest her head on top, watching the soft kicks coming from the inside and tracing the spots with her fingers without uttering a single words. She is simply too mesmerized.

DO NOT! and I repeat DO NOT complain about your weight gain EVER to her, that’s Nr. 1 thing she doesn’t play around with. She literally couldn’t give less fucks about how much you gain or how else your body is changing throughout pregnancy. It almost feels insulting to her when you have the nerve to make a comment about stretch marks and she literally CANNOT contain herself and starts to explicitly explain to you why you’re getting stretchmarks, why they’re so visible and why she finds them so attractive. There isn’t a more beautiful and perfect sight to her than her pregnant wife.

Massages you wherever and whenever you need one, no questions asked. She absolutely loves helping you lay back and relax especially after a difficult day of growing another living being inside your body. She‘d run you a bath, even help you shampoo your hair and the rest of you if you’re too exhausted to do it on your own. She is completely and utterly at your disposal.

Will literal buy everything on the market for her babygirl while setting up the nursery because only in hell will she let her baby miss out on anything like she did when growing up in the House of the Hearth. Even tho you start questioning her when she one day comes home with a heat lamp for the changing table „in case she gets cold“ (Sandrone still owed her a favor)

Literally don’t try to strike up a conversation with her ass when you two happen to be in the same room as her. Her only answer will be few curt nods, an approving but absentminded „mhm“, and if she is feelings generous even a „Interesting… carry on…“, all the while her eyes are plastered on you. Talking and laughing occasionally as you get winded up in yet another discussion, your hand caressing the more than visible baby belly, wedding ring glistening in the chandelier light. Plus points of you‘re wearing something that highlights your body. It’s so over for Arle.

But so help her if one day the first contractions set in. You are immediately surrounded by your husband and a few midwives, checking up on you like you just fell down a bunch of stairs until you reassured everyone that you‘re fine and not went into labor. Still, Arlecchino refuses to leave your side for the rest of day and even earns herself a little scolding from you when she tried to talk you into bed again. You know how much you can handle better than her after all, right?

(A/N: I can’t write labor scenarios for the love of it so I just skip this part-) And the moment she finally gets to hold her love in her arms? It’s scary. Usually the Knave is never scared of anything. But when you hold out the little bundle of joy to her with an exhausted smile and tears staining your sweaty face- something inside of her is doubting herself. What if she accidentally hurts her? What if- lord and behold- she lets her fall down on accident? She is so tiny and fragile, it takes a few encouraging words from your side before Arle finally musters up the courage and very slowly and carefully lifts her babygirl up into her own arms. And she might never want to put her down ever again. She fits so perfectly into her embrace and it also feels like it to her. Like a missing puzzle piece being put into a place as she can’t help but gently stroke her finger over her daughters cheek, completely mesmerized by how soft she feels against her touch.

She starts thanking you. One time. Two times three times. Four times. Over and over as she showers your face in kisses until sleep eventually drags you into its depths. Goodness how could someone as cursed as her be blessed with this wonderful gift? What did she do to deserve this precious little girl in her arms- and her wonderful wife? It has to be some kind of apology from Celestia themself. It has to be.

So help this woman when her daughter opens her eyes for the first time and she stares into a direct replica of her own. Only with your eye color. Her breath catches in her throat for a short moment as she looks down at the beautiful color grazing the x‘s in her eyes, the little white hairs on the top of her head- but yet she still looks so similar to you. So similar it makes her heart ache. How is it possible for something this small to reduce the fourth Fatui Harbinger to nothing but a besotted idiot? This bundle in her arms- this life in her cursed arms. A testimony of how deep your love for each other actually went- it only belongs to the two of you. And she‘ll do anything in her power to protect it. No matter the cost.

SOOOOOOOOB I LOVE PAPA ARLE SM I CANT I ALENAIBEBE EEUGEUGHEUHH I WANNA CRY

[mistiell]

I'm Starvin', Darlin'

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Summary: Spencer realizes how touch starved he is when you, the newest member of the BAU, develop a habit of casually touching him throughout the day.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Fluff, mutual pining, bit of a misunderstanding towards the end, this hasn't been proofread so I might come back to correct some things later

A/N: So, I have been like, completely MIA for the passed few months, and I apologize for that. Life has been hectic and I haven't had any motivation. However, I'm back now! At least for a little while. This is my first fic for Spencer but I hope to write more for him in the future. There'l definitely be a part two to this sometime in the future, so look out for that.

Part 2

Spencer has never been one for physical affection.

Logically he knows that he needs a certain amount of it to survive, and he doesn’t particularly mind it anymore when Morgan claps him on the back or when he has to shake somebody’s hand. But when he’s pulled in for a hug, there’s this weird sort of anxiety that makes him worry about whether or not he’s holding on too tight or how long he can stay there without making it awkward. He’ll endure it if he thinks a hug would be the best way to comfort someone, but typically, he avoids them altogether.

That was, until you came along.

It was sunny out, and for the first time in a while, the blinds in the bullpen were pulled open to let the sun shine in. Spencer was sitting at his desk, flipping through his mound of paperwork when JJ had led you over to your new desk, right across from his. JJ had caught his attention to introduce you, but the moment he laid eyes on you, whatever she was saying went in one ear and out the other

You had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his entire life. 

“Spence.” JJ’s voice snapped him back into reality and he was suddenly acutely aware of how long he’d been staring.

“Hm?” You’d giggled at his dumbstruck expression and he swore he’d do anything to make you laugh like that again.

JJ stared at him expectantly for a few seconds before rolling her eyes and gesturing to you again, “I said, this is Agent L/n. She’s our newest member.”

“Oh, right, um, I’m Sp-Spencer Reid. Er– Doctor Spencer Reid.” He was halfway through mentally berating himself when you smiled oh so kindly at him, extending your hand.

“Y/n L/n. It’s nice to meet you, doctor.”

“Oh, um, you can just call me Reid.” 

“Right.” You very obviously looked him up and down in a way that made his heart race, “Reid.”

And then you sat down at your desk.

And he had to sit there and pretend he wasn’t utterly and entirely flustered by that tiny, microscopic interaction.

He came to realize about a month into your friendship that you were a touchy person by nature. You’d touch his arm when he made you laugh and sometimes you’d squeeze his shoulder before you sat down next to him at the round table. Six months into your career there and you’d gotten comfortable enough that you’d hug most of them when you showed up for drinks outside of work and playfully pinch Morgan’s arm or side when he got a little too brazen with his flirting. Sometimes you’d bump Spencer’s shoulder to tease him. It took a few times to get used to it, but eventually he started bumping you back.

Actually, he found that the more you touched him, the less he seemed to dislike it. In fact, he finds himself waiting for those casual displays of affection. Every time your skin meets his, he feels warm, revitalized. 

Which is why on one particularly late night, when he’s utterly exhausted and the two of you are the only ones in the office, he feels comfortable enough to do what he’s about to do.

He thinks about it for a long while, never one to do anything like this without properly thinking it through. He’s just so tired and this case was so draining that, as pathetic as he thinks it is, he finds himself wanting to ask for a hug.

He won’t. He’s not that confident yet. But he thinks that maybe there’s another way to get away with touching you in some capacity.

So he rolls his chair over to your desk, attempting to casually plop down next to you so his side is practically pressed against yours. To his surprise, it actually works, though his casual “plop” is more like a rather awkward “slip-and-almost-accidentally-knock-you-over”. But you don’t mind. Instead, you laugh and bump his shoulder a lot more gently than he bumped you.

“Watch it, clumsy.”

“Sorry.” He chuckles, awkwardly clearing his throat, “What are you working on?”

“The mountain of paperwork that’s been accumulating since I got here.” You huff a short, embarrassed puff of laughter as you glance down at a notepad he hadn’t noticed, “That, and doodling.”

“Doodling what?” He asks, though he wonders how much he’s actually going to be able to pay attention when he’s so focused on how warm your thigh and shoulder feel against his.

“Oh, um,” Is he crazy or are you blushing? “It’s embarrassing.”

“I won’t judge.” After a split second of deliberation, he gently shifts his weight into his shoulder to nudge you just a little.

“Promise?” You smile shyly and he can’t help but smile back.

“Promise.”

There’s a second where you hesitate before sliding the pad over for him to see. He uses his middle and index finger to drag it over a little more and what he’s met with makes his cheeks warm and his heart flutter about in his chest.

It’s him. 

You’ve drawn him at just about every angle, and in such detail that he wonders if you were trying to downplay your abilities or if this is really your definition of doodling. It’s clear you’ve done most of these by memory only because he’s had his head bent over his desk for the past few hours, and most of these are full views of his face. They’re unbelievably accurate, and he realizes you must look at him enough to have his facial features memorized.

“I-I know they’re not great, and I messed up your lips in a couple, but, uh–.”

“Wow.” He breathes in such genuine wonder that you cut yourself off. He looks up at you, a strange, viscous warmth weaving in between his ribs and settling to swirl in his stomach in such a way that it makes him feel a little sick. But, even more strangely, in a good way. He catches himself staring and quickly looks back at your artwork with a flustered smile, “I-I’m flattered. This is… I mean, you’re amazing.”

The moment the words leave his mouth, heat creeps up his neck and he rushes to correct himself, “I-I mean your work is amazing. Not that you aren’t amazing, because you are, but–.”

“Spence.” This time, it’s his turn to cut himself off. That’s the first time you’ve ever called him that.

And fuck, if he isn’t a goner.

You place your hand over his and his heart leaps into his throat, “Thank you.”

“Y-Yeah.” He’s so lost in your eyes that it comes out a whisper. With a little flush of confidence, he turns his hand palm up in yours to squeeze your fingers before hastily pulling away to avoid you noticing how clammy his hands are.

After that night, he finds himself seeking you out a lot more. Knocking his knee against yours under the table, tapping you to get your attention rather than just calling your name. 

It isn’t until you’re both out with the team that he realizes he hasn’t been as discreet as he thought he’d been. He’s had a few drinks and is a little more than tipsy, which is never a good thing with how much alcohol loosens his lips. Especially when you’re sitting right next to him, definitely more sober than he is. 

“Pretty boy, when did you get so comfortable with people touching you?” Derek asks, earning a rather confused look from the man in question. Before he gets a chance to respond, you’re asking exactly what he’d been thinking.

“What do you mean?” By the way he’s looking between the two of you, Spencer assumes Derek is referring to the way you’re pressed against his side – or rather, how he’s pressed against yours, considering he’s the one who leaned practically his whole body weight into your side the moment you sat down.

“You don’t know?” Emily asks, and you shake your head, “He doesn’t like touching anyone.” A knowing smirk creeps up on her face as she locks eyes with him, “Or at least he normally doesn’t.”

“Oh.” Is all you say in response. He doesn’t like the sadness in your tone, and he especially dislikes the way you shift away from him to give him space. There’s a rather startling urge to wrap his arm around you and pull you back to him, but he shuts that down immediately, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

“Do you remember that time he dodged a handshake by telling the guy it would be safer for them to kiss?” Penelope giggles, clearly drunk at this point.

“You weren’t even there.” Spencer counters, laughing a little to diffuse the tension. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye and notices that your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

You’re a little too quiet the rest of the night. At one point, you leave for the bathroom and when you return, you slide your purse in between the two of you to keep a safe distance. 

He hates it.

He hates it even more when you stop him outside the bar with an apologetic look on your face as you’re all leaving.

“Hey, Spence?”

He swallows the butterflies in his throat that surface at the nickname, “Yeah?”

“I, uh,” You clear your throat awkwardly, “I’m sorry if I’ve ever made you uncomfortable with all the, um… touching.”

He opens his mouth to tell you he really, really doesn’t mind it, but you accidentally cut him off, “I didn’t even consider that you might not be comfortable with it, and that was really inconsiderate of me. Now that I know, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. I’ll be sure to uh, keep my hands to myself.” You titter, glancing at your shoes sheepishly.

“Oh, it’s okay–.” He’s cut off again, this time by Emily, who’s yours and Garcia’s designated driver for the evening. “L/n! You coming?” She calls with a smile.

“Yeah!” You call back, before turning back to him. He watches you almost lean in for a hug, and a pang of disappointment stabs at his chest when you stop yourself in favour of nodding at him with a smile, “I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Is all he has time to say before you’re climbing into the backseat of Emily’s car.

He is seriously dreading going into work on Monday.

[angelbarelywrites]

♡ slashers scenarios | first meeting (part 2)

♡ fandoms; Friday the 13th, House of Wax, Black Christmas, Scream (kinda)/ Dead by Daylight, slashers (general)

♡ characters; Jason Vorhees, Bo Sinclair, Danny Johnson, Billy Lenz, Bubba Sawyer

♡ reader; gender neutral

♡ cw; Billy Lenz, mentions of violence and general slasher activity, kidnapping, stalking

♡ notes; i didn’t include Bubba last time, so i slipped him in with the pt 2 team :v

also for ghostface i went with Danny over Billy + Stu, just because i’m more comfortable writing older characters tbh. and he’s very attractive to me. maybe i can do a college au fic of them in the future?

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

Jason Vorhees

> you were lost

> utterly, hopelessly lost without a map, compass, or even your backpack

> you were out camping with a couple of new friends when you wandered off to pick flowers

> well, acquaintances more like- they weren’t particularly nice to you, but you knew one from your home town

> before you knew the sun was starting to set and you had no clue which way to go

> you’re kicking yourself for being so dumb but try to make the best of it, continuing to collect flowers and pretty rocks

> soon enough you find yourself on the edge of a lake

> that couldn’t have been good- there weren’t any lakes near the campsite at all

> maybe this was that old summer camp they’d mentioned?

> either way you turn around and try your best to retrace your steps

> but even with a full moon it’s just too dark and too dense and you’re exhausted

> holding in tears, you find a small meadow and finally sit to rest

> you’re still sniffling and rubbing your eyes when someone walks up to you

> you were so oblivious that Jason was able to get a few feet in front of you before you noticed

> he seems…perplexed to find you there

> he thought he’d gotten all of the campers

> and you didn’t really look like you belonged with those fornicators

> (or at least that’s what he told himself to justify leaving you alive)

> he’s holding his machete and soaked with your companions’ blood, but you don’t seem to notice

> “…can you take me back to my friends?”

> well he most certainly cannot do that, not if he wants you to like him- though he’s not sure why that matters

> he’s still staring so you, exhausted, do the only thing you can think to

> “…do you want a flower? I picked a lot”

> he’s delighted and takes it before finally gesturing for you to follow him

> you can’t keep up, so eventually he picks you up

> and like that you’re nearly dozing off

> you don’t even notice he’s taking you back the way you came from

> and he’s glad- he wasn’t going to give you much of an option anyway

Bo Sinclair

> single travelers are so much easier to deal with

> so when Lester gives him the call that some college kid was stuck on the road, he’s eager for an easy catch

> you take your sweet ass time getting to the station- even though Lester drove you most of the way you let him drop you off just outside of town

> the smell of the truck was really getting to you, and you’re happy to let the dog lead you

> when he strides out you’re cooing over Jonesy and giving her a belly rub for her troubles

> he’s seen his fair share of attractive victims

> men, women, and folks that didn’t fit either category

> and he’s slept with most of them

> but you… there’s something extra special about you

> he decides right there he’s not taking care of you without at least getting a taste

> you’re not too impressed by his flirting- or at least you try and act like it

> but he catches your pink cheeks and quiet giggles as he takes you on a walk

> because of course he’s got the part down the road at his place

> by the time you get there he’s decided he’s marrying you - or maybe keeping you tied up, beggars can’t be choosers

> he’s impulsive but he’s never wanted to keep anyone before

> “hey sugar-“ god your face heats up just hearing him call you that “turns out I don’t have that part you need. It should be in by tomorrow, if you can stay the night?”

> you say yes before you can think critically- he’s good at getting folks wrapped around his finger like that

> “Good. Cause I’m just dying to show you some real southern hospitality…”

Danny Johnson

> he knows you long before you know him

> he’s a natural nosy guy- he’s a journalist after all

> and a serial killer, of course stalking is on his to do list

> originally you were going to be a victim

> you’d make a good story, a young person taken tragically early

> but you were too cute to die just yet- he had to at least meet you, just once

> if you were a dick no one would say anything nice for your article, right?

> so he just happens to bump into you outside your work one day

> literally bump

> when you spill coffee all over yourself he smoothly apologizes and offers to help clean you up

> “What a mess- I’m so sorry sweets. Let me take care of all this”

> and you fall for it, hook line and sinker

> he’s a handsome guy, he’s used to that but he’s smug anyways

> he gives you a spare shirt of his, though you still skip work

> he buys you another coffee and you sit in his car chatting

> you’re innocent enough to trust him like that- to get in a vehicle with a strange man?

> a strange man that’d been stalking you, no less

> it’s adorable- if he wasn’t so attached he could kill you right there

> but you’re just so damn sweet, and genuine

> and you’re so fascinated by these Ghost Face killings…

> maybe you’re worth keeping around for a bit

> just a bit

> that’s what he says to himself anyways

> when you meet him as Ghost Face, it’s after you’ve already got him all figured out

> and he’s lucky that you like a bad boy

Billy Lenz

> it’s a given that you first meet him over the phone

> you’re renting out a spare room from Mrs Mac, not in the sorority but a good enough tenant that she keeps you around

> you get along well with the girls and cook them meals, run study sessions and help clean

> it’s almost parental at times, even if you’re not far off in age

> Billy hates you at first, for taking such good care of ‘filthy piggy whores’

> he tells you just as much over the phone, but you’re not bothered

> you never seem to be bothered by his calls

> and that pisses him off more

> but you’re so so cute… it quickly becomes an obsession

> he’s in your walls constantly, watching you

> and the calls from the moaner start coming more and more frequently at times you’re home alone

> one day you just start giggling at him, tipsy “you know, you scare the girls,”

> “good i—“

> “but your voice is sooo nice. that’s why i pick up so much”

> you didn’t mean to confess that , and you hope he takes it as an awkward joke

> when he hangs up you think that maybe he did take it that way

> its not until late that night that you realize that he knew he was sincere

> before you can register that there’s anything wrong he’s covering your mouth and pinning you to your bed

> “hi there, baby doll,”

> his grin gets huge when your still horrified face goes bright red

> he always knew you were perfect

Bubba Sawyer

> you pick up Nubbins hitchhiking one day, and he’s just dumbfounded by you

> you’re nonplussed by his rambling and you don’t squirm at his yucky pictures. you don’t even kick him out, just drop him off at the gas station.

> you’re not really his type, but you’re fascinating

> he’s gotta get you home to meet his brothers

> so he pops your tires when you go inside- all four

> when you come back out Drayton is cursing him out and smacking him upside the head

> he makes him take you back to the house to rest up while he gets you tires

> of course he intends for Bubba to kill you

> but Nubbins doesn’t pass the message along, because he’s Nubbins

> “Here Bubba! I made us a new friend!”

> you shyly greet him, but he’s an oddly calming presence

> let’s be honest you’ve gotta be okay with a lot fast to like the Sawyers

> so maybe you’re just in denial about the material

> but you tell him you like his mask- and you do

> he obviously worked really hard on getting the makeup just right- and it compliments his suit

> he stares at you a long while before taking your hand and giving you a grand tour

> well, more a tour of his favorite spots

> the chicken coup, a patch of wildflowers out back, and his room full of trinkets collected from victims

> you’re strangely enamored by this big, quiet man

> and you don’t get the sense you’re allowed to leave

> especially when Drayton comes home and goes on and on about witnesses

> but you didn’t really even have an end goal in mind on your road trip anyways

> and now you’ve got Bubba to protect you

> maybe it’s not so bad, stuck with those weirdos

[couldyouimagine-that]

Cuddles With Satan

Genre; Hurt/Comfort, Flufffff

Word Count; 1.2k

Warnings; None, just the reader being exhausted beyond belief and Lucifer convincing you to let him hold you while you go to sleep.

Pairings; Lucifer (Supernatural) x Reader

I know that soft!Lucifer isn't everyone's thing, but I haven't found enough fics like this so I am filling the gap myself! I guess he's inherently OOC for being soft, but I've written him as in character as possible if he decided to be affectionate towards the reader. (Also comment if you think I should do something similar with Casifer, I am very much considering it). Enjoy!

Here's part 2!

Masterlist

-

“I know you don’t really believe it yourself, but you are right.”

You had told Dean, Sam and Castiel that it was okay to leave you alone with the Devil. That if he wanted you dead, you would be.

“Besides, why would I kill you? That little moral dilemma that you’ve got going on is far more interesting than your corpse would be.”

That little moral dilemma was that you liked Lucifer. And he knew it.

You were incredibly tired. You didn’t feel well, you hadn’t been sleeping or even eating properly and you had convinced the others to go so that they could get a break from Lucifer’s antics. You knew that if someone hadn’t left, you would have ended up with a full-blown fight on your hands, and you didn’t want to have to deal with the fallout of one of your friends conveniently forgetting that they were nothing more than an insect to an archangel. You’d already had the job of patching up Sam and Dean when one of them got a little too self-righteous and a flick of Lucifer’s hand had sent them both flying. Castiel at least had slightly better control, but you’d had to hold him back from starting something in retaliation more than once. Not that pushing the angel back by his shoulders would actually do anything if he had a mind, but so far it had served as a good enough reminder to stop him from antagonising the Devil.

You turned around to face him, arms crossed over his chest and head resting in one hand, leaning against the edge of the table. Utterly relaxed and confident. He tilted his head just slightly as he watched you, a smile pulling at his lips.

“I need to go and get some rest before I pass out. Please, please don’t do anything while I’m gone.” He stayed quiet, enjoying the look you were giving him, pleading him to help you out. Until you dropped it, huffing a sigh and shaking your head. You were going to fall asleep regardless and you’d rather not be in the main room of the bunker when it happened. You made for the corridor at the back without another word, heading to what had become your room. Naturally, Lucifer followed.

“How about I come with you?” You said nothing, allowing yourself a silent sigh. “What? Two birds, one stone – that way you get to rest and you know where I am and what I’m doing.”

Not for the first time, you cursed yourself for having ever opened your mouth. A few weeks back, whilst sharing some beers with the boys and reminiscing on happier times, talk had turned briefly to partners. Sam and Dean had mentioned that in each of their longer-term relationships, their girlfriends had said they felt safer being held when they went to sleep. You had agreed, saying that you usually also slept better if someone was holding you. The conversation had moved on, that had been it. Apart from the fact that Lucifer had been hanging around somewhere and heard every word, and hadn’t left you alone about it since.

“Not today, Lucifer. Please.” You could hear the smile in his voice when he answered and you knew he’d heard the defeat in yours.

“Come on, Y/N, just this one time. What harm will it do?” He just kept walking behind you when you didn’t answer. “It’s not a one-way ticket downstairs, if that’s what you’re worried about. You’ve got far worse on your resume than ‘cuddled with Satan’.” You could feel your fight draining with every passing second.

“Why do you even care about this so much?” You asked at length, leaving the door to your room open out of habit since you were still having a conversation. By the time you considered that maybe slamming the door in his face would have ended the conversation, he had already walked inside.

“Curiosity. Angels don’t sleep, as you know, so I’ve never experienced holding someone until they drift off. I want to know what it feels like.”

You stared at him for a moment, uncomprehending. You knew your powers of reasoning weren’t operating at full capacity, but that sounded so… genuine. Gentle. Usually bad things when associated with Lucifer but you were running out of both reasons and time remaining before you collapsed where you stood.

“Come on.” His voice was so quiet, so soft, that you would never again wonder how he had convinced anyone to do anything. You just hoped you were right in thinking that there were worse things you could be agreeing to.

“I- alright. Fine.” You raised your hands briefly in surrender then collapsed onto one side of your bed, faced away from him.

You felt the mattress shift beneath his weight as he laid down behind you, felt his gaze on you as he lightly traced two fingers down your spine. You had to fight to hold back your sigh. His hand moved ever so gently along your side, up to your shoulder where he applied just a little bit of pressure to push you onto your back. His expression was soft, one arm beneath his head as his eyes tracked the path of his hand. He didn’t even have to lean to reach over you and your eyes shuttered when he slipped his hand beneath your back, pulling you over to him with no effort at all. You found yourself pressed against his side, head on his shoulder and with nowhere else for it to go, your arm resting on his chest.

His hand started a gentle passage up and down your back and you gave up on trying to hold back your contented sigh. Lucifer smiled genuinely at the sight. He rested his chin atop your head as he moved his flat palm to your lower back, again pushing gently to reposition you how he wanted. With sleep already winding its tendrils through your mind, you figured in for a penny, in for a pound. You received an appreciative squeeze when you crossed your leg over one of his, and another when you wrapped your arm around his torso, laying your hand against his ribs. You played with his soft shirt for a few moments, moving the material between your fingers, before tucking your face more firmly against his shoulder. Lucifer shifted slightly and you felt the scratch of the scruff on his chin against your forehead and a gentle pressure before he moved back again. Even mostly asleep, that woke you straight back up again.

A forehead kiss? That had nothing to do with wanting to know what it felt like to hold someone as they fell asleep. You looked up questioningly to find his expression caring – caring – and his gaze already trained on you. He would only offer a minute, one-shouldered shrug in response. Just felt like it, the movement said. I don’t really care. You simply chose to lay down again rather than start another conversation, and Lucifer’s chin returned to your head and his hand resumed its path across your back. You eventually let your train of thought go so that you could finally get some rest, but you couldn’t help but wonder what it was going to mean to have Lucifer’s affection.

[tinytinalifes]

Synopsis: Katsuki likes your presence more than he even realizes it.

Update: I made a second part so here's the link ❤️

Y'all idk how many times I'm gonna have to say this but sorry if there's any grammar mistakes 😞✊🏿

You and Katsuki Bakugo had been at each other’s throats since early that morning. What had started as a small disagreement over training techniques had spiraled, neither of you willing to back down, until it finally led to an intense sparring match. The physical battle was fierce, as neither of you held back—maybe even pushing harder than usual. It wasn’t until you managed to finally pin him, both of you panting and sweating, that the fight ended. Katsuki’s expression had been nothing short of murderously impressed, but before he could even yell his next insult, Aizawa intervened, his tired eyes glaring at you both.

“House arrest,” Aizawa sighed, with a tone that left no room for argument. “You two are stuck together for the weekend. No training, no sparring—just chores. Figure it out, and don’t let me see another scene like this.”

So, you’d been stuck cleaning with Katsuki, each of you doing your own tasks in irritated silence, avoiding eye contact or any words more than necessary. You tried not to let it bother you, but the tension weighed heavily on you. Finally, when you finished for the night, you felt utterly drained—physically and mentally. You needed a break, something that wouldn’t involve any more fighting or tension.

The common room was empty and inviting, so you decided to make yourself some coffee, hoping it would help you unwind. With a mug in hand, you shuffled into the room, only to stop short when you saw Katsuki lounging on the couch. He was frowning, watching something intently on his phone. For a moment, you thought about just leaving to avoid him, but your exhaustion won out. You just wanted a moment of peace without worrying about him.

Katsuki looked up as you walked in, his scowl somehow deepening. “Are you following me or something?” he snapped, his voice gruff.

You rolled your eyes, too tired to argue. “Relax, I’m not here for you. Just wanted some coffee,” you muttered, heading to the far end of the couch and curling up as far away from him as possible.

His gaze lingered on you for a moment, but then he grunted and went back to his phone, watching a new Playboi Carti music video in silence. You sipped your coffee, barely noticing the song as you let the quiet wash over you. The whole day had taken a toll, and soon, your eyelids felt heavy. The warmth of the couch and the fatigue from the fight settled over you like a blanket, and before you knew it, you’d dozed off.

The next thing you knew, you felt something soft brushing against your forehead. A warmth and a gentle, rhythmic sensation were coming from above you, like someone’s fingers running gently through your hair. You stirred slightly, and it was then that you realized—your head was resting on Katsuki’s shoulder. In a sleepy haze, you looked up to see his face, softened and free of the usual scowl, his eyes watching you intently. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers continuing to stroke your hair absentmindedly.

“K-Katsuki?” you mumbled, barely awake.

His hand froze, but his expression remained gentle. “Shh,” he whispered, his voice unusually quiet. “Just go back to sleep, idiot.”

You wanted to protest, to move away in embarrassment, but you were so comfortable, and for once, you didn’t feel the usual tension around him. You let yourself drift off again, feeling oddly safe.

When the rest of Class 1-A returned later, laughter and chatter filled the common room, but they stopped short, frozen at the sight before them: you curled up on Katsuki, fast asleep, and him gently stroking your hair with a soft, almost protective look in his eyes. Mina gasped, then squealed, snapping a dozen pictures on her phone before Katsuki noticed.

“Oi! Quiet down!” he whisper-shouted, glaring in her direction, but the tenderness in his eyes hadn’t vanished.

Mina stifled her laughter, glancing at the rest of the class with a grin. “Oh my gosh, this is so cute!” she whispered excitedly to Kirishima, who only chuckled and gave Bakugo an encouraging thumbs-up.

Katsuki huffed, his cheeks flushing slightly, but he didn’t make a move to wake you. Despite his usual temper, he let you stay close, ignoring the teasing whispers from his friends. It was a rare moment for him, one he hadn’t expected but, somehow, didn’t mind one bit.

Here is the link again ❤️

[fyodior]

⌕ pairing: alpha!gn!reader x omega!chuuya

⌕ warnings: piss, controlling reader (forces him to hold it all day), humiliation, handjob, slight dubcon, whiny chuuya, no pronouns used or anatomy described for reader; slightly ooc chuuya bc i needed to make him omega-y okay jeez MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DNI YOU WILL BE BLOCKED

⌕ word count: 1.9k

MORE A/B/O-TOBER HERE!

Chuuya was the sweetest omega you had ever met. Pliant, obedient, eager to please his alpha. He always did exactly as you said when you said it, and to his utmost ability. All he ever wanted was for his alpha to tell him that he did a good job and to shower him in affection. And of course, you had no problem with this. You would shower him in affection no matter what, but it was hard not to give in at least a little to his enthusiasm.

The funny thing was how stark of a contrast this behavior was to his outside persona. The Chuuya he presented as at work and in public. Within the Port Mafia, as a top executive, the only other people within the entire organization who even knew he was an omega were Kouyou and Mori. It was a requirement that Mori, as the boss, knew his secondary gender, and Chuuya trusted Kouyou. Instead, it was just assumed he was a beta.

Of course, there was quiet speculation amongst the lower ranking mafiosos, considering Chuuya’s short, skinny stature reminiscent of a typical omega, but no one dared voice their thoughts anywhere near the ruthless executive. 

But at home? It was like Chuuya was a completely different person. He was able to give in to his instinctual urges to act as the omega he was meant to be. The submissive, sweet omega who needed nothing more than for you to call him a good boy. It was exhausting, playing the part of a domineering head mafioso who spent his days either barking orders or neutralizing enemies himself. By the time he gets home, all the walls come down.

Chuuya loved having tasks. Things you’d ask him to do so that he felt worthy of your praise. Usually, it was very simple things - cooking a basic dinner, vacuuming the apartment, even something as basic as unloading the dishwasher if you knew he had had a long day at work. As soon as his goal was completed, he’d snuggle up next to you and damn near purr as he begged for your praise and touch. This Chuuya was utterly unrecognizable compared to his PM persona.

But sometimes, you really couldn’t help yourself. The urge to take advantage of his submissiveness wasn’t often, but when it bubbled to the surface, it was hard to ignore. Most of the time, when the desire presented itself, you pushed it out of your head. Chuuya, your adorable, sweet Chuuya, didn’t deserve to be exploited. Not in the way you desired. 

Though the most recent desire was strong. It was simple - you wanted to see Chuuya make a mess. Thoroughly humiliate himself. Cover himself in his own piss until he’s crying. The idea was too attractive to ignore.

“Chuuya, sweetheart?” you singsonged as you slid into the bathroom, wrapping your robe around you and perching on the counter. 

Your omega was getting ready for work, freshly emerged from the shower with a towel tucked around his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth. His ginger hair was wrapped up in another towel, sitting on top of his head waiting to be blow dried. 

At your presence, he immediately spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, all attention immediately on you. It’s fascinating, the spell you seem to have on him, even without releasing any pheromones. 

“You’re awake early,” he smiled, padding over to you to slot himself between your legs, throwing his arms around your neck. 

“I am,” you chuckled, resting your hands on his slim waist. “Because I love my omega.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss on his face, making Chuuya giggle and squirm. “But also… because I have a request for you.”

The omega’s eyes went wide at that. A task. “What is it?” His enthusiasm made you chuckle again.

“Well…” you stalled, running your fingers up and down his torso as you second guessed your decision. “I want you to… hold it.” His brow furrowed at that. “Huh?”

“Hold it,” you repeated yourself, gaining confidence. “Hold your pee, all day. Don’t use the bathroom once until you get home, okay?” 

The poor omega’s face contorted in anxiety and confusion. “You want me to… not pee? All day? Why?”

Your soft gaze steeled at his question. “You know not to question me, Chuuya. Do as I say.” 

His soft gasp of fear of disappointing you made your heart pang, but it was essential you consistently maintained your role as dominant alpha. “Okay,” he nods, “I… I will. I’ll hold it.”

Another smile broke out on your face again. “Perfect, baby. Now finish getting ready for work. Oh - and I’m trusting you, Chuu. Not to disobey me.” 

A dusty rose colored Chuuya’s cheeks as he averted his gaze. “I won’t. I promise.”

“Good boy.”

-

Chuuya thought it would be a breeze. Just limit his liquid intake and keep himself busy, that’s all he had to do to keep the urge to pee at bay. The thought of seeing your face and how happy you’d be with him when he proudly revealed that he hadn’t used the bathroom once was more than enough to encourage him.

That was until he was unexpectedly thrusted into quite the physically grueling fight with a much larger group of gangsters than he had been prepared for, leaving him breathless and unable to keep himself from chugging water after. Surely he’d be fine…. 

An hour later and his bladder felt ready to burst. Looking down at his watch, he still had three hours before he could get home. Fuck.

‘I really gotta piss, can we please do this another day?’ He desperately found himself texting you. His heart thumped in his chest as he watched the chat bubble appear and disappear over and over. 

‘Chuuya.’ Was all you responded with. He knew what that meant. 

The drive home was painful, willing himself not to piss in his sleek luxury car, and by the time he made it inside your shared apartment, a hand was gripping his crotch as little involuntary groans slipped past his lips. 

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” you smirked, setting the book you were mindlessly flipping through on the coffee table and rising to greet your lover. Wanton eyes flicked down to see the shaking hand between the omega’s legs, biting your lip. “How are you feeling?”

Chuuya gulped. “You had your fun, can I please piss now?” 

You only laughed, setting a hand on his cheek. “Feisty now, are we? What happened to my sweet, gentle omega?” you goaded with a pout. “No need to be in such a rush, come sit with me.”

Chuuya was more than desperate to find refuge in the bathroom, but your mention of his secondary gender, how and who he’s supposed to be for you, had him crumbling. “S-sorry.”

The watery apology had you giggling. “C’mere, baby.” 

Doing his best to keep his thighs clenched as he followed you the short distance to the couch, he lowered himself slowly next to you. The desire to be a good boy for you, to do as you asked, was strongly rivaled by the overwhelming pressure in his bladder.

“How was work, hm?” you smiled, caressing the soft skin of his cheek. 

“Fine. It was fine.” His words are short and his tone is gravelly. The pressure is building, building, building, and his body is ready to give in at any point. “I really have to pee, honey.” Desperate eyes glanced towards the bathroom door, knowing he could easily make a dash for it, but you would be so disappointed. It of course doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and your excitement only grew.

“Well that’s no good baby,” you pouted, patting your lap. “C’mere, since you clearly had such a bad day, let your alpha make you feel better.” Knowing he’d likely resist, you released soft, musky hormones that always had your omega by the throat. And sure enough, without argument, Chuuya climbs into your lap. 

Back to your chest, you hugged Chuuya close, rocking him side to side. 

“ ‘m sorry you had a bad day at work, sweetheart,” you frowned. “Can I make you feel better?”

By letting me fucking piss, Chuuya thought to himself, but he dared not speak it aloud. Nonetheless, his full bladder quivered. This was miserable.

“ Yer already makin’ me feel so much better,” he chuckled halfheartedly, resting a shaky hand atop your own. The anxious pheromones emanating off him were a stark contrast to his words. You bit your lip.

“I really know what’ll make you feel better.” 

Deft hands circled around Chuuya’s slim waist to unbuckle his patent leather belt. Chuuya’s eyes went wide once he realized your goal.

“No, no, please no, it’s okay, y-you don’t have to, honey, it’s okay,” he groaned, shaky hands trying to push away your own. How disappointing.

“Chuuya.” No other words were needed to halt his desperate actions. 

The omega sat motionless in your lap, back to your chest, as you unzipped his dress pants and slithered a hand down his briefs. Little whines escaped him while he fought the urge to struggle. 

“Aww, this is exactly what my little omega needed to feel better, huh?” 

Despite his best efforts, his omega body couldn’t help but react to your alpha pheromones, cursing the way his cock twitched when you tugged it out of his briefs.

“Ngh- fuck,” he whined, wriggling in your lap. The urge to piss was blinding - he knew he couldn’t last much longer.

Especially not when you wrapped a warm, tight hand around his length, pumping it slowly but surely. It was only a matter of time, you knew.

“That’s right baby, give in,” you cooed, pressing gentle kisses to his neck.

Chuuya fought it, fought it hard - he groaned, moaned and whined, overtaken by the insatiable urge to relieve himself while you jerked him off.

It was taking longer than you wanted, though. You had figured the second you touched his small cock he’d be unraveling in your arms, but the omega was putting up a fight. 

“I said give in.” 

An especially hard tug gave you exactly what you wanted.

“Fuck, fuck no!” Chuuya gasped, a hand flying to the tip of his dick to halt the inevitable, but it was exactly that - inevitable. 

Hot liquid spurted out of his tip, spraying the floor and drenching his lap. The stream was steady and seemed to never end, a result of an entire day of holding it. 

Finally, finally you had gotten what you wanted, and your arousal was palpable. You continued to massage his twitching cock as his bladder emptied, prompting the omega to writhe and groan in your lap. 

“I’m sorry, fuck, ‘m so sorry,” Chuuya babbled while his body betrayed him, covering his face with his hands. He couldn’t handle the humiliation of watching himself piss everywhere. Finally, the stream petered out. 

Using your free hand, you tugged his hands away. “It’s okay, Chuu,” you reassured. “Look baby, look at what a mess you made. An absolute mess.”

It was true. A sizable puddle had gathered on the floor, the coffee table dripped, and his lap was a hot mess. Chuuya had no words. His face burned, and he wanted to puke from pure humiliation.

“Did such a good job for your alpha, Chuu. ‘m always here to make you feel better, yeah?”

[sourbinnie]

you lose your way | chan x gn!reader angst + fluff | just take my hand

chan didn't think he deserved your love at all. he thought he was destined to be alone forever but then het met you and he saw a bright future ahead of him, one that he never imagined. he felt completely and utterly comfortable being with you but the awful insecurity of not being enough or not doing showing the love he thinks you deserve haunted him. it felt like a shadow above him that followed at all times when he was at work, thinking that you got home from your job and you were all alone. 

why couldn't he be the boyfriend you deserved? why couldn't he just put in the effort and be there for you? always stuck somewhere else. with every comeback, every promotion, every song, every dance you were lingering on his mind there all alone. he was so exhausted every time he set foot in your shared apartment and he did not expect you to wait up for him but you always did. 

at one point he even felt like he had to end things because this wasn't healthy for either of you but what would he do without you? no motivation, no reason to continue a path that he didn't want to even think of. he felt trapped like he knew you were doing this out of kindness but why would you do that for nothing in return? the last time he kissed you properly was like a month ago.

maybe this was a signal for him to stop, to actually look around him and think of what he was doing. yet he always went back to work, he just couldn't be stopped from recording another track, writing lyrics (mostly about you) and practicing even more than what his body could take. 

"chris?" your voice got him out of his daydream/nightmare and he looked at you. you knew the password for his studio so he wasn't surprised about that but you looked like you just got out of work. "it's kinda late i'm sorry if i'm bothering but i wanted to know if you wanted to go home with me?".

"i don't know if i can love." he sighed as he looked back at his laptop again, writer's block was his biggest enemy. he knew he had the hability to put on some heart wrecking lyrics yet nothing was coming to mind. again another signal to stop maybe. "you can go home if you want and you don't have to stay up, i know you're tired."

"i don't mind waiting for you, you always carry me to bed anyways." you said, giving him a little smile as you sat down next to him. "can we talk baby?" you asked and if he wasn't scared before, he surely was now.

he expected this conversation to lead to the worst. he expected for you to leave him right then and there, after all he did not put effort at all into your relationship even if you were all he could think about. even if you lived in his mind rent free 24/7, he knew he would never be the boyfriend you were meant to have.

"yeah of course." he said as he looked at you, you grabbed his hands and that's where he felt everything was gonna go down. 

"you know you can talk to me, right? it's been a long time since we've had a proper conversation. i don't mind it really, i know you're busy but if it's too much you can always talk to me. i'll always have your back and i'll always hold your hand when you need me the most christopher." you said in a serious tone but with the kindest way. he couldn't help but feel the tears cloud his vision as he heard your words. "i believe in you and i love you. i know this is your way of proving your worth but you're much more than your job."

he wiped his eyes as he didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of you. he felt like he was gonna choke on his tears anytime soon but he took a deep breath and looked at you again, nodding. 

"i know. it's just been a lot lately and i know you deserve better." he said and you shook your head. "i know you're gonna say you're fine with it but how can you be fine with me not being there for you?"

"it's your job chris, i understand. you love it here and i love that you're passionate about it." you clearly said as you played with his hands and gave him another warm smile. "what kind of significant other would i be if i didn't let you enjoy what you have? it was your dream to be here." 

"but is it too much? i feel like i don't show you the love you deserve. i feel like i'm all you don't deserve." he said letting his feelings out once and for all. 

"there's no love i deserve that's not yours. i just want what you give me at the end of the day." you said, kissing his cheek and hugging him so he could let all the tears he needed out. "i know you're lost but i'm not letting go. i'm never gonna let go of you 'cause you're the only one."

the words pierced through his heart as he sighed and let all the tears fall from his eyes when you embraced him. he didn't feel okay, he knew he wasn't okay but something about you saying you're gonna be there for him forever just eased his heart. it eased his pain and sorrow as didn't want to let go of the hug because it was all he needed at the end of the day. for you to be there for him in such a way, meant the world to him.

[carlsdarling]

No Mercy Part II

This was requested a lot. The hate-love-story between Carl and Y/N, who is Negan's daughter, evolves... Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, unprotected sex, slightly violent sex (consensual), angst, abusive language

During the following weeks you and Carl just couldn't stop doing two things: Fighting hatefully and fucking each other. It almost became a ritual. And the more violently you argued, the better the ensuing sex, which was always rough. After you spent an evening at Ron's to watch a movie with him and Enid, Carl was convinced that you had been drooling over Ron. "You were checking him out the whole time," he kept angrily accusing you as you headed home to Rick's house. "You probably want to fuck him."

"So what if I am? What's business is it of yours, Carl?" you snapped. "Maybe he's better than you? Not that it's that difficult."

By now you'd reached the house. Carl opened the door, roughly dragged you over the threshold and immediately pushed you into the pantry next to the kitchen, where he ripped off your jeans and panties, shoved you face-first against the wall and without foreplay penetrated you from behind, fucking you with hard thrusts. "Carl, yes, please," you whimpered, pressing against him as your head kept hitting the shelf above you.

He buried his face against your neck to silence his moans. "I've wanted to rail you all evening, but you presented yourself to Ron like a slut! How many times do I have to tell you that you're my personal fucking property?" snarled Carl, pounding even harder, aggressively rubbing your clit with his right hand. He covered your mouth to prevent the other people in the house from waking up as you cum and screamed out loud. " Do you see? See? You hate me, and every time you cum on me you beg for more," he gasped contentedly, enjoying his orgasm. His cum dripped onto the floor as he pulled out of you. Upstairs you continued, the whole night was filled with angry sex, and in the morning you both had quite a few bruises, hickeys and scratches to hide.

Subsequently, the situation between you began to change slowly and almost unnoticeably. You started sneaking into each other's room more and more often in the late evening and eventually having sex in bed. What was new was that you didn't always argue beforehand. Then a few times you found yourselves lying together afterwards, cuddling and exchanging caresses. Whenever you became aware of it, one of you would angrily stop it right there and start a fight, whereupon either you or Carl would storm out of the room and the old ways would be reinstated. You hated Carl, and he hated you, and sex was just a way of expressing that hatred and it had to be violent.

Then the day came when Carl went out with Rick and some others, but they returned without him. "Where's Carl?" you asked in a squeaky voice, looking all around for him.

Rick looked utterly distraught. "We lost him," he muttered.

You felt like you'd been thrown into ice water. "Is he... dead?" For some inexplicable reason, the thought of never seeing Carl again shocked you. Even more unbearable was the idea that he might have turned into a walker, soulless and distorted.

"We don't know, we were separated by a bunch of walkers. We need to get back out there now, with more people, and search for him." Rick ruffled his hair.

For the next few hours you couldn't think clearly, nervously pacing from room to room, and when you finally saw Rick and Michonne approaching the house with Carl between them, you felt sick with relief. Carl looked pale and exhausted, and he was completely sweaty, filthy, and stained with blood and other weird substances. "You stink," was the first thing you said to him, and you turned up your nose. „It’s disgusting.“

"Screw you," he said wearily.

You waited for Carl to go into the bathroom and entered ten minutes later when he turned off the shower. He was sitting on the toilet lid, and was busy patching up his numerous bruises. Hastily he adjusted his bandage to hide his missing eye from you; you had never seen it. "I really thought you got killed, Carl," you blurted out.

He stood up and met your gaze in the mirror. "You would have liked that, wouldn't you?" he asked with a sneer, but there was something else in his beautiful blue eye. The one he still had.

You quickly nodded. "You bet," you agreed with him. "Anyway - I'm disappointed you're still alive," you said venomously, and went to your room.

It wasn't long before Carl showed up to throw you on the bed recklessly and wanted to fuck you. You had hoped he would do so; your whole body was craving him, and eagerly you wrapped your arms around him.

But he stopped the attempt shortly after with his face wrenched in agony. There was a bloody Band-aid stuck to his stomach. "Carl, what is it?" you asked, startled. "Are you in pain?" Before he could stop you, you grabbed the Band-aid and loosened it. It wasn't a bite, just a nasty cut that looked infected. The wound was located just below the scar he already had when he had been shot back then and Hershel had saved his life.

"It's not that bad," Carl claimed, taking the Band-aid away from you and reapplying it to the wound.

"Yes, it is," you countered, "You need antibiotics."

"Why do you even care?" he asked dismissively, frowning.

"Oh, I don't," you promptly returned. "Go and do whatever you want. I couldn't care less how you feel. But you can't rail me in this state anyway, so you're useless, so piss off," you hissed, pushing him away and tossing a pillow at him. Carl gathered up his clothes, showed you his middle finger and left the room - but not without turning around once more, winking at you and mockingly throwing you a kiss. You shook your head with an annoyed grin and switched off the light.

Then everything happened very quickly. The next morning, Rick caught up with you in the hallway as you were about to go to the bathroom. Carl had taken some medicine - in the end, he had listened to you - and now he was fast asleep. "'Get your things together,'" Rick ordered. "You're leaving."

"But... why..."

"Your father's people captured Gabriel," Rick informed you angrily. "The Saviours have a hostage, we have a hostage. We'll trade you."

Stunned, you stuffed your few belongings into a bag, then Rick hustled you into the car and drove you to the main gate. "I'm sorry you didn't have a chance to say goodbye to Carl," Rick said.

"Carl and I hate each other," you said coldly. Rick looked at you with amusement, but made no comment.

After some mutual accusations and insults between him and Negan, you were handed over to your father at the same time Gabriel was walking towards the Alexandria gate. Before you realized it, you were sitting next to your father in the car, and you were on your way back to the Sanctuary.

Negan looked at you from the side. "Are you alright? Have these bastards done anything to you?"

"No, Rick treated me well," you said tersely. You had been caught completely unaware of what had happened. Ten minutes later, you felt the sourness of stomach acid filling your mouth. "Stop the car. Stop the car right now. I'm going to puke," you managed to say. Negan stopped the car, you yanked open the door just in time and vomited onto the asphalt.

"Are you sick?" your father inquired as he restarted the motor. "Maybe the fish from last night was rotten," you evaded the question.

(yessss there will be a part 3... tell me if you liked the plot development 🥰)

[getosbunsblog]

Jealous Levi

Y’all were in his room about to watch some new ass show. You went down in his beanbag corner, face planting into your favorite one. You were exhausted. this is the fourth marathon this week.

“WAKE UP!! YOU NEED TO SEE THIS!” As he shook you. Ever since you two became closer friends he’s been stealing you and having you watch all of these shows. Not that your complaining. But sometimes it’s a bit much. “Levi, I think I should go to sleep, I’ll watch it with you tomorrow” he looked like a kicked puppy. You felt so bad. But you were exhausted. Suddenly he sat up and said “ok I will too, we can sleep in here” you chuckled “Levi you don’t ever sleep, It’ll be ok I’m just really tired” you rubbed his shoulder and exited. He blushed and watched you walk away. He tried to have fun but he couldn’t. He was utterly bored without you. Maybe he’ll check on you. Yeah. Make sure you made it down the hall safely. He started walking down the hall and creaked open your door. You were not there. “Oh my god, where did she go!!??!” He ran to mammons room because it was the closest and slammed the door open. “MC IS NOT IN HER BEDROO-“ he cut himself off when he saw you in mammons bed wrapped around him. Slightly jolted awake because of Levi. “WHY ARE YOU WITH HIM?!” He yelled. You sat up and looked at him. “Oh, He saw me walking past and called me in here for something real quick” Levi started fuming. You had time for stupid mammon but not HIM?!? Your best friend. Mammon pulled you back down “ignore him, he’s just bein Levi again” he said to you. He turned his head to meet Levi’s eyes “go to bed man, it’s like 3 in the mornin” Levi stormed out and almost gagged remembering that mammon sleeps naked. We’re you naked too. You had his shirt on though. Omg why were you wearing his shirt. Levi knew it, you didn’t see him as more than a friend. You were out fucking mammon of all people?!?

You haven’t heard from Levi for a day, unusual for him and you. You knocked in the distinct pattern you always do. No answer. You opened his door slowly and saw him in his chair. He was playing a video game without headset on. “Hey, did you not hear me?” He didn’t even turn around “no, I did. I know you’d let yourself in, you always do” he sounded mad. You sat down in your seat he got for you and sat in silence watching him for 45 minutes, till you finally asked “Levi, what’s wrong?”

He whipped his head around and glared at you “go away please” you looked shocked, usually he tells you everything. You sat up and left. No questions asked. He clearly needed to be left alone. Maybe he’s just socially overstimulated or something you decided to hang out with Beel today. But it was one of those days for Beel too. He just decided to take it out on your cunt than yell at you. He pounded you till you couldn’t even walk, you slept the rest of the day in his bed where Belphie later crawled in. Sliding his cock between your thighs. Then I’m your spent hole. Cumming in you like Beel did.

Meanwhile asmo went to check on levi and asked what’s wrong “I know it’s MC. I can sense it, don’t lieeee” his face turned red as he screamed “she fucked mammon” asmo looked at him dumbfounded and bursted into laughter “well, duh. Did you think you were the only one. She’s been with all of us” Levi turned even redder and said “SHE FUCKED ALL OF YOU BUT NOT ME?!?” Asmo again looked surprised “oh, I thought, you both had already had sex” Levi screamed “CLEARLY NOT” asmo laughed again “well did you tell her you wanted too?” Levi tilted his head “I show her my things and we talk” asmo moved his hands “yes, yes, but did you make it known you like her?” Levi then realized his error.

Levi started looking for you. All around the house. Then he made it to the twin’s room. He saw your shoes but not you. He went to the kitchen defeated. There you were sitting on the counter eating a cookie. You looked at him “oh,hey Levi-“ he cut you off “Why won’t you have sex with me?! Am I not good enough?! Huh??” You looked at him and he covered his mouth in embarrassment. “Oh, I didn’t know you liked me like this that. Anytime I would try anything you would shut me down immediately and act all weird” you felt oddly happy. “I- oh. Um” he couldn’t form words. You were right. It did look like he only wanted to be friends. “Oh did it misread you just now?” You asked “do you not like me?” He got down on his knees and clung to your leg dangling off the counter “NO! NO I DO!…..so much” he looked up realizing you had no panties on you felt him grow hard against your leg and you giggled you pushed him off gently and he landed on his butt. You could see the outline of two cocks. You spread your legs on the kitchen counter for him. “You wanna try big boy?” He scrambled up and dove into your cunt”

[illym]

Two idiots walk into a bar. The third laughs at them before proceeding to walk into it as well.

Translation assistance: @yomotsu-hirasaka + anonymous

Cleaned and original comics below the cut.

ID in alt.

Explaining the joke:

In Chipp's story path 3 in GG:XX, he gets brainwashed by Robo-Ky (yes, Robo-Ky has brainwashing / mind control abilities in GG:XX. It's played fairly seriously, but I find it funny). This is in order to use his abilities to accomplish the PWAB's agenda— capturing Japanese people.

In the game, Chipp successfully stabs Anji. Anji realizes what's going on and proclaims that he'll bring Chipp back to his senses (which he does not). The joke is that here, Anji is utterly oblivious to what Chipp was trying to do, assuming that Chipp's just trying to help him out.

Specific assistances:

@.yomotsu-hirasaka: Translating Robo-Ky's dialogue into regular text. Checked various small things for accurate transcribing.

Anonymous: Checked various small things for accurate transcribing.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh this was awful and the entire reason it was awful is because I hold myself to an extremely high standard...

I noticed that the dialogue was similar to the dialogue between Chipp and Anji at the beginning of their meeting in Chipp's path 3. So in order to get a more accurate translation, I went to check a recording of of the dialogue on Youtube. However, it was just too different in tone and feeling for me to feel comfortable just using it without seeing the transcript.

So I said to myself, 'Let's go open up XX #RELOAD and change the language to Japanese; shouldn't take more than an hour all together'.

It turns out you can't change the language of XX #RELOAD. So I went to access XX #SLASH (because, well, may as well use the Japanese-only game if I'm going to be viewing the Japanese dialogue). It takes a while to access. I open it up, and check training mode quickly to make sure it's the correct version. It's the first iteration of XX. Not the third.

'Huh. Dang.' I say to myself, and proceed to actually access #SLASH.

It turns out #SLASH doesn't have a story mode.

I access XX again, utterly done with all of this, and then realize with dawning horror that I'll need to beat Ky's story path 2 in order to access Chipp's story path 3. Because the writers of XX really admired hedge mazes.

And then I remembered that the Guilty Gear Wiki has the original Japanese transcript along with having the English transcript.

And they had Chipp's full transcript.

It was... An exhausting and tumultuous use of 4 hours. But at least I can access Guilty Gear X Plus, now....? Like I've been wanting....?

Ugh.

Funny comic.

I've been rechecking some translations because I realized I was doing something incorrectly and I honestly forget how much I have to adjust these to make sense in English. More power to me, woohoo.... (<- exhausted...)

[prettygirl-gabi]

Something more

---

---

Rating: General Audiences

Warning: fluff

Category:F/M

Fandom: SEVENTEEN (SVT) (boyband)

Relationships: !high school student Jeonghan x ! High school f reader

Summary: being rivals was just a cover up for true feelings

Trope: academic rivals

---

Hiiiii everyone who is reading! Welcome to the second installment of my new mini series called "Oi! Not this again!" They do not have to be read together or in order! I hope you all enjoy!

---

I never thought I'd end up here—with Yoon Jeonghan, of all people. From the beginning, we were always at each other's throats, and it seemed as if the universe found some cosmic joke in pitting us against one another. If he said black, I’d say white. It was almost like a dance, one we’d been perfecting for years.

The history class bell had just rung, and I was collecting my books when I heard that all too familiar voice.

“Well, look who’s struggling again. Need help with basic history, y/n?” Jeonghan sneered, his smirk evident even before I looked up.

"Very original, Jeonghan," I shot back, rolling my eyes. "But I don't need help from someone who can't tell the difference between the Renaissance and the Enlightenment."

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Oh, someone’s been studying. Keep it up, y/n, and maybe someday you'll reach my level."

I gathered my things without another word, refusing to let him get under my skin. If only he knew what I was going through... but he couldn’t and wouldn’t, because he was Yoon Jeonghan.

Days went by, our interactions filled with the same biting remarks and cold stares, until one late afternoon. I had stayed back to finish an extra credit assignment, my eyes drooping and my head heavy with exhaustion. Suddenly, a shadow fell across my desk.

“Burning the midnight oil, are we?” Jeonghan’s voice was softer this time, almost concerned.

“What do you want?” I snapped, not in the mood for another round of his mockery.

“Relax, y/n. I was just passing by.” He hesitated before adding, “You don’t look so good. Everything okay?”

My walls momentarily crumbled, and before I could catch myself, I blurted out, “Not that it's any of your business, but no, it's not.”

Jeonghan took a seat beside me, crossing his arms. “Try me.”

Despite every instinct telling me not to, I found myself spilling everything—my parents’ recent separation, the pressure of college applications, the feeling of being utterly overwhelmed. To my surprise, he didn’t interrupt, didn’t offer any snide comments. He just listened.

After I finished, he sighed. “That’s tough, y/n. I had no idea.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I replied bitterly. “We just... fight all the time.”

“I know and... I’m sorry.” His sincerity was a new look on him, and for the first time, his eyes didn’t seem so antagonistic.

Weeks passed, and we fell into an unexpected rhythm. Our arguments turned into discussions, barbs transformed into jokes. Our classmates noticed and whispered, but I didn’t care. Neither did he.

One crisp autumn day, as we walked out of the library together, our fingers brushed accidentally. I pulled away, but he gently grabbed my hand.

“You know,” he said, staring at our intertwined fingers, “I never really hated you. I just didn’t know how else to get your attention.”

“Same here,” I admitted. “Well, except for the history quips.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “So, what do we do now?”

I took a deep breath, feeling lighter than I had in months. “We try. We see where this... thing between us goes.”

Jeonghan smiled, that familiar smirk taking a softer edge. “I’d like that.”

And with that, the tides turned. From enemies to tentative friends, and maybe—just maybe—something even more.

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

Thank You For Reading! 🩵🩶

-Prettygirl-gabi🎀

[still-breathing-au-p3r]

[continued from here] [first post for October 18th] It may be Shinji who has more of a way with words between the two of them, but Akihiko has always been the one who fills their silences. Shinji’s the kind of guy who would rather listen than talk, unless he’s really got something to say. So naturally, that means it falls on Akihiko to break the silence they’re mired in now, as well. 

But he just can’t bring himself to do it. 

It isn’t that he doesn’t know what to say– he can think of plenty of things that he should say right now. The issue is whether or not he can. He tries a few times to speak up and feels bile rise in his throat instead of his voice. 

So he chokes it down and they’re left with…nothing. Nothing besides the scorched atmosphere Akihiko left in his wake.

Maybe it would be for the best if he leaves. Maybe getting away from here and taking some time to calm himself down is the better option, even though he’s loath to think about parting ways with Shinji on such an awful note. Even if it should only be temporary, how can he be certain it will be? How can he know for sure that their luck will hold, and Shinji will still be here when Akihiko gets his shit together?

He doesn’t know how he’d live with himself if the worst came to pass, and that was the last conversation he and Shinji ever had.

Akihiko’s inability to swallow his shame and talk past it turns out not to matter, ultimately. It’s Shinji who finally breaks the arid silence with a heavy sigh. 

“Look, I’m…really no good at this sorta thing,” he starts. “You already know that. An’ I’m also kinda high on painkillers right now, ‘cause– turns out getting shot doesn’t feel great. So maybe nothin’ I say’ll make any sense.”

Despite himself, Akihiko wheezes out a small laugh, and Shinji’s mouth twitches up on one side. He wants to believe that maybe this is a step in the right direction. It’s not like he’s wrong either; Shinji’s talents with words have never extended to talking about his feelings, even before his Persona went berserk. 

“But…you’re right,” Shinji continues. “I knew what the consequences could be, but I didn’t take ‘em seriously enough– not for Amada, or for you ‘n Kirijo– because I was too caught up in my own reasons.”

Shinji’s hands clench into fists around the bedsheets, his fingers trembling. “None of it– nothing mattered to me as much as the thought that maybe… Maybe I wouldn’t have to live with the fact that I’m a murderer anymore.”

“Shinji…” Each word out of Shinji’s mouth feels as heavy as a cinderblock, and Akihiko’s chest aches under the weight of them all. 

Shinji closes his eyes and sags back against his pillow, exhaling a weighted breath through his nose. He looks utterly exhausted. “That’s all I’ve cared about these last two years. The only thing I wanted was to atone, no matter how. And my life for the one I ruined seemed like a fair trade, y’know?”

When Shinji opens his eyes again, his gaze falls on the open window. The Moonlight Bridge winks back at him, the morning sun glazed mirror-bright over its arches, forcing him to wince and look away. “But I guess that’s pretty screwed up, right? I was just pushin’ my selfishness onto a kid and takin’ the coward’s way out, like you said.” 

Akihiko doesn’t quite trust himself to speak without a sob bubbling up instead, and in any case, the glare off the bridge is starting to get to him too, so he gets up to close the curtains. He grips the stiff, plasticky fabric tightly and bites his lip. 

“And that’s…” He almost doesn’t turn back around to face Shinji, but decides at the last moment that he needs to. “That’s really how you feel?” 

Shinji holds his gaze for just a moment before looking away. “Mhm.” 

It’s the first time Akihiko has heard Shinji like this– so somber and serious– in a very long time. But if he’s being truthful (Akihiko hopes to god that he is), it only serves as a horrible reminder of just how much Akihiko has failed. 

He must be making a face, because when Shinji looks at him again his mouth twists into a rueful smile. “Still mad, huh?”

“Of course I am.” Akihiko’s answer is immediate. “I just…am I really that unreliable?”

“...What?”

Akihiko almost returns to his seat but overshoots it and ends up pacing instead. “Shinji, you helped me so much when Miki died. You were there for me, you– you never left my side. You always made sure I was okay.”

Memories flood over him like a tsunami, churned together by time and grief until they all blend into an amorphous impression of those days, individual moments of shocking clarity floating within the tide like flotsam. 

Shinji had let Akihiko cling to him for days after the fire with minimal breaks, while Akihiko had cried until he’d been sick. Shinji had held him tightly all through the funeral as he’d choked on dry sobs, all of the tears wrung out of him, his eyes throbbing and swollen almost shut. Afterwards he’d bullied Akihiko into lying down and draped washcloths soaked in cool water across the top half of his face. 

Shinji, checking in with him between classes since they didn’t have the same homeroom that year. Shinji, walking the entire way home with him after school even after the adoption had been finalized and Akihiko had gone to live with his parents, their house in the exact opposite direction as the new building that served as the orphanage.

And that was just the aftermath of Miki’s death. Shinji’s been looking after him all his life and never expected anything in return. All those memories blend together until it’s impossible to keep track of them all. 

Akihiko had certainly appreciated it at the time, but he’d still taken it for granted. It’s only now that he realizes just how much it all meant to him. His breath shakes, his voice trembles. “I don’t– I don’t think I could’ve gotten through it at all if I hadn’t had you. So– the fact that you thought I couldn’t be there for you–”

“That’s not it.” Shinji cuts him off. “You’ve got it all wrong, Aki. I knew you would’ve been.” He glares into his lap. “That was the whole problem– I didn’t want you to be. I didn’t want your help, or Kirijo’s, or anyone’s. It all goes back to me bein’ a selfish asshole.”

Oh.

That makes an unfortunate amount of sense. 

“...Was it that you didn’t want it, or–” Akihiko swallows, the sound uncomfortably loud in his ears. “Did you think you didn’t deserve it?”

Shinji shrugs. “Same thing at the end of the day, ain’t it.”

“No.” Akihiko shakes his head. “It’s not the same at all. You did deserve it. You do deserve it, Shinji.”

He doesn’t answer right away. His expression is stony and contemplative as he mulls over Akihiko’s words. 

“...If I’m honest, ‘m still not sure I can believe that,” Shinji says quietly. He looks at Akihiko again, meeting his gaze and holding it this time. “But I am sorry, Aki. Sorry for bein’ that selfish asshole.”

Despite what he’d demanded earlier, he hadn’t really been expecting any kind of apology. He wasn’t sure if he’d even really wanted one, or if all he’d really been after was the catharsis of throwing a punch. But hearing it now, with Shinji sounding so genuine, so sincere– emotion starts to swell in Akihiko’s chest again. 

He pushes it down before it can strangle his voice. Shinji isn’t the only one who needs to apologize. It’s time he stops being so self-centered.

Akihiko makes his way back to his seat, pulling it even closer to Shinji’s bedside as he sits. His knees knock against the bed frame. 

“I’m sorry too,” Akihiko murmurs. He ignores the look Shinji gives him. “I kept saying I wanted you to rely on me, but– I didn’t take your feelings into consideration at all and I forced you back into a fight you didn’t want to be a part of. 

“And because of that…” He shakes his head, glowering down at his hands. He clenches and unclenches them into fists, watching the tendons in his wrists flex. “If I’d been paying more attention, if I’d just realized what was going on when Amada joined us–”

“Hey,” Shinji interrupts him using the same tone of voice he does when he’s about to tell off one of the juniors, or when he’d scold one of the younger kids at the orphanage. “Don’t you dare start blamin’ yourself for this, alright? None of this is your fault.”

It’s nice of him to say, but Akihiko knows it isn’t true. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “You’ve told me a thousand times how tunnel-visioned I am. How I always run off on my own without thinking because I focus on one thing and forget about everything else.” Suddenly it feels like every lecture that Shinji’s ever given him and he’d brushed off is weighing down on his shoulders, heavy and shameful. 

“I told myself I needed to be stronger, but… In reality, I was just doing the exact same thing I accused you of. I was just running away too, from any problem that I couldn’t solve by knocking it down hard enough.”

What else has Shinji lectured him about that he just passed off as nothing when he should have listened? Why had it taken him until now to realize it? Why had it taken this? 

“You were right all along. And in the end, it didn’t even do any good. It didn’t matter how strong I was. Look what happened!” He gestures at Shinji, at the bed he’s propped up in– at everything in the room. It speaks for itself. 

“You almost died, Shinji! If one thing had been different– if just one thing hadn’t happened the way it did…you wouldn’t be here.” A sob clogs his throat. He drops his head into his hands, digging the heels of his palms against his eyes in a futile effort to keep the tears at bay. 

“All that strength, and yet I still couldn’t do anything for you. Not a single goddamn thing. I couldn’t even donate blood when you needed it, did you know that?”

“Aki…” Shinji doesn’t say anything more for several long moments, and the silence between them grows so heavy. Eventually, though, Shinji reaches out and puts a hand on Akihiko’s knee. 

“Listen,” he says. “We both fucked up. But there’s nothin’ we can do about it now. And…” He gives Akihiko’s knee a soft squeeze. “If it means anything, I don’t hold any of it against you.” 

Attempting to hide how emotional he’s gotten was hopeless from the start, but he’d been holding the line so far, if only by the skin of his teeth. Now Akihiko crumbles. He’s thankful that it’s just Shinji here instead of the whole team. He’d never live it down. At least Shinji’s seen him cry a million times before, so the blow to his pride doesn’t sting that bad. 

“I-it does. It means a lot to me, Shinji,” he replies, his voice quiet and hoarse, scrubbing the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.

[howtofightwrite]

When I was 15 we went to China and we went to see a martial arts show and were allowed to take photos with the performers and hold the weapons. Well, the one I first picked (ji polearm) was heavy and difficult to just pick up and hold straight up and off the ground. I don't understand why weapons like this are 'NEVER heavy' is all over here. There ARE heavy ones.

So, there's a couple important things to note. For obvious reasons, I can't examine that specific ji, but  they usually weigh about 9lbs. Which isn't particularly heavy. Now, it is possible that the martial arts school was using a weighted ji as part of their act, or it could have been an ornate example. Even then, it would be unlikely to break around 15-20lbs. Which loops back to the original point, infantry melee weapons aren't heavy.

It is worth remembering that if you're picking up a weapon without any prior experience, it may feel much heavier than it's weight would imply. This is, in large part, because you don't know how to find the weapon's balance. As, I'm sure you noticed during the show, the trained practitioners had no problem spinning it around like a baton.

This is going to be true of most melee weapons. Even a sword, which weighs a fraction of what that ji does, may still feel awkward and heavy until you learn how to wield it.

With all that said, the ji is on the heavy side for melee weapons. That's generally true of polearms. They're large and a bit awkward (in the hands of the untrained), but the weight is still quite manageable once you learn how to hold them.

It's possible (though somewhat unlikely) the weapon was also simply too larger for you to wield. This tends to be more of an issue with being unable to effectively balance the weapon in your grip, rather than it simply being too heavy to physically lift.

With all of that said, heavy weapons do exist. One of the classic examples are parade swords, which were heavily ornamented, and could weigh up to 20lbs. The important thing to remember with these object is that they're art pieces, not functional weapons. However, the fifty pound greatsword that looks like it was fashioned out of a chrome bumper does not, and while an adult with average physical fitness could lift such a weapon, wielding one in combat would be extremely tiring.

Fatigue is the real reason you don't see heavy melee weapons. The heavier the object is, the more energy you need to expend getting it moving (or stopping it.) The more energy you burn getting your weapon up to speed, the faster you will exhaust. When you're exhausted and facing a fresh opponent, you die. (That last bit is part of why you never saw things like the 50lb greatsword. It's not enough to be able to utterly obliterate a foe in one strike, you also need to be ready for all of his friends that are waiting behind him.)

As mentioned earlier, weighted weapons can be used for shows like the one you attended. Usually the purpose is to adjust the center of gravity on the weapon to facilitate specific tricks, but I don't know if that was the case here.

Either way, what you're looking at isn't so much the amount of weight, as an unexpected point of balance. I don't know what your general physical fitness was as a teen, but lifting 10lbs should not be an issue for a 15-year-old. Consider that your winter coat probably weighed more than that ji. However, you were not expecting the weight distribution, and probably didn't know how much weight to expect. Also, while I didn't state it explicitly, weapons tend to feel heavier than they are, until you get used to them. This is a consequence of the weapon's point of balance being someplace you weren't expecting. It gets better, because it's surprisingly difficult to lift significant amounts of weight off your center of gravity. The normal exercise example of this is to lift and hold a small barbell at arm's length. If you've never tried it, (or tried to hold a gun on someone for an extended period of time), it's surprisingly difficult. No one is going to argue that 1-2lbs of weight is heavy, but when you're holding it out, away from your body, it feels much heavier, and takes more effort. So, the, “trick,” with the ji is to keep its center of balance is close to your center of gravity. That's actually pretty easy once you've started to build familiarity with the weapon, but it can result in a deceptive first encounter.

Finally, I hope it's self-explanatory, but a theatrical show is not the same as battlefield combat. A lot of the physical considerations, like the threat of being killed because you burned too much energy, aren't really a problem in a ninety minute show, where performers can rotate out. This leads to a flashier, more physically demanding performance. You couldn't take that performance onto a battlefield because, “exhausted then dead,” but it will entertain the crowds.

Which leads back to: No. Heavy weapons do exist, but their place is on the mantel or stage, not in combat. You NEVER want a weapon to be any heavier than is absolutely necessary, and in a lot of cases, when you can't get the weight down, that will diminish the value of that weapon in combat.

-Starke

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[whumpshaped]

Concept: beck becoming anemic after being fed on for a while and helle being thrown because huh, that had never happened before? Saw it as a side effect in your guide and was like OOH

not terribly long after this

masterlist

tw vampire whumper, sickfic i guess, blood transfusion, hospital setting, needles

Tired, tired, tired, always so fucking tired. Beck thought he was going to go mad with this constant, mind-numbing exhaustion. At first, he really assumed it was just the monotonity of his dire situation. He'd heard of people getting used to bad situations, then eventually their bodies shutting down 'out of nowhere'. It was never out of nowhere, of course. Prolonged abuse like that would've taken a toll on anyone's body.

But he tried to push through it, given he had no solution or end in sight. More sleep, as much as he could get away with while working during the day and entertaining a vampire during the night. More coffee, as much as he could drink without his anxiety skyrocketing and sabotaging his work. More fresh air even, something he had been stubbornly disregarding for the first 25 years of his life.

It didn't work. His skin continued to get paler, if that was even possible, his heart continued to act up, which he'd chalked up to the coffee, and he kept getting winded from the three flights of stairs leading up to his apartment. Even Helle's mild annoyance was slowly turning into proper concern.

"You will go to the doctor tomorrow," they announced one night. Beck groaned, but didn't argue.

"Okay."

"And I am not feeding from you tonight."

Well... that was good news, at least. "Do I really look that bad?" Helle sighed, almost exasperated, as though Beck should've known how heavy this had been weighing on their unbeating heart or whatever. Maybe he did look that bad, from the outside. "S-sorry. Thank you for, um... caring," he finished quietly, unsure of the wording.

They scoffed. "I am not condemning myself to drinking from some sick human." They grabbed his phone from the table and shoved it into his hands. "You should actually look up your symptoms. Now."

"Helle, I don't know how to explain this... online medical stuff is not the best source of–"

"That is why you are going to the doctor tomorrow. But until then–" They nodded towards the phone, still looking at him expectantly. "I want to know, too. What I can potentially expect. Is it deadly? Do I need to be looking for a new human? These are important things, you know."

Beck unlocked his phone and started typing in the name of the most trustworthy page in this realm of the internet that he could think of. He wondered whether Helle had ever had to deal with a long-term bloodbag getting a little too sick. Or had they always been a one-off kinda vampire? Surely, they should've been aware that this sort of thing could have severe health complications.

"So?" God, they sounded so impatient.

"Whatever it is, I'm not gonna die from it tonight. I swear."

Helle rolled their eyes and continued pacing. Why were they anxious about this? He should've been the one pacing and fearing for his life! And if he had been able to muster up the energy for it, he would've been.

"Anaemia," he said after a few more minutes. "That's the most likely, and um... it... it would make sense, I suppose. I probably should've thought about that..."

"Anaemia," Helle repeated, lost in thought. They didn't say anything for a long moment, and Beck didn't know whether that was a good or a bad sign. "I am not waiting until tomorrow. Get dressed."

"Wh– what?"

"I said get dressed."

It wasn't often that Helle sounded so serious. Whenever they did, Beck always got this sense of impending doom, like something utterly terrible was going to happen. What else could make an immortal, aloof vampire act so... weird?

He silently got up from the sofa and went to his bedroom, putting on some random clothes and a mask as quickly as he could. Was this thing deadlier than he realised? Had Helle lost many bloodbags to severe anaemia before? He didn't know, he was too afraid to ask, and he chose to believe it was simply an out of touch vampire's buyer's remorse.

"Are we going to a hospital?" he asked timidly as he stepped out of the bedroom, and Helle nodded. "In the middle of the night?"

"Are there no emergency care facilities in the whole of the city?" they snapped, and Beck decided to just let them do whatever they wanted. The worst that could happen to him in an ER was a bit of a scolding for wasting time. The worst Helle could do? Well. He knew which one he was going to choose.

He just hoped Helle wasn't about to threaten any nurses in the name of his... health.

-

Severe anaemia. Blood transfusion.

Beck stared at the nurse as they brought out the needle to take a sample of his blood, still in a daze when it pierced his skin. If Helle hadn't trained him better, he might've jerked his arm away.

What was going on?

The charmed employees gave no reaction to Helle's little joke about his blood being 'A plus, I mean, positive', just as they gave none to their presence in general. They moved through protocol as though everything was normal, giving Beck a rundown on what was about to take place and how.

"It could take up to four hours, but we might help it along a little. It's a wonder you were walking around like this without... well, dropping dead."

Beck gave a nervous chuckle. "Um, yeah, I guess... I don't know, I thought I was just not getting enough sleep."

The nurse gave him a look. "Of course. I assume the vampire bite scars on your wrist have nothing to do with the anaemia."

Right. He forgot that she could just... see that. "Uh..."

"I'm not here to judge, you're neither the first nor the last victim I treat. But it's good to be honest with healthcare professionals, yeah? I know there's a bit of a stigma around it in certain places, but the emergency room is not one of them."

Beck nodded mutely. He didn't dare look at Helle. Despite them causing the anaemia in the first place, he had to admit that he was grateful to them for forcing him to come in. Who knew how long he would've continued walking around like that? Maybe he would've dropped dead.

Once he was left alone in the room, Helle cleared their throat. "Well..."

"Thank you," he said without much prompting, knowing perfectly well that was what the vampire wanted to hear. It was easier to say now, when he actually felt grateful, as opposed to all the times when they wrung the words from him through sheer terror. "I wouldn't have come in without you. Definitely not to the emergency room, but... not even to my GP."

Helle leaned against the wall with a smile on their face. They seemed pleased. "Oh, do continue. I love praise like that."

"Will you stay? For the... the entirety of the four hours?" He nodded towards the needle, shifting uncomfortably. "I, um... I could use the distraction. Please."

"Are you afraid of needles?"

"Could you sound a little less excited about it?"

Helle shook their head, the amusement never leaving their face. "You do know you will get transfusions a lot, yes? I mean, most likely. Bloodbags and thralls get them a lot."

"Could you not remind me?" he asked, even whinier.

They laughed, then walked over and sat in the other comfortable chair next to his. "Would you still like me to stay?"

"If you're just gonna make it worse, then, then maybe not," he muttered. "No, wait– I changed my mind, I don't care. You can make it worse. I just don't– I don't wanna be alone."

"Oh, I have full permission?" They leaned over and poked the tube a little, and Beck almost yanked his arm away. Again.

"D-don't mess with the needle!" God, he was so trapped. He couldn't just run away with an IV in his arm. "I meant– I don't care what you say, but don't– don't do that! Please!"

"But it looks so tasty. I could rip it out and use it as a straw."

"Okay, maybe I do want you to leave."

Helle grinned, very satisfied with their own performance. "I am quite good at making others uncomfortable, am I not? It is a skill I have perfected over three hundred years."

Beck could only nod, miserable and exhausted. "Can you... not put all that experience to use for just two minutes? Respectfully."

"Two minutes? My darling, darling Beck. You want me to sit here and chat away for four hours." They sighed dramatically. "But yes, I suppose I could dial it back a little. Just for you."

~

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[literary-motif]

Part 2 to “You’re So Hysterical” please! Your writing is so damn good 😭

Thanks so much! I'm glad you like the silly little things I type <3

You're So Hysterical II

Alex x Reader

Part I

You handed Alex a steaming cup of tea, which he accepted with a slight upturn of his lips. He still looked utterly worn out, but now his eyes were red from crying, and the ambitious twinkle in them you had seen as he assessed the pictures he had taken was gone. His gaze was vacant, devoid of any feeling other than overwhelming exhaustion. 

“Thanks for this,” he said quietly, cradling the cup in his hands. They were no longer shaking. “You didn’t have to— uh, help me,” Alex cleared his throat, averting his gaze and sinking deeper into the cushions as if trying to disappear, “I mean, after what you said— I expected you to just keep walking.”

You took a sip of your tea. “That would have been rather harsh, wouldn’t you say? I mean, you were breaking down on the sidewalk.” Alex flinched, sinking deeper into himself. “But that’s— It doesn’t matter now,” you said hastily, turning beside him to look at Alex directly, “Just— What’s going on, Alex? You don’t need to tell me if you don’t want to, but I’m here to listen if you want to share. From how you clung to me, I can tell something’s wrong.”

It was obvious in the way he pleaded not to be left alone.

“It’s just been hard,” Alex sighed, his eyes welling up with tears again, “the job— it’s not what I expected. Although I love it, you know I love my work, but I’ve been stretching myself thin for the company and they just reassign me to this associate who wants me to take pictures of them all day as if I’m some paparazzi and I—” he choked, his voice breaking as a sob tore through his chest again.

You gently took his cup of tea, setting it down on the coffee table.

“I’m so lonely,” he sobbed, burying his face in his hands, “I— I never thought that would be an issue for me. I’ve made new friends in the industry. I have! But it’s not the same and I’m so far away from everything I knew and loved. I feel so untethered from reality as if I’m drifting through the days while I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time and— and seeing you again just— broke me.”

Alex looked up, tears running down his cheeks again as his eyes settled on you. They held so much pain and regret, tearing at your heartstrings and almost leading you to gather Alex into your arms again. You fought the urge, reaching towards the blanket beside you and draping that over Alex instead. 

He nuzzled into the fabric and only cried harder. “You hate me,” he choked, “And I know it’s my fault because I broke it off, but I’ve spent every day regretting it and missing you because I— you— you are the love of my life and— and I just don’t know where we went wrong.”

“I don’t hate you, Alex.”

His head turned to you hesitantly, as if afraid of what truth he would find in your eyes. Slowly, he lifted one of his arms in silent invitation for you to scoot closer. After a short moment of deliberation, you sighed and gave in to his pleading eyes. Alex settled against you immediately, melting into your side. From how close you were, you could feel the slight tremble wracking his frame and you began running your fingers through his hair. He shivered, leaning into you further and you wondered how long he had gone without someone touching him like this. Probably as long as you.

“Listen,” you sighed, placing a kiss on the crown of his head out of habit, “We were good while we lasted— honestly, it broke my heart that you just discarded me when it was convenient for you as if all the years we spent together meant nothing—”

“That’s not true,” Alex interrupted, his voice slightly muffled from being nestled against your side. “I never said that—”

“You didn’t have to. It was obvious in the way you ended it,” you answered gravely. Thinking back to how Alex had shattered your heart and left you alone hurt more than you wanted to admit. 

For the past months, you had praised yourself on moving on, taking the energy you had previously invested in him and pouring it into your work. You had practically flown through your cases, excelling so much that you made heads turn when you walked into court. Your career was going splendidly, yet sometimes you went to bed and thought about Alex, wondering how he was, wishing he were there to hold you close until you fell asleep.

“It felt like my actions and baseless accusations — and I apologize again, I’ll never stop regretting them — were only an excuse,” you said, feeling Alex tense against you, “a pretext so you could blame it all on me and start your new life on a different continent with nothing holding you back and no one tying you down.”

Alex inhaled sharply, but you continued, feeling that if you did not voice your thoughts now, you never would.

“Can you imagine how horrible it felt to be reduced to one mistake you made? Just the one, in four years? The one time I let my worries and anxieties get the better of me, the one time I couldn’t fight them off and trust you blindly because they were eating away at me and I couldn’t be strong. The one time I was unable to stay level-headed and gave in to how I felt and you—”

“That doesn’t excuse what you did,” Alex said, moving away into a sitting position to look at you properly. 

“Of course it doesn't,” you reasoned, “And I’m not trying to justify myself. I’m telling you that it hurt. I’m saying that when you kept holding it over my head, treating me like someone impulsive and childish, when you very well knew I wasn’t — I never was, in four years, Alex, come on — and then go on and mock me—”

“I never mocked you! What are you saying?”

“‘Are you ready to have a mature conversation now?’” you quoted his words back at him, “I— maybe you were just overwhelmed, so was I but still you kept treating me like I was some petulant burden you couldn’t wait to get rid of because I let my fears take the better of me and made mistakes because of it. I’m just saying it hurt me, Alex. It made me even more afraid to make mistakes now, to let down my guard, and, truthfully, I never expected you to give us up without even trying to work through this.”

Alex looked at you for a long moment before exhaling deeply and sinking back into the couch. All the fight seemed to have left him, leaving him looking miserable and lost. He wound the blanket around himself again and glanced at you. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way,” he said slowly, “and I’m sorry I left. I think I was still processing what had happened and— maybe it seemed easier to end it than to try if long-distance would have worked for us because my trust in you was shaken. I can’t explain how I felt back then, but I realized that I was wrong to give up on us because my love for you never wavered and—” he reached out his hand, taking hold of yours, “and I miss you, I want you back in my life and I’d like to be part of yours again if you’d let me and— maybe we could try long-distance, maybe I’ll give up the new job and come back to London— I’ve got my connections now, I can work on my own again. We could—”

“Alex,” you stopped him, and the tone of your voice made the sliver of hope in his eyes vanish immediately. “I don’t think we’ll work this out,” you hesitated, making sure that you meant the words you were about to say, “and I don’t want to try again.”

He nodded sadly, wiping at his eyes which filled with tears once again. “Can I—” he began, clearing his throat as his voice broke, “Can I stay the night? I could— if you want, I could cook something and we could reconnect, maybe?”

You hesitated, remembering how Alex had pleaded not to be left alone. In the end, you reasoned, both of you could use the company.