#so no talking but also no whimpering or making sounds of pain/distress

[vaginadentatas69]

I’ve been thinking about how you could have both 👀

It takes a few weeks, maybe months, to finally start coaxing noise out of Wade. Logan’s patient with his mutism the entire way through, he starts stocking sticky notes and keeping clipboards around so Wade can write when he’s really struggling to ask for something. He learns sign language and shares it with Wade after he figures out Wade finds it infinitely easier to talk with his hands and not his voice. He misses Wade’s voice, misses the way he’d ramble on about things Logan thought were stupid until he couldn’t hear Wade talk about them any more, but its more important to him that Wade is here. He’s struggling, but he’s safe now, and Logan knows how special he must be that Wade trusts him to share a bed; eventually Wade can’t sleep at all without Logan in the bed with him, touching by at least a rough hand brushing against his palm, if not full-body pressed together where Wades tears can soak silently into Logans body hair.

Logan can see the improvement, too. Wade flinches less often, wakes up with less nightmares, goes into less fugue states. He’s still reactive, but he’s learning how to cope when things trigger him instead of defaulting to self harm as a distraction to outward violence. He’s not scared to make noise any more, and Logan will sometimes catch him making laser gun noises or quietly singing to himself when he doesn’t realize Logan’s listening. He’s still ominously quiet around Logan, keeps his sentences clipped to single words, but its progress that Logan can’t help but celebrate.

Which is why it hurts so much more to hear the first full sentence Wade says to be a downplay of his trauma. Logan looks at him torn between grief and relief, because it’s so so so good to hear Wade talk again, to hear him joke, but he can hear how hollow Wade’s voice is and can tell how much further they have left to go in recovery. It’s a bittersweet joy, that Wade can talk but still can’t be honest about how horrible his experience was. Wade’s never told Logan the extent of what he went through, isn’t even certain he ever will, but Logan knows enough to see straight through Wade’s dismissals. He’s seen enough of Wade’s recovery and been there for enough breakdowns to know better, even when other people fall for it.

Wade himself feels broken because he wants to be the person he was before, but that person feels alien to him. When he tries to crack a joke to lighten the mood, tries to be the Funny Guy again, sometimes Logan laughs, but sometimes he gives him that Look again. The Look that says, I know you’re hurting and you won’t say it. You don’t have to lie to me. It’s terrifying and disarming and every time Wade’s left with an impulse to double down on dismissing and denigrating himself, but he can’t bring himself to do it. Logan hasn’t spent this much time cohabiting with a ticking timebomb that’s slowly gaining time between explosions to believe it when Wade talks about his trauma like old history, or when he accidentally repeats something Stryfe used to tell him.

Part of it’s because Logan’s been there before too, been broken apart by people who treated him like a tool, only to piece himself back together with his own shaking hands and the steady guidance of those few who believed in him. There’s nothing Wade can throw at him that he hasn’t seen before, that he can’t bounce back from, even on Wade’s worst days where he’d be a danger to anyone without a healing factor. He can roll with Wade’s (sometimes literal) punches without once faltering because he’s been in that exact same place. Not once has he held it against Wade when his emotions boil over and his vision floods with red and Wade can’t do anything but fight until his body is too exhausted to move. Logan simply takes it all in and stays for the aftermath to rub Wade’s back and remind him that he doesn’t have to be perfect to be worthy of love.

rolling a whump situation around my mouth like fine wine

what if Stryfe nabbed Wade and gave him the ol' thousand-year-torture-session or whatever blah-di-blah (he's a very convenient Nate-shaped baddie for whump purposes >:3c)

and then Logan eventually finds him and comes to rescue him

Obviously Wade heals up from all the brutality; not a scratch on him. But weeks later, though he's completely fine physically

He's

still

not

talking

just. won't communicate. shakes his head desperately when Logan asks him (begs him) to say something, anything. Seems afraid of what'll happen, if he dares make a sound

and Logan's heart is breaking

[darkness-and-books]

Ostaran

Thank you @stellarbluegalaxy for the name idea!

The species I was talking about last night is named! Behold!!

Ostaran are like Vulcans, basically only in that they are descended from an animal and retain certain vestigial traits from their predecessors. Much like a group of bunnies, one may also refer to a group of Ostaran as a fluffle. Ostaran is both singular and plural, “they are an Ostaran,” and “they are all Ostaran,” both correct. Ostaran are typically shy, but usually very happy as well. Easily frustrated and with a tendency towards foot tapping when angry/frustrated/impatient.

An example of what one might look like, ~I used pixlr to AI generate this image cause I can’t draw, I might try though because I wanna put one in a Starfleet uniform~

Sounds

Clucking- much like real bunnies, Ostaran are prone to making a very quiet clucking sound when happy with their food.

Purring- just like cats, bunnies purr, and so do Ostaran.

Humming- All bunnies hum, but this sound is most often made by a male bunnie attempting to woo a female- apply previous information to Ostaran.

Growling and snorting- Bunnies growl and/or snort when they feel threatened- Ostaran don’t growl so much as make an intense huffing sound through their nose when threatened.

Hissing- Bunnies hiss to keep away other bunnies- Ostaran don’t hiss at other species nearly as much as they hiss at each other (it’s kind of a territory thing), but if an Ostaran does hiss at you and you aren’t one… I’d get out, I’d get out now.

whining and whimpering- Bunnies mostly whine when unhappy with their environment or when uninterested/unhappy with a male’s advances- Same applies to Ostaran

Teeth grinding- bunnies grind their teeth when in pain- Ostaran will do this as well, but their teeth do not grow nearly so fast, so they have to be in a lot of pain to grind their teeth.

Screaming- Bunnies scream when being chased by a predator or when dying- Ostaran don’t scream while dying unless it’s a particularly gruesome death. They don’t tend to scream when scared, they just run really fast, you would have to scare an Ostaran really bad to make them scream. It’s never a false alarm when an Ostaran screams. It’s very alarming because much like bunnies, no matter how old an Ostarsn is their screams sound just like that of a small child.

Physical attributes

It’s sort a dice roll whether or not an Ostaran gets the classic bunny ears, the chances are higher that they get normal human ears, the bunny ears are like green/blue eyes for Ostaran, it happens and it’s not uncommon, it’s just not the most likely.

Much less likely though is the tail, some Ostaran still have them, but most don’t, it’s a point of envy because it’s definitely a valued trait.

Aside from that Ostaran tend to have small, round, very boopable noses (please do not boop the snoot without permission, they do not appreciate it)

Behaviours

Ear twitching- they have really good ears, if they start twitching it’s because they hear a startling sound (even if you don’t hear it)

Forehead to forehead- you know that scene in the Peter Rabbit movie where she’s like “That’s how they apologise”, I have no idea if it’s true of bunnies, but it is a Ostaran custom, the longer they hold you there the more sorry they are (If a Ostaran tries to do this please accept, they’re really sorry)

Nesting- mostly a female thing, do not touch, move or in any way disturb the nest ( it can be very distressing). Do not enter the nest unless invited, know that you are highly trusted if invited.

Not full blown a/b/o, but they definitely do the scenting thing and have highly sensitive noses. So I guess it’s less a/b/o and more that they’re smell oriented.

Hugs- if a Ostaran allows you to/wants you to hug them, they are okay with smelling like you (feel special, they mostly don’t want to smell like others unless they’re really comfortable with them)

Highly ticklish (please don’t tickle them unless you know they’re okay with it, they are not opposed to biting you for it)

Random Bonus

Humans are weird with their fashion, but it works the Ostaran advantage, they’ll totally cut holes in hats and hoods and thread their ears (if they have them) through to fit in, most humans don’t even know the difference. Silly humans

and that’s my presentation on a made up species

[nyxnightshade7656]

Hooked Pt7

Things go from good to horrible in 2.2 seconds. Also, in this version of a Siren, her voice triggers illusions only the victim can see. I'm not sure I portrayed that very well here, but there will possibly be more instances in later chapters. Maybe. As always, comments/concerns/constructive criticism is always welcome.

Google translations

C'est une Fille - That a girl Bon travail - Good Job

Things had been quiet around the mansion lately. As quiet as a school full of mutants could be, at any rate. No threats, no life or death missions. Just the occasional trip to try and recruit a new mutant to the school to teach them how to control their powers and live in peace with humans. Honestly, it set her teeth on edge. It was too quiet, to the point that she was nearly jumping at her own shadow. In her experience, which was admittedly nothing like the X-Men had lived through, things being quiet for too long meant something big was coming. She hoped she was wrong, and it was just all her years of having to be hyper vigilant that was making her paranoid, but she didn’t think it was. Her dad had started taking her out into the woods more often in an effort to keep her sane by forcing her mind onto other things; like training and tracking. But so far it hadn’t worked as well as Logan had hoped it would. It didn’t help that he was as on edge as she was, and she could feel it. She gave him an A plus for effort though, he really did care in his own gruff way.

Today was a day where all the X-Men were in the mansion, and the younger generation of mutants were either in the Danger Room training, or they were in class learning the traditional school curriculum. She was left to her own devices, so she was outside, elbow deep in dirt and weeds, trying to exercise her paranoia out through gardening. She had just finished planting some cayenne peppers to later be used in cooking when she heard it. There was an explosion, she shot to her feet, looking around wildly as suddenly there was a cacophony of noise. There were shouts and screams, she thought she also heard crying, but nothing was as loud as the sudden influx of emotions.

 Fear, Anger, Worry, Terror, Panic, Anxiety, Confusion, Disorientation, Distress, Pain, Shock, Stress and vulnerability. They bombarded her mind, driving her right to her knees as she clutched at her head as if she were trying to keep it from splitting apart. It was all too much, too overwhelming, she didn’t even feel like herself anymore, merely a shell or husk as the emotions of the people around her filled her like tea overflowing a glass. Everything around her was fading in an out, all the negative emotions were affecting her ability to think and process, she couldn’t even remember her own name at the moment. Suddenly, there was more noise coming from closer to her, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t think. It was like she was having an out of body experience, part of her aware of the danger but her mind could not seem to communicate with her body.

“Git ‘way from ‘er! How’s ‘bout ya pick on som’un yer own size, yeah?” The sound of Gambit’s voice helped ground her some, but she still was struggling to just open her eyes. There was the sound of a scuffle, but it seemed so far away, like she was hearing everything through several walls and a tunnel. Then, there was silence. The emotions were still build, swirling and swelling like a storm, but the ones closest to her were trying to be calm. But she could feel the fierce protectiveness warring with the forced feeling of calm, like they were trying to comfort her, “Chère, parle moi. Talk ta Remy, ‘mon.” Hands. There were hands on what she thought were supposed to be her shoulders. She whimpered before she could stop the sound, breath catching in her throat as fear and worry overwhelmed her even more, “Non, Chère, it Remy. Jus’ Remy. S’okay, yer okay, ‘mon.” Why was he saying that? Why was he talking to her like he was worried she was going to fall apart? “Chère, Remy need ya ta show me som’thin’. Need ta know ya in dere.” Oh. That’s why. She was shaking, and hadn’t even so much as looked at him yet. Finally, after what felt like hours of fighting through an undercurrent to try and find the surface, she managed to open her eyes. She was instantly greeted with Remy’s red-on-black eyes filled with worry. His expression quickly melted into one of relief, “Dere ya are, Chère. Remy glad ta see ya jolis yeux.” He whispered softly.

She bit her lip, she looked around and spotted a man laying on the ground, but Gambit quickly moved back into her line of sight, “Non, Chère. Don’ lookadat. Look at Remy, yeah? Much prettier sight.” His words were playful, but his tone and emotions were both full of a powerful protectiveness. Her eyes instantly met his, and he gave her a smile, “Dat’a girl. Les git you inside where I’s safe, huh Petite?” His voice was steady, his face was relaxed, there was nothing to physically indicate that he was anything other than calm and collected. But she was an Empath, and he couldn’t hide his emotions behind a flawless poker face. He was worried, boarder line panicked. She could not, for the life of her, figure out what would make the unshakable Gambit be so worried. Before she could do so much as blink, he had his hand on her elbow and was hauling her up like she weighed nothing. When she stumbled over a couple steps, Gambit didn’t even hesitate. In one fluid motion he went from taking a step to swooping down and sweeping her up into a bridal carry, “I gotcha, Petite. But we gotta get’cha outta here. Ain’t safe.”

She buried her face in his chest, trying to ground herself. The emotions in the air were a chaotic conglomeration that tasted like ash on her tongue. Too many warring and conflicting flavors. She bit her lip hard enough to break skin as she tried, and nearly failed, to keep her powers under control. She was trembling in Gambit’s hold, prompting him to hold her tighter as he picked up the pace, nearly running now as he tried to get them into the mansion. The sound of fighting, flesh hitting flesh and metal hitting metal, as well as the unmistakable sound of Cyclops’ optic blasts filled the air as Gambit rounded a corner, but it was the sound of Storm calling to Gambit that had her lifting her head from his chest, “Gambit, you found her?”

“Oui!” Gambit called back, hand moving from her back to the back of her head, as if he was going to try and make her hide her face again. There was a flash of lightning as Storm focused on giving Gambit cover. But it wasn’t enough, there was a flash, and then something hit the ground at Gambit’s feet, sending them both flying through the air. She skid across the ground like a smooth stone thrown across water, only stopping when her head and shoulder collided with a stone wall. Her vision swam as she clutched at the side of her head, trying to find Gambit, or see what had made them go flying. When her vision finally cleared, she saw that they were farther away from the main fight than she had realized, Storm had been distracted by an arial attack that drew her away from aiding Gambit. She started to crawl towards Gambit, it looked like he had collided with a different wall, but he had what looked like a splash of red from his hairline to his chin. The image was blurry for her, but she knew what that splash of red meant. Head wound.

She just barely made it to his side when she caught movement out of the corner of her eye, she jerked her head around, only to regret it immediately when her vision swam again. She pressed a hand to her head, trying to get the world around her to stop spinning, “Belle? Y’a’ight?” She glanced up at Gambit, his face was blurry to her, but at least he seemed to be awake. She nodded, wincing at the pain it caused her, then turned her head back towards the movement from a moment ago. Only to be faced with someone wielding what looked like a high-powered rifle at close range.

She felt the fear and anxiety hit her harder than she had hit the wall moments ago. Her eyes began to glow a vibrant purple as her power clawed at her, begging to be released. And for the first time since she realized what her power did; she let it have control, “Drop your weapon. Those living here are not your enemy. Your own men, those you invaded with, are your enemies. Turn on them. Turn on them and leave. Not. One. Of. You. Standing.  NOW!” Her voice was not merely one voice. No, her voice was a cacophony of voices, her voice sounded like a legion of voices all at once. She was her own harmony, melody and rhythm. Instantly, at the sound of her voice, the man that had been about to shoot dropped his weapon as his face went blank. She watched as he looked around, as if seeing something not there, that only he could see, and then he turned and matched off, towards the main battle.

Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath, eyes wide in horror at what she had just done, yet she felt no remorse for sending that man to his doom. He would have killed her and Gambit if she hadn’t used her Song on him. Then the trembling started. Anxiety, fear and self-directed anger filled the air as she lost all control over her power. She clutched at her head, fighting for air, everything felt too much, her bones were too large for skin that felt stretched too tight. The noise around her faded to a whisper then blared into a screaming siren at random intervals. Her lungs felt like they were both over-inflated and like she couldn’t drag in enough air all at the same time. Her throat felt as if she had swallowed glass, or lava; raw, bruised and shredded. She couldn’t feel her fingers, her feet were so numb she wasn’t even sure if she was touching the ground anymore. Her vision went from blurry, to shadowy, then the edges began to go dark.

“-Re, Ch-“ Was that a voice? It was so hard to tell. Her head felt like it was both underwater and in a vacuum. Nothing was making sense, everything was too much, so much. Yet everything felt disconnected, “Chère! ‘Mon back to Remy, yeah? Wit ‘im now?” Panic. He felt like panic. There was disbelief, confusion, fear. No, was it her own? Was she feeling those things? Who was feeling all of that? “Non, Chère. Non’a’dat. Focus on Remy, hear? Jus’ Remy, can ‘e hold ya, Chère? Ya gotta breathe, ‘kay? Listen to Remy’s voice, can ya do dat for ‘im?” Why was he so worried? What was happening, was someone hurt? Who was making that sound? Was someone crying? Why were they crying? It sounded so far away, “Chère, ya breakin’ Remy’s heart.” Suddenly there was a warmth surrounding her, making her realize how cold she was. Then she heard something. ThuThump ThuThump ThuThump. Subconsciously, her lungs started to try and match the rhythm set by that thumping, “Dats it, Chère. Follow da sound’a Remy’s heartbeat. Time it. C’est une fille. Get some air, let it in, don’ fight it.” Oh. Oh, that crying was her, wasn’t it? That unholy wailing. It was all her. She could feel her fingers now, and she had dug them into her scalp, bruising the skin under her hair, digging her nails in until she had almost broken skin in an effort to prevent her head from splitting open.

Remy gently pried her hands away from her head, but only after carefully untangling her fingers from her hair to try and avoid causing her anymore harm than she had caused herself, “Dats it, bon travail, Chère.” He pressed the words into the crown of her head. His emotions were all she could feel now, other than her own. She wasn’t sure how long he held her, or how long he kept pressing reassurances into her hair. But he remained calm despite how worried she could feel he was. But finally, finally, she managed to take in her first full breath since this all began. Her screams and cries had dwindled down to silent hiccups as her body tried to regulate itself back to something closer to normal.

“Ya with Remy, ‘gain?” He whispered against her temple. She nodded, slowly, “Dat was real impressive, Chère. Knew you was an Empath, but dat wadn’t da skills of an Empath. Dat why ya don’ talk?” His tone was soft and gentle. Sweet and understanding. She felt her stomach drop to her feet at his question. She just nodded. He hummed and lightly trailed his fingers over her shoulder and down her back, “Les’ get ya inside, Chère. Scottie, Wolvie and da othas can clean up da res’ of da mess ‘ere.” He held her closer and stood up, holding her bridal style once more. She buried her face in his chest, clutching him tightly, using his steady heartbeat and soothing emotions to keep herself grounded for the moment. His steps were smooth and easy, a slow even cadence that quickly lulled her to an uneasy sleep.

[whumpsoda]

Amara - Nevan & Darius

WOHEO Masterlist

Listened to No One Lives Forever by Oingo Boingo while writing this… idk why but a great song for me to write whump to??

Also I think I like this! Sorta proud of it atm <3

Taglist- @softvampirewhump @iys-cloud

cw: vampire whumper, human whumpee, pet whump, memory loss, amnesia, brainwashing

———————————————————————

Lights.

Bright, encompassing, and fluorescent. They stung. They buzzed and beat upon the vibrant white tile flooring, of which numerous pairs of polished shoes clicked atop.

There was talking. Several voices that spouted unintelligible words. He gently stroked someone’s hand, thumb rubbing over wispy hairs. He couldn’t tell who it was, the details of their face blurred and muddled in his brain.

There was crying. Shrill and squeaky, little hiccups scattered in between cries. The ringing of the noise only became louder as it neared, right into his cradled arms. As unlikeable as the sound was, it bloomed warmth in his chest.

Slick tears quickly fell to fabric, dribbling down his chill face. The tiny, unimaginably small thing in his arms mewled and whimpered, its pudgy little face smushing its minute features. He held it tighter, hoping he never had to let go.

And then he spoke. His beaming lips parted, and his throat cracked with the taint of unbridled joy. 

“Amara.”

…

He gripped the doorway urgently, fingers determined and grasp harsh. Nevan whimpered, with his other hand clawing at his head. Fingernails sharply burrowed into his skin, in the desperate attempt to rid his mind of unwanted thoughts.

He needed Master. Whatever was spinning his head in circles, Nevan knew it was bad. Master would be mad, so very mad, but Master could help him. Master would care, he would have to. Nevan wasn’t broken, not yet enough to discard.

His trembling, weak knees buckled as he attempted to make use of them, his muscles wavering and weakening. Nevan’s knuckles made their way into his neatly done hair, pulling thick strands out of their meticulous place in distress. 

He forced his hesitating legs forward, in the direction of the vampire’s library. His joints were tight and heavy, cracking and buckling with every slight movement. 

The dim, yellow light grew across his body as he neared his master’s tight study, the door having been left wide open. Darius’ hazy figure was mere feet away, seated comfortably in his favorite plush leather seat.

The vampire’s frame inched higher as Nevan tumbled to the floor, a pathetic sight. Darius’ gaze didn’t make the slightest shift from the page he was focused on, but even in such a dizzy state Nevan could sense his irritation. 

The human whimpered and whined, stuck in an inescapable frenzy of painful confusion and hurt. The fuss seemed to annoy the vampire just enough to take the slightest of interest. “What do you want?” Darius sneered, flipping carelessly to another crisp page.

Nevan gazed up at his master’s beautiful face, kneeling before the vampire. His head swayed, contorting his vision with disorientation and muddling the sight.

“Mm, um, Ma- Master, n- need help,” Nevan clasped his slender hands together, dizzily begging to his owner. “Fix, fix please, fix, bad, bad…” Nevan shook his head frantically, as if to signify that was the cause of his anguish.

Darius finally looked down to him, just to get a glimpse and scoff at the sore sight. He quickly turned back to his reading. “What have you done now?”

Nevan shivered in disgust with himself, distraught over his own disappointing behavior. “Please, um, head, um, re- um, remember, I think, fix please, Master,” he stammered, goosebump covered skin trembling. “Hurgg, hur- hhurghts!”

Darius glared, sighing with discontent as his thrall clutched his throbbing head. Interrupting Nevan’s pleas, he pressed a hand to his forehead. “Shush.” Nevan’s lips quickly snapped together. “What an nuisance you continue to be.”

He disapprovingly watched the man writhing on the floor, who dug his own fingers into his scalp. “How could you have possibly managed to remember yet again?.” Nevan whined between his cries, guttural and pained. 

Again? This wasn’t the first, but one of many?

He didn’t mean to be so bad, he never did. He wanted so very badly to please, to hear Darius’ voice wash over him with sugary praises when he managed to do something right for once. More than anything he strived for the pleasure of his master’s voice in the few times he was satisfied, and yet Nevan rarely earned the privilege of hearing it.

He needed help to be better, and Darius was the only one who could do such a thing.

“I’m sorry, ‘m sorry, ‘m so sorry, please, Master, please,” he insistently begged, flimsily clawing at Darius’ beige pant leg.

His head throbbed and pulsed with sickly affliction, and the blurred out glimpses of a hard to reach memory refused to let go of his head. His face was wet, slick tears collecting at his shaven chin, and a disgusting drip of snot fell from his nostril.

Darius looked as if he may throw up. Nevan sure felt like it. “How do you keep doing this? How can your tiny little brain continue to thwart me?” He leisurely hooked a finger below Nevan’s chin, dirtying his skin with the thrall’s salt tears. Nevan submitted eagerly to the gesture. “How repulsive.”

Nevan snapped his eyes and mouth shut, struggling a thick gulp, praying for the cease of his ugliness. As soon as his eyelids were shut though, the bright room was back, plaguing his mind. The lights, the voices, the child swaddled in his arms. 

Maybe he wanted to hold onto it. Just a little. For just a fleeting second, he wished to relish in the foreign, unfamiliar moment of another life. For just a chance, he could ignore the fact he knew he couldn’t.

But it hurt. Burning, seering pain that ripped his brain in two, a frenzied wail racing from his throat. “Please, please, Master- Master-!” He shoved his way between Darius’ legs, clawing and pulling desperately at the seated man’s shirt.

Darius, amidst the frantic and hysteric behavior of his thrall, used one hand to grip Nevan’s wrist, and the other to nest in the human’s hair. 

Nevan welcomed the touch, no matter how harshly Darius’ fingers clenched his skin or tugged his hair. Any semblance of contact was gladly welcome, especially if it was from his master.

“Hush, pet.” Darius purred, leaning down close. “Quiet your little mind for me. Calm and relaxed, and oh so quiet. Quiet as a little mouse.” He hummed, warm breath beating from his nose.

Darius let Nevan’s numbing limb fall to the floor, slipping his thumb instead to the thrall’s quivering lip. He brushed against the moist skin, causing Nevan’s heart to shiver with pleasure. 

Master could be gentle. When he cast one of his sweet, easily addictable spells over his thrall, his voice softened and soothed, pleasant words easily subduing Nevan by the ear. When he took pity over his stupid thrall, he could choose to be gentle.

“So nice and quiet. Just like your feeble brain. So very, very quiet. Docile, obedient and empty.” Nevan could already feel his brain dissipating, including the specific thought that had haunted his brain just a moment ago. It continued to linger, but was being drowned out in favor of his master’s mollifying voice.

“Let the quiet take hold, getting rid of the bad thoughts. The terrible thoughts. The unnecessary memories that hurt.” Nevan nodded along with the hypnotic suggestions.

He would gladly take any chance to rid himself of such things. His cheek smushed up against the vampire’s thigh, head becoming drowsily light with eyelids threatening to drop.

“You like the silence, right?” He did. When he could sit, blank and empty, and let Master make all of the decisions for him. 

“Mm, um… like…quiet…” Nevan whispered, vocals lowering with his mind. “Make, please… make brain… quiet…”

Darius huffed a stifled chuckle, finding humor in the pitiful wants of the man. “Let me tear those pesky memories away, and you’re brain will be so very nice and quiet. So quiet, now. Calm and relaxed and quiet, giving the bad thoughts away to Master so they can never return. A good boy doesn’t remember, he keeps his mind nice and silent.”

Nevan craved to be good, and yet he hesitated, just for a moment. Did he really want to let go of the dreamlike, hazy memory he had uncovered? The one that filled his heart with a pleasant beat? The one that at the same time twisted with an unexplainable agony in his stomach, and a searing ache in his head?

A dull, wide smile spread across Nevan’s lips, as he allowed the pleasurable, heavenly quiet cotton to fill his mind with open arms. It’s what Master wanted. It’s what he wanted.

He released the memory from his mind’s weak grip, letting if slip easily from his brain, disappearing by Darius’ whims where it would never come back. Nevan didn’t mind that. Whatever he had remembered, to distant to reach now, it hurt too much to keep around.

The sensation of letting go of the insignificant was almost like paradise, fluttering his heart and clouding his body with pleasant vibrations of gratification.

Nevan melted into Darius’ leg, jaw falling slack and mind falling deeper into an empty silence. Darius plopped his back against the chair with a scoff, irritatedly picking back up his book.

After however long of mindless staring, Nevan looked back up to his owner, delighted eyes draped by the tired lids, his cheeks gumming with his smile.

He couldn’t remember why he was there, kneeling contently at Master’s feet. Why his face was coated with drying wet, or why his hair and dress had been agitatedly tussled with.

He couldn’t remember much at all. He didn’t need to, and he usually didn’t. He knew all he needed to.

He was at the floor below his Master, where he always had been and always would be.

[boygiwrites]

Harley D. Dixon 13

An amazing edit inspired by this story! (Cred to Cora_Line99) Harley D. Dixon's Pinterest Board! Harley D. Dixon's Playlist!

📖Chapter List.

Author's Note. Quick update this time, guys. As always, please enjoooooy!

"Where's my Dad?" Is the first thing I ask when we make it to the house.

The horse skids to a stop in front of the porch, and I waste no time in sliding to the ground. I hit the grass with a painful grunt, and Rick, who was already on his feet, hurries forward along with Glenn to support me as I try to stand. I grab their bloody hands and they grab my clean ones as I stumble forward, dizzy, trying to get into the house as quickly as possible. I push past them; scramble up the steps. A man I don't recognise blubbers to me that he's sorry, he's so, so sorry, over and over again, but I don't know what for, and Rick sternly warns him to save it for later. He catches up with me; grabs me again. It makes me sick to look at his shirt, which is over-saturated with blood — My Dad's blood — and so I scrunch my face up and turn the other way, like a baby who doesn't wanna look at its peas. Glenn opens the door and Rick helps me inside.

"Is this her?" An elderly man at the end of the foyer asks, wiping his hands — also bloody — on a white rag. "Is this the daughter?"

"Rick, where is he?" I ask again, sniffling.

"Just give us a minute, sir." Rick tells the man.

"Where's Daddy?"

"He's right in here, honey."

He leads me to a door on our left that's only open an inch, but it's more than enough to catch a glimpse of my Dad's motionless body lying on top of the covers. From here, it looks like he's dead. Has he always been that pale? A pathetic, weeping sound escapes my mouth at the sight.

"I'm so sorry." The stranger continues pleading. I think he's talking to me. "I'm so sorry. It was an accident. I swear."

"Not now." Rick repeats himself, looking at him over his shoulder.

"He's not dead, is he?" I whimper.

"No." Rick shakes his head, before another I'm sorry comes from behind us, and he frustratedly shouts, "Shane, take him outside."

"C'mon." I hear him order the man. "Buddy, let's go."

As the distressed man gets ushered back outside to the porch, I stare into the room like I'm about to jump off a cliff, when really all I'm about to do is open a door. I feel like the floorboards are about to snap and give out underneath me; like I'm about to fall, like I'm doomed. I reach my hand out and an awful creaking noise echoes throughout the old house as the door slowly swings open. I take a step inside. Rick trails me, followed by Glenn. They're prolly here to make sure I don't pass out, which I think I just might, as I watch my Dad's stomach very closely as it ever so faintly rises and falls with his breath. I shake on the spot, frozen in fear. I've never seen my Dad like this before. It's like it's not even him.

"Daddy?" My voice cracks as I call out to him, beckoning him to wake up. He doesn't.

I see Rick and Glenn in my peripheral exchanging subtle looks.

Outside, I hear, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, and Shane sayin', shut up.

I step forward until I'm standing over him.

"Daddy." I whisper, hoping he just couldn't hear me the first time. "Daddy, pl-please wake up?"

One second, he's alive and offering to sing me to sleep, and the next he's struck down, dying in a stranger's bed.

I carefully touch his shoulder, which is bare and warm and familiar, tattooed with thorny roses. I give it a little shake, but nothing happens. I move my fingers upward, onto his stubbled cheek, and then softly over his left eye, and then his right, and then his other cheek. His lashes don't twitch. His lids don't flicker. The only part of him that's moving is his chest. I look down at it again just to remind myself that he's not dead yet, and I watch it go up and down, up and down, up and down for a couple minutes, thinking to myself that this is all my fault.

I should've told someone about Dad and Shane before something like this happened.

Apparently it wasn't Shane who did this, 'cause he's not the one who's apologizing profusely right now, but my gut instincts tell me something is off. I don't know what exactly, but something definitely happened out there while he was gone. There's a reason Shane disappeared for hours too.

Dad always says, listen to what your gut tells ya.

I got no proof and nobody to talk to about it, but I know I'm not wrong.

After a while, Rick takes off his hat and steps forward. The look on his face says this is hard to watch for him.

"Harley," He says, "Let's head back out, now, huh?"

If I ignore the bandage wrapped around his stomach, and the blood on everyone's clothes, I can pretend he's just sleeping.

Hesitantly, I back away from the bed.

His belly continues rising up and down, up and down.

He's just sleeping, I tell myself.

That makes it much easier to leave the room.

My Dad needs surgery.

Well, actually, he needs another surgery. The old man, whose name is Hershel Greene, says that I need to try very hard to remember if I've ever heard a doctor or a nurse or anything like that mention my Dad's blood type before. I tell him I can't, 'cause we almost never went to any doctors before, 'cause my family ain't never liked to make a fuss outta anythin' like that. When I dislocated my shoulder, or Dad grazed his knee, or Merle got himself a concussion, we just stuck it out until it stopped hurtin'. Herschel looks like he don't even know what to say to that.

What this all means is he can't safely give my blood to my Dad.

He says if his blood and the new blood mixes together and they ain't the right ones, it turns into poison.

But my Dad needs blood.

His body can't replace it quickly enough on its own to keep him alive.

Herschel sighs and tells us about something called a universal blood type. It's magical blood that anyone can have injected into them.

They've been using Glenn's blood up until now, but he's given too much. He'll become sick if he gives any more.

Shane speaks up for the very first time when Hershel suggests a trip to a nearby veterinarian college that might store this type of blood, but he only does it after Otis, the man who's very sorry, offers to go first. Herschel makes sure Shane knows this is very dangerous, and might get them both killed, but he still doesn't change his mind. He just says somethin' about saving my Dad no matter the cost, and then the decision is final.

"I'll see ya later, Harley." He tells me as he hugs me goodbye at the door, a giant, empty rucksack over his shoulder. "Be good."

I pull back, wiping my eyes, which have never fully dried since arriving here.

I feel a strong urge to ask him why he agreed to this, seein' as he hates my Dad's guts, but I restrain myself.

"I will." I nod.

"Good girl." He ruffles my hair as he stands.

"Don't die, please."

He smirks. "Don't worry a thing about it."

"Here's a map and the list of things you'll need to find." Herschel hands him a small pile of papers. "Respirator, forceps, et cetera. I need it all."

"You got it." Shane mutters.

Otis tells me he's gonna make this right, but I don't even care. If he dies on this trip, I'll feel nothing.

Shane hugs Rick, and Otis hugs Herschel, and then they leave in Maggie's green car together, driving off into the trees.

"Noble man, that Shane." Comments Herschel.

"Sure is." Rick clears his throat, uncomfortable. "Always... Always has been."

I turn back into the house without saying anything.

"Ouch."

"You're doing good, Harley. Just a few more and then it'll be all over."

I squeeze my eyes closed, waiting for Herschel to finish up the last of my new stitches. He put a dollop of numbing cream on the area beforehand, but the tube was basically empty, so it's doin' a whole lotta nothing. Stings like a son of a bitch, Uncle Merle would say.

I think I might be breaking Glenn's hand with how hard I'm squeezing it, but he ain't complaining.

"And there we go." I groan as Herschel drops the needle onto a metal tray, peeling off his gloves. Ugh. It's over, finally. "You should keep them as dry as possible for the first forty-eight hours, and then after that we should change the dressing every three to four days. You might feel some itching, but that's a healthy sign — Try not to touch them. It should be completely healed in two weeks; maybe one. You did well, Harley."

"Very well." Rick agrees.

Hershel chuckles as he sticks a plaster over the wound. "What'd you say you had in there, again? Fishing line?"

"Our friend T-Dog's got stitches with it, too." I say. "He's back at the highway with the others."

"Well, I'll have to take a look at him when he gets here as well."

He picks up the tray and takes it into the kitchen.

Rick says, "I think he'd appreciate that."

"And you, son? How are you feeling? Any dizziness?"

Glenn shakes his head. "Just feel kinda tired."

"That'll pass. Keep drinking plenty of water."

I ask, "Is it gonna hurt as bad when you take the stitches back out again?"

Herschel turns the faucet on, rinsing off his hands.

"Well," He sighs, "That depends on whether or not your group is going to still be here next week."

"Daddy." Maggie warns.

"I can't lie to these people, Maggie." He tells her.

I frown. "We can't leave. My Dad, he needs help."

"I know," He says, "I'm going to do everything I can for him, but this is all temporary — Like a stay in a hospital. It can't be forever."

I've never been to a hospital, so I don't know how they work, but I sure wish I did so I'd be able to argue that he actually should let us stay.

"We're very grateful, either way." Rick interjects. "Can't say enough how you've saved our hides, doin' this."

Maggie changes the subject.

"In the meantime, you're very welcome to help yourself to anythin' you need," She smiles, finishing up as she makes cheese sandwiches for everybody. She cuts them into triangles and comes around to the table, setting a plate in front each of us. "Probably starvin', aren't you?"

"Very." Glenn answers enthusiastically. "Thank you."

"Thank you." Rick nods.

"Thank you."

"Wow. How polite are you guys?" She laughs, sitting down. "Thought you might'a lost your manners spendin' that much time on the road."

"There's definitely nothin' polite out there." Rick scoffs. "Nothin' polite at all."

"How long have you been out there?" Hershel asks.

"Since the very beginning, pretty much. Found us an abandoned quarry for the first few weeks, but that didn't work out. We had to leave."

"Mustn't have been easy."

"No. Nothing is, nowadays." He takes a bite. "Wow, this is good."

"Cheese is homemade." Maggie proudly says. "We get lots of milk from the cows and churnin' it's easy enough. Gives ya muscles, too."

She flexes her arm, trying to make me laugh.

I force a smile so she don't feel bad.

Picking at the corner of my sandwich, which I'd usually be very excited about seein' as it's got real cheese and butter in it, I think of my Dad. Back when all the doctors of the world were still alive, things might've been easier, but all we have left now is the remnants of old procedures, leftover supplies in veterinarian colleges, and stuffy old bedrooms instead of hospital rooms. I ain't even sure his chances would be any good back then, let alone now. If we have to celebrate over cheese, then I don't even wanna think about respirators and forceps and whatever else my Dad needs.

Rick notices that I'm not eating. Being a parent, it's his natural instinct to pester me about it. "You're not hungry, Harley?"

I shake my head and lie, "No."

"I can make you somethin' else, if you'd like." Maggie offers sweetly. "We got an orchard out back. You like peaches?"

"No, thank you." I mutter.

"Here, you want some of mine?" Glenn asks me, holding out half his sandwich. "It's got lettuce in it."

Overwhelmed, I struggle to tell him no.

"Glenn, what kid likes lettuce?" Rick mutters.

"I don't know."

Cheese drops all over the table.

He cusses to himself.

"Maybe I should just get you some juice." Maggie awkwardly suggests. "We have apple?"

"Can I get a paper towel over here?" Glenn cringes, clumsily smearing butter and cheese everywhere. "Please?"

This is too much for me. There are too many people saying too many things, and I can't decide which to listen to. My Dad, he's the one I always listen to, but he's not here right now. It's a sour reminder that makes me feel even worse about everything. I've never been on my own, before.

"Oh, uh, sure." Maggie says, about to stand. "Let me just—"

I beat her to it. My chair scrapes noisily against the floor and I leave my sandwich on the table as I storm out of the room.

I make it down the hall, and I slam my Dad's door closed behind me. Already, I feel better; calmer. It's quiet in here, and slightly dim thanks to the sheer curtains hanging from the bay window. I crawl onto the bed, snuggling up to my Dad's side like a tired cat, and I close my eyes. I listen to the sound of his breathing, and the mooing and clucking outside. It smells like mothballs and blood in here, but I don't mind. It's just me and my Dad.

I don't realize I've fallen asleep until somebody opens the door a few hours later, leaving two pills, water, and a bowl of peaches on the dresser.

I think Dad would tell me to get that shit in yer belly 'fore you keel over, so I tip-toe across the room and stick the pills in my mouth, down the glass of water, and then bring the fruit back to the bed. I nibble on the slices of peach, licking up the sugary, pink juice that coats my fingers.

I don't believe in any God, but I hope that if he's out there, he knows how much I love my Daddy, so he can save him for me.

I doze off again beside my dying Dad.

"So, do we ring the bell? I mean, it looks like people live here, don't it?"

Later in the afternoon, I wake slowly to the sound of T-Dog and Jacqui's voices out on the porch.

"We're kinda past this stuff, aren't we?" She sasses him.

"Just 'cause the world's gone to shit, doesn't mean we gotta."

"Fine. Just ring it, then."

"You ring it."

"What? Why me?"

"I got a sore arm."

"I think you're capable of ringing a bell, T-Dog."

"I might have blood poisoning, lady. You wanna make a chronic patient risk his life to ring a bell for you?"

"Oh my God. You're so dramatic sometimes."

"I'on care. Might be some crazy axe-murderin' dudes livin' here. You do it."

"I ain't gettin' axed. You get axed."

"Nuh-uh. You do it."

I hear the front door open suddenly.

"Can I help you?" Maggie deadpans.

T-Dog and Jacqui make noises of surprise.

"Hello," Jacqui chuckles awkwardly. "We met earlier on the highway. I'm Jacqui Daniels. This is T-Dog."

"Hi," He says.

Maggie hums. "You're the one with the fishing-line sutures, aren't you?"

"Uh, yeah. It's not a bite, though." T-Dog clarifies. "I just cut myself pretty bad."

"We'll have it looked at."

"And we got some pain killers, here." Jacqui adds. I hear her shaking the bottle. "If Harley or Daryl need any."

"I already gave her some." Maggie says, "But thank you. Come on inside and I'll make you somethin' to eat. You like cheese sandwiches?"

"Boy, do I." T-Dog answers.

"We got some more people coming. They're hangin' back right now but they'll be here by tomorrow."

Maggie replies, "You'll have to talk to my Dad about that."

The door closes, and they move down the hall and into the living room. They talk for some time, about where Shane and Otis went, and why I've locked myself in this room; how I got new stitches but I should be alright in about a week. T-Dog asks to see me, but Rick advises him against it, 'cause he says I'm a little sensitive right now. Hell yeah, I'm sensitive. They got half a mind to leave me alone forever at this rate.

When they start talking about Dad's surgery, I hold my breath to listen better.

"They don't get back soon," Herschel says, "We're gonna have a decision to make."

"And that is?" Rick asks.

"Whether or not we operate on your man without the respirator."

Instinctually, I put my hand over my Dad's chest, as if they're gonna barge in and do it right now.

"You said that wouldn't work."

"I know. It's extremely unlikely, but we can't wait much longer."

Extremely unlikely.

Oh, God.

I don't wanna listen anymore.

I cover my ears with the pillow and close my eyes.

The next time I wake up, it's night-time.

Glenn stands in the doorway, a stack of blankets in one hand and a brass candle holder in the other, which I think makes him look a little bit like someone from the eighteen hundreds. The tiny orange light flickers over his surprised face, bouncing softly off the walls, the floor, the roof.

"Sorry," He whispers. "Didn't mean to wake you up. Doors are creaky in this place."

I don't like havin' anyone in here, 'cause even though it's not my room or even my house, I feel like it's mine and Dad's space and no-one else's.

But Glenn feels like he belongs here. I'm fine with him being in the room, and Dad would be, too.

I sit up, sleepily rubbing my eyes.

"What's the time?"

He steps inside and carefully sets the candle down on the dresser.

"Like, eleven, I think. Everyone's gone to bed. Maggie told me to give you these," He says, "In case you were cold."

I thank him quietly as he hands me the blankets, helping fit them over both me and my Dad. One of them is the blue blanket with the fish and sharks printed on it, and hidden amongst the fuzzy bundle is Matilda, in all her wild-haired glory. I pick her up. Maggie wouldn't know where to get these things. Jacqui and T-Dog must've brought them when they drove down, thinking of me. That makes me smile for the first time today. 

In the dim light, I notice her dress no longer has any of my blood on it. It's back to clean, green gingham.

"Her dress is clean."

He smiles lightly. "I asked Maggie to clean it for you."

Aw. Maggie's real nice. I feel awful for not eating the sandwich she made me today.

"She did a good job. You can't even tell it was dirty."

"It's vinegar and bath salts." He says, before joking, "Don't tell her I told you that. Apparently, it's like, classified family information."

I promise, "I won't."

"Good. She's scary when she's mad."

"What? When's she ever been mad since we got here?" I laugh. "What'd you do?"

He shrugs, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I may or may not have accidentally said her great-grandfather looks like a bald George Washington."

"Wh—?"

"It was a really old photo, alright? How was I supposed to know she'd get offended?"

I roll my eyes. "Glenn, you're an idiot sometimes."

"So I've heard."

The conversation gently tapers to an end, and Glenn is happy to sit with me in the silence that follows, listening as an owl huh-hoots outside in the night. The candle-light morphs across my Dad's peaceful face in strange, fire-colored shapes, contouring his features with harsh blacks and greys; highlighting his bruised eye. Violence always seems to find its way to my Dad, like waves find their way to shore. Shane's out there right now, probably spilling blood and fighting for his life to save my Dad's. I hope violence can put him back together the same way it broke him.

Please, I'd tell Shane if I could, Please, you reckless moron, get back here before it's too late.

"He's gonna pull through." Glenn says, then. He sounds like he's sure of it. "Your Dad's tough."

I know he is. But so was my Uncle Merle, who was one of the toughest men I knew, and he died, too.

"I'm just worried." I whisper, staring at my Dad's face.

Glenn doesn't answer for a while, but then he tells me, "You know, the morning after we found out you weren't infected... Your Dad told me that every day he wakes up, he does it for you." I feel my eyes start to tear up at the memory. "He said you were the most important thing he has."

Harley's my only girl, I remember he said.

I'm all he's got.

But he's my only Dad.

He's all I got, too.

I wonder what might've happened if he never got shot; if he got the chance to sing me to sleep that night, like he promised. I wonder if he'd tell me loves me — If he's sorry for everything; sorry for confusing me so much.

I'd forgive him in a heartbeat.

I know Shane wouldn't want me to — He would want me to stick up for myself — but I just wouldn't be able to help it. I'd forgive him.

Even if he wants to beat me for the rest of my life, I'd let him, as long as he's alive to do it.

When it comes to my Dad, I'm like a puppy weaned off poison. I've learnt to live with its taste. I need it to survive.

"I was awake, you know." I randomly muse.

"Hm?" Glenn tilts his head.

"That morning." I meet his gaze. "On the RV. I was awake the whole time."

He raises a brow. "You were?"

"Yeah."

"I had no idea."

"I know you didn't." I chuckle. "You idiot."

"Woah. I'm just getting it from all sides tonight, aren't I?" He smiles, shaking his head. "It's pretty late, you know. I should let you sleep."

"Okay." I say, pulling the covers up to my chin. "Thanks, Glenn."

"For what?"

"Giving your blood to my Dad. I don't... I don't think he'd be okay without it."

"It was nothing. He's saved my life plenty of times, so I'm just paying him back."

He stands up.

"Okay. Night, Harley."

"Night, Glenn."

He blows the candle out in one breath, and the room goes dark.

Once the door clicks shut, I belatedly mumble, "Night, Dad."

I fall asleep to the sound of his shallow breaths.

"Harley, get up."

It's the middle of the night when Glenn shakes me awake. Car lights blind me as they move across the window. I hear people running upstairs, downstairs, outside; shouting things. I can hardly keep track of anything as I blearily make sense of the room, sitting up with Glenn's help. I try to ask him what's going on, but before I can, I get kicked in the leg by something under the blankets. I gasp, turning to look at my Dad. Glenn tugs on my arm, urging me out of the bed. Without even thinking, I let him pull me out, and I stumble backward toward the door.

I watch in horror as my Dad convulses on the bed, stiff like a board, but moving in all directions.

"What's wrong with him?" I breathe, and there's a moment where I think he's turned; that he's a walker, and I'm petrified at the sight of him.

Rick bursts through the door. "What's going on?"

"I think he's having a seizure." Glenn answers, breathless. "I don't know. I don't know."

"Dad?"

"Get her outta here." Rick points outside, already moving toward the bed. "Shane's back, anyway. It's time for the surgery."

Glenn forces me out the room and into the foyer, where Herschel, in his striped pyjamas, pulls on a pair of medical gloves. He looks sleepy but determined, ready to perform an emergency surgery in his farmhouse, with only the help of his family and a couple strangers.

"Beth, go get some towels." He orders. "Maggie, go turn the generator on. We need light. You over there, is your name Jacqui?"

More people flood into the foyer, only adding to the chaos.

"Yes, sir."

"You helped stitch up your people, didn't you?"

"Yes, sir, my sister was a nurse."

"Good. I'll need your help in there. Jimmy, help me carry this stuff inside, will you?"

"W— What do I do?" Glenn asks.

Hershel looks him up and down and answers, "Stay out of the way," before making a bee-line outside.

It's just too crowded in the house.

I follow Herschel outside, into the light of the high-beams.

"Shane?" I call out.

He slams the car door shut, both his and Otis' backpacks slung over his shoulders.

"Where's Otis?" Herschel asks. "What happened?"

He just shakes his head with a dazed expression on his face.

"They kept blocking us at every turn." He stresses, "We w-were down to ten rounds, and I couldn't— I couldn't—"

When he sees me running up to him, he crouches. He catches me as I tackle him in a hug. Tonight is so awful. It's the worst night of my life. I need somebody to hold me like my Dad would, and I know Shane will. He hugs me back tight. His clothes fill my nose with the stink of blood and flesh. This might be the worst night of his life, too, with the way he's trembling; the way his eyes are open, but he's not really seeing anything.

"Then he said he'd cover me and I should keep running," Shane continues, not even sure who he's speaking to. "So that's what I did, I— I ran."

Otis is dead, then. Dead and gone.

"I looked back and— But I— And—"

"We don't tell Patricia." Herschel says to the boy. "Not until after. I need her."

They're going to do the surgery now. They're gonna cut my Dad open and dig around for the bullet in his belly. I cry and slobber onto Shane's shoulder, moaning about how I don't want my Dad to die, and he shushes me softly; tells me everything's gonna be alright. He repeats it over and over, like he needs convincing, too. I don't know what happened to him out there, but he's real shaken up about it. It's driven him to talk nonsense.

"It's gonna be alright, Harley." He mutters, breathing shakily. "It's alright. I did it. We're alright."

"What did you do?" I hiccup, confused.

All he does is continue mumbling, I did it, I did it, I did it.

I pull back, getting a look at him through my teary eyes.

"What'd you do?"

"We're alright."

"Shane, we need the bags." Herschel demands. "We need those supplies, right now."

He shrugs both bags off his shoulders, which land softly in the grass — A little too softly.

I realize, right alongside Herschel and the boy, that they're completely empty.

He gapes. "You didn't get the supplies?"

I push off of Shane and fall to my knees. I rip open the rucksack. I rip open the backpack. Empty, empty, empty.

"What?" I shriek, searching more frantically by the second. "No. No, no, no."

"I'm sorry." He mutters. "I'm sorry, I— I just— I couldn't."

"No, no, no, no!"

Dad's chances of survival without the respirator are extremely unlikely. That's next to nothing. That's zero. That's death. Herschel and the boy cut their losses and turn back into the house, and all I'm left with is two empty bags and a broken heart. I wail on the top of my lungs, hearing the words extremely unlikely, extremely unlikely, over and over again in my head. All this, and they didn't even get the supplies.

"Harley, come here." Shane's voice cracks as he says this, reaching for me again. "Come here, sweetheart."

I collapse into him, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing.

"He's gonna die, Shane. Oh, he's gonna die."

"I'm sorry." He murmurs. "I'm sorry, Harley."

"He can't die." I moan, choking on air. "I need him, Shane. I need him. I c— I can't. I need him."

"Hey, hey, no. You got me." He grabs my face; thumbs the tears from my hot, red cheeks. "You got me, remember?"

"He's gonna die-e-e-e."

"Hey, stop."

He wraps me up in a hug, rocking me side to side.

"You got me."

I'm too upset to notice that he's not even trying to convince me that I'm wrong. He doesn't oppose what's happening; doesn't dread it. It's almost like he's embracing it; like this was meant to happen. The possibility of my Dad's death rolls off his shoulders like water. The only reason he's coddling me is because he knows I'm hurting. I know he won't care if Dad dies, but I can't afford to be offended. I can't afford to be alone right now.

My Dad's all I got, but if he dies, then I have nothing.

"You got me." Shane coos. "It's okay."

You got me.

Maybe I won't have nothing.

Despite everything that's happened tonight, I take solace in at least that.

I have Shane.

The next morning, I go into the orchard with Maggie to pick peaches for breakfast.

I didn't sleep at all last night. When she woke up to go to the bathroom, she saw me sitting upright on the sofa, wide awake, and offered to take me outside to try take my mind off things. After she lent me one of her little sister's cardigans to wear, she handed me a wicker basket to collect the peaches in and led me around the side of the old house. A thin mist rises up from the earth, glowing faintly as the sun blushes behind it all.

"I'm sorry ya couldn't sleep last night." Maggie says, trailing the path beside me.

"It's okay. It ain't your fault."

I wasn't allowed to sleep in Dad's room last night. That's why I had so much trouble getting to sleep. I was so paranoid about not bein' able to hear his breathing that between biting my nails and crying my eyes out, I just couldn't relax. Rick and Herschel said it's best I sleep in the living room with everyone else until my Dad wakes up. I ain't stupid. I know it's 'cause he could turn into a walker at any moment, now.

"Me and my sister used to listen to music to help us get to sleep, but since things went South, we've had to make do without. Some nights, I just toss and turn for hours. I'd kill to get my Mp3 player back."

Even though my eyebags are heavy and my back aches, I smile.

"I used to have an Mp3 player, too."

"Really?" She exclaims. "What color?"

"Pink."

"Oh, lucky. We only ever had white ones. Beth used to think they were borin', so she put stickers all over 'em."

I never really had expensive things like that. The only reason I had an Mp3 player was 'cause Merle stole it for me off a lady on the bus.

"What kinda music did you like listenin' to?" Maggie asks.

"Uh. What my Dad liked, I guess. Sometimes it was good, but most the time it was just people screamin'."

She laughs. "Yeah, he seems the type to listen to that stuff."

"How you mean?"

"The tattoos. The flannel shirt. The edgy rings."

I chuckle. You know what, I guess he is.

"He used to have even more rings." I tell Maggie. "He had a whole bunch. They had snakes and skulls and stuff on 'em. He had knuckle dusters, too, but he didn't wear 'em, really. But my Uncle Merle sold most my Dad's stuff one day, and now he only has a few left."

"Why'd he do that?"

I shrug. "Dad went to prison for a while. We needed money."

Maggie stops in her tracks. "Wow. Your Dad went to prison?"

"Uh-huh. Arrendale State Prison."

"What for?"

I don't think I should answer that, 'cause the answer's, he murdered someone. People here might not like him so much if they know he killed someone before it was necessary to survive. Everybody back home used to know all about how Daryl Dixon clobbered Ronnie Fletcher to death, and it was a bit of a glorious tale for a while, but nobody treated him any different. If anythin', they were just a little more scared of him than they already were. He used to get free drinks because of all the rumours. Daryl killed a good-for-nothin' pedo, was the whispered headline. I got no idea what that last word means, but apparently it's good if you kill 'em. I heard nobody but Ronnie's Momma went to his funeral that year.

Maggie senses that I won't elaborate, so she asks a different question. "Did you miss him when he was gone?"

I pluck a low-hanging peach, setting it in my basket. "Yeah... I cried just about every day."

"That must've been hard." She smiles a little sadly.

We continue down the aisle of spindly, green trees together.

"Made for a good story, in the end, at least." Maggie throws a peach to me, and I manage to catch it. "Dad goin' to prison? That's pretty badass. I bet no kids messed with you in school after that, huh?"

I giggle. "No, I guess not."

There was this one boy, Issac, who used to pull on my ponytail in class. Dad told me to kick him in the nuts next time he did it, and I did, and he never bothered me again. It was also common knowledge that if you look at a Dixon the wrong way, they'll either mess you up or snap your neck.

I tell her all of this, and she scoffs.

"My Daddy used to just tell us girls to pray for 'em."

"Did it work?"

"Some things you can't just pray away." She sighs. "Like little boys in fifth grade who poured glitter paint down your trainin' bra."

"What!" I scrunch up my nose. "That's way worse than pony-tail pullin'."

She nods. "Mm-hmm. I think I'm still washing out that glitter to this day, you know."

"Boys are stupid."

"You got that right."

We fill our baskets a little more before heading back. She asks if I want to stop by the chicken coop and see the new hatchlings, and I of course say yes right away. She opens the little door for me, and I duck inside, overwhelmed by all the chirping and clucking and cute little faces looking up at me. Maggie tells me to sit down, because she's going to show me a trick. I take a seat in the pokey straw and watch as she sits beside me.

"Watch this." She wiggles her brows, biting a chunk off a peach. She spits it out and places it on her hand, then lifts her arm in the air.

The closest chicken, whose got a very fancy red and white mow-hawk of sorts, squats and wiggles its butt.

"What's it doin'?" I whisper.

"Shh." Maggie hushes. "Don't wanna ruin her groove."

She makes little kissy noises at the chicken. It tilts its head curiously. Then it jumps in a flurry of wings and feathers onto Maggie's forearm.

It perches there, pecking at the fruit.

"Woah," I exclaim. "She jumped so high!"

"Sure did." Maggie chuckles, lowering her arm to let me pet the chicken. "When I was little, I used to try gettin' 'em to jump through hoops."

"Like a chicken circus." I giggle.

"Yeah." She smiles. "Can't say it ever worked out, though. These are strictly egg-layin' hens only."

"Eggs are my favorite."

"You wanna add 'em to the menu this morning?"

Excited, I nod. "Can we have 'em scrambled?"

"We can have 'em however you like."

"Definitely scrambled."

"Scrambled it is, then."

We take a couple speckled brown eggs from the nests and put them in with our fresh peaches.

When we make it back to the house, I realize that Maggie's plan worked. A whole half hour passed, and I wasn't anxious for one minute of it.

"Is that eggs?"

T-Dog comes into the kitchen a while later, obviously lured in here by his nose. Maggie's pancake, egg, and peach breakfast smells like heaven mixed with sugar and syrup, and I can't hardly stop myself from just gobblin' it all down right now.

"Pasture-raised." Maggie confirms happily. "Thought y'all could do with a bit of a pick-me-up after yesterday."

"Mornin', Harley." He smiles before sitting at the bench. "As long as it's no trouble."

"Trouble?" Maggie scoffs. "No. Ain't no trouble. We're up to our eyeballs in eggs this time of year. Trust me, you're doin' us a favor by eatin' 'em."

"If you say so." T-Dog shrugs.

"How's your arm?" I ask him. "Maggie's Dad sew you up, too?"

"Yeah. Gave me some actual antibiotics to go along with it." He sighs, relived. "See? Told you we'd pull through."

"Uh, I remember Dale sayin' that."

"Pssh. Dale, Shmale."

"Whatever." I roll my eyes. "Just be glad he ain't here to say I told you so."

As the smell of breakfast slowly fills the house, everybody starts filing into the kitchen — Rick, looking as tired as I do. Beth, already filled with enough energy to out-power the sun. Herschel, dressed in his smart suspenders, with a kiss on the cheek for both his daughters. The teenage boy, Jimmy, and Patricia, who definitely got the terrible news broken to her last night about Otis' death, judging by her gloomy mood.

Jacqui stays behind in Dad's room. There has to be an adult in there at all times to keep an eye on him.

And finally, Shane. He comes in last. The first thing I notice about him is that he ain't got no hair anymore. It's gone. Like, buzzed, gone.

"Morning, y'all." He mutters, slinking off to the table, alone.

"Interesting new haircut." Patricia snobs as she sips some apple juice.

"Why'd he go and do that for?" T-Dog chuckles. "He startin' a rap career we don't know about?"

"Leave him be." Rick says wearily. "He had a rough time yesterday."

"Did he tell you what happened?" Herschel asks.

He shakes his head. "Somethin' tells me it's best not to ask, neither. Let's just wait for him to tell us in his own time."

All the Greenes try not to make it too obvious that they're eyeing Shane, but the rest of us know by now to ignore him, so that's what we do. I think I'm not the only one who's itching for a story, though. It makes no sense that he not only returned alone with a dead man's backpack, but he returned completely empty-handed, too. Two bags'a nothing. That whole campus, and he didn't even bring back a band aid?

Maggie and Beth scramble the last of the eggs and hand everybody a plate.

We all waste no time digging in.

"Damn." T-Dog groans. "You got a golden goose out there? 'Cause these are the best damn eggs I ever ate."

Everybody murmurs a similar sentiment as they bite down the spongey pancakes and salted eggs.

This meal is the best thing to happen to us since the fish fry.

I save some eggs for my Dad, 'cause scrambled are his favorite. It's why I chose 'em. I like to think he'll wake up soon enough to eat 'em.

But we've still got a long road ahead of us.

Author's Note.

I LOVE THE FARM. The vibes are just, ugh!! Perfect!

Welcome to the chapter where Shane starts to go off the rails. We've been rooting for him so far as opposed to Daryl, but things are just gonna keep getting greyer and greyer from here on out. Redemption arc here we come. Also... a bit of a who-dunnit thing going on. I think it's pretty obvious, but the timeline's a bit confusing, so maybe not. Besides, Otis seemed pretty guilty 🤷‍♀️

Please share your thoughts below on this chapter! I always love reading your comments. It brightens my day every single time. As always, thanks for reading! Sending love! <3

[gallifreyshawkeye]

That thousand-yard stare.... And I know it’s Canary Warf they’re talking about, but it made me think about all the battles he could have been referring to and flashing back to, and this wrote itself about right after he escaped Gallifrey after time locking it....

When Silence is Loud

The Doctor couldn't remember the last time he'd slept. Literally could not remember. And that was bad. Very bad. Because not only did it mean that it had been a very long time, but it was a long enough now that the lack of it and extreme sleep deprivation were to the point of interfering with his mental capacity at a terrifying level. Because he should know, he should remember. Especially when it was something involving time.

Weeks? Was that it? 

Or had the weeks accumulated to months at this point? 

It had to be. How else would he have gotten to the point of near-hallucination and functional breakdown? Especially when he stopped to realize that it only took eight weeks to make two months, and 12 weeks to make three. 

Months? Had it been months then since he had slept?

No, not even Time Lords could go months without sleep.

All he knew at this point was that he was so desperate for sleep that when he stopped long enough to became fully aware of the extent of that desperateness, he wanted to cry with frustration and bone-deep exhaustion that had long since gone beyond words. But he couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes he could feel dread and fear and panic and all sorts of things he didn't want to remember creep up his chest and wrap around his throat and he'd open his eyes again with a small, despairing sound.  

But merely thinking about how much he needed sleep brought back the visceral feelings and images that robbed him of it and all he could do was run - bouncing from one place and time to the next in a feverish attempt to keep the quiet from creeping in.

No, “quiet" wasn’t the right word. "Quiet" implied a break from noise - reduced sound.

This was silence.  

There wasn't supposed to be silence.

It was a roaring vacuum in his head.

And it was terrifyingly loud.

But finally both he and the TARDIS could not continue.  She was damaged and hurting as well as he was, and he hadn't allowed her to rest and recover. She dropped out of the time vortex into empty space and simply drifted.

He squatted down and leaned his forehead against the edge of the console and closed his eyes, feeling the TARDIS' apologies for not being able to help him more.

No, it's okay, he sent back, I'm the one who's sorry.

Even her breathing-like hum had a labored sound to it, and he hated himself for causing her the strain that washed over him as he opened himself up to her, accepting her pain and exhaustion on top of his own as payment and penance for causing it to her in the first place.  

He could also feel her distress at his mental and physical state.

I can't, he pleaded at her insistence that he needed to sleep, "I can't," he whispered out loud.

You must, she repeated clinically and matter-of-factly.

I can't.

You must.

"I can't."

You must.

"I CAN'T!" he bellowed, leaping to his feet.  "I can't," he repeated piteously, the fight draining from him as quickly as it appeared. He let out an involuntary whimper and sank back down, wrapping his arms around the back of his head.

"I can't I can't I can't I can't..." he repeated over and over as the smell of fire and chemicals and death filled his senses, the cascade of terror and panic and constant fear that had flooded him, still reverberating as loudly as ever through his mind.

"I’m too scared to," he whimpered in a shattered whisper as he finally gave voice to the truth.

He stayed kneeling on the floor, curled over on himself for hours as the TARDIS drifted in repair mode, oblivious to the grating digging into his knees, his upper body so rigid he was trembling, and trying just to breathe. He felt like he was eight years old again, except instead of the insanity-inducing chaos of the schism, he was faced with the dark, empty expanse of a star-less stretch of space. And this time he couldn’t run.

He was too tired anyway. He had finally stopped long enough for his momentum to shift, and with it, he felt his panic over the silence in his head slowly shift to grief. Horrendous, soul-crushing grief which he realized he’d been running from even harder than his fear.... and that he could avoid no longer.

It ripped at him, sucked the air out of him, drowned him in its tidal wave and held him under, until he was finally left limp and far, far beyond spent.

He didn’t have the smallest shred of energy to do anything more than just lay where he was, the grating cool against his cheek. He allowed himself to focus on only his immediate sensations - the slight, pulsing vibration of the floor under him, the way his ribs pressed against the floor as they expanded with each breath, the way his hands lay loosely at his sides without moving, and the rhythmic sound of the TARDIS, low and comforting. Gradually he timed his breathing to the sound as he allowed it to sink into his bones and become the one thing he centered on. And with each breath he let it drift further into the empty space in his head until the silence became quiet.

His eyes drifted closed without him realizing it.

He finally slept.

i was there… in the battle…

[digi-dest-stories]

Miraculous Destiny AU Drabble

The Miraculous Cure fixes everything after a battle.

Even death.

TW: Implied Character Death

She blinked.

Air rushed into her lungs and she made a choking sound, falling down to her knees. Gravel dug harshly into her skin, threatening to break through, but she could hardly process it. Tears stung her dry eyes, rolling down her face as she curled over and sobbed. Her entire body ached, sharp pains shooting through her as her lungs burned and her heart beat fast.

What was that?

She couldn't hear, see, talk, or feel before. She couldn't breathe before. Everything had just been an endless void, one where there was no pain, no feeling, nothing. It was peaceful and horrible, all at once, everything erased from her in an instant.

But then, it all came back to her, sudden and intense, in a quick swirl of ladybugs. Undoing her injuries, internal and external, but leaving her memories untouched.

Through the ringing in her ears, she heard something - Multiple somethings - impacting into the ground nearby and some muffled voices speaking. She couldn't make out what they were saying-

All of a sudden, she felt hands being placed on her shoulders and she lifted her head, blinking away tears to clear her vision.

"-rietta! Can you hear me?"

She blinked, tears rolling down her cheeks as she stared at the blur of orange and white in front of her. Her head jerked, nodding without her awareness.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"

A whimper pulled from her throat. She tried to speak and a strangled noise escaped her before she choked out, "The building fell- I couldn't move in time- It was so dark-"

The figure said nothing in response to that, as she sobbed in their arms. Instead, they just held her close, and she felt something soft brushing her skin. She grasped the figure in a hug, burying her face in the softness, seeking the comfort it brought her as she cried. They were whispering to her, but she couldn't hear, too distressed to listen.

"Is she okay?" Lucky asked, concerned as she watched the girl crying in the fox hero's arms. Claw was a little farther away, trying to control the crowd after the disaster of an Akumatized Digimon. He glanced back at them, eyebrow raised, but Lucky shook her head at him.

Valentino looked down at the girl in his arms, then hooked one arm under her legs and wrapped the other around her shoulders. He then stood, lifting her in the air as she hugged him. "I... I'm not entirely sure. But, I'm gonna take her home. It might... help her, somewhat. Being out of the public eye."

"...Alright. Keep her safe."

"Of course. What kind of brother would I be if I didn't?"

~~~~

This was originally supposed to happen with different characters.

But I have been getting really interested in developing characters outside of the Vandals in this AU. It's kinda fun making lives for them, though they're probably not accurate due to a lack of information.

At least I also have some OCs I get to work on in this. I might make a post for them sometime soon

[hot-hellboy]

Body on Fire - A Perjasico Fanfic (Part 2)

Part 1

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

    Shockingly, Percy and Jason weren't at all opposed to the idea. And if Nico was being completely sure with himself, he was convinced that Percy seemed actually a little excited. Jason was definitely happy to do it, but he seemed a little more reserved about the whole thing. Or maybe that was just Jason being Jason—he always tried to be respectful about everything, and part of that wasn't giving away what he was really thinking.

   In fact, the conversation went a little something like this:

   "Hey, Nico. Annabeth talked to us, and I wanted to let you know that I'd be more than happy to help you out. No team member left hanging, am I right?"

   Percy had said, and looking back on it, it was so like him to try and lighten the mood with a joke or a change of tone.

   "Yeah, same here."

    Jason had added. He wasn't being cold by any means, but he had seemed just a bit more cautious with how he approached the topic with Nico than Percy had been. Maybe it was because Percy had known him far longer than the other alpha had, but either way their responses had helped to ease his worry.

   That was, until, things actually started heating up.

   The three of them agreed to alternate between bunking with each other in either Percy or Jason's cabins so that Nico wouldn't ever be left unattended in case he needed anything. They also decided to make it so that they operated in taking shifts with at least one alpha being there at all times until it was time to alternate. All of these conversations were had while Nico was still in a relatively stable state of mind, before the unconsciousness of the "heat haze" had taken over.

   And when his heat did actually start, the three boys were staying in Jason's cabin, and that's when the cramps started kicking in. It was during the middle of the night when Nico had begun feeling a sharp pain in his side when he awoke from sleeping in between the two alphas on Jason's massive bed. The omega whimpered softly when the pain started becoming sharper, but luckily Percy heard him and was up in a heartbeat. Which was totally unusual for him since Percy, aside from Nico, was already a heavy sleeper, but perhaps the sound of an omega in distress was what got him moving.     Jason had woken up shortly after, and both alphas allowed Nico to scent their wrists and other places that contained scent glands, which was enough to placate him for now. Sometimes, when heats had just started, scenting was all an omega needed to calm down again before things started getting a lot more complicated later on. Scenting also helped with heat cramps since the calming effects alphas had on omegas in heat were strong enough to fix whatever pain was manifesting during the very start of their cycle. Nico ended up falling back asleep already feeling much better, although he couldn't help but blush and smile to himself when he felt Percy's arm naturally loop around his waist once he too fell asleep as well.

      The         End.

[97-liners]

i’m still thinking about this little au, btw i’m casting bae joonhyun (noted daegu citizen and older sister) as the older sister in this story also she and mom run a family restaurant. and i’m naming the niece harin!

after this initial encounter you had hoped that it would be a one-off and that you wouldn’t run into seungcheol again, but your hometown is only so big, and the two of you get closer after a series of repeated run-ins…

scene:

you’re sweating bullets and the air conditioning in the tiny mart doesn’t seem to be doing the trick— it doesn’t help that harin is fussing against your hip and pressing her sticky face against your neck, and the larger canisters of sesame oil are placed precariously on the top shelf. you try your best to balance harin and your shopping basket while you reach for the sesame oil, but of course it doesn’t work— the sesame oil comes clanging down on you, a corner hitting your cheek and then another corner hitting your shoulder on its way down.

“fuck,” you swear under your breath, wincing in pain. harin starts to cry even though she’s not the one who got beaned by a giant metal canister. “shhh,” you attempt to soothe the toddler in your arms and try your best to bounce her while shifting your grip on the shopping basket and starting to crouch down to grab your fallen grocery item.

“i’ve got it,” you hear someone say. a big, beefy arm comes into your view as someone— seungcheol, you realize with dismay— picks up the sesame oil and places it in your shopping basket.

“i’m sorry,” you say, shifting harin to your other hip as she really starts to cry in earnest, her distressed whimpers making your anxiety skyrocket to unbearable levels. you think you’re about to cry too. your head hurts and your hair hangs in your face after your niece had grabbed at it in frustration, and you’re definitely very sweaty and frumpy. “thank you, seungcheol,” you say, trying your best not to absolutely lose it.

“here, let me take that for you,” seungcheol says, grabbing the basket without waiting. “what else do you need?”

you stare at him, still bouncing harin and rubbing her back in your best attempt to soothe her. “i know, baby,” you sigh, looking down at her red, puffy face. “i’m sorry, i know.” maybe some air conditioning will get her to calm down.

“do you have a list?” seungcheol tried again, shifting from one foot to the other. he’s holding a shopping basket in each hand like it’s nothing.

“what?”

“like, a shopping list. what can i help you get?”

realization clicks in your head. “oh, no, seungcheol, you really don’t have to—“

“i want to,” he says firmly. “and it looks like your hands are full anyways.”

you purse your lips, considering his offer.

“please let me help,” he says, in a softer tone this time.

harin is still sniffling and babbling incoherently, and your arms are aching from carrying her and the groceries, so you give up your pride and nod. “okay. uh, i still need to pick up some green onions and mackerel.”

(and maybe as the two of you shop, you talk to seungcheol and let him tell you about what he’s been up to these past few years. he tells you about his job (he’s a personal trainer— of course he is) and his soccer league (kim mingyu sounds fun, if not a little pathetic) and his nephews (little demons, he smiles affectionately) and his dog (a perfect little white fluffy puppy named kkuma).

and what you weren’t expecting is how easy it is to talk to him. of course it’s easy to talk to him— you’ve known him forever. but what’s frightening is how familiar it is, how quickly you slip into old patterns, teasing him and laughing when he pouts, just like four years hadn’t passed at all. like you’re still the person you used to be before seoul ground you up and spat the husks out, like he’s still the boy you grew up loving.

we should catch up, you catch yourself wanting to say to him. this was nice. are you free on friday? but instead, you let him carry your groceries to the car, let him stand outside idly as you strap harin into her car seat, and then you tell him, “thank you so much, seungcheol. you’re a life saver.”

and you smile blandly at him as he draws his arms in close to his ribs— nervous, you can tell— and says “it’s no problem at all.”

ok wait before i change my url back to 97-liners, a scoups childhood friends to lovers to exes to strangers to comical misunderstandings to lovers again au….

in which you burn out of your corporate job and end your long-term relationship and move back to your hometown. you’re miserable and directionless and staying with your parents while you look for a new job, and your mother finally has it with you and makes you babysit your baby niece while your sister goes back to work, just so you have something to do other than mope around all day.

one day while pushing your niece in a stroller through the park, wallowing in self-pity, you hear someone calling, “miss! you dropped this!” and you turn around, only to be met with two eyefuls of a sweaty choi seungcheol in the middle of a run, holding up one of your niece’s shoes. this is all fine and great, because you have a handsome beefy man jogging up to you, except: you broke up with seungcheol four years ago. you were at one point childhood sweethearts turned lovers, but he didn’t want to leave your hometown while you were dead set on moving to the city to pursue your career.

so now as you stare at seungcheol and he stares at you, and then at your niece, then back at you, something inside you, that resentful part that wishes seungcheol had followed you to seoul, decides to lie and blurts out, “yeah, she’s mine. i got divorced and moved back in with my mom.”

and seungcheol’s eyes widen a bit and unfortunately, it’s clear that he believes you. (it doesn’t help that your sister’s genetics are insane and you look just like your sister, so of course your niece looks like a mini you.)

“oh, um,” seungcheol stands there, searching for words. you feel some sort of weird satisfaction from seeing him squirm. “i hope you’re settling in okay. uh, you still have my number, right? feel free to give me a call if you need anything at all.”

you smile awkwardly and nod. what is this feeling? indigestion? guilt?

“i have two nephews and my sister in law is a kindergarten teacher,” he continues, “so if you need any help looking for a good daycare or support programs, just let me know, alright?”

you nod again. you’re really starting to feel bad now.

“i’m glad to see you around, yn,” seungcheol smiles at you. it’s the same bright gummy smile that you remember, and your heart sinks. “i wish it was under better circumstances, but nonetheless, i’m glad to see you.”

“me too, seungcheol,” you tell him. there’s a pit in your stomach as the realization grows. what did you just do?

[pkg4mumtown]

Through Glass (Ch. 3)

Rating: M

Summary: You finally learn why you’ve suddenly acquired a new roommate.

A/N: Hey! Thanks for all of the love! Guess who wanted to post this yesterday and forgot to do the art? Yea, me, so I rushed this shit piece of art below. Also, I’m fighting with myself about how this fic is going to end. My original ending is no longer feasible to me because of how much this writing has evolved from my notes. So…apologies ahead of time if this thing crashes and burns LMAO.

Warnings: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Feelings of being watched, Multiversal Stalking, Possessive!Stephen, Eventual body horror, Gender Neutral Pronouns for Reader, No Y/N, First Person POV, What If AU where Reader dies instead of Christine, Strange-Supreme just needs a hug honestly, Stephen in Reader’s universe is a big dummy

Catch up with Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

Just listen to the noises

(Null and void instead of voices)

Before you tell yourself

It's just a different scene

Remember it's just different from what you've seen

-Through Glass by Stone Sour

“Why did you bring him here?” it hissed.

My back couldn’t hit the wall fast enough as reality set in. My chest moved rapidly as I began hyperventilating and still, I couldn’t say anything. But what would I even say right now if I could? This had to have been what Oscar saw, though he had been far more reactive than I was currently.

Annoyed at my lack of answer, the being moved forward in an attempt to touch its side of the reflection only to hiss and draw back as those symbols that Doctor Strange conjured appeared, then disappeared as the monster retreated.

“Cute,” it laughed, sounding like a hundred voices talking over each other at once; flicking its wrist nonchalantly. 

I watched the golden symbol get eaten by flames from the outside edges to the inside edges in an instant. Strange wasn’t kidding when he said that the being wouldn’t fear him by himself. That’s when I truly realized how screwed I was. I gripped the corner of the wall as I fought the tears pooling in my eyes. I wanted to run, but where the hell could I hide in my own house? And if it was so easy to destroy the wards, then what was stopping it from coming through and finding me if I did hide?

“I know you can hear me...” the sing-songy voice echoed in my bathroom, my name falling from its terrifying maw.

“Please, please don’t hurt me—I—,” I was cut off by my own sobs bubbling up out of my throat.

“Hurt you?” The monster asked, taken aback. All at once, the anger it had possessed moments ago vanished, and its shoulders hunched over, “Why would I—? No, my love, please don’t cry,” it seemed to beg. “Not again,” I heard it whimper softly. Seeing my continued distress seemed to snap it out of its own feelings, placing a hand on the glass and urging me, “You need to calm down, you’re breathing too fast,” it pleaded, repeating my name over and over.

“How do you know my name‽ Why does everyone know my god damn name‽” I screamed inching my way toward the door to exit the bathroom.

“Because I know you a—and you know me,” it soothed with its disembodied cacophony of voices.

All of a sudden, it stepped back from the mirror, curling in on itself as if it were in pain and struggling. I soon realized it actually was in pain and struggling as it started howling and contorting its face, as if it was trying to contain something. Bright yellow and red energy swirled around it, along with various other things that I couldn’t quite make out, seemingly coming to a finality until the mirror was empty again.

After a few beats of silence, my name floated through the mirror; more distant than before but growing louder and closer. I was halfway out of the bathroom when a gentle voice stopped me.

“Wait, please,” it cooed.

My eyes closed tightly, refusing to look in the mirror. The voice was no longer disembodied and echoing with a thousand different voices. Fuck, it sounded so familiar.

“I’m sorry for scaring you, I—please look at me,” it—he pleaded.

With my chin still wobbling out of fear, I sniffled my sobs away and cracked my eyes open. In the center of the mirror was a much smaller person—well, smaller than the monster, which had taken up the entire mirror—walking toward the mirror. The mirror warped and shifted around him until it was no longer a reflection of my bathroom, but a glowing, magenta grid behind him.

“Wha—,” the words died in my throat as I got a good look at him.

Two deeply haunted, sunken eyes stared back at me, eyes that seemed like they hadn’t had a restful night of sleep in years. The same unruly brown hair as the monster littered his head and face, though it was much neater now. The off-red tunic actually fit this form, no longer ripped at the shoulders. They were…the same? 

Wait. Those gray streaks. Those cheekbones that stood proudly on his face, albeit on a much slimmer face than I had just seen...

“Doctor Strange?” I whispered in realization.

“By Vishanti, you hadn’t called me that in years but, oh, how I’ve missed it anyway,” he sighed wistfully, letting a longing smile adorn his features.

“W—what do you mean? It���s all I’ve ever called you,” I gulped.

“No, darling. My version of you, my love, they called me ‘Stephen’. ‘Doctor Strange’ was reserved for when I was in trouble,” he chuckled.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I asked incredulously. “Fuck, I—I can’t do this. I’m going fucking crazy,” I shakily admitted, my breathing picking up again. I brought my hands to my head, suddenly light headed, and swiftly exited the bathroom that felt far too small, now.

Doctor Strange or Stephen followed me through the reflections as I just about ran to my bed. I dove into the blankets, burrowing my head in the pillows.

What the fuck was going on? The question made tears well up in my eyes again. The situation was all too overwhelming and unexplainable for me to process in one day. From Doctor Strange telling me some uber powerful being existed on the other side, to finding out that being was him? I did not have the energy to get mind-fucked today.

“Sweetheart…” I heard him whisper, making me turn my head and seeing him out of the corner of my eye in the reflection of the cup of water resting on my nightstand.

“Doctor—Stephen, I’m sorry. I can’t—I need to wrap my head around this,” I managed to choke out before I was reduced to sobs as my emotions got the better of me.

He was silent and for a second, through my emotional haze, I figured he’d disappeared and didn’t want to deal with the crying. I wouldn’t blame him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you,” his voice resonated sadly, “If you need—or when you’re ready to talk just…I can hear you so…call out for me.”

I didn’t answer him, my only response being sniffles and gasps for air as I drifted off into a crying-induced sleep.

Doctor Strange woke up with a start, panting and clutching his sheets as he sat up in bed, immediately reaching out but no one was there. Levi bristled at being moved so suddenly, moving up Strange’s torso and applying pressure so he would lay back down. Annoyed, Strange got out of bed and chastised his cloak.

He opened and closed his fists slowly to get them warm and used to movement after waking up. He rolled his neck, grunting at the pops and sighing as he stretched. Strange hesitated as he always did before performing this spell but powered on anyway. He quickly drew the beginning symbols of the spell, watching the spinning disc of what looked like film in front of him. Finding what he was looking for, he yanked out the moving picture and crushed it in his hand.

There was no need for you to see that, he thought to himself.

I walked out of my apartment building dressed to the nines and grinning widely when I saw Stephen standing there waiting for me in a tuxedo with the passenger side door already open.

“Hey, you,” I took his outstretched hand and hummed happily as he pulled me in and pressed himself against me at the same time.

Stephen simply stared with a love-struck grin on his face.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, feeling my face get hot at his attention, turning to hide it in his shoulder.

Stephen didn’t let me, instead taking my chin between his fingers and lining our gazes up again,” I think I just had a mild cardiac event,” he teased.

“A heart attack, doctor?” I rolled my eyes.

“What can I say? You’re breathtaking,” He smirked, dropping his head until his lips met mine. 

I wound my arms around his neck, smiling at his urgency.

“Do we have to go?” He groaned as our lips separated. “We can stay in, order Chinese, maybe a little desert,” he hummed, punctuating “desert" with a squeeze.

“Stephen, not only are you receiving an award, but Christine will literally kick your ass if you don’t show up this time—and, I’ll help her,” I squinted at him.

“Oh, will you now, doctor?” He dropped another kiss to my lips before I pushed him toward his car.

The roads were slick and windy as we chatted, so focused on the truck in front of us that—

My body lurched forward out of control, forcing me to sit up without consciously thinking of it. I sat there. panting and sweating with my fists clenching tightly around nothing. My adrenaline was sky high, my eyes looking around wildly as I tried to get my breathing under control. I tried to settle my stomach, which felt like it had just tried to exit through my mouth like I’d just dropped on a tall rollercoaster.

“What the hell was that? So fucking weird...” I finally found my voice, still unsure of what had just taken place.

“What was weird? Bad dream?” I heard Stephen speak up next to me.

I screamed and covered my mouth, burying my face into my hands and scrubbing my face roughly, “Fuck! Stephen!”

Since his terrifying revelation in my bathroom mirror, I had been ignoring Stephen for a few days, refusing to acknowledge his presence with words, not that I didn’t see him all over my house anyway. I didn’t know how to process his presence, hoping it was a shitty dream, but as I continued seeing him pop up more openly the last few days...maybe Iwas the shitty dream. Though, apparently, I had forgotten that he didn’t need me to acknowledge him for him to speak. So, when he finally decided to stop being ignored and make himself known, just now, it’s safe to say I was a little startled. 

“I—I don’t know,” I admitted, glancing at Stephen’s human form in my glass of water on the bedside table.

“You don’t know if it was a bad dream, or you don’t know what was weird?” He pressed with a twinge of disbelief.

“I don’t remember the dream…” I muttered, trying my best to recollect what was a hyper-vivid dream as I experienced it. I should be able to remember it. It felt so real.

“Uh, if it made that much of an impression, you have to remember something—.”

“I don’t remember, okay!?” I snapped, groaning into my hands once more before sighing. Lifting my head up so quickly that I felt a crackle, I turned toward him with an annoyed frown, “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No,” he said all too quickly. “Yes. Not really,” I raised my eyebrow at him flipping back and forth between his words. “Only because you screamed in your sleep. I was worried,” he finally settled on his story with a shrug.

“Gee, thanks,” I huffed and got up to wash the sweat and sleep off of my face.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” his voice followed me all the way to the bathroom. “You’ve been ignoring me for days and I’ve given you your time to think about what’s going on. If you let me explain, it will make much more sense.”

“Can I, like, feel human first?” I snapped, reaching over to turn the shower on. “Preferably without your prying eyes?”

“Not the first time I’ve seen you first thing in the morning, love,” Stephen smirked, dropping his gaze to my oversized t-shirt.

I stopped what I was doing to throw a glare at the mirror.

“Okay, okay. You’re not a morning person in any universe, I guess,” he conceded with his hands up.

I flipped the mirror off and got ready for my shower.

With caffeine finally in hand, I plopped myself on my couch after making sure all my blinds were drawn to avoid anyone seeing me talking to my TV. As soon as I sat, Stephen appeared on my TV with the same magenta glow behind him. With a disgusted, insulted scoff, he crushed the ward on the TV as easy squashing an annoying bug.

“So—.”

I held my finger up to silence him, chugging a decent amount of the drink in my hand. Once I swallowed, I turned my wrist and flashed him a thumbs up.

“What do you know of the multiverse?” He questioned.

“I’m gonna have to stop you there and ask you to dumb it down. I barely know about my own universe, buddy,” I interrupted, something he was most certainly glaring at me for. “It’s like—the theory that what? Like there are multiple alternate universes existing together at the same time?”

“Sure, close enough,” Stephen shrugged. He sighed, pondering how to start, so he decided to go with an introduction. “I understand that I scared you before and I’m so sorry for that. It takes a good amount of effort to keep my natural form these days. I came in too hot and it was extremely overwhelming. So, with that…I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, but from a different universe—”

I raised my hand right away, making Stephen sigh begrudgingly, “Yes?”

“Thank you for the apology, one. Two, why is your universe geometric and hot pink?”

Stephen knitted his brows together in general confusion as to what kind of question that was. He turned, looking behind him and back at me, “First of all, it’s not hot pink. Secondly, I’ll get to that later.”

“I’m just sayi—”

“Anyway!” he interrupted. “Back to the explanation so you can stop ignoring me like an annoying spam call.” 

I rolled my eyes at his comparison but waved for him to continue. 

“I know how this is going to sound, but in my universe and so many others, you and I are together—I’ve checked. And in universes where we aren’t, it’s because one of us died early. It only led me to conclude that we’re drawn together across universes, almost like—.”

“—Soulmates,” I finished.

“Something like that. It’s a bit much to call it that, I know…”

“I’m talking to an alternate version of a sorcerer through my TV. There are stranger, more far-fetched ideas than soulmates,” I waved my arms in emphasis on “soulmates". “So, what happened in your universe, then? Where am I?” I asked him.

Stephen was eerily silent, taking in shaky breaths with closed eyes; clearly trying to remain in control. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it…”

Without warning, he clenched his teeth groaned in pain as blood-red scales flitted across his face, making him clutch his cheek in pain with red, scaled claws. As fast as it happened, it disappeared, ending with Stephen back to human form and pressing his hands into his face and fingers into his eyes.

“Your hands…” I set my drink down on my coffee table and approached the TV to get a closer look.

“What about them?” He questioned, still breathing abnormally but relatively under control now. He pulled his hands away from his face to examine them. 

“Nothing.”

“Okay?” He asked slowly.

“Strange, my Strange—ew, that’s weirdly possessive of someone I don’t know—whatever, his hands are scarred badly, and they shake constantly.”

“Nerve damage?” Stephen hummed, smirking to himself at your dismissal of your universe’s Strange.

“I heard that he was in a car accident and couldn’t be a surgeon anymore.”

Stephen scoffed, my eyes narrowing in to where his eyes were watering.

“What?” I pressed.

Stephen sniffled, shook his head, and wiped his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, “Where do you work? What did you go to school for?”

I was annoyed at him ignoring my question but humored him anyway and told him, “Why?”

“We ended up at Columbia together for med school and, oh, did I fall hard,” he smiled. 

“Well, now I know you’re lying. I’m not smart enough to be a doctor. I changed majors because of it,” I snorted.

Stephen growled softly, “I hated it when you doubted yourself like that in my universe, so I won't allow you to speak about yourself like that in this one.”

I bit my lip in an effort to keep my mouth shut, clearly having said the same thing to him a bunch in his universe enough to tick him off.  

He gathered his thoughts again and continued, “I was an arrogant prick when we met, and you wouldn’t put up with my bullshit for a second. You begrudgingly accepted my friendship after a while, and then we started something physical during our residency at New York Presbyterian. We finished our residencies at roughly the same time since you specialized in—.”

“—Pediatric surgery,” I interrupted.

“How—how do you know that?” He looked taken aback.

“I don’t know. Well, when I was younger, I entertained the idea of becoming a doctor in pediatrics but like I said…things changed.”

“But you said pediatric surgeon, just now. How did you know that specifically?”

“I—I don’t…”

“Do you dream?” He interjected.

“Like while sleeping? Yea, I think so. I have trouble remembering my dreams now, even some that I held onto when I was way younger, but I know it’d be easier if I wrote it down immediately when I woke up. I kind of attributed it to getting old,” I chuckled. 

“But remember, you couldn’t even tell me what you dreamed about this morning. And dreams…dreams are the window to alternate universes. You should be dreaming about us in every other universe. I know I do, and if I do, then I know he does.”

“I just…when it’s happening it’s so vivid that I know I should remember them, but I just can’t.”

Stephen was silent again and I knew, now, from experiencing two of him that it meant he was problem solving. Stephen scowled before erupting into a flurry of cycling creatures around his body, the energy seeping out of his body as he failed to contain himself, “That. Fucking. Snake,” Stephen growled, baring sharp, jagged teeth. 

I jumped back from the TV like something was going to come through, walking quickly backwards until my legs hit the couch; wanting to sink into the pillows. We made brief eye contact and then the TV suddenly went dark, leaving me in silence as I wondered what in the hell had just set him off. 

“Stephen?” I called out softly, sitting up straighter on the couch in curiosity. 

No response.

When he didn’t return on his own for a few minutes, I was standing back up and making my way to the TV. I pressed a hand to the screen, not caring about the inevitable handprint I’d have to clean later.

“Stephen.”

“I’m sorry,” reverberated throughout the room.

“It’s okay, come back. It’s okay,” I whispered.

The TV rippled, revealing Stephen coming back into focus, still absorbing the last of his creatures. His eyes fluttered shut, neck stretching to the side as a stray tentacle absorbed into his neck and shoulder.

My mouth suddenly went dry at the sight of his softened features and full lips as the last of the creatures disappeared with a dull glow. Strangely, the more glimpses of his creatures I saw, the less scary it became. Plus, if that tentacle was part of the same curious one that liked to follow me around the past few weeks, we were too well acquainted for me to be frightened of it at this point.

Stephen’s eyes flitted open, “If you keep staring at me like that, you’re going to drool.”

My mouth snapped shut as that arrogant, flirty smirk flash across his face; the same one I’d seen from the other Strange. 

“Shut up,” I mumbled. “Are you good?”

“I’m…okay,” he answered cautiously. “They’re very reactive to emotions.”

“And that was not a good emotion, I’m guessing?”

“Definitely not. Um…” he cleared his throat, “…I have a theory and I can’t really test it without him finding out about it. I can cloak my presence in various ways in your universe but the second I try any other spell, especially like the one I’m thinking of, he will know something big has arrived. Cloaking spells are generally hard to detect for a reason.”

“And your theory?”

“That he’s erasing your dreams of our alternate universes together. For what reason, I don’t know, but he clearly didn’t want you to know him. It’s aggravating and highly unfair to you,” he snarled.

“The universe had other ideas, though, because I, quite literally, ran into him shortly after you ‘moved in’,” I held my fingers up with air quotes.

“You can’t escape fate,” he droned ominously.

“Why—um—why is it aggravating? I mean it’s invasive and totally not ethical without my permission. And I feel grossly taken advantage of, but why were you ready to unleash hell for it?”

“He’s directly avoiding the plans the universe has for you both and if he and I are the same, I’m sure it’s some self-righteous bullshit. But I lost everything for you and while I probably wouldn’t do it again because of the ramifications I know of now, it is deeply insulting to me that he won't even keep you in his life,” he growled, his emotions—and by association, his creatures—seeping through again as his voice took on gravelly and hissing undertones.

“What happened, Stephen?”

He took a second to reel his monsters back in, his voice evening out, “I—the reason—the reason he has scars, and I don’t. The scars and his hands had to be why he became a sorcerer in the first place. Me, I—I had you in the car with me and y—you—,” he stopped abruptly, chin wobbling as he avoided crying, but it didn’t work. Slowly but surely, tears trailed down his cheeks; prompting a tentacle to poke out from his neck and wrap around his neck and torso comfortingly. “—you died in the crash. But you didn’t have to, he’s proof that you didn’t have to die!” he wailed. 

I let him take his time and regain his composure so he could continue.

“I moved on for years, became a sorcerer out of grief and the Stephen Strange curse to want to fix everything. One of the nights of the anniversary of your death, I went back and tried to prevent it. I watched you die over and over,” his voice shuddered. “My mentor tried to stop me because your death couldn’t be changed, it had to happen in my universe, and I couldn’t accept it. I escaped to the far past and sought out the power to break an absolute point. As it turns out, she split me into two Stephens. The other half of me never sought out to fix your death.”

“So, the creatures? That’s how you got your power?” I wondered.

“Correct,” he shot me a watery smile, proud of how quickly I caught on, “I found myself at an ancient library run by Master O'Bengh, who nicknamed me ‘Armani’ upon meeting me. I absorbed them, so many of them, for a long time. I didn’t even realize I had been slowing time for myself until I came out and saw O'Bengh on his death bed. When I felt I was ready, I wanted to go back and O’Bengh told me I still had to absorb the other half of me. And I did,” Stephen paused, mournfully silent for the side of him who knew better than to attempt what he’d done. “I broke the absolute point and brought you back, but I had destroyed the universe as a result.”

My hand flew up to cover my mouth at the realization that he had destroyed his entire universe for me—well, his version of me.

“I had to watch you die—but terrified at the sight of me—one last time in my arms. That image of you will haunt me for the rest of my life. I created this hot pink sphere to keep the dying universe from consuming me, too,” he hoped the little joke would bring a smile to my face, but his own smirk fell when he saw how concerned and shocked I was. “I’ve done awful things and I’m not excusing that. I’m trying to be better. I prevented the destruction of the multiverse just recently, and I know that doesn’t mean much, but I—I just wanted to see you. I thought I deserved that much,” he sighed.

He destroyed an infinite amount of matter for one more minute with the love of his life. I should be horrified. I should lock myself away in a non-reflective room for the rest of my life. I should. I should. 

But…

I felt bad for him. He was right about one thing. He did everything he could to save the person he loved, meanwhile this other version of him was invading my mind and deleting himself from it. It was infuriating. Who was he to decide what I could and couldn’t see?

“Stephen,” I whispered, bringing my hand up to the screen where his cheek was. His eyes were glossy with tears. “I’m here.”

At my words, his face crumbled; fighting the sobs wracking his body. The TV rippled like before and I was afraid that he would disappear again until the screen gave way. I gasped, fearing something had broken. My hand passed hesitantly through the screen like water, eventually landing on the side of Stephen’s face. He jolted in surprise, opening his red, swollen eyes with a sharp pant. His bubble was cold and his hands even colder as they wrapped around mine and pressed my palm firmly against his face. His face nestled into my warm skin like a touch starved puppy.

“I’m here, Stephen. I’m here.”

A/N 2: For clarity:

Stephen = Strange-Supreme

Strange = Dr. Strange in reader’s universe

Chapter 4

[pack-the-pack]

So I don't like children and babies. I think they're weird and gross and they smell funny. They just go around spewing their bodily fluids everywhere and it makes me distressed (just think of that one scene from toy story 3 and you'll know my feelings). So I'll just talk about A/B/O babies because I like to make them everything real children can never be.

- Babies will only ever cry when they're born or in extreme pain. Otherwise they will just whimper.

- Babies will only drool when their little fangs are coming out. The rest of their teeth coming out doesn't really make they drool a lot. Their fangs are also the first teeth to come out.

- Baby's stomachs don't get upset with as much frequency so they don't throw up, like almost never.

- Babies will not have the urge to put everything in their mouths, they will however have the urge to smell everything. Scent is much more important to babies and their assessment of the world than taste.

- Babies will purr and rumble whenever they're happy and well as gurgling and babbling at their parents.

- If the mother is an Omega (male or female, it doesn't matter) the baby, regardless of dynamics, will be considerably smaller than a real human baby. That's because Omegas are smaller and have a more frail constitution, so they will not be as big as Beta females when pregnant and the babies they give birth to will be smaller as well.

- That does not hinder their development because they will eventually grow to be a normal baby size.

- Normal children smell like cookies and butt, but Omegaverse children will always just smell like their parents who have scented them or like the faint underdeveloped scent of their dynamics, which is not unpleasant.

- In a verse where children are dynamicaless then their scent will be the type of scent only a child can produce. It doesn't smell like any of the three dynamics, it just smells like someone that must be identified as a pup. The scent will stop being produced after the first presentation for Omegas and Alphas, and for Betas when they reach a quasi sexual maturity (like when girls have their first period).

- Children are mostly calm and quiet, specially Omegas and Betas. They prefer to play nice and socialize through simulating scent marking one another like their parents do to them, or by playing games with one another in their backyards and on the street.

- Alphas are a little bit more energetic and rowdier, they'll play fight a lot, but majority of the time when they're interacting with Omega or Beta children they'll tone it down and play a little nicer.

- That's not to say there aren't energetic and rowdy Omegas or Betas. It's just unusual.

- little Omegas will constantly try to make little nests for their stuffed animals, their siblings, their friends, their parents. They just love to cuddle and be scented.

- Omegaverse children have a more ingrained sense of community and thus have a bigger drive to help others and offer to do things for their pack. They understand everyone in the pack must help in order for it to function, so they're always hoping to help even tho it's through small things like helping to water the plants, or plant carrots or helping mom fold the laundry.

- They also help each other a lot. Older Alphas will hold hands with younger Omegas to bring them to school safely (even tho they're both children. But like it's mostly because of the cars and strangers), they'll help each other with homework, they'll share their food with each other. Alphas offer to do things for the others all the time just so they don't have the trouble of doing it.

- Since sound sensitivity is such a big part of Omegaverse, children are taught to not yell too much because it distresses other children and makes adults' instincts go off thinking there's something wrong. One should scream only when they're in real danger or really angry.

And that's all. In my verse Omegaverse children are just better and cuter than real children. If you also have something you'd like to improve about children through your verse pls add on to the post. And if you're upset I don't like children, well sorry, I just don't, can't help it.

[vamp8687]

Hihi lovely, can I get bo vincent and bubba reaction to their someone wearing their clothes because it makes them feel safe? Maybe they have a little anxiety? Or it just makes them happy?

Ofc ❤️ I love this idea🥺🖤❤️

————————————

Slashers reaction to s/o wearing their clothes so they feel safe🖤

Requested by @insanitymoshpit 🖤❤️🖤❤️

⚠️TW: anxiety + slight anxiety attacks⚠️

⚠️Warning ⚠️I rushed bo’s😂 it was late at night so it may not be the best one ❤️ bubba’s is SOOOOO CUTE THO ISTG IM DIEING🥺

———————————-

Bo

Bo would love watching you walk around in his clothes😏

It would take him a while to realise that you wore his clothes bc you felt unsafe or anxious on certain days.

His clothes smelt like him making you feel protected around Ambrose all the time☺️

But when you two talked about it, he understood

It all started with one night…⬇️

You were worried… some visitors got loose and were trying to find there way outta Ambrose in the middle of the night. Bo has been out for hours, and you worried that he had been hurt and you were worried that one of their victims might find you… bo had left the house in such a hurry with his shotgun leavening you defenceless. So there you were. On the bathroom floor, curled up in a little ball wearing one of bo’s shirts. His shirts made you feel safe whenever you wear them, they smell like him and remind you of him-

CRASH.

A loud noise came from downstairs, it sounded like the back door was knocked down.. you heard people yelling..

You were trying your hardest to keep breathing but you couldn’t take it!! Then somebody opened the bathroom down, it was a college kid. He was probably no older than you.

“Look what we got here…” he smirked wickedly. You let out a whimper. “Let’s take her home guys… she’s a pretty one- BANG

Blood poured out of his head and his two friends were knocked to the ground unconscious. “Baby what are ‘ya doing on the-“ you looked up from your knees and saw Bo standing, “sweetgirl… why ya cryin’…?” Bo asked. You didn’t even know you were crying until now. “C’mon let’s get you up”. He got you a new shirt of his to change into.

After that you would wear his clothes regularly, he would start to notice as well. “Darlin, you wearing one of my shirts..?”

After you told he how you feel, he doesn’t mind at all, he thinks you look hot in them after all..😏

Bubba

Ohh. Bubba would love it!

If you explain that you like to wear his clothes to make you feel safe, he would start wearing your to!!❤️

It would also make he feel strong, knowing that his making you feel safe😘

As I said he would love wearing your clothes as well⬇️

You couldn’t handle the noise. The sawyer house isn’t the best for that… “GOD DAM BOY. YOU LITTLE SHITRAGS- OH-“. Drayton was a pain in the ass to listen to, for example today choptop and nubbins decided to prank Drayton while he was already in a bad mood, probably ranting about the meat industry or some shit like that…

The noise was getting a bit to much for you, So you ran up to you and bubba’s shared room. You put on one of bubba’s shirts and jumped in bed taking two pillows and shoving your head in between them you stayed like this for a while but Unfortunately the shouting didn’t stop. You sat up, but everything seemed to just get louder. It felt like the walls were coming in and you were trapped, you squeezed your eyes shut and started crying.

You somehow heard the door open so you opened your eyes some time later to find a Terrified bubba! He dropped his chainsaw and started shakeing his head in distress!! You were upset and he wasn’t aware.

He ran to you in a hurry and started putting piles of shirts in your face..! You liked his shirts right?!?! Maybe that could make you happy? You slightly smiled at the sight of bubba trying to cheer you up. After telling him why you were sad, he gave you lots and lots of cuddles!! And piles of shirts😂

Whenever your feeling bad bubba would give you his shirts to wear, because he knew they made you feel safe.🥺

Sometimes… you would need to explain that one piece of clothing was enough.😭

But he’s trying🥰

Vincent

You don't always have Vincent around. Sadly, he has to spend most of his day with his wax figures. You weren’t really aloud to go down there, he doesn’t want you to be too traumatised 🙄

So whenever you miss him, you like to wear his clothes. They smell like him and remind you of him when your feeling alone😕

It started to become a bit of a routine to wear his clothes after something happened one day⬇️

Vincent has been down there for HOURS. you were beginning to become a bit sick of it, you only ever saw him when you two needed to go to bed. Sighing you put on one of his shirts and and collapsed onto the couch….. does he even love you anymore…? You hug the shirt closer to your face imagine his there cuddling up to you as you two watch movies.

After a while you felt a rough hand wipe away your tears. Tears?!? You didn’t know you were crying. You opened your eyes and saw Vincent there.

“I’m sorry vinny… I just missed you.. you can have your shirt back if you want….” You sniffed, thinking he wanted his shirt back and that’s why he came but then he shook his head and signed.. ‘I missed you two.’

“Wait really..?” You asked stupidly. You saw him roll his eyes (IM LIVING FOR SASSY VINCENT😘) making you laugh at his sassy side. “Can we cuddle?” You asked him, instead of signing something he jumped onto the couch and dragged you into his chest.

After that you wore Vincent’s shirts around more often and he loved it🥰 1. Because your cute 2. Because it was a silent way of telling him you felt lonely, scared or sad.

And he would make sure to definitely spend more time with you, if you were lonely like the one shot⬆️

[rivangel]

Rubies

summary: Levi has a nightmare; that's nothing new, except maybe you can help comfort him using more than just words of reassurance or an embrace this time around.

warnings: vague nightmare mention, orgasm control, praise kink, cockwarming

wc: 3.2k

a/n: Writing smut after not writing it for a long time combined with constantly comparing your writing to others' isn't a good combo. .. Also, I almost wrote mommy kink into this. Levi mommy kink coming soon.

That half-way realm between the fuzziness of sleep and cold consciousness is a muted sort of place. One where you could hold a half-hearted conversation with someone, but wake later with no (or hardly any) memory of it ever happening.

That is sort of like this: you can vaguely register quiet, hitched sounds from a foot or so away, but that’s all it is. Sound. That is, until you stir, stretch, and roll over. There’s a muted light boring into your eyelids, and more distressed sounds. Breathy whimpers.

Your eyes fly open at once, moving to close the space between you and Levi.

There's a distressed frown marring his features, and through that messy curtain of bangs, his brow is pinched together harshly. Lightly chapped lips twitch every moment or so, and the sounds that fall from them are characteristic of some kind of pained horror.

Gently, you coo to Levi and caress his shoulder and back with fleeting touches. It must be bad this time, you think, because Levi wrestles with bad dreams all the time, but hardly ever does he wake you with them. Unintentionally or otherwise.

“Levi. Honey, you’re dreaming. Just dreaming.”

No matter the grace of touch, Levi jerks awake harshly. Under your palm, his muscles go ramrod stiff and he throws his arm around you and quickly looks around. It’s as if he’s gauging for threats, or drunk with that instinct to protect what’s most important to him.

But it’s your shared bedroom, adorned with the soft light of early morning. It’s the Scouts’ base in Shinganshina, and you’re both tucked away behind the Walls. Everything is alright.

You tell Levi as much, over and over again in urgent, soothing tones until he hears you. Pressed together as firmly as you are, you notice the instant his grip on your waist slackens a tad, and he chokes on a curse.

In stark contrast to anyone else, Levi doesn’t seem to ever enter that half-way state between asleep and awake. He’s had to watch his own back, fight tooth and nail, and focus solely on survival for almost his whole life, so how could that ever be surprising? It goes like this: dark, muted rest, or firmly rooted in cold awareness. Any in-between for Levi just doesn’t exist.

“It’s alright, it’s okay,” you murmur, and you feel Levi knuckle the cool fabric of your nightshirt. It’s harsh in comparison to how he holds you to him, or that minute tremble his body’s taken to. Your heart shudders in your chest. “It was just a dream, okay?”

Levi mumbles something incomprehensible against your neck. His breath is hot, and you feel his lips moving, but you can’t make the words out. You shiver a little, and tug on the dark fluff that makes up Levi’s bedhead.

“...I told you sleeping in the same bed was a bad idea,” comes Levi’s hoarse voice. It’s gruffer than usual this soon after waking.

That, you deny immediately. You wiggle closer and cradle the back of Levi’s head. If your position wasn’t so compromising, you’d be holding him just as close, just as tight.

“Don’t be dumb,” you murmur by his ear, and kiss the shell of it. You feel a slight tremor. “You sleep a lot better like this, and I do too. Isn’t a warm bed and comfy clothes better than that awful chair in your office? No wonder you have back pain.”

You don’t talk about the contents of Levi’s nightmares. What happens in them, what he sees, or anything else. The way he grappled for you the moment he woke up this time says more than enough.

Regardless, Levi doesn’t like to talk about his nightmares a vast majority of the time, and you respect that. Amidst the aftermath of a particularly bad one though, it doesn’t hurt to ask. It’s not like Levi would spill his guts about those sorts of things on a whim.

“...Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask, following a short stretch of quiet. You’re past reassuring Levi about your sleeping arrangement, and his face isn’t tucked into the crook of your neck anymore. His eyes aren’t as glossy either. “It seemed worse this time.”

Levi’s eyes were shut before, but they open now to regard you for a brief moment.

“...You left me because I acted too cold towards you,” he explains, quite matter-of-fact. You feel your brows immediately furrow. “And then you died hating me.”

“But.. that’s just who you are. And besides, it’s not like you’re as cold with me as you are with anyone else. With me, you’re a total sweetheart. A baby, a...” You feel your lips quirk as Levi levels an embarrassed glare your way. “...a teddy bear, a cutie-pie. A lovey-dovey little–”

Levi smushes your head against his chest after that. Him doing so doesn’t quell the sound of your loud giggles, however muffled they are against his loose top. You hear him grumble for you to shut up before he rolls you both over. Levi’s flat on his back when you wriggle away and climb on top of him.

The way he gets so worked up and embarrassed at the slightest word of praise or mushiness warms your heart. Maybe mortification is what it’ll take to get Levi to believe you when you say that you accept him for every part of who he is. Even the mangled, ugly bits. You believe Levi is the only man that could ever make you swoon; truthfully, you may be a bit smitten with him.

How could you ever hate him?

You straddle his waist and brace yourself against his shoulders. Levi is still holding onto you when you shift to cup his warm cheeks. They’re colored like rubies, but his expression is still sour.

“Hey,” you say, and your smirk eases into a soft smile. “I know you care about me. And I care about you too.”

“How poetic.”

Your smile widens a little because—as aloof as Levi’s words sound—he tugs you down further, closer. His expression isn’t as hard as it was a moment ago. He’d never tell you when he needs to be coddled or reassured, but it sure does show.

“Yeah, and you’re pretty awful at showing it,” you continue, brushing your thumb against Levi’s cheekbone as you do, “but I know you do... Especially when you’re cold.”

Levi makes a face like you’re speaking gibberish until it dawns on him what you’re insinuating. He’s not just his strength, after all. Grey eyes take on a glint of recognition, and he doesn’t reply. Levi takes you up on your invitation with a nod and a shift of his hips, urging you to move.

This way, Levi can openly show you that he cares about you in a way he’s confident in. You can make him feel better, reassure him. And you’ll both feel good.

If you were to describe Levi as a sexual partner, it'd be 'intense'. Doting or intense or passionate, certainly. What he can't say out loud or show very often, Levi has no trouble conveying between the sheets. It's vulnerable, the nature of it. It's in the way he touches or kisses you. It's in the way he fucks you. It's all of it.

It doesn’t take much effort at all to cockwarm someone, but Levi is never one to half-ass anything; when he does something, he puts all of his effort into making it perfect. Sex is no different.

As Levi props himself up against the plush pillows, you ghost kisses down his sharp jaw and work the supple skin of his throat with your lips and teeth. He holds you to him meanwhile, working your nightshirt up and over your head. You shiver as the rough skin of his palm caresses the small of your back.

With Levi comfortable, you return your attention to his neck and suck gently. You feel a swell of pride when he tugs gently at your hair; that slight action was enough to make him shiver.

"No marks..."

You chuckle a little, pulling away and snaking your hands underneath his shirt. His muscles are firm and taut under your palms. "You could just wear a scarf, you know. Or an extra cravat."

"It's summer," Levi complains, and rolls his hips up against your ass when your fingertips move to his chest. His cheeks are still flushed pink, and the blush creeps down his neck. "You'd have to be crazy to wear a scarf 24/7... Fuck."

Levi's firm hold on your waist moves to grab a handful of your ass and grind you down against him, all because of your hands. Your hand rolling the hard bud of his nipple between your thumb and forefinger, your other hand tugging at his hair and tangling the strands between your fingers.

You groan softly at the force, "awe, Levi... Knowing you? You can handle a little heat. You can handle anything."

Levi makes a hushed sort of growling sound and squeezes the plump flesh of your ass, but the feeling's muted by the fabric of your shorts. Your cunt flutters and—you never being the most self-controlled of people—hiss and grind your hips against the skin of Levi's waist. You can't help whining despite the bad angle.

"Levi," you continue, and edge his shirt up further. He's pressing open-mouthed kisses to your neck, giving special attention to the soft skin at the junction between your neck and shoulder. "Levi, you make me feel so good..."

Levi shudders, and you gasp when you feel his clothed cock throb beneath your wet cunt. None of it is an exaggeration in the slightest. Everything you tell him is what you feel on the daily; it just so happens that now is the perfect time to let him know.

You grind down again, seeking friction just as the kisses cease and Levi is pulling—bordering on yanking—his shirt over his head. You'd admire his sculpted upper body, but he pulls you in for a kiss as soon as he can, pressing you close by the arm he has snaked around your waist. He knuckles the hem of your shorts as you deepen the kiss. You need more.

As you shove your shorts and underwear down your thighs, Levi pulls away again, breathing hard. His rough hand massages the softness at your breast, his face smothered against your throat.

"I.. need you," you hear him rasp, and you feel more arousal gather between your folds. It's beyond relieving when you feel Levi's other hand fall from your waist to enthusiastically help you undress. "I'm so fucking hard."

"I know," you breathe, and you definitely know it after you're completely nude, and you slip the last bit of fabric separating your bodies down Levi's thighs. His erection springs free and twitches in your hand when you wrap your hand around him, coating his shaft with copious amounts of his own precum. Levi moans, filthy and insistent.

You continue, "you need me so bad... Need to make me feel good, need to cum. But you'll be a good boy for me, won't you, baby?"

"Yes, yes..."

It's surprising to you, how forthcoming Levi is being with letting you manhandle him and call all the shots this morning. Then again, you praised him quite a bit, and after a nightmare like that, he must need this more than you thought. You're warmed by how much Levi trusts you to take care of him, that he lets you see him so torn and vulnerable like this.

Levi's cock is swollen and fuchsia when you sink down, and you sense a pleasured sigh leave your lips. He moans, stuttered, and the sound is low and sweet against your skin. The slide is slick and easy, and you tell him as much. You praise Levi for how wet he made you with so little effort, how big he feels, how full his cock makes you.

The sound he chokes out almost sounds pained, and he squeezes your hip with a force that's almost bruising when he's sheathed completely inside. You resist the urge to move even an inch, and brush your palm against Levi's warm cheek, where his lips are gently parted. He presses your foreheads together and holds you in a way that almost pleads for you to come closer, if it was possible.

"Feel good?" you prompt gently, and brush Levi's bangs off of his face. You both breathe labored, and note the gentle sheen of sweat at his hairline. The air is heavy and it's hard to think past the primal desire to pin Levi's hands to your waist and let him fuck you stupid, but you don't.

Levi seems focused on remaining still; so much so that he doesn't reply at first. The firm muscles of his upper body are tense, as are his thighs. You whimper his name and force your walls tighter, and Levi gasps, squeezing at the soft flesh of your thigh.

Feel good?

"…Yeah," he replies, and his eyes open, half-lidded and sultry. "Let me..."

"Let you? ..Let you what? What do you want, honey?"

Levi shudders a small groan and you feel his hand move between your thighs to gather a generous amount of your slick; he lathers your clit with it, rasping, "let me make you feel good. I wanna feel your cunt squeezing me when you cum."

"Mm, yeah?"

Without a second thought, you spread your thighs further for Levi's thumb to smooth over your soaked clit, then rub, then massage. You jerk and moan with unrestrained desire, and hold on tight. You can't control the way your hips nudge to meet his hand, rolling in slow, shaky circles.

Levi's thighs visibly tremble; yet, he restrains his lust and draws teasing circles around your clit. Every few moments or so he'll murmur against your ear a sweet word, a lusting phrase. His hips will twitch when your cunt involuntarily flutters around his cock, or he'll breathe a sweet, needy sound and muffle it against your jaw or throat.

"Make me cum," you groan, overwhelmed by the ache in your clit, overwhelmed by just how badly you need Levi to move. He's hard and straining inside you, and you feel his cock throbbing. "Faster, faster. I'm—getting close..."

Levi obediently does as you command, and it's then that his hips jostle again, and you sob a plea. You're so close despite the stillness, and Levi's hot breath puffs against you ear, pleading. Pleading for you to let him move, let him fuck up into you. He needs it so fucking badly.

Your thighs tremble as you shift, taking Levi's hands and locking them at your waist. You're the one in control here, and you're the one who gets to control the orgasm he needs so badly. When he can cum, if he'll get to at all.

Before Levi can object, agree, or reply at all, you brace yourself against his shoulders and lift your hips. You groan when your pussy practically sucks him in, fucking yourself hard and picking up a quick rhythm.

"L-Lay–" you gasp, and shove a panting Levi down by his shoulder, against the pillows. "Stay. So good, Levi, oh—fuck, I love you so much..!”

Maybe it's the fact that he's so far removed from the authoritative role this time or the intense stimulation he's finally receiving after several minutes of cockwarming, but he looks and feels as if he's about to fall apart. Levi's plump lips seem permanently stretched into a pretty o-shape, and the noises he makes between harsh breaths are strangled and broken. He can hardly keep his dark eyes open to watch you use him for your own pleasure; all he really can do is link your fingers together and watch you, feel you.

As you shudder drawn-out moans of his name, Levi gasps and throws his head back by the force with which your walls choke his cock. You're so warm and tight; staying still is torture, but he'd never disobey you. You told him to stay, and he wants to please you. He wants it so bad.

Levi's close.

Once you've come back to yourself a little, you rock your hips and take in the sight of Levi's quickly bobbing Adam's apple, and the ruby flare to his face and neck. His head is thrown back against the soft pillows, rolling occasionally when a shaky sound parts his swollen lips. His nipples are pink and taut, abs clenching harshly with every one of your movements. The hold he has on your hips is positively bruising, and he's throbbing inside you.

"Not yet, not yet," you say between heavy breaths, smoothing back Levi's damp bangs where they stick to his forehead with sweat. "Hold it for me, good boy. You look so beautiful, Levi" You feel his cock twitch inside you again, "–so handsome. You're so good to me, make me feel so good."

Levi chokes out your name when you begin to move again, sliding his cock into your soaked, fucked-out cunt in deliberate motions. You can see his eyes glazing over like they did earlier when he first woke up, and they shut tight. He pulls you down, toward him, and genuinely whimpers.

"Sweetheart," you murmur, and link your fingers together again. You're overwhelmed, twitching with oversensitivity every time you sink down, but your heart throbs when Levi looks up at you then with such conviction behind his teary irises. "You make me so happy, Levi, I love you. I, f-fuck... You love me too?"

Levi squeezes his eyes shut again before nodding rapidly, and you beg, "come for me, sweetie. Fuck me—be a good boy, come inside me–"

You don't need to tell Levi twice before a strangled sob leaves his lips and his mouth falls open. With your permission, he grapples for your waist and holds you still for his hips to rapidly snap and buck up into your warm cunt. His back arches. His chest heaves with hoarse moans and the frequent cry of your name between every hot spurt of his cum you feel shoot inside you. His abs flex with exertion, and you moan, be it from the feeling of Levi filling you, the way he holds you still, or how he moans out his release like he doesn't have the mind to consider who else could hear.

When Levi's thrusts ease and his hips and thighs fall back against the sheets, you still on top of him and brush the hot tears off his flaming cheeks. The air is heavy with sweat and sex, and surprisingly, Levi's thighs are still trembling. As he softens inside you, you feel his cock twitch and throb with the aftershocks. A mixture of slick and cum slips from between your folds, making a mess of your thighs, as well as Levi's pelvis.

"Wow–" you have to pause briefly to catch your breath before easing off Levi's lap, and his softening cock slips out of you, "–you came right when I told you to. Good boy."

Levi hisses a curse and throws his arm over his face. You feel yourself smile at his indecipherable grumbling before a nimble hand takes your own, squeezing gently. It's Levi's way of saying thank you before he inevitably drags you to your shared bathroom to clean up and start the day.

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

[rumblelibrary]

I need a very loving Laszlo smut, either top or switch with him, take it any direction you want, any build up, any kinks. But I just... my soul needs this V I need to see this man happy and satisfied

Coming Back Home [Dr Laszlo Kreizler x Wife!Reader]

Word count: 3k

Warnings: SMUT (fingering, mild victorian dirty talk)

Author’s note: I am weak to see this man happy, my mind went a bit overboard, but I just couldn't hold it back, to see him happy and fulfilled in all his means, professional and private. Thank you so much for feeding my obsession and being my supporter @cazzyimagines <3

The cold air hit him as a welcome back in the moment he exited the carriage, he was back in New York after six months of study and hard work in Wien, he hated and loved it: he learned a lot and got the chance to talk with some of the best alienists in the field granting himself some valuable resources and upcoming publications, the city was amazing and romantic. But all day, every day, he was with his mind on the life he left here, on you and your baby boy waiting at home patiently, easing his pains with letters and little colourful sketches, reassuring him that he would come back to the same house he left.

It was late, he could see the light in baby’s room was off already and it pained him to be late for the goodnight story.

The driver dropped his belongings beside the door with a huff before taking his money with a big thank you.

Laszlo nodded, a sense of tension taking over him, what if something indeed changed? What if you hate him for leaving for his own interest? Will his son remember him? 

The silliest questions took over him and he just rang the bell before the spiral would take over and make him sleep in the garden out of his imaginary shame.

Stevie opened the door and his face lighted up instantly, Laszlo’s hand moved close to his own face with a finger up to signal him to keep quiet. The young lad nodded opening the door more, but a loud whine came out of his lips when he saw the heavy trucks beside Laszlo. 

“Stevie? Who is it?”

Your voice vibrated through the walls enveloping Laszlo like a distant memory and a fresh breath of air at the same time.

Stevie mumbled something “Nobody Madam, only some funny head playing with bells at night” he said as Laszlo nodded at him.

He left the coat at Stevie with his gloves and hat making his way to the bedroom upstairs trying to be as quiet as possible, your vanity the first thing that appeared to his sight, he shifted lightly so he could spot your figure reflected in the mirror without being seen.

You were already in your white night dress, hair down wrapped in a braid that rested on your shoulder, his own dark blue night gown draped over you making you appear even smaller, a book resting in your hand, the other hand toying with the fabric of his gown. A soft sigh left your lips and a little smile, you are liking the book. You turn the page with your features lighting up by interest, he felt almost guilty to interrupt you.

“Guten Abend, my love”

Your head shot up, eyes wide in surprise, a smile growing on your lips as he walked inside the room revealing his presence. A sense of nervousness still on him.

“Laszlo” you called rushing to him, discarding the book and throwing the covers onside,  closing the distance between the two of you by jumping out the bed like an excited child. Your hands wrapped quickly around his neck, you pulled him in, lips clashing against one another. He smiled in the kiss, eyes a bit teary as the happiness you were able to blossom into his chest since the first time he met you was still there. He cupped your cheek with his left hand, the kiss being long and followed by little short ones, and then again a long one.

“You should have told me” You whispered and he smiled at you noticing how you also got a bit of tears streaming down your cheeks, but all due to happiness. You picked his right hand kissing it lovingly, oh that ritual of yours, that mindless action you always did to kiss the part of him he despised the most.

“Welcome home, my love”

He smiled widely, so wide he felt his cheeks and jaw hurt, while he leaned his forehead against yours and you closed your eyes enjoying it. Your little telepathy thing, like he could pour his thoughts to you and vice versa.

In the meanwhile Stevie kept himself far from the two of you not wanting to interrupt or witness anything he shouldn’t. Laszlo pulled back from that position as he stared down at you, your eyes met again as you gulped down a little, his eyes travelling onto your neck as none of you seemed able to pick what words to let out first, too many informations gathered in six months that letters couldn’t covert.

His eyes raising up to yours, you moved first guiding his right hand still safe in your grasp inside that warm robe hiding your body, his fingers meeting with the obscenely thin fabric of your night dress, the shape of your breast clear under his touch, his thumb brushing over your nipple earning an immediate reaction from you. 

His breath itched, his tongue wetting his lips as you kept supporting his weak arm while his hand discovered once more what hidden treasure was the body of his wife.

His left hand undoing the silky bow around your neck that kept that useless piece of clothing closed, your breasts being exposed as he leaned his head down lacing his lips with you nipple and giving it a tempting suck, his tongue roaming over it as a sense of home and comfort surged into his stomach, then he spoke and his hot breath against your wet nipple made you shiver.

“Have you done the exercises that I gave you?”

“No”

His eyes shoot up at you, a mix between the need to scold you and desire in them.

“I could do it only with your letters” you added.

“Not touching yourself enough must have been painful, exasperating, you could have brought yourself to hysteria”

“I know, but I was waiting for this moment”

He smirked, the idea to be a vital part of your sexual expression turning him on immensely.

“Which letter was your favourite?”

“The one where you described your fingers inside me, I could imagine it so clearly while I was doing it to myself”

He almost let out a groan only by the sound of your words, the need to go knuckles deep inside you now almost impossible to hold back as the image of your distressed figure rolling onto the sheets trying to emulate that pleasure he only can give you clouded his mind.

His left hand almost angrily undoing the fabric belt the nightgown around your waist before moving behind your back to pull it off your shoulders, you gently let go of his right hand helping him in the task, your hands now tugging his jacket, his waistcoat, beginning already with his shirt buttons, you were so in need, but he was the same. He tugged his shirt off probably ripping off some buttons, the urgency you both felt filling the air.

His eyes trying to take in all your figure as you finally let go of that white dress.

“Oh, meine Frau, no statue or artwork or inspiration I have seen in this travel equals your beauty” he groaned as he felt like he almost forgot how he worshipped your body, how your only presence triggered obscene desires through him.

There was almost a moment of suspense before he leaned his warm body against yours, skin on skin again.

His erection already brushing over your lower stomach as you guided him onto the bed with you laying down for him. “Laszlo” you were about to beg him not to make you wait, not to tease you but his left hand fingers were already between you legs and a yelp of pleasure left you lips immediately.

“Soaked wet without me even touching you”

He was so pleased, you didn’t need to look at his face to know, but you whimpered when his long finger pushed inside you, he knew it, he knew exactly how to touch you, how to manipulate all of you. His lips laced to your neck, he sucked on it, bit it, hickeys soon will follow the passage of him. He is back.

To see your own neck pale and empty from his marks pained you everyday, but now he is at home and there won’t be a single centimetre of you spared. Another moan followed as his mouth found your nipples again, your legs trembling as a second finger joined the first one making you gasp for air. The ultimate pleasure approaching in you too quickly, abnormally quickly, but you missed him so much and six months without his care on you was a torment.

His prideful smile gave you the freedom not to restrain your pleasure, your hips jolting up and trembling, more wetness gathering on his fingers before he pulled them out knowing that it would make you feel empty.

He punished you with distance as he sat down on the bed, you crawled over him, legs still feeling like jelly as you forced yourself to straddle him. You didn’t need to rest, you wanted him to bring you to exhaustion and he knew it, he knew you won’t wait anymore. So you aligned him with your folds, his hard cock opening his way into you easily thanks to your recent orgasm, a loud growl leaving Laszlo’s lips.

“My wife, it appears to me that you’re back being a virgin after only six months away from me” 

You blushed because his words made you sensitive and proud in a very peculiar way, you moaned slowly beginning to ride him as he kept muffling how tight you’re pressing his forehead against your chest, his left arm wrapping around you. You voiced your pleasure freely, fingers tangling to the back of his head, now it was your turn to guide his pleasure, to set the rhythm, but the pace was slow and deep, the desire still feverish in you, but the closeness inspiring you tenderness. 

“How horrible to rest in the cold Wien without you, how empty to walk without your presence” he spoke directly to your chest, to your heart “every achievement was not an achievement if I couldn’t share it with you” he confessed, his hot breath against your breasts.

“You’re back now, next time we will come with you”

You smiled as his eyes shone looking up at you “my wife”

He loved to call you that, he always did, the pride in his voice when he asked you  to be his wife the first time came back to your memory. You didn’t need many nicknames, wife and husband, the holy duo, the balance, the symmetry.

“I love you, my husband”

You moaned against him, his fingers digging into your skin, his right hand settling over your hip.

You couldn’t guess how much it lasted, you impaled deliciously yourself over him, he loved to stare at you going on your own on top of him, love it, express fully your feminine power. His left hand teasing your clit sapiently mimicking your movements making it nauseatingly perfect, your mind clouded by pleasure. He cursed, he growled biting onto the side of your breast when filling you up and gaining another moan from you, he held you down as he kept rubbing your clit until he felt your walls clasp deliciously around him, he still didn’t want to move.

He loved to see you helpless, washed over by pleasure, legs jerking aimlessly and fingers pulling onto him and his hair.

You didn’t take time to recover from that second orgasm, his skilled fingers knowing their ways around you, you bowed your head joining your lips again, you still couldn’t believe it.

“I am such a lucky man to have you”

You smiled kissing his forehead “I am lucky with such a husband like you”

You stayed like this, hugging, the time to talk will come, the time to exchange gifts and come back to routine. But not now. After countless minutes you slowly shifted from that position, freeing his hard on from you but slowly moving beside his sitting figure staying on your all fours, the braid that held your hair almost completely loose.

“Come my husband, you only had one orgasm, I know you love even numbers”

The next morning the light from the window hit his eyes, he frowned stirring as he blinked tiredly. Your figure tangled to his in bed, the covers over the both of you. He kissed your forehead out of habit, the marks already forming on your neck made him proud, your regular breathing and gentle perfume mixed with the sweat of sex made his senses alive. You felt him move and woke up pretty easily, probably due to have slept alone for so long. You smiled at each other, no words yet needed, a soft kiss placed on each others lips.

The a soft sound, more like little sounds following one another, little feet rushing down the hallway.

“Mama” being whispered by a very shy boy, his clear brown hair peaking up from the doors.You smirked covering Laszlo completely with the duvets.

“My baby” you said sitting up holding the covers over your body.

“Mami!” He gasped surprised “what happened to your neck?”

“Oh, it is normal my baby, is it so late?”

He nodded and you smiled as he hopped on top of the messy bed, Laszlo smirked from underneath the covers, it seems like somebody took a habit of sneaking into the big bed.

You smiled as your boy resembled so much his father, he crawled to move to your lap and that’s when Laszlo sat up with a loud “Who’s in my bed?” holding his hand up like a claw.

The boy squared but soon threw himself against his father’s chest.

“Apa visszatért!!!” He shouted so loud at you like you didn’t notice Laszlo at all and you chuckled finding the two of them so adorable.

“I am going to get some breakfast done” you said willing to leave them their space. Laszlo nodded at you as you wrapped yourself into your dress and then the thick nightgown. You could hear them talk softly, Laszlo was all about speaking to him in his mother’s language but also in German, so your boy was always mixing the three. “Have you being a good master of the house while I was away?” “Yes Papa, I have been extra good and mommy was happy too, but it is not like when you’re here” Laszlo’s little chuckle won you over even by distance. You had to learn Hungarian through Laszlo, even if you were lucky enough to know German already. But how sweet it was to learn along with your boy.

“Little Andrea woke you up, mrs Kreizler?” The cook, a very nice and good hearted woman asked once you reached the kitchen still wrapped in your night clothes and redoing your braid.

“He did, but his father is back, I couldn’t detain him in any way” You assured as you instructed about the breakfast to make something special. When everything was ready and settled you saw the two of them coming downstairs together, Andrea holding his father’s weak hand into his, still babbling in German to him. The two of them still in their night clothes, you loved to be unruly with them, half of the world outside would be shocked to see a family have breakfast in their night clothes, but who cares. You sat all together as Laszlo begun narrating about his travel, Andrea almost forgetting to eat as he sat down staring at his dad with shiny eyes like he could disappear any time.

“Andrea, at least the juice” you said and he nodded vehemently in particular after you whispered something to his ear.

“Do you have secrets with me?” Laszlo inquired with a smirk, his messy hair a blessing in such bright day.

“Always had” you said with a smirk and he chuckled softly before standing up and leaving for a moment coming back with some boxes.

He handed his boy one and two to you, while Andrea was busy unwrapping the gift Laszlo moved behind your sitting figure “open the small one first”

You obeyed quietly as the box was clearly hinting it was jewellery, inside you found some white gold and blue sapphires earrings.

“Laszlo, you ..” He shushed you softly “come on, wear them for me, jewellery over night dress, a new fashion from Europe” He joked softly but you obliged his wishes putting them on, Andrea making happy cheering sounds as he found the model train of his dreams. The earrings dropped beautifully on you, framing the new Laszlo loved so much “I knew only a Venus like you could sport them” he said making you blush, he always spoke in a way that made you feel like courting never ended.

“What about this?” You asked about the second box and Laszlo smirked just gesturing you to go on. Inside there was a study for a portrait, your portrait, clearly inspired by the picture Laszlo had with himself of you.

“I met this young painter in Wien, a bit struggling with money but extremely talented as you can see, a craftsman that works with gold, I invited him to come here next month and work on your portrait, he fell in love with your figure already, I already know I will have to guard your safety.”

“What is his name?”

“Oh, he is not famous, Gustav Klimt”

“Well, we can make him famous then” you said and Laszlo just smiled more as you kissed his lips to thank him for the beautiful gifts, knowing Laszlo he probably had way more hidden in his trucks “I knew you’d say something this kind of sweet”

“Mama, you look beautiful” Andrea called you staring like he was waiting for you to say something and you smiled nodding “yes, now it is the perfect time”

“For what?” Laszlo asked as you took his hand guiding him to the living room.

“Please, take a sit now” you said slowly guiding him to his armchair, the comfort of the familiar place relaxed him, the fresh flowers in the vase, the books laid on the table.

“Andrea has a surprise for you” you said leaning to sit on the arm of the chair looking up a his confused face, but he was unable to let go of that smile creeping on his lips.

“Come inside darling” you called “we are ready”

You took Laszlo’s right hand guiding it on your lap, the curiosity already eating him alive as little Andrea came holding his little violin, still looking extra cute in that night dress that made him resemble some cute baby penguin. He puffed his chest blushing as you gave him a nod of encouragement, Laszlo’s eyes shining to see his son like this and the chemistry you two have.

“I have learned this piece to welcome you back home” he announced as his shaky voice betrayed a bit his nervousness.

He placed the violin carefully onto his shoulder resting his cheek on it, your hands holding Laszlo’s while tapping with you finger to keep the tempo for Andrea. The melody was simple, but quite impressive for such a young player, Laszlo was unable to look away from his son, from the way he relaxed while playing, for the way you clearly helped him to gain the confidence to do this little performance.

He looked up at you as you two shared that look of complicity.

Life was bright over Kreizler’s household. 

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​ @rhymerhymerhyme

Let me know if you want to get tagged too <3

[shoutogepi]

Spring Pollen

Takami Keigo

word count : 5.0k

[ ✘ (nsfw 18+) ]  

genre : edging, gagging (glove use), sex pollen, public sex

bio: You and your coworker Hawks are caught off guard by a villain’s naughty quirk while on the middle of patrol.

author’s note : this is for bnha bookclub’s bingo event, for which i can now cross off the “sex pollen” slot ;) also pls go soft on me if this is rough as it’s my first hawks fic <3 TT

tags : @hawks-senseis​ @queensynderella​ @knifeewifee​ @prismaroyal​

also available on AO3 here

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

Working beside the number two hero had its ups and downs. For one, you were insanely attracted to him, and you absolutely refused to admit it— to him, yourself, really anyone who asked. Not that it came up in conversation often, of course. You made sure of that.

The blonde was known for his go-with-the-flow, playful attitude, and you were not discluded from such a privilege, despite your many complaints. Deep down, you didn’t really mind his flirtatious behavior. Being a hero, even if you were only a sidekick at the moment, was tiring work. You did not have much time for yourself, let alone time to find men who you could flirt with or even go on dates with. Or even find a fuck buddy. 

God, it had been so long since you last received affection from a man. Work was your entire life now, and while you found comfort in knowing you were changing the world for the better— cleaning away the stain of evil on your city— you found yourself feeling lonely when you would return to your empty apartment each night.

So perhaps Hawks’ borderline suggestive comments were nice, welcome even. Not that you would ever tell him that. You would rather die than live with knowing he was privy to your thoughts; the mortification would simply be too much for you.

Little did you know, there was much desire and intention behind his seemingly meaningless flirting— for he, too, found you more than attractive. A walking, talking, gorgeous and independent woman who apparently wanted nothing to do with him— you were more than enough to catch his eye. But alas, you were years younger than the already-youthful hero himself, and you made it very clear to him that you did not want to do anything that could jeopardize your career at the agency the two of you were slaves to.

So the attraction went unspoken between the pair of you. Hawks would make a comment just a little too cheeky and you would roll your eyes or swat at him, and that would be the end of it. It would go on and on like this for months, and before you knew it, it had been almost a year of supporting the ever-popular winged hero. And everything was fine and good…

Until the red string on fate had to show its ugly face. And everything as you knew it was turned upside down on the head— the tall, prison-like walls you’d constructed to keep your feelings locked away all came tumbling down, right before your very eyes.

It had been a rather uneventful day of hero work, if you could recall correctly. Hawks had commented on your winged eyeliner that morning, saying how it made your eyes sparkle and give you an “avian edge”, which he found highly commendable. You had brushed him off, as usual, and the two of you had taken off to start your patrol, much like any other morning.

The sun was high in the sky, hanging cheerfully over the skyscrapers of the bustling city. The spring heat had not yet scorched the asphalt of the winding roads, a cool breeze tickling your skin as you walked beside the blonde hero. His large, scarlet wings were relaxed behind his shoulder blades, the very tips of his feathers brushing against your waist as you were pressed close to him on the busy sidewalk. It was all rather ordinary, looking back at it— you had just thrown away the wrappings from your on-the-go breakfast, feeling strengthened enough to take on whatever the day could possibly throw at you, when she appeared from what seemed like nowhere.

Hawks sprang into action immediately, recognizing the wicked glint in her eye much sooner than you. You were on a dull sideroad, almost an alleyway to be honest— a small street tucked away in the midst of the hasty city, sandwiched behind a few large buildings and the backs of restaurants. It was really the perfect place for a crime to occur, for there were few passerbys and no security cameras.

In just an instant, the number two hero was on his ass, nearly hacking up a lung as the offender sprayed a noxious cloud of pink spores directly into his face. The woman sported a vicious grin as she turned to you, and though Hawks tried his best to warn you of her attack, he found he could not speak— instead crumpling over to hold his stomach as his body seized with violent coughs. Just like that, you had fallen victim to her as well, your knees folding beneath you as your mind clouded over in a haze. You didn’t even register Hawks throwing her into the brick wall behind you, your brian too foggy to recognize anything before you. He was struggling to cuff the woman when he first began to sweat, his body beginning to tremble first in his chest, then spreading to his limbs and rushing into his veins, like the venom from a deadly serpent.

Your body felt hot— god, so hot— it was like liquid fire had been poured into your bloodstream, every cell of your body igniting into an all-consuming inferno. Sweat began to bead along your temple, the valley between your breasts, and the backs of your knees. You slumped onto the concrete beneath you, clammy palms scraping the rough pavement as you gasped for breath. But with each intake the symptoms only seemed to worsen, limbs growing weak and an intense pressure forming in your stomach, like an intruder attempting to burst through a barricaded door.

Hawks was busy fighting his own internal battle— the same feelings bubbling up inside of him as he clicked the quirk-canceling cuffs onto the assailant’s wrists, perhaps a notch or two too tight. He could feel himself coming to life underneath his trousers, fanning the growing fire in the pit of his stomach. “What did you do to us?” he bellowed, a mix between a groan and a growl. The tip of a ruby feather pointed itself at the base of her throat, a slight tremor shaking through the quill as his knees began to tremble.

The woman only laughed, amused by his blatant discomfort. Her eyes traveled over to your figure, curled into a tight ball on the ground. Hawks followed her gaze, distress panging through him as he realized the pained expression twisting your face.

“Reverse it,” he snarled, fists seizing the front of her shirt and pulling her body to sit upright.

But the villain only smirked, her busted lip not seeming to bother her as her eyes twinkled with malice. “Sorry, can’t do that,” she chuckled, though it came out sounding more like a wheeze, “no takesies-backsies.”

Hawks bared his teeth at her, his ferality getting the better of him as he slammed her against the brick wall another time. Her eyes fell closed and her body went limp, signalling she was out of commission for at least the time being.

“Damn it,” he groaned as her clothes slipped from his fingers, the digits opting to push into his wild tawny locks instead. Whatever quirk this woman had used on him was working too fast, and its effects were too strong. His cock was rock hard, straining against the confining material of his pants, and his body was becoming much too strung out from restraining his amplifying desire.

Chills rolled down his spine as you called out to him, your voice breathy and rough. His gloved hands clamped into fists as he shut his eyes, praying to whatever god there was to lend him the strength necessary to keep himself from tackling you and ripping off your clothes. He had never felt so desperate for you before— never had he needed to touch and taste every inch of you like he did right now. Whatever longing he had harbored for you before this morning was nothing in comparison to the emotions clobbering his sense of self-control at the moment— god, if you even called out for him one more time, he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking you, right here and now.

Little did he know, that was the one thing you wanted— needed, even— more than anything.

Your arms were crossed atop your chest, your knees tucking in to bend in front of them as you literally held yourself together. You could feel yourself leaking from between your legs, pussy twitching and itchy for any kind of attention you could get. “P-Please, Keigo,” you whimpered, your hands slowly trailing down your biceps, a palm clutching your own breast, thumb rubbing over the stiff nipple that stood out from beneath your hero suit.

Hawks couldn’t stand still for another second— the sound of his name from your lips too arousing, too intimate— he was on his knees before you in a flash. Both of you moaned as his lips slotted over yours, not a moment to spare as your body unfurled and wrapped around his frame, pulling him flush against yourself. His tongue pushed into your mouth, the tip twirling with yours and gliding against the back of your teeth.

Lost in the pleasure of his mouth on yours, your hands wandered over his shoulders, his chest, one taking root in his silky, fine hair. You could smell his aftershave wafting off his cheeks, the stubble on his chin tickling you as he began to kiss and nip at your jaw. He was insatiable, and so were you— your hands groping and wandering all over each other. Neither of you could get enough. 

You couldn’t believe that this was really happening, in the middle of this secluded, public alleyway, during your patrol as heroes— figures that the citizens of your city looked up to, no less. Yet you couldn’t find a shit to give, and Hawks had abandoned all sense of rationality the moment you dared to cry out for him. He didn’t seem to mind the public setting, for he didn’t harbor a shred of hesitance as he swatted your hand away from your chest. His own palm squeezed your breast as he suckled on your throat, making his first of many marks that would grace your skin.

It wasn’t long before he had you against the brick wall, your body snug between his firm torso and the roughness of the bricks at your back. His face trailed further south, his absence at your neck leaving your saliva-covered skin to prickle with cold. But you weren’t left pining for more long— his teeth gripping onto your nipple through your shirt, kissing and sucking at your covered chest as his hands careened down your waist, cupping your ass and lifting you off your feet just enough for your toes to drag across the pavement.

Your heart leapt into your throat as Hawks sunk to his knees, folding your legs over his shoulders and pressing his face into the apex between your thighs. His strong arms flexed as he held you up against the wall, your legs twitching as he pressed a line of kisses into your skin. Somehow you managed to wriggle out of your bottoms, your soaked panties now on full display for the winged hero, who only groaned at the sight before his tongue began to lather at the front of the material, right over your aching slit.

You felt itchy, itchier than you’d ever been before, your cunt pulsing and squeezing around nothing as you tried to wiggle your hips closer to his mouth. “H-Hawks,” you gasped as his teeth pinched the cloth, pulling it back and letting go, just to watch it snap against your drooling center.

“No, no, little bird,” he murmured sinisterly, taking a second to rub his nose along your slit, smirking at the clearly visible line of wetness that had soaked through the material. The teasing was torture, your body screaming for him to touch you again, for even more this time.

You cut him off, too impatient for his games. “Please touch me,” you begged, breath ragged in your chest.

Golden eyes turned to slits as he grit his teeth, fighting himself not to just whip out his cock and thrust into you right then and there. “If you’re gonna beg, do it properly. I wanna hear my name, dove.”

You couldn’t handle another second of agony; everything felt like it was on fire, every inch of you ready to be used, destroyed at his disposal. “Please fuck me— I— please Keigo, I need you so bad, I can’t stand it anymore!”

Hawks grinned as he ripped your panties off your body, the splitting of the seams shocking you into looking down at him. If anything, the ferocious action only turned you on even more than before, and you screamed out as his tongue immediately wove into your tight little hole. Your entire body shook as his hot muscle slithered in and out of you, alternating between tracing your entrance and rubbing against your slick, gummy walls.

There was nothing you could do but bask in the euphoria he was giving you, your jaw falling open as his tongue retracted and he wrapped his lips around your clit instead. Your eyes slammed shut, moans escaping you as your fingers delved into those bronze locks, fisting them as you ground against his face. His chin rubbed against your weeping entrance, and Hawks found himself wishing he had two tongues, so he could lap up the delicious slick that poured out of your gushing hole.

But it stopped all too soon, a sob choking out of you when he stopped satiating you with his mouth. His hand guided one of your thighs off his shoulder, placing your foot on the pavement and giving your shaking limb an encouraging squeeze before he took his hand away. His slanted eyes locked with yours as he brought his hand to his mouth, teeth securing the edge of his glove and ripping the accessory off, revealing his long, slender fingers to your lustful gaze. The hero then crumpled the leather into a tight ball, extending his arm up to your face and pressing it against your lips.

“Can’t have my dove making too much noise now, can I?” he mumbled, a feathered brow quirking up to give him a classic, mischievous look. “Too noisy and we’ll have to cut our fun short.”

At that you shyly opened your mouth, allowing him to press the glove past your lips. Once it was secure, his thumb brushed over your cheek as he grinned, his fingers then sliding down to pinch at your nipples. You moaned at the sensation, the leather glove in your mouth muffling the noise almost completely.

Hawks’ smile only broadened at that, leaning forward to take your clit into his mouth again. Your hips bucked against him, the thigh over his shoulder curling tighter and pressing him closer to you. It felt good— so incredibly good to have his tongue entertaining your pearl of nerves, lathering and swirling it, even using his teeth to graze against it. Your head fell back onto the wall behind you, eyelids fluttering shut as his fingers around your leg dug into your flesh, his other hand squishing at your chest before trailing down your waist, then down your thigh.

Suddenly his fingers were toying with your entrance, your slick stringing as he spread his fingers, golden gaze eagerly drinking up the sight of your arousal. Oh, how he’d longed for the day he could finally do this to his sweet little sidekick— to be able to lick and kiss and nip at your most sensitive parts, only to hear you moan and whine his name, gasping for more. It was even better that his glove was shoved into your mouth, muting your saccharine voice just enough so that no one else could hear you— your noises of pleasure were his and only his to hear, to soak up, and indulge in.

You cried out as two digits slipped inside of you, your wetness never having been so overt in your life. The extra slick dripped down the tops of your thighs, your pussy shamelessly slobbering for the man currently knelt between your legs. Your velvet walls sucked his fingers deeper inside, milking them as your cunt clenched uncontrollably, his tongue relentlessly lashing against your swollen clit. Hawks’ fingers pumped into you steadily, sheathing and pulling out just the first two knuckles into your waiting hole time and time again. The movements initially were slow, as if testing the waters. But after a few exploratory thrusts, he pushed the digits inside of you as far as he could, curling them toward himself and prodding your spongy walls.

He wouldn’t stop, he couldn’t stop— you tasted too damn delicious, and his cock was leaking into his briefs at the premise of being inside you, your stifled sounds only adding fuel to the fire in his stomach. Your body was beginning to show signs of near-orgasm, and it only made him more excited to see you so reactive for him. Your eyes were shut tight, fingers pulling on his golden tresses so tightly he could feel his mind practically spinning. And your legs were trembling, almost so badly that he wondered if you were going to collapse on top of him at any moment.

You whimpered as his hand switched angles, the very tips of his fingers rubbing right against the most sensitive spot inside of you. Hawks noticed your body twitch, even though you tried your best to keep your reaction a secret to him, ashamed to already be so close to cumming. But the winged hero was feeling anything but shame— pressing his fingers into that spot again and again, savoring how your cries became louder underneath his glove in your mouth, your limbs quivering against his skin. You tried to warn him, your thigh squeezing tight around his shoulder, your fingers lacing even tighter into his hair, spine stiffening.

Hawks seemed to know what was coming, for his fingers began flicking back and forth inside of you, stimulating that soft, spongy spot that made stars blur at the corners of your vision. Your toes curled tight inside your boots, tears pooling between your eyelashes, your body feeling as though it was trapped inside an elevator surging toward the thousandth floor of a skyscraper. The tension was building, building, oh it was so close— you could practically see the heavenly, orgasmic light shining just before you, and then—

He pulled back.

Had his glove not been occupying your mouth, your whine of anguish would have echoed off the stone walls of the alleyway, your body slumping into his arms in complete dejection. Your brows were furrowed in torment, wondering how in the world Hawks had the strength to pull away from you when you were in such a state— you were practically imploring for his attention, body so hot and willing that you’d let him do anything he could possibly want to you.

You were too lost mourning the lost orgasm to notice Hawks haphazardly shoving his pants down, pulling his black, tight shirt halfway up his abs. His cock sprang up from its confines, his eyes just slits as he focused his gaze on your dripping cunt, still twitching in misery from his teasing torture. You only realized you were being maneuvered once it was too late— he had dropped the leg that had previously rested on his shoulder, instead taking the other and pushing it to press up against the wall, his fingers digging into your thigh. He was upright now, teeth taking the tip of your ear hostage as he rutted his heavy cock against your saturated slit.

Fresh waves of lust rippled through your body, your bones turning cold with white-hot anticipation. You could feel everything— his member sliding against your entrance, gliding against you from head to base, even the veins decorating his shaft as they brushed against your aching core.

Hawks’ breath was heavy in your ear, but that only made you want him more. It was the only physical sign that he was just as affected as you; the soft groan falling from his lips as you bucked against him was proof enough of that. Yet somehow he staved off from thrusting into you, despite your pussy coating his whole length in your slippery love syrup.

You tried to complain, but the glove between your lips jumbled any words into a muted mess.

He seemed to be amused by your efforts, his honey gaze seizing yours. “If I take that out for you, do you promise you’ll be a good little dove for me? Can’t have you singing too loud, alright?” His words were music to your ears, and you quickly nodded your head, eager to prove yourself to him. But he didn’t move a muscle; only his tongue wandered out to swipe across his bottom lip, which then disappeared between his teeth. His eyes darted south, and before yours could follow suit, he pushed inside you to the hilt.

You screamed as he forced your elastic walls to stretch around him, the thickness of his cock taking you by surprise. Intense pleasure burst into your body as he pulled out halfway, sheathing himself back inside almost immediately. Hawks’ eyes were shut tight, savoring the way your cunt hugged him so perfectly. Already you were milking him, and he knew there was no way he could last.

It didn’t matter, really, because the instant his hand slid down your pelvis and his fingers began to toy with your clit, you were gone. Instantly that intense pressure built just like it had before, for a split second it was all you could feel. And then you were crashing through your orgasm, his name the only thing on your brain. You called it out again and again, ecstasy zipping through your veins and toward the intense heat that the villain’s quirk had produced. The sensations clashed in a fiery explosion, your entire body straining as you did your best to handle the pleasure, your pussy wringing tight around Hawks’ cock.

Hawks gasped, his head falling to your shoulder at the intensity— at the snugness of your cunt like a vice around him, at the sound of your muffled cries for him, at the way your body trembled in his hands. He didn’t wait long, though, for after the initial shock of your orgasm arriving, his hips began to ruthlessly smack against yours. His grip was now tight on your body, fingernails digging little crescents into the skin of your thigh and your asscheek, which he pulled back to slide himself even deeper inside of you.

Your head smacked against the brick as it fell backwards, the pleasure flowing endlessly through your entire body. It was only then that Hawks bothered to take his glove from between your lips, and you immediately gasped for the sweet rush of air that filled your mouth. Small noises of content slithered out of you with every crash of his hips against you, impossible for you to silence the constant “hah” and “yes”’es. Not that Hawks seemed to really mind— in fact, he was eating up every sweet noise that left your throat, cherishing the cute, dazed look on your face as he pummeled your tight little cunt with his fat cock.

It was wrong to be this attracted to his sidekick, he knew. But maybe that was why it felt so fucking good, too— the forbidden, unspoken attraction that hung between the pair of you like a heavy shadow whenever you were together. The line had been crossed, and god, was the grass greener on the other side. If this was what being with you felt like, he didn’t want to go back. He couldn’t— he’d tasted your sweet ambrosia and he could never push you away again. You were pouring life into him as you took his cock so perfectly, and he could feel nothing but euphoria as he slammed your cunt onto himself again and again.

His release was building, but goddamn it, he was gonna hold out for as long as he could. He was gonna make you feel as good as he possibly could, and hopefully it was something that could mirror the intense bliss that you were giving him. From the way your irises rolled back in your skull, your nails gripping into his muscles tightly as your jaw hung ajar, his name slipping through your lips every other thrust— he guessed he was doing a pretty good job.

Meanwhile your brain was nearly liquefying in your skull, the aftershocks of your orgasm still stinging your bones with pleasure. Hawks never let you come down from your high, and he was doing a damn good job at keeping you on cloud nine— his hand holding up your thigh so he had a better angle to continue drilling into that sweet, springy spot inside of you. His wings began to flutter and stretch behind him, flapping gently with each swing of his hips. It felt so good that you could barely keep yourself from screaming for him, from letting the entire city know that it was him who was fucking you so good.

“K-Keigo,” you choked, a tear sliding down your cheek. Hawks moaned at the sound of his name on your voice, leaning forward to lick up the saline bead before he pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, a shocking contrast to how hard he was pounding into you just a short distance south. “Feels so— agh! fuck— good, oh my goddd.”

Hawks nipped at your throat, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts became more shallow, his pace beginning to falter. “You like my cock, dove?” he growled, chest heaving as that intense pressure started to build in his stomach. “Your pussy is so fuckin’ wet for me— T-Tight! Hah, shit— s’too fuckin’ good baby.”

You could only moan at his words, cunt clenching down on him on its own accord. Hawks gasped at the feeling, teeth sinking into your throat as the heat of the quirk clashed with the heightened tension in his abdomen. The collision of the two sensations proved to be too much for the winged hero to handle, a groan rumbling his throat as he painted your insides white with ribbons of cum, his wings unfurling and each individual feather quivering in sheer ecstasy. His body shook, muscles taut as he emptied himself into your dripping cunt, arms wrapping tight around your waist as he gasped for breath.

The heat from your bodies began to dwindle, the villain’s quirk exiting your systems and rendering the two of you boneless, breathless, and satisfied like never before. It suddenly dawned on you that you were in the middle of an alleyway, the cool spring breeze touseling Hawks’ blonde hair before your eyes. He was still wrapped around you, trying to catch his breath as his cock continued to throb against your silken walls. The pair of you stood still against the brick wall, the fact that you’d just crossed such a serious line with your closest coworker setting in. There was a sense of dread that began to bloom in your chest, your suppressed feelings for the hero unleashed and thriving, now more than ever.

Before you could overthink for another second, Hawks pulled back, warm golden eyes peering into yours. “I gotta say, dove,” he murmured, a hand coming to cup your jaw and stroke his thumb across your skin, “that was definitely the best quirk I’ve ever been hit with on the job.”

You chuckled at that, the weight of the situation instantly lightening up as you gave him a slow nod of agreement. Your heart began to beat quickly as you gathered the courage to take it a step further than his confession. “I’m glad it was with you,” you replied quietly, meekly averting your gaze to the side.

Hawks hummed, thumbing over your cheek again as a smile rose to his lips. He pressed his mouth to yours again, fingers creeping into your hair as he pulled your face close to his. This kiss was unlike any you shared before, conveying only a sweetness, fondness even— a comforting reciprocation. You smiled against his lips, too, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him back, your fear dissipating as fast as it had come.

“I’m glad, too,” Hawks mumbled between your kisses, pulling away to quirk a brow at you playfully. “Can you imagine if I was with Endeavor instead?” he made the both of you laugh before leaning in to press his lips against yours again, the image of the serious, number one hero and your coworker in such a situation too hilarious not to laugh. But just as you started to deepen the kiss, he couldn’t resist throwing in the punchline he’d set up.

“I’d be a damn rotisserie chicken by now.”

   ─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

.

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sdfghj i never know how to end these and also why do i use this many dashes i am sORRY  if you enjoyed pls make sure to lemme know~~ 💕

➥ masterlist

➥ BINGO masterlist

[kywaslost]

Tanjiro helps reader with a panic attack

A/N: hello! It's my first time writing for Demon Slayer so please me kind! Please forgive me if this piece is bad, my computer quit working halfway through so I had to write the rest on my phone and I wasn't wearing my glasses lol. Hopefully this is ok! Also loosely based on a panic attack I had last night...

    It was a quiet night at the Butterfly Estate. Zenitsu, Inosuke, and Tanjiro were sound asleep in their beds across from you. Nezuko sat on her cot next to your own, staring at you. Her eyes furrowed at your state of distress, moving toward you slowly.

    It had been a rough hour and a half for you. As you stared up at the ceiling above you your mind wandered to places you wish it never would journey too. It made your heart rate increase and your body tense. You had been under a lot of stress and worry the past few days and it was finally taking its toll on you. Rolling onto your side you curled into yourself, hugging your knees to your chest. 

    You had been frozen in this position for 10 minutes now and Nezuko was starting to worry. She hummed sounds of concern, trying to get you to talk to her. She finally crawled over to you and shook your shoulder. She whined at your lack of response, yet reached out to wipe a tear you didn’t know you had shed. 

    “N-not now Nezuko,” you muttered, pulling your knees closer. The girl pulled away slowly before walking away.

    It was getting harder to breathe and your chest was starting to ache. You started crying harder, holding in your sobs.

    “Nezuko? What’s wrong?” Your eyes widened in fear. When did Tanjiro wake up? You listened carefully. “What is it?” You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing your palms against your eyes.

    There was shuffling and your bed dipped behind you. “Y/N? Are you ok?” You didn’t move or make a sound, hoping you were dreaming. He placed a hand on your arm. “Nezuko’s worried. And I can smell panic.”

    You let out a pained whimper, releasing a heavy breath. Tanjiro frowned, looking over you. “Y/N, honey, can you look at me?” You shook your head quickly, breathing shakily. “Ok, ok, it’s ok. You’re ok. Breathe for me, yeah?” Tanjiro ran his hand up and down your arm in an attempt to calm you down. He could feel how tense you were under him. “Is it ok if I hold you? I think it’d help you calm down,” he asked quietly.

    You nodded, allowing Tanjiro to turn you to face him, pulling you to his chest. “You feel so tense. Is this a panic attack?” You nodded again, moving your hand from your eyes to grip the front of Tanjiro’s night shirt. You could hear his heartbeat under his shirt. “I'm sorry. Can you breathe for me? I don't want you to pass out." Tanjiro's breath slowed down and he took deep breaths. You tried to match his breathing, burying your face closer to his chest to calm yourself.

    Tanjiro ran his hands across your back in soothing circles. "There you go. That's it!" A few minutes passed and your breathing had even out. You even stopped crying, but now your body was sore. Your muscles refused to relax, still leaving you stuck in the fetal position.

    "You can't move can you?" Yanjiro asked softly. You nodded with a soft whine.

    "N-no, and it hurts," you confessed, speaking for the first time. Tanjiro sighed softly, moving to lay you on top of you. He rubbed at your back, loosening your tense muscles.

    "Try to sleep, yeah? I know it hurts and I'm sorry. I'll rub your back to try and help." He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. "I'll see you in the morning."