#the iridescent eyes? hell yeah

[cynicalmusings]

finished arc 2 of season 2 of arcane earlier today, and……. ignoring the boatload of insanity that just happened, viktor is actually so stunning this season

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Sex pollen!Bucky Barnes one shot

What a weird night.  Another mission blowing up an old Hydra base, ransacking it for information before the explosion.  You and Bucky had been scouring emptied shelves and desks.  All computers and hard drives had already been wiped clean.  As you explored you found a lone flower in a pot, sitting in the middle of an exam table in an abandoned lab.  

“What is this?” you wondered out loud, walking closer to the flower but not daring to touch it.  It looked otherworldly, a color that you could only describe as indigo with iridescent anthers that seemed to glow as you came closer.  You took a picture and sent it to headquarters.  A video call quickly came back within seconds of you sending the picture.

“Hey Shuri, what am I looking at?” you asked.

“DON’T TOUCH IT!  GET AWAY FROM IT!” she yelled, her eyes bulging through the screen.  You quickly stepped back, staring at it in fear.

“What the hell is going on?  What is it?” 

“We don’t have a name for it here on earth, the only way I can describe it is an alien aphrodisiac.  The anthers on it will shoot out a dust that will make the one who breathes it extremely aroused to the point that if they don’t…copulate quickly it could cause dangerously high heart palpitations, abdominal pain, even psychotic breaks.  It can severely hurt or even kill you.”

“An alien aphrodisiac?” you asked dumbly, staring at the flower again.  It was beautiful, and you could feel a strange pull to go up to it and desire to touch it.  Thankfully you had some sense of self-preservation.  “Okay, what do we do with it?”

“Just get out of there and blow the place.  The explosion should be enough to kill the plant.  I don’t know how Hydra was able to get one, but there’s a reason they left it behind.”

“Jesus, okay, we’re on it.  I’ll report back soon,” you ended the call then tried to get hold of Bucky.  “Buck, can you hear me?” you said, hitting the earbud in your ear.  Nothing.  You left the room, walking down the corridor to another side of the base to try to get a better signal.

“Bucky, do you read me?” you called more loudly.  You heard nothing but static.  “Dammit,” you grumbled.  You tried your phone since you’d been able to get hold of Shuri.  After two rings he answered the video call.

“Hey doll, where are you?” he asked, a strange glowing behind him.  Your eyes widened at the color of the glow. 

“Buck, where are you?”

He turned, showing the lab you were just in.  “This old lab, there’s this weird looking flower in here, we should probably bag it up and bring it in for testing,” he said, reaching a hand out to the flower.

“Bucky NO!” you screamed at your phone, already running back down the corridor.

It was too late.  A large puff of indigo dust poofed from the flower’s anthers, surrounding Bucky and making him cough violently.  By the time you reached the lab he was on his knees, dry heaving as the dust seemed to magically disappear into his skin.  

“Shit,” you swore, running in and pulling him away from the flower.  “We have to get out of here.  Did you set all the charges?”

Bucky was unresponsive, still coughing and holding his stomach as he tripped over his feet as you dragged him out of the room.  You grunted as you pulled him along back down the corridor, his arm hung over your shoulder.  

“Come on Buck, stay with me,” you reached a hand up and grabbed his chin to make him focus on you.  “Did you set the charges?!”

“Yeah,” cough, “yeah I got it,” his arm around your shoulder seemed to tighten as he doubled over in pain, his face getting dangerously close to yours, like he was nuzzling your cheek with his nose.  “What the fuck was that thing?”

“Ugh, I’ll explain once we’re out,” you ignored his close proximity, pulling him through the halls until you finally found the entrance, quickly loading yourselves into the quinjet.  As you placed him into a chair and buckled him in you noticed a sheen of sweat along his hairline.  You gingerly placed a hand on his forehead.  He was burning up.  “Shit,” you swore again.  When you turned away to start the jet Bucky groaned.

“Don’t, don’t leave me,” Bucky begged, his eyes screwed shut.  His metal hand was warping the arm of the chair.

“I’m right here, Buck, just gotta get us in the air,” you placate him, getting the jet moving then turning to him again.  “Where’s the remote for the charges?”

Bucky shifted in his seat, reaching towards his pants pocket but fumbling as his fingers trembled.  You quickly reached down and dipped your hand into his pocket.  Bucky moaned loudly as you touched him so close to his cock, which you just noticed was straining against his pants.  He still had the sense to look embarrassed as your eyes flashed to his face when he moaned, but you pretended like nothing happened as you took the remote and once you were a good distance away detonated the charges.  A loud boom reverberated as you flew away, taking out the base and the alien flower.

As you sank into the other chair and took a breath you called Shuri again.

“Shuri, it’s done, but we have a bit of a problem,” you started when her face showed up on the screen.

“Oh please don’t say what I think you’re going to say,” she pleaded, looking worried.

“Bucky wasn’t with me when I called you, so he didn’t know to stay away from the flower, and by the time I tried calling him there was no reception so I wasn’t able to tell him before he got too close to it.  It blew right in his face and now he’s–”

“Ungh!” Bucky moaned again, his flesh hand palming himself through his pants.  “What is this?  God, it burns everywhere!”

“Oh Bast,” Shuri swore.  “What are his symptoms?”

You stood back up, walking over to Bucky as he writhed in his chair.  “Sweating profusely, high temperature, abdominal pains…hey Buck, open your eyes, look at me,” you directed him.  He quickly responded to your voice, his eyes looking wild as he stared at you.  “Pupils are dilated, and uh, well, some major arousal from what I can see,” you finished quickly, looking away from his debauched gaze.  

“Damn, and it all started immediately upon breathing in the dust?” Shuri asked quickly, her body turned towards a screen that she was typing on.

“Yes, he was choking and dry heaving on it, and it seemed to, I don’t know, seep into his skin?  It was crazy,” you rushed out.  You felt a tug on your shirt, looking down and seeing Bucky’s metal fingers pulling on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull you closer to him.  “And now he’s trying to touch me,” you stated plainly.  

Shuri sighed, turning away from the screen she was looking at.  “There’s nothing else that can help him.  He needs to have sex as soon as possible or else he will get worse and worse until his heart or mind gives out.  And seeing how much his mind has gone through in the last 80 years, you don’t have much time,” she remarked gravely.  “I’m sorry I don’t have any better answers for you.  This is something that we’ve never had to deal with before.”

You sighed, feeling Bucky’s fingers grab onto your thigh and pull you closer to him.  “I get it, Shuri, thanks.  Just…turn off the cameras and speakers for the jet, please?”

Shuri nodded with a pitiful smile on her face.  “You got it, good luck.”

You hung up your phone and set it on the other pilot chair.  You glanced back at Bucky and saw him crying as his metal fingers dug into your thigh.  “Oh Buck, it’s okay,” you sank down onto your knees in front of him, your fingers wiping his tears.  

He sniffed hard.  “No, it’s not.  This isn’t okay.  I didn’t want it like this, this doesn’t give either of us a choice,” he cried, his metal fingers now rubbing the back of your neck.  He didn’t seem to have control over what his hands were doing as his flesh hand pushed harshly against his cock.  “It’s not fair.”

You nodded, “You’re right, it’s not fair, it’s not right.  But I’m not going to let you die.  It’s okay,” you reached your hand up and cupped his cheek again with your palm, which he happily hung his head into.  “You’re my best friend, my mission partner, and I’m not going to lose you to some alien fucking flower.  I want to help you, do you hear me?”

Bucky looked in your eyes deeply, looking for any hesitation.  He didn’t find it.  “Buck, I want to,” you reassured him resolutely.  “I want you.”

That was all he needed to hear.  He ripped the seat buckle off of him and stood quickly, pulling you up harshly from the floor and towards the back of the quinjet where there were a couple of rooms for resting.  He picked the one with the bigger bed and shoved you through the door.  As much as this situation was dire, you were also secretly excited.  The feelings you’d tamped down as a childish crush were now coming full front as you peeled your mission suit off, kicking your boots off to a corner and then helping him get out of all the buckles and straps on his outfit.  Once you were both naked he wasted no time in cupping your face in his hands and kissing you.  The kiss was desperate, his fingers digging into the softness of your cheeks, his lips moving against yours then biting your lower lip.  You gasped and he took his opportunity to stick his tongue in your open mouth, tasting your tongue and swirling it with his.  His hands quickly traveled down your body, feeling his way over each hill and valley of your curves, settling his flesh hand on your breast, tweaking the nipple making you moan, and his metal hand kneading your ass.  Your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck.  

Bucky picked you up and heaved the both of you onto the mattress, gently seating himself between your legs.  His hard cock was nestled against your stomach, the contact making him rut against you.  He grunted as you bit his lip in return, another thrust against your core making you arch your back.  He slipped his flesh hand between your bodies and felt around your lower lips, feeling the slick already building up.  He moaned at how wet you were for him, using some of that slick on his thumb to bring it to your clit and rub you.  You arched again, your hips thrashing as he flicked your clit and rubbed you harshly.

“Gotta get you ready for me,” he murmured, looking down at you and watching as he dipped two fingers into your pussy while his thumb kept busy on your clit.  The fill of his fingers made you moan loudly, your mouth dropping open and hands digging into the sheets below you.  He pumped his fingers lazily, his thumb doing all the work.  You could feel the orgasm coming embarrassingly quickly, your hips gyrating against his hand.

“Oh god, Buck, I’m gonna cum, ungh,” your breath hitched as he flicked harder.  The snap in your core was sudden, a yelp falling from your lips as you came on his fingers.  He let you ride out the orgasm and the aftershocks, pulling his fingers out gently then bringing them up to his mouth and sucking on your juices.  His eyes rolled back in his head as he licked his fingers clean.  The scene almost made you cum again.

“Fuck, you taste divine, doll,” he growled.  “Next time I’m gonna eat you out and pull as many orgasms from you as I can with my mouth.”

“Next time?” you breathed.

Bucky nodded as he shifted his hips and gripped his cock, lining himself up with your pussy.  “Yeah, next time.  Been wanting you for so long, doll.  Although this isn’t the way I wanted it,” he paused as he pushed in slowly, making you gasp, “I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me.  Jesus, you’re tight!”

Your hands gripped his biceps, fingernails digging into his flesh arm.  You tried to relax as he pushed slowly, trying to let you adjust even though you could tell he was struggling to go slow.  The sweat was almost pouring off him now, his pupils dilated so much that his eyes looked almost completely black, his temperature even hotter than before.  You worried that if he didn’t cum soon he’d pass out.  He was trying to be careful, but he didn’t need careful, he needed relief.

“Buck,” you whined, swiveling your hips.  He buckled as you moved, falling to his elbows above you.  “Move, please.  Just use me, honey.  I can take it.”

“No,” Bucky grunted, “I don’t want to use you.  You deserve better.”

“I know, hun, I know, but that’s not what you need right now.  I need you to take me, please,” you ran your fingers through his hair then gripped it harshly, pulling his head up to look at you.  He whimpered at your rough treatment, his eyes widening.  “Fuck me, Bucky.  Fuck me hard.”

His eyes seemed to glaze over as they narrowed at your words.  His brow furrowed with determination as he moved himself to a different position, holding up your hips and lifting your legs over his hips.  “Yes, doll,” he answered through gritted teeth.  He then thrust into you violently, causing you to scream.  He set a punishing pace, savagely driving himself into you as he chased his high.  All you could do was hold on, your fingers grasping the sheets or his arms.  You could feel the building orgasm in the pit of your pelvis as he hit your g-spot over and over.  As your pussy fluttered around him he suddenly twisted you around, still inside you as he flipped you to your front and rutted into you from behind.  The sound of skin slapping skin and gasping breaths filled the cabin as you moaned, trying to keep your hips up as he drilled you into the mattress.

“Bucky, oh baby, yes!” you cried, tears starting to form in your eyes.  The new position made him reach even further inside you, making you see stars with each thrust.  Your peak kept getting higher and higher until you finally fell, screaming his name as you came around him.  Bucky shuddered as you came, your pussy convulsing around his cock, making him cum with a shout.  He kept thrusting into you as he pumped you full of his cum, mumbling your name repeatedly.  The flower dust had made him so incredibly horny that he kept cumming more than he normally would, making a mess as it overflowed from your pussy to the mattress below.

You both stilled as you calmed down from your highs, more dribbling out of you as you tried to regain your breathing.  Bucky slowly pulled out, a squelching noise coming from your pussy as you both groaned, more cum dripping from your aching hole.  You fell onto the mattress, your legs periodically shaking and arms splayed above your head.  Bucky laid on the mattress next to you, breathing heavily.  

After a few moments you shifted to your side facing Bucky.  His eyes were closed, his mouth open as he breathed, his hair matted to his forehead from all the sweating.  You reached out and moved some of his wet hair from his eyes.  His eyes fluttered open at the feeling of your fingers.  He looked at you with shining eyes, looking thoroughly fucked.  You giggled at him, and he gave you a lopsided smile back.

“You feel better?” you asked slyly.

“Yes,” he chuckled.  “Thank you, doll.  I’m sorry I put you in this position,” he started, moving to his side to face you as well.

“Buck, it’s okay–”

“Will you go out with me?” he asked hurriedly.  You blinked as your mind caught up to what he said.  He watched you carefully as you processed what was happening.

“Yeah,” you smiled softly, closing the distance between you and kissing his cheek.  It was very innocent considering you were both still naked.  He smiled and took your free hand in his, giving your fingers a squeeze then bringing them to his lips and gave them a kiss.  

“I know it’s too early, but um, I love you,” he confessed.  “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Your smile widened, your hand squeezing his hand back.  “I love you, too, Buck.  Probably too much.”

Bucky recoiled, “What do you mean too much?  How could you love this,” he gestured to his body, “too much?”

You doubled over in laughter, slapping his chest as you straightened out after a minute.  “You’ve been hanging out with Sam too much,” you laughed, wiping your eyes.

He laughed along with you, grimacing at the sound of Sam’s name.  “Please don’t say Sam’s name while you’re naked in bed with me.  It just doesn’t feel right.”

You laughed again, this time trying to stifle it behind your hand.  “Okay, I’m sorry…Barnes,” you teased him.  His eyes narrowed at you.  “Or should I call you James?”  he minutely shook his head.  “Okay, how about…Sergeant?”  His eyes widened.  “Oooh, did I find a kink?” you giggled.  “How about, sir?”

Bucky pounced on you, encircling you in his arms and tickling your sides.  You squirmed against him as you screamed his name.

“That’s right, doll, that’s what I want to hear.  You screaming my name,” he growled in your ear as he let up on the tickling.  “Just Bucky is fine.”

“Haha, okay, okay…Bucky,” you said his name sensually.

Bucky moaned, rolling his eyes.  “Don’t start, or else we’re never leaving this cabin.”

“Who said I was ready to leave?” you teased him again, your fingers scratching down his chest.  His hips jutted forward as you flicked his nipples lightly.

“Okay, you asked for it,” he warned.  

[yeyinde]

i would give you my life for marriage counselor!reader x price part 3, pleaseeee im begging you 😮‍💨🙏😮‍💨🙏

He fucks you in your office, for sure.

18+. extremely dubious consent. unk. condescending Dom!Price.

Petty, combative. Authority figures make him itch. But there's a sick thrill that goes through him when he sinks down into your chair, fully dressed with just his trousers undone, cock freed, and pulls you, completely naked, onto his lap. Makes you ride him as he sprawls out over it, too; his hand tight around your neck to keep you up, the other dangling over the edge, drinking from the sneaky stash of booze he finds after rummaging around your desk (all the while, he had you sitting on top of it, one hand rifling through your belongings and the other buried between your thighs, making you answer his inane questions as he tuts about how you're getting his cuffs all wet, not such a smart little girl now are you? soakin' his hand like that. needy little thing, more like.)

It's not his preferred position, but he likes the sight of you glaring down at him as he fills you with his cock. Unable to to do anything at all even when you're on top, in the dominant role. Reduced to a mess of a once smart, haughty girl. Biting your lip as he bucks into you. Trying to smother the scream, the plea—slow down, slow down, please, it's too deep—that trembles on your lip. Pride and this fickle, paperthin ideal of agency is the only thing keeping it all in.

You think you can take him. Handle him.

So, John gives you the reigns and leans back on your smart little chair in your smart little office. Accolades hung on the wall. Polished and mature. It's all so—

Adorable.

The contrast of it all feeds the monster in his chest that's been prowling around ever since you tried to boss him around. The mouth that once said you're not trying hard enough, Mr Price you need to do better now all slack-jawed and drool slick as he spears inside to the deepest part of you he can reach; the doleful glare swallowed by the shiver of your lids as your eyes roll back into your pretty little head.

Struggling to take him. Hesitating to slide down the thickest part of his cock, whimpering when he shifts his hips and makes you take him down to the root. Tears flood your lashline, gleaming iridescent like sunshine hitting an oil spill. Lips trembling as you jolt at the realness of it all—of trying to handle him like you said you could but quickly realising you can't when the heart of yourself starts to feel like a raw, open wound.

Yeah, he thinks, and brings the bottle to his lips. You look so much better just like this.

And that's what it's about, really. Control. Something you stripped him of when he marched into your office and you—younger, less experienced, less established—just looked at him, and said, sit down right there, Mr Price.

Well. You didn't say it, did you? No, you commanded. And Price doesn't take orders from idiots in office who think they're his superior, so why the hell should he listen to you, mm?

But he did. And now he's savouring it because this is quid pro quo. Something for something. His compliance (ephemeral as it was) for you.

Because the problem is that you riled him up. With your neat, clean office. Your smart suits. The unbidden air of authority—this condescending, sophisticated cloud that clung to the haughty tip of your chin when you talked to him. It all itched under his skin. Made his heart thunder with the urge to break—

(Claim, maim—sometimes he gets the two mixed up, the word eliding together under the malformed snarl in his throat. But you're tough, aren't you? He's sure you can handle whichever one ends up spilling out.)

He bites down on the little sliver of skin beneath your jaw—that small patch where his hand, still spread over the thick of your throat, doesn't cover—and groans, feeling you clench tight around him. Tight little hole barely stretched enough to take him without it aching each time he moves, tugging on thin, sensitive skin until he has to snuff the whimpers he can feel crawling up your throat with a squeeze of his hand.

It has the after making his head swim already. When he finally finished getting his due, breaking you in, he'll take you home. Let you rest. Court you good and proper until you're melting his hands, softened wax for him to play with and mould however he likes. And he will.

He saw the potential in you the moment he leaned in close—too close, his ex-wife will accuse him of later; you never get that close to me anymore, John—and saw the shift of your throat when you swallowed. The flex of your thighs as you squeezed them tight together. The little flutter of your lashes, eyes listing treacherously downward, so achingly close to submission that it punched the air from his lungs. Kept him winded even as you pulled yourself back together. Meeting his stare with a glare of your own. All fire, all teeth. But he'll enjoy filing your canines down until they're pretty and soft and round—

"mm, not so arrogant now, are you?" He pulls you closer, nips at the thrill of your pulse until he feels it thudding against his enamel. Rabbit-quick. Ferocious lioness purring at his feet. "S'all you needed was my cock, mm, to make you this sweet?"

He doesn't expect an answer, and can really only groan when you eke out a liquid, breathless, fuck you, John, content to let you lash out as much as you want, holding you tighter in the cup of his palm. Pussy clenching tight, tears dripping down your cheeks—he basks in it even as you claw at him, pawing at his chest with your teeth bared as you pretend this is your choice. That you're taking from him with each unsteady, furious roll of your hips. Pulling him in deeper. Letting the part inside of you that rages against this hew fantasy into reality; cobwebs of delusion thickening in the whites of your eyes as you shatter over him, on his lap, stuffed full with the thick of his cock, and play pretend in your head that he's just your throne—

Even as he kicks his heels against the legs of your own, planting his feet on your carpet, in this space you build yourself, driving inside of you until the webs shake, starting to come loose.

You—this free, willful bird—have been left in the wild for too long. And he'll spend the next two months building your cage, and when he's finally finished, you'll beg him to throw away the key.

"Told you, didn't I?" he growls, hand tightening around your throat. "You were in over your head, little girl. You should have listened."

(Freshly divorced—ink still wet on the paper—and he's already engaged. How about that.)

[nvuy]

Argenti has really been on the brain as of late…I miss my wife….how do we feel about vampire agrenti//getsranover

love bites! — argenti

summary. argenti would do anything for you, even if that anything went against his own moral code.

notes. i think ANON YOU COOKED. YOUUUU COOKED. YOUUUUUUUU COOKED.

warnings. ehhhh… i’ll give it a 16+, suggestive content, as per usual you’re a freak, but argenti is also a freak so it’s okay, as the ask suggests argenti is a vampire, blood, biting, ummm, yk. vampire stuff. but it’s romantic i think.

You feel the couch dip next to you with added weight, and Argenti rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He has barely just gotten comfortable on the couch when you decide to be a thorn in his side. You grin wryly down at him. “Wanna try it?”

Argenti flutters his lashes in confusion.

You huff. “There’s a reason I wore a low cut shirt, dude.” You gesture towards your neckline.

“Oh!” Suddenly, he looks guilty. “As much as I appreciate your offer, I’m afraid I must decline.” He shakes his head and offers you a kind smile of his own. “I have staved off blood for years. I cannot start now. It would be… very unbecoming of me.”

“But, I want you to,” you try lightly. “And it’s your birthday.”

Birthday. As if his birthdays meant anything anymore. Argenti has had hundreds by now. Still, you always manage to make him feel like the most important man in the universe.

He laughs. “My birthday is two months away.”

“Early present,” you conclude firmly.

Then, you lean forward and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His skin has been bloodless since the day you met him, but there’s something so beautiful about it’s near translucency. It’s iridescently white and brilliant, and it’s like pearl silk when his hair spills over his shoulders.

Speaking of which, his hair smells of cherry and coconut.

Hmm, hmm. He’s used your shampoo—not that you mind. Not at all. He uses it because it is something to remember you by when he leaves for extended voyages. And it’s cute.

“C’mon.” It comes out as a childish droning low whine as you hit his shoulders gently. “I see the way you look at me when I get hurt. It'll be good for you.”

Argenti appears sheepish, though he indulges in your hand that cards over his scalp. His fangs poke from behind his bottom lip.

He glances away for a moment. His eyes have traced down to your neck, and he almost abandons his willpower to taste your skin.

“Just a teensy weensy bit.” You pinch your fingers together for good measure.

“It will not be ‘teensy weensy,’” Argenti explains softly. Although his voice falters for a moment, his hands do not tremble. “I will not be able to stop myself. You have always been tempting.”

“Aww.” You bop him on the shoulder. “You’re worried about me?”

“Well, of course. I do love you.”

Your heart falters. You’re sure he can hear how your blood stutters in your veins. He’s said it those words again—how many times? Almost everyday—and it still manages to fluster you.

How you managed to score this dude was beyond you. Maybe the ‘tempting’ part of you was the friends we made along the way.

You giggle like he’s smacked you over the head with his giant spear and caused a concussion. That’s what it feels like, at least. He makes you feel dizzy, but in a good way, like you’re being spun around and around by a lover when you return home after a long day.

Your fingers are still pinched together. “Just a little bit.”

You see him swallow.

He fidgets with his fingers for a moment.

He’s staring at your jugular, and though he appears apprehensive, there’s something clouding over his gaze.

He can’t say no to you. It goes against all of his moral principles.

“If it will make you happy.” Just a taste. He’s set in his ways, now. He’ll prick your neck, allow your blood to wash over his tongue, and then he’ll pull away.

And he really does love to make you happy.

“Hell yeah, it will.” You press your chest to his. “All yours.”

Oh, goodness. He swallows harder, and his hands that are usually confident with how they move, are suddenly hesitant now that they rest on the sides of your face. His hands are free of his gloves, and though his skin isn’t warm, you enjoy the callouses and marks that rub against your flesh.

Dutifully, you push his hair behind his ears.

You’re jealous of how lovely he is.

“Are you certain this is–”

“Yep.”

His brows knit together. “But this–”

“Argenti.”

He smiles apologetically. “I just want to make sure this is something you want, and not something you are doing for my sake.”

You sigh.

Then, you press your lips to his. You don’t let the taste of him distract you, however—and you know that’s secretly what he’s plotting by how his eyes flutter shut.

Argenti appears disappointed when you pull away.

“I want you to do this.”

Uh oh. You’re in for it now. You know that look.

He wants to. He does. He’s wanted to for a while now. But it is selfish of him to drink the blood from your wounds, so he instead ignores the desire.

Now, he can’t ignore it any longer.

His lips press to your cheek first. Then he moves to your jawline, painstakingly slow, but still considerate with how he dotes upon you. Maybe he’s trying to coax you from making the worst decision of your life. Wouldn’t be the first time.

You hum, pleased.

His nose is cold when he buries his face into the side of your neck where the throbbing arteries lie beneath thin supple skin.

And you smell delicious. He smells every throb of your veins as your heart pumps in your chest; that metallic earthy smell, like soil after the rain, and dew on rose petals.

Suddenly, you grow nervous.

He notices.

He tries to reel back, but you lock a hand behind his head.

Still, he tries, “you’re uncomfortable. I won’t–”

You’re excited. Your legs are jittery. The adrenaline rush is exhilarating, and sugar flows through your veins like hot ash.

Your skin feels set alight. You’re burning to the touch.

The scent of you is too much. He pinches his eyes shut in a desperate attempt to control himself.

“Bite me.” You feel his lips bump against your neck. “C’mon.” He lets out a stuttered gasp against your skin. “Do it.”

His will is not strong enough.

He wets his lips and they then part to allow sharpened canines to dot along the skin above your veins. He knows each and every path beneath your flesh. He knows where danger lies. He understands your fragility, for he was once the same.

He steers clear of the artery, as enticing as it is. It’s wrong; and he could very well hurt you beyond repair.

Your heart stutters when his fangs slice through your skin.

And it hurts. Of course it hurts, and Argenti knows as such. His other hand that is not trying to hold you still rubs along the other side of your throat soothingly. The pinpricks of his teeth are slow and deliberate. Perhaps it would hurt less if he was quick, but the sharpness stirs hot on your flesh anyway.

You try not to voice your anguish. Instead, your fingers curl firmly into his hair.

He lingers with his teeth lodged into your vein.

It’s uncomfortable, especially when you feel something hot and wet trickle from the puncture wounds and slip over his cold teeth, but you’ve never felt so alive.

His teeth pull away with a wet pop and you shiver.

You’re bleeding, rightfully so. It’s not a major wound—he’d never. You knew he’d never—but with how sticky the holes were growing, you would be convinced otherwise.

Gingerly, you felt a warm tongue swipe over the wound.

That hurt, too. You hiss then, and you feel Argenti wince against your skin.

The damage is done.

“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re practically jumping out of your skin. “Keep going.”

After a pause, his tongue cards once again over the fresh blood spilling from the wound. It doesn’t help the fire in your veins when he slots his lips over the punctured skin and begins to suck. The noises are alarming at best, and you can hear him swallowing.

It hurts.

But it’s good.

You stiffen in his hold.

Argenti stops for a moment to pepper sticky kisses over your wound. You’re sure it’s stained in the shape of his lips. Stupidly, you giggle at the idea.

He continues to indulge and he’s slow. Maybe he’s hesitant, or maybe he’s savouring you. You’re not sure.

When you’re sure he’s finished, Argenti’s bloodied teeth scrape lower along your neck until his fangs sink into the junction of your throat and your shoulder. Somehow, it hurts more.

More bloodied kisses that make your skin stiffen. His tongue draws over your flesh again.

Both the wounds are still bleeding when he decides to add another to your body.

This one hurts even more. You can tell because his teeth don’t sink in cleanly. The other side of your throat has that arterial vein you know he wants to get to. You also know he wouldn’t ever. He’s inching dangerously close to it, though.

He’s sucking and sucking and you smell copper in the air and you’re stomach is churning and your neck is covered in blood.

Your hands slacken from around his head.

The fourth puncture wound comes over your shoulder.

Your eyes flutter for a moment.

He’s not stopping.

In fact, he hasn’t even opened his eyes to check on you. He’s way too absorbed in your taste to notice your slackening grip on his shoulders.

His tongue grazes your shoulder.

“Argenti.”

He doesn’t even hear you. You move your hands to push him away, but your arms tremble. You’re growing weaker with every second.

Oh, God. This was a bad idea. You’re good at making those.

You hit his shoulders weakly.

“Argenti.” It comes out strangled and weak.

His teeth pop out of a new wound. He hums.

You’re already dizzy. Weakly, your arms wrap around him and grip loosely onto his clothes.

As sexy as this is, and because you feel like the main character in some cheesy vampire story, the stupid primal urges in your brain to survive shut down the idea of laying there, taking it, and letting him ruin your neck until you fall unconscious.

Argenti finally understands just how strong you smell and is horrified at what he’s done when his eyes finally refocus on you.

He lays you down properly on the couch and rushes to get a first aid kit.

When he comes back, he’s mumbling strings of apologies. He looks forlorn, because he’s betrayed himself, and you.

You don’t think it’s appropriate to comment on how the blood around his mouth is almost enough to make you jump on him. Only issue is you’re not sure your bones can support your weight at the moment.

The alcohol stings as he tends to the punctures, but not as much as his teeth did.

You sigh, but it’s happy.

Argenti looks at you. Guilt is smeared over his face like a thick paste.

“You look just as beautiful as the day I met you,” you murmur to him. Because that day had been a wild day. Not only did a giant man with flaming red hair stop to offer his sincerest compliments on how radiant you were—dressed in flip flops and pyjama pants because you were simply hosing your front lawn—with two squirrels at his feet and five birds resting on his shoulders.

If Argenti could blush, you figure he’d be bright red by now.

Instead, he lets out a shaky laugh. “You flatter me so. I know nothing more enchanting than you.”

The wounds have stopped bleeding now, and he makes sure to clean each one thoroughly. He expresses no concerns about a stitch job. You’re relieved at that one.

Weakly, an arm raises to push his hair behind his ears again.

That alone takes all of the strength out of you.

“You okay?” you ask him.

He looks confused at your question. “Fret not, I have had my fill. It is you who I’m worried about.”

“I feel alive.” It’s partly true. As woozy as you feel, it’s like warm sugar still lingers in your veins. “That was great. I bet you enjoyed it.”

Argenti’s grin turns crooked. “Very much so. Perhaps too much. I’ve hurt you.” His fingers rub over the tender skin surrounding the puncture wounds. “But, you are as sweet as I thought you’d be.”

“I’m so in love with you, dude.” Very appropriate thing to say. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Amazing pet name, too.

Still, Argenti flusters. He clears his throat for a moment and his fingers still around your neck. “Words cannot convey how often I think of you, or better yet how often I long to hold you.”

He behaves as if this is his first confession of many to come.

Oh. Your heart is racing in your chest.

Arms much too tired to move, you instead pucker your lips obnoxiously.

Argenti eagerly leans down to kiss you again. His lips are still bloody, and the scent and taste of metal makes your stomach twist for a moment, but it’s him. It’s him and how gentle he always is—and how can you still be so gentle when you’re enraptured in cutting holes into your partner’s neck? Beats you.

“Still so sweet,” he whispers against your lips. “Is all of you this sweet?”

You kiss his cheek. “Wanna find out?” You’re happy to play pillow princess for an hour.

Argenti smiles at that, but it’s cheeky. His eyes crinkle with mischief as he moves to your lips again.

[sunshineandspencer]

Coffee dates (Iridescent, Part 3)

A/N: I don’t know how to enemies to lovers, why can’t we all just be friends. Again, I haven’t seen past season 10, I don’t know how it works or who is present so if there are mistakes you can blame showrunners for making me too nervous to keep watching <3

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!OC.

Summary: Their last coffee date before finally getting back to the office, he’s bored and wants to find out what she’s been working on. 

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: swearing, spencer is an ass™

Parts: Pt1, Pt2, Pt4

Let me stress, this is not Maeve from the show, but my own Maeve just named the same to send Spencer into hell whenever he thinks about it.

They’re getting close to the end of his probationary period now, and the thought of getting back to the office, and back to catching psychos was intoxicating.

Sure, she enjoyed his lectures, but not nearly enough to deal with him for longer than she had to.

There’s only one of his lectures left, and yet she still finds herself completing the last assignment he gave just like all the rest. It’s due today and mostly completed, but she just wanted to tweak a few things and add some more references. Working quietly next to him in the campus cafe as always.

He’s realised before, but now that his time was coming to a close, he was properly aware of the fact that she was always working. On all their little coffee dates - he refuses to call them that, and she only does it to piss him off - between their lectures, she’s always writing.

So far that’s been perfect, because he didn’t want to talk to her unless absolutely necessary, neither did she. The two of them avoid conversation like the plague and have silent coffee dates in his breaks.

However, he has no marking left, and finished his book, he is bored and wants to annoy her.

A quick text told him that it’s paid leave for her, which he didn’t know until now but makes the fact that she actually put up with him make sense, and means that she isn’t going over casework. He’s dying to know what it is.

When he sends her off for another round of coffee, he barely even waits for her to turn the corner towards the till to reach out and snatches the page she had been writing on.

Surprise turns him cold to find that it’s his work, set in the lectures that he expected his students to complete. Not only that, but he recognises the writing style, and she had been giving in work as someone called ‘Maisie’, lying about who she is.

Of all the people attending his lecture, he certainly didn’t expect her to do the work, much less under a different name.

Especially when the writing is so.. Good.

Maeve finally came back, sitting down and sliding his coffee across to him, not even batting an eye that he had her work in his hands. Sipping her coffee and feeling the immediate bitter tang of caffeine. Setting her own mug down and shrugging at his questioning tone.

“You’re completing the work I set?”

“Yeah.”

Part of him wondered if she would try to lie, wanting to determine what he could get from profiling her if she did. Expectedly, however, expected her to tell the truth, it’s definitely on brand for her. Suck up.

“Why?”

“I’m not allowed casework when I’m with you, in case you try to involve yourself.” Glaring at him, considering they had proved Emily right by inserting himself uninvited into her work the minute he got bored and she turned her back. Cons of working with profilers, he supposes. “I needed something to do or I would’ve gone crazy. Besides, I felt like you’d want someone completing the work because they enjoy the lecture, not because they think you’re pretty.”

He stared at her for a moment, really using all 187 points of his IQ to take in what she said, then shook his head. Placing the sheet back on the pile and picking up his coffee.

“My students don’t find me attractive.”

Honestly, he’s a little offended by the way she scoffed at him.

“The room is 80% women, they don’t even pay attention half the time, they just stare at you and your hands.” His hands? Now it just feels like she’s projecting, but she doesn’t stop talking yet. “One of them didn’t even complete your last assignment. She just handed in an A4 piece of paper with her number on, it was titled ‘Call Me’.”

He remembers, and he didn’t even look at it long enough to remember the number. The past minute of conversation feels like it shouldn’t be real. Blinking softly in confusion and trying to subtly glancing down from her to his hands and then back again.

Deciding to just hum softly, as if it wasn’t actually something new to him. Picking up his coffee to finally take a sip, irritatingly perfect - God he wished she didn’t try so hard.

“And you?”

“Me?”

“You’re a woman.”

Lifting her head, the look on her face was a picture. Feeling that, had he spoken in Dutch, he probably would’ve gotten the exact same facial expression.

“Am.. I supposed to congratulate you for correctly identifying that I’m a woman?”

He scowled over at her, and that’s a lot better. Their little coffee dates over the last 30 days had been spent mostly silent aside from snide comments and scowls, she wasn’t used to all this conversation from him. So getting him back to scowling again felt like progress.

Until he leant in, a smug grin settling on her face again that she was quickly coming to hate.

“No. But~ surely, if you’ve noticed them finding me attractive, doesn’t that mean you think I’m pretty as well? Hm, little assistant?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t even miss a beat.

“I’d rather make out with a pencil sharpener than you, Doctor Reid.”

Spencer couldn’t help the scowl on his face, even though he was still very smug on the inside. She so gets off on calling him that.

But she got up, and that startled him slightly, watching as she started to pack away her work into her bag. Eyes darting to his, meeting his scowl with a smug grin of her own for managing to get back at him again. Hoping, desperately, that he doesn’t notice that she didn’t actually answer his question.

“Your last lecture is starting soon, hurry up.”

Of course she thinks he’s pretty, but that doesn’t mean she likes him. And she certainly isn’t going to admit it to his face.

Want more?! Good!

[multi-fandom-friend]

“Let’s do something fun, yeah?” “Like what?” “Let’s go to a rave” “You’re Joking”

COME GET YOUR FOOD UOU SIMPS. so I got this idea from an artist named @razorsystem on here. They had art of Jason and crew in rave outfits, and being a part of rave culture myself, and the little voice in my brain annoying me until I wrote this, this now exists. Enjoy loves! TW FOR FLASHING LIGHTS AND BRIGHT COLORS ON THE DIVIDER AND FOR THEMES OF DRINKING AND BIG CROWDS

🦇Bruce🦇

🦇 when you first asked him to go? It went a little like this

🦇 “Hey Brucie?” “Jesus, I know that tone. You want something.” “Can we pleaaaase go to a rave?” “Absolutely not” “why?” “I’m too old for that. Drinking? Dancing? Flashing lights? Not my thing.” 🦇 you being you? You convinced him. And he got outfits. Pretty expensive ones too but he’s a hot millionaire what did you expect?

🦇 Once you got there he was a little uncomfortable but once he had a drink and started dancing with you? He was fine. He kept his guard up, of course, but he was fine. 🦇 on your way home he stopped and made you two get pizza and everyone in the pizzeria was looking at you two. A 6 something foot tall scary dad aged man and his partner sticking onto his arm as they giggled together in a bright colored rave outfit

🥀Jason Todd🥀

🥀 when you first asked him he was so confused as to what a rave even was

🥀 “Hey Jaybird?” “Yes, love?” “There’s a rave tonight, wanna go?” “What the hell is a rave?” “What’s a— Jason? How have you never heard of a rave? It’s basically a party with a bunch of bright colors, lots of loud music with even more bass in it, and good vibes. Wanna go?” “Will there be lots of people” “…..yeah?” “I dunno. Maybe.” 🥀 Just like his dad he’s hesitant, but he goes eventually. He probably had more fun than you did if we’re being honest. 🥀 y’all got there and he was having the time of his fucking life. And he didn’t wanna tell you but he loved the outfits you two were wearing, but he hated the thigh high latex boots with a small heel that you made him wear. It’s not that they were “too girly” or anything because he doesn’t think clothes have gender he just didn’t entirely understand how to walk without looking like he had a pole up his ass, so you had to teach him. 🥀 once he got the walking down pat, he could dance with you. He didn’t wanna drink because he still had to keep his guard up and walking in these shoes are hard enough sober just in case. 🥀 he made you two leave a little early but you had fun nonetheless. He ordered takeout and you picked it up on the way home.

💎Dickhead Grayson💎

💎 Immediately said yes.

💎 “Hey bluejay? Wanna go to a rave toni-“ “yes. A thousand times yes.” 💎 and then he showed you a photo of him at a rave when he was younger. 💎 You couldn’t believe your eyes. Your Bluejay in short shorts, a latex shirt and leather harness with platform boots and glitter coating his body was in that photo. 💎 then he got dressed and jesus fuckin Christ he looked awesome. Glittery, but awesome. He helped you get dressed and then sprayed you down with iridescent glitter spray that got in your mouth and everywhere glitter probably shouldn’t be

💎 once you got there, he grabbed drinks for you both and started dancing with you immediately. He had so much fun

💎 he still made you both leave early, just for safety reasons. 💎 he also got pizza with you and you two were standing there like two giddy hyenas. Like seriously. You both couldn’t stop laughing for a good 25 minutes.

🐍 Damian Wayne🐍

🐍 it took so much convincing and so much prodding but you got him to break. 🐍 “But Damieeeee!” “No.” “Come on! I promise you’ll have fun!” “Nope.” “Pleaaaase?” 🐍 you did your pouty face and he broke. 🐍 he got his dad to buy you both outfits and you went

🐍 hated how many people there were. Hated it. So much. But you started dancing with him and he calmed down instantly

🐍 you both left after about an hour and went home, he needed a good pair of very loose sweatpants and a very loose shirt, and a good long cuddle session and he was all better.

A/N hi y’all! If you could follow me or even like this post that would be highly appreciated. Thank you!

[rowinablx]

This is Our World: 2

@atiny-angel @axelwolf8109 @the-iridescent-phoenix @ozzypawsbone-princeofbarkness @lynspumpkinpatch @epickiya722 @greek-freak101 @thefandomlifechoseus @jackiequick

Note: Eli is ten but I couldn't find any gifs of a young Vince, deal with itttttt

"Whoever let Chris Argent buy the Daily Planet can rot in hell" Stiles cursed. Derek grabbed his hand.

"He won't fire you, you won a Pulitzer prize" He whispered. "But what about you Der?"

"I have other activities" He winked. "Mr. Hale? Can I see you in my office?" Chris Argent called out. Derek kissed Stiles' head and walked off

------

"Are you fuckin kidding me?!" Stiles kicked the vending machine, Derek tilted it forward just a bit so he could get his candy.

"He fired you and acts all sad about it like he's not in charge and decides everything!"

"Calm down baby, this won't be that bad" "Don't tell me to calm down" Stiles glared. Derek raised his hands in surrender. Stiles was scarier than most of the villains he fought sometimes.

His phone rang and he answered it with a frown.

"Hey Cora" Stiles tried not to listen. Derek dropped his phone and went still. "Derek?" Stiles grabbed his head. There weren't a lot of this that made his husband go into shock.

He picked up the phone. "What's wrong?" "Stiles?" Cora sniffed. "What happened?"

"Laura's dead"

------

Derek felt like a child again, when Talia died. The only thing keeping him from collapsing or going into a Kryptonian rage was Stiles hugging him.

"A car accident? Aunt Laura wasn't a bad driver" Jackson smacked Scott on the head.

"Ow!"

"Derek" A old high school friend named Erica Reyes hugged him close. "I'm so sorry"

"Thanks Erica" He said in a small voice. "So they know what happened?" "My dad's looking into it" Stiles said.

Derek didn't even listen, he looked at his boys and just sighed.

"When are we going home?" Eli whined. Jackson pulled his little brother into a hug.

"Soon bud"

Derek sighed and took off his glasses covering his eyes and rubbing his forehead. "This is stressing me out. Peter's not even here"

Stiles hugged him again. "Maybe he's mourning in his own way"

------

"Jackson, we're gonna get in trouble. Dad and Papa always told us to stay away from the barn" "Don't you wanna know why? Besides Eli would tell Dad and then we'd all be in trouble"

Eli stuck his tongue out. Jackson turned on his phone flashlight and looked around.

"Hmm yes this is a barn" "Shut up Scott" "Look!" Eli ran off. "Eli!" Jackson heard a strange humming and grabbed a crowbar. "Jackie!" "Scotty" Jackson replied mockingly.

He broke the lock and opened the door and climbed down. "We're gonna be so grounded"

"What the..." Jackson spotted a spaceship. Eli whimpered and hugged into Scott's side. Jackson picked up what looked like a silver rock. "This is weird"

Scott touched it, Eli did too.

Jackson went nauseous and went back up, Scott followed carrying their little brother. "I feel really sick" "It's the guilt getting to you because we disobeyed Dad at Aunt Laura's funeral"

"Shut up!" Jackson screamed, a sonic wave shooting out from him, causing a support beam in the barn to collapse, sending metal pipes crashing down. Scott immediately put himself on top of his brothers.

Derek heard everything and ran off.

Stiles bolted after him. "Boys!" Derek moved the pipes with little effort. Scott was completely unharmed. "Are you okay?" Stiles picked them up and hugged Eli.

"Yeah" Jackson said, Scott nodding. "Good" Derek grabbed them both by their hair. "Because you are grounded for a week for breaking a rule and almost getting your brother hurt!"

"Ow ow ow" "Dad that hurts!" Derek dragged the twins out. "You're not grounded monkey" Stiles assured. "You were gonna tell us anyways right?" He grinned.

"Yeah!"

[ibeta]

Part of Sweetheart's Gift

The ridiculous lies came up at the same time when their brothers were interrogating each other over dinner – well, Sans’ brother asked nicely, and his brother took on a different meaning of edge.

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU’RE DANCERS?” Edge sputtered over their dinner table.

Red eyed his brother’s empty plate, and then the rest of the empty plates on the table. Learning that skeletons didn’t need to eat to function had been… strange. According to Sans, Red only needed the magic from the food, so draining the magic from monster food became Sans’ efficient way of a quick meal.

Honestly, it saved Red a lot of work cleaning up his bones after he learned how to make proper magic food. Ration bars from his universe now helped him recover magic faster than consuming it. Draining it had been easier than shoving it in his mouth and breaking the food down with his magic.

The only strange thing that he noticed had been the taste of the food on the plates – the lack of taste. Papyrus’ magic meal hadn’t tasted like Sans’ candy. Eating it through his hand didn’t make flavours burst inside him. It was indescribable, so ridiculously bland but filling.

He’d rather eat Sans’ magic candy than Papyrus’ spaghetti slop.

Not that he wouldn’t eat the spaghetti, but—

“DANCING IS OUR FORM OF TALENT,” Papyrus explained, cutting off Red’s musing. “WE HAVE MUSIC PLAYER DEVICES THAT IS MIXED WITH OUR MAGIC, WHICH READS OUR SOULSONG AND PLAYS IT OUT LOUD.” Papyrus raised something in his hand, which looked like a round container with a translucent cover and metal filigree on top. The bottom half looked like a simple piece of white plastic, but… inside seemed to be some sort of clear, iridescent crystal, chiselled to perfection.

Red hesitated but pushed it away. “…is that a diamond?” A large diamond, which could fetch for a high price somewhere else.

Papyrus shook his head. “NOT QUITE. IT IS A MONSTER-MADE LAB CRYSTAL, WHICH IS MUCH MORE DURABLE THAN A REGULAR DIAMOND. IT IS TREATED WITH A SECRET METHOD TO READ OUR SOULSONG. OTHERWISE… WELL...” Papyrus shifted his gaze away while Sans hummed beside him. “REGULARLY, NOTHING HAPPENS. BUT, IF YOU ARE A DANCER THAT CAN GO WITH ALMOST ANY STYLE… AND IF YOUR PLAYER ISN’T MADE OF, UM, A STRONGER LAB CRYSTAL…”

“it’d be super bad,” Sans continued with a yawn. “the results are explosive. dancers with many songs aren’t that rare, but there’s also freestyle dancers. those need a stronger crystal grade since they have a LOT of soul songs, at least two or three.”

Red saw Edge nodding firmly in his peripheral vision and bobbed his head along.

Yeah, he definitely understood nothing.

“AND, WHEN MY BROTHER SAYS FREESTYLE DANCERS, HE DOES NOT MEAN THE DANCE STYLE FROM THE SURFACE!” Papyrus added. “THEY ARE SIMPLY DANCERS THAT HAVE VARIOUS DANCE STYLES TO CHOOSE FROM. FOR EXAMPLE, THERE IS A DANCER RIGHT NOW IN THE CAPITAL THAT CAN CHOOSE FROM SOMETHING THAT IS SIMILAR TO BALLET, HIP-HOP, AND… UM, CEREMONIAL DANCES.”

What the hell were ceremonial dances? Red couldn’t ask, not when Papyrus made a face and continued to talk. Sans didn’t bother to look interested, but he did keep smiling as he watched Papyrus. Red found it a little amusing to see.

“HOWEVER, THAT PERSON… WELL, THEY DIDN’T SEEM TO NEED A MUSIC PLAYER AT ALL, SINCE THEY CAN PLAY MUSIC THROUGH THEIR SOUL. IN FACT, THEY SEEM TO BE THE ONLY ONE CAPABLE OF IT. EVEN THE KING NEEDS AN MPC.”

“SO, THEY ARE LIKE A MUSICIAN AND THEIR MUSE AT THE SAME TIME?” Edge queried. Red slumped into his chair when Papyrus and Sans turned to his brother. Crap. Now, his brother had a captive audience to reveal their talents dramatically.

“you play music?”

“MUSICIANS? MUSES? WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

Red groaned. It was going to be a long night.

“AH, IT SEEMS THAT YOU DON’T KNOW.” Edge coughed dramatically. Red blinked his eye sockets and crossed his arms. “IN OUR UNIVERSE, WE ARE MUSICIANS. WE HAVE INSTRUMENTS MADE WITH OUR MAGIC, WHICH WE USE TO PLAY MUSIC OF OUR CHOICE. MUSES ARE A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION FOR MUSICIANS, BUT THEY ARE MORE THAN THAT. IF A MUSICIAN THINKS OF THEIR MUSE AND PLAYS THE MUSIC INSPIRED BY THEIR MUSE, THEY ARE ABLE TO PLAY THAT SAME MUSIC THROUGH THE SOUL OF THE MUSE.”

Sans immediately straightened up in his seat, startling Red. “you’re talking about something REALLY creepy right now.”

Papyrus perked up. “THAT SOUNDS ABSOLUTELY ROMANTIC! IF, UH, IT IS A MUTUAL CONNECTION. OTHERWISE, IT DOES SEEM A LITTLE… TOO INTIMATE.”

Red sighed. “yeah,” he agreed, squirming in his seat when they stared at him. “that’s why it’s been only used for, uh, courtship.”

“COURTSHIP?” Papyrus absolutely sparkled as he said it. Red turned his gaze to Sans, who shared a commiserating look with him. Yeah. Even this Papyrus was a romantic but more loud and enthusiastic than Edge’s secret romance novels. “IS IT THE SAME AS OUR DANCE TRAPS?”

Red recoiled at the name. “excuse me, your fuckin’ what traps?” For courtship? What the hell, Papyrus.

Edge barked, “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN BY DANCE TRAPS – WAIT… IS THAT SIMILAR TO OUR MUSIC TRAPS? HOW IN THE WORLD IS THAT RELATED TO COURTSHIP?”

“isn’t there dancing when you’re dating someone?” Sans piped up, looking completely unconcerned.

Red threw a glare at Sans. The other skeleton immediately averted his eyelights, grin wide and looking unrepentant.

“WELL…” Papyrus placed a gloved hand on his jaw, rubbing it. “DANCE TRAPS ARE SIMPLY A WAY TO FIND A MONSTER WITH A COMPATIBLE SOUL WITH YOURS, I SUPPOSE.”

“papyrus isn’t entirely wrong,” Sans told them, twirling his fork in the air. “but it’s really not as romantic as it sounds. it’s just another way to find dance partners whenever you need to hang out. the tradition here got twisted enough that sometimes, monsters… kinda got together while dancing and meeting each other. then, it just became a courting thing.”

Red’s shoulders loosened. Right, he’d forgotten that this world was… a little more peaceful.

“IT IS NOT ENTIRELY ROMANTIC,” Papyrus repeated. “IT JUST BECAME THAT WAY SINCE MANY MONSTER COUPLES MET THAT WAY.”

“OUR MUSIC TRAPS ARE SIMILAR, BUT THERE IS NOTHING ROMANTIC ABOUT IT." Edge scoffed and narrowed his eye sockets. “IT IS SIMPLY A WAY FOR MUSICIANS TO FIGHT. IN A BATTLE BETWEEN MORE THAN ONE MONSTER, WITH THE MUSIC TRAP AS A BEAT FOR THE MUSICIANS TO COMPOSE AND COMPLETELY OVERWHELM THE OTHER MONSTERS… WHOEVER WINS—” Edge clammed up as Red elbowed him, giving him a pointed glare. His brother stared, and then his eye sockets widened. He nodded. “WELL, WHOEVER WINS IS THE BEST MONSTER.”

Red met Sans’ searching gaze and raised both his hands, offering a silent apology. Yeah, he wasn’t about to admit that the music battles had been dusty, not when Papyrus sat across him, looking enchanted by the idea of musicians duking it out.

“I SEE…” Papyrus hummed and nodded. “THAT IS INTRIGUING INDEED.”

“yep. food for thought,” Sans agreed. Red’s eye sockets went wide at the nerve to drop a pun between two Papyruses.

“YES, IT IS—” Edge paused, and then Papyrus also made a face. Their gaze simultaneously ended up on the empty plates on the table.

Red snickered as the pun hit them.

“OH, GODS, BROTHER—”

“FOR THE LOVE OF STARS, WHY—”

Red grinned at his counterpart, who offered a mischievous smile at him.

Okay, maybe dinner wouldn’t be so boring if Sans dropped puns so unsuspectingly like that.

“my brother is a good dancer if you want to learn some moves, ” Sans told Edge, after exhausting Edge and Papyrus with subtle puns. “he’s been practicing his moves for a long time now.”

Papyrus looked happy at the acknowledgement. Red wondered what type of dance he used for battles.

“CERTAINLY, PAPYRUSES ARE SUPERIOR IN SKILL, IN ANY UNIVERSE.” Edge’s smirk looked a little smug. Red eyed him with trepidation, recognising the reaction. “WHAT IS YOUR DANCE STYLE?”

“I PREFER DANCES WHERE I CAN PAIR OFF WITH ANOTHER MONSTER,” Papyrus answered promptly.

“AND YOU, SANS?”

Red tilted his head at his double, who smiled at Edge. “nothing,” Sans replied.

Shit. Red started sweating. If he guessed right, that meant…

“WHAT TYPE OF DANCE IS THAT?” Edge sputtered.

Papyrus looked nervous. “MY BROTHER DOESN’T DANCE AT ALL, EDGE.”

Fuck. Red forced his shoulders to relax. “same,” he added, “i don’t do music.”

Sans’ gaze turned to him, and Red met it squarely. Sans cocked his head, and Red shrugged. Sans smiled and looked at Edge. “welp, i guess sanses from other universes are experts in nothing, like me.”

“THAT IS… UNFORTUNATE,” his brother delicately delivered his words, “BUT THAT SEEMS TO HAVE WORKED OUT FOR THE TWO OF YOU, SINCE YOU ARE BOTH IN THE PRESENCE OF STRONG MONSTERS!”

“THAT’S RIGHT, BROTHER!” Papyrus stood up from his chair and scooped up Sans from his seat. The other skeleton went willingly without protest, hanging limply in Papyrus’ arms. “I WILL PROTECT YOU FROM DANCE TRAPS AND EDGE WILL PROTECT HIS BROTHER FROM MUSIC TRAPS.”

“you’re so cool, papyrus.” Sans’ smile seemed softer, gentler and more sincere. “guess i'll rely on you to take my dance challenges for me, huh?” Sans’ eyelights flickered over to Red.

Red tapped his empty plate and drew symbols on it with his finger. “instead of that, how about we try making some traps?” Red offered, glancing at his brother. Edge hummed and nodded, crossing his arms.

“IT WOULD BE BEST TO EQUIP YOU WITH TRAP-MAKING SKILLS IF YOU CANNOT DEFEND YOURSELF WITH DANCING.”

“uh, sure.”

“it’s what we gotta do,” Red pressed.

Red and Sans’ eyelights met by chance, and Red matched Sans’ tired smile with his own.

Both of them were lying, and that much was obvious.

[magnoliabutters]

• BROKEN PROMISES •

pairing: din djarin x (she/her, 18+) mandalorian reader

summary: does one feel relief or distrust upon hearing another mandalorian has graced navarro with their presence?

word count: ~3k

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; canon related violence & action (pew pew), loosely following season 3; slow burn, upcoming series with eventual smut; tw - hints of alcoholism, self-degrading thoughts, etc.

reblogs, comments, & thoughts are greatly appreciated 🤍

note: trying something new and doing my best to stay realistic with canon. hope my fellow star wars and mandalorian friends enjoy! we find our characters at the beginning of season 3 ...

You feel honor in being a mandalorian. Your people may be dying off, spread as far as the stars in the galaxy, but they are taking out others ten to one. The purge is only temporary. A mere blip in the mandalore history. The Creed propels you forward with ease, strength, dexterity. This is all you have known. It is in your blood, and the blood of those before you. The armor strapped against your chest, filled with kinks and scratches, scream stories that your enemies will never share. Mandalorian pride is all you know. This is the way, after all.

After a run in with a rebel squad, your ship finds itself missing a landing pad. Your less-than graceful entry into Navarro is one for the books. Droids' eyes peer up at you, hesitant in your placement. There is no better parking than right at the front archway of the young city. You stand from your pilot's seat, carelessly pressing the button on your left. The door slowly opens, revealing the burning stench of the nearby lava pits. The smell only further confirms your location.

You make your way down the steps with your eyes set on those before you. Your hand ready by your holster, yet hiding behind your cloak as usual. The element of surprise is always at your advantage, despite your beskar chest plate and crimson helmet. "A fix, mandalorian?" the short droid shouts your way. You throw credits in its direction, never wasting your time with something as useless as eye contact. "Back right pad and the nav system," you announce. "I'll be in the bar. Find me when it's done."

Immediately, the sanctuary's change resonates with you. Karga's done well in this sector. The previous dirt path now rattled with stone. Vines and brightly colored flags fill the freshly painted white walls. Even the people appear happier, welcoming - almost as though they have been paid to do so. It feels disingenuous, but you have also been told that paranoia is one of your most pronounced attributes.

Entering a town’s dining area is almost always a show of looks. Every patron sizes up the individual, creature, or machine that walks through the front doors. For Navarro, it means taking your first glance at the competition. Who will get the highest bounty? It will easily go to whoever has the most beskar armor no doubt. Navarro may be making its way to a trading post, but it will always have its roots deep within the Guild.

“Take a seat, anywhere,” the bartender yells out. You peer over the hall. Two bounty hunters rest in the back corner. A mother and child to your right. Nobelmen, who you assume are anything but, sit at the high tops. Their eyes drawn to you, particularly your chest. You often have to remind yourself that the armor is what draws attention before punching your fist through anyone’s skull.

“Spotchka,” you say as you point towards a table against the wall. The blue iridescent drink now your primary source for hydration. Life is easier to float through when you are intoxicated half the time. How are you expected to complete your bounties sober? “Must be a special day,” the purple-skinned individual mutters before slugging the jug of blue hell onto the table. “Special?” you ask, barely attending for an answer. You reach for the cup he sets before you before popping the cork off the jug. “Yeah, two mandalorians in one day. High magistrate must be throwing a party,” he adds.

Now that catches your attention. Your movements stop suddenly. It makes the man jump beside you, hesitant to your next move. “Another mandalorian is here, in Navarro?” you ask, slowly looking up to him. “Y-yes, he just walked by with the high magistrate and-and a child,” the man shares, taking a step away from you. Your gaze falls to the surface of the table as you attempt to understand the information presented.

You have not seen another mandalorian since the armorer denied you. The word “apostate” leaving burns in your mouth, like sipping on battery acid. You did what you had to. The old ones knew it too - knew that redemption may be needed. Little did they know that the great Mandalore would become inhabitable. Therefore, any hope of redeeming oneself is quickly put to rest.

Your mind races, as the bartender hesitantly returns to his post. Your grip tight against the neck of the bottle, but your eyes focused in front of you. You came here for work. The last thing you need is an actual comparable competition. Let alone, one who will share your current status with those of the Guild. Without a mandalorian’s wage, you will get next to nothing from a bounty. Offered scraps and disrespect. You can feel the blood in your cheeks. Your nostrils flared as you think of the possibilities.

Navarro is burned. No - you do not have a choice. You will not be able to pay for your ship's repairs. You will be stuck here. All your credits gone to lodging, to food. Always in debt. No! You slam your fist onto the table, drawing the attention of those around you. But let us not pretend you care about them. You stand and furiously walk from the room. You must find this mandalorian before they find you.

Standing back on the main road, you desperately look for some indication of where to find the Magistrate. You settle for a vendor alongside the path. Your voice harsh when you ask, “Have you seen the mandalorian?” The human jumps at the sight of you. This seems to be a common occurrence in your presence. Confusion across her face as she takes a long look at your armor. “Is that a trick question?” she lazily jokes. “There’s another,” you reply with a monotone.

“I’m not sure if I know,” the woman stalls. She reaches for her fruit basket. Her free arm shrugging. “I’ve been selling all day.” You sigh, an involuntary roll of your eyes to go along with it. Humans are always so predictable. You quickly reach into your satchel and drop credits into her hand. “The mandalorian,” you repeat. The woman smiles, cheek to cheek. A sour sight. “Town square,” she says pointing off to her right. “There’s a statue of an IG droid. That’s where I saw him last.”

You nod, walking off. The information was weak. Not at all worth what you paid for, but you figure that was the best you would get with the time crunch you were on. The street is bustling with people. Busier than you remember. Twice as annoying. You find yourself regretting the choice to find work on this planet. Of all the systems, you chose the one that a mandalorian had already laid claim on. Maybe you did deserve the title of "apostate."

“Mando,” the strong voice rips through the crowd. You immediately turn to see Greef Karga with his magnificent floor lengthed robe across the town square. The glistening grey of beskar armor shining back at you. A full set. You cannot help your gaping mouth at the sight. This individual is more than just a mandalorian. You could clearly see it, even with their back turned to you.

A Phoenix rising against their back. Whistling doves upon their cuff. The armorer has taken great care of this one. Jealousy stings at the back of your throat. What did they have to do to get a full set of beskar armor? You know how far you went for just your helmet and chest plate. The sorrow it’s memory causes you. This meant that they were a threat.

You decide that the best course of actin is to continue observing. It appears their business with Karga is complete. Maybe they will leave the system soon. You adjust your stance to find more space amongst the crowd. Your vision blocked between hurrying peoples. With another step, you see a dome like shape floating beside the mandalorian.

In that moment, you remember the child. A foundling, no doubt. You have heard rumors of a mandalorian bounty hunter who claimed his bounty as his own. You thought it was just a story. A funny one, seeing the juxtaposition of the statement. Mandalorians breed nothing but success, yet this one fails and fails again. Failure, yet with a full set. Curious.

As the high magistrate walks away, the two trek down a side road. You assume back to their ship but follow loosely behind to ensure their departure. The mandalorian seems to be talking to his companion, the child. As they turn a corner, you see the large, pointed green ears of the foundling. It is amusing to think of how a helmet will rest upon those wings. Will the armorer make one special for you, little one? you think to yourself. A smile broadening across your lips.

Body language may not be one of the options for your optics, but you can read the happiness in this particular mandalorian’s step. Happiness is not something you find common amongst your people. Not lately that is. A bond lives between these two. It may not be physical, but you can feel it from yards away. It’s strong, unmoving, relentless. It reminds you of your connection with your mother. The thought wrinkles your brow. Another strong reminder that happiness is not well known by a mandalorian. Yet here one is, happy as a jawa with parts.

Rounding another corner, you allow a few other individuals to walk before you. The distance building between you and the pairing, strategically. However, when you turn the bend, you lose sight of the individuals. Your entire body freezes. Eyes raise up to the roofs of the buildings around you. Pins and needles ridge throughout your skin. All the citizens are gone and you have easily walked into a trap. Maybe the armorer was right about your new title.

A blaster presses harshly against the back of your neck, just below your helmet. “What are you after?” a deep voice flows from behind you. Your hands slowly raise. “Who says I am after anything?” you ask slowly. The sides of your eyes follow your cuffs. The light beside your flamethrower blinking, ready when needed. “Is this how you treat your kind?” you muster. The barrel still tight against your skin.

“You were the one tracking me,” the man bellows. You hear a gurgle of a child behind you. A smirk pulls on the side of your face. “The foundling. Do you intend to raise him according to the Creed?” You tilt your head as you take a small step forward. Your hands remain high as you turn to face him. The blaster now pointed at your throat.

The familiar beskar helmet staring back at you. You find an old sense of comfort within the reflection of yourself. You missed your home, your people. Regardless, you were not going to further your embarrassment by staying under someone else’s gun. With a swift movement, your helmet plows against his. A large clang is heard throughout the neighborhood.

The man stumbles back before raising his blaster towards you once more. Your arm swings through his grasp, dropping the weapon onto the floor. You thrust your fist at his face only for it to be swiftly blocked. An uppercut falls against your stomach, carefully placed between your armor. A groan of pain falls from your lips.

Frustration fills your body. The title reeling in your mind. Your fist flies through the air, landing against his lower back. Another fist falls between his ribs. A grunt escapes your lips, this time fueled with anger. You rev up a kick, aiming it for his chest plate, but the mandalorian finally wises up.

He catches your foot, throwing you down onto the ground with full force. A fast glance up and your anger is recharged. You watch him reach for his holster. Quickly, you extend your wire and wrap it around his wrist. With a strong pull, his arm is pulled from its socket. He steps forward, off balance. You swiftly roll closer to him, kicking your foot out. His legs fall from under him as he smacks firmly against the hardened surface.

You furiously crawl over to him. Your fingers curl in the cloth behind his armor, pulling him closer to you. Suddenly, fire bursts through his cuff against your helmet. The heat burning at the metal immediately drops sweat from your pores. With your surprise at his disposal, you pull away enough for his fist to explode against your side. In tandem, both your and his wrist are pressed against the opposite’s neck - beneath one's helmet. The fire readily set between the two.

Heavy breaths are expressed against the notable mandalorian helmets. The awkward silence of a draw between two always leaves you in discomfort. Your entire body weight upon him. You rapidly push away the enjoyment felt when acknowledging his body beneath you. Both of your fists never leaving their spot, never relieving the pressure.

With a slight twist of your head, you add space between his fist and the skin of your neck. His allowance of your movements grants the pull back of your own fist from his throat. You gently push up, retreating back into a crouch beside his resting and hesitant body. You note the sudden crowd circled around you two. A mandalorian fight - usually one would need to pay for such high stakes combat.

“I’m here for work,” you share. You extend your hand out to him. He reluctantly takes it as you both support each other standing up. “Didn’t need another complicating that.”

With a quick movement, the man retrieved his blaster back into his holster. Your eyes watching him closely. A true mandalorian would never disgrace a draw, but nonetheless you are ready. “No need to worry,” he starts. “I have my own business to attend to.” With curiosity, you peer around his body and note the sweet green ball of innocence staring back at you. “Yes, I see,” you smile. A small hand raises as you wave back at it.

“A foundling acquired within a bounty,” you state, returning your gaze towards the blank helmet. “Curious place to find such a sweet thing.” The mandalorian steps to his left, blocking your view of the delicate soul. A frown forms upon your face, not that he will ever see it. He is protective of the foundling, as he should be. "This is the way," you mutter begrudgingly before turning around.

"Wait," the man hurriedly says. Your body pauses, slowly turning back. "I came to Navarro to find another of our kind," he states quietly. His body language timid. The hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. "An apostate." Without a moment, your blaster is pointed at his face. His hands raised defensively. A mild murmur escaping the foundling. Your heart hurts knowing that you have caused it concern.

Your breath harsh and heavy. It sightly fogs your optics. Your grip tight against your blaster. Your finger at the ready against the side of its barrel. Still unsure of whether or not a pulled trigger will be needed. "What need do you have for an apostate?" you ask harshly. "The armorer," he starts as he steadily approaches you. His hands still raised to the sides of his helmet. "She told me of your title and where to find you." Your heart races as your arm's stance weakens.

"What need do you have for an apostate?" you repeat loudly. The words firmly annunciated upon your lips. You will not ask again. "I, too, am an apostate," he states with a hitch to his voice. The manner of which he speaks of it confirms his title. The nervousness, the embarrassment, the disgust of the words falling from his mouth. You know better than to ask him what he had done to deserve such a title.

"Do you seek redemption?" the mandalorian asks quietly. His hands lowering as he takes another step before you. You promptly holster your blaster, keeping your eyes to the ground. "Redemption is impossible," you mutter under your breath. "If you believe that to be true, then why do you still wear beskar?" he brutally asks. The words harsh within your ears. You pick your head up in disgrace. "The Creed is all I know," you seethe through your teeth.

"How do you seek redemption?" He asks. His stance vulnerable, yet steady. An underlying trust rests between you two. The mandalorian way. But here he stands, testing you. "Bathe in the Living Waters," you answer reluctantly. You have done it once before, as a child. "Yet, you look for work in Navarro," the man states with a careless attitude. Almost as though he looks down upon you. That fire builds within your chest once again.

"And how might I bathe in the waters of a dying planet?" you spit out. It pains you describe your home in such a manner, but its current state is inhabitable. Mandalore is too far gone, but you will never take off your beskar. "Mandalore is not dying," he says quietly. His head lowers almost as though he is steadily observing your reaction. Your body stands still, immediately deflecting his hope inducing statement. "I have an artifact, recently taken from its surface," he continues.

Your eyes watch as he slowly reaches into his satchel. Your hand instinctually held against your blaster's holster. The mandalorian reveals a green crystalized fossil with a clear mandalore inscription. "Redemption is possible," he says as he hands the artifact to you. The crystals harsh and prickly against your gloves. The words reflective of the books you once read as a child in the great library. "The armorer tasked me to find you," he states. You lift your chin to watch him in shock. "So that we may both be redeemed for our broken promises."

Hope, a fluttering feeling. Something that you struggle to recognize. It has been some time since it has been sincerely expressed within you. You stare into the empty face of the mandalorian helmet before you. Your eyes fall upon the beskar present within all of his armor. You note the sigil of the mudhorn on his right shoulder. He watches as you rake over his pieces. He can imagine the thoughts flooding through your mind.

"I am Din Djarin," the mandalorian states plainly. Your attention is immediately called as you follow his voice. "Lara Fink," you reply courtly. A fake name you graciously give to those who fall under unfamiliar. "This is the way," he states before nodding forward. He begins to walk past you. The child floating alongside him. Those big brown eyes peering right back at you. "This is the way," you mutter as you follow along.

note: thank you for reading! hope you liked it! your thoughts and feedback are greatly appreciated! i cannot wait to hear what you think!

• nav • no-no plagiarism • one shot • requests open •

[cyniibar]

How would any Innocent manga characters react to a mermaid bride, who really wants to convert to Christianity and enjoys eating maggots off human corpses ? Has a beautiful shimmering mermaid "tail" (more like fused legs with scales) with iridescent pale green scales and a small waist with gills ? Sorry for sending you this mess ? Marie is a wild card, so feel free to include her.

How insane! Um, I needed a moment to comprehend this. And how would they come across such creature with fused legs?

A specimen like that would definitely intrigue Soubise. Wherever he lived, assuming surrounded by corpses- he has no problem with providing her diet in exchange for her company. Soubise would keep her as his little secret, his hoarded treasure for him to admire and own like a prized possession. She doesn't know she's actually his prisoner. If she ever brought up her desire to convert into a Christian, he'd be irritatingly baffled. "Why? Your very existence is an insult to the Lord. He wouldn't want such a sinful creation serve him. You may be a very beautiful fiend, but you're still a fiend, my dear. It's alright, I can be your new God. And I give you my word, I will never forsake you." He comes up with a plan to baptize her, but in a sadistic, disturbing kind of way. It isn't really considered a cult but yeah, it was really nice for Soubise to have someone worship him. Soubise would be infatuated with the mermaid, he offers gifts and accessories (most likely stolen from others) just to enhance her appearance and make her more dazzling to his eyes, he would comb her hair daily, and go on about how she was the only thing good in his life. Soubise genuinely fools himself that he's actually in love with the mermaid, he also brainwashes the mermaid that she's unlovable and wretched that the only thing she needs is his love. But there will come a day, Soubise can no longer deny his sadism- he fears that the mermaid will turn against him and out of delusion, he kills the mermaid. He will eventually regret killing his only companion and go crazy over what he did, then the next second he's coming up with ways to make use of her beautiful scales and body.

Now, Marie Josephe would just be stunned because how the hell did she come across a mermaid? And goddamn, she wants to satisfy her curiosity so bad. She manages to lure in the mermaid using empty promises, claiming she'll "help" her convert into Christianity, making up complicated bullshit the mermaid has to go through in order to be accepted by God. "So I'm gonna have to cleanse the impurity in you by opening you up, I hope ya don't mind. Trust me, every Christian goes through this in order ta get a pass in heaven." Like Soubise, she ends up killing the mermaid as well, for the purpose of dissecting the creature to her hearts content. All this interaction from beginning to end is in the span of maybe... 2 days.

[doiefy]

ballroom extravaganza (m?) // kim doyoung, jung jaehyun // preview

The house on the hill has been a mystery for some time. Some say hell, most say heaven—but for the good and wicked alike, it remains a safe haven built by a faceless group known as the Seraphim, on a foundation of secrets they're willing to take to their graves.

For 27-year-old Jung Jaehyun trying to escape a family and job he hates, the manor is an easy distraction: wealth and extravagance where no one knows his name, and endless entertainment riddled with the type of danger he craves. But for the Seraph who catches Jaehyun's eye one late night, it's nothing short of home. Although held together by a twisted love and afflicted by paranormal activity, the mysterious inhabitants of the house are Doyoung's only semblance of family.

Whether by fate or sheer coincidence, the two are brought together to reevaluate the ground they stand upon, and the horrors buried beneath. And to come to the slow realization: their worst fears have been in front of them the entire time, rooted firmly in both their mortal bodies and broken souls.

genre: angst, paranormal, horror

pairing: kim doyoung x jung jaehyun (yeah i'm fully aware that you nerds don't read mxm but did I ask? no :))

word count: 4.2k preview, ~50k full fic

warnings: heavy language, blood and violence, minor character death, smoking. full fic includes alcohol, drugs, sexual content (not explicit smut but heavy references to/implications of rather intense sexual relationships. despite this, minors pls dni for everyone's sanity), some vague indication of undiagnosed mental conditions and stigma, generally this fic is pretty heavy but I've become desensitized as fuck writing it lmfao.

expected release: july 2023 at the latest or i will literally go insane

this was very much (and obviously) inspired by dpr ian's mito 2, from the general ✨vibes✨ to the chapter titles. absolute banger of an album, do give it a listen while reading. tag list available by dm/ask.

one: seraph

The skies begin to bleach red And the stars begin to fall.

AT DUSK, Seraph’s Hill was truly a surreal sight to behold.

It held the briefest moment between evening and night frozen in time. While the rest of the world darkened to a deep indigo, the property sat isolated, still bathed in a brilliant amber glow. All beige brick and polished marble, it seemed to cradle the sun’s remains between its soaring rooftops and overgrown balconies. It stopped the celestial bodies in their orbits, rewriting time, rewriting space and natural law, all in some vain attempt to retain a few more minutes of daylight. The fountains spewed molten gold, the gardens flashed iridescent colours, and the stone statues lit their wings ablaze. 

It wasn’t especially angelic or heavenly, despite its name. It was hardly coherent, if you stared at it for long enough: a strange mismatch of architecture styles, something vaguely between Mediterranean revival and neoclassical, with gothic fountains out front. The lack of coordination was all due to Leliel’s indecision at the time of its construction—so thought the estate’s various visitors. But as the original story went among the Seraphim, Azrael had murdered the original contractor, prompting the hiring of a second person to finish the job. 

On this particular evening, the pearly gates swung open for a black car. Behind the wheel, Kim Doyoung looked out across the property—he had one hand steering the vehicle, and the other hanging casually out the window with a cigarette stuck between two fingers. The gates closed behind him, silently, on well-oiled hinges. Even the automated clang of the lock was muted, so as to not disturb guests; peace was just another one of Leliel’s attempts to emulate paradise. 

He pulled the car up the driveway, making quick observation of the yard. There was no one in sight; no sign of his contact, and only a handful of familiar vehicles parked behind the west wing. He was to meet a man who had every ill intention against the Seraphim; and it seemed he had arrived too early. 

Most would feel restless at this point, either overthinking the entire ordeal or simply irritated by the notion of waiting, yet Doyoung was strangely calm. He parked the car, snapped the key out of the ignition, and hastily pulled the visor down to check his reflection.

The goal was to look effortlessly presentable for this meeting, and not like he had been on the road for several hours. Unfortunately, the black eyes that stared back at him from the mirror harboured exhaustion. The smoke spilling from his lips made for an even harsher appearance, leeching the colour from his cheeks and adding grey streaks to his long locks of jet hair. Someone had once told him he was a visually conflicting person: all soft curves dressed in angular shapes, fair skin marked with black tattoos, a gentle voice paired with an intense gaze. He understood now, their reasons for confusion, and how his strange sense of fashion could be disadvantageous at times like these.

He combed his fingers through his hair and tied it at the base of his neck—as well as he could, anyways; it was still too short to stay in place for too long.  A bit of cream to soothe the dry patches of skin on his hands, then the cheap cologne he kept in his bag, to mask the potent smell of gas and blood. The cigarette met his lips one last time before he climbed out of the car and crushed it underfoot. 

“There you are.”

Doyoung turned, his back meeting the side of his car as he searched for the source of noise. Confusion took him a moment later, when he registered a woman’s voice and a soft silhouette on the wall—dusted with the golden rays of sunset, harmoniously one with the gentle autumn breeze. She stepped out of the shadows in a flash of long, silver hair and silver jewellery. With mean eyes and a deep crease in her brow, she must have been in her early, if not late, thirties.

This certainly wasn’t who Doyoung had agreed to meet with.

“I’m sorry?” his voice came out relaxed, almost a little slurred. There was a long pause before he spoke again, this time tired. “Prince Seir sent you?” 

“Foolish boy,” the woman murmured; her speech was so unnecessarily dignified and irritating, but Doyoung said nothing of it. He wouldn’t bother.

Instead, he mustered a wry grimace. “You are Prince Seir, then.” He gave a curious tilt of his head. “Why waste so much of your time convincing me that you were a man?”

“You lot who frequent this hellhole don’t seem like the type to take a woman seriously,” she snorted, throwing her head back. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, catching moonlight between each individual strand. “The women here are treated like whores and servants, isn’t that right? You likely call them to your room for entertainment.” 

Doyoung scoffed. “I don’t care for women, ma’am. Never have.” He paused, realizing how that must have sounded to her. “I’m not interested in women.” It didn’t seem to help; she pointed an accusing finger at him. 

“You’re really something, boy.“

“And you’re a bitch who’s wasting my time, despite my trying to take her seriously. Now, are you going to give me a job? Or will we be here all night?”

The woman stared at him for another long moment, clearly enraged. Doyoung almost wondered if he was hallucinating—her figure seemed to phase in and out of existence, and her deep anger was so out of place on a set of soft features. She could’ve been a trick of the light, a product of the disturbed mind; and Doyoung could wake up stoned and piss drunk, nowhere near the current scene. It wouldn’t have been the first time. 

At last, she spoke. Paired with a deliberate, impatient gesture of her hand came the words: “Come with me.”

Doyoung obliged, following her out of the lot. They walked wordlessly up a gravel road and past a gate, into a garden. It was surrounded on all sides by white walls and arched windows—the centrepiece of the property. Eden was a stunning display of wealth and beauty. 

Lanterns dangled from every rooftop, flanking tall, white columns. Water spilled from a colossal arrangement of natural stone. Twin paths of interlocking stones circled the pool, splitting at a particular junction where they then lead to several smaller courtyards. Each alcove housed a statue and overflowing pot of vibrant flowers that climbed up the walls on twirling stems. Doyoung paused before a marble statue of a young maiden and dropped a single coin in her basket, as had become customary. Supposedly Israfel had started the tradition after waking up hungover at her feet. 

But the silver-haired lady ahead of him didn’t seem to know this; and even if she did, she didn’t care. Seir snapped her fingers impatiently, and Doyoung hurried to catch up.

They arrived at an alcove on the opposite side of the space, and were greeted by a stone king on his throne. He stared down at them unkindly, his fist tight around his scepter. Without hesitation, the woman reached for his crown, stuck her hand within the circlet of stone, and pushed. The back wall of the alcove, covered all over with ivy and wild begonias, quivered. Then with just the slightest resistance, it swung inwards to reveal a dark tunnel. 

The woman fished a flashlight out of her pocket and switched it on. “The Seraphim’s lair.” She gave the stone king a patronizing pat on the shoulder, then sneered at him in contempt, “Hidden behind a statue of a king. A little too on the nose, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps,” Doyoung muttered wryly, and followed her into the tunnel. 

With a bit of effort, they replaced the wall, though Doyoung thought it was an issue of little importance; at this hour, most would be far too intoxicated to notice.

Once the wall had been pushed flush against the statue, they were swallowed by darkness. The flashlight did little against it, but Seir forged ahead with confidence, leaving Doyoung to stumble along. It was silent for the first few minutes, before classical music began to drift through the walls, adagio and mezzo piano. Snippets of conversation followed. There was a broken moan, and then a flirtatious laugh. Slow inhales. Satisfied exhales. Deep within the walls of the property, the pair bore witness to a multitude of illicit activities.

At long last, it fell quiet again. The ground began to slope downwards, steeper and steeper, until it reached a short flight of stairs. Seir paused at the bottom, feeling carefully along the wall for something. All of a sudden, a dirty yellow glow washed across the room—what looked like a storage closet, only about two arm spans across. Pinned to the furthest wall was an arrangement of photos and notes: the Seraphim, their names, images, details, entire floor plans for the estate in which they supposedly lived.

“What is this?” Doyoung asked. He was taken aback, to say the least, by the sheer amount of detail, not to mention the unknown motivations behind it all. He stepped forward to take a closer look, reaching instinctively for the photo that had slipped loose from the corkboard. The image of a striking man with black hair and eyes flashed before him, then vanished as Seir slapped his hand away. 

“Don’t touch,” she hissed. 

“I was looking.” 

“Look with your eyes. You’ll touch them soon enough.” 

“These are the targets?” Doyoung raised a brow, doing a quick count of the photos. Eight. “All eight of them?”

Seir gave a dissatisfied growl. “I did most of the work, didn’t I? How difficult could it possibly be for you to kill them, when all the details are so conveniently prepared for you?”

“I wasn’t complaining,” Doyoung snapped. “And I don’t doubt my abilities. I doubt your abilities in miraculously tracking down every last detail about the eight most mysterious men in the city. Forgive me when I say I’m skeptical.”

“That isn’t your concern as a contract killer. You have no loyalties, you’re paid to do as I tell you, not to refute—”

Doyoung snorted in disbelief. “I’m not allowed to be curious? Believe me, you’re not the only person who has been after the Seraphims’ true identities. This house is a mystery, and I want to know how you solved it.”

There was a beat of empty silence. Then the woman's lips curled back in visible disgust, revealing a set of gleaming white teeth. Her hatred was unmistakable. “Go dig through a shithole first, go get dirt under your fingernails, go whore yourself out to the most despicable scum of the earth, then maybe you’ll figure it out yourself. You have no idea what I’ve done just to get here.”

“Well, then I commend you—”

“Your praise won’t change my mind, boy.”

Doyoung frowned. So she was conceited enough to be condescending, but not quite enough to break at his praise. Fine. He could resort to other methods.

He turned his attention back to the Seraphim, noting their angelic names and dangerous appearances. No two looked the same—each visually unique on their own—yet when lined up one after the next, they began to blur into an indecipherable, melted concoction of facial features. Brown eyes and dark gazes. Grey hair, wild manes, red lips, stained mouths. Uriel scowled at him from behind a pair of red-tinted glasses. Matariel watched with immense judgement, as if her hair wasn’t white as snow and there wasn’t a thick layer of cream blush smoothed over her cheeks. 

“You’re missing one,” Doyoung noticed after a few moments—an obvious gap between Leliel and Uriel, and a name written in big, black letters: “Azrael.”

“He’s been dealt with,” Seir replied shortly. 

“Didn’t leave his photo up? X his eyes out with a red marker, maybe?”

“You talk too much,” she hissed in frustration. “And Azrael was the worst of them. A cold-blooded murderer. He killed my brother.”

Doyoung scoffed. “And you hiring me to kill eight people doesn’t make you any worse than him?”

“You have no idea what type of people they are. You have no idea what they do.”

He sighed, taking two steps back. The shadows parted for him, and the room fell incredibly still, incredibly silent—and it did so incredibly quickly. One second, the woman’s voice bounced back and forth between the walls, filling the entire space with anger and disdain. The next, she was barely a whisper. Standing about an arms’ length away from Doyoung with her back turned to him, she had become strangely small in his eyes. 

“I’m well aware of the things we do, dear prince.”

The silence wavered, trembling as metal appeared between Doyoung’s fingers. There was a visible refraction against the far wall and a shrill warning as something cut through the air. Then his left hand was on the woman’s shoulder and his right was drawing metal across the soft flesh of her throat. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream, and her eyes bulged out of her skull.

“You killed an innocent man,” he murmured.

He let her crumble to the ground. 

The waves crashed. Crimson lapped at his shoes. The weapon hung limply at his side, dripping rhythmically, shimmering with molten amber. He watched the pigment seep into the dead woman’s hair; he watched the white strands float down the red river. Unconsciously, he let a string of curses spill from his lips, then reached for his lighter. What a mess.

Azrael walked out of the room a few minutes later, picking blood off of his nails and bleeding smoke from the mouth. 

“You’re making a mess, Doyoung.” 

Doyoung looked down. Indeed, there was a trail of bloody footprints behind him: where he stood, they were pink marks against the glossy floor tile, and where the door opened to the hallway, they glistened bright red. Too distracted by his thoughts and the gruelling cleanup after Seir’s murder, he simply hadn’t realized. 

Now Johnny peered at him impassively from behind his desk—neither understanding nor upset, simply observing and strangely quiet. Doyoung could feel similar stares from the others around the room; though the other Seraphim were more forthcoming with their opinions, much more outspoken than their leader. Yuta sat in the corner, snickering in amusement and wiping at the red lenses of his glasses. Donghyuck waved at him mockingly. Jungwoo mumbled a pointed comment beneath his breath.

Scowling to himself, Doyoung stepped out of his shoes. He approached Johnny’s desk without them, and set the evidence down for his inspection: a clear plastic bag that held every photo, every paper, every piece of writing from Prince Seir’s wall. In his annoyance and carelessness while taking them down from the cork board, he’d torn several pieces and crudely taped them back together.

“How did you kill him?” Jungwoo crooned from where he sat, fanning his freshly-painted nails with a magazine.

Doyoung responded with only a finger drawn over his throat and a quiet correction: “Her. It was a woman.”

“And how did she manage to piece this all together?” Johnny asked; the room quickly returned its attention to him. He had laid the images out on the table, and was glowering down at them—as if flimsy, blood-stained papers still had potential to do harm. Perhaps they did; the notion of intruders and spies in their midst was hardly encouragement. 

“Ugh! That’s the photo on my driver’s license!” Donghyuck cut in, whining obnoxiously as he sauntered over, clearly and horrifyingly drunk. He reached for the two halves of his photo, only to have them snatched away by Johnny. 

“Enough,” the elder grunted, gently pushing Donghyuck into a chair and returning his attention to Doyoung. “Well? Do you know?”

Doyoung hesitated—he knew exactly who Johnny would blame if he told him—and he resisted the urge to look at the person in question. “She found the old service tunnel in the east wing,” he started, then paused to survey the leader for his reaction: Johnny narrowed his eyes, but said nothing for the time being. “She snuck around our quarters through the walls and installed cameras in the air vents. That was enough for her to get images of our faces and hear our names.”

“And what about you? She had never seen you before tonight?”

“No. I got lucky. The vents in my room aren’t part of the network in the east wing, and even if they were, I was out of town for a few weeks. She mistook Jeno for me while I was gone.”

Johnny’s jaw tightened. “And she had him killed.”

“Yes.”  

The revelation brought a deathly hush. Doyoung was right: they had gotten lucky. Had Seir hired any other person to kill them, had they been even a little less prepared, any one of them could have met the same fate as Jeno. 

“Mark,” Johnny sighed at last, locking gazes with the one person who had kept his quiet this entire time. “Come here.”

Mark obediently shuffled to his feet, rising out of the shadows. The expression on his face was already wounded, like he knew what was to come; and when he stood motionless before the leader with his head lowered, he took on the form of a child awaiting chastisement. For several moments, Johnny simply looked him up and down, all prior emotion having disappeared from his eyes. For several moments, the air hung still, as they all held back from doing anything they might regret. 

Then Johnny lashed out, striking Mark across the cheek with little remorse.

The sharp sound of contact rang through the room, snapping everyone back to attention. Yuta looked up, frowning. Doyoung tensed. Even Donghyuck seemed to sober, and momentarily quit his garbled whining. 

They all knew: Johnny didn’t get violent often.

“John,” Yuta said in soft warning, but it went disregarded. 

“This keeps happening, Mark,” Johnny said lowly, leaning forward against the desk so he could stoop a little lower and meet the younger man’s gaze. “Why is that? Did you forget what I asked you to do?”

Mark shook his head no—he remembered exactly what he had been told—but Johnny answered for him anyway. “I said we needed to tighten up our security. Any corridors we’ve stopped using, any rooms that could potentially give us away, I told you to block them off. So why haven’t you?”

There was a shaky breath. “Taeil said not to.” 

“Taeil told you that?”

Mark nodded slowly. “He still needs access to plumbing. And ventilation. So I made the corridor accessible on both sides, but only to us— I-I thought he told you—”

“Fine. If Taeil said not to, fine,” Johnny snapped. “But you can do better than some hidden fucking entrance behind a statue that anyone can find.” The pause that came directly afterwards conveyed an even harsher warning. His voice dropped in volume, not low enough to be inaudible, but enough to sound especially cold. “You disappoint me, Mark. You’ve disappointed me too many times. For your sake and the rest of our sakes, I hope this is your last.” 

“Johnny,” Yuta called his name again, this time sharply. “Lay off him.”

“When he learns his lesson,” Johnny replied through clenched teeth. “He could’ve gotten one of us killed. Hell, Jeno’s already—”

“You’ve put him through enough.”  

Watching wordlessly from the sidelines, Doyoung expected Johnny to snap—to round on Yuta the way he had with Mark, claiming to have done no wrong. He waited for the room to dissolve into chaos, as it often did. But to his surprise, Johnny stayed quiet. He averted his gaze, clenched his jaw, and held back the words that were clearly on his tongue. “You can go, Mark,” he said at last, his expression easing from anger to discontentment when he caught sight of Yuta on his right. “I’m sure you’re busy.” 

And to the rest of the Seraphim present, “You’re all dismissed. Doyoung, I’d like a word.” 

Mark shuffled out of the room with his eyes still glued to his feet. The rest hauled a drunk Donghyuck along, and Yuta brought up the rear; he closed the door on his way out, leaving Doyoung and Johnny alone. 

“You’ve been hard on Mark,” Doyoung said after a few moments, once the footsteps in the hall had faded away. 

“I’ve been hard on everyone,” Johnny corrected him. There hung an air of exhaustion around the angel of night, and it was clear as day. His hair hung in dark tendrils around his face. His complexion had gone uneven, dark around his eyes like he hadn’t been sleeping well. While he usually donned various silver accents and expensive accessories to blend into the crowd upstairs, his appearance tonight was rather plain. Doyoung had left town on business only two weeks prior; but this and the thick tension he witnessed earlier suggested things had taken a turn since then. 

“Should I be glad that I wasn’t here?” Doyoung asked, noting the collection of cigarette stumps in Johnny’s ashtray—it was normally empty.

And Johnny replied shortly, “I’m sure things were worse on your end.”

He wasn’t wrong; the red stains in the backseat of Doyoung’s car and the duffle bag he’d thrown in a bonfire were enough testament. 

“Well, the cleanup was rather—”

Johnny wrinkled his nose in disgust. “I don’t want details.” 

 Doyoung watched in mild amusement as the leader rummaged restlessly around his desk for something. “I’m worried,” Johnny said absentmindedly as he produced a new pack of cigarettes from the drawer. So the collection of black remains in the ashtray did belong to him, Doyoung concluded as he watched; it seemed Johnny had fallen prey to old habits. 

“About what?”

He was left waiting for an answer while Johnny fished a lighter from his pocket and raised it to the cigarette between his lips. 

“Everything,” came the delayed reply, flat and emotionless, tight with irritation. “Business has been getting worse. Guests are getting bored and leaving for good. Taeil’s gone off the rails too. He’s deaf to reason.”

“What did he do now?”

“He thinks he can solve all our issues with chemistry.” His face lit up with remembrance. “Right, don’t drink the tap water, he’s laced it with something.”

“Again?”

“Yes, again. Some sort of sedative. He thinks it’ll keep people soft and pliant and dumb enough to consider extending their stay. It doesn’t matter, because it won’t work. Now all of this—” Johnny spread his hands for emphasis. “—these people sneaking around the house and trying to unearth secrets that don’t exist? Strangers putting bounties on our heads when we’ve done nothing wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say we’re completely innocent.”

Johnny gave a bark of emotionless laughter; he couldn’t deny it. The drugs and illicit substances, Doyoung’s side hustle in contract killing, Taeil’s bloodied lab in the basement, countless other things that he had lost track of. All for the sake of found family, for the sake of the most important people in his life and for the sake of their collective sanity, he would allow it. 

“Tell me everything,” he said at last, resting his smoke on the rim of the bronze tray. 

“Everything about…?”

“This Prince Seir you met.” 

So Doyoung told him. He told him about the strange trails that had been left in dark corners of the internet and old clubs of a nearby town. They were subtle messages, sent by an individual who needed a “job” fulfilled on Seraph’s Hill. He told him about Taeyong, who had noticed a strange alias checking in and out of the estate every now and then, the same one Doyoung had seen online. Then about Jungwoo, who passed Doyoung’s name through groups and groups of distant associates, until it reached Seir herself—at which point she contacted him by email. 

Johnny never interrupted nor spoke. He maintained the same posture in his chair and took occasional drags from his cigarette, never moving more than was required. Though he was quiet, he was hardly a good listener: unresponsive, horribly vague when he did react, always maintaining an overwhelming presence that loomed uncomfortably over Doyoung as he spoke. He felt as if he was talking to a brick wall, and at the same time, like the brick wall was staring into the very depths of his soul, passing judgement on every word that came out of his mouth. 

“You’re on the internet often, then, if that’s how you stumbled across her.” Johnny peered at him with intrigue when he finished. “Forums dedicated to us, online discussion about us… Tell me, what do people say about Seraph’s Hill?”

“A lot of bullshit.” 

Johnny was cross. “What do they say?”

“That we’re a house of mysteries. That it’s strange, how people can come in sober and ready to unearth our secrets, but always wake up wasted the next morning.”

“Doing drugs does that to you.” 

“The water tastes weird. The statues in the back gardens are creepy. The whiskey is fucking overpriced, and the blonde bartender is sexy. That kind of bullshit.” 

Johnny said nothing. For the next minute and a half, they listened to the gurgling of water in the fountains and the classical music from the ballroom. The hands of the clock behind them moved along without noise, but Doyoung heard ticking in his head. 

“Thank you,” Johnny said at last, and put his cigarette to the dusty metal of the ashtray. A steady stream of smoke escaped his fingers, fading to nothing. “You can go now.” 

Doyoung got up from where he sat, only to see his leader’s expression shift once more—almost like he’d remembered something important. There was a momentary pause, and he seemed softer. 

“It’s good to have you back, Doyoung.” 

He nodded in agreement; it was good to be home. 

On the other side of the property, moonlight fell between the iron gates of hell—illuminating the crimson streaks on the prince’s face, and guiding the two figures who escorted her. Her silver hair made glimmering lines on the concrete, and her broken body scraped haphazardly along the ground. There was no need to be delicate, so long as her innards remained intact for what was to come next. She passed into the underground, eyes wide and unmoving, frozen in their sockets. 

And a cloud passed over the moon. 

[blacklight-creature]

☆IF IT ALL BURNS DOWN☆

Chapter 2

Description:Swiss shows Phantom around the ministry and Dew doesn't like him

Tw: yelling, Swiss is really sad at the start, Dew is pretty much Jax from tadc

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-☆-

Swiss was sitting on his bed listening to his record player and just thinking, thinking about Aether more specifically. Thousands of thoughts plagued his brain as he recalled fond memories the Ghoul had with Aether, he saw him nearly as a parental figure although really all did.

The memory of Papa telling the pack of how one of their own was sent back to the carnage of Hell. Only a few days later was this followed bu Sunshine choosing to move to another ministry. He didn't know if he should be angry or distraught at the moment but he really just felt so empty.

"Knock knock"

A voice was heard from behind Swiss' door.

"Come in" Swiss said in the happiest voice he could muster.

With that the door opened revealing a very nervous Copia, "Hello! Swiss umm... I have a little favour I need from you sooo as you know we are summoning 2 new Ghouls...."

Copia's words seemed far away as Swiss realised something so simple he had completely forgotten about.

If you send a Ghoul back you have to replace them.

"Sooo it would be lovely if you would give the new Ghoul a tour?"

"Um y-yeah Papa I can do that sure yep" Swiss stumbled over his words not knowing how to react.

"Ah good my Ghoul!" Copia responded gesturing for Swiss to follow him down to the summoning room which Swiss obliged. When they got there Swiss was greeted with the sight of a small quintessence Ghoul. He had Purple skin with dark blue and orange accents, one eye glowed golden orange and the other was milky nearly iridescent in nature. This eye was surrounded with burn scars that seem to have bleached his skin and part of his dark blue hair. He had a long fluffy tail and strange frills on the sides of his head.

He wasn't anything like Aether.

Despite this Swiss made the decision to not show his disappointment, smiling brightly at the Ghoul.

The Ghoul squeaked at him in response.

Rude.

Soon Copia dashed out of the room complaining something about Seestor though Swiss honestly wasn't paying much attention to the awkward man's ramblings.

"So, hey I'm Swiss um I'm sure Copia has already told you why your here so I'm not going to explain it again" Swiss stated as he bounced uncomfortably on his heels.

"So be a lamb darlin', won't you follow me" Swiss giggled.

The quintessence Ghoul who was now standing infront of him simply stared at him.

Swiss stared back.

"It's a Hamilton reference" Swiss mumbled sadly as he began to walk down the hall towards the practice room. The smaller Ghoul trailing behind him.

The 2 Ghouls walked to the practice room in incredibly awkward silence.

They both stop infront of the practice room.

"Okay so the ministry is pretty big so I'm only going to show you the rooms you will be using, that fine with you....ehh what the fuck is your name again" Swiss looks at the Ghoul behind him in new found confusion.

"Phantom, i-its Phantom"

"PHANTOM OF THE OPERA" Swiss practically screamed as he opens the door to the practice room.

Phantom's ears pin back at the volume at which the multi Ghoul screamed.

They both walked into the practice room and were greeted with a very annoyed Dew who first looked at Swiss before directing his anger at Phantom.

"Whi the fuck is that" Dew hissed as he put his guitar down and stomped towards the pair, tail lashing.

"Okay Dew this is Phantom our new quintes-"

"New?!"

"Yes Dew our new quintessence, Phantom this is Dew our fire Ghoul" Swiss quickly spoke.

All Dew gave in response was a growl before he stormed out of the room.

"So sorry about that! Dew can be like that sometimes" Swiss tried to comfort the already skittish Ghoul.

Phantom's tail wrapped around his leg in attempt to soothe himself.

Swiss feelings even more awkward then before only looking to get back to his as quickly as possible trying to think of an easy way out of the situation.

"Hey! I can clearly see your upset so how about I bring you to your room for the night yeah?" Swiss says with his familiar smile.

Phantom only nods in response.

The pair walk past the Ghoul common room where a few Ghouls are occupying the space and down to the Ghoul wing.

Swiss then realises Phantom will have to take Aethers room and so he points him to Aether's door before he could even say a word to the quint, the door is slammed shut.

Seeing nothing more to do Swiss walks back to his own room and collapse onto his bed, Heather's still playing on his record player.

[awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands]

Halloween Headcanons 2023 : Sharise Ruddell x Bobbie Brown getting ready for an halloween party

A/N: So this is slightly different because it's not headcanons but a little one shot. The Halloween theme is still present but this is just @glamourizedcocaine and me shamelessly loving thse two together <3. Speaking of them, I want to thank them for the support and inspiration in writing this <3

Bobbie wasn’t really surprised by the amount of pink in Sharise’s room, however she didn’t expect her mirror to be that color either. The red horn headband really complemented her red mini dress and proved that she really was meant to be the devil in the duo, as Sharise said.

She had no idea what the other girl was doing in the bathroom but the faint sound of cabinets being opened and objects clashing was getting too much for Bobbie who had to suppress a yawn

“What the hell are you doing, Sharise?” She yelled.

Shortly after the house owner appeared with her hands full of makeup pallets and a huge grin on her face. Bobbie’s heart almost skipped a beat when she noticed Sharise’s makeup : a gold glitter eyeshadow that made her eyes pop even more, followed by iridescent glitters on her face and a pink lipgloss. Bobbie’s cheeks were tainted red as she realized not only that Sharise was a perfect angel but that she was staring at her back.

“Sorry, I was trying to find the perfect shape for your makeup. I think I have a great selection to work with now.” Sharise pointed her bed and Bobbi raised her eyebrow.

“Do you want me to lay on the bed?”

“Yeah, it’s easier to apply that way!”

Bobbie knew something or two about makeup, however she wasn’t about to break one of the most important girl rules: you do what whoever puts your makeup tells you to do. So she laid down and soon the mattress gently was weighed down by Sharise.

“Okay so do you prefer kisses or pout ?"

“What?” Bobbie’s cheeks turned a darker shade of pink as Sharise let out a giggle.

“The name of the shades, see?” She turned her wrist, showing two pigmented lines. “Kisses is the first and pout is the second.”

“Kisses” is fine.” 

Sharise took the brush and gently started to apply the eyeshadow on the crease of her eye. Bobbie’s heart dropped down as she couldn’t help but feel so silly for always making herself a fool whenever Sharise was around, probably she was just very intimidated by such a beautiful and talented woman so her brain just shut down every time.

“Wait, I can’t reach this spot.” The other blonde said, moving closer to Bobbie and sitting on her lap, while her face got dangerously close to Bobbie’s.

She really hoped Sharise couldn’t hear how much her heart was beating, because Bobbie could feel the loud thump in her ear and shivers all over her arms. She was basically forced to stare Sharise’s face back and notice how her nose would wrinkle while focused. 

“I’m gonna use pout for the eyelid, okay?” She asked and Bobbie nodded, even if probably one word out of the eight was registered by her brain.

Sharise’s elbow was resting on her shoulder for support but it felt like an open flame for Bobbie, a type of warmth she wished could last forever. And that’s when something hit her like a freight train: she wished Sharise would touch her like that all time, she wished she would notice her in a room full of other people and that she would apply her makeup for the rest of her life.

“Your lashes are so pretty. I always have to curve mine but yours are just perfect.” Sharise said out of nowhere while applying the mascara and since when they were already at the mascara part?

“Thanks… I do love yours too.” She choked back while Sharise nodded.

After applying the mascara, time seemed to stop as Sharise just stared at her probably to admire her own work. Bobbie stayed completely silent, eyes focused on the white wings resting on a chair in the background and already grieving a bit the eventual loss of contact. 

“I love your lips too. So soft and plump, a red lipstick would fit so well here.” She added, gently tracing Bobbie’s lips with her fingers.

Whatever brain cell was still active in Bobbie’s brain officially stopped working once she felt Sharise’s fingertips on her. They were just as soft as she imagined and she had to fight everything in her to not do the same to Sharise, scared to just have misinterpreted the situation, however she couldn’t stop her cheeks turning red once again.

“ I want to try something but promise me to not freak out, okay?” Sharise’s tone was serious and Bobbie nodded, even if she was internally freaking out from long enough.

The laying girl could barely register the other girl getting even closer to her face, before feeling Sharise’s lips on her. The strawberry invaded her mouth and the movements were so tender and delicate that she wondered how it was possible for someone to kiss like that. She tried to follow Sharise’s gentle pace but it felt like her first kiss all over again.

The kiss couldn’t have lasted for than a minute yet it felt a beautiful eternity, Bobbie was left with a pounding heart and plump lips while Sharise’s lipgloss was definitely smudged in some areas but she didn’t seem to care even after Bobbie’s fingertips gently whipped the spots away.

“Do you want to see how it looks before putting on your lipstick?” Sharise hopped off her, making Bobbie almost pouting, but she refrained herself from that and went to the mirror instead. 

The two types of red perfectly matched her outfit, her eyes seemed bigger and more powerful and she had no doubt that everyone watching the two of them would have fell to their feet. 

“Wow, you did just a great job!” Bobbie exclaimed and Sharise smiled proudly of her ability, resting her head on Bobbie’s shoulder and looking in the mirror.

They didn’t say anything for a while but it wasn’t needed. Bobbi’s head seemed a never ending maze, analyzing every outcome and consequence to what had just happened but her heart was just happy like a child in a candy store.

““Maybe we should apply the lipstick, so we still have time to reapply it in case we mess it up.” She had to look away from the mirror, ashamed of saying something so corny and silly but Sharise didn’t seem to mind.

“You’re absolutely right! I have to reapply mine too, maybe you can help me with that?” Bobbie nodded and they stole one last look at the mirror. 

For a moment Jani’s image popped up in Bobbie’s mind and she wondered when it was the last time she felt like that with him. However she quickly shook her head and followed Sharise to bed, a part of her knew it was pointless to compare the two of them because Sharise’s lips were much softer and she didn’t taste like gin.

But most importantly now her lips tasted of Bobbie just like Bobbie’s tasted of Sharise’s.

[emperor-palpaminty]

Wrecker finds an interesting souvenir for reader on his latest adventure/mission

WRECKAH

Cid's joint was always too quiet with the batch gone. You were currently staring at your cup, slowly running your finger along the rim of it. It was a hot as hell day and dry, too- the rain had been sparse for a few weeks now, and you were really feeling it.

"You still waitin'?" Cid asked, propping a hand on the counter. You only offered a half hearted smile and nodded, examining the little bit of remaining drink.

"Yeah." A slow exhale, slow as the heat, left your lungs. "Life feels a little boring without them."

"Don't I know it." Omega swung her legs as she looked up at you. You blinked, almost having forgotten they left her behind for this mission. It was too dangerous or some such reason as that. "I miss them a lot." Omega propped her chin in her little hand.

You chuckled. You truly sympathized with her, and you gently patted her head, right where the dark roots peeked through her blonde hair. "Yeah. I do too. But that doesn't mean it's always boring, right?"

"Hunter doesn't want us leaving. And I know we shouldn't because it can be dangerous, but-" Omega dropped her forehead onto the counter, a sound of irritation leaving her throat.

You nodded. She was upset- she didn't like feeling left behind. Useless. Alone. Words could help, especially when you felt the same.

The door to the lounge slid open, perking you up. Omega remained face down on the counter.

"... Well, moping, aren't we?"

Omega's head popped up. She gasped, dark eyes lighting up as she scrambled off the bar stool. "Hunter!" She squealed, launching for him. The leader of the Batch laughed, both his hands wrapping around the child. You turned and smiled, watching the sweet scene- it was clear that his paternal affections had grown far more than any of the batch, including himself, could have anticipated. "I missed you."

"Missed ya too, kid."

You turned to your drink, taking your last sip of the drink as you heard a heavy and familiar laugh enter- you stayed with your back to the group, just to allow the little family to reunite in their own privacy for a moment.

Family was rare, in this broken galaxy.

The same footsteps came your way, and you glanced towards the source. "Wrecker, any trouble coming back?"

"Nah." He shifted on his feet, swallowing briefly and glancing back at the group. "Oh- uh, I got you something. From the mission."

You cocked a brow. "A souvenir from a bounty mission?'

Wrecker nodded, a large hand drawing into his small pouch and producing something fragmented crystal bits, you realized. They glistened against his black glove, the iridescent hues of green and blue sweet, reminiscent of an ocean or sky. "I, uh... Tech said they're special. Illum has a lot of crystals, but these made me... Reminded me of you. I mean- your-" He stammered, eyes glued to the crystal.

You chuckled and reached over, gently taking the crystal parts. "I'm touched, Wrecker."

"We did run into some... Trouble. So it broke in my pocket."

You nodded again, looking up at the trooper. His face was flushed, and his eyes were darting away from yours. "I think it's very nice, Wrecker." You grinned, squeezing his arm with your free hand. "I'll make it into something." You tilted your head back to your non-empty cup. "I like that you thought of me."

Wrecker only nodded, before Cid barked something about getting them a drink. The crystal fragments were oddly warm in your hand, and sat comfortably, a reminder that, even if things broke, that was not the end.

[allylikethecat]

I would love if you could do gatty smut prompt with #8. Thank you so much for blessing us with all your writing

I want to start this off by saying thank you so much for sending this prompt in! I had a lot of fun attempting it and I’m very sorry that it is going to be a major let down. I was feeling very ambitious and was like hell yeah I got this and thought that I was for sure going to be able to write a fun smutty prompt fill. Then I was reminded how awful I am at writing smut 😂 So, I apologize for this being not hot and very cringe - I tried my best though! And if you’re gonna laugh, make sure it’s with me and not at me because I am a sensitive soul 😂 anyway without further ado here she is - Ally attempts smut 🤣

Thank you for having faith in me! 

❤️Ally

8. “My God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”

“My god,” George rasped, reaching down to thumb away the tears dripping from the corner of Matty’s left eye, his long, dark lashes clumping together as his eyes watered, fluttering against his cheeks like angel’s wings as he tried desperately to keep them open. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this.” And he was, his cheeks flushed, his curls sweaty and askew, looking up at George with empty eyes, his pupils blown wide. His bitten red lips were swollen, stretched around George’s girth like it was what he was made to do. Like he was made to be used, like he was made for George to fuck his throat. Like it was his divine purpose on this Earth.

Matty preened, humming at the praise, causing George to dig his fingers into his hair, tugging roughly on the curls, forcing himself deeper down Matty’s throat, with no regard for his gag reflex as he chased his pleasure. Matty swallowed around him, his breath coming out through his nose in a strained whistle whilst his throat clenched and his mind grew fuzzy.

“So good for me,” George murmured, pulling Matty’s head back, arching his neck, before slamming his hips forward again. Matty whined, his entire body rocking with the motion, drool dripping down his chin in thick rivers of saliva as he swirled his tongue. It was wet, messy and uncoordinated, his head empty and heavy, the weight of George’s cock on his tongue the only thing keeping him alive, George’s rough grip on his curls the only thing holding his head up.

George knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the way Matty was moving his tongue, not with the way his eyes kept rolling back in his skull, not with the way he was gagging on George’s cock, desperate for him, trying in vain to take him deeper and deeper, as if he tried hard enough they could mold themselves together into one singular celestial being.

“Such a good boy,” George praised him, loosening his grip to pet Matty’s jaw, feeling himself staining against Matty’s cheek. “So pretty.” Matty whimpered, his hips bucking against the air, George words sending him spiraling further and further away from his body, desperate for his own release, but desperate to be good.

“Can you come like this?” George asked, knowing Matty had before. “Can you come from just the pleasure of choking on my cock?”

Matty whined, palming himself through his jeans, straining painfully against the zipper, so overcome by George, by his own need.

George growned, the sound low as he jerked Matty’s head back, causing him to cough, releasing George’s cock with a wet pop. “I didn’t say you could touch,” he chastised and Matty whimpered, his eyes closed, lips ajar, panting desperately, tears of despair leaking from his eyes and he dug his nails into Geroge’s thighs. He felt empty and untethered, like he was spiraling out of control without the weight of George to ground him. George jerked himself roughly, once, then twice, coming across Matty’s face, the thick ropes of his release splashing across his jaw, iridescent pearls clumping in his curls and gathering over his eye lashes. Matty moaned, his tongue darting out, slick and red, licking at the spray of splatter painting his skin.

George reached out, hauling him up by his hair, bringing their lips together, kissing Matty roughly, kissing him deeply, licking into his mouth, tasting himself on his breath. He bit Matty’s lower lip, dragging his hips forward.

“Get yourself off,” George ordered, and Matty keened, grinding his hips roughly against George’s thigh, desperately. His cock aching as it pressed into the metal teeth of his zipper. But he knew now he wasn’t permitted to touch, he was only given what George allowed him.

“Gorgeous,” George praised, drunk off his own orgasm. “You’re fucking gorgeous, getting yourself off for me, so close just from sucking my cock.”

Matty let out a shaky breath, his jaw slack as he panted, his head falling forward, his chin dropping to his chest, his curls falling to cover his face.

“Open your eyes love,” George said, tilting Matty’s head back and  pressing his thumb to his eyelid, “I want to see those pretty eyes of yours when you come. So pretty just for me.”

Matty’s hips stuttered and he stilled, twitching as he clenched his jaw, before collapsing against George, no longer able to hold himself up as he lost all sense of self.

“Good boy,” said George soothingly, running his hand down Matty’s back. “Such a good boy.”

[beacansidhe]

An AU where homesteader and bird enthusiast Diluc finally indulges in his lifelong dream of raising peafowl, starting with a beautiful peacock he drove halfway across Teyvat to pick up. He dotes upon the gorgeous bird for three days, until he goes to check up on a suspicious sound on the third night and discovers not his new, beloved pet, but a slender, naked, breathtakingly beautiful man lounging in his enclosure instead.

“Oh, hello.” The man, who had been stretched out across the bench in the enclosure, displaying every curve and angle of his sculpted body like an artist’s muse, sits up and stretches. “I didn’t expect to see you here so late. I don’t suppose you have something more substantial to eat, do you? I don’t like this kind of thing.” He gestures to the birdfeed in the dish across the enclosure, hardly pecked at. “Also, it’s very cold in Mondstadt. I’m used to much warmer temperatures. Your attempt at heating the enclosure is a good start, but look at my skin. I’m freezing!”

Diluc’s breath comes out in a gust. “Clothes?”

“Hm? Oh, well, I suppose.”

“You need to put on clothes.”

“I’m afraid those would be within your purview, dear owner.”

“You need to put on clothes and get the fuck off my property before I call the Knights.”

The man looks stunned. His surprise morphs into fear as Diluc stalks into the enclosure, fists balled at his side, rage eclipsing his red, red eyes.  

“Where is my bird? What the fuck did you do to him, you creep?”

“I feel there has been some sort of misunderstanding here—”

“I haven’t misunderstood a damn thing. Get out before I make you get out, and tell me where you put the bird. I am more than capable of making your life hell.”

The strange, beautiful man backs himself into a wall as Diluc approaches with speed, and shoves out his hand, signaling him to stop.

“Wait!” He pushes back his stunning blue hair, iridescent in the bright lamplight much like a peacock’s plumage, and gestures to his right eye—which is scarred conspicuously just like his beloved bird’s.  

Diluc stops in his tracks, all the ire he had been carrying in his body draining out of him instantly.

“Yes, do you see? I am the bird.”

When Diluc makes no further attempts to charge at him, the man relaxes somewhat, next gesturing to his right ankle, which is red and indented in the same general shape as the broken leg tag he picks up out of the bedding. Diluc had put that tag on him this morning.

“Name,” he says curtly.

“Pardon?”

“What is the name of my peacock?”

The man sighs dramatically, as if displeased. “Dawn.”

He should continue interrogating this man making such an outrageous claim, but he is distracted by a much more pressing thought. “Is there something wrong with the name?”

The man—Dawn?—shrugged, looking blasé. “I think it’s a good name in theory, but for a peacock? I think you could have done a bit better, don’t you?”

“What’s wrong with ‘Dawn’?” Diluc sounds petulant even to his own ears.

“Have you ever seen a sunrise with these colours?” ‘Dawn’ gestures to his body—still distractingly nude—and picks up a loose feather from the ground, twirling it between his fingers. “I certainly haven’t.”

“Well, if it’s such a bad name, what would you have chosen?”

“Kaeya,” the man says, without even thinking about it, and graces Diluc with a charming smile so arresting it makes his heart skip a beat. “At least, that’s what my parents named me.”

Diluc trudges over to the bench, utterly dazed, and collapses onto the seat with his head in his hands, trying to process this absurd turn of events.

“You’ve heard of werewolves, I’m sure?”

Diluc covers his mouth, staring into the middle distance. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Well, wolves are not the only animal capable of changing form as the moon wills it. I come from a long, proud lineage of peafowl who take a human form once the sun falls. Or perhaps it was the other way around. It’s a curse, you see, from many moons ago…”

Diluc lets Dawn—Kaeya—prattle on, tuning him out as he considers the situation. How could he even consider believing this? He considers himself quite the rational person, but perhaps it’s that very rationality making him accept this as fact. The evidence—the scar, the leg, a name that no one but himself and his bird could know—is compelling, and why would someone trespass on his property, steal his bird, then hunker down, nude, in its enclosure? Surely no one was that mad.

“…But I got a little bit rambunctious, you see, and found myself caught up with that strange little rancher you purchased me from. I suppose it could have been worse, though. You drove from so far away, just for me! I was flattered.”

Diluc takes another glance at this man and looks away when he sees him sitting very improperly in the corner, knees up and legs spread. He’s never seen—he’s never been in this close proximity with a naked man before. A man whom he is very attracted to. His thoughts wander, his eyes unfocused.

“Were you planning on breeding me, by the way?”

Diluc nearly faints, and his freckled cheeks flare crimson. “Pardon me?!”

Kaeya stares at him like he knows something about Diluc that Diluc does not know.

“Were you planning on purchasing hens for me to breed with? Because I have to say, that might be a bit difficult for me. Not quite to my tastes, you see.”

Diluc opens his mouth, searches for words, finds none. Closes it again.

“Though, if your heart is set upon breeding me…” Kaeya rises to his feet, and prowls over to Diluc, more akin to a limber cat than a bird. He slides next to him on the bench, and Diluc lets him nuzzle into the crook of his neck, where he places his soft, human lips at the shell of his ear, and whispers in the husk of a vixen, “There is another option you could choose that I think might suit us both perfectly.”

And that is how Diluc acquired a housemate, a muse, a lover—and still does not own any peafowl.