#they'll get their own tag don't worry

[hauntingjasper]

We are all afraid of something...

I wonder what Prince Gumball's biggest fear would be?

There's an episode (Five short tables I think) where it shows that he's afraid of dying alone/his own mortality to some extent. I imagine that because he's long-lived and most likely has watched many people die before him, he's scared that there won't be anyone else by *his* side when it's his turn. There's no way of knowing when or how, he wouldn't be ready for it, so that's probably double scarier for him. He's an anxious fella

[metamorphmigus]

[mochinomnoms]

Please share the lewd interspecies romance.

Okay so mostly I have thoughts over the Octavinelle trio, especially the twins 🫣 but i wrote a lil something for most of them! also this was not meant to be so long idk what happened

[tags] - nsfw, AFAB-implied reader, but written gender-neutral, mentions of ruts/heats, breeding, etc

nsfw under read-more, minors DNI!

If you really compare humans to the nonhuman population of Twisted Wonderland, there's are some small physiological differences between species. Fae, surprisingly, don't differ from humans all too much. Land dwellers in general don't have anything too significant, though all of nonhuman species retain aspects of their animal counterparts.

Most of Savanaclaw goes through some sort of rut/heat during various times in the year, primarily early spring and summer. There's no logical reason for them to retain that aspect of their mating cycle anymore, not for a sentient species that have skills of logic and reasoning. Unfortunately, they didn't get to choose how their evolution worked, and so they have to deal with it in anyway they can.

They get a lot more irritable, they have throbbing headaches, their abdomen hurts, and the scent of their mate is a lot more enticing than normal. Jack probably has it the worst of them, as a wolf beastmen. Not only does he have to deal with a fever-inducing rut that will put him out of commission for a week, afterwards he has to deal with the a/b/o jokes from his classmates too, oh the horror. It is really a horror though when he's able to bend you over his bed, bite marks aligned your neck and back as his dick pounds into you till his knot swells and locks you in for at least an hour. Jack's incredibly embarrassed afterwards, though he manages to be incredibly sweet even after rearranging your guts. Wolf beastmen are one of the most affectionate partners to have with a reputation providing some of the best aftercare for their species. It's most likely to make up for their week-long copulation, stretching and tiring out their sweet little mates. Ooooh, but they'll so very sweet: cleaning up the sticky mess of fluids between your legs with their tongue, careful to not overstimulate you (unless you ask), tending to the mating mark they placed on the back of your neck with soft kisses and licks, and making sure to prop your lower half up to that your chances of taking their seed increases.

Lacking the annual rut/heat that other variants of beastmen have, lion and hyena beastmen are more similar is this regard, as they don't have the same issue of long copulations as wolf beastmen. Neither will initiate sex, rather they'll rely on their mates to do so. Ruggie, in particular, is rather reluctant initiating sex, as male hyenas are typically more submissive, so if you're shy you'll have to get over it. But once you do, Ruggie is ever so happy to service you if you're happy to give him praise. Run your hands through his hair and ears as he eats you out, he'll let out the cutest whimpers and groans as you do. Just, expect to be jellyboned by the time he's done with you, as a hyena he needs to make sure his mate won't snip back at him and you can't exactly do that if your fucked out. While he may not have the same stamina as Jack for week-long fuck session, he has a particularly short refractory period and can have several short sessions in a single night.

Leona also won't typically initiate sex on his own, it happens very sporadically, and he his the image of the lazy lion. While he never wants to do anything particularly extraneous, who is he to deny you needs? You'll have to do some preparing though, as while the barbs on his dick aren't as bad as they are in his animal variant, they will hurt if you're not wet and pliable enough. Be sure to sit on his face, don't worry you won't suffocate him and it's better you cum a few times first before taking him. Unless you want it to hurt? Once you've cum enough times, you can ride him to your heart's content. He only asks that you don't mention how he rubs his head into the crook of your neck, marking you so that if everyone couldn't tell by the sounds coming from his room, they'd know you're his from his scent. Lions are quite protective with their territory and pride after all.

Merfolk have the most extreme physiological differences between them and...any land dweller really. It comes with the territory of being suited for a completely different environment. They also behave a lot more similarly to their animal counterparts, which can be both delicious and exhausting for their humans.

Moray eels don't have a set time of the year they mate, but rather the water must be warm and plenty of food must be ready to provide to their mate. When the spring time weather above the sea starts transitioning from crisp to blazing, don't be too surprised when the twins start handfeeding you meals and snacks throughout the week, they want to make sure you're happy and full for them, getting you in the mood with a sweet, dizzying underwater dance to initiate until they get the okay from you. What's that 'okay' though? You know that yawning I mentioned before? You'll get your answer from them now, as they take your open mouth yawn as an invitation rather than a sign of tiredness. Floyd, in particular, is ready to drag you into the deep part of the pool before remembering that you need to breathe somehow. Not a problem. He'll keep your pretty head above water. You'll still have trouble breathing as his long tapered tongue worms his way in your mouth. No matter, you'll be gasping for breath as he bullies this cock into your hole, large enough that you can physically feel the bump on your stomach. Morays are awfully fond of wrapping themselves around their mates, seeing as Floyd will do his best to tangle his tail around your body and squeezing you as you squeeze down his dick. He loves the physical contact between you two, and is amused how your nails try to dig into his shoulders seeing as the mucus on his skin makes it near impossible to have a steady grasp. You're completely dependent on Floyd as you drool and cry out for relief from the overstimulation, which is oh so ever exciting.

Jade is equally as cruel when it comes to mating. Unlike the others, merfolk tend to mate with the intention to, well, mate. He prefers you to be soft and pliant for him, as well as wholly depending as you two fuck. So, he'll happily brew you a water-breathing potion so he can actually drag you into the deep, where he found a secluded, warm grotto that will allow him to keep you to himself for hours, but close enough to the surface that he can continuously grab you food to eat between sessions. Not that those sessions will be short either. Like his brother, Jade is content to wrap himself around your body as he cooed honeyed words into your ears about how you'll make a wet, warm, soft hole for breeding. It's not like he'll have to do much either, his dick is prehensile and he can wrap himself around you, swiping kisses and nuzzling into the crook of your very sensitive neck while his thick cock continuously pounds into you with a bruising pace. He's so mean!! He likes seeing you cry from overstimulation too, and Jade will continuously scoot down to clean you up with his tongue, only to claim that too much of his seed was gone and he needed to fill you up again for another few hours. He's truly quite incorrigible, especially when he bites into your neck and shoulders to make his claim on you. Don't worry, most morays' bites aren't venomous, and even if they are, you have him to care for you. You're going to be depending on him in the water anyway, so there's no need to worry about it too much.

Something that neither probably won't mention, probably because they won't realize it's something you should know, is that they can change their sex under the right conditions. If you're ever so inclined in the future to test the waters out, the twins might be so generous to let you eat them out instead.

Of the trio, Azul's the only one with an established mating season, two actually: one in the late spring and the other in the early fall. Respectively, one during finals and the other during orientation. He's already so incredibly stressed, and he has the need to breed too? Downright atrocious. It's wonderful that you're so kind that he can take refuge in you and use you like a new octopot, so tell him how pretty he is and how much you love him and only him, so that you have the privilege fucking his merform. The moment you're entering the water, he'll unconsciously display mating signals by flashing soft lilacs and blues, a beautiful display of his need for you. He's rather large, even bigger than the twins, in his merform, so you'll need preparation as well; have no fear, his tentacles are wrapping and kneading the squishiest parts of you. I mentioned before that he can taste the salt on your skin and pulse through your wrist via his suckers. He can taste the slick from your walls, too, without even having to use his mouth as the suckers massage you from the inside. If you'd like, he technically could give you a full flavor profile afterward, though he'll probably be a bit mortified to do so. The biggest difference is his dick, or lack thereof. Instead of a dick, Azul has a hectocotylus, which is a modified, slightly shorter arm of his with a thicker spade-shaped tip that he can practically rearrange your guts with, with little effort on his part really. Most octo-mer variants will keep their mate at a distance, eons of instinct hard to forget. Azul's variant, though, will keep you close, almost dancing with you in a sweet, sensual twirl as he places sweet kissing and bites on your neck, arms, and chest. Octopi are, in fact, venomous, however, so you will be feeling a bit of a lustful high, paralyzed, and a bit helpless to the whims of a needy octopus. He's quite good at aftercare though, making sure you get an antidote and handfeeding you calorie-rich snacks to energize you back up (again, he's aware that you won't eat him, but instinct dictates that he keeps you full with both food and cum to make you a happy mate).

*collapses into heap on floor* thoughts....full.....ahahaha breeding kink go burrrrr. i was not meant to write this much and then it escaped me. also i hate tagging

[nyxs2]

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 3/?)

The fire consumes everything it touches, turning what was into ashes. Curiously, Silco also leaves a trail of destruction in his wake.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 6K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, dirty talk, degradation, public sex, rough sex, angry sex, unprotected sex, creampie, blood and violence, biting, threat of death, choking, canon-typical Silco violence, death of secondary characters being referenced, possessive behavior, you work in the brothel, Silco POV (when to start smut). Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2

Pay attention to the tags. If you're uncomfortable with violent situations or explicitly intense acts, PLEASE DO NOT READ. Once again: this is NOT a fluffy romance. Our protagonist has her own issues, and to be clear, while there are violent themes, Silco would never harm his dove. You have been warned—proceed at your own risk.

"I heard that Silco seems to be sponsoring a prostitute."

The bottle on its way to your lips stopped midway. Kate's words echoed like thunder, even though they had been spoken in an almost murmured tone. Nothing—absolutely nothing—could have prepared you for a sentence like that, not even the most horrible, bitter drink Zaun had to offer.

Beside you, Kate seemed almost uncomfortable. There was no accusation in her voice, but something about her tone overflowed with sadness, perhaps even anguish. The kind of look that made it clear she already knew the answer even before making the statement. She still insisted on visiting you, despite the apparent control Silco had over the brothel.

The brothel, which until two months ago had been your refuge—a place where the outside world and all its horrors were muffled by artificial lights and drunken laughter—now felt more like a prison. A suffocating space filled with glances you didn't want to interpret. That's why, on the night Kate showed up, you suggested going somewhere else. Somewhere Silco's shadow didn't hang over you.

Vander's statue was a landmark. For many, it symbolized the resistance and hope that had long since vanished. A kind of silent guardian of Zaun, a reminder of better days. Some people even wished the metal structure would come to life, that Vander would return to protect his people. But to you, that monument meant something deeper. Vander had saved you once. You'd made a promise to him—a promise you had yet to fulfill.

"Yeah... I heard about it."

"It's you, isn't it?" Kate shot back immediately. Her voice was soft, almost delicate, like a confirmation rather than an accusation.

You couldn't look at her. The thought of being called Silco's prostitute made something inside you churn, heavy as lead. Dealing with him in the privacy of a room was one thing, but carrying that title... it made you feel dirty in a way no amount of long baths could wash away.

"How did you find out?"

Kate sighed, fiddling with the ballerina pendant on her necklace. She always did that as a way to calm herself, an almost involuntary motion. "I did my research."

"You should've been a cop, not a designer." you tried to joke, but the humor fell flat, hanging in the air with no response, no laughter. Kate didn't take the bait. She simply said your name, with a sweetness that hurt, like she was trying to soothe a wounded animal. Reluctantly, you finally looked at her. That's when you noticed the worry etched into her green eyes, a worry you didn't feel you deserved.

"Don't worry," you said, your voice hoarse, almost harsh. "It could be worse. Silco could've just kidnapped me."

"That doesn't change the fact that you're still in danger."

You let out a low grumble, almost childish, like a petulant kid trying to dodge a scolding. She was right, but you preferred to live in ignorance.

"If I figured out who the 'prostitute' was, others can too. And if the chemical barons realize Silco has any interest in you, they'll try to use you to get to him."

"I know how to protect myself, Kate."

"From pickpockets and creeps, maybe. Not from assassins."

"Alright, what do you want me to do?"

The words escaped your mouth with force, your voice laced with irritation, hitting a sharper tone than you'd usually use with her. You stood from where you'd been sitting at the foot of Vander's statue, desperately trying to maintain some semblance of control. But, if you were honest with yourself, the idea that you still had control was a cruel joke. Overnight, your life had taken a turn you hadn't planned for—or asked for. To say you were angry would've been a massive understatement. And now Kate was pressing all the wrong buttons.

"Come with me to Piltover."

Her voice was firm, serious, but there was something more. A kind of unshakable hope glimmered in her green eyes as they locked onto yours, as if she could see something you couldn't. And there was something else... something that made your stomach twist. Affection. "Alright, so the place I'm staying in is the size of a shoebox," Kate continued, a small, awkward smile appearing on her lips, "But we can make it work together. Silco has no power in Piltover."

Those words. That tone. That damn hope. They doused your anger like a bucket of ice water. What remained was pure, raw shock as you stared into her emerald eyes. You saw it. The resolve. The conviction. And damn it, she was willing to risk everything... for you. Suddenly, it all made sense: why she kept coming back, even knowing the risk. Even indirectly challenging Silco. Because, in her mind, you were worth it.

Kate spoke your name again when she noticed your mind wandering for too long, her tone sweet as honey. "Please, come with me."

At some point, the lines had blurred for Kate, and considering Silco's actions, this practically put her neck on a silver platter. Bile rose in your throat, and you wanted to vomit.

"It's better if we don't see each other anymore." your voice came out dry, cutting. The tone was rehearsed, even if you hadn't prepared these words. You took a step back, putting space between the two of you. "Whatever you think we have, it's nothing more than professional."

Kate's eyes widened, shock written across her face as if you'd slapped her. The pain that followed nearly made you falter, but you pressed on. You had to, for her sake.

"I can't believe you're naive enough to think I feel something for you, let alone want to run away."

"What?" Kate whispered, her voice barely audible, but you saw it. You saw her eyes start to glisten with tears.

"I pity you." your voice was a venomous whisper. "Falling for a prostitute? Seriously? Kate, I expected better from you."

"Why are you acting like this?" her voice trembled, heavy with pain. "This isn't you."

"What do you know about me?" you shot back, your voice as sharp as shattered glass. "Oh, come on, sweetheart... it was all an act. Did you really think I cared? It was in my best interest to keep some naive girl paying my way. All I had to do was say a few sweet words."

She called your name again, her voice breaking, a final, desperate attempt to pull you back from the edge. A futile attempt.

"But now I don't need you anymore."

You saw it. The exact moment the first tear slipped from her eyes, just before Kate turned and ran. Without another word. Without looking back.

You stood there, motionless, like an extension of Vander's statue. Frozen. Empty. Guilt weighed on your shoulders like lead, but you didn't allow yourself to feel anything beyond the void. If Silco was horrible, you were a monster. Maybe that's what you deserved. Maybe, in the end, you and he were cut from the same cloth.

But your self-deprecating thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps.

"Breaking hearts, are we?" Silco's voice resonated in your ears, low and dripping with acidic humor. "And here I thought you were the merciful one."

The surprise lasted only a second when you heard his voice—low, laden with that familiar arrogance that made the air around you feel heavier. For a moment, you almost believed it was just in your head, a ghost of guilt or confusion tormenting you. But a single glance was enough to confirm it wasn't your imagination. Of course not. It was obvious Silco would know where to find you.

Especially since you'd abandoned the brothel in the middle of your shift. Someone had likely informed him that his latest acquisition had walked out unexpectedly.

The scent of burnt tobacco hit you before you fully saw him, and you closed your eyes briefly, trying to control the surge of emotions bubbling up inside you. Anger, frustration, maybe even a touch of resignation. You inhaled deeply, as if the tobacco in the air could numb whatever was consuming you. But it was futile.

The bottle was still in your hand—a bitter consolation. You lifted it to your lips, letting the liquid burn its way down your throat. The mediocre alcohol was doing its job but was nowhere near enough to drown out the chaos in your head.

"How long have you been spying on us?" your voice came out calmer than you'd expected, a stark contrast to how you felt inside.

It was impressive, even to yourself. You should've been furious; after all, everything in your life had started crumbling because of him. Because of his manipulations, the insidious control he wielded over everyone and everything around him. The last month had been hell, and Silco had been the chief architect of your downfall.

And yet, here you were. Talking to him. Not smashing the bottle over his head.

"Long enough to understand what you're trying to do." he finally said. His voice was calm, but it carried an undertone of subtle disdain, as if the situation were almost amusing to him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Silco move slowly, leaning against the base of Vander's statue. He crossed one ankle over the other, assuming a relaxed posture that seemed devoid of any threat. But you knew better. Beneath the casual façade, there was an almost palpable tension, like that of a snake ready to strike at any moment.

"Driving her away, keeping her safe... all so I have no reason to go after her." he continued, his eyes boring into your back, savoring each syllable in a way that sent a chill down your spine. "Such nobility on your part. A shame it's all for nothing."

The words hung in the air between you, as dense as the cigar smoke swirling around him. You wanted to retort, but your throat went dry, the words catching somewhere between pride and fear. He knew. He knew exactly what you were doing. And worse, he seemed to find it amusing.

Without warning, he pushed off the statue and took a step toward you, closing the already narrow gap between you. Your heart leapt in your chest, but you stayed rooted to the spot, your hands gripping the neck of the bottle, channeling your fury into the inanimate object.

He noticed. Of course, he noticed.

"Drinking won't make it go away." he said, his voice now almost gentle. Almost. The soft tone only made the harshness of his words cut deeper.

You barely had time to process the emotions boiling within you when Silco reached out and took the bottle from your grasp. Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your fingers stretching out in a nearly desperate attempt to reclaim it. But he held it out of your reach with an ease that made your blood boil.

Your gaze locked onto his, and like a thread on the verge of snapping, you finally broke. It was as if everything you'd been holding back had been unleashed all at once, a storm of emotions sweeping away any control you had left. Before you could even think about the consequences, your body had already made the decision.

The sound of breaking glass echoed through the space, the liquid spilling onto the floor in a dense pool alongside the faint clatter of the cigar falling. A small fire ignited mere inches from your feet. It was that sound, along with the smell of smoke, that finally pulled you back to reality.

Your arm was raised, caught firmly in Silco's grasp. His fingers wrapped around your wrist with enough force to stop you but not to hurt. You realized just how close you were to his face—mere centimeters away from striking him.

And that's when you saw it: his face. For the first time, Silco looked genuinely surprised, frozen in place. His good eye was wide, as though he couldn't believe what had just happened. It was almost impossible to imagine a man like him with such an expression. But the moment didn't last. Like a mask falling and quickly being replaced, his expression shifted in an instant. The shock gave way to his familiar façade of coldness and absolute control.

You, however, didn't back down. There was no regret in your eyes, no hesitation in your movements. Your emotions were a haze, but you kept them locked behind a hardened, defiant expression.

"Leave her out of this, Silco!" you said, your voice low but carrying a weight that cut through the silence like a blade. The words were laden with something you couldn't quite name—anger, sorrow, perhaps something deeper. "I'm the one you want? Well, here I am, right in front of you."

The words hung in the air, echoing in the space between you. Silco didn't respond immediately, but his eyes didn't leave yours, as if he were analyzing every nuance of your expression. Searching for something—maybe doubt, maybe fear.

In a swift, precise movement, he pulled you forward, erasing the distance between you until your body was pressed against his. The heat radiating from you was palpable, even through the layers of clothing, and the subtle scent of alcohol mixed with your perfume filled his senses, igniting something you couldn't quite interpret.

His other hand moved just as firmly, gripping your chin with enough force that you had no choice but to meet his gaze. The touch was almost rough, a blend of control and anger that reverberated through you down to your bones. Silco's mismatched eyes burned with a fierce intensity, so piercing it seemed impossible to look away.

"Don't test me." he growled, his voice low and laced with latent danger. "My patience has its limits."

And then, with calculated abruptness, he let you go. The movement was so sudden that you almost stumbled backward. He stepped away, creating space between you as if he needed to regain composure, though his arrogant demeanor remained intact.

"What are you going to do?" your head tilted slightly to the side, your tone laden with challenge. "Kill me?"

You weren't naive. His threats weren't empty words. You knew Silco was holding himself back—why exactly, you weren't sure. Perhaps it was the mounting tension between you, an invisible thread that seemed to pull you closer to something as destructive as it was inevitable. Anyone else who dared to attack him would have already lost an arm, or worse.

And yet, you didn't back down.

"Or maybe with me, it's different." your voice dropped to a sharp whisper as you took another step forward, so close you could feel the heat of his breath. "Because you know, Silco, that no matter how much you threaten me, I doubt you have the guts to actually do anything to me."

Silco's eyes narrowed at your words.

"You think you know me, don't you?" he shot back, his voice laced with disdain. "You think you understand what I want, what I'm capable of."

"Then tell me if I'm wrong."

It was you who closed the distance between the two of you, ignoring the crunch of glass shards beneath your feet with each step or even the crackling fire nearby. The phantom of his grip still burned on your wrist, but you didn't rub it. You wouldn't show weakness—not now.

Every muscle in his body seemed tense, ready to strike, but he didn't move. He didn't raise a hand to push you away, nor did he take a step back. Instead, he let you approach, let you bridge the gap until you were so close you could feel his warm breath against your skin.

"You're right. With you, things are... different." he admitted, his voice now almost regretful, as though confessing something he hated to admit even to himself. "But don't be mistaken. I'm still the man who built an empire on blood and fear, and I wouldn't hesitate to remind you of that if necessary."

The shadows cast by the light made Silco's silhouette even more intimidating. His orange eye seemed to pierce into your very soul, devouring you, like staring into the abyss and having it stare back.

"Go home." his face was mere inches from yours, close enough for you to see every line, every scar etched into his marked skin. He was trying to maintain composure; that much was clear. "Before I do something we'll both regret."

You raised your chin, your body radiating a fierce pride that defied any implicit threat in Silco's words. Any sense of self-preservation had already been smothered by the chaotic mix of emotions boiling inside you: burning anger over Kate's situation, frustration with Silco's manipulations, and, above all, the overwhelming attraction clouding your judgment.

You knew you were tempting fate at this point, provoking the beast, pushing Silco to a dangerous edge. But honestly? You didn't care. Maybe, deep down, a part of you wanted to see how far he would go, how much he could tolerate your words before finally losing control.

"I didn't think a simple fuck would destabilize the great Eye of Zaun this much." your voice dripped with sweet venom, every word as sharp as a blade. You saw the muscle in Silco's jaw tighten, and it only fueled your audacity, like pouring gasoline on a fire. "A whore was enough to make you lose your grip... how pathetic."

The words came out drenched in scorn, and you savored every syllable as though you were exposing an open wound, pouring salt on it with relish.

You barely had time to react before you were slammed against the wall, the cold surface digging into your back with force. The impact knocked the air from your lungs, and before you could even try to recover, Silco's hand was at your throat, squeezing just enough to send a wave of panic coursing through your entire body. Your mouth opened instinctively, searching for the little air you could manage to pull in, your chest rising and falling in short, desperate movements.

Your hands shot upward, but not to fight him—you knew that would be useless. Instead, you grasped his wrist, your fingers digging into his skin with force, your nails leaving small marks. The touch was deliberate, as if trying to remind him that you would still fight back, even if the odds weren't in your favor.

"You want to know what's pathetic?" he growled, his voice low and dripping with menace. "You." his thumb pressed firmly against the pulse point on your neck, feeling the frantic rhythm of your heartbeat beneath your skin. "I could snap your pretty neck and leave your body here for the rats to feast on."

The words were cold, cutting like steel against your skin, but there was something else beneath them. A suffocating heat seemed to hang between you, an almost palpable field of tension. It was dark, twisted—a desire that seemed to want to consume you both. Your breaths mingled in the closeness, a suffocating dance of anger and something more, something neither of you was willing to admit.

"Keep talking." he murmured, his voice dripping with dangerous, lascivious undertones. "I want to hear what insults that pretty mouth of yours will throw at me."

Your body betrayed you in the worst possible way. The initial fear that had tensed your muscles began to shift, the adrenaline coursing through you dulling the pain and heightening every sensation. Your heart pounded in your ears, each beat echoing like a warning of how precariously your life hung in his grip. But it wasn't just fear making your heart race—it was him.

Silco was close. Too close. His body practically covered yours in that position. His scent filled your senses, erasing any remnants of rational thought. His eyes burned into yours, that hypnotizing contrast—one eye filled with the intensity of anger, the other an empty abyss, equally devastating.

And then you saw it in those piercing mismatched irises. Hidden beneath the anger. An unmistakable flicker of desire. It was raw, overwhelming, and dangerously familiar. You recognized it because you felt the same. Your body seemed to plead against your will, the proximity igniting something dark and unspoken between you.

Your lips parted, and the words slipped out in a rough whisper before you could stop them.

"I hate you."

Your voice broke, but not from weakness. There was weight in it, a hatred so dense it seemed to poison the air around you—a hatred for everything he was and for everything he made you feel. A hatred for him, but perhaps an even deeper hatred for yourself, for wanting him despite knowing how wrong it was. You hated him. You wanted him. And in that moment, it was impossible to tell where one feeling ended and the other began.

Silco's fingers tightened around your throat just enough to send another wave of alarm through your body. His eyes—those mismatched irises that burned with something dark and ravenous—studied you intently. A slow, predatory smile spread across his lips, revealing the jagged edges of his teeth, a threat and a twisted invitation all at once.

"I know you do, dove."

He leaned in closer, the distance between you shrinking until his nose brushed against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the scarce space separating your lips. Silco's free hand moved upward, gripping your jaw firmly, though his thumb traced the delicate line of your cheekbone with an almost cruel gentleness. It was a stark contrast to the strength of his grip around your throat, and that duality sent heat coursing through your veins.

He pressed his body even closer against yours, pinning you completely against the cold wall, as if he wanted to crush you there, as if he wanted to make sure you had nowhere to escape—as if you belonged to him. Every inch of his presence was overwhelming, suffocating. You felt the weight of his thigh shift, sliding between your legs and applying an unrelenting pressure that stole any breath you had left in your lungs.

And then he claimed your lips.

It was a shock—a collision as overwhelming as the shove against the wall. His lips crashed into yours with a force that shattered any remnants of resistance you might have had. There was nothing gentle about the kiss. It was raw, primal, a clash of teeth, tongue, and desire that had been restrained for far too long. He kissed you as if he wanted to devour you, as if every part of you needed to be consumed until there was nothing left but him.

You tried to regain control, but there was no space for it. He allowed no room for anything but his all-encompassing presence, the way he took everything you were, claiming the right to possess every piece of you. His fingers around your throat tightened—not enough to truly hurt, but enough to make you aware of his power, enough to make you feel it.

His touch was possessive, almost as if he were branding you, inscribing his presence onto you in a way that no one else could erase. And as he deepened the kiss, you realized, with a mix of anger and fascination, that he was getting exactly what he wanted.

Your hands, which had been gripping his wrists in a desperate gesture, slid downward to clutch at the rough fabric of his vest. You pulled him closer, ignoring the pain that radiated through your body. There was something strangely comforting in the brutality of his touch.

The kiss wasn't a gesture of affection; it was a collision of wills, a clash of searing fury and uncontrollable desire. It was a war with no victors, only the promise of mutual destruction. You matched his every advance with equal intensity, every bite and scratch an attempt to wound him, to leave your mark on him just as he was leaving his on you.

It was twisted, and you knew it. The hatred you felt for him was intoxicating, burning inside you like a wildfire consuming everything in its path. But what was worse—and you hated to admit it—was the fact that a part of you wanted this. You found a strange solace in the shared violence, as though, in some perverse way, it was the only truth between you. This contained violence was a language you both understood perfectly.

Your teeth sank into his lip with force, and the metallic taste of blood spread between you before he finally pulled back. "You don't own me." you whispered breathlessly, resting your forehead against his.

His hand slid down, gripping your thigh with bruising strength as he hitched it up to his waist. You gasped, feeling the hardness of him against you, a visceral reminder of how much he wanted you. Silco pressed his body even closer to yours, the cold wall at your back seeming to vanish against the searing heat of him in front of you.

"Not yet, dove. Not yet."

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco chuckled darkly at her feeble attempt to slap him again, his eyes glinting with humor as he once again grabbed her wrist. However, he released her grip without much resistance, watching curiously as her hands slid downward once they were free. He reveled in the way her hands shook as she fumbled with the clasps on his pants, anger and desperation rolling off her in waves and clouding her ability to complete a simple action that she could do even with her eyes closed.

He grabbed her hands, stilling their movements. With deliberate slowness, he guided them to the fastenings of his trousers, showing her how to undo the clasps and zippers. His hands covered hers, helping her slide the fabric down enough to free him, revealing the hard length of him, already straining towards her.

A low groan rumbled in his chest as he felt her fingers brush against him, the slightest touch sending sparks of pleasure racing up his spine. He was so hard it almost hurt, his cock throbbing with need. He wanted to bury himself inside her, to claim her in the most primal way possible.

But first, he had other plans. With a sudden movement, he grabbed her thighs, lifting her effortlessly until she was wrapped around his waist. He pinned her against the wall, the rough brick scraping against her back. His hands slid up her thighs, pushing her skirt out of the way, revealing the lacy edge of her stockings.

"Look at you," his mocking tone, as if he were not equally thirsty. "So desperate for it, so needy. You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone could see?"

He rocked his hips forward, grinding his hardness against her core dress. The friction made them both gasp, pleasure sparking through their veins. Silco's hands slid higher, cupping her ass, kneading the firm flesh.

"I should make you beg for it." the whisper left his lips, his breath hot against her ear. But even as he said it, he knew he wouldn't. He was too far gone, too consumed by the need to have her. Right there, at that exact second.

"Don't you dare." her voice tried to be threatening, Silco realized, but at that moment her threat sounded more like a plea than anything else. "Otherwise I..."

"Otherwise, what? You are not in a position to make demands."

Despite his words, she did what she always did. She ignored him. Her eyes rolled back with a boldness only she could muster as she brought her fingers to her lips, her tongue darting out to wet each one before returning them back down. She fingered him, spitting, with some difficulty due to the awkward angle. Silco's head fell forward, falling onto her shoulder as she continued to pump him. His hands returned to her thighs, adjusting his grip to keep them steady. Then when she adjusted him against her entrance, Silco couldn't help but hold his breath.

The sensation was almost too much to bear, the tight grip of her walls around him sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He gritted his teeth, fighting back a groan as she sank down onto him, inch by torturous inch. For God's sake, how he missed that.

But even as his body reveled in the feel of her, his mind was racing with dark thoughts. This wasn't lovemaking, not by a long shot. This was a fuck, plain and simple, a coming together of two people driven by anger and lust and a desperate need to hurt each other. It was twisted and wrong and so fucking good that it terrified him.

His hands gripped her thighs hard enough to bruise, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her down onto him, burying himself as deep as he could go. The angle was brutal, almost painful, but it only served to fuel the fire raging inside him.

He set a punishing pace, his hips snapping against hers with a force that made her cry out. Each thrust was a declaration of ownership, a physical manifestation of the dark hunger that consumed them both. He angled his hips, hitting that spot inside her that made her writhe, that had her clawing at his clothes and screaming his name.

"Mine." his voice murmured, more to himself than to her. It wasn't a statement of possession meant to irritate her, since she seemed so absorbed in her own pleasure that she didn't even notice the words leaving his lips.

His hands slid up her thighs, gripping her tightly as he thrust into her, his movements hard and fast. Silco could feel her body tensing above him, could hear the way her breath hitched in her throat as she neared her peak. The knowledge that he was the one pushing her to this point, that he was the one making her lose control, filled him with a sense of satisfaction. He wanted to break her, to shatter her in a way that only he could, so, remake her in his image.

But even as he thought it, he knew it would be an almost impossible task. She would never give in to him. Not easily. She was too wild, too defiant, too stubborn to be tamed. And God help him, but that was what attracted him. That fire, that passion, that refusal to submit even in the face of his worst brutality. It called to something deep within him, something he'd thought long dead.

That's why he wanted to try. Someone who had been a revolutionary was anything but someone who gave up easily.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, his mismatched eyes boring into hers with an intensity that bordered on frightening. Her eyes were wide, pupils blown with lust and something else, something darker that he couldn't quite name. It unsettled him, the way she looked at him, like he was her salvation and her damnation all rolled into one.

He leaned in closer, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of her neck. He bit down hard, leaving a bruise in the shape of his teeth. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth, mixing with the salt of her sweat. It was a heady combination, one that made his head spin and his cock throb with need.

And then she was coming, her walls clamping down around him like a vice. The sensation was almost too much to bear, the rhythmic squeezing of her muscles pushing him over the edge. He let out a guttural groan, his hips losing their rhythm as he spilled himself inside her, filling her with his seed.

For a moment, they were frozen in place, their bodies locked together in the aftermath of their release. Silco could feel the warmth of her skin beneath his hands, could hear the ragged sound of her breathing as she tried to catch her breath. And for a fleeting second, he wondered what it would be like to hold her like this, to wake up next to her and see her sleep-tousled hair spread out on the pillow.

Well, if everything went the way he planned he would see this scene.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━ 

The post-climax sensation that always followed those moments left you vulnerable, as if every layer of yourself had been stripped away, leaving you exposed and defenseless. This time was no different, though the intensity was greater. It had been quick, physical—an explosion of mutual rage converted into something far more primal.

Your body ached, especially your back. The constant friction against the rough wall during the act had taken its toll. And yet, there was no regret. You had wanted it—the brutality, the intensity, the force. Silco's body also bore the signs of weariness; you could feel it in the way he leaned against the wall, seeking support for both himself and for you. His arms still held you, firm but no longer tense—just enough to keep you close.

His arms tightened around your waist for a moment, holding you firmly against him as if trying to prolong the contact, before slowly lowering you back to the ground. Even then, he kept one arm around your waist, his open hand pressed against the curve of your lower back, steadying you until the trembling in your legs subsided. No words were spoken.

After what felt like an eternity, you began adjusting your clothes. Each movement was mechanical, automatic, as though your mind had shut off, unable to process what had just happened. Across from you, Silco did the same.

Without the sexual intensity or the anger that had dominated the air minutes ago, the silence now felt even heavier. A kind of emptiness that made room for dangerous thoughts to take shape in your mind. But you didn't want to think. Not now. Thinking meant facing the consequences, and you simply didn't have the strength to deal with that yet.

You turned to face him. Silco, as always, seemed ready to say something. But before he could open his mouth, before he could release a single word or give you that smug smile that always made your blood boil, you struck him.

Your slap wasn't as strong as you wanted—it was all your exhausted body could muster—but it was enough. Silco froze for a moment, his eyes widening more from surprise than pain, but he said nothing. He didn't react. And somehow, that infuriated you even more.

Without waiting for a response or reaction, you turned and walked away.

[...]

The following days passed. The path to the brothel, the routine, the people you crossed paths with—it all seemed normal, yet strangely distant. Neither Kate nor Silco appeared, and you were grateful for that. Still, the peace was an illusion. Your mind offered no respite, replaying the memories of that night every time you closed your eyes. The touch, the anger, the desire, and, finally, the emptiness—it all returned like a silent torment.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed the movement around you. It was a physical jolt—a body colliding hard against yours—that finally pulled you from your trance. The impact was so abrupt that you nearly fell.

"Hey!" you snapped, irritated, but the person was already gone, running into the growing crowd around you. It was only then that you realized something was wrong. Urgent, desperate voices overlapped around you.

"A house is on fire!" someone shouted, the phrase ringing out like an alarm. "Hurry!"

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. Your legs began running, following the crowd heading in the same direction. As you turned the corner, the chaos came into full view.

The flames danced wildly, consuming the modest building like ravenous predators. Thick smoke filled the air, burning your nose and throat, making it difficult to breathe. People ran back and forth, some coughing, others carrying buckets of water in a frantic attempt to contain the fire. Children cried as adults tried to organize some form of aid. It was pure chaos—stifling and inescapable.

You stood there, frozen, your eyes locked on the fire that seemed to grow with every passing second. But then, another jolt brought you back—this time, more deliberate.

When you turned, you found a figure that seemed out of place amidst the surrounding chaos. She was tall and muscular, with an imposing presence. The red cloak she wore draped over her shoulders, concealing her left arm in an almost calculated way. She wasn't looking at the fire—she was looking at you.

"Silco sends his regards." before you could react, she dropped something to the ground.

Your breath hitched. The world spun. Pain bloomed in your chest, spreading like poison as realization set in. A necklace with a ballerina pendant. You knew that necklace.

And it was covered in blood. Part 4

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[libraryofgage]

Good Vibrations Part One

Hello, it's me, back at it again with another Steddie AU.

Anyway, if I were tagging this AU, these would be the most important ones: Deaf Steve Harrington; Tooth-rotting Fluff; Getting Together

If you wanna be tagged in future parts, just let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

----

Steve has blown through three pairs of hearing aids in the past year. The first pair had lasted a few years and needed replacement because of normal wear and tear. The second pair was sacrificed during that fight with Jonathan. He hadn't been wearing them, but they'd been in Steve's pocket, and he'd landed at just the right angle to feel them shatter. The third pair was taken by the Russians because, despite Robin's shouting and cursing at them for being dumbasses (and this was before she actually knew what they were for), they accused him of recording their kidnapping and torture.

Honestly, he wouldn't recommend fighting Russians and Billy and Mind Flayers and driving while nearly totally deaf.

The funniest part of it all, though, is that Steve doesn't even use hearing aids regularly. He normally only wears them at home. The pair lost to Jonathan were present because, well, that whole day had been a lot for Steve, and he needed the comfort of knowing he could stop reading lips the moment it became too exhausting for him. The pair lost to the Russians was because he'd been getting ready to tell Robin about being deaf. She'd already clocked the weird things he does (well, weird to her, normal to Steve), and he figured letting her in on the big secret would bring them a little closer.

Of course, that didn't go the way he expected. Robin thought he was confessing love and decided to beat him to the punch. That's how he learned Robin is a lesbian, and Steve couldn't let her be the only one admitting to something like that, so he told her about being bi and his long-standing, hopeless crush. And being deaf. But the bi with a crush thing seemed more important in the moment. She took it in stride, it brought them closer, and then Robin asked if Steve could teach her sign language.

Which meant that Steve had to learn sign language because he never had. Between not wanting to feel even more different than he already did and trying to convince his parents that, really, everything was fine and he didn't need to go to a special school for deaf and hard-of-hearing kids, he'd never learned. Learning it had somehow felt like an admission of weakness, and that was the last thing he wanted. But he learned for Robin, and they stumbled through sign language together, creating new signs only they knew.

But that's all in the past now, and Steve is working his ass off at Family Video to afford a new pair because he refuses to ask his parents for money. If he asks them, they'll come back, and that's the last thing he wants. They don't need to have all their worries confirmed that Steve is helpless, and he doesn't want them anywhere near Hawkins "Hellscape" Indiana.

So. Working his ass off, taking extra shifts, and babysitting the kids as much as he can to make up for the whole Friends and Family Discount he gives their parents. He's exhausted, but he gets to recharge somewhat during his lunch break.

About a ten-minute walk from the Family Video is a record store, which Steve has started visiting daily to just breathe. The lone worker in the store is usually too busy listening to her own music to pay Steve any attention, letting him wander and try to determine which records will best serve him.

Steve drifts over to the rock and heavy metal section, hoping to find a new album but unsurprised when he doesn't. He browses through them anyway, moving past Metallica and Black Sabbath and Iron Maiden. He already has all of these albums on his shelf at home. He has the cassette tapes for them, too.

But he really wants something new. He likes the novelty of experiencing unfamiliar vibrations through the speaker, letting them thrum through his fingertips and into his bones. It's fun and relaxing, and after all the bullshit he's been through lately, he probably deserves something relaxing.

After glancing over a few more familiar albums, Steve sighs and glances at the counter by the door. The lone worker is standing there, headphones over her ears, and idly flipping through a magazine. She's chewing gum, and Steve braces himself for the sheer hell of trying to read her lips without making it obvious he's reading her lips while she's got something in her mouth to disrupt the normal shape of words and sounds.

But he has to try. Steve takes one more deep breath before walking over, shoving his hands into his pockets when he comes to a stop at the counter. The girl raises a hand, motioning for him to wait, so he stays quiet as she finishes reading her page. She flips to the next one before looking up, not making any move to pull her headphones off.

"Hi. Do you have any new rock or metal albums coming in soon," Steve asks, feeling the vibrations of speech in his throat and hoping his words aren't too loud.

They don't seem to be. The girl doesn't flinch or pull back. She just looks him up and down, taking in the polo shirt and the nice khakis and the Family Video vest he forgot to take off before leaving. Finally, her neck and shoulders jerk slightly, and Steve knows she's huffed in annoyance. "No," she says, the word clear enough in the shape of her lips for Steve to know it immediately.

He frowns slightly, his fingernails digging into his palms. Steve wouldn't mind just leaving now, but something keeps him there. He just...he really wants new music. He needs something new. "Are there gonna be any shows nearby?" he asks.

The girl rolls her eyes and says something, her mouth distorted by gum-chewing. Steve can barely make out the words "you" and "check" from her response. Thankfully, it's accompanied by a vague gesture at something behind him. Steve looks over his shoulder to see a bulletin board with flyers plastered across it.

"Right. Thanks," he says, nodding to her before walking over. The flyers are all different colors with various fonts that scream for Steve's attention. Some of them are for bands, some are advertisements of garage sales or instruments in need of a new home, and others are just business flyers from stores nearby.

He's seen the bulletin board before, but he's never actually paid attention to it. Steve has always been laser-focused on browsing the records. But now, Steve carefully reviews each flyer advertising shows. Some are for comedy shows, which he immediately dismisses. One seems promising, but then he sees how far it is, and Steve definitely can't do an overnight trip like that.

Finally, Steve sees a flyer advertising a show at the Hideout later that week. It's close enough that he won't be out overnight. The place is kind of seedy, but Steve figures he can find some corner near the stage to hide. Or he can bring Robin and let her help him navigate any potential social situations. He tugs the flyer off the board, gaze lingering on the "Corroded Coffin" emblazoned across the top.

He knows the band. Of course, he knows the band. He's extremely familiar with their singer. From a distance. Honestly, Eddie Munson probably doesn't have the best impression of him, but Steve's heart never really cared about that. Because Eddie is like everything Steve wants to be: he's loud and unafraid of being so, he doesn't care about his image and how others perceive him, and he looks like his laugh sounds beautiful. Steve wouldn't know if he's actually right about that last point, but Eddie throws his head back when he laughs, eyes crinkled and hand over his stomach like his muscles ache.

His mouth suddenly feels dry, but he's also filled with unprecedented courage. Steve has graduated (barely), and that means a significantly lower chance of running into Eddie during the day if watching the show somehow goes wrong.

Steve folds the flyer into quarters and stuffs it into his back pocket. He'll be overly aware of it being there until Robin starts her shift and he can show it to her, but that's okay. He throws a quick thanks over his shoulder as he leaves the shop, glancing up at the bell he can't hear that signals the door's opening. He vaguely remembers what bells are supposed to sound like (he'd heard a few before losing the ability to hear them), but he doesn't let himself dwell on it.

Instead, he focuses on the trip back to Family Video, keeping an eye on the road to watch for any cars he wouldn't notice otherwise.

----

When the final bell rings, Eddie Munson can't get out of class fast enough. He'd been packed for the last five minutes, and he slid out of his seat the moment that first peal rang out. He has a gig to prepare for, and every second counts. At least, each second counts until he notices something (or someone) that could prove entertaining for a while.

He spots Dustin alone near one of the exits, and Eddie decides to relieve the kid of his isolation. He waits until he's behind Dustin to shout, "Henderson!" and throw his arm over the kid's shoulders, ignoring the way he jumps like he'd been expecting an attack.

"Holy shit!" Dustin shrieks, jerking back to look up at Eddie. "Don't do that, man, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

Eddie snorts, waving away Dustin's concern as he continues toward the exit. The general flow of students trying to get out helps him along, and Dustin doesn't seem to realize they're actually moving until they've gotten into direct sunlight. "You're fine," Eddie says, "Anyway, whatcha doing all alone, Henderson? Lose your way?"

"No, I have...stuff to do today," Dustin says, shrugging as he blinks to acclimate to the sunlight.

Oh, yeah, way too cryptic for Eddie to not dig for more. "Stuff? What kinda stuff? Got a hot date? Going shopping with your mom?" he asks, and then he gasps dramatically and moves to stand in Dustin's way. He puts both hands on his shoulders and very seriously says, "Be honest, Henderson, you're seeing another DM, aren't you?"

Dustin stares at him for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and shrugging his hands off. "Who else in this town DMs?" he asks, "Other than Will, I guess, but he's still working on a campaign."

"Fair," Eddie concedes, "so, whatcha really doing?"

After a few seconds of getting nudged by the students around them, Dustin sighs and says, "I have chores, okay? But that doesn't sound cool to say, does it?"

Fair. Eddie nods in agreement and moves out of Dustin's way, continuing to follow him. "So, what, your mom picking you up today?" he asks.

"No, Steve."

"Oh, the famous Steve."

Dustin nods, looking over the parking lot before pointing to one end. "Yeah, he's awesome," Dustin says as Eddie follows the direction of his finger.

And standing there, leaning against the hood of his car and looking to the side where a group of trees is swaying in the breeze, is Steve Harrington. Steve "The Hair" Harrington. King Steve. The worst thing, Eddie thinks, is that Steve looks good. His hair is still perfect, of course, and his stupid little striped shirt is pulling against his biceps and riding up just enough for Eddie to see a tiny sliver of tanned skin above his jeans. He looks a little tense, but Eddie chalks that up to him being back on the campus after already graduating.

"Harrington? You've been talking about Steve Harrington this whole time?" Eddie asks, his voice a little strained, "How the fuck do you know Steve Harrington?"

"He's my babysitter," Dustin says, his voice implying that much should have been obvious, but Eddie wants to grab his shoulders and shake until his head rolls off.

Steve Harrington doesn't babysit. He doesn't know nerds that talk about D&D. He doesn't drive nerds around. At least, he never did in high school. Granted, Eddie never actually talked to Steve, but everybody knew that Steve Harrington was too cool for, well, anything that wasn't the typical jock and popular guy shit.

As he's thinking about the last time he saw Steve Harrington (in the halls, while the guy had bruises and looked worse for wear), they get within shouting distance. And Eddie has zero impulse control when Wayne isn't around, so he doesn't think before shouting, "Hey, Harrington!"

Next to him, Dustin whips his head to glare at Eddie. And Steve Harrington doesn't fucking react. He just keeps staring at that group of trees like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. "Dude," Dustin says, grabbing Eddie's arm and yanking harshly, "don't shout like that."

Eddie frowns, anger beginning to simmer in his stomach at the complete lack of acknowledgment. "Why are you upset with me?" he asks, gesturing at Steve as he continues, "I'm not the one being a douchebag here."

Dustin opens his mouth, about to say something, only to snap it shut once more. He frowns like he's just realized he can't say something, and huffs with frustration. "Just...just don't do that," he finally says, keeping a hand on Eddie's arm and dragging him across the parking lot. And, yeah, something is definitely weird here.

Instead of just walking up to Steve, they make a large arch until they're within Steve's line of sight.

Eddie watches as Steve notices them, seeing Dustin first and pushing off the car. He relaxes for a split second until he sees Eddie and his shoulders tense again.

Great.

Once they're close enough for Eddie to count the moles above the collar of Steve's shirt, Dustin grins and says, "Hey, Steve." But it's odd, because Eddie has never heard Dustin talk this slow or this carefully, like he's doing his best to enunciate his words.

Steve flashes a grin and ruffles Dustin's hair. "Hey, twerp, you're late," he says. He then glances at Eddie, his grin becoming a little smaller, and says, "Hey, Munson."

Wait. Steve Harrington knows Eddie's name? And he called him by it? He said Munson, not Freak. Eddie stares at Steve for a few seconds before nodding. "Harrington," he says, "how the fuck did you become a babysitter?"

Is he just imagining things, or is Steve looking at his mouth? Like, really intensely. He's definitely not, because Steve looks up after a few seconds with a raised eyebrow. "I needed some extra cash. Also, don't swear around Dustin. I'm the one who gets in trouble when he curses in front of his mom."

Something about the words makes Eddie grin. Never in a million years would he have guessed that he'd be talking to Steve Harrington. And he would have laughed you into Mordor itself if you suggested their conversation would be about Dustin Henderson swearing in front of his mother. "What's his mom do when he swears?" he asks.

Because he can feel the conversation veering into something potentially embarrassing for him, Dustin lets go of Eddie and starts pushing Steve toward the driver's side of his car. "Okay, we gotta go. So many chores, so little time," he says, his voice back to that normal speed and enunciation.

Steve frowns slightly, looking down at Dustin and tilting his head just slightly. "What?" he asks. Instead of actually answering, Dustin just makes some vague gesture with his hand and looks at the car. "Oh, right. Go ahead and get in the car. And, uh, see you later, Munson."

"Is that a promise?" Eddie asks before he can think better of it.

Steve pauses, looking at Eddie's mouth with a slight scrunch to his nose. He seems to be considering something as Dustin scrambles into the passenger seat, watching them with narrowed eyes. Honestly, Eddie is surprised he's not blasting the horn to hurry Steve up. Finally, Steve comes to a decision and meets Eddie's eyes again. "Your band has a show tonight, right? At the Hideout? I was planning to go. So, yeah, I'll see you then, I guess."

And with that, like he hasn't just fucking rocked Eddie's world, Steve Harrington gets into his car. He makes sure Dustin is buckled before waving at Eddie and pulling out of the parking spot.

Eddie finds himself waving back, staring dumbly at the car as it pulls onto the street. It only hits him a few seconds later that Steve Harrington is coming to his show. At the Hideout. His metal show. A Corroded Coffin gig at the Hideout.

Holy. Shit.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[yandereunsolved]

Yandere Aegon with barkeep reader—you aren't getting paid enough for this.

Yandere Aegon always escaped to Fleabottom to indulge in pleasures and escape painful memories. The weight of the crown on his head nearly snapped his neck every time he was forced to wear it. Yet here, in Dragon Breaths Tavern, he was simply another stranger within the crowd of thousands. He always chose to conceal his appearance, but his voice was always what gave him away.

He has a favorite barkeep: you.

You always listen to his ramblings. You make sure he has somewhere to sleep when he is far too intoxicated to escape back to the castle. You're irritable and snap at people. It's hot. You never let anyone get away with anything in the bar, not even him. 

Mhm.

He'd whine your name in the middle of the night when his mind was far too gone to care about the possible consequence.

Yandere Aegon is incredibly talkative while drunk. His depression, or known at that time as just an incurable sadness, was on full display. He'd ask for your strongest drink and order so many that he forgot his name and title. It was almost endearing. He'd babble on about what made him sad, and you'd listen attentively.

You didn't have to worry much about people realizing he was the king. The ones that did disappeared. They were murdered, most likely.

You may have no formal education, but that doesn't make you completely inept.

You could see the unhinged glint in his violet irises. You could tell he was getting attached. You just couldn't do much about it. You need the job, and he never forgets to give you a hefty tip for your service.

Yandere Aegon has propositioned you on multiple occasions. Most of the time he's plastered, a handful he's not. He always gives you a sly smile and some fleeting touches. You scolding him only makes him want you more. He's hard more than he's drunk.

Whether you agreed to it or not, the only difference is time. If you love him, then you get your freedom just a bit longer. If you're stubborn about your love, then he'll make sure there are chains around your hands, ankles, and most importantly, heart.

Yandere Aegon makes you take a job in the castle. You become the cupbearer. It's a job that doesn't bring much excitement, unless you count pompous nobles talking through their asses 'excitement'. You make a good amount of coin. Your social status rises faster than a dragon taking to air.

Your own room. A room near Aegon's.

It is as if he purposefully thinned the walls, much to your displeasure. You can hear the moans from whores and Aegon alike during the hours when everyone is given rest. It's an endless torture that slips into your dreams, making them wetter than you've ever dreamt before.

Yandere Aegon has many people thinking it is inappropriate to have a commoner suddenly peak the king's interest so blatantly. You are no longer the dirt on the bottom of the nobility's shoe. You are almost equal, if not greater, due to the protection you are afforded by the ruler.

Rumors aren't needed. They will say their peace to your face. They don't fluff it up with their frivolously sacchariferous words. Those who dare are crude and ruthless.

The next day they'll end up with their heads on pikes outside the castle.

Yandere Aegon wants you as a second spouse. He fucks other whores, but only because he can't have you all day and night. He'll stop after the both of you get married. He knows it's a pipdream. He's the king, though.

Who is going to stop him?

It's not going to be Alicent or Otto.

He's not letting Aemond fucking touch you. Asshole tried to char him once. He got out with multiple scars, but he is able to walk and is still quite a looker. Aemond won't steal you. He'll the gut the fucker before it comes to that.

Yandere Aegon just needs alcohol and you. It's the only two things that're keeping him securely tethered to this world. Your specialty is alcohol. It's a match made in the heavens.

tags: ( @kawaiicoffeedream ) & ( @littybeech )

[awearywritersworld]

the day of my execution

sukuna x reader summary: gojo, yuuji, and sukuna discuss what happened at the store. sukuna begins to consider your mortality like never before and takes care of you when you're sick. w/c: 2.7k tags/warnings: fluff. mentions of attempted kidnapping. banter. reader has the flu. aged up!yuuji. not canon compliant. fem!reader. no use of y/n. a/n: sorry for disappearing for so long, but here is the long awaited next chapter. i've put a second a/n at the end, so i hope you'll read it. please excuse me talking out of my ass trying to rationalize my application of jujutsu, but if gege does it, so can i. i hope it kind of makes sense though. series masterlist // masterlist

truthfully, yuuji expects his wednesday morning to be as uneventful as any other, but when he stands in front of the bathroom sink to brush his teeth, his eyes are not the only ones staring back at him.

"what d'ya want?" he groans. "it's too early for this."

"we need to talk."

sukuna doesn't give his vessel a chance to respond before he begins recounting the events of the previous night, a story which has yuuji's face cycling between surprise, worry, and dismay. "the man claimed someone sent him?"

"that's what i said," sukuna responds impatiently.

"why would anyone be after her? i don't understand."

"would it kill you to use your brain for once?" sukuna questions, having had the entirety of the night to ponder the situation. "think, idiot. who would be interested in using her in some ploy? against you. against... us."

yuuji's eyes widen. "the higher ups?

"no one else would be so brazen."

it strikes sukuna as ironic that just days after he relayed the cruelness he endured at the hands of jujutsu society's higher ups a millenia ago, you too almost became one of their victims. it's a reality that he despises.

"i should call gojo—"

"that is out of the question."

"do you want to keep her safe or not?"

sukuna scoffs. "this is how we keep her safe. if the higher ups are after her, we can't trust other sorcerers."

yuuji almost seems offended on gojo's behalf. after all, he's known him for the better part of a decade. "i'd trust gojo with my life."

"well this isn't your life we're talking about. this is much more important."

yuuji chuckles. "i know. that's exactly why we need help."

before sukuna can protest, yuuji's dialing his old sensei and asking to meet somewhere they can speak privately.

that's how they end up at a small bakery on the outskirts of tokyo, sukuna relaying the story for the second time that morning.

once he finishes, gojo leans back in his chair and folds his hands behind his head. "well, i don't think you're wrong about the higher ups being involved."

"so what are we supposed to do?" yuuji asks. "they might use her to get to me, but you don't think the higher ups would actually put her life in danger, do you?"

though yuuji's question is directed toward gojo, it isn't him that answers.

"you're as naive as ever," sukuna scoffs. "they'll stop at nothing to achieve their own ends."

gojo grimaces, a silent agreement with the assertion. "i can do some poking around, see who ordered it to be done."

"and what exactly is that going to do? there's no reasoning with them."

"a fact i am well aware of," the white haired man narrows his eyes at the king of curses. "but there is leverage in power, something i happen to have more of than anybody—"

"almost anybody—"

"so as the strongest, i'll take care of this as soon as i can."

"hey, um, so as productive as all the dick measuring is," yuuji interrupts. "it doesn't keep her safe in the meantime."

"i have an idea in that regard," sukuna says. "it's an ancient practice, and while it doesn't offer any protective measures, it will allow me to find her if they make another attempt like last night."

gojo leans forward, clearly interested to hear more.

"i can imbue a talisman with a part of myself and if she wears it, it will act as a beacon for her location."

"with part of yourself? as in, your cursed energy?" yuuji speculates. "wouldn't that do more harm than good? attract cursed spirits and whatever?"

"no, i'm not a fool. it's not cursed energy."

sukuna is hesitant to clarify further. he'd done something similar when creating his fingers, but it was different then. it was a selfish endeavor to preserve his life long after it was his time to die. it was a dark sort of jujutsu, one meant only to bring destruction.

but intention is important in sorcery. it can change the very essence of the practice.

for the first time in his life, sukuna is acting selflessly, concerned only with your protection. it's a pure sort of jujutsu this time around, one that allows him to impart a piece of himself that isn't tainted by cursed energy.

and because of that, that part of him would be unprotected. it'd leave him uniquely vulnerable. it's a steep and dangerous measure. that's why the practice had been forgotten long before the modern age.

"then what could it possibly be?" it's quiet for a moment as yuuji's question hangs in the air.

"it's your soul, isn't it?" the disbelief lacing gojo's voice is quite plain, but he's heard whispers of such techniques. "you'd give her a piece of your soul."

sukuna's never been one for unfinished business, so it's no surprise when he finds himself on the couch, intent on finishing the stranger. besides, it had become clear he'd been focusing on the wrong aspects of the book when he first began reading it.

he's three chapters from the end when he hears a loud shatter from the kitchen, followed by a sharp gasp. the broken glass hasn't even finished sliding across the floor before he's at your side.

"what happened?" the alarm in his voice doesn't go unnoticed by you.

"nothing, nothing," you assure him. "i just dropped my cup."

crouching down, you reach for one of the bigger pieces before your hand is swiftly smacked away. "don't."

"it's fine. it's only a little glass."

when you reach for it again, he grabs your wrist. "you troublesome little thing. do you ever listen?"

"i don't make a habit of it."

"i know. the question was rhetorical."

sukuna's already noticed the shards of glass surrounding your bare feet, so he wastes no time in picking you up and placing you on the countertop.

"don't move." he says it in such a way that, for once, you don't even think about disobeying him.

he all but stomps out of the room, returning moments later with a broom and dust pan. there's a small smile playing on your lips as you watch him gather the larger pieces before sweeping up the rest.

and you know, it's really not fair. sukuna could even call it a cosmic injustice, the way he has to worry about broken glass and fragile fingertips.

but he likes you and he likes the pads of your fingers, particularly the way they feel against his skin and run through his hair, so he swallows his pride.

it's been consuming him lately— the fact that you are just as easily broken as the glass that littered the kitchen tile. he never considered just how many ways there are for a human to die until you were nearly taken from him.

so once he's done, he rests the broom and dustpan against the wall and stands in front of you, his hips situated between your knees.

reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a necklace and your mouth falls open in shock. a delicate chain is threaded around his fingers, while its ruby pendant dangles in the air. "i want you to have this."

"what.. what is it?"

he snorts. "you don't know what a necklace is?"

you let out a breath of a laugh. "of course i do. i'm just surprised."

you hold up your palm and he places the necklace there gently. inspecting the gem, you notice it bears a striking resemblance to the color of his eyes.

strangely, it's almost as if it's heavier than it should be— like it's weighed down by some importance beyond your comprehension.

"it's beautiful," you tell him honestly. "are you sure?"

"sure of what?"

"that i should have it."

he pauses before responding, taking in the way you're so gingerly holding it. he's scared you've realized what he's actually giving you. that you're repulsed by it.

he's hesitant when he asks, "why would you think otherwise?"

"i didn't do anything to deserve something like this."

sukuna breathes a sigh of relief. "you are ever the fool."

his hands find your hips, pulling you off the counter and onto your feet. he plucks the necklace from your hand, then shifts to stand behind you.

moving your hair to the side, his fingers brush lightly against your skin. "the necklace is undeserving of adorning your neck. not the other way around."

and he knows it's the truth. a piece of him, attached to a creature so lovely she should be out of his reach... well, that's just unseemly, isn't it?

"but promise me something anyway."

"anything," you say without delay.

he situates the chain around your neck, the pendant lying in the space where your collarbones meet, and fastens the clasp. when you turn to face him, you're met with an alarmingly grave expression.

"promise you won't ever take it off."

you fiddle with the ruby somewhat nervously, feeling as if you're missing some important piece of the puzzle.

you nod in response to his request, but it isn't enough for him.

"say it."

"i promise."

he can see that you're biting back questions, so he explains, "if you're wearing that, i'll always know where to find you."

it finally dawns on you, for the first time, how much the incident at the store truly affected him. it's not the way he ended those men that clued you in, nor is it the way he pleaded with you to forgive him.

it happens in this moment. it's the gentleness of his voice, despite his underlying desperation. it's the way he's watching you carefully, as if you're likely to disappear. it's the fact he wouldn't let you clean up a mess of your own making, because he can't stand the thought of seeing you bleed.

"i... i don't know what to say."

"well, that's a first."

"shut up," you punch his shoulder. "you're ruining the moment."

"right, my bad," he chuckles and glances down at the gemstone. "do you like it?"

you let out a breath. "of course. i love it."

he smiles at your words— soft and genuine— truly a rare sight. "good."

you notice that he's looking at you. really looking at you. his eyes shift away from yours and over to each of your temples. then down to your nose. your mouth. even your chin.

he takes in every detail and he feels like he's in your debt simply for gazing at your countenance.

you almost regret it when your hands curl around the collar of his shirt and pull his lips to yours. you should have savored his smile, spent time committing it to memory.

although, that's soon forgotten as you feel the curve of his mouth deepen while his lips move against yours.

it isn't until day three of your ceaseless coughing and sneezing that sukuna adds them to his list— broken glass, fragile fingertips, coughs, and sniffles.

his concern is clear from the way he dotes on you. he brings you cold cloths, makes you tea, massages your neck, runs you baths.

now he's on his way to a twenty four hour pharmacy to pick up more medicine to reduce your fever, and while it's only a block away, he's still doing it alone.

but not even for a moment does he consider running off to burn the world's largest city to the ground. the streets are crawling with people, but he finds himself avoiding them more than anything.

he has to get back to you after all.

the only thought on his mind other than you is the ending of the stranger. the main character, while awaiting his beheading from his prison cell, conveys his final words to readers:

for the first time, in that night alive with signs and stars, i opened myself to the gentle indifference of the world. finding it so much like myself— so like a brother, really— i felt that i had been happy and that i was happy again. for everything to be consummated, for me to feel less alone, i had only to wish that there be a large crowd of spectators on the day of my execution and that they greet me with cries of hate.

in sukuna's first life, perhaps this line would have resonated with him. it was a life where he had resolved himself to the idea that nothing really mattered, because the alternative was too painful. it didn't matter that jujutsu society betrayed him. it didn't matter that he stole people's lives out from under them. it didn't matter that he was alone.

and while he would have never surrendered himself to execution, if that had been his fate, he would have preferred to go out surrounded by living reminders of all he had accomplished. surrounded by all the people he had ruined.

however, when he imagines such an occurrence happening in his present life, there is only one face throughout the entire crowd and it belongs to you.

the very thought makes him sick with grief.

looking up, he realizes that there are no stars in tokyo anymore, that there is no feeling of indifference when it comes to you, and that there is no happiness to be had when you are not by his side.

he knows he'll never shed another drop of innocent blood if it means you'll always have that look of adoration in your eyes when your gaze falls on him.

so his trip to the pharmacy is short and hurried.

opening your apartment door, he's careful to be quiet in case you're sleeping, but he finds you peering at him from the couch.

your hair is disheveled. there's a sheen of sweat across your forehead. your eyes are beyond tired. your shirt is wrinkled.

you're still the most pleasing thing he's ever laid eyes on.

"you're back," you rasp.

"i'm back," he affirms, slipping off his shoes.

you sit up and quickly regret it, your hand coming to rest against your stomach. "god, i feel like i'm gonna puke."

"charming."

you use all your strength to throw a pillow at him, which he easily catches before tossing something small in your direction— a ginger chew to help with the nausea.

you unwrap it and pop it in your mouth. "thanks."

he hums in response, settling down in the spot beside you. once he pulls the medicine from the bag, it's followed by two bottles. "got you these, too."

recognizing them as your favorite drink, your exhausted and delirious brain makes your eyes well up with grateful tears. "you're so sweet."

"yeah, whatever. don't get used to it."

"but you are. you're sweet and kind, except i'm the only one who knows it," you pause before continuing, your head falling onto his shoulder. "why is that?"

he contemplates denying that he possesses any such quality, but decides against it. "you're the only one who's ever cared to know."

he can feel the heat of your temple through his shirt, so he opens the box of fever reducers and pops out two tablets before handing them to you. "take these. you're burning up."

you do as he says without protest. standing up and stretching your arms above your head, sukuna's eyes wander to where your shirt rides up and reveals your stomach.

"c'mon, let's go to bed," you yawn.

he follows after you wordlessly, carelessly pulling off his shirt and climbing into bed beside you. curling up against his side, your head comes to rest on his chest and it's quiet for a few passing moments.

"you can't see the stars from tokyo anymore."

"what?" you ask sleepily.

"the stars. there's too much light to see them from here."

"oh, yeah. we can take a trip to the mountains soon. you can see them pretty well from there."

"i'll hold you to that."

and so with the promise of a beautiful night sky, with the company of someone who means the world to him, and with the feeling of your body pressed against his— sukuna feels that he had been happy and that he was happy again.

a/n 2: hey! so i'm sorry again for stopping updates without really saying anything. i think i just needed to step away from tumblr and writing for a while because i was getting a bit overwhelmed. i was also a little unsure about the direction of this chapter. i was struggling to incorporate the necklace part without it seeming cheesy or weird. that being said, thanks as always to everyone for your support of this series. it's really heartwarming and much appreciated. if you have any feedback, i'd love to hear! i'm not sure when the next update will be, but i'll do my best to keep you guys posted. all my love - m<3

taglist: @96jnie @ay0nha @sad-darksoul @bbysatoruuu @luciiferian @risuola @lirasmoon @disaster-rose @archivist-ghoul606 @creative1writings @sloppyzengarden @omismicrowave @cecesharktales @tanyeonn @hiqhkey @ruixrei @yellowsubiesdance @thefallofruins @anything-and-everything-here69 @emzalot @elusivemoon @annoyingstrawberryballoon @miabiar @hyeon-yi @iluv-ace @wineyoungie @vduxx @inflatabledinosaurs19 @harrystylesfan2686 @silentmajesticfox @am-the-renegade @certainduckanchor @moons-reblog @scarletrosesposts @th3-audac1ty @darlink-xoxo @ayeputita @nanmiik @namjooningera @hermxssaa @annieleonhardtsbitch @nugget-eater123 @integers @thefunbanshee @thepup356 @browneyedgirl22 @lantsovheiress @luckypeacevoid @kiki17483 @ruttteerr @yourbelloved @heyohalie // users in bold could not be tagged. if i forgot to tag anyone, my apologies!! just give me a heads up.

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Creep Minecraft World

I've mentioned before how they have a Minecraft world they all play on, and I wanted to actually just randomly talk about it :p

At least several times a month, they all get together to play on their Minecraft world together. Sometimes a few people might be missing or absent, but they try to have as many people playing at a time as they can. Things I've already established, BEN is the one who builds cool houses for everyone (I'm adding on that they're all set up like a villager village, so they're all connected by paths and near each other like a housing development), Jeff helps people the most with mining, and Toby and Sally are both working together to make a zoo for all of the animals they come across with nice surroundings so they can all be happy in there. Now, back to my expanding on it.

I think that they all probably split into groups on who does what, and some people will just tag in whenever they want to. BEN, Liu, Helen, and Brian are the designated builders of the world. They're really good at building and have an eye for making pretty designs, so generally, that's what they spend their time doing. Jeff, Natalie, Kate, and Tim are the designated miners in the world. They had built like a whole mining system and are constantly expanding it to collect more and more materials together. Both groups work together to help each other out, and the rest of the creeps are free to join a team if they'd like to so that they can help out more, but they usually just follow the instructions of the established team members. Toby and Sally as I said earlier are committed to building a zoo, and they name every single animal that they put in there. Sometimes others will help with building or getting animals in there (they have also been allowed to use creative mode to get animals or build something if they need to), and it's situated near the housing area so that everyone can just walk over and look at the progress when they want to. Generally, they all work really well together in their teams, but sometimes they do have disagreements.

Speaking of disagreements, one of the world rules is that keep inventory has to be on, mostly because there was a point when they kept going around killing each other and then they'd get mad because they'd lose their stuff, and fights would happen, so keep inventory has to be on so that now if they die or kill each other, nobody can be upset. (That started because Jeff and Tim would push each other into lava whenever they were in the mines and disagreed on something). They haven't even gotten very far into the Nether yet because they all keep dying or killing each other. Also, nobody is allowed to alter or destroy anything that someone else has made (even if they think it looks really bad and they want to change it to make it look better, cough cough, Helen, cough cough) so that everyone can have their own little area that they build in and they don't have to worry about the safety of the work. I think they also all have an "open chest" policy where they each have one chest with a sign above it that says open, so that if someone is missing or really needs certain supplies they can take from someone else's open chest that has extra stuff they don't really need in it. I'd like to think they also go on like planned attack expeditions, like if they find an area that has a warden they'll all team up to try to fight the warden together (they rarely succeed because everyone is just screaming and yelling and running and laughing), or they'll all fight the ender dragon together, or a wither. Also??? So many mods. BEN has added so many mods to the world and he and everyone else get so much enjoyment out of it. It can be chaotic sometimes, but the Minecraft world is one of the few things everyone can actually usually get along with about, so it's a good bonding experience for them.

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

Melusine creator au where while foul legacy is away for whatever reason someone finds and recognizes you while hanging out with the other melusines qnd end up getting jumped by like 10 melusines when they try to hurt you.

they WILL protect their sibling!!! no matter where you came from, you're still family

Foul Legacy and the rest of your friends have slowly begun trying to get you used to the outside world again, for a breath of fresh air more than anything. they're not taking you to the city apart from Neuvillette smuggling you in from time to time, but they want you to be able to explore the wilderness of Fontaine without fear. at least all the creatures and animals seem to expect, even those from the Abyss. it's the people they need to worry about, the overzealous hunters still scouring the land for the vanished Creator, or even just the Treasure Hoarders looking to make a quick pile of mora. so a few other Melusine always tag along with you, usually the ones visiting from above ground like Sedene or Sigewinne. they'll protect you- they'll always protect one of their own!

the trouble comes when Legacy is away on Harbinger duties, leaving you with not one, but two headpats from both himself and Childe. you're accompanied by more of your siblings than usual, all heading out to different locations but wanting to spend time with each other- when an arrow suddenly whizzes past your head and buries itself in a nearby tree trunk. the Melusine yelp, several little heads turning towards a very smug hunter holding a bow, laughing and pointing at you, at the familiar scars all over your body. they're clever, you'll give them credit for that- not just anyone can recognize the Creator as a Melusine- but not quite smart enough to give any thought to the several other sea slug creatures surrounding you

Mamere, the shyest of them all, points her paintbrush at the hunter and the Melusines simultaneously jump and tackle them with a furious cry. you don't even have to do anything, a few others hanging back to make sure you're alright, but you still go around and tend to them all one by one

by the time Foul Legacy finds you, there's a very unconscious hunter on the ground and a group of very proud Melusine

[antimony-medusa]

Honestly though like if you're following Philza you should get used to the fact that since the dawn of him streaming RP people have violently disliked his reaction to any angst beats because like, the cc finds angst rp funny and is also a very giggly guy. And if you're here for drama and tragedy it looks like he's not taking the pain seriously, which is obviously going to be something you don't like seeing. Trust me. We have been here before. I have watched DSMP. There were people saying he didn't take Techno's IRL death seriously enough because he was positive on stream. Like, this is top five things people get mad at cc!phil and his characters for, after "breaks the fourth wall" and "is an imperfect person/parent" and "idk his vibes just grate and I read them as Bad y'know".

I personally think that like the fact that he was repeatedly saying to the eggs that they were gonna get Tubbo back, they'll bring him back with the create wrench cause he cares about create, don't worry it'll all be okay; that was all evidence that the character does care about Tubbo and for heaven's sake, if you want angst, read that as denial and you're fully comfortably in one of the recognized stages of grieving. I was making jokes the day people in my life died, this is also one of the ways people deal with loss. But I also see why that's a POV clash if you wanted a more straightforward depiction of grief and angst? Phil was pretty far from being in tears, which is what some people think was warranted. So like, sure, if you've been watching a specific perspective, Phil's reaction was trivializing. I can see that perspective as well.

It is not fun to see someone calling your POV "vile" and "heartless" and "too selfish to consider other people" and the other delightful stuff that I just saw on a scroll through the tag, but like, that's just POV clash, you gotta let people have their own opinions and block the neg tags and maybe block people who are being really loud. Sincerely, it does nobody any good to go beefing about people being mean about your favourite cubito. Post careful lore exploration on your own blog if you want but doing replies, sending anons, all of that is the way down which A Bad Time lies. Sincerely like, this has happened before, this will happen again, just go listen to good music or something and ignore it.

[skeletwinsauaskbox]

Welcome To The Skeletwins AU Ask Box!

Snowdin Adventures With The Skeletwins is a fanfiction AU-ish thing revolving around my two favourite comfort characters, Sans and Papyrus! Why is it an AU? Well, the only significant difference (as of right now) is that they're twins! As of right now, there's just the one main story, but there's also a few side stories you can check out here!

I've been inspired by other ask blogs to create my own based on this series! So here, you can ask the twins pretty much anything! Well... almost anything...

No explicit NSFW, please. Both brothers, as well as myself, are part of the asexual spectrum, but they're more on the sex-repulsed side of things. Dirty jokes that can go over kids' heads, however, are okay! But no advances, please! Let's keep this place lighthearted, yeah?

You are allowed to submit your own art of the brothers or Undertale in general, and the brothers will react to it! But like the rule above, please no NSFW art. That would be very much appreciated.

Submit as many questions as you'd like, but please be patient! You can DM me for a private chat if you want (some of you have already done that lol), but I won't always have time to answer.

I don't do ships unless it's a canon ship like Alphyne. But if you want to mention them, that's okay! Just try to steer clear of the more... problematic ones. You know which ships they are. If anything regarding those ships are submitted, neither me nor the brothers will answer it. Sorry!

To any minors that might come across here, don't worry, I will try to make this blog as safe as possible for you! But if anything involving stuff like references to alcohol or stuff like bad mental health or even the kill kill murder route in Undertale comes up, then those questions will be answered. Just a little warning there for you, that's all.

You're allowed to swear since I'm hoping there's no actual kids on Tumblr and teenagers swear all the time haha. Just please don't use any derogatory or offensive language. Let's keep this place as friendly as possible, ok? Oh, and the characters will be censored when they swear because funny. There are a few exceptions though.

A︎n︎y︎ a︎n︎s︎w︎e︎r︎s︎ i︎n︎v︎o︎l︎v︎i︎n︎g︎ Sans' project and the brothers' past will be deliberately left vague.︎ S︎o︎r︎r︎y︎ i︎f︎ y︎o︎u︎ d︎o︎n︎'︎t︎ l︎i︎ke︎ t︎h︎a︎t︎,︎ b︎u︎t︎ I︎ d︎o︎n︎'︎t︎ w︎a︎n︎t︎ t︎o︎ s︎p︎o︎i︎l︎ a︎n︎y︎t︎h︎i︎n︎g︎ t︎o︎o︎ s︎o︎o︎n︎.︎

Please try not to spam. I assure you, your questions do go through, I'll get to it eventually! I go from bottom to top usually, so please be patient. :)

If you want to roleplay as an AU variant of Sans, Papyrus or any of the Undertale characters, or even an OC just asking questions or making comments, you DO NOT need to ask permission as long as it's not a full-on storyline. If you want to do a storyline, please ask permission. Sometimes I don't accept roleplays either because I already have too many or I'm not in the mood for one or busy. Please respect that.

If you want to put the twins in your comics or stories, you can! Fanart is great too! But I would like it if you tag me if you decide to upload it to Tumblr, not only as credit, but so I can see your art too (and subsequently fangirl over them lol). If you want a guide, then you can take a look here!

Please read what characters are available for asks before submitting your questions. Check out the link to the guide in rule 10 to get a grasp of when the AU takes place. I should probably put out an information sheet, honestly. I might do that.

Have fun and be kind! :)

Anyway, now that's done, here are the list of characters you can ask!

Sans and Papyrus (of course!)

Alphys

Undyne

Grillby

Muffet

The K-9 Unit

Asgore

Any Snowdin Resident (yes, including Jerry [and Monster Kid!])

Characters you can leave questions for but they'll be answered later:

Mettaton

Napstablook

Characters you can't ask right now:

Flowey (he doesn't exist yet)

Toriel (Sans hasn't found the door yet)

Frisk (waaaaay too early for them)

Chara and Asriel (...)

Anyway, here you go. Ask away!

[onenicebugperday]

Hello, hope you week is going well. How does INaturalist work? Can i just upload pic or do i have to attempt IDing things? I love using INat to fing out stuff but want to start an account to mark local plants animals and such but worry of.. idk, getting banned for too much clutter or something(i know thats rather irrational but boy it is there) is there something to help show what using INat is like?

You can definitely just upload as many of your own pics as you want and either suggest an ID for them yourself or let other people ID them. There's no harm in suggesting IDs for your own photos, even if they're wrong. Other people can come along and suggest a different ID. If enough people suggest the same ID, it's considered a research grade photo. Otherwise it just remains with an "ID needed" tag on it. Obviously the clearer the photos, the easier they'll be to ID. Multiple angles on the same plant or animal also help get accurate IDs.

It would be bad form, I think, to suggest IDs on a lot of other people's photos if you don't know what you're doing. As far as I know nothing like that will get you banned, but it does make more work for other people to correct it. But you don't need to be an expert by any means to use iNat!

[wutheringheightsfilm]

okay so it has come to my attention that neither i nor @mqfx has actually made an official post as to what is going on in october so here it is:

⭐️ join us for untamed october! ⭐️

what is untamed october you might ask? well, charlie mqfx and i decided that since it's been 5 years since CQL aired, it's time for a cql renaissance! starting on october 1st 2024, we will be rewatching cql (and maybe making fanworks to contribute to the fun!!)

don't worry about a schedule; we're all busy adults, and you can take it at your own pace. the point of it is to have fun and relive some of the whimsy we all had when cql was first airing! if you want to try and get some of your mutuals or friends who have never seen cql before to watch it, october is the time!! if you have fanart or a fanfic you've been wanting to post, october is it baby!!

if you want to participate with fanart, fanfic, gifsets, etc., feel free to tag your work with #untamed october or #untamedtober ! i'll be making sure to go through those tags all month to boost everyone's work!!

here are some notable works that will drop this october:

⭐️ @trans-xianxian will be drawing an entire set of major arcana cql themed tarot cards!! check out this ask to see the gdrive folder with the progress 🩵

⭐️ i believe a couple of people may be making gifsets, but i don't know who! i know they'll be beautiful though 🩵

⭐️ and of course, i myself am going to be dropping my 36 chapter fanfic, a complete rewrite and revamp of my fanfic from 5 years ago, Odd Geometry! I will be posting the official summary of it soon, so please check it out 🩵

and of course, the fun won't be quite over yet.... tgcf fans better hold onto their hats for november when @mqfx drops the rest of Idle Dreams Far South! you can read the first chapter of it here!

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | Part 5

A smile from you is all he needs to feel recharged.

Tags/Warnings: Game Designer!Jungkook, Non Idol AU, established relationship, Angst , emotional kook, suggestive messages, poor Maria pt.1 [Tags will be different for every part!]

Length: 1k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

Collab with @euphoricfilter ! 💜

-> Masterlist

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

This is not going to plan at all.

Not only is he behind schedule wise, he's also not thought about the possibility of what this all might look like to you at all. Because why would you even think that in the first place? He'd be absolutely stupid to cheat on you, let alone with a 64 year old married woman of all people!

But then again, you don't know that part- and he also can't really properly explain it as he would surely blow his own cover, and he's just too close to the finish line to give up now. He already almost cried at deleting your face ID and fingerprint from his phone, feeling like he deleted the memory of setting those things up too, but he swore himself it's for a good cause down the line. You'll make so many more memories together for sure, and they'll top those more than by just a little. He'll make sure that they will.

[Alright, I'm so excited! Next time let's do it this way right from the start- no need to make it so complicated!] Maria had wrote him in full, and he reads over it with a bit of worry. Does she really understand what he meant by his worries?

[I'm not sure you understand. I'm planning something big, and I'm also behind when it comes to physical intimacy these days, you know?] He writes the woman, who he's asked prior about the rules and such regarding.. well, sex in the home he's renting out for the upcoming special occasion he's planned. He doesn't want to get locked up for not following some Airbnb laws he overlooked after all. That would just be embarrassing. [And we're very intimate people. I'm taking her pleasure and happiness seriously, if you get the hint.] He texts her as he boils some water on the stove for his absolute accurately made ramyeon.

[Oh trust me, I've been young too! No need to be shy, I can only imagine that emotions will run high most likely!] She responds, and Jungkook pursed his lips for a second, before he starts to play with his piercings deep in thought.

[No, Maria, I don't think you get it-] he begins to type. [-it's been almost two full weeks at this point, that's the longest we've ever gone without any sex, we're talking at least three orgasms a day times fourteen, I've got some major catching up to do..] jungkook sends her, before he puts his phone down for a second as to prepare the instant noodles properly.

[It's fine, really. No need to worry!] The woman responds. But jungkook wants to make sure.

[She's a squirter- you know what that is right? Either way it's gonna get messy so I'm just making sure you REALLY know what you're getting into if you say it's alright because the carpet looked really nice and I'm not sure how to get cum stains out of that] he rambles, not noticing you emerge from the bedroom now as you put your bag on one of the kitchen chairs. [I can replace it too if that happens no problem, you know how my girlfriend gets haha. Well you don't but you will know after we're done with the place-] he taps and accidentally sends out as you call his name, causing him to almost drop his phone into the soup pot on the stove, only barely catching it in time before he can practically throw it into the pocket of his sweatpants. "Yeah?" He asks towards you, and you look at him still way too hostile in his opinion.

He knows you can be a bit of a hot head. It's what he loves about you- how fierce you can get and how you'll always stand your ground. But he also knows that you're a bit of an aklebiter with some serious anger issues sometimes- once you see red, you don't see anything else anymore. So he's got to be careful not to fuck it up any further, because once he loses you, he loses for good.

Because you're stubborn if you've made up your mind.

"The water's boiling over." You mumble, avoiding his gaze as you sit at the kitchen table, arms crossed in defense. He jumps at your words and turns off the stove at that, somewhat awkwardly playing up some food into bowl for the both of you, watching you eat silently across from him with an almost needy gaze.

You're gonna probably try and kick his balls if he asks you to sit on his lap right now, so he swallows down the request to keep them intact.

He's gonna seriously crunch some hours while you're sleeping over at a friend's house so he can still make the deadline, able to pass up on sleep with you not actually home to scold him for it. He hates the fact that the app on his phone constantly reminds him of the lack of intimacy between you two- taunting him with notifications about his streak being broken, his record being topped, his spot up top on the scoreboard being taken. He hates it. He created this app, he should be the one who's best at it too!

God he can't wait to get his hands on you again. He feels like his dick is going to fall off in the next few days.

And it's not just that, either. He doesn't sleep well when you're not with him, he misses all the interactions you usually have during the day, the love, the intimacy of just being close, he misses it so bad. And he kind of doesn't want you to leave right now- he'd love to just call it quits and just cave in, but he's come too far now, and you're also a strong independent woman. You deserve to choose where you want to go or stay, he's got no say in that- or at least he shouldn't try to have it.

"I.. You'll text me when you wanna come back home, right?" He asks as he finishes his bowl, and you shrug.

"Whatever." You mumble. "S' not like you want me home for more than the chores anyways." You huff into your food, and he can't help but feel his eyes tear up. No, stupid Jungkook, don't fucking cry right now. You're gonna ruin it all with your dumb tears and weak heart just like always-

"I do want you home.." he mumbles quietly, blinking harder to avoid you spotting anything off- but you notice. Of course you do.

"...I'll text you." You say, and that at least soothes his mind for the moment as his phone falls out of his pocket, screen cracking and making him cringe.

Fuck. That's the what.. 20th time this year?

But it's all worth it, if it means he can at least see the hint of a smile pull at your lips for once.

The sight alone motivation enough to make him work even harder now.

[illdiealonelyguy]

Apartment Story (Spencer Reid x BAU!reader)

We'll stay inside till somebody finds us, do what ever the tv tells us, stay inside our rosy minded fuzz.

My first time writing something like this, and i'm sure its not very good and there's room for sooooo much improvement, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless!

Summary: You've reached the groggy, grey winter months where nothing much usually happens, but this year is a little different. This year, you have Spencer Reid by your side. To combat the post-christmas blues and make some use of the last remaining weeks before you both head back to your desks at the BAU, Spencer attempts to find solutions for you both to remain as calm and content as you possibly can.

Tags: Spencer Reid x BAU!reader, fluff.

Word Count: roughly 789

You were roused by the sound of shuffling sheets beside you,and a temporary loss of warmth, before an arm reached itself under your side of the bedsheets to the small of your back. Eyes still heavy and closed, you nuzzled back towards the main source of heat - your own personal central heating system: Dr. Spencer Reid. Gently, you opened your eyes, head still resting against his chest, and peered up to be welcomed by his adoring smile.

"Good morning," Spencer whispered as he kissed the top of your head.

"Morning," you croaked, still squashed against his body, your breath against his neck making him giggle.

You open your eyes wider, this time gauging an impression of today's weather: grey and wet. just like everyday since the start of November, it seemed. This specific state of the weather was sure to weigh heavy on your heart until the end of March, when things would start to brighten up and look more alive.

"Hey, what's gotten you looking so somber?" Spencer inquired while turning your head towards him with his hand on your cheek.

"The weather! i just feel so trapped in such a monotone season. Eveything looks like it's been stripped of life," you lament into his caring eyes, a hint of worry working it's way into them. "You make me feel better, though. I remember once telling you that i think i chase the sun. It makes me feel far more alive and productive and full of ideas. Anyway, i came to the conclusion that you are my sun. Just being around you is enough to, for a while, help me forget about how much the winter months tend to weigh on me. So, thank you for that." You smile up at him while a faint flush settles over his cheeks, clearly bashful at such a - as he would put it - poetic metaphor.

"You're thanking me for being myself?" he chuckles.

"I suppose i am," you affirmed, leaning in to kiss him. He replied with a hum as he kissed you back, contentedly.

---------------------------------

You both spent your morning cuddling, reading and drinking tea (well, coffee for Spencer) and after the afternoon hit it's peak, the daylight seemed to be sucked away too fast for your liking.

Returning from the kitchen with two cups of tea occupying both of his hands (Spencer's new year resolution to only drink coffee in the mornings for a better night's sleep seemed to be going well, you thought) Spencer padded towards you in his fuzzy-sock clad feet, sitting beside you on the sofa and turning to you, thoughtfully.

"I think we should buy you a SAD lamp. Oh, and also stock up on puzzles, sudoku books, crosswords and other activities which will stimulate both of our brains. Well, I of course tend to these activities more than you- there's nothing wrong with that by the way! You enjoy more creative hobbies and i logical ones, but we could build puzzles together as i'm very, very bad at creative activities. Oh! I could also run to the pharmacy and get some vitamin c tablets. They'll be good for us to take in the winter," Spencer offers in a breathless frenzy.

You chuckle at his despiration "Are you still thinking about what i said earlier? Spencer, it's common to feel slightly more down in the winter months, i don't want you worrying about me too much!" you reply with a comforting smile, reaching out to take his hand in yours, squeezing it a few times as if to physically transmit your words into him.

"I know, i know. I just care about you so much and i'de hate for you to feel the weight of the shorter days wearing you down. I feel less motivated this time of year, too. But - not to steal your beautiful metaphor here - i think you might me my sun, too. Sunlight increases the production of sterotonin which helps improve mood and promote feelings of happiness, and spending time in the sunlight can reduce levels of cortisol in the body. You have the same affect on me."

"The science in your metaphor made that sound far more romantic," you giggle as you consider his words, Spencer gazing at you lovingly. "I think we will survive, love. We've got eachother, and our books, and yes if you like you can buy a bunch of brain stimulating puzzles," Spencer gazes downward shyly at your words.

"I think we've got an arsenal of things within ourselves to battle the winter blues away. Especially eachother." You end with, softly.

Leaning towards you, Spencer takes you in his arms. "I think you might be right." He mutters into the soft material of your shirt, holding you tightly.