#vines without roots

[bunchofavatars]

It's 6 pm on a Friday, and everyone else in the accounting department has already gone home to their families.

The lonely shine of a single lamp illuminates a figure in a neat black suit.

Valerien is still sitting at his desk, determined to finish his task, even if it takes him all night. He's so focused he has practically forgotten the office room around him.

((@the-cameo-blog))

Morrison grinned as xir watched the man. A challenge. Those too busy to even notice they were in a room could either be really easy or hard. The amount of people that thought the office was normal despite the changes could be alarming to some.

Still, xe changed the room, subtle at first. A bookshelf to peak out from, a picture bit to the left, the picture itself changed, a second window.

[the-cameo-blog]

After Valerien comes back to his desk during his usual late afternoon-early evening work,he finds someone sitting in front of it. What's even worse,the... person? Has layed their head on the papers,black curls sprawled everywhere.

He stifles a sigh. First one of his coworkers absolutely wants to tell him about how well her son is doing in school, and he has to appear interested - and now this? Who even is this?

"Um... Excuse me? Mx?"

[the-cameo-blog]

Valerien stops mumbling an incantation unter his breath when he notices her. It actually worked, doing all this reseach was worth it! Although... this isn't what he thought a demon would look like.

"Are you Duke Bune, commander of 35 legions of spirits?"

He asks this in the same practiced professional tone he uses with work associates.

Laertes is seized by the feeling of someone yanking aggressively on a rope on the back of his head, and she stumbles backwards to find-

They're in a dark room. Either there are no windows or all the shutters have been drawn. Laertes stands in the center of a chalk-drawn circle, still glowing dimly. They can make out a few rune and symbol-looking things on the thing's border, and beneath his feet is...a pentagram?

As her eyes adjust, she can make out a figure in a black hood, holding some creepy-looking candle, but there might be others. He can't tell, it's too dark in here.

...Is that iron in the air? Can he smell blood?

[nereidprinc3ss]

like real people do

in which spencer gets home from a case and fem!reader is feeling extra clingy

fluff (18+ for nudity) warnings/tags: reader referred to as a girl, non-sexual nudity/intimacy (again....??...), if you have daddy issues you'll prob like it, i should try therapy, technically suggestive, not even one whiff of plot, just cute shit a/n: wrote about a heatwave because winter makes me crave death. kisses!

It was hot in LA, and it’s a different, muggier kind of hot back at Spencer’s apartment when he gets home at four in the morning. The plan is to take a quick shower without waking you and then pass out for ten hours, but as soon as he opens the bedroom door, plans change. 

Even the sheer sleep-deprivation he’s experiencing can’t hamper the smile that forms when he sees you face down on the bed, fan on the highest setting and pointed straight at you, and conspicuously lacking a shirt. He drops his bag and folded suit jacket to the floor, trudging to the bed before practically falling upon you, pressing a trail of kisses up your spine.

A little sleepy grumble from you notifies him that his plans of keeping you asleep have failed, but he can’t find it within himself to be too broken up about it. 

“Spence!” you murmur, voice so quiet and scratchy with sleep but still drenched in pure adoration and joy. 

“Hi, baby,” he says, lifting his weight off of you just enough for you to turn over before he collapses on top of you again. He slips his arms underneath you and around your waist just as you wrap your arms around him. 

“You’re home.”

“I am,” he agrees, burying his face in your neck with a sigh. “And I missed you so much, pretty girl.”

He laughs when you kick the blanket away, attempting to wrap your legs around him like a koala bear. 

“Did you kiss any movie stars while you were gone?”

“Not a one,” he assures you, pressing his lips to your jaw like an offering. 

“Are you sure?”

“I am positively sure. Did you give up on clothing yourself while I was gone?”

“You don’t know how hot it was earlier when I was trying to fall asleep. There was no other option.”

He hums, his face still slotted under your jaw like pieces of a puzzle. 

“You should go back to sleep. I’m just going to take a shower and then I’m coming to bed.”

Your hands weaves through his hair gently, which doesn’t make him feel any less like passing out where he is. 

“Can I come?”

“To the shower?” He chuckles, rousing slightly. “You’re welcome to, but it’s not going to be very exciting. I’m exhausted.”

“That’s okay,” you assure him. “There will be no funny business whatsoever.”

“Okay. Come on, lovebug.”

He rolls off the bed, pulling you to your feet with just a little bit too much force. The momentum send you stumbling into him, but he catches you gratefully and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“Wait,” you order when he tries to pull away. “Not done yet.”

“Oh, you’re not?” He laughs against you between kisses, but slowly the humor fades and he loops his arms around your waist, gently rocking the two of you back and forth for a very long moment. “You are in rare form tonight, sweet girl,” he murmurs, finally pulling away from the kiss for good. 

“I’m not all the way awake yet,” you admit. “What’s that called, again?”

“Hypnagogia.” He presses a kiss to your temple, loosening his hold on you. “I am also rapidly losing consciousness so we need to make this shower super quick, okay?”

“I know, I know! I said I would behave!”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he says dryly, tugging you toward the adjoining bathroom. You pout.

“Your lack of faith in me hurts."

Despite his hesitations, the shower remains PG-13. You cling to him pretty much the entire time like a flowering vine, but no untoward advances are made. 

“Okay, you’re going to have to let go of me long enough so I can put some clothing on.”

Spencer says it lightheartedly, but you huff dramatically anyway, sitting on the edge of the bed as he roots through drawers in search of pajamas. When he produces a shirt for himself, your favorite of his, you object. 

“Wait, I wanna wear that one.”

“Oh? I thought you don’t do shirts anymore,” he teases, tossing it to you before finding another for himself. You pull it over your head, getting up again to search for a pair of shorts as he gets dressed. 

“Well, since you’re so concerned that I’m a sex-crazed harlot, I figure I’d better wear some clothes.”

“I never said that,” he reprimands gently, pulling you backward by your waist. “If you decided to forgo clothing completely, I would respect that decision.”

“You think you’re so funny.”

The two of you land on the bed, a tangle of limbs as he pulls you close as humanly possible. 

“I think I’m delirious,” he admits. With a start you realize the room is lit with the very early beginnings of dawn—you don’t even want to know how long he’s been awake. Suddenly you feel very guilty. 

“Oh—I’m really sorry for keeping you up, Spence.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I’m comfortable with my choices.” His hand finds the small of your back, rubbing small comforting circles over the bare skin. “Now, go to sleep.”

“Okay,” you murmur, eyes fluttering shut. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Spencer sighs dreamily. “So much.”

And the warmth you feel then has nothing to do with the heatwave. 

[starfinss]

𝘉𝘢𝘥 𝘐𝘥𝘦𝘢 — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 "𝘎𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵" 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

𝘍𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮: Call of Duty

𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: Simon "Ghost" Riley + Reader

𝘙𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨: NSFW 

𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘊𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 2,789

𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: It's a bad idea to want him like you do, and it's even worse when he wants you just as bad.

This is a bad idea.

The collision of mouths, shared breaths, and grasping hands fills the gaps between you like a spill of ink. His mask is bunched up over his nose, headset discarded as he crowds you against the wall, mouth crushed to yours. 

Teeth knock together, the taste of his tongue is heady on your lips, in your mouth, past your teeth, in your blood. Your hands grasp at the back of his head, nails digging into the fabric of his balaclava, and he growls into your mouth. 

This is such a bad idea, but neither of you care. Now that the line you’ve both been so carefully avoiding has been crossed, neither of you have any interest in going back. Desire, lust, and love blend together into a heady concoction that scrambles any of your rational thought, scrambled further by those rough, almost gritty breaths he gives every time he breaks away, only to rejoin your mouths in another devouring kiss.

He’s using the difference in your sizes to his advantage here, one large hand on the curve of your waist, iron firm, his opposite arm braced above your head. Ghost has never been a small man, and it’s as arousing as it is evident as you lose any remaining inhibitions you may have had in the taste of his mouth.

This has been a long time coming. Tension taught as a bowstring, brought from a rivalry turned friendship, one that the others loved to poke fun at, even as the flower bulbs of feelings took root, their vines coiling thick and thorny around your heart. Ensnared, entangled. Fuck. Soap and Gaz were going to have a field day, because from the way Simon’s mouth was moving against your own with an almost breathless need, nothing could prove them more right.

His knee slips between your thighs, and you gasp into his mouth at the friction. You feel his lips curl into a whisper of a smile as he flexes the muscle, making your hips jerk, hands scrambling for grip at the back of his neck. This is going somewhere very fast, but neither of you care to even attempt to slow it down, let alone stop it.

“Last chance,” he rasps, and the low sound of his voice makes aching heat gather between your thighs. 

“Huh?” You breathe, and the way he forces out a short laugh makes your head spin.

“Last chance to back out.”

You lift your head, eyes meeting his. Long lashes, the color of gold, frame his dark eyes, the coffee brown irises swallowed by the dark of his pupils. His mouth, kiss bruised, and his jaw, lightly dusted with stubble, are the only things visible, apart from those eyes, revealed by his carelessly rucked up mask. He looks as disheveled as you feel, and for some reason, that only makes it hotter.

“I’m not backing out,” you say, voice coming out much breathier than you thought it would, but you hardly have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about that.

That’s all it takes. All bets are off as he kisses you again, his tongue pushing past your lips as his hands find your ass, squeezing, before he’s boosting your legs up around his hips, long legs eating up the distance as he walks to his bed, away from the door you’d been crowded up against.

Your clothes don’t last long, your uniform top quickly removed, sports bra shoved above your tits as his mouth encloses a nipple, making you gasp, hands grasping at his shirt.

Then, without so much as a second thought, when the fabric falls and gets in the way of his mouth, he growls in annoyance and pulls off his mask. You’ve never seen his face without it, only Price has, you think, but apart from your captain, Ghost’s face has remained a mystery to the rest of the company. To you, that mystery isn’t so mysterious anymore.

“Your mask–” you gasp, unable to squirrel away your shock to process later, but he merely grunts in response.

“Forget it,” he says dismissively, “it was getting in the way.”

Your hands card through newly revealed honey blonde hair, still messy from being covered by the balaclava, his face still smudged with eye black as he gazes down at you with dark, hooded eyes. You take a brief moment to admire him, because aside from a scar at the corner of his mouth, his face is unblemished and handsome, a far cry from the horrible disfigurement Soap has previously joked that Simon must be hiding under the skull patterned fabric.

His mouth returns to your breast, unhindered by the fabric of the mask, and you can’t help the soft little keen that leaves you, both at the caress of his tongue and the feel of his stubble against your tender flesh. He mouths at your body, only separating to yank his shirt over his head, his hand covering your breast as he kisses you again.

Grasping hands find your hips, sliding down to your thighs, and you moan openly as he slots his hips between your parted legs, the hard ridge of his cock rubbing so perfectly against your clothed cunt. Your noise of pleasure matches his, and he repeats the action with a roll of his hips that has your eyes squeezing shut in bliss.

“Simon,” you whisper as he draws back from the kiss, though his mouth remains a whisper away, “Simon, please.”

“Fuck,” he curses, lust drunk, mouthing at your throat, “you’re gonna look so pretty on my cock.”

Those words alone make your insides twist into pleasant knots, and you squirm under him. His hand slides down your stomach, unfastening your pants and pushing them down your legs, your boots kicked off along with them. The compression shorts you wear under your pants come next, and you barely register that he’s clearly impatient to get you naked as he pulls your bra the rest of the way off.

He sits back on his knees above you, looming over you, looking down through pale lashes. The sight of him, hard muscle and heated gaze, it makes you ache. You sit up on your elbows to press kisses against his chest, his abs, making him tense and shudder, one of his hands lifting to cup the back of your head. Your tongue traces patterns against his pale flesh, and you can feel him through his slacks, hard against your stomach, twitching as your tongue swipes across one of his nipples.

That’s about all the control he’ll allow you, clearly, as he pushes you down, caging you in with his arms. His mouth is on your throat again, your collarbone, down your body, and you’re helpless as he makes a path towards where he wants to be. His hands find the underside of your thighs, pushing them apart to accommodate himself as he lays them over his shoulders. His eyes flick up to yours, and when you don’t protest or try to stop him (not that you wanted to), he keeps that eye contact as his tongue drags across your pussy.

His eyes flutter closed, brows pinching a little as he gives another pass of his tongue, blunt nails digging into the plush of your thighs as he groans. The vibrations of the noise make your hips jump, but he stills you with a tug as he wraps his arms around your hips and pulls you flush against his mouth.

Your head feels empty as he begins eating, the sounds his mouth is making utterly obscene, wet and messy but so fucking perfect that you can’t help but arch. Your ability to even so much as squirm is inhibited by his iron grip around your body, his fingers digging into your flesh to hold you where he wants you.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he breathes, and when his lips close around your clit, you cry out his name in an almost pathetic whine.

This is such a bad idea, but fuck if it doesn’t feel incredible. 

Your lieutenant is eating you out, and from the way he’s holding you there as his tongue plunges into you, making you quake against him, all you can do is lay there and take it. Price can’t know, but he isn’t stupid, and this is definitely not the last time you’ll be doing this.

“Simon,” you gasp, and he gives a harsh suck to your clit in response, making you choke on air.

One of his arms moves, releasing your leg, but he doesn’t waste any time in using that free hand to spread you open even further for him, palm against your tender inner thigh, then he’s pushing two fingers into you. Stars burst across your vision as he crooks them up, and fuck, your orgasm is coming way too fast. You sob with bliss, back lifting from the sheets as he works his fingers into you, hitting all the places that your own can’t reach, and you can barely make out the way he’s whispering hushed praise into your skin as he keeps working his tongue over your throbbing clit.

You can barely warn him as he all but pulls your orgasm out of you, the only sound you’re able to give him a strangled sob as your climax slams into you, making you buck and squirm against his mouth, vision hazy as he keeps going, working you through your climax without slowing down. 

You curse, babbling his name, and he groans as you pulse around his fingers, body arching and spasming. All you can say is that it’s too sensitive, and you’re halfway to another orgasm before he finally slows, pulling back with uneven breaths.

No time is wasted as he crawls up your body, mouth on yours, and the taste of yourself on his lips makes your head spin. You’re so achingly empty, and when you reach down to palm Simon through the pants he’s still wearing, the sound he makes is one you commit to memory.

“Fuck me,” you breathe against his mouth, “Simon, fuck me.”

He grasps one of your breasts, squeezing gently, and you squirm again.

“Gladly.”

He sits back, and you get to watch as he unfastens his pants, pushing them down just far enough to free his erection, and fuck, you understand why he’d been fingering you because there’s no way you’d be able to take that without any prep. He’s big, but that goes without saying. He’s thick. Your head is too scrambled to estimate just how big he is, but your head is spinning just thinking about the stretch.

He wraps his hand around himself, fisting his cock before he’s moving over you. He rubs the drooling tip against your cunt.

“Don’t have a condom,” he breathes, and you shake your head.

“I have the implant.”

That’s all he needs. He pushes fingers into you, stretching you with manual motions before he’s breathing out a warning.

“Tell me if it hurts. I know I’m…”

“Big?” You supply, and he breathes out what may be a laugh.

“I was going to say above average. We’ll go slow.”

Then, his hips rock forward, and you feel him start to enter you.

You grit your teeth. Even the tip is a stretch, and you feel the burn of it as he murmurs comforts, kissing your jaw, your throat. 

“Alright?”

You force yourself to nod, and he pushes in further.

Oh, the sound he makes. A low, debauched groan, drawn out between gritted teeth. It makes you whimper in response, and his teeth sink into your shoulder as his hips push forward again.

“Almost there,” he murmurs, “good girl, almost takin’ it all.”

You whimper, your legs lifting to wind around his hips, urging him forward, and you watch as his teeth grit, followed by a sharp jerk of his hips, burying himself the rest of the way inside of you.

He curses, and you feel him twitch inside of you, feel the flex of his hips, the tense of his muscles in the press of his body to yours. 

“Fuck,” he growls, “like a fuckin’ dream. Squeezin’ me so fuckin’ good.”

The rasp of his words against your ear makes you tremble. The way his accent has grown thicker is so needlessly sexy, the mancunian drawl you’ve only ever observed when he’s angry or tired showing itself in his strained voice.

He draws back, just a fraction of an inch, testing the waters, before he’s pushing back in, and the stretch of him is making your head spin. You claw at the sheets as he repeats the motion, again and again and again. He gradually picks up speed, finding a pace that has both of you gasping for air.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he groans, “takin’ my cock so well.”

His hand flattens against the mattress above your head, supporting his weight as he works his hips against yours in firm, deep thrusts. His other hand grasps your hip, holding you in place for him.

“That’s it, take it,” he pants, voice rough with pleasure, and you can’t stop moaning, your body rolling and bucking under his.

He whispers praise against your throat as his hand goes from your hip to rub at your clit with his thumb, making you squeeze around him with a helpless whimper, something that makes him curse, hips thrusting forward more roughly. It’s so good, so fucking perfect, and if you’d known how good this would be, you’d have considered acting on bad ideas far earlier.

Your climax is approaching embarrassingly quickly, and you pull him down into a kiss, one he returns without hesitation. The pressure on your clit increases, making you squeeze around him harder.

“Fuck, I ain’t gonna last,” he rumbles, and you feel his pace pick up, the hand above your head curling into the sheets, and the way he’s groaning into your ear in blissed out ecstacy is what finally does it.

Your orgasm hits hard, and he slows, working you through it with deep, rolling thrusts of his hips. He’s delaying his own orgasm, you can tell from the way his jaw tenses, the way his muscles tighten. 

You whimper as he keeps pressing your clit, rubbing in firm circles under his thumb, and you can only whimper in overstimulation as he revels in the way it makes you squeeze around him.

“Like fuckin’ velvet,” he breathes, and then he’s moving again.

Your mouth falls open in bliss as he bottoms out inside you and grinds, and the fullness combined with the way the base of his dick is rubbing against your clit is almost too much for your already fried brain to handle. You can only lay there and take it as he hikes your legs up, over his hips, pinning you in place as he chases after his own orgasm.

You kiss him, and he groans, hand knotting in your hair. He thrusts hard, once, twice, and then he’s gone, groaning raggedly as he spills into you. His hips jerk as he rides out his climax, and you shudder against him, hands sliding from the back of his head to his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

He goes slack, and you gather him into your arms, a gesture he doesn’t even hesitate to return. The room is quiet, save for uneven breaths as he holds you against him. Finally, he pulls back, pulling out of you, then he’s standing and disappearing into the small bathroom connected to the room. He returns with a warm washcloth, which he uses to wipe your inner thighs clean, and then he’s crawling into the bed beside you, gathering your body into his arms.

You never took him to be a cuddler, and you open your mouth to make a note of this, but the way he looks at you shuts you up.

“Sleep here or don’t,” he says, but from the way he’s holding you, you don’t think the latter is an option.

Few words are exchanged as you let him pull the blankets up, tucking you against him. There’s something so perfectly lovely about the feel of bare skin on skin, and you revel in it, heart heavy with adoration as you kiss his shoulder, and he rests his chin atop your head.

“Next time,” he says, and you hum in response, “you can be on top.”

It’s a bad idea. Such a bad idea. But when he kisses your forehead, so tender it makes your heartbeat flutter like butterfly wings, you really can’t bring yourself to care. Your eyes close.

“Okay,” you say, “next time.”

Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Plant Monsters

There’s something so sinister about Plant Monsters. Whether it’s those of the carnivorous variety or more of the spiritual protector kind–plant monsters are meant to be feared, and respected. As the most sentient of Mother Nature’s creations, they are nothing to scoff at whether you’re a mere villager or a royal knight set to travel through their territory. Even more so when they have no intentions on harming a hair on your head.

Somehow it’s just expected that the Dryad is going to be troublesome. Maybe in the beginning they were set to kill you but something about you has them holding back their violent instinct to protect the forest. These types are weirdly enough pretty disconnected from the forest. Not that they don’t feel the very seasons within their roots kind of disconnected. The kind of disconnected that allows them to easily abandon their place in the ecosystem–allowed them to become the predator or prey they’d like to be. 

It’s a compelling role for Dryads. Meaning, that Flower Type Dryads are free to leave the forest to follow you into the village. They’ll stand out sure but in the end, they’re free to follow you without restriction. They might annoy you into letting them in with their bright-colored petals and their soft small statures. They could get muscles to woo you but what would be the point when you’re already protecting them as your self-proclaimed fragile flower? You won’t refuse them when they offer to put their piston in your stamen and it doesn’t matter if you have a stamen or not they don’t care. All they care about is that you’ll always be right beside them so that you both can bloom together. Of course, there are plenty of predators that would try to stomp on the blossom of your love but you didn’t think the petals were just meant to look pretty, did you? Mother Nature is a strong believer in letting the most gorgeous of flowers have something to defend themselves with. Whether that’s a fruit they can make, a thorn they can unsheathe, or a small secretion meant to paralyze if consumed, Flower Type Dryads are demure and sweet and believe they deserve a life with you even if it means ending another’s if need be.

As cute and soft as the Flower Type may be, it’d be folly to forget the Carnivorous Type Dryads. Those who prefer not to leave the forest, choose the predator option within the forest. Luring their prey into their clutches to feast on the flesh and blood of whoever was foolish enough to fall into their trap. With their roots deeply into the ground, the carnivorous type isn’t usually one to move, which makes their desire for you all the more agonizing. Having to catch a glimpse of you through the foliage just out of their range is the closest they’ll get to you. There’s no guarantee for them that you’ll stay when they plea for help or that you’ll come to the sweet voice calling out to you. Just out of their range, you may be safe from the reaching vines and barbed arms they are dying to wrap around you. They have to rely on your compassion and wavering skepticism to get you like they want. Such great communicators they may very well be honest with you about not planning to eat you or perhaps they might prefer to threaten you with the lives of passersby on the path your family takes. There’s always a desperate sense of complete abandon to get you to drink their addictive nectar or to take their…seeds and be the perfect extension. There’s no question that without you transporting them in a giant pot they are forced to lure obstacles of their love…or they’ve begun to expand and evolve so that they can devour all who get in their way. Not including you of course! Don’t be scared. They’d hate to have to stick you with their own paralyzing agent. 

Speaking of sticking, the Plant Monsters that are less easy to spot because they are small or almost as human-like as you are the Faes and Fairies. Faes are only as different as they want you to see; masters of illusion and trickery all they need is your name before they can truly have all of you. They get close to you, hinging on the allure of the forest and fauna to be a mysterious traveler bound to be more. They don’t mind if you’re steadfast about not sharing your name they’re just happy to lend their magic to make you smile. To make you swoon because they’re conveniently everything you can hope for in a person of interest. Agreeing with all the topics you spoke about in confidence to your animal companion, they’re just so perfect! They don’t even mind that you won’t tell them your name they’re more than happy to keep calling you  Celtic nicknames of endearment. And they figure if you won’t give them your name they’ll give you theirs so that your souls are bound together for all eternity. They are ancient beings full of wisdom, and sage thoughts that will allow them to chain you to them lovingly aid you in whatever you hope to do in life. Not to forget the centuries devoted to weaponry and building immunity to various medical ailments, which will come in handy when they have to defend their dearest love! The Fae, though madly in love with you, is far beyond your comprehension and somehow is intertwined with the forest. You will never fully grasp how deep their connection is even when you are bound to their side for the rest of your newly immortal life.

Another with a mystifying connection to the forest is Fairies. Similar to their cousins they are known for their love for mischief and trickery. But instead of goading you for your name they’ll invite you into a fairy circle. Mythically crafted dimension full of partying and endless fun; all you have to do is eat the food and the deed is done. Everyone can never tell exactly what happens after you’ve eaten their delicacies. Some say you become a hypnotized servant, others claim you’ll be trapped within their circle for the rest of your days. Even if you befriend the flittering fiend, they’d never tell! Giggling behind their little hands and their round cheeks as they enjoy your puzzled expression. If you are wise enough not to fall into the circle a fairy won’t be deterred, more than willing to deploy an arsenal of different tactics to get your affections. Whether they rely on their charisma or the destitute life you live—a devoted fairy will not give up. Shrinking, tripping, cursing, inflicting all sorts of harrowing spells to leave you weak in the knees and perfect for the taking. Unlike their human-disguising cousins, they won’t bother to lie about their actions, proudly puffing their chest as you cry over a forward companion. The Fairy isn’t afraid to laugh as your words slur after eating a treat they’d made for you. They don’t even think for once that there’s such a thing as right or wrong, considering this is their nature. It’s right because they're doing it and it’s useless to protest with a silly notion of logic.

While Fairies may be devoid of logic the Druid is not. Likely a human or elf or even a misplaced ogre. They are truly the connection between humans and Mother Nature it’s a beautiful bond, a sacred pact that outshines everything in their life. Everything except you that is. They may worry that your presence would compromise this relationship with Nature because you consumed them. Eating away at the sanity they had left to think only of you. Even more frightening they’ve already used their power to strangle someone that dared to compliment you. It’s getting worse. The Druid knows it’s madness–their need to protect overreaching inexplicably past normal boundaries. They can’t see parallels in the mating lives of animals, no (pure) example crafted by Mother Nature does what they do. But they reason that Mother Nature in some roundabout way must approve, for they replay how you regarded them with such affection when they first met you. Not when they first joined your troupe at the guild but when they transformed into a helpless feline that was hesitant of your touch. Suddenly they are leaning into the marvelous sensation of your compassionate pets. The Druid, despite being the liaison of Nature and intelligence are helpless in the wake of their feelings for you. 

I guess the most sinister thing about Yandere Plant-Related Creatures is that there’s something inherently right in whatever they decide to do. After all for as long as humanity has existed and even long before that nature and animals have thrived following only the bare instincts they’re born with. And what part of that doesn’t include doing whatever it takes to get what they want?

[the-cameo-blog]

Will the demon do my work for me if I take them?

(I work in accounting, in case that's important)

I need an exorcist

One soul refuses to move on, and I don't know if I can handle another sleepless night because THEY had insomnia when they were alive, and they think it's okay to just.. torture me with it???

Highest bidder gets a fucking demon latched to them.

[jamilynfx]

Stuck Again

Summary: You're stuck between your boyfriends in what seems to be the hottest night of the year.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x Wade Wilson x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Inspired by this post made by @dorkszn 💖

Warnings: implied sexual content, mentions of stabbing and biting, FLUFF ALL OVER

Part 2

It’s hot.

You don’t mean the usual, July kind of hot in New York when everything seems to melt like a neglected ice-cream cone. You also don’t mean yourself or your companions, even though they have a lot of hot qualities going on.

It’s the place that you’ve found yourself in, or, more accurately, a nest that one of your boyfriends insists on creating each night, no matter the high temperatures outside. With the AC unit barely working and a half-damaged fan, which was almost destroyed on purpose by Logan during one of his daily fights with Wade, tonight’s heat is unbearable.

And it’s not that you don’t like being warm. You’re more of a summer girl, enjoying extreme heat and the sun kissing your skin, your wardrobe full of dresses and skirts to catch a light breeze when outside, always the first one on a lounge chair to sunbathe and bask in the heavenly white heat of long, summer days. Your worst nightmare is deep winter, with agonizingly cold temperatures and activities like ice-skating or building a snowman, hands half-frozen and teeth clattering uncontrollably.

But tonight?

Tonight everything is too much, even for you. The heat is overwhelming and unpleasant, surrounding you from every possible angle.

The fan sounds as if it’s its last night on earth, definitely working overtime and below its paygrade. You can’t see Mary but her light snores fill the room accompanying Logan’s casual growling, deep and insistent in your ear. Wade is silent for once, his breath steadily brushing the skin of your upper arm and neck, the constant sleep talking temporarily simmered down.

It’s your usual sleep arrangement, Logan comfortably situated behind you, your naked back flush with his bare chest, his arms hooped around your belly and mid-section like a vine, his large hands on your waist, leaving you literally no space to move or escape without waking him up. Wade is glued to the front of your body, your legs tangled together like roots of a crazy tree, your head resting on his shoulder with your face hidden in the crook of his neck, and Wade’s other arm slung over you and Logan, to have you both within an arm’s reach.

Logan isn’t a fan of Wade stealing you all for himself, especially if he does it in that obnoxious, you won’t do shit about it, peanut way, which causes low, unamused grumbling on better days and scratching or outright stabbing Wade on not so good ones. It’s more of expressing difficult feelings through violence than real hatred but Logan wouldn’t be caught dead saying out loud that he secretly enjoys when Wade hugs you both the way he’s doing it now.

Sure, there are nights where Wade is the one to squish you from behind like a sponge but, most of the time, he prefers to be in front, chest to chest or tits to tits,if you were to quote the man himself, leaving your behind to Logan’s exclusive use. Too bad Wade ain’t ever really tits to tits, it’s more of his head resting on your shoulder or right between your cleavage, which dangerously overlaps with him drooling all over your breasts every other time. It isn’t that unpleasant but you fake-complain in the mornings when it happens, just to see Wade be slightly embarrassed for once. Your legs always end up entangled, little Mary resting somewhere in between the three of you.

And while having two private heaters is heavenly during the cold, winter months of the year, now it seems to be a not-so-funny joke. Both Wade and Logan love to sleep naked or with just one item of clothing on them, Wade sometimes choosing to sleep only in Logan’s t-shirt. Yes, it doesn’t cover anything, and on days like this you’re grateful that Al is actually blind. Sleeping naked isn’t a downside per se, but now it makes you feel oven-hot, the heat that radiates from everyone suddenly too overwhelming to enjoy it.  

To make matters worse, you’re sticky. Sticky with multiple layers of sweat, droplets of it actively trickling down your side and back, your hair plastered all over your neck and forehead making you even hotter, especially with Logan’s beard buried in the crook of your neck. The place where Wade’s arm rests on yours is soaking wet, little beads of sweat running down to drip, drip, drip right onto your hip and sheets. On the top of it all, you’re sticky like that, too, a mixture of bodily fluids splashed all over your thighs, lower belly, and chest, a rather messy testament to your before-bedtime activities, which made you delirious with pleasure and forced you to fall asleep right after Logan’s hushed ‘night, princess.

You’re stuck.

You try to focus on falling back to sleep but it doesn’t work. There’s no way you’re not going to wake up Logan if you start moving but you can’t stay like that, feeling like a lobster being thrown into boiling water. The final straw is Mary, who changes her position mid-sleep and covers your feet with her little body, making your temperature skyrocket.

You grunt, wiggling carefully to free yourself of Logan’s arms. Wade is still asleep when he slightly turns away from you both, leaving you a bit shocked that he dressed into his Hello Kitty boxers for once.

You’re in the middle of sliding down Logan’s chest, his arms level with your tits, when Logan’s hoarse voice makes you stop all your abrupt movements.

“What is it that you’re doing, bub?”

Fuck.

“It’s too hot in here. I need out,” you whisper quickly, your hands coming to rest on his huge arms. You’d think he’d let you go but it’s not that easy. Logan slightly loosens his grip on you, only to slide you back up and hide his face in your sweaty hair. You manage to twist your body towards his face. “I’m serious, Lo. I need a cold shower, right now.”

The urgency in your tone gets his attention. He lets you go with an unhappy growl that makes Mary perk up.  

“Want me to go wit’ ya?”

You kiss him on the lips, just a little peck but that seems to do the trick.

“No, I’ll be quick. Sorry about waking you up.”

His only answer is another low growl but the crease between Logan’s brows straightens, then completely disappears, right when you’re kissing Wade’s sweaty forehead.

Your visit to the bathroom is quick but Mary follows you anyway. She sits right in front of the shower curtain, yawning a total of six times before you finish showering. The water is cold on your skin, a bit of a shock after being surrounded with extreme warmth, all stickiness and hotness going down the drain in a matter of minutes. Dry and ready to go, you pick the dog up with one hand, placing her under your left arm.

“Look at you, standing guard and all,” you whisper words of praise as you go back into your small, stuffy room, Mary wagging her tail happily.

Ten minutes are enough for Wade to force himself into Logan’s personal space, now that you’re not their buffer. His hello kitty cladded hips are perfectly aligned with Logan’s naked ones, his hand fondling Logan’s tits, his face halfway in Logan’s hair.

“Come quick, baby girl, and save me,” squeaks Wade when you put Mary down on the edge of the bed. That’s when you see it, Logan’s teeth buried in Wade’s arm, the same one which Wade used to feel Logan up. It’s nothing serious if there’s no blood, so you lie down in between them, forcing Logan to let go of Wade’s flesh.

“Gods’sake, behave, both of you.”

You put your head on Wade’s chest, finding your way back into a comfortable position, Logan’s hands immediately on your hips. Wade makes a big stretch, “accidentally” extending his arm to embrace you both.

“Thought he’d bite it off but I’m safe when you’re here.”

Logan buries his nose in your neck, growling lowly behind your ear, probably something about slicing Wade’s arm off, but it’s too incoherent to know for sure. He doesn’t move away from Wade’s embrace, though, which is enough for you to smile happily, watching as Mary finds her spot in between Logan’s feet.

Stuck again.

Exactly the way it should be.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

a long drag of a cigarette. 

smoke floods his lungs, in sticky streams, glides into his throat and burns the back of it with a scorpion's sting. nicotine kisses his gums. he exhales, watches as the toxins form a cloud of gray, polluting the air. keeps the cigarette poised between his fingers as the bottom end crumbles to ash. the orange spark left by his lighter has all but faded, he can’t taste anything but slow, sweet decay — tender rot in his lungs.

suguru watches you, out of the corner of his eye.

it’s rare for him to have company, at this time of day. with such awful weather, to boot. that’s why his eyes can’t help but wander, to your figure, your vacant expression. the sight of it makes his bones twitch. you’ve been sitting there since he arrived, barely moving. you look young, scrawny, clothes too big for your body. there’s mud on your shoes and the cuffs of your jeans; their edges frayed and damaged, like you’ve been walking down concrete and puddles all day. your skin glistens with leftover dewdrops.

the air smells of rain. he likes it, despite his frizzy black locks, likes the contrast between the sting of the smoke and the life in the air, a summer soon to pass him by. he tastes it when he parts his lips and allows himself a tender inhale, earth and leaves and ripened clusters of honeydew being split into halves. when he looks down at the ground, he finds his own reflection; a silhouette in the puddle at his feet, ripples tearing his face in half. he looks weary. lilac smudges underneath his eyes, hair raised into an unkempt bun, the silver sliver of piercings on his bottom lip and helix catching the dim light of the lamp overhead. they gleam, in the humid air.

(he got them on a whim. a tattoo would be the next step, but he has no idea what design to choose.

mostly, he just wants to feel the sting.)

a choked out sound. it snaps him back into reality, plants roots and vines around his feet. suguru watches you, with eyes of burning cedar, tastes the visage of your image on his teeth and on his tongue.

for a moment, your gaze overlaps with his own. fickle eyes. you’re covering your mouth, staring at the cigarette only centimeters from their mark —

and he understands the issue. can see your eyes water from the smoke. it’s only you and him here, no one else who can complain or chew him out, just you and him outside the tiny konbini, by an alley littered with trash bags and hungry strays; cats, ravens.

you.

”… sorry,” he hums, vocal cords roughed up, lacking their usual luster. he doesn’t like the way it sounds. ”i’ll put it out.”

he crushes the cigarette under his boot. it falls on the concrete without making any noise, pliant as he makes it crumble apart, dissolve into black soot. dirty rainwater swallows what remains.

he should really quit, soon. 

with a rustle of fabric, he digs through the plastic bag hanging off his arm — searching for a bottle of water to moisten his dry throat, uncapping the lid and relishing as it flows against tender flesh. it feels nice, to have this routine. to come here every day, and have himself a silent smoke. suguru enjoys the structure. enjoys what little semblance of control he can get, after leaving his old life behind.

(after crushing his potential under the heel of his boot. his ears still ring with gunshots at night, but the silent death has strayed its course.

buddha, he thinks, lips twitching with a withheld smile. look at what a spectacle i’ve become.)

no words from you grace his ears. you duck your head, as if scared of the sudden attention, of his voice. he belatedly regrets his lack of consideration — wishes he had twisted it into a softer shape for the fickle creature to his left. but you aren’t coughing anymore, only sitting there with your legs dangling off the edge of the bench. with those lifeless eyes, a fish about to be gutted, just as weary as his.

like you’re about to fade into slumber. fade out of existence. 

even after all these years, even without sorcery — suguru can sense death. his instincts are forever honed. what he smells on you is decay, the same as the ache in his rotting lungs. you look famished, trembling fingers finding purchase in your lap, picking at a piece of lint on your jeans.

the sight makes his heart ache. breaks it apart, like an unripened fruit, splits and tears down the middle. you look so small, so weak. so very, very vulnerable.

a moment’s hesitation. 

suguru’s hand slips back into the bag, ghosts against a styrofoam cup and pack of wakaba cigarettes, before his fingers finally settle and curl around a soft, triangular object. wrapped up in neat sheets of plastic, still slightly warm to the touch. perfect.

he gives you a glance, and finds you’re already looking at him. eyes droopy with fatigue, but moving down his fingers, almost curiously. watching him pull out the cheap onigiri and cradle it in his palm. 

ah, now you’re looking away. skittish — he tastes the word on his tongue, allows his eyes to run from the bridge of your nose to the tips of your fingers. you’re coiled in on yourself, almost as if waiting for a blow. and oh, it hurts him, even though he isn’t sure why. even though he can’t recall the last time his heart felt this wet with pity. he feeds the cats around here, sometimes, but they never look so sad. 

”are you hungry?”

the words have left his mouth long before he can regret them. and suguru is pleased, to notice his voice has peeled itself of the rasp, invited smooth, silky vowels. he sounds kind, he thinks. hopes.

but you still look uncomfortable. he must appear intimidating, to you. tall, pierced, long hair and sleepless eyes. a handsome face does no good when you don’t even have the courage to look at it properly. you shift in your seat, not meeting his eyes. 

no response.

that’s just fine. 

”here.” he takes a seat on the bench, at the very edge, careful not to come too close. you jolt, but stay, as he unfurls his palm. ”you can have it.”

cautious eyes meet his own. still just for a moment, a flicker of light when you tip your head a certain way. then it’s gone, and your eyes are just lifeless again. he’s seen it before, in mirrors. he’s all too familiar with the act of drowning on land.

”go on.”

he tries his hand at a smile. voice a low lull, coaxing you forward, still patiently holding out the onigiri. 

a growl of your stomach. it’s barely audible, but he picks up on it, watches the way you clutch at your abdomen as if to muffle the noise. ducking your head, again, a bit of colour blooming in your cheeks. 

finally, a feeble hand reaches for his own. 

so you do have it in you.

”… thank you,” comes a murmur, a little scratchy. but soft, just rusty. how polite. he watches as your shaky fingers curl around the plastic, bring it to your lap.

suguru takes notice of your body language. still skittish, your shoe tapping at the concrete as if restless, eager to get away. but you’re more relaxed than when he first spoke to you. it feels good.

feels right.

(feels like something he’d forgotten.)

”how old are you?” he asks, uncapping the lid of his water bottle, just to place it next to you. hand reaching into his pocket, to pull out his lighter, her lighter, worn with age. ”if you don’t mind me asking.”

no response. you fumble with the plastic wrapping, having difficulty getting it off. the nori tears, he can tell from the way you mouth a wince. without thinking, he’s taking it from off your hands — practiced, as he unfurls it, peels the plastic and fishes out the rice ball. while he does, you finally speak, in a voice just barely raised above a whisper. 

”… ’m in college.”

a quirk of his brow. ”… are you?”

you nod. suguru gives back the snack, watches as you take a bite, listens to the crunch of seaweed and the quiet hum you let out as you chew. softly, slowly, as if savouring the taste. he isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. you’re younger than him, that much he’s certain of. ”… sure you’re not a runaway?”

it’s half a joke, half a question. he’s smiling, but your brows furrow together, face set into tense lines.

”… i just don’t have anywhere to go, right now.” 

another bite. crunch, chew, swallow. he watches your throat bob, waits for the quiet gulp. 

”that’s all.”

…

”i see.” he taps his fingers against the hood of the lighter, snaps it open and shut, a gaping mousetrap. ”that’s unfortunate. and your college can’t help?”

this time, he gets no response. you must already feel uncomfortable, sharing your troubles with a stranger. he understands, but an itch still gnaws at his bones. 

trust is a fickle thing. 

suguru watches you eat, and tries to calm the rising desire in his chest. warmth spreads throughout his stomach, at the sight, creeps into his veins. a coo on the tip of his tongue that he has to swallow down. he feels no need to have anything of his own, no real desire to fill his empty stomach. he only wants to watch, watch, watch, as you feast on what he brings you. he wants to watch you eat forever. it’s a sudden thought; his stomach twists with ill-content. 

a deep, aching pit. 

sometimes, he can still feel them. wriggling around in his womb, fighting for space as they crawl up his esophagus. all the curses they had him vomit up. 

he thinks he must have lost something, back then. thrown up more than he should have. a lung, maybe. his heart, his human heart.

no running soothes the longing. it’s a losing battle, to struggle against it, to not be swallowed underwater when he keeps his eyes shut for too long and finds he no longer remembers how to suffocate the urge. when he realizes life still feels like dragging mud into whatever house will keep him. there is a burning hole inside him, something left it there, a hollow space that only ever deepens, sinks a blade into his chest. 

what could fill it? 

who could fill it? 

(you, you, you, his gut supplies.

you, and your fragile bones.)

a shiver travels down his spine. it’s gone as soon as it came, because now you’re licking the grains of rice from off your fingers, like a cat lapping at the white bones of a grilled fish. he thinks it’s cute, thinks you look perfect after a little meal. eating so well for him, out of his hand. you look less fatigued, less droopy, and suguru feels more alive than he can remember.

for a moment, ill-chosen, he pictures you in his home. seated at his kitchen table, legs dangling underneath it, your fingers guiding warm stew and freshly made bread into your waiting mouth. pictures you soaking in his bathtub, napping on the couch while the tv flickers on and off, wrapped up in blankets and resting on silken sheets, waiting for him… he plays with the idea, for a while. isn’t sure where it came from, just knows he wants it. 

and god, how long has it been since he felt desire?

”was it good?” he asks, suddenly, a smile playing at his lips, branches blooming with wisteria. ”tasty?”

a nod. he takes what he can get; dares not be greedy, when you’re already letting him so close. he wants you to trust him more than anything, right now, in this moment, more than he wants to breathe. more than he wants to ruin himself. you’re small, unsteady on your feet, all alone in the world. and you just happened to end up at the konbini he frequents.

suguru geto does not believe in fate.

he does believe in meaning. 

(the word sears a burning gap into his tongue.)

”i’m glad,” he says, the hum of a buzzing dragonfly, slipping the lighter back into his pocket. he stands up, to his full height, breathes in the humid summer air and lets it stifle his lungs. he ponders, ponders, ponders. figures he can let himself be a little selfish, after all the years he spent eating himself alive. the gift of a bleeding heart left on the counter to cool.

just this once, suguru doesn’t look to the rotting innards in his stomach for guidance — he takes. 

and the rainy day surrenders to the longing in his lungs.

”i know this is sudden, but would you like to come with me?”

his voice is silky, clusters of jasmine buds and honey, deep and warm and rumbling through his chest. you look up at him with big eyes. surprise, he wonders, or just caution? it’s good to be on edge, either way. 

just not with him. 

”i’m a social worker, of sorts,” a little white lie, just to get your guard down, just to soften the lining. ”if you have nowhere to go, you could come with me. just until you get back on your feet. of course, i don’t expect you to trust a man you just met, but…”

he eyes your clothes, your face, the decay sticking itself to your soul. 

(it seems to me like you’re out of safe choices.)

”i’d like to help you, if possible.”

suguru tilts his head. you meet his low-lidded eyes — a look of bewilderment crossing your features. eyeing him, warily, as if expecting him to pull the rug from under your feet, pull a dagger out of his coat. his bangs sway like dying ravens hung out to dry.

trust is a fickle thing. he doesn’t mind. it’ll take you some time to adjust to his presence, he’s well aware. 

”… what do you get out of it?”

your voice cuts into the air, the sharp edge of a blade. something like a hiss, but not quite; he senses the fear there, the trepidation. you’re guarded, that’s all.

it’s a good question.

company. duty. something to fill the pit in his chest.

meaning, meaning, meaning. 

”… like i said,” he exhales, wearing a smile, eyes narrowed into slits. ”i just want to help. that’s all.”

and it’s true. he does want to help. wants to water your roots, watch you flourish before him. how long has it been since he felt responsible for anything other than himself? he remembers satoru and shoko and a myriad of dying plants. he wants to keep you tucked under his wing, safe and secure, where he can make sure no more harm befalls you. the world has already run you ragged — he knows, he can tell, you’re one and the same. the world has soiled you too. he knows, he knows, but you’re safe now.

ask a dying man what he wants, and you will get only one answer. but suguru has always been greedy.

he wants to make breakfast for two, and sleep with his chest to your back. but can’t tell you that. has to coax you into it, slowly, treat you with the caution you’d use to bandage a fawn’s broken leg. he thinks you’d feel right at home, with him. his apartment is on the smaller side, but he could adjust to your needs. he has more blood money than he knows what to do with. as long as you feel welcomed.

”i don’t need anything in return.”

tobacco lingers in the air, melts into the heavy scent of wet asphalt and rain, hugs his skin. suguru watches you, watches you, watches you. from the twitch of your pinkie to the tap of your shoe against concrete to the flicker in your eyes when you realize he’s being serious, when you fall into the half-truth. 

trust is a fickle thing. it sweeps you in when your guard is down. leaves just as quickly. 

(but a human being at their lowest will always want a hand to guide them.)

”… where do you work?”

suguru eyes ripen. a smile tugs his lips into a crescent moon, a silent victory.

”i’ll tell you.” he reaches his hand out, hungry for contact, lets his open palm hang in the air. ”but first… what would you say to a warm dinner?”

he watches your pupils waver. ripples along water, a dirty puddle in the street. he can almost see his own silhouette, a looming figure, gazing down at you with piercing golden eyes. he could fit you in his pocket, he thinks. you’d feel right at home in his lap. 

ugly, ugly thoughts. the phantom curses in his stomach twist with glee, and suguru ignores their taunting. he thinks of neither god nor buddha.

(free of rot, but just as filthy.) 

a smaller hand approaches his. 

[syoddeye]

xylaria polymorpha

You pick him. He picks you back. cw: entomophobia, earachnophobia, vomit mention (not depicted), mild body horror, abduction, buried alive (sort of), nonconsensual kiss a/n: AO3

The woods, no matter where you roam, have always felt like a refuge. An escape from your day job and your cramped flat. Far from emails and bills.

The air is cool, laced with the scent of wildflowers and damp earth. As you walk, you name the flora around you, half-whispering, half-thinking. Dog's mercury. Lesser celandine. Bursts of foxglove.

The woods are loud in a quiet way. Alive. Wood pigeons cooing, squirrels chittering, a fox slipping through the brush in a blur. You take it all in, breathe it in deeply.

This peace is why you come here. Or part of it, anyway.

Your foraging bag swings at your side, weighted with what you've already found. Oyster mushrooms, chicken of the woods, a single giant puffball. Two dryad's saddles stacked atop one another. Your parents taught you how to hunt and how to identify your finds. You were barely knee-high the first time they took you, holding your hand as you nervously poked at leaves and logs. It's a valuable skill, one you're grateful to have honed. The shelves in your kitchen are full because of it, and on weekends, you sell the excess at the market.

The trees grow taller as you walk, their trunks thick and gnarled. It's darker and colder here, the light barely piercing the canopy. You don't mind, and merely zip your jacket to your chin. The good stuff's always further in.

A few hedgehogs and puffballs later, you see them.

They rise from around the body of a rotting log, black and knotted, their shape unmistakable. You kneel, your heart fluttering with the discovery. You've read about them in books, seen photos online: xylaria polymorpha. Dead man's fingers.

They're inedible, nor are they particularly pleasant to look at, but you reach for your notebook anyway. A sketch and then a picture on your phone. Something to send the parents. But your gaze catches on something else.

In the rear of the cluster, there are five paler growths, different from the others. They stand out, almost glowing against the dark soil. You've never seen anything like them. A mutation, perhaps. Or some kind of bacteria or mold. You edge closer, leaning in, fascinated, and without thinking, you reach out to touch one.

The moment your fingers brush the surface, it moves. And it doesn't just twitch or shift—it grabs.

A cold, wet pressure wraps around your hand. It knocks a violent gasp from your throat, and immediately, you try to pull back, but the grip tightens. Your bag falls, spilling as you twist and yank. The mushrooms clinging to your hands aren't mushrooms anymore. They're fingers—long, sinewy fingers. Pale and filthy, their nails cracked and dark with soil.

You freeze, a scream catching in your chest as the fingers pull harder, dragging your hand downward. Then you see it. The arm . Rising from the earth, covered in moss and mud, thick and muscular. Panic surges up from your belly, burning your throat with its acid. Stomach churning your breakfast as the rest of it emerges. Piece by piece as though being assembled by the woods themselves.

A man. 

And from your knees, he looks enormous.

The body is tall, broad-shouldered, with skin that appears almost translucent in places under the layers of muck and decay. The chest is scarred, torn up, and sewn back together with thin vines and stems. Pocked with keloids and other protrusions that look less natural. Dozens of insects crawl over his skin, falling to the ground or disappearing into the folds of moss that cling to bits of him. One of his ears is a swollen, misshapen thing, his hair shoddily cropped, bits of it stringy and wet, but his eyes lock onto yours—dark, intense, and unblinking.

You can't move. His hand wraps around yours like a root. He towers over you, filling your view, banishing whatever notion of peace you had.

"A woman." He rasps through cracked lips, hoarse. "Were you gonna pick me?"

You try to speak, to say anything, but the words won't come. You're not even sure this is actually happening.

He tilts his head, studying. He squeezes a little, hinting at how he could crush your hand without a thought. Crack you open like a walnut.

The image snaps you back to yourself, your mind clearing with a rush of instinct. You pull, but before you can make any progress, he yanks you forward, then up, like it's nothing. He holds your hand high above your head, and you watch, transfixed, as a spider squeezes itself through the mess of his ear.

You finally find your voice, though you swallow some sick to free it. "What…What are you?"

He doesn't answer right away. His gaze drifts down, then back up again, slow, deliberate. He looks at the overturned bag, his brow twitching just slightly, then returns to your eyes. His free hand lifts, and as it moves, a sludgy drip of mud falls, plopping softly onto the ground. You flinch as he drags two fingers over the curve of your cheek, smearing the mud over your skin.

"These woods belong to me. Everything you've stolen? Mine." His fingers graze you again, feeling the hammering pulse at your neck. "You followin'?"

"I didn't mean to—"

"But you did." His mouth curves slightly. "You touched me. You chose. You thought you were gonna carry me off."

The once-familiar sounds of the forest warp. The birdsong sounds wrong. Off-key and more frantic. The forest closes in. Shadows stretch longer in the periphery.

His hold is what keeps you from collapsing in shock when the ground starts to give way. Slowly, beneath your boots, the earth begins to eat you. Your toes, your ankles, your calves. You pull at his arm, desperate to break his grip, to push yourself free, but he's unmoving, rooted. Then you realize he's sinking with you.

His other hand touches your chin, rough fingers tilting your face toward him. You flinch as his thumb brushes your lower lip, leaving behind the tang of damp soil. The taste makes you gag, and you twist harder, but his hold is unrelenting.

"This is 'ow it works," There is no malice. He speaks as though this is fact. "You don't take without givin' back. Not 'ere, not from me."

The ground rises faster, the earth climbing your thighs. Your breath catches, panic surging. You try to wrest free, but no amount of struggling helps. You're sinking, and he's sinking with you.

"You picked me. This. Made your choice." He repeats, softer this time. 

It's up to your chest. Dozens of tiny legs move beneath the surface, exploring your skin, inspecting you. Welcoming you. Tears blur your vision and slip down your face.

He lets go of your arm now that you're trapped, immobile, and holds either side of your face. He tips your head back up, and just as the world swallows you whole, he plants his mouth over yours.

A week later, the authorities will find your foraging bag beside the log. Its treasures withered to black. They'll call your name and search until dusk, but they won't find you.

You'll be far below them by then, cradled in roots and arms as thick as tree branches, breathing in the forest in a different way. Far beyond their reach, but alive. Thriving. Growing.

[the-cameo-blog]

Because the northern hemisphere isn't tilted towards the sun anymore.

Why does it have to be so damn cold???

[corpsedogs]

jason todd x f!vigilante

MDNI dub-con, praise, relationship status up to interpretation

✿ ivy pollen — jason helps you out as you get exposed by ivy’s pollen. (not proof read)

“They want us to clean up this?” you gawk as you look at the greenhouse in front of you. Large plants and flowers were scattered everywhere, you could visibly see the moving stem circling around the greenhouse like some sort of python and some flowers that open and close every second

Jason merely shrugs, as if cleaning up a plant infested greenhouse would be a piece of cake “Be lucky its just this.”

You and Jason had been assigned to clean up the mess Ivy did in a recent mission Cass, Damian and Bruce had done. Since uh, GCPD can’t obviously do this, Bruce had chosen the two of you to be in charge of the job.

The two of you entered the greenhouse, Ivy isn’t here at the moment, so the plants were a little bit tamer without its master. At least no one was ordering around to kill you.

The task was to destroy as much hostile plants as possible, if they were to difficult to destroy, then place them to the pots or incubators by the truck the GCPD parked by.

Jason was already getting frustrated, most of the plants he was picking up were already starting to try to wrap around his arms. He could feel the plants trying to dig their vines and leaves into his skin as he grabs and pulls the roots away, this was not a pleasant feeling.

He tried to focus on removing the most toxic plants away first, but there were a lot of the damn things. He was hoping you had a good grasp on the little plants, otherwise this would be a long day

“These plants are a nuisance, why can't Ivy just mind her own business?”

“You said you wanted the harder ones.” you reminded him, “Do you want any help?”

“I can handle it, just focus on the smaller ones.” Jason said with a grunt as he felt a large vine wrap around his entire upper arm and start to squeeze. The plant in his other hand was starting to poke tiny thorns into his palm, “This is gonna be a long night.” he deadpanned.

You ignored his complains and approached a medium sized plant. Its petals were pink and it seemed like it was breathing. The plant looks up at you as it petals opens, it seems to recognize your presence as it purrs.

You smiled and placed your hand under the plant's chin, it almost resembled some kind of pet.

You turned your gaze to Jason, “Hey, look. Not all of them want to kill us.”

Jason looked over at the plant you were petting, his eyes widen for a moment as he takes in that you're actually petting the dang thing. He stares blankly for a moment before raising a single eyebrow

“Are we just gonna ignore the fact that you're petting a plant?” Jason asked flatly. “I mean…it’s kinda cute.” you say with a shrug as you continued to pet the plant. It seemed to really like it, it almost looked like it was nuzzling into your hand “Cute?” he repeated dryly, “You know it could possibly be poisonous, right?”

You didn’t listen as he huffs, “Don’t touch it.” he sharply says, “It’s fine. It’s harmless.” you reassure him.

"Yeah and how do you know that?" Jason asked, he seemed more annoyed by you not listening to him than anything.

"I swear sometimes you can be so-"

He was cut off with the plant shooting pink dust in your face, you immediately started coughing uncontrollably as you let go of the plant. Jason immediately pulls you out and places his hands on your shoulders.

“Hnn..” you groaned weakly as he examined your face, “God I feel weird.” you mumbled. He gently turns your head from side to side, studying your face. He doesn't see any serious harm, but you seemed off somehow.

"Do you feel dizzy?" he asked. He was starting to get a bad feeling, he was on edge about what the plants effect actually was. You nod your head in response, your eyes starting to look a bit fuzzy. Jason glances down and notices a small pink tinge to your cheeks.

"Let’s go to the safehouse.”

He quickly guides you out of the greenhouse, “Oracle, we’re going to the safe house. A planted sprayed some kind of toxin on her, i’ll try to use the antidotes there in case she infects anyone.”

It didn't take long until you made it to the safehouse and Jason was already setting you down on the small couch in the living room. You felt hot, and you felt like as if there was an itch in your body.

You especially feel the heat down at your core and it felt so uncomfortable. You closed your legs and crunched down to try and ease the pain.

Jason noticed your movement out of the corner of his eye. He had been watching you closely, making sure you were alright. He raised a eyebrow as he saw you curling up, you looked visibly uncomfortable.

"Are you in pain?"

As you look up at him, you can’t help but flush as you felt the heat between your legs burn more “Yeah, uh. Pretty much.” you winced. In your head, some unholy images popped up in your head, images of things your body desperately needed. You then slightly shake your head and close your eyes as you suppress your thoughts.

You were struggling against these strange feelings. You never felt this much heat or desperation before. you wanted.. needed, something but you weren't sure of what.

Jason had a pretty good idea of what was going on, the plant must’ve sprayed an aphrodisiac on you. He looked down at you, watching as you tried to curl up to ease the heat. It was starting to get to him too, seeing you like this “Alright, I think I know how to help."

"You do?" you mumble weakly. Your thighs were rubbing together, hoping to find some kind of relief. He could feel his own body start to heat up in response to your increasing desperation.

It was obvious you were starting to lose yourself to the aphrodises, the plant’s effects taking over your logic and reasoning. He gently placed a hand on your knee, trying to get your attention. You jumped at the contact, it felt like a fire through your trousers.

“Look, I’m going to help you, alright? You’re going to have to trust me though.” Jason said quietly.

You nod your head slowly, not trusting your voice to speak. You didn’t care what he was going to do at this point as long as it could relieve the needy heat in your body. He took that as a yes, then slid his hand slowly up your thigh, noticing your body tense in response.

“Just relax, I’ll make it feel good.” Jason’s voice was a deep whisper, trying to reassure you that he could soothe the ache you wanted gone so badly. “Jay- don’t be all talk please.” your voice let out a whine you didn’t mean.

His smirk grew larger at your whine, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy it. The fact that you were starting to give in to him was doing something to him that he couldn’t explain.

“Don’t be so impatient, I’ll take good care of you.” he said as he placed his hand in between your thighs.

You let out a whimper in response, your hips grinding pathetically into his hand. The feeling of his strong, rough hand in your sensitive clit was sending tingles through your entire body.

Jason continued to gently rub his hand slowly, wanting to build the anticipation for you. He wanted to hear more of your desperate whines, it was like music to him. He could feel himself starting to get hard from your reactions and it was all he could do not to give in too quickly himself.

His fingers moved in slow circles, applying pressure to your aching clit. You whimper and try to rock your hips against his hand, wanting more of that sweet friction.

”Look at you, you’re so wet. You want it badly don’t you? All you have to do is ask for me, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Please-” you pleaded softly, your voice cracking from both need and embarrassment. This was nothing like you at all, but right now you didn’t care. You were overwhelmed with desire and you needed him to make it better.

“Come here,” he said as he pulled on your waist, you let out a small noise of confusion before realizing what he meant.

He guided you onto his lap, your legs straddling him. You could feel the bulge in his pants, it was hard and large. His hands were on your hips, holding you in place as he leaned in close to you.

You could feel his breath on your neck and it sent shivers down your spine. He placed hot kisses on your neck, moving slowly and leaving a trail up to your ear. His lips were hot and rough, it made your head spin.

You lift your hips up slightly so that he can pull the spandex slowly down your thighs, the cool air on your skin sending goosebumps across your legs. You feel a sharp shiver go down your spine when he places his big, rough hands on your bare hips.

You leaned in to give him a desperate and clumsy kiss as your hips grind on him for friction. He let out a soft groan into the kiss. His grip on your hips tightened slightly as you grind against him, his growing bulge pressing against you.

“Damn, how strong is this ivy poison?” he huffed as he pulls away.

He placed another kiss on your neck, this one much harder than the previous one. His hands move down to your thighs, gently squeezing as he held you in place.

"Just be patient. You'll feel good soon enough."

“Jay.. Jay please..” you softly whisper in his ear, “I need you.. help.”

He had to bite back a groan when you spoke in his ear, your sweet voice begging for him was something he didn’t know he needed this badly. He nipped your neck before responding, "I’m going to take care of you. Just trust me."

He lifts your hips up to tug away his boxers and your panties and you practically drool at his size. He placed another kiss on your neck before moving his hands back to your hips. "Now, you just relax, alright?"

He rubbed his thumbs in circles on your inner thighs, trying to soothe you. The heat and desperation was clearly taking its toll on you, and he didn’t want you to feel any more uncomfortable.

Jason lifted you higher, moving one of his legs to prop your hips up a little. He positioned himself right below your dripping cunt, then placed one of his hands on your waist.

When you push down on his thick cock you cant help but moan in relief. He grunted as you sunk down onto him, his grip on your waist getting even more firm. You were soaking wet and hot and his cock felt amazing.

You started to move up and down. There was no rhythm and you were moving like an animal in heat as you had no control.

“Easy there,” Jason said, his voice slightly strained as you moved. He could tell that you were starting to lose yourself, the plant poison was starting to take completely over your body.

His hands were still on your waist, gently guiding you as you rode him.

“But I need.. I need..” you pant.

“I know what you need, but you need to calm down a little bit." he murmured, looking up at your flushed face. "Just let me take care of you."

He took your waist and started moving you up and down in a rhythm. He held onto you tightly as he started to move you, setting a slow pace at first. He could see how much you were struggling, how you were practically begging for relief from this overwhelming heat.

"Good girl," he whispered, his voice low and rough "just let go, I’ve got you."

He continued to move in a steady rhythm, listening to your soft moans and whimpers and wanting to make you feel even better. But after a few moments, he could tell you were starting to get more and more restless and needy again, like the heat was building up once more.

"Look at you, you're such a mess." he said in a low voice, his fingers digging into your flesh as he continued to move you "But I like it, it just means I get to take care of you more, isn't that right?"

You nodded in response.

"That's right. You're going to let me help you and take care of you, right?" he lifted you up just a bit, then slammed you back down against him, making you gasp in response.

"You're too good for me, so I'm going to make sure you feel good," he said, his voice getting a little strained. It was getting more difficult for him to keep himself under control, but he wanted to wait until you were fully satisfied before he let himself go.

He moved your hips a little harder, wanting to build the pressure for you. You were making cute little needy whimpers in his ear, and each one of them was making him go insane.

You felt a knot in your stomach as you did a broken moan, “I’m close..” you whispered in his ear.

He loved hearing you being so needy and telling him what you needed, it gave him a sense of control that he didn't know he needed so badly.

"Are you?" he whispered back, his voice strained. "Then we should probably do something about that, shouldn't we?"

With that, he lifted you up a little bit and then slammed you down even harder. The change of angle hit you in the right spot and he could tell from your face that it felt good.

He kept moving you in that same spot, wanting to hear more of your needy whines and whimpers. He was starting to get close himself, the control was slipping out of his grasp.

"Come here," he said, pulling you down into a rough kiss.

He could taste the desperation in your lips, your body was so hot against his skin. He held you close as he kissed you, hoping the feel of his tongue against yours would drive you over the edge.

Jason drank in your moan as you came, he could feel your body shake against his as you reached your climax. It was a beautiful sight to him.

"That's it, good girl." he said in a low voice, still holding you close. He could tell you had come down from your high, but it was clear that you weren't satisfied just yet, you needed even

You panted as you looked at him hazy. He looked back at you, his gaze intense. He could feel how much you wanted this, wanted him, and it was driving him fucking crazy.

The heat and pain honestly felt worse after the first round.

"Do you want more?" he asked.

“Please.”

He lifted you up off of him, making you whine in protest before he flipped you around so that you were lying on your back on the couch. He moved over you, leaning over to cover you with his body. He leaned in and kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring yours as he started to position himself between your thighs.

Jason pushes his cock in,, not waiting for you to adjust at his size considering you were already so prepared.

He moved in and out of you, picking up a slow, steady rhythm. He could feel the heat already starting to build again, every inch of you felt so good to him.

He felt like the poison from the plant had done a number on him as well, he kept his face close to yours, so he could hear every gasp and whimper that came out of your mouth.

He grunted as you dug your nails into his back and held onto him for dear life. It felt like you were the only thing tying him to reality, and honestly, he didn't mind.

He continued to thrust in your pussy, doing circles around your puffy clit. It felt so good that you couldn't think straight, the only thing you could focus on was the feeling of you around him. He started to move even faster, his cock slamming into your pussy with each thrust.

You let out a broken moan as he hits the spot that makes your legs close. He leaned in to capture your lips in a rough kiss.

His hands gripped your thighs tightly as he continued to move. You tasted so sweet, it was like his own kind of poison, and he couldn't get enough of it.

He pulled back from the kiss to catch his breath, his chest rising and falling heavily with each ragged breath. He looked at you, his eyes dark with need, and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold on for much longer.

You felt your orgasm building up again as you whined, “I-im gonna..”

He grunted in response, his hands holding onto your thighs a little tighter. "Go ahead, come for me." He practically growled the words, his voice rough and deep, his own climax starting to build in the pit of his stomach,

You cried out his name as you came all over his cock. He let out a low groan as he felt you tighten around him, it was the final straw before all of the control he had slipped out of his grasp.

He came hard inside of you, his body shaking and his fingers digging into your thighs. It felt like every nerve in his body was set on fire at once. He collapsed above you, panting hard as he tried to regain his breath.

He could feel how hot and sweaty his skin was as he lays on top of you. He lifted his head to look at you, noticing that your face wasn't nearly as flushed and your eyes didn't look quite as hazy anymore. The ivy's poison must've finally started to wear off.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice still hoarse and rough as he brushed some stray hairs off your sweaty forehead.

“Y-yeah. Um, I am.” you said, looking away feeling flushed on what just happened.

"Embarrassed?" he asked quietly, still trying to catch his breath. "That was pretty fun."

“I didn’t know I wasn’t able to control myself like that.” you said. After years of training, you couldn’t believe you lost your control even though you were trained to maintain it hundreds of times.

He smiled a little bit as he heard you try to defend yourself. "Yeah well, even the best lose control sometimes,"

Oracle tuned in on his comms, which thankfully he didn’t leave hanging while fucking you. “Red Hood, have you given her the antidote?” she asks.

Technically.. the antidote was pretty useless now. Jason rolls his eyes a bit at Oracle's question.

"Yeah Oracle, I've given her the antidote. She's fine now."

“Great, Red Robin and Spoiler will take over the greenhouse instead. Both of you rest.” Oracle said before tuning out. Jason can't help but shake his head at her response, he knew she wasn't buying that he gave you the antidote, but it seemed like she didn't want to say anything.

“I'm tired.. and sore.” you mumbled as you leaned ln his chest. "Yeah, I figured you would be. Come on, I’m pretty sure this safe house has a bed that fits the both of us.”

🌷 did u like this? i didn’t, i dont know how to write smut.. i might delete this but um yes

[the-cameo-blog]

Hiiii!! <3

I'm Laska, and I've decided to make a blog together with the 2 most important people in my life: my girlfriend Azari and my best friend Valen!! Introductions will be under the cut.

For some reason, tumblr keeps glitching and showing 2 other people's posts on this account too, but ignore that.

Can't wait to get to know people!!

Soo, here's a pic of me, Laska!! She/her, btw. I'm currently studying to become a nurse. And, in case you couldn't tell, I love the others on this blog very much <3

I'll be tagging my posts with #the loveless flame, after my favorite Death Omen song!!

I'm Valerien Sartorius, pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I won't be very active on this account, as I have more important things to take care of, like my job. I'm an accountant, for those who wish to know. My pronouns are he and him.

Apparently I need to choose a "tag"... Fine, it will be #vines without roots.

Hey freaks of the internet! Call me Azari. She/they or I'll find out where you live and I'll cover every inch of your home in bright red paint. Now that that's out of the way, who wants to hang out tonight?

Oh, and I've decided my tag will be #because I can #I've been ghosting. Wha- hey! Why can't I change it back? What the actual fuck...

[Error 888: connected from new device]

My name is Narcisse, I go by they/ve/she, and I have plans for these three. Just sit back and watch the story unfold...

You'll recognize me by my tag #ascensionisms.

Hey! I'm Pat, and I'm just happy to be here. Technically a mailman, but my other job is much more important, to me at least. It's honestly the best job I could ever imagine. Also I'm slowly rotting from the inside out lol, don't mind that. Please use he/him unless you're Narcisse!

My tag will be #the loyal acolyte, if I ever get to make a post.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

OOC:

Hello, @crowfromfoggyforest here! Tackling a big project with this one - aka a tma au of 2 fantasy-ish projects of mine mashed together. So yeah, unlike on my other rp blogs, there will actually be a plot! Whohoo!

The blog is called the cameo blog because i originally only wanted these characters to appear as cameos on another blog, and also because i might play around with tma versions of other ocs here sooner or later. And also just because cameo is a neat word.

Half of the tags (and also the blog title) are song/lyric references, whoever gets all of them gets a virtual forehead kiss ^-^

Do send asks and interact with my babies! ^-^

[moonlight-joy]

Heart Of The Jungle

Fandom: Kraven the hunter

Summary: You are a healer living in a remote jungle village, renowned for your knowledge of rare plants. When Kraven arrives, seeking a rare herb to save himself from a deadly poison, he’s shocked to find himself drawn to your gentle spirit. As you work together to find the cure, Kraven realizes that for the first time, he doesn’t want to conquer or hunt—you’ve awakened a softer side of him.

Pairing: Reader/Sergei Kravinoff

The jungle was alive with sound. The chatter of monkeys echoed through the dense canopy, and the faint rustle of leaves betrayed the movements of unseen creatures. The air was thick and humid, carrying the earthy scent of rain-soaked soil and blooming flowers. You moved through it with practiced ease, your woven basket balanced on one hip, filled with vibrant herbs and roots you’d gathered during the morning.

Your village was nestled deep in the heart of the jungle, far from the chaos of the outside world. Here, you were known as a healer, someone who understood the secrets of the forest—its dangers, its cures, its miracles. It was a quiet life, one of purpose and simplicity. But that all changed the day he arrived.

Sergei Kravinoff—Kraven, as he called himself—burst into your village like a storm. His presence was overwhelming, a stark contrast to the gentle rhythm of life you were used to. He was a mountain of a man, his broad shoulders and sharp features exuding raw power. His piercing eyes seemed to see everything, and his movements were deliberate, like a predator stalking prey.

But it wasn’t his presence alone that startled you. It was the way he clutched his side, blood seeping through his fingers, his skin pale and clammy. He staggered into the clearing, his voice hoarse as he demanded, “I need a healer. Now.”

The villagers had scattered at the sight of him, their fear palpable. But you stepped forward, your instincts kicking in. “Come with me,” you said firmly, guiding him to your hut. He followed without question, his steps heavy but determined.

Inside your small hut, the air was cooler, the thick walls shielding you from the oppressive heat of the jungle. Kraven collapsed onto a low cot, his breathing labored. You knelt beside him, your hands already moving to assess his wound.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice calm but firm.

“Poison,” he ground out, wincing as you peeled back the blood-soaked fabric of his shirt. “A blade. Didn’t see it coming.”

Your heart sank as you examined the wound. The edges were dark and inflamed, a telltale sign of a fast-acting toxin. You’d seen it before, but rarely. The cure was difficult to make, requiring a rare herb that grew only in the deepest parts of the jungle.

“You’re lucky you made it this far,” you said, reaching for your supplies. “But if we don’t act quickly, the poison will spread.”

Kraven’s jaw tightened, and he nodded. “Tell me what you need. I’ll get it.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” you replied sharply. “You can barely stand. I’ll go.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then he sighed, leaning back against the cot. “Fine. But hurry. I’m not dying in this godforsaken jungle.”

You ignored his gruff tone, focusing instead on preparing a temporary remedy to slow the poison’s spread. As you worked, you couldn’t help but notice the way his gaze lingered on you, studying your every move.

The journey to find the herb was treacherous. The jungle’s depths were unyielding, filled with tangled vines, hidden predators, and an oppressive sense of isolation. But you knew the forest well, and your determination to save your patient kept you moving forward.

When you finally found the herb, its delicate purple flowers nestled among thorny bushes, you felt a surge of relief. Carefully, you gathered what you needed and began the long trek back to the village.

Kraven was waiting when you returned, his condition visibly worse. His skin was pale, a fine sheen of sweat covering his brow, but his eyes remained sharp.

“Took you long enough,” he muttered, though there was no real bite to his words.

“You’re welcome,” you replied dryly, setting to work immediately.

As you crushed the herb into a paste, mixing it with other ingredients to create the antidote, you felt Kraven’s gaze on you again. “You’re good at this,” he said after a moment.

“I should hope so,” you replied, not looking up. “It’s my life’s work.”

“Why?” he asked, his tone curious.

The question caught you off guard. “Why?” you repeated.

“Why dedicate your life to healing strangers? To living out here, away from… everything?”

You paused, considering your answer. “Because it matters,” you said finally. “Because life is fragile, and someone has to protect it. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere.”

Kraven was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he nodded, as if accepting your answer.

The antidote worked, though it took time. Over the following days, you watched as Kraven’s strength slowly returned. He was restless, pacing the small hut like a caged animal, but he stayed. At first, you thought it was simply necessity—a hunter waiting to regain his strength. But as the days turned into weeks, you realized there was something more keeping him there.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said one evening, as the two of you sat outside the hut, the jungle alive with the sounds of night.

“What did you expect?” you asked, glancing at him.

He shrugged, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Someone weaker. Someone afraid.”

You laughed softly. “I’ve lived in this jungle my whole life. Fear doesn’t get you very far here.”

His gaze lingered on you, and for the first time, you saw something softer in his eyes. “You’re strong,” he said. “Stronger than most people I’ve met.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and you felt a faint blush rise to your cheeks. “Thank you,” you said quietly.

The bond between you grew slowly, like the roots of a tree winding their way through the earth. Kraven began to open up, sharing pieces of his life, his past, his hunts. And in turn, you shared your own stories, your quiet life in the jungle, the lessons you’d learned from the forest.

But the peace was not to last.

One morning, as you prepared to collect herbs, Kraven stopped you, his expression unusually serious. “There’s something you need to know,” he said.

“What is it?” you asked, your heart sinking at the grim note in his voice.

“The herb you used,” he said. “It has a side effect. I’ve… seen it before.”

Your brows furrowed. “What kind of side effect?”

Kraven hesitated, his jaw tightening. “It links lifeforces. Yours and mine. If one of us dies… so does the other.”

The weight of his words hit you like a physical blow. “That can’t be true,” you said, shaking your head. “There must be a way to undo it.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But until we find it, we’re bound.”

You stared at him, your mind racing. The thought of being tied to him—this man who was at once infuriating and captivating—was almost too much to bear. But deep down, you knew you couldn’t turn away from him now. Not when your lives were so deeply intertwined.

“Then we’ll figure it out,” you said firmly. “Together.”

Kraven’s expression softened, and for the first time, you saw genuine gratitude in his eyes. “Together,”

Please support my work with like and comment

[heliosunny]

Love your writing 😍 about anaxa and phainon

Hoping that I can see more of them✨

Since I've just updated Yandere!Phainon, I'll write Yandere!Anaxa. Thank you for supporting me🩵

Yandere!Anaxa x Florist!Reader

In a quiet kingdom known for its lush flora, you run a small but thriving flower shop, using your magic to cultivate rare and powerful plants. Strong-willed and sharp-tongued, you care little for wealth or titles, only for the flowers that bloom under your care. Then he walks in.

A man shrouded in mystery and danger, arrives with a strange plant in hand and an offer to research it

The bell above your shop’s door chimed softly, signaling a customer. You barely looked up from where you were tending to a tray of delicate orchids, brushing your fingertips over their petals.

“Welcome” you said, voice steady yet warm. “Take your time.”

No response. How strange, most visitors, whether locals or travelers, at least offered a greeting. You turned your gaze toward the entrance only to find a man standing motionless, barely past the threshold.

And the moment your eyes met his, chaos erupted. The vines and roots in your shop, normally docile, swaying gently under your magic suddenly lashed out, twisting and lunging toward him like living creatures with a mind of their own. Thorns glinted under the lantern light, reaching to pierce into his skin.

You moved instantly.

Lifting a hand, you called forth your magic, your power sweeping through the air like an unseen force. The aggressive vines froze, caught mid-air, mere inches from his throat. With a flick of your wrist, they recoiled and slithered back, retreating into the soil.

You let out a slow breath before turning your sharp gaze to the stranger.

Now that you had a better look, you could see why your plants had reacted so violently.

The man before you was no ordinary traveler.

Dark fabric clung to his tall frame, adorned with silver accents and lined with enchanted thread that shimmered faintly under the light. His hair, a cascade of green, framed striking eyes that watched you without a hint of fear.

If anything…

He looked amused.

“I see” he murmured, his tone smooth, almost lazy. “They don’t like me.”

Your grip on your magic remained firm. “That makes two of us.”

A soft chuckle escaped him. “Oh? And here I thought florists were supposed to be welcoming.”

You didn’t smile. “Florists don’t typically get customers who trigger an unprovoked magical attack.”

His gaze flickered to the now-docile vines before returning to you. “Unprovoked, hm?”

You narrowed your eyes. There was something about him. Something unnatural. Your plants had never reacted like that before, not even to dangerous men. Which meant… This man was something else entirely.

Despite the warning signs, you did not turn him away. You were no fool. Forcing him out would only make him return.

Instead, you did what you did best, you observed.

You allowed him to browse your shop, watching from behind the counter as he idly picked up flowers, rolling their stems between his gloved fingers.

The tension in your shop was thick. Your plants remained still, but you could feel them watching, waiting.

Finally, the man turned to you, holding up a single white lily. “I’ll take this one.”

You eyed him. “A white lily?”

He hummed. “Is that a problem?”

You set down your gardening shears, stepping out from behind the counter. “That flower means purity and devotion.”

Another chuckle. “How fitting.”

You frowned. “For you?”

“For you” he corrected smoothly.

You stared. He held the lily up, brushing the petals along his fingers. “You protected me, didn’t you? Even when your magic screamed otherwise?”

“You weren’t in danger” you said evenly. “I was protecting my shop from needless damage. Not you.”

He tilted his head. “Is that so?”

Before you could respond, he did something unforgivable.

He brought the lily to his lips and bit down on the petals.

You snapped. Without thinking, you moved. In a blur of motion, you grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, slamming him against the wooden counter with surprising strength.

His smirk faltered, eyes widening just slightly.

He wasn’t expecting this.

You leaned in close, voice dangerously soft.

“Don't do that to my flowers.”

His smirk returned, sharper this time. “Apologies” he purred, unbothered by his current position. “I was just curious.”

Your grip on his wrist remained firm. Tight to the point you could feel his pulse. Steady. Unnaturally calm. A normal man would have tensed, would have recoiled at your sudden aggression.

But he didn't. He simply studied your reaction.

Your eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

For the first time, he didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, his gaze softened—just slightly.

Then, he smiled. Is that interest you saw in his eyes?

“I think” he murmured, tilting his head ever so slightly, “I’d like to find that out with you.”

And somehow, despite everything, despite the danger that curled around him like a cloak, you had the sinking feeling that this was only the beginning.

-----

The moment Anaxa placed the plant in your hands, you felt it. It was alive. Not in the way all plants were, this was something else.

The veins in its leaves pulsed faintly, like a slow heartbeat. The roots twitched as if sensing your presence, curling toward your fingers.

You tore your gaze away from it, leveling Anaxa with a sharp look. “Where did you find this?”

His smirk was slow, deliberate. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m the one researching it.”

He chuckled, tilting his head slightly. “Then consider it a mystery for you to solve.”

You frowned. He was hiding something.

But that didn’t matter, not yet.

For now, the plant held your full attention. You ran your fingers along the stem, noting the strange texture. Not quite wood, not quite flesh. Somewhere in between.

“How long do I have?” you asked.

Anaxa’s eyes flickered, amused by your immediate interest. “No rush. Take as long as you need.”

“Even if it takes years?”

His lips curled. “I have patience.”

You narrowed your eyes. That was a lie.

No man who smirked like that, who watched you like that, was capable of patience.

But you said nothing. Instead, you turned away, already lost in thought.

This plant… it could change everything.

Days turned to weeks, and the more you uncovered about the plant, the more you realized it was wrong. It absorbed magic. Fed off of it. Craved it.

Your greenhouse had become a battleground of willpower, your magic straining to contain the unnatural hunger of its roots.

But more concerning than the plant itself was him. Anaxa visited often. Too often.

Always watching. Always hovering just close enough that his presence became a shadow at your back, his warmth bleeding into your space.

It was suffocating and you hated that. You didn't use to working under such stressful environment.

“You’re distracted today” he murmured, leaning against the wooden counter as he watched you work.

You didn’t look up. “I have a guest who refuses to leave. I wonder why.”

A low chuckle. “Is that what I am? A guest?”

“What else would you be?”

He hummed, pushing off the counter. You felt him step closer, his presence a tangible weight behind you.

“You tell me, florist.”

The way he said that title, it wasn’t mockery.

It was fond.

You exhaled sharply, fingers tightening around your shears. “You’re getting in the way of my work.”

“I don’t mind” he said smoothly.

“I do.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, slow, measured, testing. You felt the ghost of his fingertips skim over your wrist, a barely-there touch and yet it burned.

You turned sharply, your shears flashing between the two of you, the blade stopping just before his throat.

Anaxa merely raised an eyebrow, utterly unbothered. Then, slowly, he smiled.

“You’re so beautiful when you threaten me.”

You stared at him, heart pounding and something inside you twisted.

Not in anger.

Not in fear.

In something far more dangerous.

And from the way his eyes darkened, he knew. Your breath was steady. Your hand did not shake. The shears remained pressed lightly against his throat, just enough for him to feel the cold metal against his skin. But Anaxa… he wasn’t afraid. If anything, he leaned in.

His voice was thick with amusement. “What now, little florist? Will you cut me down like your flowers?”

You exhaled slowly, eyes locked onto his. “Maybe.”

His smirk widened. “Do it.”

Your fingers tensed. Damn him. He was testing you. You hated that part of you, the part he had awakened, that wanted to push back.

You lowered the shears, stepping away. “I have work to do.”

Anaxa chuckled, touching his throat where the shears had been, mockingly thoughtful. “Mm. A shame. I would have liked to see how deep you'd go.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t tempt me.”

Despite everything, you still let him into your shop.

Anaxa never made himself scarce, always finding reasons to linger, offering idle conversation, watching as you worked, leaving small, carefully chosen gifts.

A book on ancient flora he knew you’d been searching for. A rare seed he procured from a distant kingdom. Even something as simple as a hot cup of tea on particularly exhausting days.

It was all calculated. And it was working. Because despite your wariness, despite knowing exactly what kind of man he was, you found yourself hesitating less when he got close. And Anaxa noticed.

One evening, as you were tending to the strange plant he had brought, you felt him step behind you. His fingers brushed your wrist, guiding your hand over the leaves.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

The plant pulsed beneath your touch.

You swallowed hard. “Yes.”

He hummed, his fingers curling slightly over yours. “Just like you, it thrives on attention.”

Your lips parted to argue, to deny, to push him away. But your traitorous body remained still. That silence was all he needed.

His grip tightened. Just long enough to remind you who was winning this game.

The first incident happened three days later.

A neighboring florist, one of your longtime friends—vanished.

The second incident followed soon after.

Another florist. A merchant. Anyone who spent too much time near you. No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just whispers of disappearances.

And then, the third incident.

This time, the attack was aimed at you.

A masked figure cornered you late at night, their blade glinting under the dim lantern light. But you were no helpless damsel. Before they could strike, you reached into your apron, pulled out a handful of crushed lilies and blew the powder into their face.

The paralysis was instant. The would-be assassin barely had time to stagger before crumpling to the ground, unmoving. You stepped back, breathing heavily, heart hammering.

Then, from the darkness, a slow clap.

You turned, only to find him.

Anaxa stood in the shadows, watching you with that infuriating, satisfied smile.

“You handled that well” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into fists. “This was your doing.”

“Was it?” He tilted his head, stepping closer, eyes never leaving yours. “Strange… I seem to remember warning you that this town had become dangerous.”

You glared. “You expect me to believe this was a coincidence?”

“I expect you to be smart enough to see the truth.” He stopped a mere breath away from you, his fingers reaching out to trace along the petals of the flower in your hair.

“You need me, Y/N.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “And I’m the only one who will stay.”

Your pulse pounded. Not with fear.

But with the bitter realization that he wasn’t wrong.

The disappearances. The attack. The uncertainty in the air. Who else could you trust now?

He had woven himself into your life. And somehow, you had let him. But that didn’t mean you had lost.

Not yet.

So instead of pulling away, instead of rejecting his words, you met his gaze head-on.

“You think you’ve won?” you murmured.

His smile widened. “Haven’t I?”

You leaned in slightly, your breath ghosting against his skin, your fingers grazing his wrist. And then, in a single swift motion. You twisted his arm behind his back, slammed him against the shop’s wooden post, and pressed the sharp tip of your pruning shears to his throat.

Anaxa let out a soft, breathless laugh.

“Ah…” His voice was practically shaking with delight. “Now you’re just teasing me.”

Your grip tightened. “You don’t scare me.”

“You should” he murmured.

You stared at him, heart hammering, waiting for the moment he’d retaliate—waiting for him to strike. But he didn’t. Instead, he leaned into the blade. A thin line of crimson beaded against his pale skin, but he didn’t flinch.

He only smiled.

“Keep me close” he whispered. “Or watch how far I’ll go to get to you.”

A warning. A promise. A challenge.

And for the first time, you realized this wasn’t a game you could walk away from.

You felt the world blur around you.

Heat crept into your veins, slow and insidious, twisting through your body like roots burrowing deep into the earth. Your fingers trembled as you gripped the counter, trying to steady yourself.

Your vision swam, colors bleeding together. Across from you, Anaxa stood, watching you with sick satisfaction.

You had been poisoned.

Not to kill. Not to harm.

But to bind.

“What… did you do?” Your voice came out breathless, weaker than you wanted it to be.

Anaxa’s smile was slow, patient, victorious.

“Shh.” He stepped closer, brushing a gloved hand against your flushed cheek. “Let it settle, little flower. There’s no use fighting it.”

Your breathing hitched. The warmth pooling in your body was unnatural, like a vine curling around your heart, tightening, twisting, refusing to let go.

Your knees nearly buckled. Anaxa caught you effortlessly, guiding you against his chest, holding you as if he had done this before.

As if he had been waiting for this moment.

“You’re strong” he murmured, pressing his lips against your hair. “I knew you wouldn’t fall easily.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. Fight. Your mind screamed at you. Resist.

But the weight in your limbs, the fog in your head, it was drowning you.

And worst of all, beneath the confusion and anger, something inside you craved the feeling.

The warmth. The presence. His hands on you. His voice in your ears.

You forced yourself to move, shoving against his chest. He allowed it, stepping back just enough to watch you struggle.

Your glare should have been sharp, but the dizziness dulled it. “You… bastard.”

Anaxa chuckled, tilting his head. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, my dear.”

He reached into his coat and pulled out a delicate glass vial.

Inside, swirling with a faint glow, was the same plant you had spent weeks researching.

Understanding slammed into you.

The plant. The rumors. The disappearances.

Your breath came short and shallow. “You planned this from the beginning.”

Anaxa smiled.

“Of course I did.”

Your mind was still reeling, but one thing was clear—Anaxa was not just some wandering researcher.

He was someone powerful. Someone who had influence. And now that you thought about it, his posture, his way of speaking, the way he expected to be obeyed. It was all too familiar.

Royalty.

Your lips parted in realization. “You—”

“I rule the neighbor kingdom, Y/N.” He said it softly, as if it were the simplest truth in the world. “And now, so will you.”

Your stomach twisted. “I never wanted that.”

“But you need it,” he countered. “And you need me.”

You clenched your fists. “What I need is for you to let me go.”

He smiled, patient as ever. “But you won’t leave.”

You narrowed your eyes. “And why is that?”

Anaxa’s stepped closer, his fingers brushing your pulse point. “Because I’ve rooted myself in you.”

Your breath caught.

“You feel it, don’t you?” His voice was low, hypnotic. “That pull. That ache.”

The poison makes you crave him.

Anaxa leaned in, his lips mere inches from yours.

“You are mine now.”

For days, you tried to fight it.

The bond, the warmth, the way his presence made your pulse race.

His voice in your ears. His hands guiding yours as you tended to the flowers. His whispers at night, promising, coaxing, binding.

You hated him. You hated how good he was at this. At pulling you in. At making you his.

And worst of all?

Somewhere along the way…

You had stopped trying to leave.

There was no escape from him. You will soon wither in his arms just like that lily.

[zerun0]

Can you make a fanfic about spending time with Viktor in his greenhouse? 👉👈 Whether it will be more romantic or more spicy is your decision

"Ivy and Iron" — Viktor x Y/N (Gender-Neutral)

English is not my first language. Feel free to comment on any of my mistakes and i will update the post, also I more than happy to receive suggestions, and advice on how to improve my work. — !SFW! — Established relationship, Fluff, Flirting, Garden, kissing. — Word count: — 1,5k (Full uncut version on AO3)

The dome was alive... more alive than anyone had thought possible in a city like Zaun.

Viktor stood among the green area, just above him, fractured glass panes refracted sunlight into shimmering beams that danced across the greenery below. Nature had reclaimed this once-dead space, transforming the ruin into an oasis of color and vitality. Ivy wove intricate patterns along the cracks, mending the broken with threads of green. Flowering vines spilled over from high ledges, their blossoms in hues so vibrant they felt almost otherworldly. Beneath his feet, moss softened the worn stone path, and ferns swayed as if breathing. The air was warm, humid with the scent of earth and blossoms—a stark contrast to Zaun’s metallic chill and acrid fumes.

And in the center of it all was you.

Viktor’s kaleidoscopic eyes lingered on you as you knelt in the soil, gently tending a bed of seedlings. Your fingers moved with careful precision, coaxing life from the dirt with a tenderness that stirred something deep in him. You looked so at peace, surrounded by the vibrancy you had nurtured, your hands stained with earth, your lips curved in a small smile of satisfaction.

He hesitated at the edge of the clearing, his cane tapping lightly against the mossy stone. The sound drew your attention, and when you glanced up, your eyes brightened.

“Viktor,” — you greeted, rising to your feet. There was warmth in your voice, as though you were genuinely pleased to see him. — “You made it.”

He stood there gracefully, his cane tapping softly against the moss-covered stone. The sunlight streaming through the fractured glass dome above dappled his pale face, highlighting the faint glow of his enhancements. The plants had flourished far beyond what he had imagined. Yet, despite the brilliance of the paradise he’d created, it was you who held his attention.

“I could not stay away,” — he admitted, stepping closer. — “You care for this place with such devotion. I wished to see it through your eyes.”

Your lips quirked up in a soft smile. — “It’s your creation, Viktor. I’m just the gardener.”

“You are far more than that,” — he replied, his voice laced with quiet conviction. — “Without your hands, without your care, this place would be nothing compared to what it is now..."

You glanced around at the verdant space, the vibrant green leaves and radiant flowers whispering softly in the warm breeze. Birds flitted between the vines; insects hummed industriously over beds of herbs. Everywhere life teemed, and the air was thick with the scent of blooming flowers and fertile soil.

“It’s easy to care for something so full of potential,” — you said softly. — “But you’re the reason any of this exists in the first place. These plants wouldn’t have a chance in Zaun if it weren’t for you.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and for a moment, you thought you saw a flicker of amusement in his eyes. — “Perhaps.”

The two of you wandered deeper into the dome, your pace unhurried. As you walked, you pointed out the various plants you’d been tending—climbing vines heavy with blossoms, patches of herbs growing in carefully arranged beds, fruit trees that had begun to bear their first harvest. Viktor listened intently, his sharp mind absorbing your every word.

“These fruit trees were the most stubborn,” — you said with a small laugh, brushing your hand against the rough bark of one. — “I had to trim back so much of the dead wood to give the new growth a chance. But once they took root, they grew faster than I expected.”

“You understand their needs well,” — Viktor said, studying the branches laden with ripe fruit. His colorful eyes lingered on your hands as you gently turned one of the leaves, inspecting its vibrant green color. — “Each decision you make, every care you offer, it shapes them. Guides them.”

“I’m just following what feels right,” — you replied, glancing over your shoulder at him. — “Plants are a lot like people, I think. They need support, patience... someone to believe in them.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. — “It is not something I have considered before"

You smiled, your eyes softening. — “Sometimes all it takes is a little faith.”

Viktor walked beside you in silence for a moment, his cane tapping lightly against the mossy path. The quiet hum of life surrounded you. The garden felt alive in every sense of the word, and it struck him how starkly it contrasted with the barren ruins this dome had once been.

“Tell me,” — he said at last, his voice quiet but curious. — “what made you decide to take this on? When I showed you the empty space, it must have seemed... hopeless.” — He asked, he seemed to be testing you.

You paused, turning to face him. — “It wasn’t hopeless. Just waiting. Waiting for someone to give it a chance.” — Your gaze swept over the flourishing greenery, the vibrant flowers, the lush grass beneath your feet. — “When I first saw this place, I saw what it could become. I couldn’t just leave it as it was.”

Viktor’s lips curved into a faint smile, the corners of his mouth softening. — “It seems I chose well, then.”

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. — “You didn’t choose anything, Viktor. You built this space, and I volunteered. If anything, this garden chose me.”

“That,” — he said, stepping closer. — “is precisely what I mean.”

You blinked up at him, your breath catching slightly at the intensity of his gaze. The distance between you seemed to shrink, the space filled with the heady scent of blooming flowers and the gentle rustle of leaves. The air felt charged, as though the garden itself was holding its breath.

“This place thrives because of you,” — Viktor said, his glistening eyes fixed on yours. — “When I imagined this garden, I thought only of potential. Of how life might reclaim what was lost. But it is more than I could have envisioned because you saw not just what it could be, but what it should be"

Your heart skipped a beat at the quiet reverence in his tone. — “And you ... You gave it the chance to exist. Maybe... maybe we both brought it to life, together.”

He stepped even closer. You could see the subtle lines of strain around his eyes, the weight he carried in every step, but here, surrounded by the haven you’d built together, he seemed lighter somehow. — “Together,” — he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with quiet certainty.

A breeze stirred the air. The moment felt suspended in time, the sounds of Zaun’s chaos beyond the dome fading into nothingness.

“You’ve been coming here more often,” you ventured, your voice gentle. — “Why?”

Viktor’s gaze dropped for a moment as though gathering his thoughts, his fingers tightening slightly around the head of his cane. When his kaleidoscopic eyes met yours again, there was a softness to them that made your chest ache. “Because,” — he began quietly, — “it is here that I feel closest to what I am searching for. Peace. Growth. Beauty.” He paused, his voice lowering. — “You.”

The words hit you like a quiet storm, their honesty stealing the breath from your lungs. The space between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken tension. The hum of the garden, the soft rustle of leaves, all of it blurred into the background as Viktor’s focus remained solely on you.

“You mean that?” — you asked, your voice barely audible.

“I do,” — he said without hesitation.

His words unraveled something in you, a tether you hadn’t realized was holding you back. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand finding his where it rested on the cane. His fingers curled around yours instinctively, the calluses of his palm a sharp contrast to the softness of your touch.

His hand came up slowly, brushing against your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw with a tenderness that made your knees weak. You leaned into the touch, your heart thundering in your chest.

“I should not,” — he murmured, his voice trembling with restraint. — “But I cannot seem to stay away.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension. Then in a blink of a eye, Viktor leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both hesitant and searing. His touch was searching, as though he was afraid you might slip away.

But you did the contrary, you melted into him, your hands finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palms. His cane fell to the ground with a soft thud, forgotten, as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him. The warmth of his body seeped into yours, and the world seemed to dissolve into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged. His voice was a hoarse whisper. — “I have never felt this before.”

You brushed a strand of hair from his face. — “Then let’s not overthink it. Let’s just... be.” — Thank you for requesting it! Feel free to send more fic ideas !