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girlsworldillusion · 2 months

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CLAIM - by Aemond Targaryen

+18 (seriously, no minors)

author's note: my first time writing for him, even though I've been in the fandom for a while now. (I hope this isn't the only one).

There you go, Aemond thinks with some bitterness.

Bright, innocent, pure. Tempting in annoying ways. Certainly a cute little thing to look at, though.

Unfortunately, he's not the only one who noticed this.

A warm, tingly ball curls in his stomach the more he watches you and your pathetic excuse for a partner during the waltz. Every delicate twirl you make around the grand ballroom sends shivers down his spine. The flushed dust high on your cheeks leaves his throat dry. The gentle smile you offer the Lord who smugly leads you through the dance makes his fist clench so tightly around the wine glass that Aemond is actually surprised he hasn't shattered the thing into a thousand pieces yet.

Aemond is not jealous, however. Aemond doesn't get jealous - being jealous is wanting something someone else has, and he has everything he needs, a lot of enviable things, to be honest. (That's what he tells himself, sipping some wine and sending icy daggers toward the man who insists on holding your waist tighter and tighter).

He's not jealous. He just doesn't like it when others covet what's his - or what should be his.

You, another Lady with a prestigious name. Theoretically there were many like you, it's true. But to Aemond, you always stood out. Unique, special. It is a great inconvenience that others also think this way.

Aemond was trying to be a gentleman here. He was purposely going slow so as not to scare you; innocent walks in the garden, subtle conversations about a book you both recently read, an unassuming invitation for afternoon tea (although he doesn't even like tea).

He was already exhausting the limits of his own patience and he still didn't get any real sign that you reciprocated his interest in you. You are kind and lovely, of course. But that's how you are with everyone around you. This, in itself, is no guarantee of absolutely anything for him.

Aemond was trying to be patient. Gods, he really was. But with each passing day he found himself more and more tormented by thoughts and fantasies about you. His mind is playing tricks on him, pushing the limits of his self-control to the point where he feels like he might snap like a stretched rubber band.

And it is on these nights, when everyone in the Red Keep is already asleep and he is absolutely certain that he is finally alone with his own demons - that he gives in.

He closes the only eye he has left to keep from seeing the shamefully needy descent of his hand beneath the waistband of his sleep pants, only for it to become a fleeting, innocuous thought a few seconds later, because there it is again; that all-encompassing, overwhelming feeling that makes him see stars every time.

He palms his straining erection wet with precum, imagining it's your tiny hand there - or your pretty mouth, your tight pussy. The mere thought of it sends a bolt of pleasure down his spine and makes him part his lips in a husky sigh.

He thinks of you, over and over again; in hurried and repetitive steps, like someone lost in a maze.

Your cheeks flushed, your lips swollen from his kisses, your eyelashes fluttering with pleasure, your sweet voice begging for him...

Aemond, Aemond, Aemond-

Aemond writhes on the sheets, panting, shaking with it, his toes curled against the bed; his hips twitching with each wave of pleasure along his shaft trapped between his fingers. In the waves of euphoria, he throws his other arm over his eye, hides his sapphire and his personal decay like a secret, panting, getting close, so close, fuck, fuck...

It's sweet torture, after all. Spills out onto his own stomach and sheets instead of where he really wants to be.

But he can handle it. All to be a gentleman for you. All to endure the long, agonizing (and embarrassing) wait while you happily accept his invitations to teas and walks in the gardens and entertain him with your witty anecdotes about the latest book you read -

Although you never give him a concrete answer about your feelings for him.

He's trying to hold on.

But you need to pressure him, don't you?

He grits his teeth and narrows his gaze when the man waltzing with you leans down to say something close to your ear.

This isn't new to him, of course.

Aemond is used to having to fight to get what he wants. Nothing really comes easy for him. But there is something about the arduous trajectory of his personal achievements that no one is able to deny.

Once claimed, it's his forever.

That's it, enough of trying to be a gentleman - Aemond hums as he uses the rim of his wine glass to hide the wicked smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, baby."

He is against you.

Pressing his crotch against the curve of your ass so you can feel how hard his cock is in his pants.

He's laughing in your ear.

Mocking.

"You like that, don't you, girl?" he asks, in a dark whisper after cornering you in one of the castle's corridors, blocking your walk to your chambers. He deposits words laced with malice and honey into his husky voice, whispered against the shell of your ear.

You shudder against him.

He's rubbing himself against you. His cock rubbing explicitly against the curve of your ass, while his fingers squeeze your throat, pulling the back of your head to his shoulder.

"You're mine," he says, his voice full of possessiveness. Like he was on the verge of losing it. He already lost.

You cry out softly, feeling him squeeze your throat again. Harder this time.

"Nobody touches you from now on. Got it?"

He's nuzzling into your hair. Lost in the tickle of your strands on his face, in your sweet smell in his nose.

You shake your head somehow even with his firm grip on your throat and he laughs against your hair.

A low, harsh laugh, a wicked sound that rumbles straight from his throat as he leans down to leave a single kiss on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours to give a light tug.

"Good girl."

You open your mouth to say something, anything - an apology, a well-rehearsed argument, words too soft and genuine to compete with the sound of Aemond's hips slamming violently between your thighs - but all all you can do is a low, breathless meow.

"You smell like him," Aemond huffs coldly, though it's more of a breathy grunt.

Maybe there is a certain amount of exaggeration in his words, you don't smell like him. Not really. But the simple memory of that man's hands on your waist and his face close to yours to whisper anything was awakening a dangerous euphoria in Aemond's veins.

He tries hard to at least pretend to be easy, to at least pretend to have some control over the situation. Struggling silently to remain composed, as if he wasn't finally fucking the woman he's wanted for a long time at a brutal pace, as if your scent and your tears weren't permanently staining his sheets right now, as if he wasn't squeaking his teeth to keep from spilling too soon at the mere thought of having permanent physical proof that you were here - right in the bed where he sleeps every night. Aemond feigns an indifference and coldness that are not real.

But he's trying.

He is under the intense watch of your drunken, half-closed gaze, and tries hard not to embarrass himself any more than he already has. He struggles to breathe through his nose, trying not to blink too often; carefree, not a hair out of place. And, in the midst of his personal battle for dignity, he finds some amusement in how you seem to be going insane beneath him; as if you seams were being torn apart with each breath hissed through your teeth.

"I-it was just a dance..."

“He was desperate,” Aemond cuts you off, squeezing you so that your words turn into nothing more than a pathetic groan at the end of the sentence. His fingers dig into your throat, anchoring him as his hips work furiously against yours. His hair is falling to your shoulders and breasts, raising goose bumps on your skin with each thrust of his body against yours. “And that smell is really offending me, girl.”

“I-I, I’m so sorry-” you stutter, hands gripping his wrist as he resists the urge to sink his teeth into the crook of your neck, exactly where everyone can see it tomorrow, “I told him I already had someone and -"

He barely hears your confession before he interrupts. Thick words spilling from his lips as the grip on your body doubles in intensity.

"He thought with that sticky smile that he could just have you? That he would be the one to take your purity? This is for me, he should know. You belong to me. Only for me - only for me." He shakes and sputters to the wild pleasure coursing through his veins, some of his self control slipping as he bows his head and bumps his forehead against your sweaty shoulder, panting heavily into your skin at the feeling of your tight walls gripping his cock like a lathe.

"Yeah - only for you", he distantly hears you moan above the roar in his ears, feels your little fingers tangle between the silver strands of his hair until you manage to give a sharp tug, right at the base of the back of his neck. He groans into your skin at the sensation.

The liquid heat building inside him is almost overflowing, so close that he can't stop his trembling hips from meeting yours with shallower thrusts. He's almost rubbing himself against you, over and over, frantically. “Aemond, p-please,” you murmur, cherry-colored tongue wetting your plump bottom lip. "I can't anymore, I can't - ngh, please-"

Aemond swallows the rest of your words with a punishing kiss, answering your broken plea by quickly grinding his hips, encouraging your orgasm to wash over you. He doesn't stop, not even when you go rigid, unable to kiss him back or do anything other than moan and cry into his mouth.

Aemond traces your lips with his tongue, nibbling them until they're soft, his own breathing becoming as frantic as the cock that's dragging without pause against your wet walls. When his orgasm washes over him, Aemond is already panting and moaning as if in pain as he rests his forehead against yours; an intense gaze observing yours, focused on every detail of your delicate features. Your hooded gaze, the wet trail of tears on your red cheeks and your uneven breathing. The purest adoration for him shining in your eyes like stars in the dark sky.

And he smiles then.

Because you are his now.

Duly claimed.

With a gentle touch on his elbow, Aemond returns to reality.

The apples of his cheeks are dyed a subtle (but noticeable) shade of red as his violet gaze scans the space in front of him, silently surprised to have been caught in the middle of his unholy reverie.

It's you.

A beautiful silk dress on soft skin. Hair tied in a slightly loose braid. So small compared to him. So beautiful. So...his.

"Prince Aemond, are you okay?"

He looks at you for a moment, debating between feigning disagreement to spare himself the humiliation of being caught or pushing you against the nearest wall.

In the end, he chooses to remain still, head raised proudly and face indifferent, although his violet gaze remains stubbornly tilted downwards, thirsty to maintain eye contact with you.

"Yes, I just got distracted," he says, voice deeper than he'd like it to sound.

You smile, sweet and soft and his heart quickens.

"That's great. Well, it's late and my feet are hurting after all the dancing." You close your eyes in an amused, relaxed expression, there's even a dimple forming in your cheek as the wide smile stretches your lips - and although the sight is enough to fill his chest with a bubbling sensation of pure warmth, a muscle Aemond's jaw jumps at the mere mention of your recent activities. "Have a good night, my Prince." You conclude when he offers no response to your comment, bowing with a respectful farewell before walking away.

He watches you leave the great hall with delicate steps, gentle smiles and nods directed at the people you meet on the way. The image of grace and innocence, without a doubt. At least until you turn your head towards him before walking out the hall doors.

The way your upper teeth sink into the plump flesh of your lower lip, your heavy eyelashes fluttering when you squint briefly, the flushed cheeks and swollen pupils aimed specifically at him...

It happens as quickly as it started. With a fluid movement you turn around again and walk through the hall doors, as if nothing had happened.

Aemond sighs; tired, irritated, burning with lust.

You keep playing with him.

The wine glass shakes and clinks loudly as he places it roughly on the table, but he doesn't care. He doesn't even care if anyone notices as he abruptly follows your steps, leaving the ballroom behind, with a hard gaze and dark features.

He would catch up to you.

And this time he'll make sure it's not just in a daydream-

He will claims you. Truly, indisputably.

#aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond imagine #aemond x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond #aemond x reader #hotd x reader #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #hotd aemond #hotd

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yestrday · 3 months

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Imagine a yandere! rival so fucking obsessed with you.

They claim to hate your guts, that you should fuck off and die. Every moment that you're in the same room as them they sneer at you and hurl ridicule and insults your way. And when you're out of the scene... well, they're relatively normal until someone mentions your name and a trigger seems to flip. They rant on and on and on about your stupid face and annoying voice and whatever whatever...

And then you have the audacity to smirk at him and say, "What? Obsessed with me, are you?"

It makes their blood fucking boil!

You're— ha! Them? Obsessed??? Fuck no! They'd sooner shoot their own foot than even think of you! See, this is why you're so fuckin insufferable! You think the whole world revolves around you and only you. Do you think you've even qualified a place in their thoughts?! Crazy bitch. You don't even respond to them, just leaning back and enjoying the numerous slanders shooting off their mouth at top speed. You make them crazy, with the way you just look at them like they're a speck of nothing. They're not nothing, god dammit!

Then they see you, hanging off the arm of a man. Didn't you hate their guts? (How does he know that of course he knows thatwhywouldn'the it's obvioussss you're not a great fuckin actor like you think you are) It's a grand party, everyone's in dresses with high slits and decked out in suits and ties like it's the Great Gatsby. You pass him by with your latest amour, and the only glance you give him is with a haughty smirk.

The champagne flute they're holding is shattered in their clenched hand. The nearby people gasp and scurry away when they see the blank look in their eyes.

So that's how you're gonna fuckin play, huh?

"You. Are. A. Bitch," they hiss, cornering you in the grand suite just 20 floors from the party. Their outfit is splattered in blood, their eyes are swirling from hate and sin and greed, and their lips are curled in an ugly snarl. "You think you can just waltz into the party and give any idiot your time of day?"

You yawn— the nerve of you!— and cross your legs on the plush velvet couch. It's the same as your past encounters, you are casual while your rival has steam out of his ears. "Since when did you care about the people I affiliate myself with? Thought I... didn't deserve a place in your thoughts."

"You don't." They slam their hands on either side of you and lean in till they're glaring directly into your eyes. "You don't deserve shit." You hum, raising a finger to their cheek and swiping away a speck of blood.

"Really now?" You smile at them coquettishly and press down on their lips with a bloody finger. "So why're you obsessed with me then, darling?"

They bite down on your finger. Hard. Drawing out blood till it mixes with that bastard's.

"Fuck if I know, bitch."

#yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere oc x reader #i neeed moreeeee #more rival yanderes where they actually might seriously hate youuuu #yester.writes

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avocado-writing · 5 months

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home

pairing: 14th doctor x reader & 10th doctor x reader

rating: E

notes: no gender or age given for reader, just that you last saw the doctor fifteen years ago. thank you to @mcganns for being my beta!!

This too shall pass.

It was a sentiment that you had to cling onto when he left, because fuck knows it was the most painful thing you’d ever felt. And you’d run away from actual explosions before. Big ones, in space! Supernovas which could eat entire planets while you hung onto the side of a little blue box.

And yet none of it even begins to compare to when he fucking left you.

He said it wouldn’t be forever. Well, he shouted it at you as you fell out of the TARDIS. There was a time explosion, and you got rocketed back to your little flat in the middle of Hackney, on Earth only a few days from when he’d picked you up — but in your reality months of adventure had passed.

You’d not really settled back in, certain that he was going to come and rescue you. But then days turned into weeks into months and you finally accepted that the Doctor had abandoned you.

So you went back to it all. Your mundane little existence before a mad, brilliant man had whisked you away. Your boss was a bit miffed that you’d gone AWOL but you were their best employee so they couldn’t afford to let you go, all you got was a slap on the wrist and a command not to let it happen again. The people you loved didn’t really seem to notice your absence that much, which stung; you couldn’t blame them though. You’d probably not miss you much either.

The Doctor. He made you feel special in a way nobody had before. Like you were the centre of a whole, giant, fantastic universe, and he adored you for it.

Still.

No point mulling that over again, is there?

Fifteen years. Things did get better. You moved on eventually. But you still find your thoughts drifting back to him every once in a while, and that fragment of time you spent totally utterly in love with each other. When you think about the way he kissed you, without realising it you end up touching your lips.

No. No. Stop.

The singing of the kettle snaps you back into reality, and you pour yourself a hot cuppa. Ah, tea. The antidote to everything. You go to turn the radio on for some company as you shift into your morning routine when you hear a knock at the door.

Probably the postie. He’s a bit early today, you think, but make no more of it as you undo the latch and open the door.

Your heart stops.

Because there he is, of course.

Older. Weathered. Not the young man you once knew but a grownup version of him, as exhausted by life as you are.

You drop your mug. Quick as a flash the Doctor grabs it out of midair. The tea sloshes onto the floor but at least nothing gets shattered.

He goes to look up at you, but his attention is drawn back to his hand.

“I bought you this mug years ago,” he says, utterly amazed.

You shut the door in his face.

Well, you try to, anyway. But he sticks a foot in between the door and the frame, with one of those stupid Converse he always wears.

“I know you’re angry, I know. But please let me come in.”

It’s such an absurd statement you find yourself laughing, a high and desperate noise.

“Absolutely not!” Actually, no. That’s not enough. “How dare you. Why are you even here?!”

“Because I wanted— I needed to see you.”

You still want to slam the door on him, but there’s a desperation to his voice that gives you pause. And when he looks at you with those sad, puppy-dog eyes? Those eyes as lined with age as you are?

Fuck. You’re so weak.

So that’s how you find the Doctor sitting at your kitchen table with a cup of tea in front of him. You lean against the counter, defences still up, eyeing him from over the top of your mug. He drums his fingers against the tablecloth.

“I like your house. Your calendar is nice, I enjoy the kitten motif.”

“Don’t,” you spit, slamming the mug down and sloshing tea onto the floor, “don’t you dare. You don’t get to waltz back here and start telling me ‘oh, I enjoy your furnishings, haven’t you made a nice little life for yourself since I abandoned you!’ I let you in to speak your piece, though god knows why. Say it and be done.”

The Doctor looks deflated. His shoulders sag, mouth falls. You take a moment to properly look at him. He seems… tired. Tired in a way you never knew him to be when you went on your adventures. Part of you wants to offer comfort, but the other part of you wants to withhold it maliciously. Anything to make him feel the way you felt.

“I looked for you,” is what he settles on, heavily. You didn’t expect that, and it knocks you.

“What?”

“I did. After the explosion, I tried searching all over the galaxy for you. I didn’t know where - when - you’d ended up. I scanned and scanned but something stopped you from appearing on the TARDIS’s sensors. I think… the amount of artron energy emitted during the blast somehow cloaked you.”

You say nothing, your silence an invitation for him to continue his explanation.

“It took years. Literal years, for me. Every spare moment I had, I dedicated to looking for you. Head buried in the circuitry of the TARDIS, trying to fix whatever was hiding you, gave myself a couple of nasty shocks too. And, when I finally tracked you down, I’d regenerated.”

You blink. Right. Yes. He’d explained that, but you’d never seen it with your own eyes. The same person, a different face.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to see me if I didn’t look like me. But I had to try anyway, didn’t I? So I came here. To your house. I got myself all ready for it, knocked on your door… and found that you were married.”

Your fingers grip the counter.

“Oh.”

“He seemed nice. Loved you a lot, as you deserved. And I couldn’t tell you I was back, could I? I saw you pottering around in the kitchen, making the tea - you were always the best at making tea - and you were happy. How could I ask you to leave that all, uproot the life you’d made for yourself, just to jump back in the TARDIS with me? How could I be so cruel? I couldn’t, could I. So I left again. Tried to move on. Like you did.”

You’re crying now. You can feel hot tears slide down your face and soak into your jumper.

“Oh, Doctor,” you manage. You want to tell him so much. It feels like it might burst out of you. But instead you settle on:

“Why now?”

He smiles thinly.

“Because somehow I got this face back, and I wanted to see you. I wanted to be selfish for once.”

You find yourself at the table, on the wonky chair opposite him, sliding your hand over to cover his. It’s rough and warm. Just like you remember. He says your name with reverence, but like it pains him.

“I never stopped loving you. Ever. Through it all, every adventure, I knew it wasn’t complete because you weren’t there. It just wasn’t the same without wonderful, brilliant you,” he admits. He sounds defeated. It breaks your heart — or, actually, it might just put it back together again.

A beat passes. His confession lingers in the air, heavy, thick and choking like smoke from an untameable fire.

“His name was Simon. He was a baker. He was lovely, actually… and we got divorced two years ago.”

The Doctor’s brow furrows.

“You… what… why?”

“Because he knew there was someone else I never really let go of. Someone else who, despite everything, I still loved.”

He looks you in the eyes, and you see something glimmer there that you long since gave up on.

Hope.

And then, suddenly, you’re kissing.

It’s like nothing has changed. His lips are still rough and searching on yours, a hint of tongue giving away into more the deeper you entangle. He sits you up on the table and steps into the space left by your spread legs, and between each kiss he says your name. It’s full of adoration but lined with desperation, too.

Like the kisses he gave you the first night you laid together, on a bed in his spaceship floating across the galaxy. When he buried himself inside you and you felt his two hearts beat in rhythm with your own.

“Doctor…” you manage.

Fuck. You need him. You didn’t realise how badly you needed him. You didn’t realise a piece of your soul has been missing this whole time, fucking torn out of you and leaving a jagged hole in its wake. And him, back, telling you he loves you and always has? You’re patched together like kintsugi.

Your Doctor is the molten gold you need.

“Please. I need to…” he’s so desperate he can barely get the words out, but you nod; he’s undoing the belt buckle of your jeans and pulling them off like they’re silk. When his thin waist meets yours you cross your ankles behind him and lock him into place, and his hands - a little fumbling, a little nervous to be mapping out the plain of you again - begin to trace your chest. You lean into his touch to let him know yes. This is okay. I want this. Make me whole again.

His warm, rough palms slide under the hem of your shirt and lift it easily over your head, the only break in a while you take from your kiss. You let yourself grab his tie to bring him closer. He’s fully dressed still and you’re almost naked; you remember how he used to like that, enjoy feeling a bit more put together than you. Cheeky blighter. Still though, as his suit scratches your skin, you can’t say you don’t agree.

However. In this instance he has far too many clothes.

You tug at his jacket and he knows what you need, letting it fall to the floor with his tie and waistcoat following it. He ruts against you as he unbuttons his shirt a bit, not the whole way, but just enough for you to feel the warmth of his chest. He’s so skinny. You’ve always been a bit worried that, on one of your rougher days, you might snap him in half. You still are now, actually.

Cupping his face in your hands you let your thumbs caress his cheekbones. Your Doctor. Older but the same. Just like you.

You can feel him more than half-hard against your leg. No more time wasting. You need him. You need him, you need him, you need him.

It doesn’t take long to undo his fly and have him in your hand. You’ll always be glad he chose this human anatomy. Though you’d love him no matter how he looks, there’s something wonderful about his cock as it is here. He lets his head fall forward onto your shoulder with a moan if your name.

“Oh… you’re…”

“Mmm hmm,” you agree, a genuine smile passing your face for the first time in god knows how long. He’s just the right length and on the thick side, and you know what a delicious stretch he is when he pushes inside of you. You can’t wait to feel it again. A couple of pumps and he’s ready, dripping precome and a ruddy red. Another time you’d bend down and taste him, remind yourself what a Time Lord’s cock is like. But now today. Well, not now.

You lay back, readjusting yourself so he can push your underwear to the side and find your entrance. A couple of fingers - those long, delicate, clever and cunning fingers - press inside you and test you out. You’re ready for him. He makes a choked noise in the back of his throat as he realises and you laugh, properly, throwing your head back.

“Come on, Doctor. Show me that you’ve missed me.”

He used to never shut up. And now he’s stunned into a desperate silence, lining up with you and pushing in as he does his best to make you feel what he’s been feeling too.

A loneliness is fixed. He slides home inside you and your hips meet, the both of you letting out a long and ragged breath. You sit there for a moment, locked in the most intimate embrace, and just feel each other. You fist your hands in his shirt. He’s here. He’s real. You feel him trace his palm up your back as if you assure himself of the same thing.

Slowly he begins to move. It is a long and lovely drag, his cock hitting all the points you missed being touched, and when he feels you gasp he goes harder. The Doctor nuzzles into the skin of your neck, nestling to the warmth of you there, and you hear him repeat a mantra both of your name and “I love you”.

Over and over. As if the two phrases are inextricably linked.

You’re so full. You’re so light. Everything feels perfect in this moment. And when he reaches between your bodies to touch your sex, push you to the edge, you know you’ll climax for him embarrassingly fast.

When you come you see stars light up behind your eyes. The sky, the unfiltered and untamed sky takes you over. The Doctor says your name one final fine and releases inside you, his hips riding it out as if to savour every second in the sweet grip of you.

He can’t look at your face when he asks you. He says it from the safety of your shoulder where his face is buried, because if you say no you know his heart will shatter.

“Come with me, in the TARDIS again. I know I shouldn’t ask you to leave your home but… you complete me, you know. Always have.”

“Leave my home?! Doctor, don’t be daft. This is just a house in bloody Hackney. You’re my home.”

You pull back to meet his gaze. He’s tired, but bright. His eyes twinkle. And there’s the Doctor you know.

“And of course,” you continue. And, as the smile engulfs his face and he lights up, “it’s not like I’m doing anything else, am I?”

This time, when you go AWOL from your job, you never come back.

#The doctor x reader #Doctor who x reader #the doctor x you #david tennant x reader #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #14th doctor x reader #fourteenth doctor x reader #my writing #full disclosure only seen the star beast so far lol

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aliaology · 4 months

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MAROON

summary: being a planner meant your life was organized. but not everything goes according to plan.

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!reader

warnings: cheating, mentions of sex (riding), shattered glass.

you were losing it, officially. it wasn’t supposed to go this way. no, not at all. your life was not supposed to turn upside down in one hour. your life was not supposed to change. no, no, no it couldn’t, not when you had it all planned out.

you planned it perfectly. wake up, work, come home to your loving boyfriend. you were supposed to get married in july. a peaceful, small wedding. you didn’t want a big one.

quinn hughes didn’t want a big one either, but he made a big mistake. you were supposed to go to greece for your honeymoon.

you were not supposed to be standing in the doorway of your apartment. glass shattered on the floor, some still in your hand. burgundy liquid stained the white carpet and your gray shirt.

clothes that were not yours were not supposed to be strewn along your bedroom floor. heels that were not yours were not supposed to be by the bed.

your soon to be husband was not supposed to be in bed with another woman that was not you.

blood rushed to your cheeks, but not from being flustered, from being angry. you turned around dropping the rest of the glass onto the floor.

“y/n!” you heard. the audacity of a man to call for you after having sex with another woman was a slap in the face.

the audacity to sleep with another woman in your shared bed was disgusting. you stormed your way to the door, sliding your work shoes right back on.

you heard footsteps and a few hisses of pain here and there. “y/n, please!”

you turned around, looking at your soon to be ex-fiancé in the eye. your face was red, and stained from tears as you cried, but you kept your composure.

“was she good, quinn? was she fucking worth it? worth your entire fucking six year relationship, because lord i sure hope she was!” you yelled, putting your coat on.

“baby—“

“i am not your baby anymore, quinn. no, we are fucking done! i don’t care if you needed stress relieved, or if you are drunk, i dont give a fuck! you fucked another woman in our bed, our bed.”

quinn had a pained look on his face as he stood in front of you, only in his boxers.

“and dont say you’re sorry because you aren’t. you’re sorry because you were caught.” you glared at him, grabbing your keys.

“y/n—“

“will you just stop? stop trying, quinn! you did this. you ruined this! you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants for thirty minutes. maybe i haven’t been giving you attention or maybe you were unhappy but that will never— should’ve never given you the fucking right.” you scoffed out.

you turned to the door and opened it. before stepping out, you pulled your ring off of your finger and threw it to the ground. you then walked out and slammed the door behind you.

you skipped the elevator and went for the stairwell instead.

you were going crazy. messages after messages. no matter what, he was near you all the time. trying to apologize by giving you gifts, or talking to you, he kept trying.

quinn hughes was not a quitter. but he was a cheater. so in some ways, he quit your relationship once cheating.

you groaned in frustration, slamming the phone in your office down as you heard the receptionist tell you that quinn was waiting for you, yet again. you groaned even more when he came waltzing through your office door.

“what are you doing here, quinn?” you asked, drained. you leaned back in your chair in frustration.

his lips parted. lips you used to call home. your gaze fixated on them for a moment as he started to talk. your eyes shifted back to his.

“i want to fix us, y/n.” he spoke, voice raspy.

he took the seat in front of your desk and inched in closer. his eyes were red from crying. his lips were red in irritation, they were chapped.

“you very well made your mind up of where we were once that lady was in your bed.” you spit out.

your cheeks grew pink from irritation. quinn rubbed his face before his hands came together and rested under his chin.

“it was a mistake, y/n. i— i wasn’t thinking straight.” he stuttered out.

his eyes caught on the wilted flowers on your window sill. carnations. he accidentally bought them thinking they were roses, your favorite, but gave them to you anyways.

you scoffed, eyes narrowing as you looked at him. “and having her ride you was a mistake too right? putting her in your favorite position? real mistake.” you spoke, harshly.

“y/n please—“ he tried to plead.

“go home, quinn.” you sighed out.

you awoke with a cold sweat. the feeling of sadness and anger rushed over you as you sat up in a bed that wasn’t yours. you breathed heavily, hearing footsteps near your door before the knob turned and opened.

elias stood in the doorway. “everything okay?” he asked.

you were in elias pettersson’s place. in his guest room. you watched his girlfriend walk in behind him.

you nodded, wiping your forehead. “yeah— yeah im alright.” you whispered.

you weren’t. you woke with the memory of quinn over you. the feeling of him was enough to wake you up in such a way you hated it.

he left a real fucking mark on you, and you didn’t want it permanent.

you did not plan to be in elias petterssons house. you did not plan to be cancelling your wedding. you did not plan to be here. maybe you would stop planning from here on.

you looked outside. the sky was maroon. your face was red from blood rushing to your cheeks. everything was maroon.

tags (perm!): @slaythehousebootsdown13 , @outrunangelss , @um-mads , @bqbylon , @whoreforthehughesbrothers , @p3nislawd , @queenmendes , @absolutelyhugh3s , @hockeyboysarehot ,

#hockey #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl hockey #quinn hughes #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes imagine #vancover canucks #vancouver #maroon #angst

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dfortrafalgar · 1 month

Text

Watching You In The Morning

Inspired by “Watching You In The Morning” by Waltzin

Law x Fem Reader

Warnings: fluff, kinda poetic? more narrative study than plot, more fluff

Also posted on AO3

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

The rise and fall of your chest was a perfect metronome, as if you were dancing along to the patter of raindrops as they fell against the submersible’s porthole. In your deep, whimsical slumber, you would never even know of the romantic waltz your very presence exuded upon the man in the bed next to you.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Slow, methodical. His tattooed fingers dusted fleetingly across the skin of your neck, reaching out to you with reserve, with apprehension, with want. He felt himself smile, chapped lips tugging ever so slightly at his cheeks at the sight of your serenity, lost in the haze of your dreams. You were truly beautiful.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

He could watch your breathing forever. He could die at the crevice of your chest, just to know that you were still inhaling and exhaling, inhaling and exhaling. To know that you were alive, that your flesh was warm with your blood, that your nerves could feel his hands against your skin, was plenty for him. He forever worshiped the ground you walked on, relishing in your every moment. Every word you spoke, every blink of your eyes, curve of your smile, every time your perfect hand fit snugly into his like a statue carved from the finest marble.

His calloused fingers traced invisible lines up your neck, towards your jaw, barely touching you enough to feel the slight fuzz of your natural facial hair. He ghosted across your dimpled skin, absorbing the heat you radiated, memorizing every cell he could touch. His eyes darted toward your lips, parted ever so slightly to breathe.

In.

Out.

When his slate-gray eyes looked back up toward yours, you were also looking back at him. You blinked in slow motion, eyes heavy with the waning of your slumber. You grinned at him, a sight that made the cold man’s heart do pierrouets, fluttering below his ribcage. Any more unbridled affection towards him would make his chest rip open in a flood of snow-white doves.

With exhaustion on your tongue, voice crackling without being used, you spoke. “Were you watching me?”

His fingers retraced their steps along your skin, landing at your collarbones where he mimicked the line of your bone. “How could I not?”

You laughed. A sound so bright, so warm, almost too warm. A sound that made his body lighter, his hair stand on end. A sound that filled his senses with yellow and violet hues, that smelled like peaches and lavender, that engulfed him in a sweet embrace of a hearth’s heat. Your laugh made the walls he had spent a decade building up crumble with vigor, chips of glass falling to the ground and shattering into irreparable pieces.

Pieces that he was starting to think did not need to be repaired.

He adjusted his body with the motion of you shuffling closer to him, nestling yourself perfectly in the crevice of his shoulder, his arms around your body, secure and safe. He smelled of cedar and ethanol, a faint tinge of gasoline and the essence of sugar. You melted like butter in his hold, paralyzed in his arms, a willing prisoner of his presence. You felt his chest rise and fall with his shallow breaths.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

Your own air tickled the skin of his breast, tiny, gentle feathers in a spring breeze. Your fingers crawled along his side before looping your arm under his and pulling your body ever closer. Oh how you wished you could break the universe for just one moment, to part his atoms and truly become one with him. Even just a zeptosecond would be enough.

“If you keep thinking this hard, you might blow a fuse.” His low voice rumbled against your head.

“How did you know?” you responded, voice light and airy, lovestruck and dumb.

He released a chuckle from his throat. “I just had a feeling.”

Silence once again fell over the two of you. Save for the continuous rain that fell, a faded noise in the backdrop of the aura he surrounded you with. Washing away all worries, all fears.

“Can we stay like this forever?”

The question surprised you. It wasn’t like him to ask such silly, menial queries. Ever the pessimist, ever the analytical scientist. He lived for the truth of the world and the facts of life. He had you for the optimism and the joy for life that he lacked, a perfect balance. The Yang to his Yin.

You simply hummed. Tilting your head up to meet his eyes, you felt your blood rush to your face like a flame. “Forever.”

His arms squeezed you once, then twice. He sighed, melancholy. The rain continued to fall, the vessel continued to sway monotonously on the surface of the vast, open ocean, but you stayed anchored to his bed, to his sheets, in his unmoving arms.

He smiled again. “Thank you.”

No response was followed, and no response was needed. Your breaths fanning against his skin were more than enough.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

#trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #law x reader #op x reader #one piece x reader #reader insert #x reader #fem reader #x female reader #law x you #law oneshot

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cherrycheridarling · 11 months

Text

cherry | h.s.

harry styles x famous!reader

warnings: sad? it's a rollercoaster

summary: how 'cherry' came to be

wc: 2.5k

a/n: can be read w/ baby or on its own

are we rlly surprised abt this? look at my user;)

'Don't you call him baby.'

Harry sat on his plush couch, telly on volume 11 as interviews from The Emmys went live.

"Here we have Y/N Y/L/N! Looking as gorgeous as ever! How are you?" the man asked as he kissed both of your cheeks.

Harry had to agree with the man. You were a stunning picture in a skintight iridescent gown that somehow left little and just enough to the imagination at the same time. The dainty silver accents adorning your ears and wrists, chest bare with a slight shimmer of something that wasn't sweat or glitter, but just pure radiance in Harry's eyes.

You adjusted your stance before answering, "Good, good. And yourself?"

"Fantastic! I hear you're nominated for three awards tonight! Congratulations! How do you feel about all of that?" Harry wasn't surprised by your achievements seeing as he kept his tabs on you ever since the breakup.

You nodded with a timid smile, "I am, yes. It's all a little nerve wracking if I'm being honest with you."

The man grinned before it looked like his attention had been stolen by someone else, "Oh look, there we have your knight in shining armour!"

The camera panned to Tom Holland walking in your direction. Harry forced himself to watch as Tom came to stand beside you and kissed your cheek with an arm around your waist. Even with the microphone being unable to pick up your voices, your small interaction could be read off your lips.

"Hello, darling." Tom's lips moved as he winked.

"Hi, baby." your smile was warm as you spoke.

Harry abruptly turned off his telly at that moment. Memories of that name being used to address him flooded his brain. He threw his head back against the cushions and let the sting wash over him. It'd been a little less than a year since you guys called it quits, but the wounds still bled.

'We're not talking lately.'

"Do you remember that promise we made?" you asked as Harry rested his forehead against your knees while your fingers ran through his hair.

You felt him nod as a tear rolled down your cheek for the hundredth time. "We'd always stay friends and support each other even if we don't last." he replied from below you on his knees while you were sat on the couch.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, "Can I adjust that promise?"

His movements seize the second the question left your lips. He lifted his head and met your glossy gaze with an equally bloodshot one.

"What do you mean?" his voice quivered in a way that made your heart shatter.

You slid your thumb along his cheekbone, "We need time apart to move on, ange. No communication while we deal with this. We can still support each other and love each other, but we need space in order to let each other go. Wouldn't you agree?"

Harry pondered on it for a moment before slightly nodding, "I guess so."

Neither of you said a word after that, just continuing to hold each other until the morning light came in and reminded you that everything still moves on even if you haven't.

'Don't you call him what you used to call me.'

July 23rd 2017:

"Baby, can you grab my purse for me, please?" you semi-shouted from the bottom of the stairs in your home.

Not a minute later, Harry came waltzing down towards you, "I wasn't sure which one you wanted today, so I took it upon myself to choose this one." he held up the Prada shoulder purse with a proud smile.

October 17th 2017:

"No." you deadpanned, but at his immediate frown you continued "Baby, I'm not dressing up as a socket so you can be the plug." you laughed incredulously at his suggestion.

Harry threw his hands in the air, "Come on! That would be the best costume ever!"

December 25th 2017:

"Happy Christmas, baby." you smiled at the man on your phone screen.

His lips turned down into a frown that somehow still looked like a smile, "Happy Christmas, darling. Wish we were together today."

January 1st 2018:

"Happy new year!" Harry screamed along with the room before turning to his love, "No one else I'd rather enter the year with." he smiled softly at you before meeting your lips with a kiss.

Confetti fell around you, champagne broke through the cheers with a 'pop' and yet, to you, it was silent, and there was no one there but him.

You broke apart still grinning, "Happy new year, baby."

'I, I confess I can tell that you are at your best. I'm selfish so I'm hating it.'

"And the Oscar for Best Actress goes to...!" Kevin Hart unfolded the envelope and immediately broke into a wide grin, "Y/N Y/L/N!"

The applause was immediate and deafening. You barely registered the first syllable of your name being called as everyone around you began to congratulate you and shower you with hugs.

You slowly made your way to the stage, being careful to not trip. You greeted Kevin with a hug as he handed you the award and your hands shook. As you stood in front of the mic, your mouth opened and closed like a fish.

"I-I- what?" you finally managed to sputter out as everyone chuckled.

You managed to get your wits about you and began to give out your thanks, while failing to notice the man in the audience who was holding back tears for you.

Jeff leaned over to Harry, "I know this is tough, but there will be cameras on you. Be careful of your expressions." he whispered as Harry momentarily shut his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Harry managed to plaster on a faux smile that would fool anyone else except you. He was ashamed of himself; he should be happy for you, he should've been on his feet cheering for you. But he couldn't. He refused to do that from 12 rows away when he should've been sat beside you. The smile on your face, the glow in your skin. All of it was something he hadn't seen since you were together and seeing it now only brought pain and sorrow to him.

He wished he had stayed home, but Jeff had convinced him that moping around in his home was only fuelling the rumours surrounding your break up, so he watched as you took your seat again and only when the next category was being announced did he excuse himself to the washroom and let the tears flow.

'I noticed that there's a piece of you in how I dress. Take it as a compliment.'

"Darling!" Harry's voice came booming from your temporarily shared home.

You sat on the couch in the living room and threw your head back, "Yes?!"

"Where's your striped jumper?!" he replied from your walk in closet.

You chose not to reply and instead left your seat to see what chaos he had caused. Upon entering your closet, there were piles of clothes on the floor and shoes tossed in every direction.

You chuckled, "What is going on?"

Harry's head snapped towards you, "I have an interview in 30 minutes and I need that jumper. Please, darling, help." he pouted at you.

You laughed a little more before walking out of the closet and pulling the sweater from a chair next to your bed. You cleared your throat while dangling the sweater from your finger and smirked, "Really should wear your glasses more often."

He covered his face with his hands as he realized he made a mess for no reason. As he took the jumper from your hands with a kiss to your lips and a thank you, you spoke again with a smile, "And get your own clothes."

"Why do that when I have you?" he grinned, "And don't touch any of the mess. I will clean it when I get back." his tone was serious but you struggled to hold in your laugh.

"I'll ju-"

"-No. Pinky promise you won't clean any of it." he held out his pinky with a raised brow.

You rolled your eyes before locking your finger with his. "Fine." the metal of the ruby ring on his finger that used to be yours was cold on your skin

He smiled as he kissed the place where your fingers interlocked and dashed out of the room with one last warning, "You pinky promised! No breaking it!"

"I, I just miss. I just miss your accent and your friends."

"Okay, Your Majesty." Harry mocked your RP accent for the thousandth time as you sat at Beachwood Cafe with Mitch, Sarah, Hazel and Max.

You gasped, "Would you stop that?! I do not sound like the Queen."

He was about to argue before Mitch chimed in, "Sorry, Y/L/N, but you kind of do." he giggled as he spoke.

Your jaw dropped as Harry started to laugh, "This is so unfair. I introduced you guys! You were my friends first! You're supposed to be on my side!"

They all started laughing together at your outburst as you rolled your eyes with a small smile.

"Did you know I still talk to them?"

Hazel was escorted to Harry's dressing room before his show in Vancouver while Max was in charge of finding parking.

Since it was her's and Max's hometown, Harry offered them tickets and backstage entry. It took a lot of debating with himself before he sent the text to Hazel, but his reasoning ultimately came down to not wanting to lose two friendships due to one relationship.

She took a moment to pause before knocking, and sighed a little when Harry looked up through the mirror with red, glassy eyes.

"What's going on, H?" she spoke softly as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

Harry fully turned his chair around and felt his shoulders deflate, "Just miss her." he rolled his lips in between his teeth as a few tears managed to escape.

Hazel's heart fractured a bit in that moment as her phone started buzzing in her pocket with a call from you, "It's Y/N. Give me a minu-"

"-No. Please. I won't say anything. Can you put it on speaker?" he begged and although Hazel knew it was a bad idea she sighed before answering your call and following his request.

"Hey, Y/N/N!"

"Hi, are you at the show?" your voice ran through the room and Harry subconsciously leaned towards to the phone as if it would bring him closer to you.

Hazel suppressed a sigh from watching Harry before replying, "Yeah! It was really nice of him to invite us. What are you up to?"

"About to catch a flight to LA. Just wanted to make sure you got there safe." you laughed lightly through your lie and Harry's eyes automatically shut, trying to savour the sweet sound.

Hazel could hear your lie in your voice, but chose not to address it, "Yeah, Max is just finding parking right now. Why are you going to LA?"

Harry fought the urge to answer her question, forgetting that he wasn't supposed to know the answer.

You sighed slightly, "House hunting. Can't stay at Harry's anymore, so time to find my own place there."

Hazel nodded, forgetting that you couldn't see her before replying, "Oh. I see. Have you talked to H at all?"

Harry's head snapped up at his name being brought into the conversation.

"No, it's best if I don't." a mans voice was heard in the background before you spoke again, "Well, we're about to take off now. If you see him, wish him luck for me, will you?" your sadness was evident throughout your words.

Harry buried his head in his hands again as more tears escaped while Hazel replied, "Of course. Have a safe flight, Y/N/N. Love you, miss you."

"Thanks, love you and miss you too. Bye!" you blew a kiss into the phone before the dial tone was heard.

And for a moment, with his eyes shut, Harry allowed himself to imagine that those words were meant for his ears only.

"Does he take you walking 'round his parents gallery?"

"Hey, Haz," Tyler spoke up from the silence of the recording studio. They had just finished a long session and the rest of the team had already departed for the night, leaving Harry, Sammy and Tyler. "There's a new gallery opening on Saturday. Only there for a few nights. You wanna come with me and Sammy?"

Harry slowly turned in the spinning chair, "Sure. Whose gallery?" he bit into an apple as he finished speaking.

"Nikki Holland? Don't know who she is, but she's got some sick photos on Instagram." Tyler shrugged not noticing how Harry nearly choked on his fruit.

"Holland? As in Tom Holland's mum? Tom Holland as in Y/N's boyfriend, Tom Holland?" Sammy's eyes widened before he pulled out his own phone and went to Tom's instagram page. And sure enough, there was a post and a story of him promoting his mum's new gallery opening. "Just answered my own question." he rolled his lips between his teeth before chancing a glance at Harry.

Harry stared blankly at the floor before clearing his throat, "Probably not the best idea for me to show up there." he paused at their somber expressions, "Honestly, it's fine." he laughed lightly.

"Nah, we won't go either. Probably start rumours if we-"

"-Wait." Harry abruptly announced before reaching for the acoustic guitar on his left.

Tyler and Sammy shared a concerned expression with one another while Harry nervously fumbled with the strings of the instrument.

"Let me just- I just need to-" he struggled to find the right words to say, but there was no need.

Tyler shook his head and put his phone down, "Let's write it."

'Coucou!'

"Tu dors?" you frowned when your friend answered your call with a groggy voice.

She laughed lightly through the phone, "Oui. J'étais sur le point d'être."

"Oh, j'suis désolée."

She chuckled, "Ne t'en fais pas. Que s'est-il passé? A-t-il fait une demande en mariage?"

You sighed with a smile, thinking back on the day you spent with the lovely man behind you, "Bah non-"

"Je peux entendre le sourire effrayant dans ta voix. Que s'est-il passé?" she cut you off while mocking you.

You laughed loudly, "Nan, c'est pas important."

"Qu'avez-vous fait alors? Êtes-vous allé à la plage?"

You turned to look at Harry as he played a soft melody on a guitar. His eyes looked up to meet yours and he offered you a small grin that you returned, "Ouais, on a été à la plage, et maintenant on—"

She cut you off again with a loud laugh, "Allons prendre un verre et discuter. J'ai besoin de voir le sourire effrayant en personne."

You couldn't even deny her accusation. You were at the happiest you could be.

'Parfait! Allez!'

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jbaileyfansite · 4 months

Text

The finale of Fellow Travelersis now streaming, ahead of its Sunday night airing on Showtime—a conclusion to one of the year’s best series that is gorgeous, devastating, and cathartic in equal measure.

The story of a tortured-yet-beautiful romance between two men over decades, the show waltzed through those emotions throughout the entire season, as Matt Bomer’s Hawk and Jonathan Bailey’s Tim weather the historical circumstances that prevented their deserved happily ever after. Bomer’s nuanced performance as an infatuated, conflicted man is the best work of his career, and, in the emotion-packed finale, Bailey is a revelation. Across multiple timelines, he showcases how intertwined grit, defiance, and joy in spite of darkness are for gay men determined to make their lives mean something in a world that actively works to strip them of dignity.

The series spans Hawk and Tim’s meet-cute during the Lavender Scare and McCarthyism-led panic of the 1950s through the AIDS crisis of the 1980s. The final scene, set at the unveiling of the AIDS Memorial Quilt at the National Mall in D.C. that might as well have been an anvil plummeting straight onto my heart, it shattered me so much.

There are two images in the final episode that have seared into my brain since I first watched, tableaus charting the arc of a doomed, yet life-changing relationship. First is Hawk and Tim slow dancing naked in the privacy of a secret apartment and, later, Tim’s head nestled on Hawk’s chest as they take a post-coital nap—moments of bliss stolen in a society that won’t allow them that pleasure. Then there’s a mirror of that position decades later, when Hawk climbs into Tim’s hospital bed to cradle him, as Tim struggles through a rough night during his last days battling AIDS.

The power of those moments is amplified by Bailey’s performance. In the earlier timeline, his wide, giddy eyes betray a man fully aware of his good fortune to be so madly in love, cognizant of how precarious and fleeting the feeling could be and determined to live in the splendor of it. Later, as he faces death, his resignation to fate is not one of defeat, but a catalyst for clarity.

So much of his life was impacted—some might say ruined—by his inability to move on from his connection to Hawk. But in a sensational monologue delivered after Hawk questions how much pain he’s caused Tim, Tim corrects the narrative: “I spent most of my life waiting for God to love me. And then I realized the only thing that matters is that I loved God. It’s the same with you. I’ve never loved anyone but you. You were my great, consuming love. Most people don’t get one of those. I do. I have no regrets.”

Bailey’s performance of this monologue stunned me. It is spoken with such certainty, an outpouring of a lifetime of emotion funneled into a searing, pointed declaration. He’s speaking to not only a complicated romance with his lover, but also on behalf of generations of gay men whose great loves were colored and, it often seemed, marred by the misfortune of the times in which they were kindled. That’s the revelation that Tim, through Bailey’s delivery, speaks to: There’s no misfortune when it comes to love; we may now be aware of the hideousness with which society treated (and still treats) the gay community, but how dare we assume that the love found was any kind of misfortune.

I’ll be thinking about this episode, that monologue, and Bailey’s performance for a long time. Do yourself a favor and watch it.

Source

#fellow travelers #ft spoilers #jonathan bailey #jonny bailey #tim laughlin #dailybeast #NEW!

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animeyanderelover · 9 months

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Anon: Hello, I would like to request again for Demon Slayer with a reader from the future (2022). Like the reader has powers able to travel through time and they decide to have their house planted in the Taisho period. But what they didn't know is that the world is filled with demons. They can also open portals to travel to their time period and can bring others along. How would Muzan, Upper Moon 1, 2, 3, 6( Daki and Gyutaro) and Tanjiro, Inosuke, Muichiro, Obanai, Giyuu react?

I made a poly!version for Gyutaro and Daki because otherwise there would have been 11 characters in here.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusion, stalking, protective behavior, paranoia, manipulation, gaslighting, abduction, murder

In the wrong place at the right time

Kamado Tanjiro

❤️ Tanjiro is such a sweetheart for his darling, he doesn't mean to intrude on private matters but it's just not avoidable that he picks up thanks to his enhanced smell that you're hiding something from him and the others. You're lying although he's firm to believe that you have no bad intentions as your scent is pure with a tinge of guilt for not telling him the truth as the both of you have grown very close. Your excitement regarding the things around you is endearing though as you seem amazed with even small things and that only strengthens Tanjiro's resolve to protect you and guarantee that no demon will ever harm you. You don't know about demons as of now and Tanjiro, even if terrible at lying to someone, decides to not tell you anything about it as of now to not tatter your joy and optimism. Your ideal vision of the Taisho period gets shattered eventually though as you one night get assaulted by a demon and it's only thanks to Tanjiro that you're saved and only suffer minor injuries.

❤️ He has no choice but to tell you the truth now, you can't unsee it anymore and it breaks his heart when he sees your expression falter as you hear about demons and his affiliation with the Demon Slayer Corps. You're in disbelief and fearful, he can smell that much. Whilst you seem to process the new information, he suddenly blurts out the question he has meant to ask you for a long time. You've been hiding something too, haven't you? You see, whilst rummaging through your stuff in search for bandages and medicine, he found some very unusual objects he's never seen before. You're caught now as your startled smell gives you away and by now it's too late to avoid an answer because Tanjiro wants to know now. He's very understanding, amazed with your ability to travel through time, even asks you if you could take him and Nezuko with you if that's alright. There might be a way to cure her in your time too. He swears that he'll keep it a secret from the others to protect you. He doesn't vocalize a nagging fear that you might want to return now that you know about demons so subconsciously he starts spending more time with you, shows you the good sides of his time period.

Hashibira Inosuke

🐗 This boisterous and confident young man waltzes into your life with an unstoppable force, oblivious to his growing feelings yet subconsciously acting on them nonetheless. Inosuke is unlike anyone you've ever seen and his abilities amaze and fascinate you, you can't help but praise him and gush over him. A huge ego boost for the Demon Slayer who in return spends more time with you to keep your attention and praise for himself. Really though, he gets insanely jealous if you compliment someone else, even his friends, and starts doing more reckless things just to prove that he's better. He gets himself hurt a couple of times because of his rash decions but enjoys it when you take him inside his house and care for his injuries. Unfortunately he has no sense for privacy and rummages through your stuff a lot of time, finds some weird things and comes running to you, wanting to know what it is. You never tell him though which only makes him more determined to find out. He even steals stuff and asks his friends only to hear that they don't know either.

🐗 You're keeping a secret from him and that does not sit right with him. He's your protector after all! He even keeps the demons away since nothing should dare to touch his darling! In fact it's the night where he senses a demon near your house and rushes to your rescue that he finds out as you remain unaware until the last minute and demands the sacrifice of shielding you from their attack, something he'd gladly do over and over again. You're horrified and worried at the same time as you cater to his needs and bandage his wounds, questioning him what that was. Inosuke, for childish reasons, refuses to tell you until you answer his questions and you cave in as his stubbornness and your guilt wins you over. Inosuke is a bit mad that you never told him, at the same time insists for you to not tell anyone besides himself though as he thinks he's the only one who should know. You're his to protect after all! He is stubbornly demanding for you to take him with you the next time you travel back. A part of him knows what your powers imply though, that you could leave him anytime. He's partially delusional, tells himself that you'd never leave him but don't wonder why all of a sudden he's so much more clingy.

Tomioka Giyu

🌊 Giyu is not someone you're well acquainted with as he keeps to himself yet Giyu is someone who knows you very well, you've just never noticed him until now. He doesn't let you. Both of you have an interesting relationship as he's the one who saved you from a demon one time before, earning him your gratitude and the gain of quite a heavy knowledge. He's been keeping a watchful eye on you since that day and what started as a good will to see if you're doing fine has turned into an all-consuming obsession. How could he let this happen? He doesn't deserve you. A mandra Giyu repeats daily although his aching heart tells a different story as he longs silently to be able to stay by your side. You two do occasionally meet and sometimes you even initiate small talk with him, making his heart flutter and his chest tighten with warmth. How can you still smile so brightly despite being nearly killed by a demon? Why can't you smile at him like this all the time?

🌊 He passes by your house on that evening, something of a daily routine when he notices the weird light coming from behind your shoji doors. He can't sense any demon but assumes still the worst, he's paranoid for your safety after all. He comes storming in, surprising you as you're about to go back to your world to buy some stuff you need. Giyu doesn't know that though, all he sees is you standing inside some shiny portal. When he tries to reach you, the portal closes and you disappear, leaving him all alone there. He searches the entire area for any demons only to return inside your house with his heart inside his stomach, anxiously waiting and hoping that you return. Every moment feels agonizing but eventually you come back, fully aware that you can't talk your way out of this. He seems composed but he sits very close to you when you explain, still scared of the way you just disappeared. Your abilities are special indeed but he can't help the paranoid fear as he realizes that you could leave him anytime and you flinch slightly when shaking hands suddenly grasps your arms, asking you if you'd ever leave now that you know of demons. Please don't, he swears that he'll never let any harm come your way!

Iguro Obanai

🐍 Obanai adores you,there's no other way of expressing his feelings. Your unbridled adoration for even the simple things around you and your open mindset have captured his heart completely. If only he would have the courage to approach you though because so far you two have barely interacted with each other. It's not your fault as you've shown interest in him but the Hashira is avoiding you, shame crawling up his back every time. His existence is a tainted one as his past has branded him as something that should not be near you. You're his star in a dark night, he should never even dream about trying to reach you yet his desire has done so multiple times, wondering if you'd still have this shine in your eyes if you'd ever see his scared and vile face. Obanai is an excellent stalker, you never notice his presence which has silently sworn to keep all evil away from you, no matter if demon or human. There's this one time he sort of broke into your house and ever since he has his suspicions that you're hiding something.

🐍 It all happens very fast, a demon attacking you, Obanai instantly jumping in to behead them and you using your powers to escape, accidentally dragging him with you when he sees the weird light surrounding you with his hand instantly reaching out, grasping you and getting sucked in too. Obanai is frantic for a while, unfamiliar with those new surroundings and all the light and the noises, you have to quickly escort him somewhere else so he can calm down. You owe him an explanation, he's blunt as he demands one from you but is still aware enough to know that he owes you one too so both of you end up confessing the truth. True to his worshipping tendencies he really starts seeing you as something entirely different, even if it does nothing but worsen his cripping anxiety to be unworthy to be anywhere near you. At the same time there's a primal fear though to be left behind with time separating you too. Perhaps it's this new world that tears his defences down a bit but he grows very vulnerable with that thought, one of his hands clutching your hem tightly as heterochromic eyes stare at you. You...you wouldn't abandon your life in his time now that you know about the demons, right? He won't let you...

Tokito Muichiro

🌫️ Muichiro might be air-headed and might have troubles focusing yet something about his darling is just demanding all of his attention and focus. You stay on his mind for reasons he can't fully explain but this is the catalyst of his growing obsession as you grab his curiosity with why he bothers so much with you. Hence why Muichiro often finds himself spending time with you, although he doesn't even share half of your enthusiasm and unexplainable thrill upon seeing steam trains or wearing the newest fashion. He's obtuse, bluntly questioning why you find such stuff so great when it's so common. He's most likely a bit too naive to recognize his obsession but what he does know is that he feels a strong urge to protect you and so he does, by literally just stalking you and following you around. He doesn't even have any bad intentions but is far too dense to see his way of protecting you as an intrusion of your privacy. He's the Hashira after all whilst you aren't even aware of demons.

🌫️ You encounter a demon in the middle of summoning a portal to buy some stuff you can only find in your time and all happens too fast for you to realize. In one moment this thing wants to attack you, in the next it's head is rolling on the ground with the Hashirama standing in your house, katana in his hands as indifferent eyes watch the demon burn. Then those blue, misty eyes turn to you and to the half-opened portal and thick silence embraces both of you as you feel half-terrified and half-stunned, your brain struggling to process what you've just seen. When he bluntly asks you what you're doing there, you struggle to come up with an answer as you don't know how to explain this without spoiling your secret. You should have known that Muichiro won't let you leave without giving him an answer though, arrogant enough to think that he deserves to know after having saved your life. Your hesitating reaction only makes him all the more curious which leaves you with little to no choice but admit it to him before daring to ask what that thing was. Your fear is obvious. You don't have to be afraid though, Muichiro will protect you. So don't even think about leaving him behind.

Kibutsuji Muzan

🩸 You instantly arouse his suspicion for the simple matter that he knows the village and all of it's surroundings, he's currently hiding there after all and kills it's citizens to consume their flesh. You never belonged here nor did your house ever exist, it just appeared one night as one of his underlings tells him. One look into their mind lets Muzan see what they saw and true to their word, your house truly just appeared out of the blue. Whether you're a threat or not is not clear but Muzan is cautious enough to keep an eye on you and considering that you're often visiting the village, he uses his current disguise to approach you. If you would have known beforehand about the demons, perhaps you would have been a bit more careful when this man randomly approached you and offered his help when you were clearly lost. It's painfully obvious that you have little to no knowledge about this city but you seem excited and happy nonetheless. Foolish is what you are in his eyes, until you accidentally engage with him in a conversation about science and manage to impress him with your knowledge.

🩸 Perhaps you aren't as stupid as he thought you were because what you tell him is interesting enough for him to listen to you as you aren't deemed a complete waste of his time. In fact he finds himself enjoying your company a lot more than he should, one of the few steps it takes to violently push him down the stairs of possessive insanity as red eyes are now watching your every action with a newfound hyperfixation. It's his decision to pay a visit to your house that reveals the secret behind your knowledge to him as his eyes fall upon a few books in your bookshell, books written long after his time. You nearly jump out of your skin when you find Muzan in your house, sat on your couch and clutching a book in his hands, gleaming red eyes flying over the pages before his inhumane gaze meets yours with intrigue and fascination, only intensifying his obsession. From where are you, little human? You want to run but are stopped when he's suddenly in front of you, grabbing you with inhumane strength. Your reaction makes it very clear for him that you didn't know about demons but that isn't important. Important is that the key to his perfection might be found in the future.

Kokushibo

🌙 Call it luck or misfortune that your house just happens to be planted in the very rural area Kokushibo passes by, your little home somehow sticking out like a sore thumb due to it's quite odd design, unlike anything he has ever seen so far. Has this always been here? His six eyes are fixed on this strange building and it's at that moment that you happen to return home. From your own time period that is. All Kokushibo sees how a strange light suddenly appears in your garden and you walk through it, content with the stuff you've just gotten and unaware how a certain demon is watching you with sparked interest. What did you just do? It almost reminds him of withcraft if he wouldn't know better. Seems like he might want to keep his eyes out for you, you've certainly caught his attention. He's never met a human like you before, with such a strange ability. Kokushibo, without any obsession as of now, is rather patient. He serenely watches over you when he has time, picking up even the smallest bits of information.

🌙You're very smart and skilled, appreciative of the things and the humans around you as your eyes curiously observe anything that peaks your interest. At the same time you're horribly oblivious to the existence of the demons though, perhaps the only thing dampening your otherwise intelligent personality. That's what Kokushibo is there for though who has over time developed the urge to keep harm away from you, essentially your deadly and silent stalker. You haven't used your abilities in a while but that's unnecessary, he has already figured out where you come from. Admittedly, breaking into your house and looking through your stuff isn't very polite but it's thanks to this that he knows that you apparently come from the future which would explain the strange design of your house and the peculiar stuff you have hidden in your rooms. It's quite fascinating as he wonders what the future looks like based on everything he has found. The demon does not forget about the possibility that this also implies that you can travel back anytime you want though, somewhere where even he can't find you. That demands actions as Kokushibo is too possessive to let you lead a quiet life. You'll find out the dreadful truth of his existence soon enough...

Douma

❄️ You plant your house without a doubt in the right time as you have aways longed to live during the Taisho period but what you don't know is that your house is quite close to the place where Douma's cult is. So imagine the surprise of his followers when they one day discover this new building in the surroundings of the cult. Obviously their leader is instantly informed about this new discovery and quite a few of his followers demand you to leave as they find it insulting and disrespectful that you live within their territory unless you join their cult. Truly not a nice welcoming but Douma shuts all his followers, mildly interested which is enough for him to pay you a visit. You're not prepared for him though as he shoves himself past your body, curiously scrutinizing the interior before his eyes land on a funny-looking object and he asks you what it is. Your short outburst of anger interrupts him though as you demand him fiercely to leave as you won't tolerate someone just breaking into your house, even if it's some cult leader. You have some fire inside of you. How sweet~

❄️ His fascination with you is the reason why he allows you to live so close to his cult, to the jealousy of most of his followers. He likes spending time with you, gifts you presents to earn your trust. You mellow slightly out with time and for some reason that has his inhumane heart going all frenzy inside his chest, an unfamiliar yet addictive feeling. The new surge of ticklish and fuzzy feelings are such a delight to the demon who previously never felt anything. That is reason enough to claim, isn't it? Perhaps he had something a tad bit more romantic in mind though then visiting you only to see some of his followers attacking you, calling you a witch/wizard, sweet blood invading his nostrils yet the sight of you being beaten down fills his veins with icy blood lust. He mercilessly slaughters all of them, the last one babbling hysterically that they saw you using witchcraft before suffering the same fate as the others, leaving only you and Douma whose hands are covered in sticky blood. They didn't hurt you seriously flower, did they? You can't keep your secret a secret for much longer now and once Douma knows, he won't let you leave his side since he can't have you escape from him. Just do your best to keep him out of your time as he surely will ask if you could take him to the future.

Akaza

👊 Perhaps it's a bit naive of you to settle down near a beautiful meadow of flowers, the bright lights of the next city shining in the closer distance. You prefer the isolation though as it allows you to keep your abilities hidden whilst still being close enough to witness the charm of the city in the Taisho period. You think you're all alone but what you do not know is that Upper Moon 3 happens to stumble upon you and your little home, a bit surprised to see a human living so far away from other humans. That makes you easy prey for every demon but it's not like he concerns himself much with that. He decides to spare you though, out of respect for your peaceful and tranquil life. He'll leave it up to fate if you'll get eaten or not. He isn't supposed to care much more for you if it wouldn't have been for the fact that he just happens to witness how you use your powers to shortly travel back to the future, leaving Akaza staring bewildered at the spot you just stood as your presence has just vanished. Perhaps he should watch you for a bit longer after all.

👊 Strangely enough he finds himself growing fond of you over time and the seclusion that allows him to watch you all alone most of the time is a huge part of that. You're by yourself as you idly and diligently go through your daily life and Akaza watches it all. He's delusional for this idea but he can't help but think that you two have in a way a very intimate bond as he probably knows you better than anyone else, obsessively watching what you do. Your powers are no longer the only main focus of his as he finds himself yearning to be part of your tranquil life. He starts wracking his head around ways to introduce himself to you without scaring you but another demon does the job for him by attempting to kill you only to run for their life when Akaza makes an appearance, tearing them away from you and scaring them with his sheer presence alone before turning his attention to you and checking you obsessively for any injuries. You're frozen out of shock as you stare at him and his weird appearance. Surely it's only a question of time now until Akaza finds out about your powers and that'll manage to impress him whilst at the same time also making him slightly paranoid with the thought of you disappearing and never returning again. If you're scared of the demons don't worry, he can protect you against everyone and everything.

Daki & Gyutaro

🌺 🟢 This just calls for a catastrophe in the making as those siblings are more than just a handful to deal with, especially for their darling who has to deal with their obsession. All that was not what you planned when you transported your house near the Entertainment District, buzzling with colours and life. It is an interesting experience nonetheless although you do try to stay away from every house that hosts the many Oiran. You still have to earn money though and is if fate just decides to screw you up, you end up working indirectly for the very house under which Warabihime is working for. By extent, you bump more than once into the terrible Oiran but thanks to your ability to travel back to the future, you manage to please her by bringing her hairpins, kimonos and presents unlike anything every other suitor can provide her with. You don't have to be surprised when she grows so terribly obsessed over you as you flatter her, much to the dismay of Gyutaro who has to endure her mood swings as Daki goes back and forth between despising you and adoring you. Yet despite his better judgement, his sister's obsession seems to be infectious as he soon finds himself in the same situation.

🌺 🟢 Both of them make each other only worse as it suddenly becomes a small competition who you might prefer more, don't be surprised when you're knocked out the next time Warabihime requests for your presence. Your introduction to demons is truly unpleasant as you have two of them at once hoovering over you who make it very clear to you that you are theirs from now on and should better obey if you don't want to be punished. Daki and Gyutaro make a horrible duo so it's no wonder that you try to escape by travelling back to your time, only that you didn't account for Daki's sentient obi slashes to stop you and inform her about your action. To say that she's furious is an understatement and Gyutaro isn't any better. How foolish can you be to go against their word so quickly? Daki only wants to punish you, single-minded until Gyutaro reminds her that both of them should find out what you did back then. You'll have to tell them to make their sadistic punishment a bit more bearable and even then Daki will still be mad that you kept this a secret from her. Yet it's also Daki who would be more slightly more willing to let you use your abilities, only to continue spoiling her with special presents though. They can't let you escape though. Never.

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deltaruminations · 1 year

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i think one of the most telling examples of how we’ve been influenced to think about gaster is that if we say no to him after he asks if we want to continue after a chapter 1 game over, we’ll proceed to hear the absolute gentlest most heartbroken fucking unaccompanied piano arrangement of gaster’s motif any of us has ever heard and we’ll still be like "huh wonder why THAT’S there."

it’s because he’s sad!!! he’s fucking sad!!! this is the sound of an incorporeal man holding back metaphysical tears!!! WHY would the game have us linger here at a black screen instead of immediately going back to the menu like a normal RPG would? because it wants us to have this quiet moment in the dark with him, to finally catch him in a moment that’s raw and deeply vulnerable and unmarred by either cryptic mythologizing or his own mask of confident, neutral professionalism, just a black screen and a tender, melancholic song. and then he closes the fucking game himself.

it’s like, after narrating our ending, he just can’t think of anything else to say. he doesn’t want to tell us to go away because he probably doesn’t want us to, we’re both his last hope for success and the only person he’s been able to "connect" with in a very long time. he just sits there awkwardly with us while he quietly processes the situation, before he finally accepts that this is the world’s (and his) fate and he can’t force us to stay there with him any longer.

again im not trying to woobify him, what im saying is that we’re so used to seeking out spooky, vaguely sinister lore for an extraplanar entity that even when we finally meet him, it doesn’t occur to us that he could just be another character, one who’s VERY different from the other characters but a character nonetheless.

gaster is fundamentally cryptic and ambiguous, possibly in part because he intends to be hard to read. i think he hides himself between layers and behind clinical speech and trees because he’s uncomfortable with being seen, but he isn’t a perfect rational being, he’s just a guy, and he can’t connect with us without risking "pieces" of himself seeping through. just as undertale challenged us to hunt through it for pieces of gaster’s lore, deltarune is now going out of its way to give us insight into his character, but just as with his lore, we have to seek it out and consider it carefully in order to learn anything. like do you understand why im suddenly so obsessed with this guy!!! not to mention all the ways he parallels kris and chara and alphys and serves as a reflection of the player and. god. i love these fucking video james so much

#$ waltz of a shattered man #deltarune #wd gaster

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jisungsdaydreamer · 11 months

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Tolerate It

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

SYNOPSIS You know your love for your husband should be celebrated, but instead, it’s tolerated.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader Genre: angst, established relationship Warnings: Unhappy marriage, mentions of cheating, swearing, toxic spouse, gaslighting, emotional abuse Word Count: <1k

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

“Where were you last night?”

Chan sets down his fork with a heavy thud and puts his head in his hands, visibly frustrated. “Not this again.”

You hold back tears as you wordlessly rise, placing your plate in the sink and leaving the kitchen while ignoring the incessant calls of your husband. You already know the answer to your own question, but you ask him anyway, maybe because you still love him and can’t pretend that every single time this happens, you’re not dying on the inside. But maybe you’re also asking him because it’s your duty. It’s your duty to be a faithful wife to your husband, to look after him and love him. And you do all of it.

Every single day, like clockwork, you wake up at five to cook him a hearty breakfast and prepare him a lunch packed with love. You have memorized how he likes his coffee at different intervals in the day. When he comes home from work, you take his coat and briefcase before seating him at your dinner table and welcoming him with a delicious home cooked meal. You give him shoulder massages while he watches TV and doesn’t even thank you. Your children are never a challenge to their father, only a joy, because you are willing to bear the burden of the more difficult parts of your children’s upbringing. You gave up your passion to commit to a lifetime of serving him. Instead, you work a tedious desk job that’s soulless, but stable, so you can come home early. For him. You can and will drop everything and go to him if he merely whispered your name. Under your watchful eye, the house is always sparkling clean and inviting at all times, just for your husband.

But you’ve never been good to yourself. You have never spared a single thought for your own wellbeing and sanity. You can’t even fathom holding your heart together while it breaks, because you’re too busy slaving away for the man who shatters it, over and over again.

As you enter your bedroom, you can’t even slam the door shut and lock yourself inside, because you know your husband will want to come and rest soon. The children are fast asleep in their own rooms, and you’ve dined with your husband. You have fulfilled your responsibilities for the day, and now, you shed the flawless facade as you desire.

Collapsing onto the bed, your body racks with fast, choked sobs, and you know you are completely and utterly alone. For a long time, you’ve been unfeeling. Chan stabs at you, again and again, and yet, you never responded, numbly taking it all. You knew what he did after hours, all of those times that he called home and breathlessly explained that he would be working late. Or those times he stumbled into the house, limbs disoriented and hair mussed, mumbling about a harmless trip to the bar with his boys. And then there was when he waltzed in with a lipstick stain on his collar, the collar that you had neatly pressed in the morning. Some lady bumped into me and accidentally smudged her lipstick on me, you’re just paranoid.

You weren’t stupid. You just didn’t want to feel. Of course, you could not refrain from crying yourself to sleep every night, but nevertheless, when the sun hit your blinds, you pretended you were okay. Last night was different.

For the first time, he hadn’t bothered even attempting to cover up mistakes, because he wasn’t stupid either. He was aware you knew about his infidelity, and it looked like he didn’t value you enough anymore to even come up with a lie. He had staggered into the kitchen and asked what you had made him for dinner, instead of pushing out his usual pathetic excuses.

Thinking of him feels like there is a metaphorical balloon in your chest, swelling rapidly but never reaching the apex, the breaking point, because even now, you can never truly fall apart. Falling apart would mean running to your husband and grabbing his arms, screaming at him for a reason why you aren’t good enough anymore. Falling apart would be taking your children, the ones you cared for, and leaving him behind. Falling apart would be falling out of love for him. But you’re still scared, clinging to the hopes of a happy marriage and being truly cherished by the man you are killing yourself for.

It’s why when Chan walks into the darkened room, shutting the door behind him quietly and laying next to you in the bed, you stay quiet instead of having the courage you need to confront him.

“I’m trying, baby. I’m trying to be better,” Chan whispers into your ear, his arm thrown over your waist and pulling you close.

You say nothing, just giving him a brief nod while he turns his back to you once and falls asleep. You stay awake, though, and let the silent tears stream down your face. This isn’t the first time he’s promised to change, nor the first time you’re risking your sanity forgiving him.

Your love is never ending, wishing and pleading for the man you know he could be once again if he tried. You stay running after the man you fell for— someone who was funny, attentive, and sweet. Someone who loved you too, once upon a time. You know your love should be celebrated, but all he does is tolerate it.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» · «TAGLIST»

TAGLIST @hamburgers101 @chansburgah @ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98 @ohish @chizumiyoshi @lilydaisyyy @jetblackbelle

Network: @kflixnet

©jisungsdaydreamer 2023 | All rights reserved. I do not condone translations or transfers of my work onto other platforms such as Wattpad, AO3, etc. Tumblr is my only platform. Acts of plagiarism are strictly prohibited.

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lesbianangeldust · 1 month

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Luck of the Draw

Chapter 1 ♤

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Pairing: Husk × Angel Dust (HuskerDust)

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Being drugged, mentions of sexual and physical assault

In the early hours of the morning, the Hazbin Hotel bar is still open, albeit empty, except for the bartender himself. Angel Dust isn't back from work yet, and Husk finds this troubling. He's learned that it's a game of luck predicting which version of Angel will walk through that door - Angel Dust the porn star, or the real Angel. The one he respects, yet can't help holding at arms length. However, when Angel finally shows up, Husk quickly learns that luck is something that people like Angel never get a taste of.

4:28am.

Husk looked down from the gaudy parlour clock to the freshly polished bar with a grimace. Angel should have been back from work by now. Not that he was waiting for him, fuck no. He wasn’t no goddamn baby sitter. He had better things to do than sit around waiting for the kid to waltz in and talk his ear off, demanding some sickly sweet cocktail that took way too much effort to mix for what amounted to booze and fruit juice, and taunt him with his sleazy porno pick-up lines (which, admittedly, he’d been cooling off on lately). Besides, it wasn’t like Husk needed a drinking buddy – he’d drank alone his whole life and all that came after, and he’d be double damned if the flames of Hell were hot enough to melt the thick, icy shell that encased his heart.

He had to admit, though, he had been getting used to the company. It had become an unspoken routine: Angel Dust usually flounced into the hotel sometime after midnight, and the two demons would share a few rounds to see off the day. But a gambling man like Husk never discredits the influence of luck on a situation – not least when fondness has sweetened the pot – and he’d come to realise it was all down to chance which version of Angel Dust would walk through that door. Most nights he’d burst in all toothy smiles and suggestive remarks, his carefully crafted mask barely faltering no matter how many times Husk brushed off the sexual comments. As irritating as he found them, he quickly learned that after a couple of drinks, Angel would mellow out and the mask would slip just enough for the two of them to have a real ass conversation, to just shoot the shit and reminisce, like old friends – real friends. The kind you make in life. Husk even found himself at times wondering if it would really be so terrible for his cold heart to warm a little, if the burn of the whisky and the spark of a newly kindled friendship could thaw him enough to feel the closest thing to affection he was still capable of. This thought was never given the opportunity to bloom into anything more substantial before Husk would stamp it from his mind with vigour, assuring himself it was nothing more than a liquor-fuelled fantasy, tantalising him with the fickle temptress of hope.

The other Angel was a different story. Husk couldn’t help but dread those nights: the nights where Angel would skulk through the door with his head hung low, bruised and bloody, torn clothing just barely clinging to his battered body; the nights where the mask Angel clung to fell to the floor, shattered, useless up against the black eyes and smearing makeup. As openly as Husk despised Angel’s bullshit persona, and although he valued authenticity above all else, seeing behind the curtain like this could be a little too rich for his blood. The sheer stench of shame was overwhelming, and Husk had to hold in his feelings with an iron grip. Angel didn’t need to know how much of a useless idiot he felt, or the anger that burnt him from the inside out every time he thought about the evil bastard that treated Angel like his prize fucking punching bag. Husk was well aware that he didn’t know the half of the abuse that Valentino inflicted upon Angel, and, as shameful as it felt to admit, he’d prefer to keep it that way. His old, decrepit heart didn’t know what to do with the emotions that swelled within him when he dared to wonder how much Angel was forced to put up with, and he was certain no amount of booze could placate him enough to keep his cool if he were ever to find out.

But, all that aside, Husk was a bartender. He was no stranger to pouring drinks for down-on-their-luck losers looking to drown their sorrows. So, when Angel came home looking worse for wear, he would simply do what he did best and pour him his favourite drink, and the two would stew in the heavy silence until Angel loosened up and their usual conversation would trickle into balance, feigning some semblance of normality.

His thoughts were promptly interrupted by the sound of the front door swinging open with an almighty shove, followed by the clumsy scuffle of heels on hardwood and hissy, murmured curses. Husk had been a bartender long enough to recognise the graceless sounds of a drunk bastard, and his eyes narrowed as Angel’s silhouette stumbled up to the bar, seemingly unaware of Husk stood behind it. Sure, he’d seen the kid in all kinds of states. Drunk? Sure. High? As a kite. Sober? You gotta be kidding. But fucked up enough to be tripping over his own feet, mumbling incoherent nonsense? This was new. Even in the depths of whatever he was high on, Angel Dust was sharp as a tack, quick-witted and oh so irritatingly fake. Eternal damnation plus addiction equals one hell of a tolerance, Husk supposed. Of course, his “supposing” was arbitrary – he knew this first fucking hand. So, to see this display from Angel filled him with a sense of unease.

As if on cue, Husk’s ears pricked up as a high pitched yelp, punctuated by a sudden smack to the floor, rang through the empty halls. Peering over the bar, he was greeted with a pitiful sight – Angel sat crumpled in a tangled heap of limbs, massaging the part of his head that had made contact with the floor and clutching a bottle of clear booze to his chest that he appeared to have been protecting during his ungainly fall. His blazer was mostly open, and the few buttons that were done up seemed to be in the wrong places. As he swore under his breath and began dusting off his sleeves, Husk couldn’t help but notice his expression. Irritated, sorrowful. Tired. The performance was nowhere to be found, and as had been the case since the real, raw Angel had started making himself known, Husk was gripped by a familiar, palpable tension. But there was a thread of something different about it, some kind of vulnerability that came with witnessing this particular scene.

That’s when he realised what – who – he was seeing: Angel Dust when no one was watching. When he thought no one was watching. Husk was struck by something akin to wonder, a glimmer of awe at the rarity of what he was witnessing, that was snuffed out instantaneously by the nakedness of it. Angel Dust, the porn star who’s entire afterlife consisted of working the cameras; the demon who, for once, truly believed he was not being watched; and Husk, the unwitting voyeur, the pair of eyes from the darkness that promised the safety of being alone.

“Need a hand?” Husk broke the painful silence. The idea of watching any longer than he already had was nauseating.

Angel’s head snapped up at the shock of realising he wasn’t alone, and his face momentarily flushed from embarrassment of being witnessed in his predicament. Quickly as the embarrassment came, it was gone, replaced by that familiar cockiness Husk knew all too well. He never thought he’d be relieved to see that fake bullshit, but it was a hell of a lot more comfortable than whatever the fuck that was.

“Nah. I got plenty,” Angel Dust flashed Husk a flirtatious grin as his third set of arms made an appearance to steady him against the floor, one arm still clutching the bottle tightly to his chest. He pushed himself up onto his feet with great unsteadiness, swaying dangerously before he flopped dramatically down onto a stool and planted the bottle on the bar beside him with a careless clunk. Husk whisked it behind the bar in less than a second – there was no way he was letting this kid drink anything else, and besides, Angel was too out of it to even register that the bottle had gone.

“It’s late, y’know. Even for you,” Husk immediately cringed at the domesticity of the words that just came out of his mouth, like a pent-up housewife chastising her deadbeat husband for leaving her home alone all day.

Even with his usual sharpness dulled by the intoxication, Angel was quick to sense Husk’s insecurity. He pounced in his usual manner.

“Aw, don’t tell me you’ve been waitin’ up for me, Husky,” he teased, his usual sultry tone sullied by slurred words. “I woulda come home sooner – ya only had to ask, babycakes.”

Angel’s flirtation bounced straight off Husk as though he’d barely noticed. He didn’t even look up from the glass he had taken to polishing to distract himself – to give himself something to look at that wasn’t Angel.

“What the hell did you take, Angel? You look-”

“Devastatingly handsome?”

This time Husk looked up from the glass, one eyebrow raised. That stupid, sleazy, shit-eating grin again. God, even in the state he was in, he managed to be the same annoying fuck he always was. The relief of the mask going back up was quickly losing it’s charm.

“You look like shit,” Husk growled. It was true. Angel was slumped over the bar, propped up on one elbow as if it were the only thing keeping him from tumbling right back onto the floor. His eyes were half-lidded and bloodshot, unable to stay focused on Husk even as he’d been shooting him those ridiculous looks, and his face was swollen, puffy and flushed crimson. This wasn’t just alcohol, and it sure as hell wasn’t coke or any of Angel’s usual uppers. The nagging, biting feeling in Husk’s gut grew the longer he went without certainty. Fuck, why the hell did he even care? This was Angel, the kid could handle himself, and Husk would be a damn fool to criticise a sinner for getting high. And yet here he was. Pissed off, unsettled and worst of all: worried about him.

Angel opened his mouth, ready to spout whatever bullshit he had ready to defend himself from the insult, but Husk held up a hand to silence him. Fuck it, if he was going to care about this stupid kid, he wasn’t going to half-ass it. “Don’t try your shit with me. It ain’t gonna fly this time.” He crossed him arms firmly, meeting Angel’s hazy eyes with a steady, piercing stare. “I’ve seen you fucked up every which way, kid, but I ain’t seen you this far gone. So let’s try this again- the fuck did you take?”

“I ain’t took nothin’, Husk,” Angel sighed. There was a softness to his voice, something almost believable. He dropped his head into two of his hands, covering his face as the other set sprawled out across the bar. His voice was slow and thick. “Well, nothin’ I ain’t used to. I went out drinkin’ after work. It was a long shoot, okay?” The softness gave way to irritation, like a child receiving a scolding as he looked up from his hands with a scowl. “What, I need your permission or somethin’? There’s other bars in Hell, ya know.”

“Not ones you get to drink for free at.” Husk retorted, and Angel let out a sharp, cold laugh.

“Oh, please. That’s cute, Husk, but in case ya forgot, I’m kinduva big deal round these parts. You think THE Angel Dust pays for his own drinks?” Angel jabbed a finger at his chest and gestured towards his body with his other arms, threatening to lose his balance and come face to face with the floor for the second time that night.

“So, you’re tellin’ me you got in this mess from boozin’ with lowlifes?” Husk scoffed. “I ain’t tryna insult you, legs, but ain’t that your idea of havin’ a quiet one?”

Angel’s eyes narrowed as he steadied himself on the bar, fingers curling against the hardwood. “Yeah, Husk, and I’ll thank ya to quit it with the third fuckin’ degree already. What, ya jealous I ain’t drinkin’ with you? I’m here now, so pour me one already.”

Husk let out a quiet humph that could almost be considered a laugh, amused at the idea that Angel thought there was any way in Hell he’d give him more alcohol, but pulled a glass out from under the bar all the same. “Kid, I’m just lookin’ out for you,” he said matter-of-factly, refusing to be affected by Angel’s irritation. “Like I said, you look fuckin’ terrible.” He pushed the now-filled glass towards Angel, who scoffed at this remark.

“Please! Ain’t no way, kitty. Besides, you don’t know me. What makes you think-” he stopped dead, raising an eyebrow at the glass in front of him before fixing Husk with a withering glare.

“What the shit is this?”

“Water. Drink it.”

As though a switch had flicked, Angel’s annoyance mutated into his usual choreographed flirtation.

“Aww, Husky! You’re taking care of me!” he crooned, reaching a hand across the bar to heavy-handedly caress one of Husk’s wings, his intoxicated state blunting his usual suaveness when it came to flirting. “Well, how about we take this to your bedroom, baby? Maybe you can... take care of me some more in there.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk couldn’t hold in the flurry of rage at being groped by the idiot he was trying to help. He had limited tolerance for Angel’s bullshit on a good day, and this pushed him over the edge. “Even in the fucking mess you’re in, you still won’t give it up?!”

Angel’s eyes were wide but unreadable. Husk steadied himself with a deep breath, fighting the surge of anger that wanted him to tell Angel to drop the fucking act, that he was embarrassing himself with this ridiculous charade. Did that incoherent shithead really think he was the type of guy to take someone this wasted to bed? The anger simmered down as he thought about the types of guys Angel was used to being with, and he let out a deep sigh through still-gritted teeth.

“Let me get one thing clear: I ain’t one of your scumbag drinking buddies who wanna get you all nice and lathered up to do god knows what to ya. And even if I was dumb enough to play into your goddamn games – you’re plastered, kid. I ain’t going nowhere near you.”

Angel rolled his eyes, as if the concern for his wellbeing was boring him. “Husk, you think I ever fucked sober?” he said dryly. “Not in Hell or Earth, sunshine. You don’t do the work I do without somethin’ to take the edge off,” he paused, a flicker of something real gracing his expression as he broke Husk’s gaze. “And hey, some jag off puts a little extra somethin’ in my drink, I ain’t sayin’ no. Free drugs, ain’t it?” His laugh had a shaky edge, less believable.

Husk looked at Angel, dumbfounded. For a moment, he said absolutely nothing, processing this information before blurting out densely, “What, you got spiked?”

Angel scoffed, throwing his hands up in a mocking cheer. “Aaaand he hits the jackpot!” he slurred. “Guess the wise old bartender ain’t so wised up after all. Yes, dumbass, I got spiked.”

“And what, you knew? And drank it anyway?” The hair raised on the back of Husk’s neck.

“Husk, I’ve been in the game a long time,” Angel said flatly. “I can handle it. That shit barely makes a dent anymore. Sonuvabitch knew it to, the way he kept ‘em comin’.” The laugh that followed was jarring, like silk sheets on a spent mattress.

Husk could not fathom a response, but Angel kept going.

“Y’know, he probably paid top dolla for whatever the fuck he was usin’ too,” he laughed idly. “Spent it all on little ol’ me. I’d be flattered if the handsy bastard wasn’t such a goddamn bore. I’ve had better conversations with a brick wall, I’m telling ya.” He spoke about it so casually, as though recalling a funny anecdote. “Probably thought I’d pass out after the first one. Sorry, baby, but I’m a pro. You shoulda prepared more conversation than “hey, you’re the guy from “Three Dicks, One Hole”, can you really do that with your-”

“Angel, are you okay?”

Husk felt his stomach tighten as Angel’s nonchalant facade was shaken by his remark of genuine, honest concern. He couldn’t help it, he couldn’t bear to listen to this. He hated how pathetic he felt in these moments, when the weight of Angel’s chains felt almost as heavy as his own.

Angel’s gaze dropped to the glass of water he’d yet to touch, as though shielding himself from the bartender’s penetrating eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that Husk.”

“Like what? Like I’m worried about you?”

“Like ya feel sorry for me. I can handle myself, okay? This is my scene, these are my people. I do what I gotta do.” The grit had returned to his voice, warning Husk to back off.

Husk ignored his instincts and walked out from behind the bar and took the bar stool next to Angel. He wasn’t going to let this slide.

“If that guy hurt you-”

“Christ, Husk! You’re the one that keeps tellin’ me I’m a wreck! My head’s in pieces, I don’t need this right now.” The sharp, warning tone in Angel’s voice finally cracked with a defeated sigh, and he looked down at the bar. He looked so small in this moment, so... not Angel Dust. It was like Husk was seeing a completely different person. Angel didn’t look up from the bar as he spoke.

“If that guy got a piece a’ me, he’d be the latest in a long fuckin’ line of ‘em. Not like I remember anyway.”

He gave Husk a wry smile. “Hey, whatcha don’t know can’t hurt ya, right?”

Jesus. Husk took a deep breath and prepared himself for the usual sick avoidance he felt when Angel was at his most real and raw, but something within him forced a new kind of steadiness. The pain written across Angel’s face was taste Husk usually found all too sour, but this time the bitter flavour was his own. Was he really such a fucking coward? He was a goddamn bartender, he listened to people bitch and moan all day long but being there for a friend was all too much? This kid needed someone, and despite it all, despite everything Husk thought he knew about himself, he cared. And as much as that scared the ever loving shit out of him, he wasn’t going to turn away this time. He was going to follow Angel into that darkness if it meant he would have someone there with him.

Finally, Husk let out a sigh and stood up. “Alright kid, let’s get you to bed.”

“Thought you’d never ask, Husky,” Angel drawled, following suit and standing, only to tumble forward face-first into Husk, who caught him with an air of expectancy. Angel caught Husk’s shoulders as he leaned against the shorter demon, who’s hands were now holding Angel up by the waist in an attempt to steady him. Husk peered up at the sudden look of surprise on the demon’s face. There was that vulnerability, that gleam of something real that darted out from the shadows before Angel inevitably caught on and stuffed it right back down inside. For the first time, Husk decided to savour it, knowing he only had a fraction of a second before The Angel Dust Show resumed.

Only it didn’t.

Angel’s eyes were wide with unexpected emotion. It was hard to describe what Husk was seeing – was it tenderness? Fragility? Fear? He only had a moment to contemplate this cocktail of emotion before Angel’s face was buried into his shoulder, two sets of arms clutching him fiercely in a hug that felt hungry and longing. Despite Husk’s efforts to keep the lanky demon upright, Angel dropped to his knees, his impressive height allowing for him to pull Husk parallel against him in this position while his head remained fixed to the crook of Husk’s neck. Angel clung to Husk like a child to their mother, as though the desperation for soft and gentle affection was suddenly too much for him to bear. Tentative at first, Husk allowed himself to pull Angel a little closer, one hand cradling the back of the demon’s head, thumb brushing against his tangled hair. The frenzied tension of Angel’s grasp and the automatic rigidity that came over Husk when faced with affection both began to subside, and the moment morphed from a frantic, unexpected plea for something tender, into equally unexpected tenderness itself. The lull was thick and heavy, as though draped in velvet, and a sudden awareness of just how close the two demons were gave Husk a hesitant, heady thrill. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held someone like this.

Angel was the one to finally peel back from their embrace, and as he did, Husk felt the cold breeze brush over a wet patch of fur on his shoulder. His stomach twisted in knots as he realised Angel had been crying. The spider demon furiously dragged a gloved forearm across his face, trying fruitlessly to hide the obvious. Husk looked away sheepishly.

“C’mon. Let’s go.”

With that, Husk scooped Angel up into his arms bridal-style and began carrying him towards the stairs. “Christ, you ain’t as dainty as you look, legs.”

Angel let out a yelp of surprise. “Husk, what the hell are ya doing?”

“Getting you to bed. What, you think you can take on the stairs? That’s real funny, kid. You can’t even stand.” Husk’s tone was mocking, but warm.

Angel’s initial shock dissipated. He felt the exhaustion of the day begin to catch up with him as his aching body savoured the blessing of being whisked off his feet. His arms wound around Husk’s neck as he sank his head into his chest. “Alright, alright. Just don’t fuckin’ drop me, dickbag.”

Husk could tell he was trying to sound annoyed, but the slur of the poison and the softness of incoming sleep blunted the sharp edges of his usual tough talk. A smile toyed with the edge of Husk’s lips.

“I ain’t gonna drop ya,” he smirked. “Make no mistake though, you ain’t no small feat. You might be all legs and arms, but you’re still an 8 foot sack a’ potatoes.”

“Fuck you, whiskers,” Angel managed to mumble, followed by a string of incoherent nonsense that his sleep-addled mind mistook for a killer comeback.

Husk smiled, trudging up the stairs with Angel. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” he replied mindlessly. It would be almost cute, the way Angel was falling asleep in his arms, if it weren’t a result of the heavy dose of sedatives finally kicking in. Yeah, that was it, Husk reminded himself. Got nothing to do with the gentle moment they shared, or perhaps a sense of safety he felt in Husk’s arms. It was just the drugs. That was all.

Angel was almost fully passed out by the time Husk reached his door, and he felt himself wince as he watched Angel drifting into unconsciousness and wondered if this perhaps wasn’t the first time he’d passed out tonight. It wasn’t like Husk wasn’t used to the cruel nuances of Hell: he’d seen things – done things – that would stay burned into his mind for as long as he existed down here. But the innocence of the demon sleeping in his arms, the innocence that was taken from him over and over again until he simply signed it away... that cut deep. It made him feel sick. He knew the pain of being a victim of circumstance, of being someone’s unwilling pet. It was a fucking horror show.

“It’s your stop, kid,” Husk spoke softly, rousing the spider demon from his slumber as he stood outside Angel’s door. It was adorned with neon pink lights and cheerful photographs with friends.

Angel looked up, bleary-eyed. “Huh? Oh. Hey, Husky,” he looked around, realising where he was, and began to shuffle in Husk’s arms in an attempt to get down. Husk gave him a stern look.

“Sure you can stand?”

“Oh, yeah. Not that I don’t love ya big strong arms around me, whiskers, but think I can manage the couple steps between the door and the bed, capisce?”

Unconvinced, Husk kept Angel’s arm fastened around his shoulder as he stumbled towards the bed, where Fat Nuggets lay curled up in one of Angel’s fluffy pieces of clothing, unbothered by the kerfuffle.

“There ya go,” Husk groaned, half-launching Angel towards the bed, where he collapsed inelegantly in a heap next to his sleeping pet, who was abruptly awoken by the disturbance and squealed happily at the sight of his mama. Angel chuckled softly as the pig settled into his lap, a sound Husk had never heard him make before, followed by soft cooing as he showered the pig in affection.

“Who’s mama’s special boy? That’s right, you are! Yes, you’re my special lil’ guy, aren’t you Nuggsie? Aren’t you my special lil’ guy?”

It was almost sickeningly cute, Husk thought, although this was promptly interrupted by a flush of embarrassment as he noticed Angel start to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt. He looked away hotly. Should he go now? He’d done his part, there was no need for him to be here when he-

“Hey, give me a hand here, will ya?”

Fuck.

Angel was fumbling uselessly with the last button of his blazer, clearly unable to get it to cooperate. After a moment of hesitation that felt far longer than it actually was, Husk sighed and sat down on the bed. His eyes fixed on the button and the button alone with exaggerated intensity, made all the more comical by his flushed cheeks, and with one swift movement the blazer fell open. Husk’s eyes found a spot on the bed to focus on intently and his blush grew darker. Angel cackled.

“Husk, their ain’t a sinner in Hell that hasn’t seen me take my clothes off. Now, quit bein’ a gentleman and grab me that nightshirt, ya prude,” he gave Husk a playful shove as he pointed out his pyjamas.

With a grumble, Husk swung his legs over the bed and leaned to grab the purple oversized shirt hanging off the spider’s vanity. Still averting his gaze, he handed it to Angel, who shrugged off his blazer and pulled the nightshirt over himself clumsily, before shimmying off his miniskirt.

“You need help with the boots?” Husk stuttered out. God, this was awkward. The way that Angel seemed to be lapping up his discomfort like the cat who got the cream made it 10 times worse.

“Nah. I got it. Who woulda known you were such a Prince Charming, Husky? Ain’t ya just my knight in shining armour.” Angel was still slurring but his voice was sweet and sing-songy, drinking in the effect he was having on Husk. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second as Angel started to roll down his boots, and a sudden flicker of bashfulness tinted Angel’s expression.

“Uh, do ya mind? I kinda got a thing about my feet.”

Husk couldn’t even stifle his laugh as he turned away diligently. “You’re kidding. The whole of Hell’s seen every inch of you in every position you could dream of but you’re shy about your feet?”

“Hey. Everyone’s got their hang ups, don’t they?” Angel said huffily, kicking his boots off the rest of the way and pulling the duvet around him. “You can look now. I’m decent.”

“If I turn around and you’re naked, I’m telling Charlie to give us another one of those sexual harassment lectures you love so much.” Husk muttered, relieved as he turned to see Angel cocooned in his duvet, Fat Nuggets wedged contentedly under his chin. His eyes were fluttering, looking ready to pass out. Husk smiled involuntarily, taking one long, last glance at Angel Dust before turning to leave him. “Goodnight, kid.”

Just as Husk reached for the door handle, a hushed voice stopped him dead.

“Husk?”

It was spoken like a question, with a strangled urgency that made Husk spin back around with dizzying intensity. Angel was propped up on his elbows, jump-started awake by a sharp jolt of obvious fear.

“Stay.”

Husk opened his mouth uselessly, having no inkling of a response in mind, but he was swiftly unburdened of this responsibility as Angel spoke again.

“Not... not like that.”

Husk cringed that Angel even felt the need to make that distinction: it was obvious from the demon’s distress that – for once – it wasn’t sex that he was propositioning. He sat forward rigidly, hugging his knees to his chest, eyes fixed downward.

“Just... stay. Please, Husk.” His voice was heart-wrenchingly small as he choked out his final confession.

“I don’t wanna be alone.”

Swallowing down the visceral pain in his gut at yet another unforgiving glimpse of reality and chasing it with a heavy sigh, Husk trudged back over to the demon’s bed and sat down beside him. He spoke gently, but firmly, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He could practically feel Angel relax at this affirmation. His eyes closed once more as he slid down against the pillow, nestling into a comfortable position. “Thanks, Husky.” His voice was thick with sleep, a smile just barely teasing the corner of his mouth. To Husk’s surprise, a hand slipped out from beneath the covers and his fingers were interlocked with Angel’s before he could say anything. A shiver of defensiveness ran up his spine at the tenderness of the situation. It was sweet, it was intoxicating, it was inviting. It was unlike anything he’d felt in life or death. Was it worth the risk, allowing himself to acknowledge this softness? To look this sentiment square in the face, knowing it meant he could get chewed up and spat out in more ways than he could imagine? He held his cards close to his chest, he always had, but what good was that if not even he knew what he was holding?

He glanced at the demon next to him and his mind immediately muted, the sight of Angel fast asleep, hand still in his, turning down the volume on his deafening thoughts. He didn’t have to know what this was, what it meant. This was all it had to be for now. This was all that mattered. He gave Angel’s hand a reassuring squeeze as he let himself sink back into the pillows, smiling a little at the sight of his friend sleeping peacefully beside him.

“Goodnight, Angel.”

A/N: This is the first fanfic I've written since I was literally a teenager so I hope this holds up! Hazbin and HuskerDust in particular has me in a chokehold, so naturally I spent more time and effort writing this than I did on any of my uni work this year. There are going to be more chapters of this (god willing) so stay tuned! I'm not on ao3 unfortunately so keep an eye out on here if you're wanting more, I'm a slow writer though so don't expect anything for a while. Hope you enjoyed! 🪩

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switchnx · 3 months

Text

Star (Armored), Roll (Armored), Kalinka (Armored)

Rock (Armored), Piano, Waltz

Roll (Unarmored), Star (Unarmored), Rock (Unarmored)

Kalinka (Unarmored), Proto Man (Armored), Bass

Switch (Me), Proto Man (Unarmored), Tempo (Armored)

Vesper Woman, Tempo (Unarmored), BB Hood

Kalinka Armor and Star Outfits by Me

Sprite Inspiration from Shattered Diamond, Sequel Wars, Mega Man Maker, and @thatentitygirl

Star name by @grayblacklight

#tumblr #megaman #rockman #mega man #rock light #star light #roll light #kalinka cossack #proto man #quake woman #vesper woman #bass megaman #piano MegaMix #w. waltz #SwitchNX #bb hood

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itsgrimeytime · 8 months

Text

Home is Where the Heart is (Part One) || Farmer!Rick Grimes (TWD) x Teacher!GN!reader AU

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration: Like Real People Do by Hozier.

Summary: Your life was spinning out of control, you knew that. After a string of particularly shattering events, you decided it was time to start anew. With a little help from one of your Grandma's rentals, you found yourself in the small town of Alexandria. The last thing you expected was your neighbor, Rick Grimes.

TWS: starting over, and identity crisis.

[[A/N: Thanks to @imaginemyfavoritefics for the name idea. The vibes of this are hallmark forward, so expect something rather cheesy. Thanks for reading!! ]]

You weren't running, you rationalized deep in your head -almost as if on instinct. You were an adult, you could deal with adult problems -like relationship issues, you just wanted to... you just needed a break. A breather even. Plus, they needed a teacher -it was practically destiny.

So, why did it feel like you were running?

You hadn't had a serious job in Atlanta, just an assistant, and as much as you loved those kids, you needed to do your job. When it felt like everything was going wrong in the world (and it was-), you still had teaching. It felt like what you were supposed to do, it was a reprieve from... everything else. So, even with a fresh start, you still needed teaching.

The transitions between cities bright against the landscape into more timid more rural areas was something you found somehow conflicting. You'd spent the last few years in the city, busy nights with a constant buzz of noise -cars honking, people talking, street performers... As it got quieter, there were fewer people on the road and the tall buildings turned into trees scrapping the sky; it was all a little surreal.

And it struck you then, you weren't scared -not really. Not scared to uproot everything and start over, it made you wonder bad it had gotten without you knowing.

"Okay," you hummed, turning down a sort of suburban road -houses every little bit, but much farther apart than the tight compression of a culdesac, "-1259, little white house-"

Your Grandma had called you at least 10 times ensuring you'd remembered the address -as if it wasn't written in your GPS. But as it turns out, back on these roads, just off what you assumed to be the town center, Google had no fucking clue where you were. So, perhaps you should thank her, actually.

"1259," you muttered, again -eyes focused out your passenger side, trying to see the addresses, "-little white house-"

And then, someone tapped on your driver's window.

"'Ay, ya need somethin'?"

You spun around in your driver's seat quickly, matching a man's -tall, brunette, brown-eyed. He wore some assortment of a leather vest and seemed to have been busy prior -you could see the dirt dusted under his fingernails and staining his jeans. The second thing you noticed was his tone wasn't friendly.

Maybe he thought you were nosing around in something you shouldn't.

"I, uh, yeah-" you rolled down your window, -briefly wondering how long it had been since you met somebody new, "-I'm trying to get to 1259? It's a uh, little white-"

"No, no," he echoed -interrupting you, less confrontational, "-I kno' the place, got a friend 'at lives near ya. Just follow me."

And without another word, he waltzed off in front of you -focusing succinctly on a motorcycle. An old one, by the looks of it, well-maintained though -maybe there's an auto shop around here?

The purr of the engine was loud, even through your rolled-up windows. Something in you had expected heads to pop out of windows -words yelled, so when they didn't... you assumed he was a regular here.

Cranking your car, you slowly cruised to follow him. He seemed to be attentive to you being behind him -driving slow when you were certain it had seen far faster speeds. Maybe even earlier today actually-

You appreciated it, nonetheless.

It was a short journey, a few more turns, and a little bit more driving down roads aimlessly. All things considered though, you were very close to the center of town -where everything was sold and the only stores miles in any direction resided. So, you could work with it.

That being said, where the house was wasn't exactly suburban. There weren't pristine sidewalks and crosswalks, or only little patches of grass here and there. You had a yard -a flourishing yard with trees and flowers and just... open space.

The neighbors were close enough that you could see the house -a surprising sort of light blue paneling, but you could definitely see that their fence far surpassed your own. Their yard seemed almost to last forever, you could even see a barn far back from the back of the house -red, yes, but very worn by the weather, and if you truly listened you could actually hear the shuffle of some livestock.

Okay, so next door to a farm, you told yourself -lightly, -totally can do this.

Without another thought the man pulled off to the side in front of you -making way for you to pull into the driveway. A smooth sort of ease on the bike that made you assume he had years of practice. He certainly looked the part.

You got out of your car, roaming close to him at a comfortable distance (for him or you weren't sure). He didn't seem the type to want strangers close, but then again you weren't really, either.

"Thank you," you started, kind of awkwardly but you were meeting someone new so you let it slide -tone taking a casual sort of amusement, "-I appreciate the help. I know I would've been out there for hours if-"

"Don't sweat it," he echoed -kind of coldly but you didn't know him well enough to assume he meant it that way, "-anythin' else?"

"Uh," you started, "-the Elementary? It's back by the center, right?"

"Yep, can't miss it," he answered, shortly, "-if ya need anythin' else, I'm only a few houses down. Otherwise, people 'round 'ere are pretty friendly."

You smiled -at your very first success, "Okay, thank you, really... uh...?"

"Daryl," he puffed out -making no effort to move from his motorcycle, "-Daryl Dixon."

"Y/N," you offered back, "-Y/N Y/L/N."

And without another word -only a single swift nod of his head, he was gone. It was such a quick exchange that you almost thought for a moment you dreamed it -that you'd somehow gotten the memo of where the house was and he didn't exist at all. Which, to be fair, at the rate your brain was firing could definitely be plausible. You were a mix of something between relentlessly tired from the drive, and insanely stressed because well... You'd just up and moved your whole life for good reason, but still.

"Everythin' alright?"

You blinked and were met with yet another unknown face. Not that you expected to know anyone here -other than maybe a few faces your Grandma had stories of. But this man... you would've known him.

Tall with a head of brunette curls matted in a sort of dirt -the same dusted across his shoulders, you guessed, and encrusted into his fingernails. His eyes were a sort of blue that you considered people write poems about and along his tan jaw was a big bushy beard -something about it was untamed. Like he hadn't cared to brush through it that morning, or maybe just hadn't cared for it for a while. Still, somehow he looked good. Handsome, even.

"Oh, yeah, sorry-" you started -trying to calm the flush of him just waiting while you downright ogled him, "-I just, I got some help finding my new place. Kind of zoned out there, but I'm... I'm fine, really."

He raised an eyebrow, intently, "Ya sure?"

"Yeah, yeah," you softened slightly at the concern his tone held -something in you aching in realizing you hadn’t been concerned over in so long, "-just tired. 'Been a long drive."

"Where'd ya drive from?"

"Atlanta," you answered -far easier than you intended to (there was just something about him-).

"A very long drive," he chuckled -low timber of his voice rattling through your bones (something in you stiffened -not again), "-ya need any help with anythin'? I got some free hands."

"If you're not busy," you countered -exhaustion a distant rattle in the back of your body, ever present.

"Nah," he reassured, blue eyes flickering over you, "-I got stuff 'at can wait. If you don't mind waitin' a minute, I can get my son to help too."

"Well..." you responded, slow and awkward, "-thank you."

"No, really," he echoed, "-ain't a problem. I'm Rick, by the way, Rick Grimes."

You smiled, maybe a bit less of a polite one and more genuine then, "Y/N, Y/N Y/L/N. Do you... Do you live around here?"

Rick laughed -a sort of deep chuckle that mostly felt warm in tone as he roamed towards some of the boxes, "Yeah, I'm uh... I'm actually y'er neighbor."

"Oh," you echoed out, as he seamlessly picked up three -like it was as light as a feather, "-really?"

"Yea'-" he spoke, hoisting up the boxes slightly and you suddenly realized just how snug his t-shirt was, "-blue house, big farm-"

And despite the flatline of your brain then, you still managed to remember the large plot of land right next to yours. The beautiful blue house was his, of course it was-

Handsome, strong, probably married neighbor, you tsked yourself -remembering the mention of a son, -totally can handle this. Totally cool with this.

This trip wasn't to ogle neighbors, it was to care for yourself and start fresh, and further your career-

"You okay?"

"What?" You startled in place, merely jumping actually, "-oh, yeah, just... a lot to do. And even more tomorrow."

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sweeping over you -like he couldn't read you, "Take it day by day, 'sure it'll all work out."

Correction. Handsome, strong, caring, probably married neighbor, you ran through your head -words anything but at your leisure.

God, you were so fucked.

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