#curse static electricity

[bonesandchalamet]

snow melts — Coriolanus snow

masterlist | pairing: Coriolanus snow x reader

summary: Coriolanus likes to keep people at arm distance, but what does it look like when he lets someone in?

warnings: kinda fluffy(?) + BOOK SPOILER OF TBOSAS

a/n: I’m unsure if the one thing I spoiled from the book is in the movie.. if it is someone let me know! I must’ve missed it

the capitol is in walking distance. all you have to do is cross the traffic circle, pray you don’t get hit, and enter the warm building. you can see it now, you can feel the precipitation building up against your skin under the thick layers— honk!

a curse falls out of your lips. too busy daydreaming about the warm welcoming breeze of the capitol, you failed to notice the cars that’s tires crunch under the snow and spread slush around your thick boots.

days like these were meant to sit inside your warm apartment and sip hot tea. they weren’t meant for you to cross in inches deep of snow and bore yourself with lectures and reading.

but there’s one person who might make things worth it. if he’s there. you’d imagine a snow would love this weather, to watch the heavy flakes cover the capitol and dance around making peoples lives miserable, Coriolanus was a lot like snow. a bit evil, a bit cold, but at the right temperature you could melt him into mush.

the traffic clears, and finally, you can sprint across to make your way to class. it had taken far too long for you to cross to the capitol, with traffic, ice, and snow, but once you make it inside you don’t regret coming.

“gosh you look awful.” festus’s comment earns a low growl to escape your lips, it’s hard to ignore him, but coriolanus does so easily, and helps remove your layers.

“how’d you beat me here?” you ask, he’s folding your coat against his arms and flattening your static hat hair. typically, Coriolanus was on time, he’s never early, but today he must’ve had a meeting with clemnesia, or possibly sejanus, that sent him into the unplowed roads and blustery wind.

you can’t imagine how cold he must’ve been. it’s his worst kept secret with you. Tigris had made him a wool coat, but he’d been to embarrassed to wear it, and he refused a coat from your families closet. this then results in him walking in brutal conditions with nothing but his school uniform on.

“meeting with dean highbottom.” its his turn to growl. the two weren’t fond of each other, but with Coriolanus being a student, and a man with scarce amount of money, coriolanus was in no position to make enemies in the capitol. so, he did what any student would do, suck up to the dean in hopes that’ll erase all the problems.

“is it about your demerit?” you whisper the words quietly enough that not another soul could hear you. Coriolanus hadn’t told his grandmother, but only you and sejanus knew of such record.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes muttering a yes, before guiding you through the mass crowds of students into the lecture hall. feeling his hand on your back sends a wave of electricity through your body. you loved his hands on you, in anyway possible, but Coriolanus was a love starved man. it was never easy to get him to show affection.

“I should thank Tigris.”

coriolanus’ eyebrows nearly string together when you turn to look at him, “well you’re not good with showing your affection, I know she has to do with this.” you chuckle a thank you, taking your things from him and watch him march across the lecture hall to his side of the room.

Coriolanus was as cold as snow sometimes, but with you? he was always melting.

#coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow fic #coriolanus snow fluff #Coriolanus snow fanfic #tom blyth #hunger games x reader #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games the ballad of songbird and snakes x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games x you #Coriolanus snow drabble

[lqveharrington]

Behind the Scenes | V.

summary: Being Vox’s girlfriend requires some patience after twelve hour work days.

pairing: Vox x fem!reader

includes: Vox and Velvette bullying one another, VALENTINO BEING A MENACE, mentions of Angel’s job, drinking, fluff, yelling, Vox being a baby, cursing, implications of being a prostitute, suggestiveness, both of them being teases (that’s it, let me know if i missed any!)

a/n: i think writing hazbin fics is my stress outlet 😭

You were Vox’s. And Vox was yours. Every demon and sinner in Pride Ring knew due to Vox taking time out of his busy work day to shower you with compliments in every press interview or host show when you were brought up. Especially when Vox would be the first one to find you after you finished modeling for Velvette’s show, making sure the paparazzi had photos of him praising you with kisses and soft touches.

Of course, you reciprocated every moment… In the public eye. Behind the cameras and screens, Vox was very much loving. But he did work for almost twelve hours each day, which required patience from you whenever he came home to you in a sour mood.

“Do you need me for anything else, Vel?” You glance back at your phone as you pour red wine into your glass.

“No,” She scribbled down measurement adjustments for another model’s design, looking back up at her screen after hearing an electrical shock from your side of the phone. “But do tell your boy toy that you have a dress rehearsal early tomorrow morning, and that you have to be there on time.”

Vox wrapped his arm around your waist, glaring at the young overlord through your phone. “Fuck off, Velvette.”

You feel him resting his head against your shoulder as he presses soft kisses on your neck, your dead heart fluttering. “I’ll be there on time.”

“Good.” She rolled her eyes at your boyfriend’s actions before ending the call.

“What’s your damage today, handsome?” You ask before sipping on your drink, red lipstick staining the clear glass. You watch as he mutters something incoherent, static emitting from his hat. “Vox, talk to me.”

“That bitch Carmilla won’t meet up, and it’s been several days since our last update on Vox technology.” He sighs as he moves around you, his voice crackling with electricity. “Shareholders have been up my fucking ass all morning about it— Valentino keeps trying to get me to watch his stupid porn feels featuring Angel.”

He removes his suit jacket as he complains, walking toward the large living space including a minibar. Vox pulls at his tie and reaches for the whiskey underneath, “Now Velvette wants to be an ass and complain about me wanting to spend time with you—“

“My love,” You hand him a glass from the cabinets, letting your hand linger on his for a bit. “Vel’s my boss, and I’m her best model. She needs me for these rehearsals.”

“You’re really taking her side?” He tilts back his head and downs the drink in one go, pouring another.

You roll your eyes at his childish behavior, “I’m not taking sides, I’m pointing out a fact.” You sit on the stool by the bar, letting him slot himself between your legs. “If anything, I’m listening to you describing your day.”

“Mm.” He let one hand come down and rest on your hip, rubbing soft circles. “Tell me about your day.”

“Boring, tiring. Pretty much the same every day.” You grab his wrist to ensure he doesn’t go any lower or any higher. “According to your assistant, I do have a lot of things planned tomorrow. So that should be exhausting.”

Vox linked your hands together, “Sounds stressful.”

“Not as bad as yours every day.” You press a kiss on his palm. “I was gonna watch a movie while waiting for you, but now that you’re here—“ You shift your wine glass in your hand as he puts his own glass down, letting him trail his hands to your waist. “Want to join me?”

“Of course.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips before trailing after you. “What movie are we watching?”

“Whatever the first thing I find.” You let Vox sit on the couch before doing the same, swinging your legs over his lap. “You need a new rotation on Voxflix, I’ve watched almost everything.”

“I’ll get on that.” He mumbled as he ran his hand up and down your leg, occasionally squeezing.

You hum and shift your gaze to the television, scrolling through the different movies. “How do we feel about—“

A ringtone filled the air, both of you freezing at the noise.

“Vox—“

“Give me a second.” He let you pull your legs away and pulled the ringing from his screen to his phone, camera-ready voice leaving his mouth.

You sigh but find a movie worth watching, pulling your knees up. Around halfway through, you decided that the movie was meretricious, heavily judging the poorly made movie more than the other ones you’ve watched. You typed your review on your phone, giving the movie two stars before—

“—THEN GET SOME LOW LIFE SINNER TO DO YOUR FUCKING JOB FOR YOU!” You heard Vox scream from the kitchen, making you wince for the poor soul on the other end. “AND IF YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE SHIT I GIVE YOU, JUST KNOW I HAVE YOUR FUCKING SOUL IN CONTRACT!”

You pause the movie and get up, taking slow steps to your hotheaded boyfriend. He shuffled across the kitchen, walking back and forth as his fans kicked on. His white shirt was unbuttoned and his sleeves were rolled up like he was going to commit a crime.

“YOU LITTLE PIECE OF—“

“Vox,” You come up from behind and wrap your arms around his chest, resting your head on his shoulder. “It’s outside of your work hours.”

“Fucking—“ He rubbed his temple as he heard the sinner go silent on the other line. Vox took one hand and laced it with yours, “You’re lucky my wife is generous you ungrateful fuck.” He ended the call before muttering more curses, turning you in his arms so you were facing his front.

You let your hands move up to his shoulders, massaging the heavy tension in them. “Am I your wife now? Is that what you’ve been telling those sinners?”

“Maybe.” He let out a loud groan from the sensation, fans still running. “The fucking bitch in accounting is—“

“You’re not working right now, stop.” You give him a pointed look. “I need you to relax.”

Vox wrapped his arms around your waist, walking you backward toward the living area once more. “God, I’m in love with you.”

“I love you too.” You chuckle as he peppers kisses on your face. You let out a noise of surprise when he pulls you into his lap, hands gripping his shoulders for support. “Vox!”

“Yes?” He pressed kisses to your exposed collarbone.

You sigh in content but grab the corners of his screen, giving him a cheeky grin. “Tomorrow, my love. Velvette will murder the both of us if I show up late with bruises.”

“I’ll pay her to let you have a day off tomorrow.” He slipped his hand up your shirt, sharp claws bringing chills to your skin.

“So now you’re paying to be with me?” You raise a brow, stifling a laugh when he stops all movements. “Am I some kind of—“

“Of course not! Do not finish that sentence.” He pushed you down on the couch, covering your mouth. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh at how protective he is over you from himself. “I know you didn’t mean it like that, I was kidding.”

Vox dropped his head down to your shoulder, “You’re such a tease.”

“I’m the best.” You squeeze his bicep. “But seriously, Vel will have our heads strung outside the tower.”

“Whatever.” He flipped you both over, letting you rest your head on his chest. “I’ll have you all to myself this weekend.”

You hum, pressing a kiss on the corner of his screen. “I’m sure you do, handsome.”

“My love, I will cancel all your plans this weekend if you tell me I can’t have you.” Vox traces his finger down your spine. “Don’t tell me you have any.”

“I don’t…” You turn your head as he runs his claws through your hair. You feel yourself warm as he wraps a blanket over the both of you, flicking the television to play with a snap of his fingers.

“What do we rate the movie today?” He played with the ends of your hair, face pulling a grimace at the movie’s corny script.

“Two stars.” You mumble as your gaze shifts to the television. As the television fades to black in an awkward transition, you see Vox staring at you rather than the screen. “What are you looking at, weirdo?”

“My beautiful girlfriend.” He squeezed your hip. “Who I love very much.”

You let a small laugh slip through your lips, grinning brightly at his words. “I love you very much too, weirdo.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

#august’s works 🫧 #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #vox hazbin hotel #vox fanfiction #vox imagine #vox the tv demon #vox x reader #hazbin vox #vox smut #vox #hazbin hotel self insert #hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel writing #vox tech #vox angst #vox fluff #vox headcanons #vox hazbin x reader #vox x you #vox x y/n #christian borle #hazbin hotel reader insert #hazbin hotel the vees #hazbin hotel insert #hazbin hotel oneshots

[ghoulphile]

in the middle of the night | c.h./the ghoul

➥ pairing | cooper howard/the ghoul x f!reader ➥ word count | 852 ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; mildly dubious consent, man-handling, drabble, masturbation (m), free use (ig??), handjob, somnophilia ➥ summary | "Cooper watching you sleep. Its a quiet night. nothing but bugs passing by. Cooper keeps watching, and his mind wanders. cut to him "borrowing" your soft and smooth hand, pulling it from under your makeshift blanket and wrapping it on his dick, jacking himself with your hand bc he's bored/trying to pass the time/stay awake" ➥ notes | forgive me this was written in a sleep deprived haze im gonna go die in bed now masterlist | feel free to send in thots, questions, requests! | feedback is always appreciated ❤️

"Hh-mm?"

A sleep soft murmur escapes, your mind a hazy flood of sensation as your senses struggle to adjust. Night stretches out before you, the sky a deep velvet - the fine stardust glitter of faraway celestial bodies peeking through wispy clouds. It’s midsummer in the desert; a balmy breeze shifting through the sands and tugging at the coyote hide wrapped tight around you.

Beside you, the low crackle and glow of a banked campfire warms your face, its shadows playing with your blurry eyes. Something feels… off. What, you’re not entirely sure as nothing seems to be out of place.

The threadbare padding of your sleeping mat shields you from the sand - albeit only slightly - and there’s a sharp twinge in your side from a piece of rubble lodging itself against your ribs. One of your feet’s gone numb and prickly from the awkward position you’ve curled up in.

Dogmeat’s snoozing a little ways away with her face tucked into her tail. 

Same as usual.

And the Ghoul’s…

What.

Strong leather wrapped fingers shackle around your limp wrist, grip firm and unyielding. A buzzing electricity dances along your palm, bottled lightning, as you’re made to grip something long and hard.

The heavy weight of flesh; rugged edges and whorls of texture biting into the softness of your skin. Slick friction as it glides through the loose circle of your fingers.

Is that his -- ohmygod, what the fuck.

Shock sizzles, melts like dripping candle wax into a bloom of warmth that punches the air from your lungs. Oozes down to curl between your thighs in a sticky rush as static warmth ripples from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes.

The Ghoul grunts out a low curse, a quiet hiss of breath escaping through his teeth.

Your thighs clench, the plush fat compressing as you shift.

Oh, that’s… Mm.

Pre-cum trickles down your knuckles as his cock throbs once, twice, his hips bucking forward to sheath himself to the hilt in your tender grip.

“Ah, fuck,” he mutters from somewhere above your head, his shoulders bowing in. “Always feels s’good.”

Always --

Your head snaps back, wide eyes darting up.

Immediately, you meet his gaze.

Dark, foreboding; the hooded eyes of a predator staring back at you from beneath a heavy brow like a hand to the nape of the neck. Corralling, claiming. His lips crack open and he smirks - a gash of teeth that threaten to snap.

“Well, hello there, darlin’ - was wonderin’ when you’d wake up.”

“W-What the hell!”

He snorts, the flash of his tongue taunting as he flicks it out across his lower lip

 “As if you don’t know. C’mon, now. I know you’re smarter than that.”

To punctuate his words, he inches forward in a grind, dragging your palm along the length of his cock nice and slow. A low groan punches itself out of his chest.

“Tch. Me doth think the lady protests too much. Acting like I can’t smell how wet you are.”

“I-I’m not…”

“Bullshit. You can’t lie ta me, darlin’. I know just how wet that pretty pussy of yours is getting. If you ask real nice like, I might be inclined ta show you what you’re missing.”

Your clit throbs, humiliation burning bright as you duck your head. Avert your eyes to the stray thread of your shirt fluttering in the breeze. It rankles how correct he is, how well he can read you with that vulture sharp gaze.

You wish you could prove him wrong if only for the principle of the matter.

As it is, there’s nothing you can do - especially when your fingers tighten up around his cock to hear him grunt and your cunt throbs in time with your heartbeat.

Slick wets the seat of your panties and clings to your inner thighs as everything in you cries out for some friction, some stimulation.

To get this man inside of you as quick as possible, stretch you wide and fuck you full.

He chuckles. “That’s more like it,” he says. “Now, are you gonna help me out or not? If so, grip a lil harder otherwise I ain’t gonna feel shit.”

So with a gulp, you do as he says: pop up onto your knees and tighten your fist.

Elongate the strokes so they work up the ragged shaft at a sedate pace, feel every pit and curve. Like you’ve got all the time in the world as you roll your wrist and use your thumb to gather the pre-cum from his weeping slit, smearing it around the thick crown of his cockhead.

All the while his head tips back, the long line of his throat catching your attention as he swallows.

“Phew, that’s just what the doctor ordered.” His eyes glitter cruelly when he looks down at you. “Should’a started doing this when you was awake a long time ago.”

How long he’s been using you like this, you don’t know.

And you’re not sure you care if the needy clench of your pussy is any indication.

“S’all right. Now you can make up for all that I’ve been missin’.”

#cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul x you #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard smut #the ghoul smut

[cheesecakethots]

Part 2 to this.

He had never been so caring for another, the guard noted. Lord Scaramouche was not the caring type, after all.

Despite that, the man had watched the lord express actual worry for you, the one huddled away in his tent as he barked orders at soldiers to find medicine, make warm soup, and heat up water. One of them had had his fingers broken for making the food too cold for the harbingers liking.

On the very few occasions the guard was permitted inside the tent, he had caught glimpses of the lord knelt beside your feverish figure in bed, the back of his hand softly resting on your forehead. If they had been any longer in finding you…

The few medics in camp were situated nearby, with any and all injuries not held by you being mostly ignored for the time being. You had barely been conscious for the past few days, slipping in and out, with some mumbled and confusing phrases leaving chapped lips.

The guard is brought out of his memories when Lord Scaramouche passes him, dramatically parting the tent covering and entering with a few quick strides. He immediately makes a beeline for your cold, limp body tucked away in bed.

Scaramouche places a hand to your cheek. His frown deepens, and you groan, glazed over eyes opening only a fraction.

“M…Mother?”

A sigh escapes him. His soulmate really is pitiful… and weak.

“… You’re safe now,” he mutters, surprised for a moment at the tinge of emotion in his own voice.

“Do… I have to help c…cook dinner?”

“No. You’ll never be doing that again.”

“Oh… okay…” A yawn leaves your throat.

“Go to sleep.”

“Can we have… chocolate later? I bought some… to share,” you murmur, trailing off until your breathing becomes light, and your eyes fully close.

The lord sighs. A shiver wracks through your body, despite the multiple animal hides you have on. He’s certain that his men have destroyed the surrounding ecosystem just to keep you warm, but, oh well.

He stands, hesitantly turning away from you. You need more blankets, maybe some more soup, anything to keep the fever from taking you away from-

Oh. His eyes widen, and he glances back to you, and then at the shaking hand pulling on his fingers.

“Don’t… leave me…”

You’re still asleep. It’s not as though you’re conscious and would know if he left, is it? It’s not as though your plea is anything more than some deluded fairytale in your mind, is it?

“I won’t.”

Curses.

Curse him, and curse you for awakening something he didn’t think he had, something in his chest that for centuries he was sure was simply an empty void of nothing.

He wants to scoff and leave you here, to tell you that he has no need for someone as weak as you in his life. He wishes he had left you tied to that tree and just kept moving, that he had never felt the touch of your skin against his own. That he had felt absolutely nothing, that he hadn’t felt a stab of fear for the first time in a long time when carrying your freezing cold body back to camp. It would’ve saved him a lot of trouble.

He doesn’t let go of your hand for a long, long while.

The next morning he leaves you alone for a short time, an hour at most. He regrets it when he comes back to you standing on two wobbly knees, the parts that make him up jolting at the sight.

“What are you doing?!”

You flinch, yelping when you abruptly turn to him and lose your balance. Hands, ones that send a feeling of static and electricity straight to your very core, are soon grasping onto you, holding you up before you can hit the ground.

“Are you daft?” The man spits out, visibly aggravated.

“Wh-What? What?”

“Get back in bed. I won’t ask you again.”

You don’t move, the sensation that comes with his touch only growing the longer the two of you stand.

“You’re… you’re…?” You whisper, eyes widening.

He pauses, the irritation in his expression dropping a little. After a beat, his lips part.

“… Yes.”

“We were in the woods, right? My village, they…”

Any softness on his face is wiped away the moment you mention your old home, and the people that resided in it. No longer waiting, he lightly pushes you back, leading you into the makeshift bed below. A blanket is soon wrapped around your quivering shoulders.

“Eat this,” he orders, pulling something out of his pocket and holding it close to your lips.

Chocolate.

“I’m not-“

“Eat.”

You tentatively take it from him, and the atmosphere grows awkward, at least for you, while he watches you chew on the rest of it.

“Thank you, it was delicious,” you tell him, truthfully. You haven’t had chocolate in a long time, as it was simply too expensive for your family to afford. Your mouth curves downwards into a frown.

“Rest.”

You don’t. You’re not sure if you can.

“My family, they let them take me. They didn’t… they didn’t stop them. They must…” A gasp is torn from you, and you meet his eyes once more. “How long has it been?”

“… Three days.”

You begin rise to your shaky feet, “I-I must go back, they’ll think that I’m-!”

He pushes you back down effortlessly.

“Are you a fucking fool?”

You can’t help but flinch at the absolute venom in his tone, but he isn’t done yet, towering over you.

“What do you think will happen if you go back, hm? That they’ll accept you with open arms, or they’ll send you right back to where I found you? Or, better yet, maybe they’ll set you alight there and then, rather than troubling themselves in having you freeze to death, they’ll instead watch you burn. Would you like to test if your family would spare you from that? Hm?”

You have never felt this small in your entire life.

“I-“

“Enough.” It appears the question was rhetorical, and your mouth closes, quickly feeling very dry.

His chest shudders with each deep breath he draws in, and he closes his eyes shut for a moment, seemingly trying to calm himself.

“Sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us. Don’t ask me anymore stupid questions,” he turns on his heel, most likely deciding that he has something better to do. However, before he fully departs, he pauses at the entrance to the tent, still not looking back at you.

“You deserve better than that village, than that family who threw you out as though you were nothing to them. Know that I do not plan on doing the same, and that you… aren’t nothing to me.”

The intimidation you feel from him dimishes when you catch sight of the pinkish tinge to the tips of his ears. He doesn’t wait for your response, swiftly departing. You miss the few words of parting he gives you, as you tuck yourself into bed.

“Besides, it’s not as though you have anything to go back to, anymore.”

#not sure how i feel about this one #kinda love it kinda am put off by my writing style at points #oh well #i have plans for a part 3 😈 #give me time tho and don’t spam me for it #i had a fever recently and woke up and forgot like everything about myself for a solid 20 mins #so this is a little self-indulgent #tw yandere #tw.yandere #yandere #yanderecore #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scara #scaramouche x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin imagines

[stxrvel]

the outbreak

summary: your bruised heart and shattered mind have feelings for Bucky and you had planned to tell him very soon, however, the disastrous outcome of the last mission and a heated argument make you think the best option was to keep quiet.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 8k or so

warnings: implicit reference of suicidal thoughts, some suicidal accusations, maybe like get your shit together kind of stuff, a lot of bad words, angst. there's just no happy endings in this account. mentions to explosions. also, there's a plot in the plot? that kinda got there out of nowhere, but i liked the way it turned out. probably do a second part later.

note: hey! i can't believe I actually managed to get one thing done and ready to be published in one day, i think i got lucky. im still working on the next part of how to break a routine in one year but it's been a rough journey, i don't know how it would end up in the end. still hope you like this and know that feedback is really appreciated! really love reading your comments and opinions 💜

1.5, part 2!

You were static all the way back to the Complex. Your ears were still ringing from the vibrations of the bombs that exploded near you and which, by sheer luck, didn't cause your death. You couldn't look up from your clasped hands and you couldn't shake the chagrin in your chest that hadn't left you since you saw the look on Bucky Barnes' face when you were found in the rubble.

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Extraction of information, no more than five hours and you would return to the Complex. But it got complicated when you were ambushed, as if they were already expecting an Avengers team to show up in that building and they were ready for anything. You weren't supposed to face anything that day, otherwise you wouldn't have gone on the mission in the first place.

You knew you were always going to be the team's priority when they went on an extraction mission, whether it was information or people. You weren't the most skilled or the most resourceful, so the team had to keep their eyes on you and the mission objective. That in itself felt like a burden, so you always tried to just do your job and not complicate things for the others.

This time, however, you couldn't keep yourself safe, not even despite the orders given to you by the team and the mission leader: Bucky. You were casually perusing the shelves of a room where you knew the information they were looking for, which was vital to knowing the enemy you were dealing with at the moment, was to be found. You were so close to getting it that electricity surged through your limbs and little shots of adrenaline coursed through your body.

But, at that moment, Bucky's voice reached your hearing.

“Y/N, get out of there right now and meet Wanda on the first floor.”

“Hold on a second. I've almost got it.”

“I told you to get out of there right now. It wasn't a goddamn recommendation.”

“Can't you wait a second, Bucky? This is the key to everything and you know it.”

“I don't give a fuck about those documents, Y/N! Get out of there right now!”

And you should have listened to him. You should have listened to him the first time. But you always had this constant need to prove yourself, to make your time count for others and for them to notice that you were worth something. That you weren't a burden on the team. For a while the line of that goal was blurred, you didn't know if you were trying to convince them or yourself. On that occasion, you decided to make the decision to prove your worth and stay to find out what they had spent weeks focusing their time on.

“Fuck,” you heard Bucky curse. “Wanda, can you come in for-?”

The sound of a large explosion caused horrible interference on the team's communicators.

Sadly, until that moment you understood that maybe you should have listened to the team leader. Still, you held your place for a few more seconds until you found your target. But it was too late by the time the building began to shake.

It had taken the team about twenty-five minutes to find you. They didn't even know how you had survived.

“Bucky, what happened in-?”

“I'll give the mission report to Fury later,” the man cut off Steve Rogers' words, walking past him without giving him a glance, and continued on his way straight to the entrance of the Complex.

Steve turned his gaze until his eyes rested on yours. You felt like you had a lot of words stuck in your throat, a lot of overflowing feelings that you couldn't control. You just looked down again and approached him to hand over the mission objective. For which you risked your life almost without thinking. Then you walked straight back to your little room and didn't leave for the rest of the day.

---

Your friendship with Bucky was great. From the moment you joined the group, he was the person you hit it off with the fastest, surprising almost everyone on the team. Even before you got to know Bucky, even though you didn't consider yourself an outgoing person, you would tell him stories about your day and mundane things you did every day. At first you didn't even know if the man was listening to you, you just knew he was there and never left until you were done talking.

The situation wasn't so bad. You were used to talking to yourself since you started living on your own, a couple of years before you joined the team. Sometimes when Bucky came into the kitchen or appeared in the living room, you were already mumbling to yourself about something.

For a while you never knew why he stayed to listen to you.

And months went by like that. Each time you would show up wherever he was or he would show up wherever you were and you would just tell him something. A story from your childhood, a story from your grandparents' lives, a news item from around the world, an extremely strange and bizarre fun fact.

That little interaction was something you quickly got used to.

That is, until outsiders had to dip their spoon in and stick ideas that didn't belong in your head. Ideas you weren't supposed to have or even consider once. You knew it, but you learned it again the hard way.

“Have you seen Bucky today?” you asked Sam Wilson once when you walked into the kitchen.

“No,” the man quickly replied, finishing his coffee.

You pursed your lips and were already on your way back to look for him elsewhere when Sam's voice reached your ears again.

“You hit it off pretty quick with him, huh? I thought he was a tough nut to crack.”

“Don't talk about him as a thing. And it's really not that complicated to get to know him. You just have to make an effort and not push.”

“Roger that, Captain,” Sam smiled and took a sip of his coffee.

Hearing that lit a light bulb in your head.

“And have you seen Steve?”

Sam shook his head as he lowered his mug to rest it on the kitchen counter. “No. They must be together because I haven't seen them since yesterday. Maybe they went out on a mission?”

You nodded at his words, thoughtfully.

“But he didn't tell me he had to leave today…” you mumbled, but it reached Sam's ears.

“Does he usually tell you what he does in the day, too?”

You turned to look at him, distracted.

“Something like that. He only does that when I ask him to go shopping with me.”

“He goes shopping with you? Really?”

“Sure,” you quickly replied focusing all your attention on his surprised face. “It's a dangerous world for women, you know? I can't take chances.”

“Clint goes shopping once a month. You've never ordered from him?”

“No, I like to walk around the supermarkets and look at every single thing on the shelves. Clint is very fast and boring.”

“Ah, so the only person you feel comfortable with at those times is Bucky.”

You shook your head in a nod, completely unaware of what the man was trying to imply with his words.

“Natasha once accompanied me, but because she flashed the knife hidden on her hip at every man who saw us for more than five seconds, she was banned from more than seven venues and the police were almost called.”

“Mmm,” Sam nodded. “Sounds very much in keeping.”

“So yeah, that's why Bucky is my shopping buddy. Steve is very inquisitive, Tony brags every two minutes about how quick and easy he could do the market from the app on his phone, Wanda gets lost in the movie section and I can hardly ever get her out and you just don't shop because you leave it all to Clint.”

“And Bruce?”

“He leaves a list for Clint or asks FRIDAY to take note of every time he says he needs something so she can forward it to Clint.”

“Wow, who knew the Avengers were such bad shopping buddies.”

“Yeah. Bucky just walks with me, reaches for things that are too high and does his own shopping quietly. Or sometimes we chat. About shopping stuff.”

“That's very domestic of him.”

You let out a short laugh, agreeing with his description. It was something you thought about from time to time.

“Bucky is a very domestic person, actually.”

“You seem to know him well.”

“Maybe so. Only from what I can see of him by his actions.”

“He's not very active with you in talks then.”

“Not very much. But if you can get to know him well, it's easy to tell what he means just by his behaviors.”

Sam gave you a nod, his coffee on the counter long forgotten.

Then, as if his mind hadn't processed what he meant, out of his mouth came the last words you would have wanted to hear in the world.

“You two would make a good couple.”

You snapped out of your head for a moment, almost abruptly. You turned to look at him as if he had a magnet that attracted your gaze and you almost pulled a lung out of your chest from how loudly you snorted at those words. That man had lost his mind.

“What?”

“What?” Sam repeated, his brow furrowing without losing the hint of amusement it caused him to see you so flustered for saying something so mundane. “It's no secret to anyone that you're the person he spends the most time with in the entire Complex. You do a lot of things together, including shopping. Like a couple would. You know what? You already act like a couple even if it's not official.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Oh, but I do have an idea. We all have eyes here, Y/N. It's not hard to notice the look in both of our eyes when-”

“All right, that's enough!” you exclaimed, and Sam just shrugged. “I don't want you ever hinting like that again, is that clear?”

And he didn't do it again. But you should have paid more attention when he spoke in the plural. Even though he was the first, he wasn't the only one to express his opinion freely about your friendly relationship with Bucky when you didn't ask for it. It was as if Sam unleashed a horde of unwanted comments about the normal, domestic things you did with Bucky.

It wasn't long before you began to feel uncomfortable when the two of you were in some room in the Complex with some third party who was intruding.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked you once you were in the common room of the Complex.

You remembered turning to look at him in bewilderment as you snapped out of your cloud of thoughts. You saw him sitting next to you, a safe distance away. Like two normal friends. You were telling him a story your mother had told you about your grandmother many years ago when you felt a look on your face. You ignored it at first completely because you were too engrossed in your story and felt you didn't care if anyone else came into the room.

But then you met Clint's eyes. And everything went into a tailspin.

“Yeah. All good,” you shook your head trying to play it down, but you underestimated Bucky's knowledge of you. “Why?”

“You were quiet.”

“For less than ten seconds,” you let out a nervous laugh. In that moment you felt like a pressure cooker, your mind moving anxiously like the lid blowing the air out.

You noticed out of the corner of your eye that Bucky averted his gaze and you turned to look at him to realise that he had focused his attention on the person sitting in one of the far armchairs with a comic book in his hands. He looked so deep in concentration that his presence in the room was barely noticeable.

“Does it bother you that Clint is here?”

“What?” you exclaimed, suddenly a little louder than you should have. “No, of course not, why would it bother me?”

Bucky arched an eyebrow.

“That's what I'm trying to understand.”

His unwavering expression couldn't give you any answer as to what was going through his head. You mentally berated yourself for trying to find out something you didn't want to know, that you shouldn't even be considering.

“Even if it bothered me that Clint was here, why would that be relevant?”

The man next to you raised his eyebrows as if you'd asked the question with the most obvious answer in the world.

“Because you're uncomfortable.”

You frowned.

“Do you care that much that I'm uncomfortable?”

“Yes, because you haven't finished the story. I still don't know what happened to the chicken.”

His words left your mind blank for a few seconds. You didn't know whether to be flattered, because he seemed genuinely interested in what you were telling him, or offended because he seemed to take it only as a method of entertainment. Either way, the important thing was that you had his attention, right?

Oh, no. No, no, no.

You were suddenly annoyed to realise that your thoughts were taking the wrong turn, being fully influenced by the words Sam and the others had let out about your relationship with Bucky. You couldn't allow yourself to drift slowly into a place you didn't want to return to, because you knew well the consequences and side effects. Even though sometimes you felt you were already in that place.

You were fine with the way you were, nothing else mattered. You were fine with the way you were, nothing else mattered. You were fine just with the way you were, nothing else mattered….

“Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“You know this is the longest conversation we've ever had?”

Impulsively you changed the topic of conversation. And you knew Bucky had noticed by the way his eyes narrowed and he didn't say anything for a few seconds. You stood in silence, a small staring battle, Bucky trying to make you give in, until he let out an exhausted sigh and averted his gaze.

“It's not the longest conversation.”

“Yes, it is. You talked to me more than five times.”

Bucky let out a short disbelieving laugh, his head jerking in rhythm with the sound coming out of his mouth. You watched him carefully for the duration of the gesture, because it wasn't something that happened very often.

“I'm sure we've had longer conversations.”

“The monosyllables you answer me with at the mall don't count.”

Bucky let out a breath and his lips pressed into a thin line. It was your turn to laugh, genuinely amused. His eyes flickered up to meet yours.

“You give yourself a lot more credit than you should,” you told him after a while, when your laughter had subsided and his expression was more serene.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbled. “What happened to the chicken?”

Over time, you learned to manage your awkwardness so that Bucky wouldn't suspect your uncomfortable behaviour and avoid questions you didn't want to answer. Sometimes, you thought you were excellent at hiding what your body wanted to show with its language, and other times you felt that Bucky just didn't bring up the subject to avoid making you even more uncomfortable. But surely he wanted to ask.

So that was the routine you usually had. It wasn't strange for anyone to see you walking around the Complex together or going out together, and it wasn't strange for you to see everyone with knowing smiles as you passed each other.

Even though it was difficult, you felt you coped well. Always ignoring that voice in the back of your head that tried to alert you that something had happened in the feeling system. If you just ignored it, then it was nothing.

Everything was still relatively normal.

Until that damned mission where you decided not to listen to him.

It had been a week since the incident and if Bucky had looked at you at least once when you were in the same place, that was a lot to say.

Sam had tried to ask you several times what had happened on the mission and why Bucky didn't even acknowledge your presence when sometimes you were right next to him, but you were never able to answer him. You didn't want to talk about it when every time you remembered the cold look he'd given you the moment Wanda removed the chunk of concrete that had almost fallen on top of you, only being cushioned by the wall you'd stuck to before it all came crashing down. His light eyes had always felt warm, made you feel welcome to him the moment you wanted to enter, but in that instant his eyes were watching you as if he wanted you to disappear from the face of the earth.

You couldn't bear the memory. Not when you were already used to his presence and his silences; to his short laughs and mumbled answers. Not when you were already starting to feel comfortable with the ideas you were getting in your head despite trying to convince yourself otherwise; that maybe Sam and the others weren't so wrong. That maybe… they might be right.

But they were just that. Ideas. Stupid thoughts that were going around in your head to salve your poor heart.

Ever since you came back from the mission, you knew how unlikely it was that everyone else was right. The only thing they saw between the two of you, that they talked about so much, was your own feelings bouncing off all the walls that Bucky had and that he hadn't dropped at any point like you thought he had. It was only the reflection of your adoration for him in his eyes. There was never really anything about him that gave them to understand that he felt the same way you did about him, it was only the extent of your love that covered him too.

But nothing was ever really reciprocated.

And coming to that conclusion wasn't as difficult as you thought it would be.

Being hopeful wasn't your style. Although you were always cheerful and tried to put your best face to the world, you weren't one to fall easily for the words and actions of others. That's why you kept your relationship with Bucky at bay for so long, because you knew it wasn't possible for him to see you with the love you longed to give him. You were always sure. But then, and you didn't really know how you got to that point, you began to think that, if other people could see it so clearly, then suddenly it might be true. Maybe Bucky could return your feelings and then the world wasn't just black and white.

Wrong.

For a moment you allowed yourself to forget and let your defences down for that little flame of hope, even though you knew you shouldn't have, that you hadn't done it in years for something and it didn't have to be any different this time. You did, and it was a mistake.

“So, what do you say?”

You raised your head to look at Wanda's expectant face. Her raised eyebrows and the way she moved her hands in her lap gave you a hint that she was feeling nervous. She was trying to hide it, but you could also see that she was a little afraid. Her light, barely perceptible voice gave you the feeling that she was afraid of unleashing a storm with her conjectures.

“That it's crazy.”

“It's definitely crazy,” the woman in front of you sighed, her eyes drifting from your figure to her surroundings trying to deal with the weight of the revelations she'd had these past few days.

Your body leaned against the armchair behind you, and you lowered your head until you could look at the book lying on your crossed legs. You looked at the letters and frowned as you tried to understand again what it was all about.

“That could also be just a story.”

“I don't think so,” Wanda mused, then raised her head to look at you. “There's a reason these books are here.”

“Yeah, just like there's a reason for us not to be in here.”

“Then why did you follow me?”

Wanda crossed her arms under her chest, an annoyed expression taking over her face.

“I didn't think you were going to show me something like this,” you admitted, taking the book in your hands and running your eyes over the text and figures once more. “I didn't even think it was possible.”

“I told you my dreams were starting to become more accurate.”

You shook your head in a nod, your mind trying to figure out what that could mean for your friend's future. You knew it was possible that Wanda was doing her best not to see the whole horizon of negative possibilities emerging from that situation, but you were also aware of the weight she must be feeling with all those thoughts running through her head coupled with the likelihood of not having an answer. Your head schemed for a possible solution that might not be welcome.

“Why don't you go talk to Strange?”

Wanda twisted her lips, the reaction you expected.

“I get the impression that the first thing he'd do would be to lock me in his magical dungeon.”

You wanted to contradict her, but it was partly true. You knew Strange to be a man who didn't see nuance in black and white. It was only about good and bad, with no in-between. But you suggested it because he was the only person besides Wanda who knew as much about magic and sorcery as she did, even more thanks to the position he held. His methods were questionable, probably, but the range of his knowledge was something greater than either of you could question.

You closed the book and ran your fingers over the material of its cover, so stiff and dirty that you could barely even try to guess what century it was from.

“Even if what this book says is true, we don't have the original book to confirm it. We don't even know if it exists.”

“The Darkhold is real,” Wanda contradicted you almost immediately, and the certainty in her voice sent a shiver down your spine.

“What, you've seen it in dreams too?”

When Wanda averted her eyes from yours, you had to restrain the urge to hit her over the head with the book you were holding.

“Wanda!”

“I'm sorry!”

You saw her quickly get up from the floor and start walking around the place you had taken over in the library you were in. From the outside, it looked like a small room with a few shelves full of books, but the further you went in, the less it seemed like it would have any end to it. It was one of the largest rooms in the Complex. And, courtesy of Wanda, you now knew that it was the only room with another hidden room that almost ninety-five percent of the Complex staff were barred from entering. You were convinced that only the Director, Maria Hill, Tony Stark and Stephen Strange were allowed in there.

Now, how could Wanda concentrate enough energy to find and open the hidden entrance to that place? A complete mystery to you.

“The Darkhold was the first thing I saw before my dreams started getting weird. It was only a couple of weeks ago.”

“After you dreamt about it, you started having the lucid dreams?”

“Yes, it was very strange,” Wanda shook her head and stopped her feet in front of you, her expression thoughtful as if her mind was conjuring up all her dreams at once. “Sometimes I dream things where I'm sure it's me, that if I looked in a mirror I'd be sure it was me. But other times, I feel like my dream is focused on showing me someone else's memories. Like I'm inside someone else's mind… but that person is me.”

The woman looked at you, her face contracted in confusion and exhaustion.

“Why didn't you tell me this before?”

Wanda sat back down on the floor in front of you, her legs crossed and her elbows resting on her knees. You watched her run her hands over her face repeatedly before answering.

“I didn't want to worry you. I didn't want to worry anyone. At first I had thought this was too crazy for anyone to believe me, but when I came here and found that book I started to fear for myself. I didn't want to get locked up if anyone found out.”

“Don't say that. No one's going to lock you up.”

You threw the book with the stiff cover somewhere on the floor and moved from your spot to approach your friend. You didn't hesitate for a second to wrap her in your arms and squeeze her against your body.

You didn't know how you had gone so many days without noticing the tiredness in her eyes and the dark bags under her eyes. You'd been so wrapped up in your own head that you hadn't even been able to notice when something was eating away at your friend's sanity. Being one of those things… mhm, you know….

“Don't worry. You're not going to go crazy and want to rule the universe. That sounds too surreal.”

“I'd like to know if my dreams are fabrications or visions.”

You turned away from the woman, your brows furrowing at the implication of her words.

“You're not going to become what that book says.”

“But what if…?”

“No, Wanda.”

“What if it's tipping me off?”

“And who's doing it?” you inquired as you sat back on your heels, your gaze focused on your friend's obfuscated expression. “The Darkhold? Some silly alternate version of yourself from another universe? Now that's crazy!”

Wanda turned her head away and her shoulders slumped.

“That would mean my dreams are unexplained. They're just dreams.”

“Maybe that's for the best. Even the multiverse theory hasn't been proven enough for us to conjecture beyond our own reality.”

“Still, isn't it strange?”

“Of course it is. It's just too weird. I just meant that it doesn't mean you're destined to become that bizarre alter ego.”

You saw her press her lips into a line, then nod her head slightly. She didn't really look convinced, and neither were you, to be honest. Of everything she had told you, you couldn't understand half of it, and the other half you could barely believe was true. The magic was a few levels above your understanding of reality and altering it all in a few minutes was proving to be a really complicated job.

Still, seeing her anguished face at the possibility of what her dreams and that book implied, you knew you had to say something to try to calm the thoughts in her head. Even if it was something tiny that couldn't even come close to being true. You couldn't let those evil ideas fill her head and make her think she was some kind of villain when it couldn't be further from the truth.

If that was the future, it wasn't the future of the Wanda in front of you, her gaze lost and her eyes full of fear. Someone who worried like that about what might happen, even if she wasn't completely convinced of it, only thinking of the slightest possibility, couldn't have an ounce of evil in her.

“Maybe you're right-”

“What the fuck are you two doing here?”

You cringed as you heard a new voice join in the room when you hadn't even heard the footsteps of anyone approaching. Least of all from the two people who had just appeared down the same path you and Wanda had come down.

“Uhm…”

Your voice came out shaky, not at the prospect of receiving yet another punishment for being in a forbidden place for the level you were at as an agent, you'd already seen that coming, but because standing next to a very angry Tony Stark was Bucky. And he was staring at you so hard you feared he might punch a hole in your soul.

You felt Wanda's gaze on you. You turned to see her slowly, as if making any sudden movements would upset the bundle of fury in front of you. You could almost see the veins in her forehead pop.

With one glance, you knew that Wanda had no idea that the room had any kind of sensor. Even though it would make sense for it to have one, it would be illogical because it's a door hidden with magic. Normal people wouldn't notice it by looking through matter or something.

Nevertheless, it was magic that was what it was all about. Surely Strange would have some magical failsafe, kind of.

“None of you are going to respond?”

“I believe the situation responds on its own,” Wanda answered him, and Tony's dark eyes settled on her in a matter of seconds.

For a moment you thought his face had faltered, that his expression had slumped, but just as quickly you noticed, just as quickly it was gone.

Then, his gaze wandered across the floor where you stood with a number of books around you, until it settled on the book you had been reading moments before his arrival. You hadn't realised where it had fallen when you threw it when you got up to hug Wanda, but that must have been your lucky day because it was far enough away to make him think that it had only been taken out, but not opened.

Tony moved quickly to take the book in his hands and then gave you a wary look.

“Did you open this?”

As if we were going to say yes.

“No,” you replied quickly, averting your gaze from the frozen man behind Tony.

“Good.”

You watched him tuck the small, stiff book into his jacket before glancing back at the mess of books on the floor.

“Move along. Strange isn't going to be happy.”

The two men moved sideways, clearing the way for you and Wanda to exit the way you came.

Without a second's hesitation, you both got up and started walking in the direction of the exit.

“How the hell did you know where the entrance was?” Tony questioned Wanda once you were all out of the hidden room, and the aforementioned turned around to watch the door slam shut before disappearing.

"I guess I got lucky."

Tony clicked his tongue, but said nothing more. He turned on his heels to begin his walk towards the library exit followed by Bucky who clearly didn't give you a single word other than judging looks.

Wanda nudged you lightly with her body, the previous topic almost completely forgotten, with a half smile on her face. You didn't know if it was good to drop the subject so spontaneously, but you did know that you didn't want her to continue to have those thoughts running through her head.

“You haven't spoken to Bucky?”

“I'm puzzled that the subject is funny to you.”

“I'm not amused,” Wanda tried to rectify, lowering her voice as she saw that the two men in front of her had stopped at the library exit. “But I don't think he's mad at you.”

“Today is your day of the wildest theories I've ever heard, how can he possibly not be mad at me?”

Wanda sighed and watched the back of the aforementioned, who was apparently talking to Steve Rogers.

“You scared us all that day. But Bucky was… terrified. I knew you were alive, and I told him, but he wouldn't believe me until he could see it with his own eyes. He was too scared at the time. And, to be honest, I think that scare made him realise something he doesn't want to accept now. That's probably why he's staying away from you.”

You watched your friend with narrowed eyes, your body turned in her direction.

“Did you get inside his head?”

“Of course not!”

“Because that's wildly accurate, Wanda. How can you conclude something like that just by looking at someone?”

“I've had a week to do it,” the woman waved her hand in the air, downplaying the matter before resuming her walk when the men up ahead finally moved. “And I happen to be very good at reading people's body language.”

“Yeah, right.”

Wanda grunted at your tone of voice.

“I really didn't get inside his head, Y/N. I swore I wouldn't do it again and I'm keeping my word.”

“Alright, let's say I believe you,” you agreed and turned to look at her just as she rolled her eyes at your words. “That's not reason enough to talk to him.”

“And why not?” Wanda raised her voice, quizzical. “I practically gave you the answer.”

“Knowing doesn't make things any easier, woman.”

Wanda let out a whine so loud and exaggerated that several of the people walking past her frowned at her.

“The real answer is to just talk to him. Do you know how many problems are solved a year just by talking?”

You shook your head in denial. “He's avoiding me-”

“And you seem to be okay with that.”

“I'm not.”

“Then why haven't you done anything to change it yet?”

You knew she was right, but to be honest and to no one's surprise, you didn't want to deal with the confrontation and find out that what you always thought and the reason you kept yourself on edge was true. Even though it clearly was. But to have the chance to hear it come from his mouth directly? You were definitely past having that experience. You no longer doubted that his feelings for you were as non-existent as you first thought and that you should never have listened to people's words, giving yourself false hope. You didn't want to face your own mind and the fact that you got into this heart trouble on your own when you had always been so cautious. Weighing the risk of Bucky pushing so far inside your head that you knew the real darkness was reason enough to be a little content with silence.

Talking to him would solve a percentage of the situation, the professional. You would apologise another thousand times for not listening to him during the mission, you would tell him that you would do everything in your power not to react that way again, and that was it. But the other percentage of the situation would not be resolved; the percentage that involves you more than him. Even if you apologise and he accepts your apology, nothing could assure you that things would go back to the way they were before, that you would go back to being attached to each other as you have been since you met.

And that should be good, because you could finally get away from him and get all those feelings off your chest and out of your mind like you should have done in the first place to avoid the eventuality of him suddenly knowing too much about you, but at the same time you didn't want to end something that could have been so good. Even without getting romantic, your friendship with Bucky was one of the things you cherished the most, and you didn't want to make yourself forget it as if it had never happened.

“What is it that scares you?”

“That I was right all along.”

Wanda gave you her reprimanding look and paused to stare at you with that scowl on her face. You inhaled sharply and stopped in front of her, watching her expectantly.

“I'll take Tony,” she blurted out suddenly, not wiping that expression off her face.

“What?”

“I'm taking him and you better hope that when we meet again you have good news.”

“What are you talking about?”

Without answering, Wanda turned her body and walked in the direction of the three men who had stopped once again to talk. Bucky and Tony had their backs to you, but you could see the typical serious expression disappear from Steve's face to give way to surprise the moment Wanda landed in the middle of him and Tony with a big smile.

The woman shared a few words with the stunned blond, before turning to Tony and sending you a fleeting glance over the man's shoulder.

“Don't you think you're keeping Strange waiting too long?”

“How did you know that he-?”

“I didn't. But you already gave me the answer. We'd better go now.”

Following her order, Wanda curled her arm around the arm of a paralyzed Tony and started walking, waving goodbye to the others.

“Bye, Y/N! Don't stand in the middle of the hallway!”

You cringed as the gaze of the people walking past you landed on you, and gritted your teeth as you saw Steve's gaze on you. Without a bit of disguise, Steve ran his gaze over you and then over Bucky and back again as if he was having a short circuit inside his head.

You weren't too far away to notice Bucky's stiff shoulders, and you guessed he was saying goodbye to Steve when the blond turned his gaze to watch him. Seconds later, the black-haired man started to walk the way Wanda had gone with Tony, but Steve stopped him before he took any more steps away from the tense atmosphere.

“Wait,” you heard Steve's voice and flinched as you watched Bucky look down to see the Captain's hand clutch his left arm, then look up and give him a look that you knew would have chilled you from head to toe, but Steve seemed to ignore it as if it was an everyday occurrence. “Actually, since I've got you two in one place, I need to talk to you.”

You watched the blond shake his head pointing to the door next to him then walk in his direction.

You followed them from a distance and closed the door behind you. It was one of the small common rooms around the Complex. You still remembered how surprised you had been when you first arrived to see how many clear work areas they had in that place. Of course, to house and protect the peace of mind of hundreds of workers.

Bucky slumped into one of the green armchairs carelessly and Steve stood on his feet in the middle of the room.

“I spoke to Fury this morning,” the blond began, alternating his gaze between the two of you. “You'll be back on a mission next week.”

You raised your head expecting to see that Steve was referring to Bucky, but no. He was staring at you from his position.

“So soon?”

“What do I have to do with this?”

You and Bucky spoke at the same time, and you couldn't hide the pain that settled in your chest hard as you heard those were the first words you'd heard from him in seven days.

Steve pursed his lips and alternated his gaze again before speaking again.

“Fury agreed to let you go on the mission after a recon team inspects the site in case of possible attacks.”

You nodded slightly. That was a little ugly to hear, too. Just a little.

“You'll go with Clint and Bucky on the mission.”

You were expecting those words to come out of his mouth because there was no other reason to have locked them both in here. What you didn't expect (though you should have) was to see Bucky roll his eyes and drop his head on the back of the couch in the most horrible gesture of disgust and ennui you'd ever seen from him since you'd known him. During this week of being a zero to the left for the aforementioned, you'd noticed that Bucky was very expressive when he wanted someone to realise that they were strongly hated by him.

It wasn't something you wanted to know, really.

“Clint will be the backup so he'll stay inside the Quinjet flying over the structure in case of a possible attack. You and Y/N are going to enter the building and perform the extraction of one person.”

One person? That was new. You could hardly remember the last time you'd had such a mission.

“Why did he pick me?”

“I have no idea, Buck. He just gave me the order to tell you.”

“Who's the person we're supposed to extract?”

“That I don't know,” Steve replied. “Fury was very cautious with the information. Any minute now the report should reach you.”

“And you're busy?” Bucky asked again, his gaze focused solely on the blond standing in front of him.

At the time, you hated what he was doing. You understood that he didn't want to go on that mission with you because he didn't feel comfortable or just didn't want to see you, but it cost him nothing to have a little, just a little compassion enough to not try to get rid of you and that mission right in front of you as if you weren't listening to him.

“Bucky…”

Steve sighed, but the man in front of him didn't soften his expression or make any pretense of taking back his words.

“If you've got a problem with this, you should go talk it over with Fury,” the blond recommended, not answering his question directly, sending him a hard glare before turning to look at you again. “See you later.”

You nodded in his direction and the man quickly left the room.

The silence that followed was deadly.

You watched the man continue to sit in that armchair, his jaw tense, his hands clenched and his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He was so still he looked like a statue. It was scary.

You tried to take a tentative step in his direction, but noticing your movement roused him from his trance and he stood up quickly. He let out a sigh and walked out of the room without looking at you.

You felt a kind of courage catch in your throat when you called out to him.

“Bucky.”

“No,” the man replied almost instantly, his body near the door turning violently to stare at you and point his index finger at you. The angry look he gave you made you regret all the decisions in your life that had brought you to that moment. “I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to hear your apology. I don't want anything from you.”

With each word he moved closer to you until you had to start backing away. You were too surprised at how he had exploded just hearing you call out to him. He must have had too much pent up. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to do this at the time.

“If you want to blow off steam, talk to a fucking wall. But don't come near me or try to fix something you broke with your bare hands.”

You felt the air that entered your body freeze your lungs. His piercing eyes and angry expression shattered any willpower you had collected since Steve left the room, but it was the way his voice broke as he was finishing speaking that took the words right out of your mouth.

“You could have simply listened to me and you didn't. That's all. There is nothing you can apologise for because you yourself decided, within your will, that your life mattered nothing compared to the goal of that fucking mission.”

His eyes wouldn't leave yours and you hated the way you felt the prior sting of tears make your vision blurrier each time because you didn't want to miss a single detail of his face. He was so angry, furious, disappointed and... desperate to let you know how you had made him feel.

“And I don't know if you do, but I don't see what excuse is good enough to justify that.”

The thread of tension you felt in the air was choking you and you didn't know what to do to stop the tears from escaping your eyes. You would have expected anything but such an explosion of rage against you. It wasn't normal for Bucky to have such outbursts, and it also seemed that he knew exactly what points to make because you suddenly felt helpless in the way he was exposing his thoughts about you. Which perhaps weren't far from the truth.

“I didn't want to give you an excuse,” you were barely able to reply, at the tense look he was giving you. Your mind was working hard to avoid touching on the subject he was apparently trying to bring up.

“I don't see how that's any better.”

“I just wanted to apologise. I know I was wrong, okay? I think about it every day since we got back and I know I made a mistake. But I didn't throw my life away by just thinking about accomplishing the mission.”

Bucky let out a raw, lazy laugh without a hint of humor. You felt a shiver run through your body and it was unwelcome.

“I bet you didn't even think about the possibility of getting out alive after you heard the first explosion and that didn't matter to you.”

“It wasn't like that!” you replied instantly, raising your voice to match his, your head suddenly panicking.

“You didn't care because you were only thinking about the mission!”

“But how could we come back empty-handed, Bucky!? All that effort and time to be left with nothing!? Wasn't that worse?”

“Of course not! What the fuck makes you think we'd prefer an inconclusive fucking lead on a team member's life?”

“For God's sake, Bucky Barnes!” you roared and turned away from the man, a wave of anger coursing through your body burning away any trace of sadness you might have felt just moments ago. You knew that feeling and it wasn't welcome. You knew this argument wasn't going to end well, but seeing the look on Bucky's face you knew he wasn't just going to walk away if you asked him to.

Even though your mind was focused on avoidance, you tried to prepare yourself for the possibility that you might end up saying things you shouldn't, too.

“And don't give me any fucking shit about how you knew everything was going to be okay because I don't believe you.”

“Well don't believe me,” you exclaimed turning to look at him. “Don't believe anything that comes out of my mouth if that's what you want. That's not going to erase the fact that I do regret not listening to you and risking my life like that.”

“Lies.”

You half-opened your lips, your face contorted in disbelief. It couldn't have been that easy for him…

“I just told you-”

“And less than twenty seconds ago you said how dare I even think about coming back empty-handed, instead of thinking about how I'd come back to tell the rest of the team that you were dead.”

“But I'm not dead.”

Bucky shook his head.

“Now, you're just telling me what I want to hear.”

“No, I'm telling you the truth.”

“You're not telling me anything, Y/N! Are you sorry for what you did? Good for you. But tell me something, would you do it differently if you had another chance?”

“What?”

“If you woke up tomorrow and we were on that mission again, me yelling at you to get out of the building, would you?”

You didn't even have to think twice to know the answer, but saying it out loud was much scarier than just being silent. Silence.

“I thought so.”

Still, even knowing you didn't have the upper hand in that fight, you tried to convince yourself otherwise.

“That doesn't explain anything, Bucky, I don't-”

“Stop lying already. If you really wanted to apologise to me you could have at least had the decency to tell the truth.”

“Fuck,” you muttered, the anger and irritability of your cowardice coming out to take it out on anyone but you. “You're a fucking genius then, aren't you? You know everything.”

“Well, it looks like you're the only one who doesn't.”

“You can't know what was going through my head at the time. You don't know everything!”

“Then fucking tell me: what were you thinking?”

Your mind went blank. And then words. Thoughts. Images. Nothing encouraging, nothing that would help your case. Again, fear came over you and you couldn't respond. You knew you were playing with fire, especially with him. Especially with the man who had learned to see beyond the cheerful, untroubled woman you were always trying to be.

“I was listening to you and I wanted to get out-”

“Then why didn't you?”

You didn't want him to keep pushing because you felt you wouldn't be able to keep running in the opposite direction. The weight of his words was more than the weight of your silence could bear. Silence.

“Now, with what face are you going to tell me you weren't lying?”

I'm sorry.

“This isn't fair.”

“Oh, so you're the one going through an injustice now. Funny.”

Your body felt his words hurt you, and too much, and instinctively your mind and your defence mechanisms leapt to take control of your words, even though you didn't mean to. Even though you knew you shouldn't because someone in that room was right and it wasn't you. Because you couldn't control the way your mind sought to get out and hide from the confrontations that questioned the way you lived. That was why you kept your distance. It was why you had boundaries with Bucky.

Damn the moment when you decided to believe what others said.

“Why does it matter now what happened back then? I'm here now, giving you an apology you don't want to accept just because I wanted to try to save what we had.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows and stood in a state of stupefaction for a few seconds. His eyes twitched and blinked rapidly as if his head didn't believe what he had heard and he mentally replayed it several times.

“What we had? What exactly did we have?”

“A friendship, Bucky! A mutual appreciation. A mutual respect.”

How you dare to talk about respect?

“Having a friendship implies that you worry and care about what the other person feels.”

Bucky watched you expectantly. His furious face gave no room for contradiction and you soon found yourself between a rock and a hard place. This man wasn't going to give up until he got what he wanted, and you didn't know how things would turn out when he did. You didn't speak, waiting for him to continue.

“When you were in that building, did you think about me, besides cursing me a thousand times for not letting you accomplish the mission while I was trying to save your life?”

Silence.

“Did you care, at any point, what would have become of me if you hadn't gotten out of that building?”

“Bucky, but that's not what-”

“Can you just answer…! Answer the fucking question.”

Silence.

“I… there was too much going on in my head at the same time.”

“But you weren't thinking about getting out of there!” he screamed.

“I thought I was a burden!" you screamed back, his hard stare breaking your self-control and you lowered your head. “I thought you always have to take care of me when I go on missions. I thought I don't really contribute anything important to the team. I thought I'd be a failure if I came back empty-handed when I was so close to making it. I thought… I thought nothing else mattered but accomplishing the mission.”

The last you admitted almost with shame. And though you struggled to think otherwise, your own mind accused you of not being strong enough to endure. You had to feel that shame because someone wasn't really supposed to know, not even for the fact that you had just admitted to him that you had crudely lied to him by excusing yourself behind a false apology, but because that was something that wasn't supposed to leave your head. Because they would always leave, they would abandon you, they wouldn't look back twice. And you were expectantly torn to see the moment when that would happen.

Bucky was just watching you. When you looked up to see him, you noticed that his angry expression had softened just a little. His gaze hovered over your figure for a few seconds until he let out a sigh.

“You've got a lot to work on, Y/N.”

And he left the room. You didn't try or think to stop him for a second. The stark truth of what you had said echoed off the walls and came back at you with such force that you feared it would tear you to pieces. But you did nothing about it. You let it come back because you didn't have the strength to move, you didn't have the strength to do more.

When you let your knees give way under the weight of your body, you curled up next to the couch and cried. You cried as if having said that to Bucky, finally getting those thoughts you tried every day to suppress out, had activated a little reason in your mind. As if, suddenly, you could no longer pretend that everything was all right and try to hide things behind a smile and a story.

You couldn't live your whole life believing that you could live behind a charade, after all.

#bucky fanfic #james bucky barnes #james barnes #winter soldier #bucky fic #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #bucky x female reader #bucky fluff #bucky x reader #bucky x you #avengers #marvel #the outbreak

[just-jordie-things]

Do you ever think about what happens if Toge uses his tongue on your pussy? I mean he’s got the markings on his tongue, do you think adds anything to the sensation?

~ Nanami Flowershop Anon

:o steffffff yes i have thoughts

obviously nsfw under the cut!!

so it's known that cursed energy has a certain buzz to it? i kinda think of it like a static electricity in the air. faint, but noticable.

definitely noticable when toge goes down on you.

it's an entirely new sensation, mixed in with the warm, the wet, the pleasure, there's a little buzz there as well, when the marked part of his tongue touches you. it's so close to a proper vibration that it's almost a tease when you feel it.

and if you think you're enjoying my god just imagine how toge feels....

all his life he's been stuck with this cursed technique with an emphasis on the curse part. but finally, finally there's a good use for it.

you tell him you love him over and over again, between breathless pants, moans, and cries. you call his name and say those three words until he's convinced it's all you know how to say. until it's you with the limited vocabulary.

and he lives for it

#inumaki toge x reader #toge brainrot #inumaki toge smut #inumaki toge x reader smut

[teainthesnow]

@somerandomdudelmao is giving me emotions again so time to give some back...

- - -

It’s over.

it’s finally over.

Or, he thinks, with a shuddering breath and numb agony, that it will be over soon.

So he lies there, breathing in the dust and ash, and the sour taste of all that was lost, of the embers of a dying world, filling his mouth.

It would...

It would all be okay now.

He inhales.

And tries not to be scared by what comes next.

But, vaguely, distantly, as he slips further and further into numb acceptance he feels a presence, a familiar warmth blanketing him. Warm hands touch his shoulder feeling fiercely protective but tinged with fear.

It’s okay, he whispers but he’s certain the words come about as nothing more than a senseless whisper, if they even make it out at all.

But...

It’ll be okay.

It’s time.

He’s ready for the next step.

To face his ancestors, friends, family, and brothers.

And hopefully that meant all three of them.

He exhales.

And falls into the darkness.

But the darkness parts around him.

His thoughts swirl into a blurry haze, slipping from him before he can truly comprehend them or the things around him.

All he knows is this is wrong... he shouldn’t... he thought...

Wasn’t it supposed to be over now?

Not... not this incoherent haze of a life where the only comfort his can find is in the soft fluttering traces of red and purple.

So he hides; feeling scared and alone and wondering why this is his fate, why he has been cursed to stay isolated and away from those he cares about.

He is so tired, so exhausted.

Barely clinging on to the last of his strength even though he isn’t truly sure why he does so.

There’s something whispering, begging, cheering for him to keep going.

To hold on.

Something – or perhaps someone – calling his name, voice laced with a pleading desperation.

But

all he can do

is

slip

further

down.

And then something shifts through the fog.

The world tilts on its axis.

The is a fire surrounding him, burning away the encroaching darkness that he had been so willing to accept.

No, he pleads, reaching a desperate hand outwards.

Let me go.

Please.

Let me go home.

The fire, the warmth, the two flames do not listen as they cling tightly onto him, dragging him forcefully along with them.

Please.

And then the fire vanishes just as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him weak and fading once more.

But then the static clings to him, trapping him, keeping him from fading, from moving on.

There is a comforting presence within the electricity, similar to the warm flames, but slightly different.

Familiar yet somehow unfamiliar at the same time.

There is something within the sensation that makes him pause and hesitate.

All he can feel is a weird mix of worry, relief, and unwavering determination.

He almost stops fighting.

But he can’t.

This isn’t-

He isn’t home.

He needs to go home.

So he fights against the static, against the energy it gives him.

Against those soft thoughts of you’re safe, please stop fighting, let me- let us help you.

But that wouldn’t be fair, would it?

Did he really deserve peace when they weren’t here?

He just wanted to see them again.

(Even though the whispers tried to convince him that they were already there because it didn’t make sense.)

So whenever he can he fights.

He runs.

But the static, the flames, keep finding him.

Keep holding him protectively within their embrace.

(keeping him safe)

Keeping him trapped.

(keeping him alive)

Keeping him away from home.

(giving him strength to keep himself alive)

In this fog-filled limbo that his existence has become.

And then.

Finally.

Something changes.

And.

He.

Falls.

Again.

He blinks open his eyes.

Confused and disorientated and still not quite fully himself.

He feels...

Empty.

Perhaps.

Nothing but a fragile reflection of who he was, of who he will be.

Hollow.

Lonely.

And lost in the vast empty darkness.

Empty, he realises slowly through sludge filled thought, but not silent.

There’s a voice shouting in the distance.

Muffled and incoherent but definitely there.

He looks around.

Suddenly desperate.

Overcome with the desire to find the voice.

To find-

He looks down at his reflection.

But it isn’t *his* reflection.

Maybe *he’s* the reflection.

Forced to echo, to copy.

He’s yelling at himself.

...isn’t he?

But then a hand reaches through the mirror and grabs hold of his scarf.

Pulling him upwards and through the once solid surface and the voice, the familiar and unfamiliar voice, becomes clear.

Becomes understandable.

And awareness washes over him.

The ‘anger’ leaves.

All he has left is a numb confusion and a growing hope.

And then he is falling again.

He blinks.

Awareness comes back to him slowly.

His vision slowly fading back into clarity.

And his first coherent thought is to be annoyed by a constant tap, tap, tap, of a keyboard being used.

He tiredly shifts to locate the source of the noise and sees Donnie tapping away, focused solely on his task.

Then that thought processes.

To See... Donnie... tapping away?

...Donnie?

And the tiredness immediately drops away as he reaches out desperately, hopefully.

And then he falls out of the bed with a thump.

But there are hands on him, gently picking him up, embracing him, words nothing but a murmured blur as reality drips into comprehension.

It can’t...

This can’t...

He is so overwhelmed, so utterly lost, he can only sit there as Donnie fusses around him, voice tinged with anger.

No... he realises, as a smile begins to creep upon his face and tears well up in the corner of his eyes, not anger.

Worry.

But he can’t let himself relax yet.

This is too good to be true.

Is this really truly real?

“D-Donnie?” He asks voice wavering and tinged with a fear he cannot hold back.

And when Donnie (and he hopes, really desperately hopes that it is) keeps fussing he reaches forward and takes hold of a flailing hand.

It’s... it’s warm.

The tears are there again, now dripping unbidden down his face.

“You’re real.”

The wrist within his grasp is solid and warm, and strong.

“You’re real!”

Not thin and weak and rattled with tremors.

But...

“Are you?”

He tentatively asks, scared for the truth but hoping against everything for the best.

That Donnie – his brother, his beloved twin is here.

And then Donnie soothes his fears, tells him the truth, the amazing, almost unbelievable truth.

He cannot stop the tears.

Does not want to stop the tears.

This is...

This is everything he had hoped for.

And the tears that drip, drip, drip down his face are no longer tears of pain and fear and utter sadness but those of hope and joy and the understanding that this is it.

There is a warmth surrounding him.

A hug, he slowly realises.

A hug he thought he’d never receive again.

The trickle of tears becomes a torrent. He cannot hold back, nor does he want to. The relief hits him like a sledgehammer as he clings desperately to the brother he never thought he would see again.

Crying loudly and unashamedly.

This is...

He chokes back the sobs once they calm slightly.

And cracks probably the best (worse) joke he’s made in a while.

And laughter is his reward.

There is a warmth swelling within him, a calmness, and a happiness he had thought unachievable as he and his amazingly alive brother share their joy with each other once again.

And then Donnie passes out.

Gently, carefully, he sets him down, noting the rise and fall of his plastron but he still presses a cautious hand to his brothers neck.

And sighs with relief at the comforting and steady

thump

thump

thump

of a healthy heartbeat.

He exhales in relief.

It’s okay.

A weight lifts off his shoulders as he raises a hand to his own neck feeling the very proof the he too is alive and healthy.

And that is when it really truly begins to sink in.

Despite his confusion. Despite having not even the smallest idea of how he got here, of how he’s alive.

Of how Donnie is alive when even his spirit...

He takes in a soothing breath, shakes the thoughts out of his head, and focuses on the good that he can find.

Because.

It’s over

It’s finally over.

But, he pauses, as he takes in his surroundings and processes what just happened.

To breathe in the clean air.

To enjoy the steady beating of their heartbeats.

To think he’s alive, they’re both alive.

So...

Maybe...

Hopefully...

...it’s only just begun.

#cass apocalyptic series #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise of the tmnt #cass fanart tag #tmnt #rise fanfic #tarts&crafts #I've been wanting to write this for ages but wanted to wait until the leo donnie reunion #so here is finally is #god i love this series so much #agskwklwmwnwnej #disaster twins #future leo

[7ndipity]

Soulmate AU Scenarios

Jin x Reader, Jungkook x Reader

Warnings: only partially edited, not proofread

A/N: These have been sitting in my drafts for soo long, I don’t even remember when I wrote them tbh, but I figured since I didn’t have anything else ready for today, I’d share these with the class!

(Note, these are part of my Non-Linear series, which means they’re unfinished and ask motivated, see m.list for details)

Masterlist Non-Linear m.list

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

J: (Feeling a shock when you touch your SM)

Jin braced himself as he wove through the crowded streets, trying to avoid bumping into anyone as the static air began to make his hair bristle.

Everywhere he went, tiny zaps of electricity would hit him, sometimes from just the slightest of touches. It was like wearing a wool sweater all the time, and it made him tense and anxious every time he left the house.

He had gone to multiple doctors and specialists to try and figure out what was going on, but all they could ever come up with was he was just hypersensitive to his type of soulmark, feeling things too intensely.

He had hoped that they would be able to help him find some sort of treatment or solution to his problem, but all they had basically told him was to try wearing extra layers to lessen the sensation and to just ignore it as best he could.

He made his way slowly down the crowded sidewalk, trying to avoid getting too close to anyone, but it was almost impossible to avoid bumping into a few people. By the time he made it to crosswalk, he could hardly stand the static buzz around him anymore, more than ready to just go home

Suddenly, he heard a small curse as someone behind him stumbled, falling against him.

“Yi-aish!” Lightning shot up his arm, sending him flying back in shock and pain. Heart pounding from the sudden jolt of electricity, he looked up to see you sitting on the ground, gripping your shoulder in pain from the shock.

Realization hit him as he stared down at you, his fingers still tingling from the intensity of the shock.

“A-are you okay?” He asked, hesitating for a moment before offering you his hand.

Glancing between it and his face, you cautiously accepted it, your expression mirroring his curiosity and concern.

This time, when your palms touch, neither of you felt a painful jolt, but rather a soothing warmth that spread up your arm, like sunlight in your veins.

He smiled shyly at you. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Jungkook:(sharing a very specific mark with your SM, SM’s tattoos/scars appear on your skin)

For the nth time today, you tugged down the sleeve of your sweater to cover your right hand, hiding the writing and designs that decorated your skin.

Having the same tattoos and scars as your soulmate would be enough to make anyone feel a bit self conscious at times on its own, no matter how beautiful you might think they are, but when your soulmate was someone famous, having such a visible marker of who you were bound to made you a target for all kinds of attention, some of which could even be potentially dangerous.

So many people tried to copy tattoos, trying to pass themselves off as the real deal, the only way to know for sure was to get some kind of test to know if it was regular ink or a ‘soul mark’ as they were sometimes called.

When the marks first started showing up, you were in complete denial, but the collection of designs had quickly grown beyond the point of denying, so you had switched to ignoring/hiding them. Lots of people chose to ignore their marks and make their own lives, and you knew enough about your soulmate to know there wasn’t a real possibility to be together.

Until your manager came by to tell you that you would be giving a tour of the venue/museum/historical site/smth where you worked to some very important visitors.

When you walked out and saw him standing there, it was like the world stopped. Everything seemed to slow for a fraction of a second, your breath hanging in the air as your eyes met.

But then, painfully, the world kept going. Everyone kept talking, your manager introduced you to everyone and left you to show him and his members around.

Pushing your initial shock aside, you focused on leading them around on the tour, answering any questions they had and chatting easily. You actually found yourself having a really nice time with them, almost forgetting your earlier nerves, until you noticed Jungkook's eyes on you, or more specifically, your hand.

As you had been pointing out something, he caught sight of the dark patterning over your knuckles, just barely peeking out of your oversized sleeves.

You tried to tuck your hand out of sight, but he was too quick, stepping forward and catching your arm, tugging your sleeve up to reveal the numerous, interweaving tattoos that covered your skin.

You locked your eyes on the floor, afraid of what he would say.

“Finally.” He breathed, making you look up in surprise.

He smiled down at you in disbelief. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn

#seokjin scenarios #seokjin fluff #seokjin x reader #seokjin x y/n #seokjin soulmate au #jungkook scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x reader #jungkook soulmate au #bts scenarios #bts reaction #bts x y/n #bts x reader #bts soulmate au #7ndipity

[sentient-stove]

Phantasm’s tail lashed, smacking against the barrier with a crackle of electricity and the ghost cursed in a garble of static rather than living language, hitting the barrier again.

“I don’t think it’s working.” Jason said after a moment. “By all means, keep hitting it though.”

“Oh corn puffs!” She dropped out of the float, tail separating into legs as rings of light surrounded her and their small group was left with one vigilante, one sort of anti hero and a civilian. Elle then punched the barrier, her fist bouncing uselessly off it. “Damnit, I can’t get past the ghost shield!”

“Pause, we weren’t told about ghost shields.”

Her head turned back to him, red highlights a blur as her hair shifted. “A force field specifically designed to keep halfas, ghosts, spectres, screamers, or other various ecto-contaminated beings in or out depending on where they are when the shield is activated. I can’t get in, if my twin is in there, he can’t get out unless the shield is down.”

“Zombies too, I’m guessing?”

“Yeah, I guess them too. Either way, I can’t follow and I don’t think mr. brined in Pit water can pass through as well.”

All Tim was hearing was that he was now down two people on a break in. Awful odds really when they’d already started with less than ideal circumstances.

God, the city just really wasn’t on his side tonight.

Elle kicked the barrier, and from next to her, Jason reached out to tap at it with the butt of his gun, the weapon and him passing through without getting fried to bits.

For a second, the three of them stared at each other.

And then Elle threw her hands up and screeched, the sound grating. “Ancients’ sake! The revenant gets in for free?!?”

#fanfic #wip hell #dc comics #danny phantom #dpxdc #dc x dp #danielle masters #tim drake #jason todd #red hood #red robin #robyn and the satellite #Elle over here taking her celebrity crush and her brother’s boyfriend out to go break into government facilities #yknow for fun

[ghostsy]

Dearly Beloved

WARNINGS: yandere, possessiveness, imprisonment, slight infantilization, non-consensual implications, abuse, nsfw, smut, dub/noncon

read at your own discretion.

yandere ! TODOROKI SHOTO X READER

“Please, if you have any information…”

She wanted to throw up. Or pass out. In any particular order she didn’t really care, just anything to stop this. Her legs had long gone numb strewn over his lap, the dewy stains of her despair spilled across his slacks, her hands secured tightly behind her back.

“I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. Whatever joy I had disappeared with her that day. Please, I just want her home. We just want to bring our daughter home. She deserved…she deserves better than this…”

The device responsible for her torture was still buzzing excitedly at the swollen source of agony between her thighs. A sudden silence filled the room, television screen freezing on sobbing faces, and her heart leapt to her throat.

“You’re not paying attention.”

The vibrator clicked off, and his hand came to rest on her thigh, the other still secured around her waist to prop her up, squeezing at her hips. Though, the circles he drew on her skin weren’t in any way a comfort.

She couldn’t see his face from her place in front of the screen, but she hardly had to guess his expression, hardly had to guess his feelings. His reputation preceded him. Hot and Cold. She’d learned through painful trial and error that it was meant in more ways than one.

She licked at her cracked lips, “I am. I am–please–I promise, I am,” Through the breaks, her voice was sugar sweet, innocent, docile. A thinly veiled search for mercy.

“We’ll rewind.” Though, it seemed he would give her none as he coaxed her gaze back to the television in front of them.

Right. There was another source of agony–of torture–he’d been keen on subjecting her to today. It was her fault, she supposed, for being foolish enough to believe that unlocked window to be anything other than a test. A test that she’d, of course, failed. 

“Nearly one year after the sudden disappearance of a Tokyo woman, friends and family are struggling to hold on to hope. Our journalists caught up with…”

She closed her eyes, swallowing the salty tears fighting their way up her throat to join the streams on her cheeks, and opened her mouth to speak, hiccuping on her sobs.

“Please, I’ll–I’m sorry. I can’t take–I’ll never–I won’t–promise I won’t–”

“I don’t see the problem,” He’d made a career out of patronizing her, she’d discovered, “You wanted to see your friends and family, right?” The growing heat on her thigh meant it wasn’t rhetorical. 

She hissed at the burn, forcing a reply through gritted teeth, “I didn’t mean–”

“You didn’t mean…? You’re hardly in a position to be picky,” Shifting his hold on her, the vibrator, still latched to her pulsing clit, clicked on, two of his fingers dipped down, circling her glistening hole, teasing, “I’d say it's plenty gracious of me to give you even this,” Calloused and cold, they shoved themselves inside her, setting an unforgiving pace. 

She nearly keeled over from the sensation, cursing under her breath, “I’m–It wasn’t–Can we please just–”

“You think you’d be happier, right?” His canines grazed her neck, threatening to break through the skin, “That you’d feel better out there. What’s anyone out there ever done for you?” He scoffed, “What have they done to earn your love?” The tremble of his voice reminded her of his barely contained, and building, rage. She had to do something.

“No, that’s not–” She begged with his name on her lips, “I just–I just wanted–”

“All you need to do is convince me,” There was electricity building in her veins, though a pit of dread forming in her stomach, “Your happiness depends on them? I’m really so terrible?” The murmur of the television was turning to static in her ears, “Get through one interview, then,” He huffed out a humorless laugh, “Just one, I promise,” Voice low and sultry, “Without gushing on my fingers while you watch them cry.”

She choked on a sob, but the ache in her limbs and the tightness squeezing its way from her chest to her throat significantly damped any anger she would have–should have–felt. 

“She was my best friend; she wouldn’t have just up and left.”

She just wanted this to be over. Find her panties, curl up under her bed covers, and let the roaring tides in her lungs pour out her eyes, and scream. Scream ‘till she passed out, hoping to find peace in the abyss of unconsciousness.

“Was? Are you saying that you think she’s passed on?”

“...I—Well, it’s not—It’s just, it’s been so long, and I–if we, the people who care about her, are going to have any chance at healing…”

Alas, fate was never so kind to her, and she was reminded of another, more humiliating, tide pooling in her gut.

Two fingers inside her became three, and she bit her tongue to stifle a whimper as they reached that once special, now cursed, spot inside her. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t. It didn’t.

Sighing, he brought the hand around her waist to pet at her hair, “Don’t you see?” He tucked the strands behind her ear, hot breath hitting her skin, “They’ve given up on you. What will it take for you to understand, lovely?”

“I’m just so tired. We all are. But I love her, really I do.”

He snorted, “Love you. They don’t love you,” Angling his face downwards, hair tickling her cheek, “Family. Friends,” She was panting now, eyes going crossed from exertion, “They mean nothing. They are nothing.” She wouldn’t come; she couldn’t. But the clenching of her walls against his fingers betrayed her, and she felt his lips pull into a smirk against her throat.

“There’s just…what else is there left to do? I can’t–I don’t–scouring woods and swamps and–to try and find…try and find what? I just can’t–I can’t do it–I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can’t–”

“No one takes care of you like I do.” 

Vibrator still buzzing, a numbing, pulsing, ache formed between her legs, and his fingers, wet and crystalline, sped their pace, squelching as they fucked in and out of her weeping entrance. There was a ringing in her ears as she felt the floodgates start to open. Please no. Not again. 

What would they say if they could see her now? Mewling and moaning like a whore on her captor’s fingers while their worlds upended? How disgusting she was–if only her body agreed. 

“Take your time. If this is too hard–”

“No. I can at least do this for her. So people remember her. Remember her name. She would have wanted at least that.”

“No one knows you like I do.”

He was trailing wet kisses up her neck, tongue and teeth coming together to form scattered bruises in his path. Her thighs were spasming, flexing in an attempt to stave off the waves of pleasure threatening to drown her.

“It’s clear how much she means to you. How lucky she must have felt to have someone care about her so deeply.”

“No one loves you like I do.”

His teeth sunk into her earlobe, and her vision went white, nerves exploding as her walls clenched, desperately, gratefully, if not ashamedly, fluttering around his digits for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

Though the relief, like any momentary pleasure he’d bestowed upon her, unwilling or otherwise, was short lived. Coming down from her high, she blinked away the tears weighing on her lashes, and blurring her vision, lungs heaving in an attempt to gather her bearings. The vibrator clicked off, and his fingers pulled themselves from her, dewy and gleaming.

“Suck.” He pushed them through her lips, and she choked on their length, licking at the sticky substance, and swallowing to assuage his anger. He removed them with a pop, and she held her breath, praying to whatever god she did or didn’t believe in that he would release her. He’d made his point, right? 

“I’m…I’m sorry,” She gulped in air to stifle the shake in her voice, and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck, wetting the skin with her tears, pathetic, “I won’t–”

“You didn’t think we were finished did you?” Her heart dropped to her stomach, “You’ve failed to convince me, you know.” 

“I’m convinced!” She winced, realizing the volume, but found he was waiting for her to continue, “I’m…I’m convinced. You were right. I shouldn’t have tried to leave…I wasn’t–I wasn’t thinking.”

The second of silence was months long, but a soft laugh tinged with delirium broke through the static noise. Cold fingers clutched at her jaw, angling her face towards his own.

Forced to meet his gaze, she hated to admit it, but he was so pretty. The allure of mystery twinkled in those mismatched eyes, hiding the promise of something no man or woman or person could possibly hope to resist.

“No,” Sighing, his free hand squeezed at her waist, “No, you were never really good at that, were you?” She nearly didn’t hear him, lost to her thoughts, wallowing in self pity and hate; why hadn’t she seen it before?

She just wished she could have left well enough alone. Let that mystery pass her by unsolved. A promise can be hollow, she’d learned; a vortex of nothing that pulls you into the blackness, greedy in its emptiness to steal any soul or love or light from its captive, leaving them to drown in the inky darkness, dead, but never alone.

A stinging pinch at her side motivated her to sputter out the prompted answer.

“At what?”

“Thinking.”

She could say something, she realized. Anything. Anything but what she knew she’d let slip from her lips. Fucking coward.

“No,” Coward, “No, I wasn’t–I’m–No, I’m not.” 

He hummed, eyes twinkling, amused, “Anything else?”

Her teeth sunk into her lip, bloated and salted with her tears, canines piercing through the skin to let drops of red bubble to the surface. Still, she forced out another meek placation.

 “I’m sorry,” But cowards don’t get burnt and they don’t get frostbite and they don’t get hurt, “I’ll–I’ve learned my–my lesson, now. I promise, please–”

“It’s cute that you think anything you say matters,” Cowards don’t get hurt, she reminded herself, but the stinging of shattered pride in her chest argued otherwise, “Besides,” He motioned towards the television, “We’re not even halfway through.”

No. No no no. She’d done what he’d said, hadn’t she? Please. No more. The knot in her throat was making it hard to breathe, twisting and growing, “Please–”

He sighed as he shifted a bit behind her, and she felt it, more present than before, “What kind of lover would I be if I didn’t follow through on my promises, lovely?” The clink of a belt buckle ripped at her heart, “And, really, how can I resist,” Fingers trailed back down to swipe at her puffy and abused and dripping entrance before pulling away, flexing his fingers as the dewy substance stuck in webs to the digits, “When you’re practically begging for it.”

She felt like a ragdoll, what little fight or resistance or hope beaten and torn from inside her. A firm hand bruised her waist as he lifted her, and shuffled out of his pants. He turned her face back towards the screen, a trail of frost creeping at her jawline as he released her.

“If there’s anything you’d say to her if you could–anything you think she’d want to hear…”

“There’s just one thing.”

Something too big and too hard and too familiar prodded at her sore and tired entrance, and her fingernails made crescent moons in her tied palms.

“Wherever you are. Whatever happened.”

The wetness allowed him to slide in rather easily, but the girth was accompanied by a burning stretch. She should have been used to this by now, and while the feel of his cock throbbing inside her was all too familiar, she found herself dizzy, unfocused, nauseous. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe. She wanted to scream, but that inky blackness of his had filled her lungs. 

“I hope you’re somewhere warm and bright, even if it’s above the clouds.”

She was drowning. Drowning and hurting, and clawing for just a hint of light from the abyss of broken promises. Wasn’t drowning supposed to be peaceful? How long did she have to wait until it was peaceful? 

“I hope you’ve found peace.”

“Oh,” He sighed as he bottomed out inside her, “This is my favorite part.”

Her limbs felt heavy, and she felt so tired. Was this the good part? Give up and it won’t hurt. Give up and let him do as he pleased. Give up and drown prettily. Become as empty and hollow as the pit she was trapped in, and the hurt would stop. Feelings and pain and everything. Make it stop.

“And I promise, I won’t ever stop loving you.”

#yandere bnha #yandere mha #yandere todoroki #yandere todoroki shoto #yandere todoroki shouto #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere my hero academia #yandere todoroki x reader #yandere shoto x reader #yandere shouto x reader #yandere todoroki shoto x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere todoroki shouto x reader

[hahanamegobrrrr]

HAVE SOME VOX TICKLE HEADCANONS because they cannot stay in my brain anymore I am obsessed

Lee:

the ports on the back of his head for plugging in wires are SO SENSITIVE. trace along those with a finger or a feather and he CANNOT HANDLE IT (he also absolutley loves it)

he would never ever admit to being in a lee mood, ever, if his life depended on it LOL

he would NOT tell the other vee's about his tickle fixation, because he would find it wayyy too embarrassing

IMAGINE HIS GIGGLES!! they would be soft and have a lot of static in the background

the more it tickles = the more static in his laughter (he will start just entirely glitching out after it gets to be too much)

he has an unreasonably ticklish back, right along his spine is his most sensitive spot after his wire ports. it causes problems anytime anyone puts their hand on his back, he is fighting for his life internally HAJSHHA

he's really good at hiding his reactions if someone just touches him casually, but he would get flustered IMMEDIATELY if someone was actually tickling him on purpose or teasing him

Ler:

and he would get angry flustered. like his entire face would be red (or what color does he even blush? LOL) and where someone else might get shy, he would be cursing you out HAHSHAJ

he would be a BRUTALL ler OMLLLL

he'd be constantly making fun of you for being ticklish/liking it. he'd be so smug about it, too. "I can't belive you're THIS ticklish, how are you even still alive~??"

he'd be constantly using his electricity-teleport ability to sneak up on people

his hands would get itchy and static-y if he was in a ler mood. Like he would physically feel them itching and building static electricity, he would HAVE to tickle someone right that moment or not be able to think about anything else (and the one being tickled would feel the static too... which would make it so much worse HAHSHAJ)

he would use his hypnosis 100% HE WOULD USE HIS HYPNOSIS to make you more ticklish

ok I think that's all I've got for now, I couldn't sleep until I wrote out those thoughts LOL

#sayin' stuff #headcanons #hazbin hotel tickle #lee!vox #ler!vox #tickle headcanons #sfw tickling community #hazbin hotel tickles

[squichymochi]

I wrote this piece around 2 AM today, and I’m still on the fence about it 😅. I might consider removing it later. Initially envisioned as a Soulmate Story featuring Vox and the Reader (Part 1 of 2 mayyyybe).

Warning: This story contains mentions of sexual intercourse, sexual parts, blood, curse words, and other typical elements found in Hazbin Hotel content. Reader discretion is advised.

Vox x Reader (Soulmates)

Word Count: 1.580

The world had always seemed cruel to Vox, a cosmic joke played at the expense of the naive. His life on Earth, even though marked by questionable choices, was shaped by a belief that the afterlife was nothing more than a farce.

And why should he care? According to the lore of soulmates, his was already dead.

Each person was born with a unique tattoo, a symbol of a destined other. But Vox's skin had been bare from birth, a silent testament to a soulmate lost before he even had the chance to dream. As it is said that the tattoo faded upon a soulmate's death, Vox grew up surrounded by whispers of pity and curiosity.

Did his soulmate die before he was born, was he one of the pity souls without a mate?

So when Vox awoke in Hell, transformed into a being more screen than flesh, the last thing on his mind was a faded fairytale. Furthermore it is said, that such a bond rarely survives the transformation from the living to the afterlife. He rose through the ranks, carving out his place as an overlord. He was one of the V’s, powerful, famous and deadly, a force to behold.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. During a heated moment with Valentino, something unexpected happened. The air was electric and Valentino leaned closer to Vox, his breath a mix of sweet venom and temptation. Some might say poison, for Vox it was sweet oblivion. Valentino purred sweet nothings while his hands were slowly sliding lower. The taller grabbed the corner of Vox frame and both dived into their bodily desires. Suddenly a searing pain erupted where his skin met the digital interface.

"What the hell!" Vox exclaimed, his voice a crackle of static as he forcefully shoved his partner away, the latter stumbling over his two feet, a look of surprise on his usually composed face which quickly turned into one of furry.

Vox face felt like it was burning from the inside out, an intense heat focused on the specific spot Valentino just touched. The other, recovering from the sudden push now wiped residue from his face, smearing it across his cheek"¿Qué mierda?" he growled looking at Vox his eyes turning into slits.

“The fuck did you do this time?!”, Vox growled his voice a mixture of pain and glitching sounds. He stumbled to the nearest reflective surface, his hands instinctively touching his face, expecting to find some kind of damage.

What the demon saw instead took his breath away. There, etched into the corner of his screen was a symbol glowing slightly blue against the digital backdrop of his own face. Vox's fingers traced the newly formed soulmate tattoo, his cool demeanor giving way to shock.

Dropping to his knees, Vox gazed at his reflection, did this mean he had a soulmate…in fucking hell? "This can't be true... what in the everlasting pits of hell!"

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

Meanwhile, you awoke in Hell with a scream, pain coursing through your body. Gone were the wings that had once defined you, a sacrifice made in pursuit of a love believed lost. Biting your hand you tried to stifle your pained moans until you broke the delicate skin and tasted metal on your tongue. Clutching your angel blade, you tried your best to slowly raise and move forward.

As fast as you could, you ventured into the dark corners of Hell, shedding your celestial wardrobe for something more fitting your new, infernal life. As you adjusted a makeshift belt, hiding the blade within the folds of your clothes, a gruff voice interrupted your thoughts. "Hey, whore! Want some of old Gregg's pieces?" a giant snail-like creature grumbled from the shadows.

With a twitch of your eye, you spun around, your hand instinctively reaching for the hidden blade. "If you value your better parts, I suggest you kindly fuck off," you replied, your words wrapped in a veneer of politeness, belying the threat they carried.

The snail recoiled, mumbling, "Your loss, bitch," before retreating into the darkness. Trembling, you fought the urge to vomit, the reality of Hell's horrors crashing down upon you. *This better be worth it,* you thought, steeling yourself for the journey ahead.

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

"Bitch! This changes everything!" Velvette's voice was a shrill crescendo, echoing off the walls of the fancy and modern room. Her hands slammed down on the table with such force that Vox wouldn't have been surprised if she left imprints in the metal.

Vox, his screen flickering with a mixture of irritation and disbelief, replied with measured calmness, "This changes nothing. The possibility of having a soulmate now doesn't mean I'll suddenly become a lovestruck fool." His words were a growl, a digital rumble that resonated in the smoky air.

Valentino, lounging nonchalantly next to them, took a long drag of his cigarette. The pink smoke curled lazily around them, creating a haze that seemed to blur the lines of reality. "Mhh, didn't seem like it yesterday while I was wiping your seed off my mouth. You were tumbling to the next possible surface your cock still half hard and your body trembling in fear," he quipped, a sly smile playing on his lips, his golden tooth catching the light in a glint of mockery.

"You son of a—," Vox began, his anger boiling over, but his screen glitched, forcing him back into a facade of control. "This means nothing. They mean nothing. I've already commissioned someone to take care of them," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Yet, to anyone observing closely enough, there was a flicker of something else behind his stern expression – a hint of confusion, a shadow of sadness that he was too proud to show.

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

Meanwhile, as you moved through the infernal landscape of Hell, pain and determination were your constant companions. The idea of finding your soulmate was a beacon in the darkness, a glimmer of hope amidst the despair. You needed to warn them of Heaven's new plans.

The revelation of your soulmate had come as a shock in Heaven. Had you believed that they were already dead while living on earth. The sight of the headphone tattoo on your wrist, reminding you of your earthly passions, had ignited a spark of excitement when arriving in heaven. But the seraphim's pitying look quickly doused that flame.

They had showed you. Seeing him in Hell, a digital demon ruling with three other overlords, your world had turned upside down. A soulmate in Hell meant a love that could never be. 

But Chalrie’s revelation of Hell's extermination had changed everything. You had to act; you had to save your soulmate. Now, as a fallen being, you were determined to reach him, to save what little was left of your heart and his life.

Every step in Hell was a battle, each breath a reminder of the sacrifice you had made. But it was a sacrifice you were willing to bear. For a soulmate you didn't know was worth the trouble. For a chance at a love that might still survive in the depths of Hell.

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

Vox zipped through the surveillance network, until he materialized in his headquarters. With a heavy, resonant sigh, he collapsed into his office chair. The weight of the revelation hung over him like a dense cloud.

"Shit," he muttered to himself, the word a static-laced hiss in the quiet of the room. The notion of a soulmate had upended his world.

In Hell, such connections were rare, almost mythical. Usually such bonds only connected the living on earth one said. They were powerful, yes, but also dangerously vulnerable - a leverage point that could be exploited by his enemies.

But as much as he was reluctant to admit it, he didn't want harm to come to his soulmate. The problem was, he had no idea what to do next. Lost in thought, he turned his head to the left, only for his screen to glitch violently, sending a ripple through the layers of Hell, ending in a short blackout.

"What the fuck!" The words slipped out in a whisper as everything flickered back to life, revealing the image of a figure decimating his security team. An angelic blade gleamed in their hand.

His processors strained as he watched them. They moved with a lethal grace, cutting down one after the other, hurting but not killing them. Then, in a bold, almost defiant gesture, they looked directly into the camera, hood falling back to reveal their face. A face that stopped Vox's non existent heart one would say.

They were stunning, their eyes meeting his through the lens, a middle finger raised in a gesture of rebellious challenge.

In less than a second, Vox was standing before them, his form materializing out of the digital ether. "Do you know, little one, who the fuck I am?" he growled, his voice a blend of menace and awe.

"Yes indeed, I am your soulmate, and I'm here to kick your ass and save your pathetic life, asshole," you retorted, a grin playing on your lips that bordered on madness.

Vox couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration, his circuits firing in a way they hadn't in eons. This was the most thrilling encounter he'd experienced in both his life and afterlife.

And then you collapsed into his arms, your back covered in blood. “Shit!”, he said before taking you home, where you belonged from now on.

As always thank you guys for reading ❤️

#hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #soulmates #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x you #vox x y/n #fanfic #hazbin hotel fandom

[slut4slytherinss]

These feelings

SEND REQUESTS!!

Summary: in which reader and Mattheo despise each other, until the moonflowers bloom.

1,767 words

Warnings: no mention of the Slytherin friend group, Tom is Mattheo’s dad in this, surprisingly I’ve managed to write no cursing so.. ooc Mattheo! Rushed and not proofread, a total cliffhanger.

2nd person pov

Gryffindor reader

Female reader

The air in the Potions classroom crackled with more than just the fumes of Bubotuber pus. Mattheo Riddle, the epitome of Slytherin arrogance, smirked across the cauldron at you, a Gryffindor simmering with righteous indignation. His obsidian eyes, a chilling reflection of his infamous father, held a challenge you couldn't resist.

"Looks like your concoction resembles swamp muck more than Veritaserum, Gryffindor," Mattheo drawled, his voice a silken threat.

You bristled, your retort sharp. "At least I haven't resorted to cheating, Riddle." You knew it was untrue, at least in this class, but the way he effortlessly manipulated his potion, his every movement oozing practiced superiority, grated on your nerves.

Professor Snape, his usual scowl deepening, swept between your cauldrons, his black robes billowing like a storm cloud. "Silence! Riddle, five points from Slytherin for your disruptive commentary. Y/n, another five from Gryffindor for accusations. Now, focus on your potions!"

The rest of the double Potions lesson crawled by, punctuated by stolen glances and silent barbs exchanged between you and Mattheo. You couldn't deny a strange pull towards him, a morbid fascination that warred with your Gryffindor loyalty. He was everything you loathed – a dark echo of the war that had ravaged the wizarding world – yet you couldn't tear your eyes away from his sharp features and the way his lips curled into a sardonic smile.

-

Days turned into weeks, the animosity between you a constant undercurrent. You'd clash in Defense Against the Dark Arts, your jinxes meeting his hexes in a flurry of sparks. In Herbology, you'd find his carefully tended Venomous Tentacula mysteriously wilting, a silent message that only you understood.

One blustery April evening, you were returning from the library, a stack of Transfiguration books threatening to topple over, when you bumped into someone. Books scattered across the wet cobblestones, a frustrated groan escaping your lips.

"Need a hand, Gryffindor?"

Looking up, you met Mattheo's gaze. The smirk was absent, replaced by a hint of amusement. You considered letting him wallow in your misfortune, but a flicker of something… kindness? in his eyes softened your resolve.

"Actually, yes," you admitted grudgingly.

Together, you gathered the books, a comfortable silence settling between you as you brushed dirt off the parchment. As you handed him a particularly heavy tome, your fingers brushed. A jolt of electricity shot through you, making you gasp.

Mattheo's eyes widened for a fleeting moment before he masked his surprise. "Seems you're not immune to all Slytherin charms, Gryffindor," he said, a hint of a challenge in his voice.

Heat flooded your cheeks. You snatched the book back, stammering, "It's nothing. Just… static." You turned to leave, desperate to escape the unexpected turn of events.

"Wait," Mattheo called out, his voice softer than you expected. He hesitated, then added, "The greenhouses are open tonight. The moonflowers are supposed to be blooming."

You stared at him, unsure of his motives. Was this another one of his games? Yet, the allure of the moonflowers, a rare and beautiful sight, was too strong to resist.

"Fine," you finally conceded, surprising yourself.

-

The walk to the greenhouses was filled with a tense silence. You stole glances at Mattheo, his profile sharp under the moonlight. He seemed different tonight, a vulnerability lurking beneath his usual arrogance.

Reaching the greenhouse dedicated to magical flora, you were greeted by the ethereal glow of moonflowers. Their petals, the color of moonlight itself, shimmered with an otherworldly beauty.

"They're… amazing," you whispered, mesmerized.

Mattheo stood beside you, uncharacteristically quiet. "They say they grant wishes," he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

You scoffed. "Wishes? Like childish fairy tales?"

He didn't answer, his gaze fixed on the moonflowers. You felt a sudden urge to know him better, to understand the darkness that clung to him like a shadow.

"Tell me about your father," you blurted out, the words catching in your throat.

Mattheo's head snapped towards you, his eyes hardening. "Don't," he growled, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Regret washed over you. You knew it was a forbidden topic, a raw nerve he wouldn't appreciate being prodded.

"I'm sorry," you mumbled, turning away.

A tense silence stretched between you and Mattheo, broken only by the soft hum of nocturnal insects. The ethereal glow of the moonflowers seemed to mock the awkwardness, their delicate beauty a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within you.

"It's not that simple," Mattheo finally said, his voice low and strained. "He's powerful, yes, but there's more to him than just darkness. There's a reason some still follow him, a reason I can't entirely… disavow."

His words hung heavy in the air. You understood his hesitation. Voldemort, his father, was a symbol of pure evil, a name whispered in fear. Yet, a part of you couldn't help but feel a flicker of sympathy for Mattheo, burdened by the weight of such a legacy.

"Do you… fear him?" you asked softly, surprised by your own boldness.

Mattheo turned to you, his obsidian eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions you couldn't decipher. "Fear is a luxury I can't afford," he said finally. "But there's a constant… wariness. A knowledge that even the smallest misstep could have dire consequences."

You felt a pang of empathy for him. Despite his aloofness and occasional cruelty, Mattheo was just a boy, grappling with the burden of a monstrous father.

"You're not him, Mattheo," you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "You have a choice."

He flinched at your touch, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. Then, slowly, he lowered his gaze to where your hand rested on his arm. The air crackled with unspoken tension, a silent question hanging between you.

The heat radiating from his arm beneath your touch was unexpected, a stark contrast to the coolness of the night air. His fingers twitched, a silent battle raging within him between acknowledging the connection and maintaining his usual stoic facade.

"I know," Mattheo said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. "And that's exactly what scares me." He turned away, his back ramrod straight, but you could see the vulnerability flickering in his tightly held posture.

"What scares you?" you asked softly, stepping closer. He remained silent, his jaw clenched, until you reached out and gently brushed a stray strand of hair out of his eyes. His head snapped back, his gaze meeting yours, a storm of emotions brewing within.

"That this," he said, his voice thick with emotion, "this feeling… it weakens me." He gestured vaguely around the greenhouse, the unspoken implication clear - the vulnerability you represented put him at risk.

"Weakens you how?" you pressed, your voice a gentle challenge. "Makes you a target? Or makes you… feel something you haven't allowed yourself to feel before?"

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a grudging respect. He sighed, a tremor of vulnerability in the breath that escaped his lips. "Both," he admitted, his voice raw. "The truth is… I haven't allowed myself to feel anything for anyone other than myself in a long time."

His words hung in the air, a heavy confession. You understood. Growing up in the shadow of Voldemort, fear and suspicion were likely the only emotions he knew. The vulnerability he felt towards you was a foreign territory, something he didn't know how to navigate, something that scared him.

"Maybe that's not a bad thing," you said softly, your heart pounding in your chest. "Maybe feeling something, even fear, is better than feeling nothing at all."

He stared at you for a long moment, searching your eyes. In that moment, the air vibrated with unspoken emotions – a mixture of fear, curiosity, and a spark of something else entirely.

"Maybe," he finally conceded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The tension started to dissipate, replaced by a cautious curiosity.

Suddenly, the harsh clanging of the castle curfew bell echoed through the night. Both of you jumped, startled by the sound.

"We should get back," Mattheo said, his voice regaining its usual composure. He offered you his hand, the gesture unexpectedly formal.

You hesitated for a beat, surprised by the formality of his outstretched hand. It was a stark contrast to the raw vulnerability he'd just revealed. Was he retreating back behind his Slytherin mask, the emotional connection a fleeting aberration?

Taking a deep breath, you slipped your hand into his. The warmth from his touch sent a jolt through you, a silent confirmation that the moment hadn't been entirely imagined.

"We should," you agreed, your voice barely a whisper.

-

The walk back to the castle was filled with a comfortable silence, a stark contrast to the charged tension that usually surrounded your interactions. You stole glances at Mattheo, his profile etched sharp against the moonlight. He seemed different tonight, a vulnerability lurking beneath his usual arrogance, a flicker of hope battling the ever-present wariness in his eyes.

As you approached the castle grounds, the imposing silhouette of the building a stark reminder of the rules and boundaries that separated Gryffindors and Slytherins, Mattheo stopped abruptly.

"Wait," he said, his voice low.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding in your chest. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray curl behind your ear. His touch lingered for a moment, sending shivers down your spine.

"This…" he began, his voice husky, "this can't happen again, can it?"

His question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken implications. The danger of their connection, the weight of his family legacy, the very real possibility of getting hurt – all of it swirled in the space between you.

"I don't know," you admitted honestly. "But maybe…" you trailed off, searching his eyes. "Maybe it doesn't have to be like this. Maybe there's another way."

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, followed by a slow, hesitant smile. "Another way?" he echoed, a hint of hope creeping into his voice.

You stepped even closer, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe we can find a way to be… more. Not enemies, not exactly friends, but something in between. Something real."

He stared at you for a long moment, the moonlight glinting off the unshed tears in his eyes. Then, slowly, he reached out and cupped your cheek with his hand.

"Maybe," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. "Maybe we can try."

The bell tolled once more, a harsh reminder of the world outside their bubble. With a final lingering look, Mattheo squeezed your hand gently before turning and disappearing into the shadows of the castle.

-

A/n: would you guys hate me if I ended it like that?

#harry potter #slytherin #angst #slytherin boys #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo #mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheoxreader #marcus lopez x reader #marcus lopez x you #x you #x reader #hp #tumblr #writers on tumblr #female reader #tumblr fyp #cami’s playlist

[zensations35]

Where Do We Stand? (Radio/static)

Yeah, I went whole ass horny with this one. One-sided fet!Vox pining after a drunk Alastor shows up hurt and sick at his doorstep. Lots of angsty shitass banter and a sprinkle of sexiness. cw for a Val cameo and whump with blood mentions. Enjoy!

Vox’s security monitor keeps fucking glitching. His own screen flickers and Vox’s left eye squints, mouth forming a tilted line of annoyance. He lifts a teal claw to tap the screen but it fuzzes anew and in tune with a squalling sound.

What the fuck? This screen is brand fucking new!

He fills his lungs to call out for a fledgeling demon when another sound stops him. From the front of the building.

What the electric fuck?? It’s 2AM. Who the--

ــــ٨ــ

The sounds twin with the glitching on the screens he was in the middle of editing with. 

Rgh. I’m being stupid. Glitching electronics happen. 

Still…

He rises from his personal study and follows the sound, finger scraping along the base of his screen like he used to do to his living chin before a big meeting. 

The halls, unlike those in Vox’s security room, were dim, low light. The glow of his screen is enough to guide the way toward the double doors leading him in the direction the strange static leads him. Each speaker he passes grows louder, less crisp.

            ٨ــılııl٨ــ

It can’t be that. I saw him get fucked up. He wouldn’t come here. Why the f--

He wrenches the front door open to a pathetic, bloody, giggling--

“Alastor??”

“Why hellooo Vox~ Kfh-HK٨ــEHaha!!” 

His smirk is cradled in flushed cheeks and beaded by dots of thick ichor. Holy shit. The fucking Radio Demon is crumpled on Vox’s front porch, folded into a disheveled pretzel, ears asymmetrical, eyes half black and glossy.

“Jesus fuck,” Vox reactively kneels, hands jutting toward his injured rival, but stopping just short, wrenching back as if Alastor’s body were laced with fire. His screen dims, brows knitting. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Visiting, obviously,” Alastor’s head lolls to the side, his wrist lazily rotating as if they were conversing over dinner, “was it not on your bucket list to see me at my worst, old pal?” His palm hovers over his face and his head cocks back, “EifSZk٨ــK!” 

“God fucking dammit!” Vox laces his arms under Alastor’s, heaving him to wobbly legs with a slew of curses. “You came to me? Not your--ngh!” he drags him through the doorway, Alastor stumbling drunkenly, “Not your new friends?”

A keening laugh breaks through Al’s static, “Oh~ new friends. HaĦȺ. Well. They don’t trust me--”

“I don’t trust you,” Vox growls as he uses the toe of his shoe to wipe a smear of blood from the shiny tile. He shifts the Radio Demon so he can use his back to carry him the rest of the way to his room.

Well, this floor was clean. Vox will have to get someone to scrub the fuck out of the hall and immediately wipe their memory. That’ll be another all-nighter. Fuck. 

Alastor props his pointed chin on Vox’s shoulder and flicks the antennae on his hat playfully. “Ahhh, but I know where you stand. I know what to expect from…hhh-ik!” he smushes his nose into Vox’s neck and shudders. “Nnnhـ٨ــhh…we were friends once…and I know you wouldn't let me die, not until you got me under the sheets.”

“Fucking hell--are you drunk?!” 

Another cackle, “But of course! Ɐμɑ! How else was I to have the utter lunacy to come to your doorstep?”’

“Ugh…”

Finally in his bedroom, Vox uses his foot to slam the door shut, thanking Tesla he wasn’t sharing it with anyone tonight. He heaves Alastor onto the brand fucking new couch and groans, massaging his lower back with a few spicy curses.

Alastor slumps full out, dizzy and whirring, resting his cheek against the cool leather as he allows his eyes to flutter shut for a few seconds.

When they pop open, the ink of his power fades and the crescent of his smile thickens as he dances his gaze around the room. 

“You’ve redecorated.” His throat rasps. “I don’t like it.”

“You never do.” Vox grumbles. His eyes roam over Al’s ravaged body, charred and seamed, coat in unholy tatters.

The Radio Demon wiggles a finger and even that small action looks like it exhausts him.

“Enjoying the view?”

Vox folds his arms, cocking his screen, “Just admiring Adam’s work.” He dips his teal finger under Al’s ripped vest and Alastor hisses. Vox pauses, throat tightening.

“Go on,” Al waves, “ignore my…noises.”

Vox mutters but continues peeling away some of the sticky fabric. “Al, Jesus this…this looks,” his eyes surge, “What the hell did you do?”

“Hfـ٨ـZX!” 

Vox pauses, his system blipping. He sweeps a thumb across the base of the wound, making Alastor twitch in pain. 

“It hurts that bad?”

“Not at all.”

“Fucking liar.”

“As ever.”

“I’m going to have to undo your vest.”

“Are you asking to undress me?”

Vox presses fingers to his screen, pixels beading in a prism where the pressure hits. “Al, Jesus, you know I wouldn’t--”

“I knew. Seven years ago. Things have changed.”

“Not that. Never that.”

Alastor scoffs. “Well, the company you keep.”

“You have no room to judge me or them, you fucking--”

“You’re right.”

Vox pauses, mid-breath. He flicks his gaze back up to Alastor, suddenly severe.

“I don’t.” Alastor says coolly. 

Vox grinds his teeth assertively, “Those two helped me when I had no one. When I was at my fucking lowest. When I…”

“Mmm…I see.”

“Do you? Mr. I need no one?”

Al scoffs, a derisive snort. “What the hell do you think is happening right at this very moment?” he gestures down the length of his beaten corpse.

Vox’s vibrant eyes roam down the mangled form, his mouth shrinking into a tight crescent frown.

The glower slips from Alastor’s face as his lips contort into a twist, his fist winging up to catch a half-stifled, “GSZ’TF-Vـ٨ـvV!” 

With his hands still on Alastor’s body, the jerking motion sets off a buzz of Vox's sensors, flushing his screen with a purple and pink glow. 

Alastor wipes the side of his mouth and chuckles. “Ah~ Some things don’t change.”

“Fuck off.”

Al slips the top portion of his vest off and snorts at the look on his rival's face. “It’s embarrassing how badly you want to fuck me, Vox.”

“Will you stop analyzing me long enough for me to actually help you? Because I’m losing my patience here.”

“Fine.”

Vox grinds his mouth a severed frown at the corner of his screen as he dips closer to inspect Al’s chest. “What the hell did you do to it?!” The split skin is sewn together with some sort of green string--sloppily so, as if Al had done it half asleep and shivering. Which… actually tracks.  

Alastor slaps his hand away with a grunt. “I’m no pharmacist, Vox. What do you expect from me? My expertise is pulling bodies apart, not piecing them together.”

“And you think I can do a better job?”

“Can you? Or are you more jealous you didn’t get to do it yourself?”

Vox mutters something and turns to rummage in a medicine cabinet.

A clattering knock has both men jutting ramrod stiff, Alastor wincing and scrunching his claw over his tattered wound. 

“Vox~?” Valentino’s amorous voice floats through the closed door.

“Shit!” Vox glances at Alastor and his screen freezes, a line of pixels popping out in a shock of contrast.

Alastor’s smile stretches, his bleak eyes set in a wan but capricious leer. “Oh dear~”

“Shut-up!” Vox pings to Alastor’s side, his hand splaying over his mouth as Val’s voice floats through the door. 

“Vox, darling? What’s the commotion in there?” 

“Nothing!” Vox struggles to keep his voice neutral, even as Alastor’s lips move under his fingers, hot and damp. The breeze of his breaths flutter through his parted claws as he begins to pant, his grip on the wound growing firmer with a small shiver. 

“Ff٨ــvv” 

Oh Tesla, fuck no--

“Vox, can I come in, amorcito? I have…”

Vox misses Val’s next words, his screen blipping as Al’s face crinkles inward from the center, nose scrunching with a staccato of hitching breaths under the pressure of Vox’s palm. 

“Hz͎̰͒c̩̍͋͐̚͠h̃́F!”

Godfuckingdamnshitb̷̧̝́į̵̇t̷̤͑͛c̴̻͊̂ḫ̷̨͘ç̵̉ơ̵̡̥c̶̰͒k̶͉̿̆ ̸̟̓

Another force presses against Al’s thigh, Vox’s erection growing reluctantly and brimming with flux. Alastor’s brows form a twisted V, a knowing look passing between them. 

Vox feels his screen fuzz, as if he were experiencing a small surge. Then, a ping mildly akin to connecting to bluetooth. 

((What--??))

((get--hh٨ــget rid of him)) Alastor’s thick staticky tone coat’s Vox’s inner speakers. 

((You invaded my wifi??))

((Don’t be stu٨ــvphhii-)) the warm breath sweeps across Vox’s fingers and his screen crackles with energy, pixels oscillating with errors. But the voice isn't coming from Alastor's mouth. Only itchy breath.

((Control yourself, prick!)) Vox seethes through the wireless connection. He feels his rival’s breaths pulsing under his palm. Vox’s heartbeat speeds, matching the rhythm of threadbare hitches.

Alastor’s body wracks with a shudder. ((“Hvvv٨ــvXSH٨ــ!!”))

Vox feels the sneeze both vibrating his hand and within the walls of his mind. His own shiver is not one of fever but lust. 

((Jesus fuck, Al.))

Alastor's smug grin stretches as he wraps his hand around Vox’s wrist and pries his teal claws from his face.  ((You’d have a firmer chance of fucking him than me.))

RGH! Alastor’s head cracks to the side as Vox’s palm strikes his cheek, leaving a bold imprint on the side of his face. Dark blood paints a tiny ribbon on his lip as it curls into a soft smirk. 

((Oh, I bet that felt good, enjoy it while you can get your filthy hands on me, you virtual fuck.))

Vox’s fangs vanish in an angry glitch for a brief nanosecond. ((I’m going to enjoy disinfecting your goddamn wounds and watching you writhe in antibacterial soap, shitass))

((Oddly, you’re not the first person to call me th--)) 

“Vox! Are you ignoring me??” Val’s voice swings from sugar to salt as it takes on a whiny tone. 

With a pained grunt, Alastor shoves Vox away and snarls. ((You’d better go. Now))

((But you--))

((I’ll ħⱥꞥđłē it. Go)) 

Vox grunts pissily, but he knows Val is on the knife’s edge of impatiently storming in. The TV demon electrically ports to the door, his hand on the knob in seconds. 

Before the moth can slip inside, Vox squeezes out of the room and clips it shut. Val glowers, cigarette holder snaked between the fingers of his upper hand. 

“What the fuuuuck babe?” he whines. “What are you doing in there?” his lower arm trills toward Vox’s tighter than normal pants. “Your boner is bigger than the building, Luminosa.” His crooked grin ticks, pink essence beading at the corner, “Am I interrupting~ something?” 

Vox’s fans sigh with a buzz. “Val, I’m just wor̴̗͠٨̵̠̔̓ “

A power surge overtakes him, making him groan, dropping his glitching screen into his palms. “H-k! Fv̵̨͛٨̴͈̀v̷͒͜٨̷̺̈!” 

Valentino’s lower arms wind around Vox’s shoulders, his eyes drifting into concern. “What? What’s wrong?” His slim body bends at the waist to meet Vox’s, alarm spreading his wings to half mast.

“N-gh-nuh,” Vox hears Alastor’s voice mirrored in his internal speakers like an upload. 

That fucker…

“Hih٨ــ! Their hitches twin across the connection, Vox’s body reacting to Alastor’s. “Heh-’̸̱͘SchË̴͇W̴̯̒H̸͓̕!̶̰͒!̷̮̐”̴̖͗ ̷͕̚  His screen flares brilliant blue, the jumbled onomatopoeia scrolling across the screen. “Gehh…snf!” 

Val’s hands grip him tight, rooting him in reality. “Darling!” his tone peaks with coyness, “Are you unwell? Or are you playing~?” Pink venom inches down his fangs as his smile caresses his cheeks, his fingers gliding toward Vox’s groin salaciously. 

Vox grunts, his palm smushed against the core of his screen as he attempts to sever the connection between himself and Alastor. “I’m٨ــhgk! I--”

Val’s hand grips his cock and he’s so hard and hot it could be the powerhouse to heat the flames of Hell itself.

 “F-ffuuuhh--” he feels an encore of hitches from within his sensors. As Val fondles him, Al’s static strokes his modules. Vox’s claw crimps the fur on Valentino’s robe. His legs feel like gel and his free hand massaging the plasma of his screen is doing nothing to stave off the encroaching--

“IYZ’ETD̷̢͝C̶̗͕̙͇̟͒͌͠Ḩ̶͇̱͉͍͆Ž̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘” 

“Baby~” Val’s voice slinks along his skin, making him tingle with need. “Come to bed. I’ll take care of you...”

Suddenly, like the snap of a frayed cord, the connection to Alastor severs. Vox’s eye flares red and his heart stills for a full beat. Two. 

What happened? He reaches out, opening pairing mode. Nothing.

He swallows and drops his hand, abandoning his lover’s touch. 

“I--I’m fine, Val, I…I have to get this work done, I--” he backpedals, trying to swallow his heart back into his chest. “I just need a reboot and--”

Valentino visibly wilts, confusion washing his face as his antennae droop, “You…what??” his lips curl bitterly.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Vox is already threading through the doorway, “Night.” He slams it knowing he’ll pay for snubbing Val tomorrow. Physically and mentally.  He spins to see Alastor flagging over the side of the couch, his wounds freshly split and gushing.

“Fuck!” Vox races to his side, snagging a towel and bracing it against his chest. “Why the fuck did you do that?? You had me going fucking crazy out there!”

Alastor grunts, face painted with cold agony, pushing himself up against Vox. “Nfg,” You’re wـﮩ٨ــwelcome,” he spits, ears flattening as he glares at Vox, “Would you rather he hear me?” 

“Maybe!” Vox snarls, pressing the towel harder onto the wound to watch the Radio Demon wince, “Maybe I should have let him find you just to throw you to the curb. Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you--”

“Hـﮩ٨ـSZV!” The burst of noise makes Vox startle, his hands bunching in the fabric of Alastor’s suit as he pins himself to the sputtering Radio Demon. 

Alastor gasps, his chest inflating against Vox’s. His fingers climb against his face, clamoring to cover his nose and mouth even as his shoulders shake with the effort of restraining himself just long enough to get them there. 

Small grains of lightning leap around the edges of Vox’s screen. Each of Alastor’s panting inhales make his breaths buffer and lag. He dares not risk looking at the Radio Demon--one more bracing inhale would suck the air straight from his lungs. “HFZḨ̶͇̱͉͍͆٨ــŽ̷̬͋!̸̬̹̽͑!̶͇̥̜̜̆̋̄̋͘𝚇༽༼Ɀ!!” 

Alastor jerks forward into Vox’s arms, painting the TV demon’s hands dark and wet. Vox does his best to tamp down a fresh burst of desire and rage as he leans Alastor back against the couch. 

Alastor sucks in fresh beats of air before peering up at him, a smug curl of his lips, “That was grossly and pathetically inappropriate.” He rasps a small hacking laugh, lifting a finger to graze the thin edge of Vox’s screen, leaving behind a garden of friction. “I hope you enjoyed it while you can.” 

Vox shunts his gaze, neck twisting to hide the flush of his glow. “Goddamn you.”

“Already happened.”

Vox stands and grabs the previously deserted box of bleedstop.

Alastor’s brow lifts as he scrubs his nose. “Are you still consuming the poison?”

Vox scoffs, dumping out two packs of the supply. 

Interesting they have such a large stock…

“I do what I do for my own reasons.”

“M~ and do those ‘reasons’ have anything in relation to myself?”

“Tch,” he sprinkles the crystals into his palm, “not just you.”

“Good. I almost felt bad for a moment there. Hgk-!” 

Vox slams the palm of powder onto Alastor’s chest, causing the Radio Demon to wince and wither, noise blaring from his core. “Hff-Fuck! Couldn’t have done that any--eighhh!” 

Vox grinds the heel of his palm into the wound, crushing the powder into a paste and buttering it over the gash. 

“Ffــ٨ــuck! Vox, is this really necessary?!” 

“Oh, so very necessary,” Vox snarls. 

Alastor mirrors it but his lips are peeled in a grimace. He did invite this with his baiting remarks after all. Deserved. As always.

Once the salve is administered, Vox leans back and rips open a large roll of gauze.

“Lean up so I can get the back.”

Al does, but the movement makes him shiver. When Vox reaches for him, Alastor recoils, sealing his eyes shut with a moan.  

“Don't be a fucking baby, Al. This won’t take long.” 

But Al is shuddering so hard his teeth are clicking.

“Al?”

“Hfvv…Cــ٨ــcold-d…” 

Vox touches his skin and it feels hot--feverish. “Fuck.”

Al wobbles and sags against the couch, still shaking, his arms now wrapped around his bare shoulders. His knees wind up and his ears disappear behind his head. “V-Vox̵̡̰̾̍͘x̴̢̫̜̊̎͛͌…”

“Al, stay awake.” Vox exhales, fans spinning anxiously. “Stay awake!” 

Goddammitgodd̶̻̫̪͛ǎ̷͚̬͌̍͝m̵̫̮͝i̷̼͔̤̻͕͐͒͐͝t̶̰̙̲̜̦͊̑͗̒͘G̶̹͚̽́͐Ő̸̖̀D̸̢̙̩̍̆̍̒͊F̵̼̝̣̦̪̈́̾̈́U̶̹͚͕̒͑̂̍͝Ċ̸̙͖K̶̺̎͂̒̚̕I̵͇͝N̷͕͈̐̇̕G̶͕̀͜D̷̡͓̻̘̼̑̿A̵̠̠̋͝Ḿ̸̯̭̝̥M̶̟̅̀̊̒̓Į̵͝T̶̼̮̮͂́̄!̴̺̤̫̺̓!̵͉̘̽̋͂̕

Alastor slips, descending further into the seams of the couch, his left eye fully black now. 

“Al, fuck,” Vox grabs a blanket from his bed (brand new fucking blanket too goddam--) and wraps Alastor with it. It seems to warm him a bit, the Radio Demon letting out a chittering sigh. He looks up at Vox, deliriously muttering with a newly wedged smirk. 

“It seems you are b-better at this.”

“Fuck you.” Vox grumbles as he tucks another blanket around him. “Some of us have to be around here…” He waits for another snipe about Valentino, but it doesn’t come. “I still need to wrap your wound.”

“Of course,” Al says, but he makes no move to allow this. Vox rolls his eyes and props his screen on his fist, watching the asshole drift lazily. 

Hours later, after finally having gotten the stupid ass gauze wrapped around his stupid ass not sexy body, Alastor seems asleep, but you never know with that guy. And Vox does not plan to sleep, even if he didn’t have to clean floors and mesmerize assistants. 

When he returns from cleanup, Alastor is awake--or at least rested enough to stand on his own. His ears are alert and his eyes have cleared back to their normal magenta. 

He’s doing his best to button up the three remaining buttons on his mangled vest. He seems sober now and perfectly posh and asinine as ever.

Normal. Except for. 

“Where’s your cane--”

“Microphone.”

Vox rolls his head to the side, “Fine, call it whatever in this afterlife. Where is it?”

“Gone. Disposed of.”

“Why?”

“It matters not. I don’t need it. I’m not--”

“I know, Al.” Vox dribbles a sigh. "Are you going to be--"

"Thanks for having me over, chum," Alastor interrupts him, strolling to the door and flicking a coin to Vox. “For the service.”

“Tch. Whatever.”

Al shrugs. “Keep it. I do not wish to owe you.” He tugs his coat straight and adjusts his bowtie. 

“Oh, and Vox,” Alastor pauses, claws ticking along the grooves of the bedroom wall. “Never say never.” 

Vox lifts a neon brow. “You mean…”

“Once you find the exception, it becomes easier and easier to justify each consecutive time. And then you become that which you abhor.”

Mist curls around the Radio Demon’s body, and he vanishes as if he’d never been present. 

God damn him. Vox slams the door, even though he didn’t actually leave through it. 

That’s why he hates Alastor so much. Because he’s right. He’s so often goddamn right. 

#woof this took me way longer than I thought it would #but well here it is #i went fucking feral on this one yowza #i think i like drunk alastor way too much holy fuck #snz #snzfic #snz fic #haz/bin #ala/stor #v/ox #rad/iostatic #whump #illness #cw blood #cw injury #zen fanfic #snz fet #snzfucker #snz kink #fet!Vox

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Haunt Me✨

A/N: This is just a little part of a horror, romance book I started kinda writing a few years ago. I might post the first part where they meet if anyone wants to read ☺️ Destined lovers 🥰 Might actually expand this into a longer one shot because I’m really feeling the paranormal vibes lately.

Summary: Joel isn’t all that he seems. He might be dead, might be a ghost, might somehow just be trapped in a curse, but you find him. You always find him.

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 734

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Tags: Slow dancing, kissing, destined lovers, no outbreak au, haunted mansion ghost vibes

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

Rain drizzles lightly against the foggy glass windows, thunder rolling loudly across the pitch black night sky. Candles splay dimly around the cold, dark haunted room. A big chandelier hangs in the center of the massive room, one with black encased walls. The room grows colder as you slow dance around the sunken wooden floor. The room that stands in a massive, abandoned mansion. The mansion where you found Joel.

You shutter as Joel pulls you closer against his broad chest, one hand gliding down the back of your dress and the other gently caressing your jawline as your heart hammers in your chest. His dark tousled curls fall against his glistening forehead as he brings it down to rest against yours. His brown doe eyes are the color of honey and sunlight, flecks of light brown mixing to make the prettiest coffee color you’ve ever laid eyes on.

Every time you look at him, you melt a little more inside. Just like warm liquid seeping down your skin. Hot, scorching, pulsing. He touches your face softly as you breathe in his woodsy scent, your skin alight with electricity with every touch he steals. How you can feel his touch you might never know. He was a trapped soul in this house, a ghost of the past. But what you felt for him, you couldn’t begin to describe it. It’s like you were meant to find each other. Fate.

He spins you in a slow circle as you dance around the old but majestic room. The soft music continues to play on the dusty record player, static sticking to the hollow walls and you cling to his broad chest.

Joel slowly backs you up to the cold, stone wall, his brown eyes paralyzing you in place. He gently tucks a lock of soft hair behind your ear as you feel magic buzzing through your skin. You breathe him in deep, warm mahogany coursing through your senses as you lock eyes.

“I’ve waited so long for this moment. To find you. To have you. I’ve walked these halls more times than I can count. Hundreds, thousands, millions of times. Trapped with no place to go. This house is no place for a girl like you, but yet you keep comin’ back to it. Why do you keep comin’ back?” he asks with furrowed brows and a strong jaw that keeps clenching up, his eyes glazed over with concern.

You flex your fingers around his flannel shirt and let the other drag down his salt-and-pepper scruff slowly, transfixed on the beauty of his warm, honey eyes. You take a deep breath and inhale his intoxicating scent. “The reason why I keep coming back here is for you, Joel. It’s all for you.”

His eyes go wide as he cups your chin and pulls your mouth up to his as he hovers cautiously above your glossy lips. He sighs before he speaks in a slow, gravelly, deep voice. “You’re so stubborn, you know that? Never listen to a word I say,” he smirks as he shakes his head, pulling his plush lips right over yours.

“Yet you keep pulling me in,” you smile as he chuckles softly against you. You feel the deep rumble all the way through your pounding chest as he feels like a hurricane. Overpowering and breathtaking.

“And I’m not gonna stop, sweetheart. Not until you stop comin’.”

“I’m not going to stop, Joel.”

“You’re such a mess, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your mess.”

“Yeah ya are, so c’mere. Let me taste you, sweetheart.”

He sinks his lips down on yours as he pushes you up against the cold bricks, your arms wrapping around his neck as his hands cup your face desperately. You part your mouth and invite him in, feeling his warm tongue lap against yours as you pant into his hungry mouth. You both melt into each other as the lights flicker above you, the rain pelting softly against the glass windows as thunder rumbles overhead. You stay like that for what seems like hours, just holding each other as you melt mindlessly into the other. Bodies burning for the other, wildfire desperate to devour you. And you let it.

Joel’s the blazing wildfire you got sucked into, and you’ll let him burn you, brand you as he devours you completely.

Two souls destined to find each other. Soulmates.

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #joel tlou #joel miller pedro pascal #joel fanfic #joel miller fluff #joel miller au #no outbreak!joel miller #no outbreak au #joel miller drabble

[izvmimi]

cw: reader has a curse that confers disabilities. hurt/comfort. nanami and reader are roommates and friends from high school. pregnancy mention.

your alarm goes off as it does every day, 9 am sharp, and before your eyes creak open, you prepare for the consequences of your actions the night before sucking in a deep breath. the thick sensation in your throat is familiar - the cloud that shrouds your lips is as familiar to you as a sudden, annoying pimple on the morning of a date.

but when you open your eyes and are greeted by nothing but pure darkness, the realization that for once you bit off much more than you could chew sets in, guiding you into a silent scream -

because this time, not just your speech, but your sight is also gone.

your heart thumps frantically in your chest but the rest of you is frozen stiff as you try to comprehend this new reality. the lightless expanse before you is more like an unmoving static when you force yourself to concentrate, and you can still move your eyeballs, you can blink, if you pinched yourself, and you are pretty sure you could cry if you tried, but waving your hand in front of your face gives you nothing. you sit straight up, and exercise the remainder of your muscles, trying to determine the extent of what mirai-shourai took from you this time. you can still move. you can still hear the rustling of your over-starched bedsheets as they rub together and the sound of your work computer humming; you can still feel the edge of your mattress with your fingertips, the soles of your feet planted on the ground as you try to make your way off your bed.

you can still feel your orientation in space.

you try to get up to standing, and you trip over your own two feet. you need to smell something, taste something, make sure that you haven't been deprived of anything else, but you crash to the ground instead, and you find that you can feel that, blooming pain in your face and jaw as you hit the ground instead of breaking your fall, your hand slipping on fuzzy slippers. you can taste blood trickle from your split lip; the thud is loud but you can't call for help.

it's just past 9 am and nanami is probably long gone.

your heart is racing again, panic impending. how long will it be? where is mirai-shourai? it whispers the severity of its punishments usually within just moments of you waking up but you haven't heard any sign of it or the familiar pressure of the spirit (demon really) on your shoulder. will this be forever, you wonder?

the durations of your sanctions have been getting longer recently... but this, being blinded, is new.

it's terrifying to you.

how long can you sit here? you wonder. stumbling around your home until nanami returns from work. what if he decides not to bother you tonight? what if he's preparing for a mission and won't return home? what if your phone rings and you can't find it?

your head spins as you crawl on the floor of your bedroom, your face still stinging and throbbing, until you find the wheels of your desk chair and carefully pull yourself up. you need to sit, and mercifully you make your way onto a chair without further falls, managing to steady yourself, palms pressed to your desk.

the cloud swells in your throat as your anxiety mounts and it gets harder and harder to breathe.

was it worth it?

you think of your friend's smile as you presented her with a sketch of her yet to be born child. electric blue eyes like her father, round cheeks like her sweet mother, deep dimples you could practically stick a finger in - the picture of health and joy.

it was worth it. it was worth it, you tell yourself again. your fingers tent on the desk surface. this too shall pass, this too shall pass, you chant to yourself, and yet the crushing fear is starting to set in.

what if your eyesight never comes back? what if the inability to speak is permanent?

what if, what if, what if-

"___?"

nanami is still here.

you turn, but again you can't see, and you're unsure where your gaze is directed. eyes probably unfocused as you move your head in the source of the sound, you can hear his footsteps approach, soft thumps on hardwood floor. if you call out his name he won't hear you; you have to wait until he reaches you, instead.

the door creaks open, and you can hear him stand still in the entryway. you can practically feel him hold his breath as he takes you in - you must look awful.

he doesn't ask you if you're okay, just moves, and soon, you can feel the roughness of his palms on your face, even if his touch is gentle. you can imagine his perpetually serious look, concern softening the angles of his face.

what if you never see him again either?

"what happened?" he asks.

you sign, i can't see. you can tell your hands shake as you communicate, but try to hold it together. what do my eyes look like kento?

you hear him breathe through his nose, but he's let go of your face by now, and you realize you miss the grounding sensation of another set of hands.

"they look wrong but they're there," he says. his voice is quiet, tense. "how long?"

i don't know.

you can hear his frustration. you wait for him to scold you but he doesn't.

do you have work today? you ask, hopeful.

"when i make a couple of phone calls, i won't."

you swallow, shame starting to consume you before you even ask for his help.

i don't want to inconvenience you.

"you already know i hate that job. you're giving me a reason."

this somehow makes you laugh, and although you make no audible sound, you hope he can tell that you're laughing, but then tears just as quickly stream down your face.

you rub them away and his hands return to cupping your face, thumbs lightly pressed on the space just below your eyes. you imagine he's trying to look at your face, study the curse like he's always tried to, to figure out the answer to your sudden blindness.

i'm sorry, i'm so needy.

"don't be sorry yet, i haven't promised to do anything for you," he hums.

it's true. he hasn't made any promises to you yet. with that statement, you can feel his presence shift.

"what do you want for breakfast?" he asks.

you shake your head, even though your stomach will probably start growling just a few moments from now.

"don't be difficult," he replies. "i'm hungry, make a decision so i don't have to make more than one trip."

yogurt. vanilla, you decide.

he pauses.

"how confident are you that you won't make a mess?" he jokes.

you pout, and you actually hear him chuckle.

"i'll be right back."

---

hours pass. nanami has helped you make your way onto your bed. mirai-shourai has been merciful, and you'll be able to see by the time the sun sets, to speak by tomorrow morning. soft music plays, and you're thinking about the things of the glimpses of the future that you know, and those that you don't know.

your friend's baby will be happy and healthy. you don't know when you doze off until you wake up, and the fact that you still can't sleep is still jarring, but you remember just as quickly that it will be temporary. you are thankful.

hopefully one day you'll be free of this curse, but at least you can dispel the worries of your loved ones in exchange for this inconvenience. for that, you are so, so thankful.

Ken? Are you still here?

he probably is long gone you think, and you are signing to no one, but you can hear him again from your left side, the turn of a book page reminding you of his presence.

"Yes."

something swells in your chest.

thank you for putting up with me.

you can hear him exhale from his nose sharply.

"Where else would I go? it's not like i can't afford to live anywhere else."

you smile, turning to your side and reach out a hand aimlessly. you expect him to ignore it, but you can hear the roll of the wheels of your desk chair, and your hand finds a place to rest on his shoulder, lingering for a moment. your head moves to replace it, and he guides you there in kindness.

you don't have to ask him not to leave.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #thoughts: nanami #daydreams: jjk #jjk x reader #mimi's notes #mimi writes: cursed!reader