#don't think i have a large enough following

[unholyhelbig]

Can't wait for part four oh my god

Center picture Cred: Jadiakallisti

Title: The Beast You've Made of Me [Part 4/7]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

Wordcount: 3,545

Summary: When reader wakes up in her own grave, she's suddenly aware of a past that spans lifetimes, but she's not the only one. Two Avengers are tasked with keeping readers past a secret, or at the very least, controlled.

Warnings: Blood, night terrors, chains, mentions of things under the skin, mentions of torture, terrible grammar.

[a/n: This one may be shorter, but damn if it's not filled with plot. I promise, I don't hate Thor. ]

[ Part one | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven ]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

Wanda Maximoff stared at you while you slept. She hadn’t meant to do so; she was drawn to you. A blanket that was a soft baby blue was covering you and you’d tightened your grip around it until your knuckles were white. Soft breathes escaped you, and she selfishly thought about other quiet sounds she could draw with her presence.

They’d moved you from the initial containment unit when SHIELD was satisfied enough with your blood results, and your rate of regeneration. There were no more physical tests they could run on you, no more blood or vitals that needed to be taken. So, they’d moved you to a cell that was less like a hospital room and more like a condo.

No, Wanda wouldn’t quite call it that. It was mostly white, the walls honeycombed and equipped with sound proofing in need be. There was a bed, and a nightstand, even a television that was tacked the adjacent wall.

In the corner was a glass containment unit that reminded you that you were, in fact, a prisoner. They’d given you more clothes, simple sweatpants and shirts that had a large stretching logo on the front. You’d considered it a win that it didn’t have an inmate number just below the collar.

Wanda stood at the two-way glass. She didn’t have the heart to push through your reserves when they were lowered like this. And truthfully, her skin still tingled from the first time she had invaded your mind. There was so much there, yet, each time she tried to reach further it was like a rolodex of times and dates, and an immeasurable amount of death.

A calloused hand found its way to the small of her back. Wanda clocked the scent of birch and vanilla. It was familiar and calmed her nerves like a soothing balm. The witch bit down on her thumb nail and spared a worried glance to her wife.

“She looks so peaceful when she sleeps.”

“You wouldn’t believe how loud it is in there.”

Natasha hummed and wrapped her arms around Wanda, resting her chin on the other woman’s shoulder. They both watched you for a few minutes; the curve of your figure, and the rhythmic up and down of your chest. A small frown had etched itself onto your features, but it quickly vanished.

“Nat,” Wanda’s voice was nothing more than a whisper, but she’d turned her head, making it ring loud and clear. “I know we’ve been making jokes about this… toying with her. But, I don’t think I can let her go.”

Natasha squeezed Wanda tighter and made eye contact with her in the reflection of the window. That stare was so genuine that it made Natasha’s heart ache in the center of her chest. She didn’t want to admit it, but she found you quite charming too. Aloof, at times, but there was so much hidden under the surface.

“Yeah, baby. I know what you mean. You’ve always had a thing for the broken ones, and she’s convinced that she falls into that category.”

A sigh moved past Wanda’s lips. Your thoughts were so loud they almost penetrated her defenses. You were having a nightmare. According to Natasha, they all followed the same formula, and if it was anything like she had witnessed; the farmstead, the stretching bone-white rib cage that protruded from the center of a young girl. She wanted nothing of it.

“Can we keep her?” Wanda asked.  

A chuckle vibrated through Natasha. Wanda felt the sensation against her spine and leaned into the feeling, laying her hands over the ones encircling her. “Well, I suppose that’s up to her.”

A frown formed against your features, a pained expression that pulled at them both in ways that they weren’t expecting. Through they glass, they could hear small whimpers that seemed to catch in your throat. You burrowed further into the mattress. If Wanda squinted, she could see tears wet your rosy cheeks.

Then the screaming started. It was wracked with pain, and a second one didn’t’ escape you before both women burst through the door. They each had experience with night terrors, though, from the sound of it, nothing as visceral as yours.

“Solnechnyy svet,” Wanda’s low hum was accompanied by her soft touch. You writhed, effectively shoving the blankets away. You were in a pair of shorts and a tank-top. A growl pushed past your lips, something inhuman and startling.

It was Natasha who saw the darkness under your skin. She clenched her eyes tighter, trying to clear her vision. There were black veins that squirmed just beneath the surface in the form of chains. But no, they couldn’t be. That would irrational. Binds forming under your flesh and wrapped around your bones. It simply wasn’t possible.

Unconsciously, you clawed at your throat, at ghostly links that snaked around your neck. It was choking you, making it hard to breathe. A hiccup pushed past your lips and tears continued to dampen your pillow.

“Wanda, what do we do?”

Natasha had placed a hand firmly on your chest, pressing you into the mattress. She didn’t want you to thrash hard enough to injure yourself but she struggled against your strength. Another cry escaped you, and blinked again, trying to push the image of sharpened teeth from her mind.

“We have to wake her up, I think.”

“What if that hurts her more?”

“I think she’s going to hurt herself if we don’t pull her out of this. It’s so loud. God, her mind is like tar.”

Natasha didn’t wait for an explanation. She straddled your squirming form. She gripped both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. A cry escaped you, even in your sleep you tried fruitlessly to buck her off.

“Can you go in and pull her out?”

“I can try. Everything is so dark. Can you hold her still?”

Natasha grits, pushing all of her weight on you. “I’m trying. Jesus Christ she’s strong.”

Wanda’s eyes flashed a dark, and alarming red. Natasha huffed, knowing that it would be impossible to reach either of you in this moment. Her arms were starting to fail her, strands of copper hair falling into her gaze. The phantom binds seemed to tightened, you sputtered and pulled, but didn’t falter in your fight.

The witches shoulders started to tremble, her jaw clenched and whispered words not reaching Natasha’s ears. You bucked again, pushing into her. She tightened her thighs around your center, trying to lean all of her weight on your arms.

Small pin-pricks of pain erupted the tendons in hands. With fierce eyes, Natasha gawked at the pitch black that spread across your fingers. Your nails were elongating, ending in claws that were sharp enough to pierce her skin and even draw blood.

Wanda drew in a sharp and cloying breath before she wretched herself away from you and stumbled back from the bed. Her eyes were crimson and frantic for a few moments before she could blink the color away, chest heaving up and down. You were finally quiet, falling limp under Natasha.

Natasha panted, looking back at her wife “Are you okay?”

Wanda used the back of her hand to wipe moisture away from under her eyes. Her hands were shaking, her stare frantic. “I could taste blood. All I could taste was blood.”

Natasha made a small noise and looked down at you. The chains had vanished, your skin smooth, if not an irritated red from your scratching. She couldn’t’ glimpse your teeth, but prayed they weren’t pointed. Your nails had retracted and left nothing but small cuts behind.

“Mm, what the fuck,” you grumbled, eyes fluttering open, betraying your groggy state. You were fully pulled from unconsciousness when you realized the pressure against you. “What the fuck?!”

“Yeah, I’d like to ask you the same thing.”

Natasha let her own body go slack, she flopped down next to you to catch her breath. Wanda had lowered herself tentatively to the corner of the mattress. She audibly gulped, trying to quell the dryness in her throat.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” You glanced down at Wanda, raising yourself up onto your elbow. “I hurt both of you.”

“Not really, kitten. Just startled us, is all.”

Her words hung in the air. She was a good liar, possibly the best, but you could still detect the trepidation in her voice. Your entire body was buzzing, thrumming with a type of fear that you hadn’t felt in years. Not since the ice broke, and your brothers gurgled screams echoed in the air.

Wanda looked as if she’d seen a ghost. Her skin was pale and her eyes were borderline wild. You’d only ever seen the woman in pristine composure, and this frightened you more than the metallic scent of blood that wafted off Natasha.

She let out a shaky breathe that had her wife shooting up despites her exhaustion. She curled a finger under the woman’s chin and guided her soft stare. “Baby, what did you see?”

Wanda grabbed Natasha’s hand with her own, lowering it down to her lap, but not releasing her hold. Her eyes found yours. “What did you see?”

You drew your legs to your chest and hugged them close. There was mostly dark, but a deepening sense of dread clung to you throughout sleep. “I… was in Jennifer’s apartment but something was off. It didn’t’ feel right and it didn’t take me long to notice it. I excused myself to go to the bathroom and splash my face with water, but when I opened the door, it was, shit, it was this dense forest.”

Wanda nodded as if she agreed with your recall. It was an endless landscape of stretching evergreens. Through the gaps in the trees you could see a mountain range that was dusted with a powdering of snow. You knew you weren’t alone, but you couldn’t quite see who was with you.

“There were chains, dozens of them that I was meant to break. The people around me willed that I didn’t, that I couldn’t. But they were easy to snap, nothing for me to push through.”

“They made other chains, didn’t they?” Wanda asked gently.

You nodded. “I think they were afraid of me. I scared them with my size, with my strength. What does that mean?”

Wanda shook her head and gave you a sympathetic stare. If she had felt a fraction of the fear, the contempt, that you had, then you owed her an apology. It hit you like a stone but could break bones like a boulder if one wasn’t careful.

The glass shattered under the strength of the hit. A fierce ache shot down your spine, the pop of windowpane not registering until the pebble-sized shards reined down around your bare feet. Your breathe had effectively been knocked out of you, and kept out by the mans iron-tight grip on your throat, his other hand keeping you steady by wrapping around the fabric of your shirt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

This man was huge and could easily toss you to the sun if he weren’t restraining himself. He smelled of citrus, of a kind of mint that tickled your throat. Your introduction to Thor, God of Thunder, was not at all what you had imagined.

There was a flicker of anger in his eyes before he launched himself at you. He’d shoved you into the glass pane and decided to choke the life out of you. Your hands clawed at his unwavering grip, lungs burning and legs kicking. Spots had started to form in your vision.

Natasha and Steve tried to pull him away, making little progress. You were losing consciousness, not able to fight back in your current state of shock. His arms were suddenly wrenched back. You fell to the floor, glass embedding itself in it’s skin.

You coughed and sputtered, not registering the phantom manes of red around his wrist, and arms. You curled into yourself, coughing as you greedily took in as much air as you could. Natasha was at your side in an instant. Steve’s aftershave coating your throat as he checked you over. Both disregarded the glass.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Natasha was on her feet, satisfied that you had turned away from death’s doorstep. She closed the distance between herself and the God of Thunder, shoving him with a strong hand. “You touch her again and I’ll put you through a wall. Understand?”

She was deterred by the fear in his eyes. She’d known this man for years, and had him backed into a corner with a protective fury in her bones. Thor was a gentle giant, never using his strength without a driving factor. There was apprehension in his stance, large hands dragging down his bearded face.

“Lady Romanoff, I assure you, you do not know what you are protecting.”

“I just watched you throw someone half your size through a glass window. Explain to me why I wouldn’t protect her.”

She glanced over at you, on your feet and with Steve’s arm around your middle, keeping you up. The hardness of his stare mirrored Natasha’s. Wanda’s eyes were neural, but magic whirred around her fingertips like worms, writhing for purchase.

“That is not a woman!” He laughed, boisterous, yet without humor, he pointed a finger at you. “That is the end of times, the catalyst for the fall of Valhalla and Asgard. My home! If you don’t destroy it, I will.”

“No one is destroying anything.” Wanda snarled, effectively placing herself between Thor and yourself. Her arms were crossed over her chest. “We called to you for answers, not this. You’re welcome to return to your galivanting around space.”

“You expect me to leave? Not until I have it in chains.”

This brought your own stare to his, hardening your stance. A low growl escaped your chest, one that had a dark rumble to it, silencing the entire room. It was inhuman, it pulled the air away and filled the area with tension.

“You see that? That’s just a fraction of power. You let it get in and manipulate you, then you’ll be responsible for the world crumbling. You hear me?”

“Hi, yes,” You raised a shaky hand, “Do I have a say in this?”

“I cannot talk to you!” He said, almost frantically, taking a step back, “I refuse to let you manipulate me.”

Steve cleared his throat, taking control of the room. He removed himself from you when he was certain that you weren’t going to topple over. The pain had turned into a dull hum, and then soon, nothing at all. Your own hair was standing up at the presence of Thor.

“We’re being rash here. You’re clearly bothered by y/n. Before we jump to conclusions, maybe we should talk about this.” He offered, earning a huff and an apprehensive stare. “Explain to us what has you so spooked.”

Yes, god please. You pleaded silently. There was the inherent fear in his stance, but that at least gave way to him knowing exactly what you were. The horror was more accepting than the confusion. He’d sited the end of worlds, and you certainly knew you didn’t’ have that in you, standing in a pair of blood-soaked sweatpants and awkwardly picking a shard of glass from your palm.

Thor’s shoulders had dropped. He’d deflated like a balloon and suddenly looked as pale as Wanda had earlier. He kept his distance from you, licking his dry lips and scratching the back of his head. “Captain, do you recall the struggle of going up against Loki? This deceit and his tricks, and his betrayal.”

He nodded, the room engulfed in quiet. It was their first encounter as a team and so much had happened since then. Natasha clenched and unclenched her jaw, recalling her turmoil with Clint, but keeping her thoughts to herself. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other.

“We scraped by in that war. Can you imagine the damage his daughter will do if unleashed on this world?”

Thor didn’t get an answer. All eyes had turned to you, finally dislodging the piece of glass from your hand. You let it fall to the floor, your mouth opening as if you wanted to say something, but it died before spoken.

“No,” You laughed, shaking your head “No, absolutely not. I have very normal parents who didn’t’ try to take over the world. My dad paints houses and my mom teaches biology and there is no way in hell I’m anyone else’s child!”

He looked at you with a form of pity now. Just like the rest of the Inhuman’s and heroes of the world, you hadn’t kept up with Loki. Of course, you recognized the sourness behind his name. The malice and the hundreds of lives that he took. But you also recognized the familiar feeling in your gut.

“I don’t’ understand,” Wanda spoke up, “We ran all of the background checks. FRIDAY didn’t’ find a single red flag in Y/n’s history. She was born and grew up in Hoboken. The only police report is from a busted house party and she was just in a holding cell until she sobered up. She is, by all accounts, normal aside from digging herself out of her own grave.”

“You were not supposed to die, so you didn’t.”

“I got hit by a taxi.”

“Okay,” Natasha soothed, placing a calming hand on your back. Nothing was connecting, and it all swirled around your mind viciously. Thor was your uncle? Your angry, blood thirsty uncle.

“Loki had three children that were all a threat to Asgard. And for centuries, the population struggled with their existence, feared them. They were unstoppable creatures that craved nothing but blood and carnage.”

Okay, ouch. The only thing you craved right now was normalcy. It seemed so far out of reach. If you could turn back time and go back to your desk job and your quiet comfort, you would be content for eternity.

“Jormungandr was trapped within the waters that surrounded Asgard, meant to float in a limbo for all eternity. And Hel, she was sent to the underworld to rule. Better the dead than the living be effected by her cruelness.” Thor grimaced, nearly shuddered at the thought of her. “And then there is you. Fenrir.”

“y/n,” You suggested quietly.

He pointed at you with a shaking finger “untamable. Feral. They attempted to chain you down twice before they realized that no metal was strong enough to hold you. They needed to trap you in a different way to stop the coming of Ragnarök.”

“What did you do?” Wanda asked, voice unsteady with anger.

“I didn’t’ do anything. The people of Asgard knew that if they were truly to be safe from its reign, then they’d have to banish it somewhere that didn’t’ offer much power. So, they crafted chains. Ones that would keep it’s animal nature restrained on Asgard, but it’s conscious in a constant state of torture.”

“Oh, nice, cool.” You let out a shaky breath. “That’s really comforting, thank you.”

He sneered at you, fueled by years of legend that had seeped into his brain. You couldn’t remember seeing this type of hatred in anyone before, and certainly not the Avenger that was voted the ‘most huggable’ in at least ten teen magazines.

“You tore Tyr’s hand from his body, ripped his tendons and filled your mouth with blood, you greedy animal.”

“That’s enough.” Steve barked. “You’ve explained nothing. If she is some all-powerful world-ending child of a God, then how is she here?”

“Don’t you get it, Cap? This is it’s prison. Centuries of pain. Life after life watching it’s family die in the most horrific ways. It’s the same prison we’ve trapped Loki in for his sins and the same one it’s fated to live forever.”

The dreams you’d had for years flashed before you in a dizzying brigade. Thor looked much too satisfied for your liking but Natasha’s sudden grip on your arm stopped you. She gave you a knowing look, a warning telling you to stay in place, and against your better judgement, you listened.

“I think it’s time for you to leave.” Wanda said.

“Fine,”

He laughed again, taking a few steps away from the three avengers and their charge. His boots crunched against the glass. He refused to turn his back to you, instead keeping a vicious glare on his features until he made it to the door. You fought off the chills that threatened to work their way through your body. If not for Natasha, you would have fallen back to the floor.

“Be warned, Lady Romanoff. When I return, I will not be alone. I cannot guarantee your safety in the event that you throw yourself between me and this beast again.”

“Go.” Wanda rumbled, “Now.”

Thor held up both hands, nodding his head at Steve before he finally willed himself to turn. The three of you watched helplessly as you walked with a purpose down the corridor. His footfalls echoed, and you swore that you could hear them even when he was out of view.

[Taglist💕: @dannipotatoo, @non-binary-frogking, @mysticalmoonlight7, @metanoiablxxm, @coxlong, @b3nzzzzz, @simpforlizzie, @delulu-bayolet-era, @dorabledewdroop, @crescentcrush, @roselockwood, @ellieromanov, @leenasayeed, @theowlappears, @pitifulbinx, @pepemyfantasy, @tekanparadiae, @skittlebum, @mariabeloskivismyoc, @natsbiggestfan1, @marvelwomen-simp, @cinffy23, @kyky-maximoff, @natalierushmansstuff, @bstvst, @lezzylover, @404-almostdone, @mishimrno, @maxidentbby, @shayarshucky, @merlinsouls, @neothepotato, @aliherreraaa, @olicity-boo, @tarathia, @thinking1bee, @shayarshucky, @bstvst]

#Natasha Romanoff #Natasha Romanov #Wanda Maximoff #scarlet witch #black widow #Natasha Romanoff x you #Natasha Romanoff x reader #Natasha Romanoff x y/n #Natasha Romanov x you #Natasha Romanov x y/n #Natasha Romanov x reader #Wanda Maximoff x you #Wanda Maximoff x reader #Wanda maximoff x y/n #Wandanat #Wandanat x reader #Wandanat x you #Wandanat x y/n #Marvel

[alekthefox]

Overheating

Boothill fic because I'm OBSESSED!

Have you noticed he has some sort of large plug socket on the small of his back? Mmmmmmmmmmm I have ideas~

(Do tell me in the comments what person you prefer to read in, first person, second person, third person. I really don't know. I just roleplay a lot so this is the type I'm most used to.)

Tags: Boothill has nerve-like sensors on his body, he can indeed overheat, teasing, banter, mention of alcohol, rough Boothill, failed smut (he stops so he doesn't hurt reader) Pairing: Boothill x gender neutral reader (not trailblazer+no mention of lower private parts), 3rd person Context for reader: The reader is a bounty hunter who occasionally teams up with Boothill. They waited outside the workshop for Boothill to be repaired. That reckless man might be good at dodging bullets, even dancing in the crossfire, but a well timed grenade tore him apart. Luckily, his pretty face is unharmed. After several hours he came out. They were on their phone, checking the transaction that just came in as a reward for their work. "Fifty, just as agreed upon. Wanna get a drink, big guy?" Fifty million credits was very little to bounty hunters. It should have been an easy job, like a little thrill-seeking. But this dumbass of a man has no sense of safety. They got away with just a few scrapes unlike him. "You invitin' me on a date, eh?" "Hah, you wish." "Aw, you wound me~ at least let me buy you a drink." They rolled their eyes and started walking, expecting him to follow, and that he did. Not only that but he gracefully passed them like a skilled dancer, walking ahead. Their eyes traced over his literally sculpted body. The man not only chose to make himself have NO ass, but also metal fucking abs... and a jacket that covered nothing. But... there was some sort of exposed hole on the small of his back. A plug socket? It was too large to logically be for anything they can recognize. Out of impulse they put a hand on his back, which he didn't mind, smirking. That smirk was soon to drop. Their hand slid down the middle of his back until their fingers slowly traced the rim of socket. He stopped walking, his back arched and he covered his mouth. He stumbled forwards before spinning around and grabbing their wrist harshly. "What the fudge do you think you're doin'?" Well, that was an unexpected reaction. If that part was so sensitive, why was it exposed? "Curiosity killed the cat. I didn't expect you to be such a whore, exposing a sensitive part for everyone to see." "Well nobody thinks to fudging touch it. I'm gettin' real tired of yer teasin'. Always got yer eyes on my body, always sneakin' in small touches, leanin' in close, stealing my hat--which I'd kill people over-- it's fudgin' annoyin'!" "I plead guilty~." At the mention of his hat they reach up with the unbound hand but he leans away, still holding their wrist. Now the grip gets tighter. Cold, metal fingers like a deadly vice, locked joints so there isn't a way to escape it. He might leave bruises at this point. He turns them around and grabs both wrists to pin them behind their back, pushing them against the nearest wall. The display attracts attention from strangers. Nobody stops to form a crowd, but eyes are certainly on the two of them. They laugh. "Either tell me to stop or do something about it, cowboy." "Fudge."

He presses them against the wall with his body. But his body isn't cold... They can hear the fan inside his torso spinning loudly, the metal heated. He's flustered. His voice is gravely in their ear. "Can't tell if I wanna shut ya up or make you scream." "Well make a choice, big guy. Leave, take me to the bar, or take me to private place." Boothill huffs then hesitantly lets go of them and starts walking. It's unclear which he chose but he did stop to see if they're following so the choice isn't 'leave'. They follow, eyes trailing over his body again, never getting enough. It's his carefully constructed body, it's the way he moves through the crowds, those heels that are actually a part of his legs--of course they are--and the...

He lead them to a hotel. A quite nice hotel. They smile wide with a raised brow. Now this will be interesting. They wonder just what he's got packing seeing as he's literally 90% metal. He pays for a room for one night, and slightly strangely, the next day as well. He opens the door for them and places a hand on the small of their back as they both walk in. As soon as he turns to close the door they hug him from behind, feeling up and down his torso. He huffs, his cooled body now heating up again. They swear they see a bit of steam come from his mouth. He places a hand on the wall in front of him as their hands explore his body and eventually land once again on that plug socket. Gently circling the rim, his body grows hotter, his breathing gets heavier. He's letting them do it but they can tell he's barely holding back. They put a soft kiss between his shoulders as two fingers slip into the hole to see how deep it goes. It goes about to the second knuckle and the moment their fingers brush the end he bends forwards to hit his head on the wall. "That feel good?" He doesn't respond with words, instead with haste he turns around and grabs their hair and pulls them into a bruising kiss. His other hand grips their hip, pulling their bodies against each other. Knowing very well how sharp his teeth are he gently bites their lip. Then he moves onto their neck, leaving kisses, sucking on the skin, and sometimes biting just enough to leave tiny marks of a shark bite. The hickeys aren't enough to mark them, anyone can leave hickeys, but the bites are his mark without a doubt. He wants everyone to know who they belong to. Their hand sneaks to his back again, abusing that sensitivity. He really, truly, growls in their ear and recklessly bites their neck hard. Their entire body reacts to the pain. He apologetically licks the blood off, savoring the taste of iron in it. He's uncharacteristically silent. Luckily he had enough of clarity to bite more towards the shoulder.

They tug on his belt which is an extremely dangerous game. "You want it off? Do it yourself, baby."

URGH, this man is so damn annoying yet so damn hot. They start with the belt, then pants, then underwear, one after the other. But before they can look down Boothill spins them around as if they weigh nothing to him, once again they're pressed chest first into the wall. They protest by pushing back into him. Which is an extremely smart move because then they feel it. It feels like... a silicone dildo. How the fuck can there be nerve-like sensors inside silicone? Then again... how can they be in metal as well? Buuuut then again a lot of planets around the cosmos have different levels of technological advancements. Now was indeed not the time to dwell on the logic of it. Especially as his hand went from their hip to underneath their shirt and up their torso. Cold fingers pinched the left nipple as his teeth grazed their neck. After he was satisfied with their reactions, their sounds, his hand moved lower, his body pressing them into the wall out of excitement, his body almost scalding hot. Just as his hand was to reach there he stops and backs away abruptly. They whine and turn around only to see his head is hanging low, hat obscuring most of his face. Some of the plates on his body have shifted to be ajar for the literal steam to come out, fan whirring loudly. "Well fudge... Had to stop so I don't burn ya. I promise, when I cool down, I'll take care of ya. I swear it."

Author's notes: I am not fucking sorry for ending it like this. Suffer. :)

#smut #star rail #honkai star rail #boothill #boothill hsr #honkai star rail boothill #boothill x reader #boothill x you #teasing #banter #boothill overheats #fanfiction #star rail fanfic #nonbinary reader #gender neutral reader

[vodika-vibes]

Would it be too much of a cliche to ask for a monster au with Commander Wolffe being a werewolf, and him finding out a monster hunter took his human s/o to lure him into a trap.

Sins Of The Father

Summary: You are the daughter of the nation's most well known, and least well respected, monster hunter. When you and your twin brother were children, the pair of you, and your mother, were attacked by a werewolf who wanted revenge on your father. Your mother died in the attack, your brother was turned, and you survived unscathed. Your father threw your brother in a cage, buried your mother, and you were left on your own…until you ran away from home at 18 and vowed to never return. And then you met Wolffe, a werewolf, and fell in love with him. And then your father found out.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x F!Reader

Word Count: 2265

Warnings: Mentions of torture

Prompt: Monster AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I don't think I followed the prompt to the letter, but I had an idea and I ran with it. I hope you like it!

“Are you listening?” You lift your gaze from your heavily bandaged hands, to stare at your father, your lips turned down into a dark scowl. “Don’t you look at me like that, I am your father, and you will respect me.”

“Or what?” You bite out, “You’ll break my hands…oh, wait-”

He roughly grabs your chin, roughly enough that you can feel the bruises forming on your already badly bruised skin, though you just grind your teeth and glare at him. 

Your father gives in first, throwing you against the concrete wall behind you and turning away from you, “As if it’s not bad enough that you’re whoring yourself out to a wolf-”

“He’s a man, you’re just a bigot.” You bite out as you painfully rub your jaw.

“Shut up!” He rounds on you, “You…you’ve whored yourself to a wolf. Your brother is a wolf. Your mother would be ashamed-”

You surge to your feet, “My brother, your son, was only attacked because of you! We were punished because of your actions-” You cry out in pain as his fist slams into your cheek.

You glare up at him, and he glares right back at you. “I should slit your throat.”

“You won’t do it,” You counter, “You’re a coward. You always have been. You always will be.”

He strikes you again, and again, before he’s ripped off by his second, a timid looking man. “Sir, you can’t kill her. She’s bait, remember?”

Your father heaves for breath, “Right…right…” He turns his back on you, “Girl, take care of the cubs. Mattio…get her out of my sight.”

“Yes sir.” Mattio hoists you to your feet, and drags you out of the small cell that has been your room for the last week, and to the large building that houses the werewolf kids. “I’ll come and bring you back to your cell at the end of the day.” He says, without meeting your gaze.

You glare at him, and rip your arm out of his grasp, “I’m perfectly capable of walking on my own.” Is all you say as you walk over to the large door and wait for him to open it.

Mattio sighs, and unlocks the door, allowing you into the large house. And then he shuts the door behind you with a final sounding click. 

The Cub House is home to over three dozen children between the ages of 6 and 12. All of them are werewolves. Many were plucked from their pack, some, though, were handed over to the Hunters when their parents learned that they had been turned.

Odds are, the second any of these children showed any violent tendencies when they’re transformed, they’ll be executed for being monsters. And it’ll be applauded.

Your lips twist with disgust, of course they’re going to lash out. Even young werewolves need space to run and to roam, keeping them caged won’t do anything but make the wolf angry. It is why so many packs live so far away from civilization. 

There’s the sound of light footsteps, and you lift your gaze from the dirty floor to the darkened edges of the room. Golden eyes, identical in color, though so different in every other way, peer at you from behind crates and beds.

You smile and slowly, painfully, sit down on the floor, “Hello little ones,” You greet, as you wait for them to come to you. A little girl, with vibrant red hair, crawls out from under a bed and she trots over to you.

Her sharp eyes take in your heavily bandaged hands and arms, and the dark bruises covering every inch of your exposed skin, and she frowns, “You’re not like us.” It’s not a question, so you tilt your head and wait for her to continue, “Yet…they hurt you anyway. Why?”

The little girl leans in and sniffs at you, and you immediately peg her as a pack born werewolf. That is a very specific action that you’ve never seen from people who were adopted into a pack later in life.

“You smell like an Alpha.” The little girl says, “But not my packs Alpha, but you’re not like us.” Her eyes narrow suspiciously. 

“I’m not,” You agree, “I am, however, the life partner of one of the Fett Alphas.”

The suspicion clears from her gaze, “Oh, you’re a mate.”

You allow her to believe that, although you and Wolffe haven’t quite gotten to the point in your relationship yet. Well, Wolffe hasn’t, at least. You’ve been there for months now, though.

The little girl sits in front of you, and the other children emerge from the shadows, some of them pressing against your sides for comfort, “Why are they hurting you if you’re not a wolf, like us?” A little boy asks as he lightly traces a burn on your arm, and then holds out his arm to show an identical burn.

“I’m bait.” You explain, and you don’t have to say anymore, as the children nod in understanding. 

“You smell like the wolf in the lower levels,” One of the oldest boys says.

You start, honestly surprised, “My brother’s still alive?” You blurt, “Stars, I thought that father would have killed him ages ago-” You take a deep breath, if you had known that he was still alive, you would have returned for him ages ago.

“It’s not your fault,” The little girl sitting in front of you says as she lightly pets your knee, “The Hunter keeps him isolated, there’s no need for such guilt.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” You murmur quietly, as your eyes close. You nurse the guilt for a moment longer, and then you exhale and shove the guilt to the side to focus on the children in your care, “This is the story of the Mother and her most beloved children-” You start in a sing song voice, it’s a story you learned from the pack, and now you’ll share it with these children.

All you can do now is hope that someone will come for you, though you also hope that it won’t be Wolffe.

The last thing you want is for him to be in danger because of you.

“Calm down, vod.” Comet says quietly as he folds his arms across his chest while watching his older brother pace, impatiently, from one side of the room to the other. “We’re moving as fast as we can.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Wolffe bites out, his mismatched eyes landing on the ribbon clutched in his hands. His partner, his mate, always wears a ribbon in her hair. Always. It allows him to find her, even in a crowd of people.

Several days ago, he came to pick her up for their date, and saw that her front door had been kicked in, and her braid, ribbon included, laid in the middle of the living room.

Her home was also trashed, clothes ripped to shreds, furniture destroyed, paintings slashed-

Whoever broke into her home, whoever took her, hated her. And made sure that everyone knew it.

Wolffe grinds his teeth, and then whips his attention from the ribbon in his hand to his brother, “Tell me you found something?”

Comet sighs and shakes his head. “The boys have gone through the entire house, Wolffe. And they haven’t found anything.” He taps his arm for a moment, “Are you sure that she doesn’t have any enemies?”

“She-” Wolffe pauses, and his gaze drops to the ribbon. An old conversation, had several weeks after they started dating, comes to the forefront of his mind.

“My dad is a terrible person,” She says, her voice soft as she lightly traces his fingers with one of her own.

“He can’t be that bad,” Wolffe counters, his gaze locked on her face, “He sired you, didn’t he?”

She smiles at him, his fingers gliding across the palm of his hand, and over his wrist, “My father is a werewolf hunter, one of the less well respected ones.” She admits, “When I was a child, mother took my twin brother and I to the market, and we were attacked by an Alpha who had lost their mate to my father.”

Wolffe exhales sharply, “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No. It wasn’t. But mother still died, and my brother was turned��and I survived unscathed. I never saw my brother again after that day.” Her voice is soft and wistful, “I miss him.”

“What happened after?”

“I grew to hate him, and he grew to hate me in turn. No one was unhappy when I left.” She smiles tiredly, “I took my maternal grandmother’s maiden name as my own, and have tried to put it behind me.”

Wolffe’s hand comes out to cup her cheek, “If it’s in the past, then you needn’t tell me.”

She hums softly, and presses her hand over his, “If something happens to me, Wolffe, I need you to know that it was my father who did it.” Her thumb, soft and warm, brushes against the back of his hand, “He’ll never forgive me for dating you. Never.”

Wolffe’s gaze is serious as he leans in so his lips are hovering just over hers, “I’ll never let anyone hurt you-”

Wolffe is pulled from his memory at the feeling of Comet’s hand on his forearm, “Vod?”

“Her father,” Wolffe says, “He’s a hunter. You need to look into her father.”

Comet pauses, and then he smirks, “I can work with that.” He agrees, “You have a name?”

Wolffe smirks at him, “Of course I do.”

It’s the break that the pack has been waiting for. Once Wolffe gives his brothers a name, they get a location of the hunting camp. It’s not terribly close to Fett territory, which is reassuring, but it is a lot bigger than anyone was anticipating. 

Wolffe keeps his gaze locked on the camp, his jaw clenched and his hands curling and uncurling into tight fists. He can smell her. Her scent is strong. Too strong. The kind of strong that only comes with pain and suffering.

She’s probably still alive though.

He can hear his brothers bickering behind him, Cody and Fox’s packs are here as well, but it sounds like they have a basic plan in place. “I’m going to get her.” Wolffe says, interrupting his twin, “She’s suffering and in pain and I’m going to get here.”

“That’s why we’re here, vod.” Fox says, “But we need to be smart about this.”

“You be smart about it. I’m going. Now.”

Cody and Fox share a look, and then nod. “Fine. Go, we’ll be on your heels.”

The actual infiltration is a haze. Wolffe doesn’t remember how he managed to navigate the camp and make it to the small building where his mate is being kept without getting caught, and in the end it doesn’t matter. Because he climbs in the window and she’s there.

“Cyare,” Wolffe goes to say something else, I love you. I missed you. Are you hurt? How can I help? But he says none of them. Instead he walks over to her, and cups her face between his gentle hands, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Her hands come up to press against his cheeks, but Wolffe carefully catches her wrists to look at her shaking hands. Her fingers are bent awkwardly, and there are bruises peeking out from under the dirty bandages.

“Cyare?”

“Broken,” She whispers, “He…father was…he’s not happy about you.”

“I’m so sorry, I should have protected you-”

“I’m the one who refused to move in with you,” she rasps out, “It’s my fault.”

“No, it’s his fault.”

She pauses and then nods once, accepting his words as a truth, and then she shifts to her knees, “Wolffe, there’s a small house not far from here where there are children being held and-”

“Shh, shh.” He bumps his forehead against hers, “It’s okay. Cody and Fox are here with me. They’ll take care of it.”

“My brother is here.” She says, “He’s here and he’s alive and you can’t leave him, Wolffe. You can’t-”

“Never. I would never. You’re my mate, which makes him family.”

She blinks at him, and there are tears in her eyes, “I am?”

“This isn’t exactly how I planned on asking you,” Wolffe admits, “I was going to take you out on the full moon so you could be there for my transformation and…” He sighs, “I had a plan, cyare.” He clicks his tongue, “Another crime to lay at your father’s feet.”

She watches him for a moment, and then lightly grips his shoulders, “Wolffe, I want to go home, please?”

“Of course, cyare. Let’s get you to the medic. And then I’m going to rip your father to shreds.”

He expects her to argue against it, for her to ask him not to, to offer mercy. But something icy slides through her gaze and she nods once. “Good.”

And Wolffe has never been more in love with her than in that moment as he leans in and kisses her gently enough to not hurt her, and then he pulls back to help her to her feet.

He knows that it’s going to be a bloody night. But he already has his mate’s permission for what’s about to happen. He’ll make sure that the massacre will be clean and quick, so he can get her home, so he can wrap himself around her and tend to her hurts to the best of his ability.

But for now, he has a battle to prepare for…and a mate to escort.

#star wars #tcw #star wars au #vodika-vibes 650 event #commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #monster au #answered asks

[max1461]

I've said this before but: as a strict consequentialist about ethics, I don't believe that voting matters because one's vote is almost sure to be inconsequential. This is not related to an larger sociopolitical convictions of mine, it's purely mathematical. People are already happy to acknowledge that (in the US, say) if you live in a state that always goes blue or always goes red, your vote doesn't actually have any effect. But this is true everywhere (except very small elections), it's just most obvious in these states.

Now, telling people to vote might well have an effect. If you have a large platform, and you say "go vote for candidate X!" and 1000 people do it, that might be enough to actually affect the outcome of an election. So I get why voting discourse is the way it is; advocating for others to vote is a very cheap action that might have a large effect size, so lots of people are going to do it. Turns out it can be rational to advocate for something that it is not in fact rational to do. This is pretty obvious if you think about it but for some reason people really don't like this idea.

Anyway, even though people know that their vote is not going to change the outcome of an election, they usually make one of two arguments that voting is rational, and these arguments are both bad.

The first is "if 1000 votes can have an effect, then one single vote must have 1/1000th of that effect, which is small but not zero!" or something like that. This follows from the false belief that effects are additive; i.e. that the effect of two actions is just the effect of one action "plus" the effect of the other. This is sort of patently nonsense because it's not clear what it means to "add effects" in the general case, but that's mostly a nitpick (people know roughly what they mean by "adding effects"). More important is that it's just wrong, and can be seen to be wrong by a variety of counterexamples. Like, to make up something really contrived just to illustrate the point: suppose you want to sit down on a stool. And there are no stools in town, but there are four stool-makers: three who make legs and one who makes seats. And none of them can build the stool on their own, each is only willing to make one part per stool. Maybe it's some sort of agreement to keep them all in business. Anyway, let's say you commission a stool, but the seat guy doesn't show, so you just end up with three stool legs. Does this allow you to "3/4ths take a seat"? Can you "take 3/4ths of a seat on this stool"? No, you can take zero seats on this stool, it's an incomplete stool. Effects are not additive! 1000 votes might sway an election, but that does not mean that any individual vote did so, and in particular if any one of those 1000 people chose not to vote it is very likely the election would have gone the same way!

The second bad argument goes like "if everyone thought like you, nobody would vote, and that would be bad!". This also fails in a simple logical way and a deeper conceptual way. The logical failure is just that the antecedent of this conditional is not true, not everyone thinks like me. And in fact, my choice to vote or not in itself has no impact on whether others think like me. Thus "if everyone else thought like that it would be bad" might be true but is irrelevant, you can't conclude anything about whether I should vote or not from it. Conceptually, I think this arises from this sort of fallacious conception of oneself not as a particular individual but as a kind of abstract "average person". If I don't vote, and I'm the average person, that basically means the average person doesn't vote! Which would be bad! But of course you are not the "average person", you are you specifically. And you cannot control the average person's vote in any way. Instead, the blunt physical reality is that you have a small list of options in front of you: vote for candidate 1, vote for candidate 2, ..., vote for candidate n, and I'm sure you can agree that in actual reality no matter which one you pick the outcome of the election is not likely to be changed. Your vote doesn't matter!

Now, I should say at the end here that I do in fact vote. I vote because I have a sort of dorky civics enthusiast nature, and I find researching the candidates and voting in elections fun and edifying. I vote for my own purposes! But I don't believe that it affects the outcome of things, which it plainly mathematically does not. I have no further opinions on voting discourse.

#navel gazing

[astrologysvt]

what about opening a yt channel? you could do so much content!!

ahhhh i did think of that! my thing is idk how much i'd have it in me to make consistent content if that makes sense? with the community concept I can work one-on-one and actually get into detail in ways I just can't do with general readings. and tbh doing general readings for sun/moon/rising is so common, and i fear that they're a little toxic (cuz learning discernment for those things is super hard!) so I kinda worry more about the misinterpretation/misuse of my readings than having a large audience if that makes sense. plus the human connection aspect is another factor, I think having that small group of people would be nice and in a perfect world it'll be super supportive and constructive. again idk how many people would be interested, i think even just a silly group of 5 people would be nice! plus i think if you're someone who is struggling with just the sheer saturation of astrology/tarot content on the internet, and know it's not healthy, but still want it in your life -- this would be a safe place to explore that! i dunno, just thoughts! if anyone has any ideas for tiers or perks, lemme know!

#my other thought was streaming #but a factor for sure rn #is the fact i don't have any recording equipment lol #i mean i could do lives on my phone but again i just #don't think i have a large enough following #nor is the goal having a big following u know #anonymous #answered #i'm thinking like having a $1 tier and i will post content but that wont be the main draw #so that's how you access that and ask me questions #then there would be like #and inventory for 5 slots to get monthly readings and forecasts and i was thinking maybe like #once a month over the phone tarot readings #i wont stop checking this every now and again #but i'm also just at a point where #i have too many responsibilities and not enough free time #to really be able to commit to anything #unless i know it'll help pay my monthly bills :') #and it'll allow me to have structure so I can actually #pace myself and have a routine if that makes sense

[squish--squash]

I think it would be interesting if there was like, a documentary or smth like a deep dive focused on the phenomenon I like to dub the "monkey's paw" of the internet which is where a content creator quickly rises to fame/quickly becomes popular but are then pitted against so much slander, controversies, hate, and/or discourse that it either ruins that person's content creating career or damages it to a degree that will never be fixed

because it keeps happening. over and over I've seen content creators suddenly rise out of the depths and gain masses of followers only for it to topple like a poorly-played jenga tower only a few years later due to controversies and hate. meanwhile, other content creators build a following in a slow, steady way where while they might not be that known, the people who do know them support them wholeheartedly.

And I want to know WHY this keeps happening. I have a lot of theories on this (jealousy of success breeding extreme hate, sudden fame clouding judgement and leading to poor decisions, the lack of trust the apprehension more and more people are having towards newer famous people nowadays, etc) but it would be nice to once day get more than just these theories on why this keeps happening, and if this "trend" will ever stop or just get worse as time progresses

#one of the biggest reasons I think this happens honestly is because of this: #the ccs that build followings over a span of years and years before achieving 'popularity' have a more solid community #that's been built on a strong and steady foundation of mutual trust and respect #there's less of a gap between the creator and the viewer. #meanwhile the ccs that blow up early don't have this luxury for the most part. they become popular so fast and so rapidly #there's not enough time to establish that strong foundation that the 'smaller' ccs already have #and there's a large gap between cc and the fans as the cc is idolized and the cc can't keep up with the sheer number of fans to establish a #truer connection with them. like sure they'll get fanart and fan content and whatnot. but it doesn't feel the same #so when a 'smaller' cc makes a mistake they're more likely to be forgiven bc of that stronger community and connection #but when the quick-to-rise cc makes a mistake? combining what I said earlier with the sheer amount of people who hate the cc #just for getting famous quickly... best case scenario there's just mild discourse and 'antis' yelling they knew the cc was the devil or smt #worst case scenario.... well. we've all seen stuff like that happen on multiple occasions. haven't we?

[unproduciblesmackdown]

hell yes my "deniably casual sexual encounter in taylor's apartment babeyyy" wip is over 7k words already and i haven't even gotten to the part where anyone's kissing yet. so far it's all In Effect taylor going "is there like, an energy here or is it just me" (there is) in this 7k< form via my classic move of providing wildly extensive introspection that Could be pared down a ton i'm sure but if i was thorough abt editing myself & my verbosity & taking thousands of words to say something, including the same things repeatedly in slightly different ways, writing anything would be all the more difficult / rarely manifested. playing to my strengths / weaknesses w/fiction out here like, see that last billions fic scene that's Supposed to be largely winston somewhat going in circles stuck in his head and also sexual activity. seizing the premise for this one like, taylor being all I'm Extra Pensive Atm But What If That Sets Me Up To Be More Spontaneous When I Go Back Into The Living Room And Quants Have Something Going On. i've triumphantly managed to get taylor out of the living room in the first place and now their being able to return any minute now as soon as i wrap up their thinking about how their quants are sure like special little guys (extraordinary) (least veil of neutrality; readily positive)

#that silver lining like oh Have to be offline? that next day i do think i more than doubled the wip's length #just having fun and being ourselves (thousands of words intro to another sorta threesome) #(following my heart / playing it by ear here even if i have the general ideas) #i think it's fun if it's very long lol Why Not. and doesn't have to be just inarguably unimpeachible writing; thus also v edited or w/e.... #it'll be fine lol even while i go ''damn have i said Just / Only / Simply too much?" probably yeah but eh. #sure i go ''way to be incorporating allll these sentence fragments'' lol but i also then proceed anyways. it's fine #and when it's also so like; in the genre of Realtime Introspection it just happens lol like feels more thoughtesque #don't think i'm also managing the most stunningly characterful material wrt taylor's supposed internal voice here lmfao but again. eh. #being conscious of such matters / Any effort to hone things for the better but not sweating it enough to be too held back #like if we want this to exist at all (which i think would be fun. hence the writing of it) it's gonna have to be [yeah this is fine] levels #gotta have enough room for largely Spontaneous writing whether it's posts or a fic. or i just can't really write them lol #fun though when things Come Through while improvising thusly....actually some dialogue / action lol; largely from said quants #had the fun of writing Their having fun with it enough for a high five; ppl do those & felt [glass clink] parallel #and the inspiration like ooh throw in another Touch like rian kicking his ankle. with reasonable casual lightness lol #and yet also having gone ahead and had taylor already thoroughly and outright considered Thee Energy well prior to that lol.... #vs their not particularly internally commenting on what's meant as a [thee energy] setup type of detail lol #anyways being this far into a wip / this close to ''and then some things were getting underway'' sure increases the odds of a finished proj #umm tags idk just: #winston billions

[ghelgheli]

i would actually like to hear more of your thoughts on whipping girl, whenever you feel ready enough to talk about it. i've only ever heard positive recommendations for it. i was thinking of reading it. i've read one or two introductory 101 texts on transmisogyny as well as some medium/substack posts, and always looking to read more as a tme person. ty!

thanks for asking! I'm gonna try to be concise because I'm stuck on my phone for the month, but here are my thoughts on whipping girl:

serano is at her strongest in the book in three areas: manifestations of transmisogyny in media (e.g. how trans caricatures pervade movies), the history of medical institutions developing a pathology of transsexuality (like the diagnostics of blanchard et al. or how trans people seeking healthcare were and continue to be forced into acting out prescribed expressions and manufacturing memories), and the construction of her own transition narrative (telling the reader what it was like for her to grow up desiring femininity in a way that confused her, the experience of crossdressing, the effects of hrt for her)

whenever she's just sticking to this, I think she effectively communicates a lot that the unaware reader could benefit from—even many trans women/transfems/tma people who are otherwise in tune with the history of medicalized transsexualism and our popular depictions could probably benefit from her own personal narrative, by nature of how variegated our experiences can be.

unfortunately I think the book fails at its primary—stated—goal, which is to theorize about transmisogyny. in the big picture this is a bifurcated failure:

on one branch of her argument, she remains committed to there being something biologically essential/innate about gender. this manifests thru multiple claims: that we have "innate inclinations" toward masculinity/femininity and "subconscious sex" rather than what I believe, which is that the latter are constructed categories imposed on different matrices of behaviour/expression/desire in different cultural contexts; that there is "definitely a biological component to gender" (close paraphrase) after a discussion of how she believes E and T tend to affect people (thus equivocating gender with dominant hormones!); that we have such a thing as "physical sex" which is the composition of our culturally decided "sex characteristics" (don't ask me how the dividing line is drawn) even as she says we should stop using "biological sex" as a term; that there is "no harm" in agreeing that "sex" is largely bimodal with some exceptions; that social constructionism is necessarily erasure of transsexual experiences in early childhood... altogether she is unwilling to relinquish arguments about the partial "innateness" of femininity/masculinity and gender. this is at tension with her admission on several occasions that these are neither culturally/geographically nor temporally stable concepts! but that doesn't seem to be a line she can follow thru on.

on another, intertwining branch, she engages in what I think is a deep and widespread mistake in the theorizing of transmisogyny: reducing it (mechanistically) to what she calls effemimania* or essentially anti-femininity. it is her stated thesis at the start that masculinity is universally preferred to femininity. she doesn't offer a definition of either term until one of the final chapters, where she defines them as the behaviours and expressions associated with a particular gender. but I think this reduction just misunderstands transmisogyny. it is even in tension with an observation she makes early on, that trans women are often punished for their perceived masculinity! but again, this is a thought she seems unable or unwilling to follow thru with.

my problem with the thesis is that masculinity and femininity do not float free of gender—it is not possible to speak of their valuation in the abstract. anyone who grew up as a masculine cis girl and never "grew out" of that "phase" can attest to the violence wrought upon expressions of masculinity from women. and this applies doubly so to the subjects of transmisogyny! not only are we punished for any perceived bleed-through of masculinity from our supposed "underlying male selves", those of us who are willingly masculine and thriving as mascs are punished for our failure to conform to the rules of the normative womanhood that is imposed on us (just as we are punished for any willing femininity as "false" and predatory upon cis womanhood—observe that transmisogyny is reactive degendering in every case!).

on both branches serano makes only perfunctory remarks about the intersections with race, class, and colonialism. "sex" as such was made to only be accessible to the "civilized", most of all the white european! for a racialized person and particularly a Black person navigating gender the waters are just not the same; the signifiers of sex neither available in the same way, nor granted the same medical legitimacy. what is the "physical sex" of someone who is de-sexed altogether? how can gender have a "biologically innate" component when its expressions between the bourgeoisie and the working class are at total odds with one another? this all goes for the masculine/feminine distinctions as well. what sense is there in the claim that we have innately masculine/feminine inclinations when globally (and transmisogyny has been made global!) what is feminine and masculine can be very nearly mirrored? nor is "masculinity is always considered superior to femininity" innocent of obviating race. transmisogynoir adds yet further degendering thru the coercive masculinization of someone as a Black woman—masculinization as punishment, again!

and as a final point, the account fails to be materialist. there is no attempt to place transmisogyny in its role as an instrument of political economy or, as jules gill-peterson might say, as a tool of statecraft. it is just a psychological response to the way the world is, as far as serano has anything to say about it. but how did the world become that way, and why?? serano's solution, the abolition of what she calls gender entitlement, is naive to the fact that gender entitlement is necessary to the maintenance of the capitalist state, which is structured thru patriarchy and built on colonialism. it is not possible to reskin this into something innocuous!

this is why I cannot recommend whipping girl as a work about transmisogyny except at the most shallow level. it could be a helpful critical read, but imo, it is just wrong about transmisogyny.

#ask answer #whipping girl #text

[corvidcrossbow]

~•♡•~ I Like It Long

➳ Summary: While out on a run, you and Michonne start lightly teasing Daryl for having his hair grown out. But there's a hidden reason as to why he won't cut it. (Daryl x Fem!Reader)

➳ Setting: Alexandria, post Savior war

➳ Word count: 1.4k

➳ C/W: Just smut n hair pulling

➳ A/N: This spawned from me writing the context plot of another fic and I was like… wait (And thank yall for the attention on that Mother's Day post??? Yall are so sweet 😭🫶)

My hair is really similar to Daryl's when it's partially or almost dry and it's actually my favorite thing about myself like xbsosjdjdneisnsiasjebeiisjabajissn

You loudly banged your forearm against the glass door of a long abandoned drug store, not hearing any noise inside. Vines and weeds had grown through cracks in the concrete, winding up the sides of the building.

“Sounds pretty clear,” You shrugged, holstering your bow and opting for hand-held blades as Michonne pulled open the handle. You, her, and Daryl were clearing through a nearby town while out on a supply run, opting to make quick work of the task in favor of getting home.

You three entered the building, keeping your guard up in case of any straggling walkers that weren't roused by the initial attempts to lure them towards you. The interior wasn't large, so you could comfortably split off from each other and still be close.

“Seems mostly ransacked. Not much left,” Michonne commented, katana lowered but out in front of her. This had begun to grow repetitive and boring, energy matching the grayness of the lighting.

She took a pair of hair cutting shears off the shelf in front of her, holding them up to your gaze a few isles over. “Think he could use these?” She asked as a smile played the edges of her mouth, nodding back towards Daryl, looking for mischief. His hair had grown quite long over the course of the last two years, the tawny blond darkening into a rich brown, accompanied by a shaggy cut.

“Oh definitely. Jus’ gotta determine which onna us can hold him down long enough to cut it,” You replied with a chuckle, eyes following hers to where the archer stood at the endcap of another lane.

“Shuddup, will ya?” Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with grunt. His gaze didn't break from the advertisement in front of him, trying to ignore your antics. “Ts'fine.”

“Gotta make use of whatever supplies we find, no?” You continued your teasing, trying to hide the grin on your face at his reaction. “You were sweatin’ like a pig all summer, hair tangled all over yer face ‘n what not. When was the last time you cut it?”

“Don’ kno’, don’ care,” He grumbled, and you eyed Michonne again. It's definitely been since the prison, at least. He moved on from the stand. “Plus, winter up ‘ere's gon be colder. Will keep me warm.”

“Daryl, you're ‘bout the only one who didn't freshen up since we got to Alexandria. Don't you at least want a trim?” Michonne pestered, raising her eyebrows at him and shifting her weight to one leg. “You remember Rick's whole hobo-beard.”

“Ain't got no ‘hobo-beard’.”

“But you do look like the only ‘scissors’ you know is the recently searched on your go to porn site,” Michonne chaffed, barely able to contain herself.

Daryl froze for just a second, face flushing as his head whipped to stare back at her. And you two burst out laughing, to which his expression soured.

“Give it up, alrigh’?! Ain't nothin’ wrong with mah hair!” He snapped, accent thick with embarrassment, bowing his head slightly in an effort to obscure it. He readjusted his hold on his crossbow. “Gon shoot tha botha ya.”

“Ay, ay! Jus’ sayin’. Rick scrapped the beard and… maybe you'll finally get some play too,” She winked, followed by a lighthearted snicker.

Daryl groaned again and rolled his eyes, beginning to walk off, but caught your gaze for just a second.

It's not that he didn't want to cut his hair - he didn't care about it – but he wasn't really allowed to either way. There was one major, sexy, moaning reason he didn't cut his hair.

❥-》》—————➣

“Oh, god, Daryl! Fuck! Don't stop… god don't stop,” You cried out, hands clutching his shoulders as your nails began to dig into his flesh. His grip on your hips was bruising, keeping you steady as he pounded up into you at a relentless pace. That grip was the sole thing grounding you in the reality of the present moment.

“Ain't gon stop,” He affirmed, voice gravelly. You moaned wildly, head weakly falling to his chest with exacerbated breaths, his own heaving against your temple. He leaned closer when he could, harshly sucking at your clavicle and boobs, leaving behind a litter of hickeys and little bites that colored you in reds and purples.

The springs of the bed beneath you sounded like they were gonna fold in on themselves, headboard sporadically banging against the wall as Daryl shifted down a little to hit into you at an angle, your clit brushing against him with each thrust. Your back arched overtop of him, shoving his dick into your belly.

“Baby, please… fhuuuckkkk.” You couldn't even think, every thought consumed by the feeling of him. The way he just destroyed you like it's an art he'd mastered, tip brushing against every sweet and sensitive spot inside you, walls desperately trying to cling on, balls hitting up against you, clit grinding on him, slickness coating his pelvis and your inner thighs, his clutch on you just so fucking strong.

You pulled yourself together, lifting your head to see him. His long hair was dark and dampened with sweat, matting up as it stuck to his forehead, obscuring part of his vision. But he was too focused on using you to fix it, didn't dare to remove his hands unless God willed him to.

You moved up, swiping it away, and his blue eyes instantly connected with yours, pupils blown with lust. He (somehow) sped up, starting to slam your hips up and down to meet him instead of just keeping them stationary, now just beating your cunt.

“Tha's it girl. Jus’ keep takin’ me good like tha’.”

His words made you shiver, and you partially fell forward again, nestling your face beside his and snaking an arm behind his head. Your fingers weaved through his messy hair, tangling at the scalp, then tugging harshly as another wave of pleasure ripped through you.

And he whined. There it is. His breathy gasps and grunts mingled with strained whines, and whimpers, as you pulled tighter and tighter at the roots of his locks. His face contorted, eyes nearly squeezing shut, that one vein bulging from his neck, directly on the verge of so much.

“Daryl… inside.., Dar-” You panted, cut off as everything went white and you hit your peak. Your whole body felt electrified, tensing, twitching, walls spasming, toes curling and claws clinging to his frame.

Daryl tipped over the edge almost immediately after, having just been waiting for you to cum first. He desperately pumped into you a few more times, before curving up once more and simultaneously ramming you down as he came deep in you, the warmth of his release spreading through your core, and he threw his head back with ragged breaths.

You were both left a sweaty mess, gasping for oxygen, feeling full and satisfied. Your muscles couldn't keep you up, and you collapsed onto him, loosening your hold at his scalp, his hold on your hips doing the same.

He recovered a bit quicker than you, bringing a hand up and brushing your own messy hair away the second he had the energy to do so.

“Ya alrigh’, sunshine?” He asked between hitches, hoping he hadn't been too rough. He soothingly rubbed his palm over the curve of your body where bruises were sure to form.

You nodded faintly, moving your head so you could breathe better, and you could feel him relax beneath you from the reassurance. He held you tenderly for a while, giving you time to regain your composure. Your eyes were closed in bliss. Few things beat the feeling of Daryl under you, rising and falling with his torso, hearing his low humming as he steadied himself – his softening cock still buried deep inside you, cum ever so surely beginning to dribble down.

You lazily remained in his arms, not wanting to deal with getting up, or the shower you two definitely needed. You took a strand of his hair, affectionately curling it around your finger like a tendril, then letting it go and repeating.

“Ya actually want me tah cut ma hair?” He eventually asked, thinking back to your light mocking from earlier, how you'd laughed as Michonne layered it on. It didn't matter much to him, he'd do whatever pleased you.

“Fuck no. Was just messin’ with you, Dixon,” You replied, kissing the skin of his collarbone right below you, and moving up to find his lips. “You know I like it long.”

The long hair suited him, he looked good with it. You loved to wash and play with it, brush and braid it while he laid in your lap. But mainly, it was easy to grab at, pull on – and close to nothing in existence sounded better than those whines and whimpers every time you did so.

©corvidcrossbow 2024. I do not give permission for my works to be copied, modified or adapted to other platforms. My work may be translated only if asked and with proof of given consent.

#daryldixon #daryl dixon #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fic #twd #the walking dead #twd daryl #twd daryl dixon #normanreedus #norman reedus #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl x reader #daryl x female reader #daryl x you #daryl dixon headcanon #daryl dixion smut #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon imagine #norman reedus x reader #daryl

[cherryredstars]

you know what season it is!!! back shots in a sundress with no panties!! i strongly request rich people private beach sex! boat sex! rich sugar daddy husband who is never really home but when he is he WRECKS your body!!

Pairing(s): Miguel O'Hara, Simon Riley, John Price x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Public Sex, SugarDaddy!Characters, Simon isn't gentle in this one (sorry!)

A/N: My favorite season!!!!

Unedited

| SIMON "GHOST" RILEY: CAKE BY THE OCEAN

He can't help himself when his pretty baby is all dolled up for him.

You got that cute little sundress he bought you on, letting out little giggles every time the wind picks up and you have to hold your dress down like the better version of Marilyn Monroe. He doesn't understand why you do it though. You're the one who begged him to take leave so the two of you can spend the warm weather at the beach house, wanting to spend time on the private beach. Plus, if you really cared about decency, you wouldn't have left without panties. He thinks you're adorable, clueless to the fact that you've flashed him a handful of times already.

But maybe that's part of some secret plan you've been plotting. especially when you pout at him and demand he let you rub sunscreen all over his body.

I just don't want your scars to get irritated, Si.

He thinks your a fucking liar. How else would that explain the way you so willingly sprawl out on the beach blanket you've brought along, your bare ass exposed to him as your dress is bunched around your waist. In the sun, he can see your dripping cunt glistening with arousal. He fucking loves the pretty gasps you let out when the wind fans over your folds, a tiny plea for him to stop his teasing following after. His poor, spoiled baby, so desperate to have a different kind of fun at the beach.

He doesn't care for the beating sun burning his back as his thick cock slides through your puffy folds, more focused on the way your insides are a thousand times hotter. The only thing he needs coating his skin is your sticky arousal as it drips around his cock, a foamy ring of white forming at his base as he thrusts into you. He hates sand, but he doesn't mind the way it gets on the blanket as you pull on it, crying and hiccuping at him how it's too much.

"Si! It's too hot, I'm getting all gross and sweaty!" You sob out, teary eyes looking back at him.

He coos at your cries, giving your ass a hard smack before rubbing the pain away. You could have just told him you needed something to help you cool down. He's more than happy to help as he licks over your skin, his saliva coating your neck and shoulder blades. You taste like the sun and sweat, and he knows that after his he'll need to eat out that pretty pussy of yours to see how they add to your addictive taste.

He must have spoiled you too much, rolling his eyes as you start complaining about how sticky your skin feels with his spit drying on you. He shuts you up with a few punishing thrusts, only tolerating your incoherently wobbly moans and cries. He grits his teeth when he feels his high peaking, swiftly pulling out of you with a groan as he hot seed shoots onto your back. It darkens the fabric of your dress, pearly lines sitting on your sparkling skin.

Simon chuckles as you whine under him, his rough hands rubbing his cum over your skin in a thin layer.

"Gotta make sure your pretty skin is nice and coated, love."

His cum looks close enough to sunscreen, anyways.

| MIGUEL O'HARA: HANDS ON THE WHEEL

"Keep 'er steady, baby."

You only moan back in reply, your hands tightening around the wheel. Your hands are sweating from the sun's heat and from the heat radiating off of Miguel's body as he thrusts into you. The sound of your wet cunt is drowned out by the sound of the ocean, but Miguel is more concerned about the ocean of wetness that gushes around his cock. Your grip on the wheel has nothing on the vice grip your pulsating walls have on his cock.

His large hands reach up, his chest pressing against your sweaty back as his hands cover yours. He guides your hands slightly to keep the wheel straight, his thrusts not stopping. He's trying to teach you how to steer the boat through groans, and you only moan and whine in response as your mind gets consumed by the way his cock drills into you. Miguel curses when your grip on the wheel slips, your body falling forward as your orgasm crashes into you and the wheel spins quickly out of control.

His hand instinctively clasps around your neck to keep you from hitting your head on the wheel, making your back arch as he pulls you close to him as his other hand works to fix the wheel. His cock slips out of you, the ends of your fluttery dress pushing over his angry tip. He grunts as he thrusts his cock into your back, groaning as he spurts hot strings of pearly white dampen the back of your dress. You babble as you come down, feeling the wet parts of your dress starting to cling to your skin.

"Didn't I tell you that ya'gotta be careful while at the wheel, mi vida?"

Well, whose fault is that.

| JOHN PRICE: PRETTY HOUSEWIFE

This by far is his favorite part of coming home.

He loves getting home after a rough deployment, only to find his pretty little wife waiting dutifully at home for him. You treat it like a special occasion, making his favorite meals in that cute little apron and sundress that has his cock throbbing. You're so good to him. It's only right that he shows his appreciation with a good fucking.

He doesn't care if his hot plate of food is getting cold as he bullies his cock into your needy hole. You're so tight from not being filled with his cock for so long, your fingers not stretching you out the way his fat cock can. Your little moans and cries of his name are the only nourishment he needs at the moment. His pretty little wife takes him so well.

"Looks so gorgeous f'me like this, doll." John grunts at you, chuckling at the way your walls flutter around him.

This is by far the greatest way to be welcomed home, and of course he's gotta give you the first of many gifts he's got you while he was away. He groans low and deep as he shoots the build-up of cum that's been sitting painfully in his balls, watching as it gushes around his cock as your pussy gets stuffed full. You look so pretty sitting across from him in that sundress, trying to keep as much cum as possible in your snug cunt as he finally digs into his home-cooked meal.

No way in hell he'd let his seed go to waste.

#cherry's requests🍒 #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel ohara smut #miguel ohara x reader smut #cherry's boys🍒 #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon ghost smut #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #john price #captain john price #john price x reader #john price smut #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #captain john price smut

[j-psilas]

Will we ever get anything quite like Code Geass again?

I don't think it's possible.

Code Geass is Japanese nationalist propaganda disguised as a global political drama, disguised as a military mecha show, disguised as yaoibait, disguised as a teen melodrama, disguised as a high school romcom, disguised as a Pizza Hut commercial...

...except those layers aren't layers at all, but are instead comingled in a giant snake ball of insanity.

The lead writer, Ichirō Ōkouchi, only ever worked as an episode writer for other shows prior to Code Geass, and never took the helm of an anime series ever again. And it shows. [EDIT: Several people have pointed out his other lead writing credits to me. So I misread Wikipedia—sue me. I maintain that this guy is a better episode writer than he is a lead writer.]

The minute-to-minute pacing is impeccable from a mechanical standpoint, with tension and stakes rising to ever-higher peaks, balanced out by the slow simmers of the b-plot and c-plot. It keeps the viewer on the edge of their seat at all times. Meanwhile, the large-scale plot is the most off-the-wall middle school nonsense I've ever seen, continually surprising the viewer by pulling twists too dumb to have ever have been on their radar—and therefore more effective in terms of raw shock value.

"Greenlight it!" was the mantra of this anime's production. It must have been. It has, in no particular order, all of the following:

Character designs from CLAMP, the foremost yaoi/BL group in Japan at the time—for characters who are only queer insofar as they can bait the audience, and only straight insofar as they can be more misogynist to the female cast.

Speaking of the female cast, hoo boy the fanservice. We've all seen anime girls breast boobily, with many cases more egregious than Code Geass, but there's something special about it happening immediately after—or sometimes in the middle of!—scenes of military conflict and ethnic cleansing.

Pizza Hut product placement everywhere, in every conceivable situation. High-speed chases, light slice-of-life scenes, intimate character moments, all of it. Gotta have Pizza Hut.

The anime-only Pizza Hut mascot, Cheese-kun. He wears a fedora.

The most hilarious approximations of European names—which I would love to see more often, frankly. Names like, I dunno, "Count Schnitzelgrübe zi Blanquezzio."

A depiction of China that is wholly removed from any modern reality, with red-and-gold pagodas, ornamental robes, scheming eunuchs, and a brainwashed child empress. There's a character named General Tsao, like the chicken.

Inappropriate free-form jazz in the soundtrack, intruding at the most unexpected times.

A secret cabal not unlike the Illuminati, run by an immortal shota with magic powers, holding influence all across the world, at the highest levels of government. They matter for approximately three episodes.

An unexpected insert scene of a schoolgirl using the corner of a table to masturbate. She's doing it to thoughts of her crush, the princess Euphemia—because she believes Euphemia to be as racist as she herself is, and that gets her off. This interrupts an unrelated scene of our protagonist faction planning their next move, which then resumes as if uninterrupted.

Said schoolgirl, in a fit of hysteria, threatens to detonate a worse-than-nuclear bomb in the middle of her school. She then goes on to develop an even more destructive version of that bomb, and become a war criminal, in a chain of cause-and-effect stemming from the moment she finds out that Euphemia wasn't actually that racist.

A character called "the Earl of Pudding."

A premise that asks us to believe that the name Lelouch is normal enough that he didn't need to change it when he went into hiding as an ordinary civilian. "No, that's not Prince Strimbleford von Vanquish! That's our classmate, Strimbleford Smith."

The collective unconscious, a la Carl Jung, within which the protagonist fights his villainous father for control over the fate of humankind. After this is over, the anime just keeps going for about ten more episodes.

An episode in which a mech tosses a giant pizza.

A gay yandere sleeper agent who can manipulate the perception of time.

Chess being played very badly, even to the untrained eye. Lelouch frequently checkmates his opponent by moving his king. This goes hand-in-hand with the anime's crock of bad chess symbolism.

A fictional drug that can most succinctly be described as "nostalgia heroin."

Roller-skating mecha in knightly armor, and some of the most sickass mecha fight choreography that I've seen.

I could go on and on, but I think you get the picture. This anime is what the average Westerner in 2006 thought anime was, and it was made in a confluence of factors that cannot be replicated. I've never had so much fun watching something that I found so... insulting. Repugnant. Ridiculous. Baffling. I love it sincerely.

Catch me cosplaying Lloyd Asplund at a con sometime, or maybe even the big gay loser himself, Lelouch vi Britannia.

#code geass #anime #lelouch vi britannia #rolo lamperouge #nina einstein #kallen kozuki #lelouch lamperouge #clamp manga #lloyd asplund

[hedgehog-moss]

Look, friends.

Do you think this is a post about my adorable baby succulents? No. Look harder.

It's about the GIANT HOLE IN MY FENCE that I had to patch up with cardboard.

I can't blame Pampérigouste for this one; the brutish nature of the damage is not consistent with her usual modus operandi. Pampe outsmarts locks like Arsène Lupin; she doesn't charge at fences like a bull who saw a red cloth. This is Pampe Pondering A Fence Problem:

No, the damage to my fence looked a lot more mindless this time. Boorish. Boar-ish. I'm blaming a boar. A deer would have destroyed the whole thing rather than just the lower half. Note that there is not a single tuft of llama wool on the damaged wire mesh.

(Note no.2: the boar's smile was originally meant to be a tusk but it really just looks like a sardonic smile)

I brought some chicken wire to patch up the hole—but there wasn't enough of it. Then it started raining and I felt persecuted and decided to just cover the hole with cardboard and go have my morning coffee and get back to this later.

This is not an Innocent Pampe post; there is no such thing. My temporary cardboard solution lasted 8 to 10 minutes. I'm not sure exactly when she got out, but by the time I went back outside to repair the fence there was a Pampe-shaped hole in the cardboard.

(Not really; she just kind of lifted or ate a corner then wormed her way through the very small opening. I think.) (See, this is how you recognise a Pampe escape: you're not entirely clear on what went down, you just know there was a llama inside and now there is a llama outside.)

It was still raining and I didn't feel like going after her, plus it felt pointless to bring her back in her pasture before the fence was repaired, so I went in the barn to look for my tools and rummage through leftover pieces of previously-destroyed fences, hoping to find something the right size.

Then I heard Pampelune's hyena shriek, aka the llama alarm call. It was followed by:

horrified chicken screams and frantic feather noises; the soundtrack of a violent fox attack

infuriated barking from Pandolf

very loud panicked braying from Pirlouit

basically, chaos.

I ran outside just in time to see Pampe emerging from the woods at a full gallop, pursued by a bear. I didn't immediately identify the animal that was chasing her as the giant dog that he was, because he was running with a weird gait, with his legs going everywhere like he was frolicking at top speed (I now know that this dog is a puppy that has learnt to run just a few months ago, but that didn't occur to me at the time because this puppy is the size of a calf.)

Pampe was running towards the cardboard through which she had escaped and she managed to squeeze through her small corner hole again (I assume—there were trees blocking my line of sight and I only saw her again once she was in the pasture, running for her life along with the other 2 llamas + donkey.) Meanwhile, the dog didn't see the corner hole and tried to power through the cardboard much like a boar, or was carried away by his momentum and didn't brake in time; I don't know. In any case, when I reached him, he was stuck.

My large piece of cardboard was tied to the fence posts and still holding strong, but the middle was a bit soggy with rain and not too solid, so the dog's head went right through it. The rest of his body didn't.

He could have probably finished breaking the cardboard quite easily, but for some reason he instantly gave up. On life. By the time I got there the dog was half-in and half-out of the pasture and he looked defeated. Which made my piece of cardboard look like a mediaeval beheading apparatus with just a hole for the head.

I went to lock an angry Pandolf in the barn and checked on the chickens along the way (ruffled & offended but fine); I was hoping the dog would figure out how to extricate his head from the cardboard in the meantime. He did not. I tried to call him in a friendly tone (from behind) to encourage him to free his head by stepping back, but the concept of taking a couple of steps backwards in order to extract his head from the hole might as well have been advanced engineering. He clearly had no idea where his head was, where his body was, how to make the two a coherent whole again, and he started whining pitifully.

I untied the rope I had used to attach the cardboard to the fence posts, then wriggled the piece of cardboard a bit to try and free the dog's head. The dog was alarmed by the wriggling and took several steps back—but I didn't manage to hold on to the cardboard so it just moved with the dog. He clumsily ran away, taking the cardboard with him, wearing it around his neck like the world's largest cone of shame.

He immediately got stuck between two trees.

I was starting to find the situation hilarious, but the poor dog did not—he lay down and started making sad broken noises like a malfunctioning dog-robot. He didn't look very threatening but he was still a very big (and stressed) dog so I felt a bit wary of touching his head to help him, and decided to run home to get a box cutter. I figured I could easily rid him of most of the cardboard and leave him with just a soggy cardboard collar that would soon fall apart. I heard my landline phone ringing from afar and ran faster, and it was one of my nearest neighbours, the retired lady who lives on the plateau.

"I've been trying to reach you!! I saw your llama in my garden earlier, I was going to give her a little treat—" (she loves Pampe, for some reason) "—but then my dog saw her too."

I know this woman's dog—he's a tiny thing with fragile nerves who thinks the whole world is out to get him, so I asked anxiously, "Did Pampe scare your dog?" and she said "Oh no! Domino is here with me; but I have a new dog. His name is Texas."

I thought of the gigantic puppy currently sobbing in my woods, held prisoner by two trees, a self-inflicted cone of shame and his total lack of reasoning skills.

"Yes", I said. "I've met Texas."

The old lady asked worriedly if he'd scared Pampe ("Il est un peu zinzin" she said—he's a bit crazy. "I wanted to call him Rex, but then I met him and thought—Texas!!") I told her I was pleased with her dog for scaring Pampe, because she needs to learn that her pasture is her only hope for safety in this cold uncaring world and as soon as she steps out of it she returns to her lowly status as a prey animal. Then I ended the phone call because I was worried both about Texas and about the large hole in my fence. Thankfully all my animals were still terrified and hiding far, far away from Texas.

Texas actually managed to free himself before I attempted to cut the cardboard, but he still thought of me as his saviour and was very happy to follow me through the woods back to his owner's place. Before we left I propped up the cardboard against the damaged fence, and despite the hole in the middle no llamas escaped in my absence; I think the whole area still smelled like Texas and fear.

I'll admit I was initially tempted to leave Texas with his head stuck in the cardboard in a more permanent capacity in order to patch the hole in my fence with this amazing anti-Pampe Cerberus. Like this

(I know this artistic rendering makes my llamas look like frightened carrots and my donkey like a bunny but I will not be taking constructive criticism at this time)

#crawling along #llama drama #i spent an hour at his owner's place eating biscuits and being told all the reasons why texas is ''a bit zinzin'' #for example he runs away to the nearest farm to steal the cow feed (pellets) at feeding time #he was caught red-pawed by the farmer and just. stole the entire plastic tub that contained the pellets #and ran back home. holding this very large tub in his mouth and sprinkling cow feed everywhere along the way #this time around his owner must have feared he would come home dragging a bag with pampe inside or something

[griffonsgrove]

Hiiii!!! See your doing writing requests for Hazbin, Its my hyperfixation so I am in need of more content 👀 so I'd like to request maybe Vox general or NSFW headcanon ( either one is good lol-) with a afab reader maybe? This is my first time requesting something like this so sorry if I'm a little nervous or bad at requesting. I think this is how people are supposed to request? XD

General Dating Headcanons | Vox

a/n: You're totally alright dear! You said everything just fine! As I've stated before, I got early access to the first two episodes, and it's been so interesting to analyze vox's character! I hope I can do him justice!! He's starting to grow on me now. I'm gonna stick with a gn!reader just because these are general headcanons and I want them to be suited for anyone!

fandom: Hazbin Hotel

wordcount: 1299

cw: SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL, swearing, vulgar content, stalking, death and mentions of death/murder., toxic/absuive relationships.

(PLATONIC):

Vox’s got eyes EVERYWHERE in hell. There is no escaping his line of sight unless you go completely off the grid. Which is pretty difficult to do when the entirety of pentagram city is covered head to toe in VoxTech.

However, if you don't pose a threat to him, he really doesn't give a shit about you otherwise, and won’t pay that much attention to your life.

When you first fell into hell, you were mostly confused as to how you wound up here in the first place. That quickly subsided into fear as you noticed the large variety of demons and sinners casually walking down the sidewalk like it was an average tuesday. 

You’ll never forget the sight of seeing a demon gnaw off the arm of another and swallow it whole, like it was an all-you-can-eat buffet. 

You wander aimlessly down the streets, keeping to yourself and being very cautious of those around you. Your clothes were in tatters, and you didn't have any form of money whatsoever, what were you to do??

You had two options: Somehow find a job in this new horrific realm, or, die.

You didn't care too much for the latter.

This is how you stumble across one of the largest studios/clubs in hell, owned by probably the most feared overlords in pentagram city. The V’s. 

You get hired to be nothing more than a waiter/waitress, to serve the patrons of the club, mostly serving them their drinks.

You weren't too fond of the work uniform either. It left nothing to the imagination, and exposed alot of skin, far too much to your liking. The job actually paid somewhat decently though and it was enough to be able to sustain a living. You were quick to rent out the nearest apartment.

One day, while you’re out on the main floor, making your rounds, your eyes briefly lock with the TV demon across a sea of sinners. Call it cheesy, but it was almost like a spark went off the moment he laid eyes on you. Which is something that doesn't happen often with the tech-savvy overlord. Who were you??

He lazily beckons you over with a claw, to which you obediently follow, although it doesn't hide the sheer nervousness written all over your face, He gives you his drink order in that sultry, velvet voice of his, eyeing you up. You gulp slightly and are quick to bring him his order. He thought you were so cute trembling for him.

He begins to stalk observe you closer after that. If you have any electronic devices he’ll watch you through your screens, trying to get a glimpse into what your life was like outside of work. The things you enjoyed doing in your free time, favorite shows, foods etc.

He def goes through your search history.

He would start showing up more in the sections you worked at, oftentimes minding his business, but occasionally striking up a conversation with you.

You did have to admit he was quite the charmer, his smooth voice was hypnotic to you.

OBSESSIVE TENDENCIES. If he notices some creep won't leave you alone while you're working, he’ll take care of them personally, it’s never a pretty sight afterwards. He cant have anyone taking what's his.

You're oblivious to his stalking and possessiveness, you don't think much of it, maybe that's because he puts on a friendly face when you’re around him.

But after some time of getting to know you, He’s the one that eventually asks you out on a “date”. You’re skeptical at first, but decide to accept his offer. And also partially because you were afraid of what would happen if you said no.

(ROMANTIC):

Ngl it’s kind of a situationship in the beginning.

Vox is a busy man, it’s constant work maintaining the studios (especially valentinos temper) and managing the entirety of hell's technology. So, he may ghost you at first.

That being said, He will still keep an eye on you. He often watches through your phone while you sleep, just to make sure you’re safe. Hell is a dangerous place after all.

Speaking of, you’re now under the protection of the V’s, so that’s a plus! You never have to worry about another demon laying a finger on you. They usually never get close enough to anyways.

He very easily gets jealous. He won't show it on the outside because he has an image to uphold, but you can tell every time from that crazed look in his eyes.

Vox is a possessive lover; he wants to keep you all to himself. If he could, he’d keep you locked up by his side all day.

CONTROLLING. He HAS to know where you’re at, at all times, and who you’re going to be with (lest you face one of his tantrums). Also dictates what you wear, He likes to dress you up to his liking, like you’re his own personal doll.

Insecure much?

Say goodbye to privacy btw. He constantly has you in the back of his mind and a watchful eye on you. It can be kind of suffocating at times. The two of you have gotten into a few arguments because of this.

Valentino gets jealous of you too. How dare you take his boy-toy away from him? He’s often giving you the stink eye and will threaten you behind vox’s back. You’re too scared to tell Vox, because you don't want to face Val’s wrath.

You know briefly of his and Val’s “relationship” it all had seemed very one-sided and completely unhealthy.

You're often having to calm Vox down. The man has a very short temper and is easily provoked. 

Imagine you pressing little kisses to his screen after he found out about Alastor’s return. He remains stoic, but secretly enjoys your affection.

Some of the pet names he loves to call you include; Doll, Dear, Darling, Sweetheart, Babe.

Pretty old-fashioned ik, but he's a classy man alright?

He tends to be pretty touchy, always having a clawed hand on the small of your back, or an arm wrapped around your waist. It’s more of a possessive trait of his, to keep what's his close.

He loves having you sprawled on his lap while he’s in his screen room, you stay nuzzled into his side, often taking naps while he does broadcasts.

He TOTALLY spoils you btw. He’s one of the most powerful overlords in hell, ofc he has the money to show it. Whatever dingy apartment you had before, forget about it bc this man has you living in a penthouse suite in one of the most expensive apartment buildings. He sees you looking at something in a store or online?? Boom, it’s yours now.

He loves buying you clothes, as I’ve said before, you're his “doll” and he loves playing dress up with you.

And if you buy him something?? He’s taken by surprise at first, he’s never really been on the receiving end of that affection, so whatever it is you give him he’ll cherish it.

If you ever have someone bothering you, or want to get rid of, you just say the word babe. He’ll be feeding them to his sharks >:)

The man is emotionally constipated, ok?? All he’s ever known from relationships is what he shared with Val (and trust me that was a train wreck). He’s rough around the edges, short-tempered and isn't always easy to get along with, and he’s incredibly possessive which can be suffocating to deal with at times. This probably stems from him not wanting to actually be alone, He doesn't want you to slip out of his grasp, so he keeps a tight leash on you. But underneath all these flaws, he really does love you and care about you. At the end of the day, He just wants someone that will stay.

#hazbinhotel #hazbinhotelxreader #xreader #gender neutral reader #vox x reader #vox #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin x reader #headcanons #dating headcanons #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin

[thevoidstaredback]

It's always graveyards. Why is it always graveyards? They're creepy as hell and, well... that's it. On the bright side, the Protection Spirits watching the gates recognize him and realize the danger he's in. Well, maybe he wasn't in real danger because the Bats and Birds don't really do the whole purposefully harming civilians things, but they are scary as hell! Chasing him down like a bat straight outta hell- obviously he was gonna run! They cornered him! Maybe he'll invest in getting them lessons in how to interact with people in and out of costume?

Honestly, Nightwing, Danny expected better of you. At least Red Hood and Signal know how to treat innocents.

Here's the thing about Protection and Guardian Spirits, though. They don't like intruders. If you're running from something and you don't have time to ask permission to enter, you best say "thank you" and bring them shiny things on your next visit. If you do have time to ask permission, you ask permission. If they think you're a threat or rude, they won't let you enter whatever they're guarding.

"Thank you," Danny said as he slowed to a walk further into the graveyard, the sound of the gates slamming closed behind him confirmation that the Bat and his gaggle wouldn't be following him in.

Wasting no time, Danny pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket. It was a handy little thing he'd picked up during his stay in the House of Mysteries. Draw and door, tell it where you wanna go, open it, and go through! Beetlejuice style. Though, unlike what the Handbook for the Recently Deceased says, these doors won't actually open a door to the afterlife. He fixed that tiny glitch a while ago.

Anyway, a quick few chalk lines on the side of a mausoleum later, and Danny was opening a door to Fawcett, Philadelphia. Probably not the best choice, considering that he was trying to stay away from the Justice League, but it's better than Metropolis.

"Whoa." Damn it! He should've stayed home. "What was that, mister?"

Danny made sure the door closed behind him, praying for strength. Why did he feel like several deities were laughing at him? "Hey, kid. Can you, um, maybe not say anything about that?"

The kid, short brown hair and a red jacket stood out the most to Danny for some reason, seemed very amused. "You're gonna have to buy my silence."

Again, Danny let out a quiet, long suffering sigh. "Coffee is so not worth it." Looking at the kid, he said, "Alright, fine. I was getting coffee anyway, I'll buy ya lunch. Know any good places?"

Grinning, the kid cheered, "Hell yeah! Follow me!"

Resigned, Danny followed after the kid, easily keeping pace. About a block later, he figured he should probably get the kid's name. "I'm Danny."

"Billy."

"No last name?"

"Fae rules, dude. What's your excuse?"

He had to give it to him. "Touché."

Another three blocks of walking, Billy finally stopped at a cafe. It was a quaint place with stained white brick and a dark grey roof. There were metal chairs and tables outside the building surrounded by a wrought iron fence. The table umbrellas and the awning over the black door were light blue, matching the curtains in the inside.

The inside walls were painted baby blue with a white ceiling and a pinewood floor. The tables and chairs were all stained black with light pink cushions and table cloths. The curtains, as observed before, were all baby blue, tied back with baby pink ribbons. The lights were barely yellow, giving the room a warm feel. The counters were white with black paneling on the outside and white granite as the tops.

"Welcome in," the young man at the register greeted with a smile, "What can I get you two started with today?"

Danny envied the man. He'd obviously not been doing this long enough to gain the veteran's shine to his eye. He turned to look at the menu after telling Billy to get whatever he wanted. A mistake he'll probably pay for. "I'd like a large Red Eye, equal parts coffee and espresso, with cinnamon, honey, chocolate syrup, mint, and vodka, please."

The 'newbie' light in the man's eyes dimmed a little bit. "Um, we don't carry vodka." Glad that's the only thing he's worried about. Priorities.

Danny clicked his tongue. "Oh, well, it was worth a shot. I'd like everything else, though, please. Mix it at your own discretion."

"Alright," he was very valiant to go back to grinning, "Anything else?"

Danny motioned for Billy and the kid stepped up. "Can I get a large mocha, three chocolate chip cookies, and two sandwiches?"

The blond entered the order. "Of course! That'll be $25.37." A quick card swipe from Danny. "Thank you very much, we'll have your order out to you soon!"

The two didn't say a word as they chose a table in the corner. Danny let Billy take the seat that was open to the rest of the cafe so he wouldn't feel cornered. He had a good view of the door, though, so he wasn't complaining.

"So, how'd you do that?" Billy asked after they'd gotten their orders.

"How'd I do what?" Danny sipped his drink.

"How'd you walk outta that wall? It's solid!"

"Magic."

"I guessed that much."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"Will you teach me?"

"No."

"You didn't even think about it!"

"Okay," He paused. "No."

"Not fair." he pouted.

Putting his drink on the table, Danny summed as much fake-it-till-you-make-it energy as he could. "Magic isn't a toy and takes years of practice to get a handle on, not to mention you have to actually have an aptitude for it before you can even try. Besides, I don't know you nearly well enough to trust you with anything else."

Billy finished the cookie he was eating. "I can do it! You just gotta teach me!"

Another sigh that Danny had stopped counting. "Look, you seem like a good kid, but I'm not gonna teach you magic."

"Why not!"

"However," he continued, ignoring the demand, "I'm not gonna leave ya fully defenselessness."

"What do you mean?" Billy backed away slightly, his eyes narrowing as he moved to be able to run quickly.

Another sip. "Based off of the dirt you're covered in, the grease in your hair, and the overall poor condition of your clothes, I'm gonna bet that you're a street kid. So," he pulled a small card from his pocket, very aware that Billy was watching his hand aptly, "I'm going to leave you with this."

Slowly, the brunet took it and turned it over. "What it is?"

The white card had the initials DP in the middle, circled by an Ouroboros. The initials were completely solid, but the snake of the Ouroboros was made up of tiny runes of protection and health and healing and good fortune.

"My calling card. If you're ever in danger, hold that to your chest and ask for help. I'll be there."

Still obviously suspicious, Billy took a moment to scrutinize the card. It was cute to watch the kid act like he knew what he was looking at or for. When he seemed satisfied, he shoved the card into the inner pocket sewn into his jacket. "Thanks."

"No problem, kid," Pulling out his phone, Danny saw the time and stood, "I've gotta go now. I assume I've sufficiently bought your silence on the whole magic thing?"

Billy grinned, "I guess, but you gotta come visit me, okay?"

He chuckled, "Sure thing. See ya."

Part 2 Part 4

(I don't drink coffee, so Idk how that shit works)

Tag list: @zaiothe4th

#dp dc crossover #dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc #danny phantom #dc comics #dcu #dc #billy batson #shazam #ghost king danny #magic #coffee #cafe #I don't drink coffee #I don't even go to cafes #Idk if that's how it works #it is now #in this economy? #Hopefully #protection sigil #I made that up on the spot with very little research #If anyone draws it please tag me #Do we like where this is going? #part 3 #Enough Caffeine to Kill an Elephant

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hiii! Your headcanons and memes are absolutely funny, I think this request fits you.

So instead of dog or cat (Husker) Wife reader saw her Husband walking around with the egg boys, and she pulls out the '🥺can we keep one?' and would like ABSOLUTELY not take no for an answer, she even pulls out a new dress for the egg boi to differentiate him from the other eggs.

I loved those goofy eggs so much 😭

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Alastor being a jealous husband, Alastor being possessive of wife!reader's attention

Description: ☝️⬆️

Okay, so it's bad enough that Alastor is stuck dealing with the eggs and he's not even allowed to crack a few of them

And he's totally not annoyed with the way your eyes lit up, and you immediately started cooing over them the moment you saw them

Of course the clumsy little things just ate it up, flexing and showing off for you, even going so far as to climb into your outstretched arms

So now they're stealing his wife from him? Those eggs have crossed a line

He skipped breakfast for this?

Alastor knows he needs to keep them away from you to keep you from getting more attached than you already are

So at the sacrifice of his own needs for your attention, Alastor makes sure to keep the eggs far away from you by keeping them close to him

Even at the cost of his sanity

Alastor hadn't even realized he left one of them behind until he came back to the hotel to find you holding one like a baby

And the little imbecile is just soaking up the attention too, blissfully unaware of the error he just made

Not even Sir Pentious can get the egg to willingly leave your embrace, the little thing stubbornly clinging to you

"No! You can't sssstay with her! You're my little egg! My minion!"

It takes much coaxing from you to get the egg to leave your side but that's far from the end of it

Every morning afterwards the egg is bursting into the bedroom and crawling into bed with the two of you

Instead of waking up to your sleepy affection, Alastor is waking up to that stupid egg babbling off to you about everything and anything

Not him shoving the egg boy off the bed and tugging you against him

Alastor eats nothing but eggs for breakfasts for the next week, there's something therapeutic about cracking them that he just can't quite put his finger on

Oh wait-yes he can

He hopes that you'll get sick of the egg boy eventually, but then you start dressing the egg up, differentiating it from the others

"Alastor look! Doesn't he look darling? He's a mini you~!"

You don't notice your husband's eye twitching

You baby that egg more than you've ever babied him and he's definitely getting jealous

He just about snaps when he hears you and Sir Pentious talking about you keeping the little egg

"Aren't you a little old for those 'egg baby' projects, my dear? You're not in school anymore."

"Oh, please, Alastor! Can't we keep him? He's already so attached to me and I just adore him! I've already named him!"

"Um...Y/N...they already have namesssss..."

"I do?"

Somehow, he manages to convince you that you don't need to keep the egg but it's by the skin of his teeth

And it doesn't stop you from spending every waking moment spoiling the egg

That should be him being spoiled by you

He starts trying to intimidate the egg whenever you aren't around but the little thing is too dense to understand it

"I wouldn't follow Y/N so closely up those stairs, one wrong step and it would be quite the nasty fall for someone as fragile as you."

"Thanks Boss!"

Not Alastor trying to crack him whenever you look away

Purposefully opening doors a little too hard in hopes that your egg is on the other side

Using his staff to nudge him out an open window...

Finding extremely dangerous tasks for the egg to do only to be disappointed when he comes back unharmed

Developing a sudden interest in baking extremely large cakes

Alastor, honey, come on...that last one wasn't even subtle

Bottom line, if you care about the egg boy then you better give him back to Sir Pentious because he won't be safe around your husband

It's an emotional goodbye but Alastor's happiness at having your attention again is worth it

It's not like you won't still see each other around the hotel, chill

He's a terribly needy man when it comes to your attention but it's just part of his charm

I LOVE THESE LITTLE GUYS

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

[yoyokalicent]

soon you will be mine, oh, but i want you now.

pairing: felix catton x fem!reader

summary: you're felix's favorite girl, you had been since you were young. what happens when you're all he needs?

warnings: cursing, mentions of fucking and alcohol, felix is a freak and in love with his best friend.

a/n: this little fic is based off fallingforyou by the 1975 bc its arguably one of their most heartbreakingly good songs so!! (lyrics in bold)

｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆｡°｡°✩⋆

i'm so excited for the night all we need's my bike and your enormous house

the strobe lights were almost blinding as you search the large house for felix. felix, who all but got on his knees to beg you to accompany him to the house party you now wander around aimlessly.

"princess!" you barely hear felix over the booming sound of music being pumped through every speaker in the house, "lost you for a minute there, you ok?"

his hand finds yours immediately walking with you toward the sliding glass doors, "just need some air, fi."

"me too, i'll go with you." i'll go anywhere with you, he means.

his hand leaves yours and felix can't help the bout of disappointment he feels in the pit of his stomach, wishing he could hold your hand just a little longer.

felix watches you intently as you open the door with the hand that not long ago was occupied his own, and once the door is open enough for you to exit your hand slots right into his own.

"do you have a cig?" what a stupid question, you see he has a full pack in his back pocket, you don't know is that he wants to share one with you, to see the red smudges of your lipstick around the end of it before he takes a drag of his own.

"f'course." you rake your hands through your black handbag, the handbag he purchased for you while his family was on holiday in paris. once you pull out your worn pack of cigarettes you follow up with your light pink lighter, "hm?"

it was your signal for him to light it for you, he takes the lighter out of your hands and cups a hand around your lips, lighting the cigarette for you. maybe its the drinks, the cups of liquor you had poured for him making his head spin, or maybe it was you, the thought of you being his one day. just one day, but he wants you now.

after your long drag you pass the cigarette to him, blowing out the smoke and looking out toward the backyard where friends were dancing, and lovers were making out in the dark corner by the trees.

"i've always loved nights like this, its so easy." you say, reaching your hand back out for the cigarette.

"me too, fun." he responds, as you flick the ends of the cigarette and watch the ashes fall onto the concrete, "always have fun with you, princess."

the nickname fell from his lips easily, something he had called you since you were a princess on halloween in grade school, never failing to pick on you for it.

"wanna get out of here?" felix asks looking for your confirmation, just wanting to be alone with you, not having to deal with farleigh's knowing glare.

"i do, fi. walk me back?" another stupid question, but this time coming from you, "or am i staying with you?"

"you'll stay with me, princess."

i'm caught on your coat again you said, "oh no, it's fine"

the weather in oxford was completely contradictory to felix's mood. the grey sky with icy winds had no comparison for the light reflecting from his smile. he was sat in some dingy diner (somewhere that only you could get him to step foot into) waiting for the check with you beside him.

he completely rejected your idea of sitting across from him, arguing that, "i haven't seen you in ages, why would i want you to be anywhere but my side?"

your lips were wrapped around the straw of the strawberry milkshake you swore you needed, shamefully felix can't help but think about your lips. the way they break into a smile, the way they sing your favorite songs, the way they'd look wrapped around him.

you're his best friend for goodness sake.

"fi?"

fuck the thinks, "princess."

"do you think we could go to the corner store? i wanted to get those crisps you like. i've been wanting them since the other night." you ask him with hesitation, as if he has ever denied you anything, as if he ever could.

"yep," felix pops his p, mirroring something you had always done, "quite a walk, sure you want to in the cold?"

you take one last sip of your milkshake before responding, "i've got you to keep me warm, don't think that's enough?" he wraps his arm around you to pull you closer to him.

his silence is telling, for as long as you had known him he was never one for comfortable silence. but, with you he could sit for hours without talking, just to be with you.

once the check is payed, by felix, you are bouncing out of your seat, forgetting the jacket that was resting by the end of your back.

"forgetting something?" he holds the jacket up, opening it for your arms to slip into effortlessly.

before your hands have the chance to zip up your jacket his are working at the zipper, toward the middle of the jacket the zipper stops.

"huh?" he says, trying to find where it went wrong.

his mind is racing as he tries to find the flaw in your jacket, when he finds the culprit it almost warms his heart. the fringes of his own jacket were caught in the teeth of your own. a piece of himself was caught in a piece of you.

"sorry bout that, princess."

"oh, no s'fine." without hesitation he zips your jacket all of the way, not wanting to risk you catching a cold. going as far as to giving you his own scarf and putting your hood up for you.

"and what would i do without you?" you ask, hooking your arm in his own and resting your cheek on his bicep as you walk down the street.

"freeze, and possibly have to buy your own food."

feeling of your arms i don't want to be your friend, i want to kiss your neck

felix loved the feeling of your bed. the soft linens your mother had sent from southern italy, the fluffy blankets, firm pillows, the feeling of your arms wrapped around his waist with your head lodged between his shoulder blades.

he loved it, right now, he longed for it.

farleigh was next to him talking to some guy at the pub and all he could think about is what you were doing. felix truly tried his hardest to get you to go with them to the pub, but you swore up and down tonight was your night for rest and relaxation.

stupidly, so stupidly, felix thought he would have more fun at the pub entertaining girls he'd never go home with instead of entertaining you.

"wanna get out of here?" a girl asks, pawing at his chest. all he can do his feign disgust, why would he want to leave with anyone but you?

"no," he responds, and sees the look on her face drop, "thanks" his words are slurred and all he can do is think to count the drinks he's had. the liquor really has affected him, usually he has you mooching off of whatever he has in his cup.

but, not tonight.

"farleigh, i need to go." felix pats farleigh on the shoulder, signaling his leave of absence.

"tell princess i said hi." farleigh responds, mocking his nickname for you, and felix can only open and close his mouth with a nod. felix starts his walk out of the bar with a slight wave to farleigh.

the walk to your dorm was quick, and his legs moved in a brisk walk, quickly starting to border a jog. wanting to get to you, get into your shower, get into your bed as quick as possible.

he dodges groups of partygoers and their judgmental glares skillfully, if they knew what he was running to he's sure they wouldn't be looking at him the way they were.

he arrives at your dormitory and ditches the stuffy elevator that would take too long, he doesn't have time for waiting. his legs move up the stairs, slower this time. almost savoring in the excitement of seeing you.

the many cups have him thinking, what if he told you now? he waits in front of your door, waiting. not knocking, just thinking. thinking about happy he could make you. thinking about what he could do for you, what you could do for him.

just before his mind could catch up with his movements he's knocking on the door. reeling in what he could say to you, and then you open the door.

your hair is in your rollers, and your body is drowning in your light yellow nightgown. ignoring all signs of sleepiness you smile, "felix?"

"i do not want to be your mate." your smile immediately drops, and your eyes open wide, suddenly he wants to jump down the flight of steps he had just climbed.

"what the fuck, felix?"

"no, no, no, princess, not like that." his large hands take your face into them, so tightly that your cheeks are smushed together, not to hurt you, never to hurt you.

"then how felix? you come to me in the middle of night to tell me what?" your words are slurred to the grip he has on his face.

you can smell the whiskey radiating off of him, making this all the more confusing, his hands fall from your face to his sides, "i don't want to be your friend." he takes breath, a deep breath, "i wanna kiss your neck"

"huh?" you ask again, slowly getting at what he means, but needing him to say it. say what you had been thinking for the last year.

"there was a girl at the bar, and she wasn't ugly. at all. she wanted to go home with me-"

you cut him off, "felix."

"sorry. but, i didn't want to go with her, all i thought about was you. coming home to you, maybe even kissing you, hugging you, fucking yo-"

you cut him off again, "felix."

"i just-"

"you what, felix?"

"i really love you. i love you so much i only think of you, i only think about you so much i can't hear a song without thinking about you. i love you so much i've started to lose my mind! i love you so much, princess." his lips smash into yours, and you taste him. the whiskey, the mint lip balm, the cigarettes, you taste him.

you kiss him until his hands start to trail toward the end of your night gown, "can't give the neighbors a free show, fi."

"can't have them seeing what's mine."

your eyebrows raise teasingly, "yours?"

"you're mine princess, finally."

#felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton fanfiction #felix catton fluff #felix catton imagines #jacob elordi #jacob elordi x reader #saltburn #saltburn fanfction #saltburn 2023