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callsignfangs · 4 months

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The 141 boys as widowers. (bc i feel like torturing myself /j)

141 x late (implied) spouse! reader

cws: grief, mentions of loss, implied alcoholism/alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions self-destructive behaviour, very brief mention of addiction, etc (Please lmk if I've missed anything!)

(Note: This little drabble is a little self indulgent, a bit about my own journey with grief. Each little 'story' thing does end with acceptance. Please don't read if you're not in the right headspace, and remember that you're loved and you're not alone, and make sure to reach out if you need help <3)

Price is the one inclined to bargaining. Maybe he could've done something - what if he'd taken a bit more time off work, what if he spent more time with you, what if he'd agreed to retire early with you, what if he was there? Ironically enough - he just ends up drowning himself in more work, probably turns to smoking or alcohol in an attempt to drown everything out.

141, Gaz and Soap especially, will definitely be the only thing he holds on for. As capable as they all are, he couldn't just up and leave his boys without a captain - he couldn't make the same mistake over again, they gave him something to care for, to nurture and to look after.

I don't think he'll ever marry again - just making half-hearted attempts to peek into the dating scene whenever leave got especially lonely. He'd never be able to find anyone quite like you, so he eventually stopped bothering with it, finding warmth and comfort in himself and the other people he loved.

He keeps a photo of you, one of your handwritten notes, and any little trinket you'd given him at all times. Saved every single snippet of you talking he could - even still paying off your phone bill occasionally ringing your phone to hear your voicemail message, maybe sending you texts when things got especially hard. Definitely does chores the exact way you always did - from the time you went out to shop in the morning to how you stacked dishes. Loves hot showers but still takes a lukewarm one each morning because your habit of taking cold showers meant the water was never hot enough for him. I think he probably adopts something after the rough edges of the hole you'd left in his heart smoothed over.

It wasn't intentional in the slightest - maybe a stray cat had clung to his pant leg while he was on a hike or the task force managed to pick up an orphaned little kid on one of their excursions. He's very hesitant with them, still not quite trusting himself with caring for another being. But he warms up to them eventually. No matter human or animal, they've definitely been brought to your gravesite once or twice.

Maybe it would be alright, eventually. He'd at least have something interesting to entertain you with the next life he found you.

Soap is definitely in denial. Convinces himself it's a mistake - that when deployment's finally over, he'll trudge home, kick off his boots, and be met by his sweet love, bouncing at his heels like an overeager puppy and lathering his face in flittering little kisses. He still avoids coming home like the plague - resorts to anything from taking on way too many missions, to picking up another job on the side, even to staying in hotels as if he was in some sort of covert op.

He'd be forced to go back to your house eventually, though. Not home, it wasn't home without you there. Just the same four walls and roof he camped out in on deployment. Nothing warm or special about it.

He still pretended, though. Made your bed every morning the way you liked it and prepared meals for two every day.

While Price and Ghost undoubtedly pulled him out of his slump, Gaz was the person who really started him on the road to acceptance. Having the boys over near constantly was soothing, giving him something to occupy his mind with and overshadowing the cold emptiness of the house. The occasional cuddle piles and game nights reminded him of the warmth of their bond - like the nights they spent on stakeouts, letting their own sweet joy shield them from the brutal realities of their situation.

Gaz was the first person he cried to. Soap couldn't bear the way his buzzed sides were starting to fluff out, but he'd slowly gotten used to letting your gentle hands preen him and tidy him up. Of course, Gaz had noticed, and of course, he'd insisted that Soap just had to let him have a go at doing up someone else's hair. Soap didn't know when he'd devolved into tears - somewhere between the first gentle touch he'd felt in weeks and the crippling realisation that you'd never be there to do it again.

Either way, he'd managed to cry himself to sleep in Gaz's arms that night. He continued to sob himself away for weeks, filling each day with tears.

Until each day turned into each few.

And each few turned into once a week.

And slowly, his tears dried up.

It was an arduous process, grieving. But he stubbornly forced through it, just as he'd forced his way into your heart.

And he did his very best not to change. He determinedly kept the mohawk - even used the same shampoo because it made his hair feel perfectly fluffy under your touch. He did his best to continue being his perky, bubbly self, because he knew how you practically basked in his energy.

However, he still let himself grow, let his hawk grow out so he could braid it the way he'd always considered, and he let himself have his bad days, didn't force himself to keep up his energy when he didn't really have enough.

Admittedly, though, he never married again. He found temporary enjoyment in little flings, though he let them pass when the time was right. No matter what, he always came back to your house.

Sure, it wasn't quite home without you there. But you'd been there - no matter how little the time you'd had together felt in hindsight - so maybe he could learn to make it home again. For you.

Gaz is angry - furious to the point of enraged tears. If it was him? He'd understand. He'd hurt people, torn apart lives and taken his fair share of them. He deserved it. But you? It wasn't fair. In his eyes, you couldn't possibly hurt a fly, so delicate and tender and so, so soft. It just wasn't fair.

His attempt at coping is to delve headfirst into a tedious slew of missions - one after another after another. It gives him something to dump all his blind rage and hurt and desperation into. His morals were a writhing, flailing, unrecognisable mess for a long time, and the best comfort he could find was in the chaotic monotony of work.

So what if he burned everything in his path to ash? At least the threat was dealt with.

Price and Ghost are the most essential to his recovery. He needs guidance, needs some sort of structure, and needs to relinquish the tight hold on his need to be good, to fix things, to help, to finally restore what he was so reliant on, even if that meant tearing himself to shreds in the process. What he needs is time to grieve, time to come to terms with the unforgiving reality - that it just happened. No-one did anything wrong, there was no violence or intent, it just happened.

He'll absolutely come to deeply regret everything he did in his grief-induced warpath, but eventually accept that he was hurt and lost and just needed the help - the intervention.

Like Price, I think he might attempt to put himself out there and find someone new every once in a while, maybe even builds up to a couple dates, but he never really finds interest in anyone. He definitely remains friends with many of the people he meets, but he just can't quite find a spark - mainly because they're not you.

He never throws out anything of yours, his wardrobe is still mostly full of random articles of your clothing, and the third drawer on the nightstand is still yours.

He always wears something of yours when he goes out, from shirts and shorts to hoodies, even some of your jewelry.

Despite it being admittedly pretty late, he finally watches all of the shows you liked and reads all the books you did. It makes him feel closer to you - cuddling up under your favourite blanket in your favourite spot and picturing you being there with him, imagining each and every one of your reactions, practically seeing your lovely face curl with smiles as you commentated over the whole thing.

Sure, you weren't really there with him anymore, but the sweet, warm mark you'd left on his heart was enough to carry him over until he inevitably returned to you.

Ghost is mostly depressed. He's so agonisingly hurt and lost, but you were his sun - what gave him life and love, and without you? He just couldn't muster up the energy to do anything beyond simply existing. Even he'd expected himself to crash and burn - follow in his brother's footsteps and drown in a spiral of addiction. But he just... Didn't. The affirmation that he didn't blow up and take everyone he loved down with him would be reassuring, comforting, but it wasn't. Not without you whispering praise in his ear, assuring him of his goodness and softness.

I think he'd also be reliant on Soap and Gaz, but Price would be a surprisingly big factor as well. No-one could ever really replicate the effect you had on him, the way your encouragement kept him going, but having some amount of structure, of motivation? It helped. Despite that, he absolutely tried to push them out at first, convinced that the acrid shadow of death looming over his shoulder would eventually take them as well. What are task force 141 if not determined and unfathomably stubborn, though, especially when it came to caring for their own.

Soap undoubtedly led the charge - seeing as his ceaseless energy and affection were mildly more normal (god knows Simon needed a little bit of comforting normalcy). Gaz came second, still snarky and headstrong as ever, but with softened edges and an air of gentle care. Price was last. He'd been there before Simon was Ghost, he was aware enough to piece bits of his past together - and he'd be damned if he managed to scare Simon, if he was the reason he regressed further. So he was tender. Delicate, even. Ghost would despise being handled like fragile porcelain in Price's kid gloves, but it soothed a part of Simon that hadn't peeked out since you left.

It'll take a bit longer than the others - more therapy, reassurance and care, but he'll recover eventually, let the wound you left in his porous heart scar over and go on as best he could.

I don't think he'll look for romance again either - his interest in it just died out alongside you. He wants to preserve the sanctity and tenderness of what you had, and is more than content with holding that love in his heart, and keeping it safe for you until he meets you again.

After you're gone, he attempts to follow your advice more, occasionally dragging himself out of his comfort zone, picking up new hobbies and trying to emulate your passion for life in himself, keeping a little bit of you alive with him. He absolutely douses the house in your favourite fragrance, refuses to use any hygiene products other than yours and carries something of yours everywhere, whether it be your ring or even your purse, just something to remind him he had to look after things (including himself) for you.

Even if you were cremated or buried in some other way, he'd ensure there was a gravestone for you placed alongside his mother, Tommy, Beth and little Joseph. You'd always be part of his family - his heart, and when his time came? He'd be buried alongside you, trailing along with you into whatever came next. By your side forever.

Yippee. This was. A journey. /lh

Sorry if this isn't formatted the best, it was more of a massive brain dump that I forcibly shoved into something just about understandable lol

If you're seeing this, tyvm for reading mwah 😚😚

#task force 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #angst #angst with like. acceptance?#grief #tw grief #dead reader #141 boys being sad #i maybe cried a little when writing this.#just a little #(i wept)#(multiple times)#brain dump #fangs drabbles

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heich0e · 2 months

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prime alpha!tobio and his beta assistant—who's lived an easy, comfortable life free from the shackles and rigid hierarchical expectations of a secondary gender—who falls unexpectedly ill despite being in good health, with no known cause.

you're bed-ridden in your illness, unable to perform your usual duties—it's the first time in the year you've been working for him that you've missed a single day, and yet you're absent for almost a week. your symptoms include a low-grade fever, a strange abdominal discomfort, and just a lingering feeling that sits under your skin like something is wrong.

you visit the doctor who runs a series of tests, and though nothing comes back conclusively, the doctor sits you down and asks you some questions about your daily life. maybe it's stress, maybe an allergy, maybe some environmental factor has brought this mysterious illness on. but when your physician hears about your work, her expression changes. she consults the test results again, eyes scanning over the reports raptly. her final remark (and the pamphlets she sends you home with) all point to one thing.

tobio stares down at the piece of paper you've placed before him with a pensive, irritated furrow upon his brow.

"what's this?" he asks, his cold gaze lifting towards you.

you have your head lowered in a bow—the lines of your body rigid and uncomfortable as you stoop in deference.

"my resignation," you say, your voice thick but surprisingly meek.

"why?" tobio asks, something flaring in the centre of his chest. it burns like anger, but there's something more there too. something primal and animalistic that tells him, goads him, to fight.

you still don't lift your head. "i'm sorry."

that's not an answer, you both know it, and before tobio knows what he's doing, he's already crossed the room and snatched your wrist up in his hand. when your eyes meet his in surprise, there are tears in them. from this close (the closest he's ever been to you, he thinks) there's no mistaking the way they shimmer upon your lash line—how they well up the longer you look at him.

you're trembling, your knees wobbling underneath you, and tobio worries for a moment that you might buckle in onto yourself.

"i can't," you warble, "you—you're making my body weird," you say, lifting your hand up to your face and clamping it over your mouth and nose. tobio pauses, realizing that he's been polluting the air around both of you with pheromones ever since you placed the letter of resignation upon the table before him.

but you've never been susceptible to that before.

he processes this slowly while you tremble, his hand still tightly wrapped around your wrist.

his eyes widen.

saliva floods his mouth.

there's no way he can accept your resignation now.

#tw omegaverse #lmao just fucking kill me #SHOUTOUT TO FANG WHO TAUGHT ME ABT PRIME ALPHAS!! you have enabled my downfall #tw yandere #<- i'm not sure if that tag is merited but better to be safe than sorry #kageyama x reader #tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #alpha!tobio

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lovelybunn · 11 months

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human!wally darling w/ u wearing apple scented perfume…

warning(s): reader being a socially awkward loser, flirty wally

author's note: the main reason i clairified that he was human is bc a puppet isnt anatomically allowed to do most of what hes doing here lmao + i love melanated wally 🩷 (lowkey got ooc on last paras, we don't talk about it...)

Wally places gentle strokes against his canvas, his mind and body completely relaxed. Just as he finishes the final touches, he feels a presence behind him. He smiles, “Hello, neighbor.” He swivels around in his stool to face the figure. “Hey Wally! What is that your painting?” He looks over his shoulder back at his work. He shrugs. “No clue. I just paint how I’m feeling.”

He crosses his legs and places his cheek in the palm of his left hand. “What brings you here to visit little ol’ me, neighbor?” His eyes lidded while he bats his long lashes. You grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. “Well... This may be a little random, but I’ve bought this new perfume, and I wanted to hear someone else’s opinion on whether it flattered me or not.”

He purses his lips and tilts his head in bewilderment. “Why did you come to me, specifically? Personally, I would’ve asked Julie, she’s very skilled in these kinds of things.” You nod, “Yeah, but you’re more, how do I say this? … Blunt, then she is.” He laughs in response, a noise almost like a broken record. “Is that so?” He uses two fingers to gesture you to come forward, “Then come here, darling, if you want to know what I think.”

You step closer to Wally and give him your hand. He takes it, observing the delicate lines of your palm before carefully pulling it to his nose. He breathes in deeply, taking in your scent. His face contorts, trying to recognize the fragrance.

With a flash of dopamine, his pupils dilate intensely, the black shadowing over the natural color of his irises. “You smell absolutely astonishing, (Name). This perfume is the absolute most.” He returns your hand, it slowly resting back at your side.

Your eyes avert as your cheeks warm up to a fresh shade of red. It slightly reminds Wally of a bright red apple ripe and plucked right off the tree. “I’m glad you like it so much, Wally.” You stammer; he smiles gently in response.

“I think I’m starting to understand why you asked for my view on this, (Name).” Wally looks straight into your eyes. He has read you like a book. “It’s apple scented. You knew I would love it, neighbor. My reaction got a kick out of you, didn’t it?” His words flow like velvet off his tongue.

You quickly scramble out an apology, “I'm so sorry, It's just that I–” Wally cuts you off by caressing your hand again, this time placing a sweet peck on its surface. “You're adorable, neighbor. If anything, I'm flattered for you wearing this, to get a reaction out of me." He pulls away, his eyes never leaving yours. His smile grows, canines flashing welcomely at you. “I think the way you smell has worked up an appetite in me.”

He hops off his stool and offers you his right arm, “Why not we go and do some apple picking, neighbor?” You take his arm, but pause to glance at his unfinished work. “Sure, but what about your painting?” He shrugs, “Well, I didn't know what it was to start with. It'll be fine.” Wally's expression beams with giddy intent, “Well then, neighbor, let's go! The apples are delicious this time of year.” His head turns to you. “I'm so excited! I hope I find one that tastes as sweet as the perfume you have on smells. I doubt it, though. After all, you are the sweetest apple of my eye, my darling.” Wally playfully winks as the two of you head off to the apple orchard.

#welcome home #welcome home arg #welcome home x reader #welcome home x you #wally darling #human wally darling #wally darling x reader #wally darling x you #drabble #fluff #cutie patootie #yes he has fangs bite me #first fandom post #imagines #wally the rizzard of home

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difeisheng · 12 days

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Fang Duobing kisses him, wine-clumsy movement tugging him forward, watchlessness of the night and all its courage summoned, sunk into his veins as pure helpless impulse.

Li Lianhua doesn't kiss him back.

"What are you doing, xiaozi?" he hears, in a moment's chasm of hesitancy, soft release of a sigh against Fang Duobing's mouth. He shifts back, leaving Li Lianhua's warmth behind, to look him in the eyes.

Fang Duobing has witnessed nearly every emotion spelled out across this man's features before. Committed the shape of each one to memory— amusement, irritation, a fleeting glimpse of what might be affection— to recall during lingchen when sleep refuses to find him. Li Lianhua's face is familiar to him in every guise and angle, like any other beloved artwork Fang Duobing could bring to his mind's eye.

Whatever this is though, wide-eyed shock and wordlessness and something else unknown, is new.

"Li Lianhua," Fang Duobing says. Only half a question, the rest plea, betrayed by his own tongue.

In a minute's suspense, there is no answer to meet it.

Shame, the twisting burn of it, crests and settles somewhere in his core. Fang Duobing makes to stand, to turn away, to wait. For whatever Li Lianhua will inevitably say to this latest foolish action, yet another in the misstepped journey of Fang Duobing's life. Perhaps Li Lianhua will tell him he made too many assumptions. Perhaps he will declare Fang Duobing too young, too naive for want like this, despite the fact that want, wanting for so many things, has been a lifelong compass lodged in Fang Duobing's heart and for months it has only led him back to Li Lianhua. Perhaps he will say—

"Don't go," and graceful fingers reach for Fang Duobing's wrist, his hand, his sleeve, keeping him in place.

Fang Duobing sinks down again.

He watches Li Lianhua glance down. Up, to the sky, stars cloaked in wisps of cloud. Over Fang Duobing's shoulder, into the long shadows of this clearing. Words form and tumble again into silence behind his lips, Fang Duobing can see it in the lanternlight, and this, the careful choice of the next lie, deflection, excuse, is worse than the dearth of anything to be read from his face at all.

"If you're not going to say anything honest," Fang Duobing starts. "Don't say anything at all."

Silence falls like a stone into a river. Out in the forest, an owl calls to the darkness.

"What I was going to say," Li Lianhua says, tone treading too light, "is that if you're going to try this, it should be with someone better for you than I can be."

Fang Duobing glares at him. "Didn't I just tell you not to say things that weren't true?"

"I—"

"Li Lianhua," he repeats, snaps, and finally, Li Lianhua properly shuts up.

Fang Duobing's hands are at Li Lianhua's lapels, clutching at rough, wash-worn fabric, warmed against his skin. He doesn't know when they got there. Something of the conflict clears in Li Lianhua's eyes, dark and blinking slowly. Maybe Fang Duobing understands now what it was in his expression, that he couldn't see through before.

But why would Li Lianhua have anything to fear from him?

Let me try this again, Fang Duobing thinks, begs a prayer to any deity that might listen. When he focuses on Li Lianhua once more, he's already being watched.

Li Lianhua's gaze slides down from Fang Duobing's own stare to his mouth, for the briefest of instants.

This time, when Fang Duobing leans in, so does Li Lianhua.

#hi no i don't know when this is set but it's before the identity reveal #just go with it #sometimes you set out to write a drabble and end up with something uh. longer than that #anyways fanghua my heart #mysterious lotus casebook #fanghua #li xiangyi #fang duobing #ashton writes fic

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teencopandthesourwolf · 2 months

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LOST CAUSE

for @sterekdrabbles 19.02.24 challenge. the prompt words were: KIND, HEART, and TENDER. the end of the month theme was: DESPAIR.

Derek would consider it a favour if someone were to stab him through the heart or chop off his head—anything to end this misery.

These days, anytime Stiles isn't torturing Derek with his specific kind of bat-shit banter, he's torturing him by caring; speaking tender words, honestly and softly to Derek, at the most unexpected of times.

I like it when you're grumpy with me.

I'll come with you, so you're not alone.

I could stay after everybody leaves, if you want me to.

The pups always look hopefully at Derek, making him want to howl in wretched, pathetic anguish.

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olsenmyolsen · 8 months

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Feeling Used

master list

dark master list

MCU AU (Vampire Reader X Wanda Maximoff)

Summary: When you are rescued by The Avengers you find it hard to do anything else but be lost in your thoughts.

Word Count: 2.5K

TW: Mentions of Hydra, Nightmares, Fluff

Reader POV

It wasn't always like this.

I wasn't always like this.

I had a life before I was bitten. Just like I had a life after the bite. Don't get me wrong, it was worse. But Hydra kept me alive. Only after they had their fun when they knew I couldn't fight back. Over and over again.

But that was a life.

My life.

Until a group of uniform-wearing people picked me up. The Avengers was their name. Or at least that's what the guard screamed outside my cell before a stream of red mist threw him like a pebble.

She was the first person I saw when the doors opened. Wanda. Wanda Maximoff. I remember as her powers disappeared into thin air before she greeted me slowly as the others ran by to free the rest.

Knowing her now, I could've made myself look stronger back then, but I cowered myself in the corner, afraid she was just like anyone else who entered my cell.

But she persisted even after I swung at her and flew myself across the room. She came forward. Strong and confident. Although once my pointed teeth shined in the swinging light above us, I saw the switch in her eyes. It was something new. It wasn't the same old scared look I had been used to in the past.

Once again. Knowing her now, I could've explained the whole teeth situation better.

The last thing I remember happening in that cell was Wanda's green eyes looking into my black ones. Her telling me her name in an accent I couldn't place, and then, like magic, a memory I had long forgotten about was in my mind before I was out like a light.

According to the star-spangled man, I was the last "enhanced" Hydra had left. Switch out that word for monster, and he would've been right. But that's not what I wanted to be.

I never wanted that.

Time wore on once the Avengers found a spot for me. After tests, a meeting with a scary one-eyed man, a holding period in a newly furnished cell, and training, I was moved to the benchwarmers. At least, that's what The Black Widow calls me.

I was given a room. Bland but a place I could make my own. The room was on the same floor as Natasha and Wanda. The latter was the only one ever to try and speak to me as if I didn't have these.. what was the word speedster used.. abilities. She was one of the very few so far who chose to spend time with me no matter how little once the test and training was done.

She talked to me. Really talked to me. Maybe it was because we both came from Hydra. Or perhaps because she felt like she had an obligation, what with rescuing me and all. I don't know. May..maybe she just wanted to know she wouldn't... Wanda wouldn't use me. Right?

Oh, come on, freak.

Why not? You read the files. She used the deepest fears against her teammates before. What would stop her now from doing the same to you?? She probably knows them already.

That's why she's been so nice to you since you arrived. That's why you're not even on the team. You'll never be good enough for them. Or her. You're only here so they can pick you apart and throw you away. She's just here to make sure you don't go.

No, Wanda wouldn't do that. She wouldn't.. she.. she saved me. Wanda saved me!

Knock

"Y/N!" I jolt up from the floor, covered in sweat, at the sound of Wanda's voice outside my door. I quickly take in my surroundings before realizing I'm in my room. My room. Avengers compound. Second floor. I'm safe.

I touch my face and feel the tear tracks that are left behind. "Y/N?" Wanda calls out again before another series of knocks land. "One second!" I yell back in a less than put-together manner. With a deep breath out and take a moment to collect myself. Running a hand through my hair before pushing it and those dark thoughts to the back of my mind.

"It's okay. It wasn't real." I silently remind myself before attempting to stand on my legs before falling onto the bed. "Y/N?" Wanda gently calls out again. "Are you okay?" I don't want to lie, so I don't respond. Instead, I pull a new shirt towards me and quickly change before making my way to the door to see a worried-looking witch.

I open my mouth, but no words come out as Wanda's hands land on the sides of my face. "Oh Detka.." I still don't know what that means, but hearing it this tone hurts me. "What's wrong?" I lift my hands to hers slowly bring them down.

She's using you!

No, she isn't.

Wanda quickly looks up into my eyes, but I look away from the stare to down the hall to her open bedroom door.

Most people in this building wouldn't be able to hear it, but I do. The outro to a show I've heard numerous times called The Dick Van Dyke Show playing on low from Wanda's TV. The bag of chips sitting on her bed, slowly crumbling down. Or even Wanda's breathing slightly increases when she follows my gaze before looking back at me. Wanda clears her throat before asking. "Would you like to join me?"

"No- I-"

"No, Y/N. Come on, it'll be fun." Wanda excitedly pulls a smile and looks up at me. "Please?" Her lips form into a pout that I see right through, but I give in. "Okay." In an instant, the witch is pulling me to her room and using her powers to shut the door behind us.

Once the door closes, I take in the surroundings. The only quarters I've seen the inside of is my own. Wanda's is drastically different from mine. She has color and a specific pop that mine lacks. Her identity is all over the room. In fact, it's as bright as she is.

Although, thank goodness she isn't any brighter than the sun, or I wouldn't be able to see her.

Little vampire joke.

Hmm? I move my head to see Wanda looking at me, holding her lip between her teeth. Her heartbeat has picked up once again. "Everything okay?" I ask. Wanda nods her head at me before waving me over to the edge of the bed. "Come sit." I take one step before: "Oh no, no, wait!" Wanda stands and stops my movement with her hand. "Wasn't I supposed to invite you in?!" Wanda lowers her hand but looks at me with such intensity, but I have no idea what she means. "Huh?"

"Vampires, aren't they- like- you uh, vampires can only be allowed to places if they're invited. Right?" Everything I was thinking before this moment is melting away the more I look at the witch's face. "Where did you hear that from?" I manage to ask without laughing.

"Well, Pietro said that you- oh my God, never mind!" Wanda puts her head into her hands and laughs, letting me break as well. "Don't listen to my brother!"

"Well, I wasn't going to start now." I take a seat next to Wanda. Close enough to be comfortable and not touching. This seems to satisfy Wanda as she starts the episode of the show over. "Have you seen this?" I shake my head no as the introduction with a tune begins to play. "Um.. before.. Well, before, this wasn't something that existed, and then it's not like Hydra had time for enhanced like me (monsters) to be watching.. whatever this is called." I smile and force a chuckle at the end of my sentence as I look at Wanda. She has a frown on her face that confuses me, but before I can comment on it, she looks away from me and to the screen as the show begins.

I'm Weak.

"Hmm?" Wanda looks over at me. "I didn't say anything."

"Oh." Wanda's eyes stay on me before she once again looks at the man on screen. "It's called Bewitched. The show we're watching." I look over to Wanda, who holds her hands together. "Before Hydra and the bombings.. these shows. These American shows were what my family had. Whatever Papa didn't sell, we got to watch and learn for one more night. This." Wanda gestures to the screen. "This was always one of my favorites." Wanda rubs her hands on her thighs. "It's why I always have them on. So I don't forget them."

Wanda turns to face me, and I see the tears in her eyes. "I never told anyone that." I scoot closer and, wrap my arms around the sad witch and hold her close.

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Wanda," I say into the top of her head, knowing she'll hear me.

Seconds of holding her turn into minutes, not that I mind beca- "Y/N?" Wanda pulls out of the hug and looks up at me. "Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?" I hesitate. Questions at Hydra were always a trick. "Sure." Wanda nods and wipes her eyes. "Do you like being here? At the compound." I nod almost immediately. "Anything better than Hydra, huh," Wanda says, making me smile and nod again. "Yeah."

"Can I ask another question?" The first didn't hurt, so why not? "Okay." Wanda turns her body more towards me now. "Do you trust me?" I hear Wanda's heartbeat pick up as she waits for my answer. But why do I wait? Of course, I trust Wanda. She helped me. She saved me. It's Wanda!

She's using you.

"I'm not!" Wanda speaks up with a wide-eyed look, slightly startling me. "Oh my God, Y/N, I'm sorry!"

What?? Did she just read my thoughts?

"No, Y/N! I didn't mean to. I normally don't. It's just your thoughts are so loud sometimes! Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

I slowly move myself off the bed and start backing away from Wanda, who looks at me with a destroyed look. "I promise." She pleads. "Y/N, please." Wanda stands up and walks to me. For a second, when I blink, I see us back in Hydra's cell after she arrived with the rest of the team. "Y/N?" I close my eyes and focus on the one thing that matters right now.

"Repeat it," I ask. "What? I-" "The apology.. I believe you, Wanda, but please.."

I sense Wanda nod, and I listen to her as she voices her sorrows once again—every word she says with conviction and truth.

Especially when she says: "And you're not weak. Or a monster. I've fought monsters. They don't look like you." Wanda quickly smiles. "No matter what you think or what Hydra made you think. You're stronger than most people I've met in this line of work. Because of what you had before them. Before the bite. Is you. It's you, Y/N. I'll always remind you of that."

I open my eyes and run back into her arms. "Can I, uh, ask you something," I ask into the air floating around us. "Anything."

"You never have... or ever will use me, right?" I hold onto Wanda tighter because I know if I look into her eyes, I'll break down. "Never Y/N. I never have, and I never will." Truth. "Thank you." I hold her close and let the few happy thoughts I have fly around my brain.

"Read my thoughts, Wanda."

Wanda giggles at one of my favorite memories before her. "I know you didn't mean to read my thoughts before. It's okay, Witchy."

"Sometimes they just get too loud, and I can't help it. It happens to the others as well. But tonight, your nightmare- I just wanted to ensure you were okay."

I swallow the lump in my throat. Not because she saw my nightmare. I had a feeling. But because she cared enough to check on me.

"Thank you for waking me."

"Now Y/N. Can I ask you something?" I let out a shaky breath with a smile as my grip around Wanda loosens. "Sure."

"This isn't my question, but can you look at me?" I look down to see a smile on the witch's face. She pulls the ends of her sleeves down and wipes below my eyes. "Better." She says with another shining smile before it morphs into a soft, compassionate face. "This is a serious question. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Pietro says vampires can't have garlic. Is this true?" Wanda's lips crack into a smile just as mine do the same. The air in the room becomes lighter as her angelic laughs fly around. "No, it's not true."

"Stakes? True or false?" She asks as we find ourselves planting our butts in the middle of the bed. The complicated conversation and the show playing in the background become something we can look back on. "Wooden stakes. Yes. True." Wanda makes a hmm noise before offering me the Garlic and Herb bag of chips that's been sitting there since I got here. "The team. Do they trust me?"

"Bucky no. Natasha maybe. The rest, yes. But that's because you scare two of them." I tilt my head, confused. "Who do I scare? I've barely talked to them."

"Sam and Peter."

That makes sense. Wanda hums in agreement before taking some chips and placing them in her hand. "Besides flying, strength and powers. What else can you do?" Wanda innocently asks.

"I can turn into a bat."

"Shut up!! Really?!" I shake my head no and laugh to let her know I was joking. "Aww Y/N! That would've been so cool. And cute!!"

Cute!?

"Do your fangs hurt?" Wanda asks before eating her last chip. "Not me," I respond with a wide grin, showing off the fangs that, for some reason, I hear Wanda's heartbeat growing faster..?

"Wow." Wanda breaths out before she looks away from me and to the room around us. "Let's get more comfortable," Wanda suggests as she gets up and grabs the remote for her string lights, dimming them before moving to the top of her bed. Leaning her back against the headboard. "Come on." Wanda waves me over again.

Just like before, I get comfortable next to Wanda; however, where there was space between our bodies before it is now gone. As her thigh touches my own. "Is this okay?" Wanda asks me. I don't know whether she's referring to us touching or the new show she's putting on, but I nod.

I smile at the thought that this won't be the last time I watch TV with Wanda in her room. "It won't be." She smiles at me.

"Thank you, Wanda."

"You're welcome, Detka."

dividers by @/benkeibear

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scarletevening · 9 months

Text

boiling blood makes caramel [ miguel o’hara ]

shoutout to the poll voters, this is for you babes

cw: suggestive, angry/stressed miguel, gn!reader is also his fiancée, slight gore [ blood, but sexy, yk? ], foul language

Never did Miguel come home so restless, so pissed he felt like he could snap a man [ a very specific mans ] spine. It wasn’t a side that he wanted to show his cute little fiancée, the adorable figure that made that anger turn into a different kind of passion. And who was he to resist when you had your back turned to him, hair pulled away, revealing your adorable nape, smooth, supple, and so delectable? His steps were quiet, trying not to disturb your peaceful figure as you carefully mixed your afternoon coffee, humming that cute little tune with your cute little voice.

God, you had him fucking addicted to you, and you didn’t even know it.

You lazily spun you spoon in your mug, thoughts scattered, but always drawing back to one topic, “Miguel...” You whisper mindlessly, oblivious to devil behind you back you just frightened.

“You must love to speak of the devil,“ His voice ranging in your head as his tongue traced your earlobe, his coy tone making you weaken to his presence. His arms tightly wrapping around you waist, giving you no escape, not that you particularly wanted one.

“Miguel!“ You whisper in surprise, stammering to find something to say. He smirks, hands delicately tracing your figure as if they don’t already have it memorized. He lets his lips curl into a sly smile against your supple flesh, his tongue still tracing the folds of your ear, slowly dragging down your neck. He hums, enjoying the way you tremble, your body unable to expect his next move.

His hands teasingly slipped under your loose top, rather his, gently caressing your warm skin, putting no effort into preventing his sharpened claws from leaving such a provocative trail, your body rising with goosebumps, the familiar feeling of boiling blood running up your spine, filling your pretty little head with lust. And as his hands rose, the intoxication of desire became unbearable, in combination to the way his fingers flicked, twisted, and pulled your blushing nipples, teasing your skin as his tongue swirled circles, his lips following suit in sharp kisses.

“Ai, lo siento, Cariño,“ Miguel’s voice turns into white noise to your depraved mind, forgetting the coffee that warmed your shaking palms, all to let out lewd noises at the numbing sensation of his fangs, gently sinking into your neck.

He savors your blood, letting the ruby fluid turn to caramel on his tongue, his teeth providing salacious holes on your neck, an open feed for his greedy lips, his carnal desire to devour you overtaking his rationality.

His voice was muffled, his erotic whispers melting into moans at the taste of your hot blood. His arms firmly held you weakening body against his, feeling as your body surrendering to his gentle venom. Miguel’s yearning was more than tangible, his sultry voice echoing in your adorably delirious head,

“¿Demasiado, Paloma?”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

this was so hard to type w/o my index finger omg, i cut that hoe open n this is my punishment, but anything for miggy ❤︎❤︎

translation

1. Ah, I’m sorry, Sweetheart, 2. Too much, Dove?

also r.i.p to native speakers have mercy on my ass spanish.

directory

#shoutout to Strawberry Miguel O'Hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #SUGGESTIVE WONN HELL YEAH #suggestive #shout out to the poll baes #miguel o'hara smut #ao3 #ao3 writer #ao3 author #drabble #teaser #I ❤︎ his fangs

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chris-continues · 9 months

Text

Good Luck Kisses

SPECIAL THANKS to @linkdedruid for beta reading!

TW: suggestive (making out + nothing explicitly sexual stated or written)

TAGS: @millionsvash @vashfantasy @beanibon @astrathecowboy @captaintweet @lune010 @h4venpha (I hope you enjoy this! <3)

NOTES: I’m planning on writing a part two during/after the concert with Livio! I had sm fun writing this hehe :) note that Livio and Wolfwood are platonic since they are brothers.

Inspired by this

“Kiss please?” Vash wraps his arms around your waist, drumsticks tossed onto the couch out back as his voice rumbles against your neck. His nose is already nuzzling against you, lips brushing your neck tentatively.

“What, so you can use me as your good luck charm?”

“Baby..” he whines, but soon he’s grinning. You can feel it, his smiley cold against your skin. Then you smell the smoke. You’re fucked. Perhaps literally. Your other boyfriend’s hands, hot, heavy, and calloused from playing guitar grasp your hips and spin you so your back is against his chest. The metal of his rings against your flushed skin sends shivers up your spine as he mouths at your neck. “Give needle noggin what he wants, you tease.”

“You’re-“ shit, you have to take a breath, “you’re calling me the tease?” Ah, the goddamn irony.

The slightly acrid smell of smoke presses closer to you, persisting. The heat of both him and Vash only serve to make you squirm further. Vash’s flesh hand rises to cup the left side of your face, his prosthetic settling on top of Wolfwood’s on your hip.

“Please?” He pleads, and fuck, if that isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard. “..need you, mayfly. Every show goes well when you kiss me, please baby..” his voice shifts to a whine. He’s so beautiful, long eyelashes kissing his cheeks as he bats them to look at you with a slight pout.

“C’mon, sweetheart..” Wolfwood’s voice rumbles by your ear, his stubble against you. It’s almost comical how your knees almost buckle from their collective ministrations of just pressing close to you and speaking- especially when you truly didn’t need any convincing to kiss them, you’d do it any day.

But fuck, them convincing you was hot as hell.

Wolfwood’s thumb runs circles against your hip, lifting the hem of your shirt slightly. The sensation is addictive, and you can’t help but lean back against him.

He clicks his tongue, “Listen to blondie,” the bridge of his nose is pressed to the side of your face, brushing the high point of your cheekbone, “Or I’ll stop and leave ya high and dry.”

At this, Vash simply presses closer so his lips are brushing yours, prompting you to just press the slightest bit closer.

And they call you the tease. Hypocrites.

When you finally lean in to initiate, he keens happily and eagerly presses into you, pushing you further into Wolfwood whose tongue is languid against your neck. The sensation of both of their tongue piercings on the sensitive skin of your neck makes you gasp, which Vash quickly uses to his advantage as he sandwiches you tighter between him and Wolfwood.

They’re both dizzying, making you feel lightheaded- as if you’re ascending onto some astral plane or whatever. Love, you guess. They’re so sweet, so loving, caring, and make you feel so full. Pressing close to them like this isn’t enough, you need to melt into them and simply be one. To feel them against you all the time. You’d never minded being their good luck charm, using that as an excuse to pull more kisses from you. It’s a funny bit, one that allows Vash to pepper kisses onto your face, or for Wolfwood to kiss you stupid against a wall before tickling you like the ass he is.

Wolfwood’s hands run up your sides (not tickling you this time), dipping under your shirt to caress the skin and returning so his thumbs dimple your hips in a way he absolutely loves to articulate to you with heavy breaths,

“You love the way my hands engulf you? Hm?”

“Y- yeah,” your voice is breathy and light thanks to Vash who pulls you back for more, a high pitched whine escaping his throat. You can feel Wolfwood’s groan rumble from his chest at the sight, staccato tapping and drumming of his fingers on your hips as the calluses on his fingertips run across your midriff. Their touches are languid and all encompassing, engulfing you whole and each sensation is almost too much, yet there’s always the desire and need for more. Wolfwood’s words remain ever so salacious, muttering filthy sentiments to you that work both you and Vash up. It’s funny- you’d consider Vash to be a smooth talker but Wolfwood has a way with words in private, cutting to the chase and managing to let loose even more. "So soft.." Vash whines, the noises of your lips meeting growing more obscene by the second. His tongue piercing chills you, cold metal a definite contrast to his soft yet chapped lips. "..'y always feel so good mayfly," fuck, why did they want to rile you up like this right before a show? How much time did you even have? They still needed to rehearse and- god, it's hard to focus when you're lightheaded from the two of them toying with you. A small squeak from the corner of the room catches Wolfwood's attention- his irritated groan turns into a snicker. "Hey, Liv. Care to join?" You can practically picture the shit eating grin on his face. (Knowing him, he's half joking. ) If you didn't enjoy seeing your other other boyfriend flustered, you'd pity him. "Meryl, uh, sent me to get you guys. Gotta rehearse 'n whatnot.." His breath hitches when you try to pull away from Vash to look at him- in dissent, he openly whines into your mouth. Goddamn tease. "But you're uh, busy, so-" "Livio.." It's painfully obvious how he stiffens up, almost as if he's touched a live wire. Like he's been shocked. You had such an effect on him, and Vash was gracious enough to pull away to allow you to call out to him. His eyes are fixated on both you and Vash, an audible gulp erupting as Wolfwood only watches in amusement. "Hurry up! Are we having a show or not?" Meryl yells out for you all, "We're waiting!" Vash pulls away, to his dismay, his eyes soft as he gifts you with a goodbye peck and starts to head out with Livio. "He'll make it up to you after the show, I'll make sure he doesn't chicken out." Wolfwood mutters, moving a hand to your back pocket, "Meet me later, though?" A chaste kiss is pressed to the crown of your head as you give your assent, nodding happily. That is, until he squeezes your ass- "Hey!" You playfully nudge him with your elbow, to which he only chuckles.

"Blondie forgot his drum sticks." He clicks his tongue to his teeth, "You mind pickin' them up?" With his cheeky smile, you can't help but roll your eyes at his ulterior motives. Your boyfriend really was an ass man, huh. Nevertheless you indulge him, bending to grab the aforementioned drumsticks and returning to Wolfwood's side, readying yourselves for the night ahead.

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novemberfyshenuke · 1 month

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Trigun AU

I was crying over my exams, so I went ahead and doodled a little more on the dentist au to cope. Here are the headcanons I came up with lol

Livio

Originally, Livio was meant to be a coworker or even an assistant to Knives in his clinic but I had a revelation. I think there's two things he is most likely to be: A dancer and self defense trainer. No one really expects a bulky guy like him to be so free flowing like that. I think it brings such a fun vibe to him.

He has a space above Knives' clinic and can often be seen picking up children from the ground floor.

He grew up in the church with Nico so he's someone who values God.

He slouches as if to make him smaller. The guy struggles to be stern with his students.

Razlo

Razlo is most likely a prosecutor. Livio grew up in a dangerous and terrible environment before he was brought to the church, so Razlo can be fiercely protective over him. That doesn't mean he hasn't hurt him at some point.

Razlo is musically skilled. I like to think the two of them have a thing going on where Razlo starts playing a random tune out loud and Livio's starts vibing to that.

Meryl

She's a journalist. Well, more like a blogger. Milly and her grew up in the same neighborhood and that's how she met Roberto. In her mind, she admires him and his job. As she grew older though, she did come to realize Roberto isn't the flawless role model she always thought of.

She's very perceptive and quite the smart cookie, but tends to get ahead of herself when she's too excited.

Loud unintentionally. It does benefit her with her work at times, but hanging out with friends? Just bury her six feet under, won't you?

She's studying accountancy because. Just because. I see her being stressed out at the data she's had to recompute for the past hour because Vash is being too loud.

Milly

MY GIRLLLLL

She works part time in a cafe/ restaurant her family owns

Roberto is her uncle (DON'T ARGUE WITH ME)

She's really strong from the amount of groceries and stocks she's asked to carry by her family

Also studying accountancy because she saw how determine Meryl was with her studies.

I guarantee you she finishes the homework first and Meryl asks to doublecheck her answers to see if she (Meryl) got it correct.

Many would call her naive but really, she just likes seeing the good in people. Her parents raised their kids that way afterall.

Her family's restaurant is where the gang hangs out most days.

She's really into motocross and that's how she and Nico bonded over.

Isn't really sporty but will definitely join and demolish you in basically any sport. Basketball? Just try dunking that ball when she's guarding. Hockey? Bro those bruises are going to hurt.

She's got really good luck and she's also really good at board games.

She does tend to get overly emotional though and acts before thinking. Meryl is always quick to swoop in and steady her in these situations.

Nicholas D. Wolfwood

He's an actual priest. I know he has a lot of repressed feelings because of his duties. I mean. His entire inner monologue is just, "You shine so unbelievably bright. You create hope for the people around you like the very god I worship. But it's not like I'd kiss you on the lips or anything or...or whatever."

He's definitely looks older than he actually is.

Weak lungs when he was a child and he's still on medication. That doesn't stop him from smoking though. Everyone around him is always telling him to stop but his response is always, "They didn't fix my lungs just so I don't make use of them."

He can't grow a beard. The best he can get is his stubble and so he is so envious of Roberto's.

He's always dropping bible verses and then gets corrected by Knives about certain facts from the book. He hates him for it.

Legato

He's a fashion designer. He loves being in the field just not as the main focus anymore.

Elegant af in public and yet so unhinged with his crew.

He's got a wonderful voice; probs does voice acting on the side for animated shows/movies.

I like to think everyone takes a look at his work and then research him only to be jumpscared by his alt lifestyle on instagram.

He's cringe as hell to his friend group ngl. He'd sing his early 2000s Avril Lavigne in that overtly cartoonish emo voice.

He's a little obsessed with getting Knives to model for him after they shared one class in college.

Elindira

An influencer and Livio's business partner.

Much stricter on lessons and I think that's why they're compatible.

She's also a lawyer, because I can see her fighting an argument for Livio and winning.

She's very mature...when's not with Legato. Then they immediately link and start bickering like siblings.

She's the type to use a number of pet names for everyone.

Red sportscar. Red lipstick. In her pajamas and wearing cat-eyed shades while holding her head because of the hang-over she has but she still has to pick up the tiny menace from middle school. (Zazie)

She's a wine aunt and you can't convince me otherwise.

Never had a bad hair day in her life

Terrible blunt about things it honestly causes more harm than good but she won't ever lie to your face.

Vash

He likes collecting happy meal toys and displaying them in a glass cabinet in the family house dining room. This has translated to him collecting every single mascot figurine from business partners and local businesses around the area.

In high school, he worked part-time promoting Milly's family restaurant by spinning a sign around in a beat up rented mascot suit. No one will ever know who the kid behind that giant dog head was.

Mama's boy...cough

He dresses like an 80s rockstar or a biker but he's never actually approached a bike because of Mama Rem's constant helicopter parenting.

People just assume he's a 'bad boy' because he has a piercing and is a little full of himself at times.

When he's not interning at Knives' clinic, he's an emergency medical volunteer.

He's always been more of an 'I excel in theory but not in practice' guy.

He once made a patient's gums bleed and had them sobbing because he was too focused on getting on with the procedure he messed up the prep work.

Sneaks candies from the jar on top of Knives' desk

He has a prosthetic because I think it's funny for boyfailure no.1 to randomly have the batteries die or it doesn't function correctly.

Dyslexic and was quite sensitive as a child so he often got picked on.

Knives

Boyfailure no. 2 is a well-known specialist who's always rebelled against his mom but still ended up following her footsteps in the field.

He's lazy. He really feels disgusted having to stick his hands in someone's mouth cavity, but dang does his morbid curiosity always win.

I like to think he's mellowed out here because Vash and him watched My Little Pony and at the same time Superbook. He's like super confused and yet enlightened by all these moral stories and going, "Yeah, you're right, Jesus. Twilight Sparkle did deserve better!" or something...

His older cousin, Tesla, always picks on him for going by Knives rather than the name their mom picked out for him.

Do I think Knives is a kid who decided to pick a chosen name when he was 12? Yes. Yes I do.

He excels objectively and fails miserably when it comes to subjective things.

He wears sandals. Rem always got him and Vash those Velcro strap shoes so he, although he doesn't want to admit it, doesn't know how to tied his laces. He also refuses to search it up because he's convinced himself that Vash has this wagered war of who learns from the youtube video first.

He has difficulty accepting affection despite having Vash and Rem around because as a child, Vash came first. He needed to be prioritized.

Imma get to the others another time.

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renfieldsheart · 3 months

Text

Vampire!Reader thoughts..

A/N: was just gonna be a Drabble but turned into a story at the end so idfk

Content: GN!Reader, slightly suggestive?, tiny spec of violence, domestic argument (??? Idfk) not abuse tho so yay, vampire themes (duh), somehow wholesome??

Meeting the love of your life, who’s so innocent they could never harm a fly, and realising they’d be terrified of you if they ever learnt what you are, so you hide it. You lie, you excuse, you even manipulate and gaslight, whatever keeps your secret safe. You’d rather hurt them with false words than hurt them with the truth.

(suggestive? under the cut)

Never being able to go all the way to sex whenever you two make out because you’re so scared of what would happen if you let yourself get that overstimulated. Scared you’d hurt them, scared instinct would take over, scared that you have no idea if the primal part of your brain would see them as a mate or as food. It somehow hurts you how nice they are, how when you’d stop and hesitate they’d tell you not to worry about it. So patient. So sweet. They deserve so much better.

Not being able to feed properly anymore because it feels like you’re cheating on them, with how lust mixes with hunger to create bloodlust. Feeling so guilty, not for the murder but for the ‘cheating’, that you fall to your knees beside the corpse and just cry. Blood and tears mixing as they fall to the concrete.

Starving yourself of blood because you can’t bear the guilt of feeling bloodlust anymore, wishing you could just eat and it be solely about eating food and nothing more. As if it’s your fault your brain produces oxytocin when you feed.

But starving yourself makes you more violent, aggressive, dangerous, and you don’t even realise. They’re scared of you now, and it feels like every conversation they have with you becomes an argument they’re destined to lose.

And one night an argument leads into a violent make out session, pinning them against the wall, you snarling and growling as instinct begins to blind you, and to their surprise you try to go further than you have before.

They stop you, not because they don’t want to but because you’ve never acted like this before, you’ve always been the one to not want anything further and they want to respect that. “Are you sure you’re.. that you want this tonight? Not tomorrow, when you’re maybe a bit calmer?” they ask softly.

You -blinded by instinct and hunger- of course take that personally and argue with them.

They merely frown. “I don’t understand. You’re so.. violent today. D-Did I do something? Are you mad at me?” they tear up.

Hunger fades enough for you to grimace in shame and guilt. You assure them it’s not their fault, but at this point they just don’t believe you. You realise your nails have turned to claws that have been digging sharply into their shoulders for who knows how long.

You’re hurting them.

How long have you been hurting them and they never told you?

You retract your hands away and tear up as well, apologising desperately. They try to smile but struggle to from the pain.

“It’s okay. I’m glad you stopped.” they even try to chuckle but the usually warm and soft noise just makes your gut wrench in guilt.

You continue to apologise but even though they say they forgive you you can’t help but doubt it.

You fucked up. You really fucked up. You should’ve just told them from the beginning. Now you’ve hurt them. Now they’re scared of you. You did the one thing you promised them you never would.

Where do you even go from here?

#vampire #vampire!reader #vampirism #blood kink #somehow wholesome?#vampire x human #drabble #gn reader #fangs #miguel o'hara #yes I’m adding Miguel Ohara because that man is my husband and I imagine him for this so SHUSH #gn!reader #y/n

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callsignfangs · 3 months

Note

141 + Fangs with the reader who has a paper star making addiction. (Platonic) /nf

You feed me so well pooks 😇

For context: Fangs is also a CoD oc sorta thingy of mine 😚 I’ll add theirs at the end for anyone who’s interested 💟💟

141 + Fangs & Paper star addicted reader <3

Price:

• Really doesn’t get it. He adores how often you gift them to him but has absolutely no clue what to do with them.

• Ended up repurposing one of his desk drawers to fill them with. Also generally always has some laying around.

• Is irrationally pissy whenever someone insults them. Think they’re weird? At least his partner loves him enough to spend their time making things for him instead of shitty storebought gifts every other month, Samantha.

Gaz:

• Is absolutely giddy about them.

• Learns to make them with you so you two can make a collection together 😇

• Came up with the idea of making them out of sugar paper and incorporating them into food as well, bc why not??

• Puts them literally everywhere. He has little tupperware boxes and mugs full of them placed all over his room.

Ghost:

• Secretly loves sitting and watching you make them. Seeing your fingers curl around the paper with each other fold, it’s just mesmerising to him.

• Can’t get the hang of it himself, though. Poor lad’s fumbling, catching his fingers on every other corner, his hands are just too big.

• Has at least one on him at all times. On a mission? Scattered across his vest pockets. Out running errands? One on the specially made keychain his house keys are on.

• Gets surprisingly upset if any of them get ripped/damaged. Still has a few on his floor because god knows this man has knocked over piles or containers of them, and/or used them as extra ammo during pillow fights.

Soap:

• Similar to Gaz, also very happy about them 😇

• Incorporates them into random things in his life. Definitely shaved a few stars into his mohawk. Maybe even got a star-related tattoo.

• Has them literally everywhere. Whenever he cleans up or redecorates his room, he’ll find at least a dozen just strewn about.

• Can’t exactly get the hang of tiny paper stars either, so whenever he makes them with you he gets big strips of paper so he can actually fold them.

• Always complains about how disarming explosives/tinkering with the tiny, intricate little bits in his snipers is somehow easier than folding those stupid bloody bits of paper.

• Angst warning ahead - Have you lot seen that tiktok video of the person who’s father hid rubber ducks around their house, and after he passed they found one in the console of their car? Yeah. That’s what you’re met with after MW3. You’re welcome 😇 (edit: found it on reddit instead of tt 😚)

Fangs:

• A little confused at first, but eventually catches up with it.

• Will get deeply upset if they lose one you’ve gifted them. Yeah, they have at least three hundred others, but it was a gift from you!!

• Like Soap, starts bringing them into projects. Impulsively starts a full art project based completely around them, and has to shamefully slink over and ask you to make them more 😇

• Sorta gets the hang of them. To say they’re a bit wonky is an understatement, but they’re trying their best, and they don’t really mind as long as they’re having fun (silently raged for at least half an hour over them).

• Paints a star on their favourite rifle. Price wasn’t very happy when they went on a night mission and he spotted a little painted star glowing in the dark, and they very reluctantly peeled of the paint and replaced it with a less noticeable colour.

Giggle donee 😇 My brains been kinda rotting over this lately and I have a Farah ask that I’m going a liiil feral over so yippee 🎉 (if ur seeing this i love u farah anon(s?) /p 😋)

Okok yaya but thanks pooks this dragged me out of my like writing hole very happy 💪

#call of duty #cod #cod fanfic #cod mw3 #cod fandom #cod mw2 #cod fic #tf 141 #task force 141 #kyle gaz garrick #captain price #john price #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #oc #cod oc #yummy yum yum #fangs asks #fangs drabbles

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heich0e · 11 months

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(inspired by this post by mintmatcha bc it made me think of magpie loverboy livio)

the building where you live is called the barracks.

it's a cold, characterless block of chambers on the 20th floor of the monolithic tower that looms in the dead center of the city of julai. along the long, sterile corridor that comprises the floor, every room that lines either side (sometimes referred to as dorms) looks the exact same. they're equipped with one bed and one desk. there are no windows, just a single light overhead and a lamp for the desk for those who are lucky enough to be granted one. the walls are bare. the sheets are scratchy. the doors lock only from the outside.

they really ought to call them cells.

your dorm is seven minute journey from the lab on the 33rd floor, accounting for the elevator ride. when doctor conrad needs to summon you, his voice crackles out through the small intercom speaker built into the wall. it's not two-way--you have no means of answering back--you simply know that when you're called you obey. you don't even consider any different.

it's the same reason why they don't bother locking you in anymore.

it's not as though you have anywhere to run.

after another long day of assisting dr. conrad in the lab, you're dismissed with a wave of the hand whose meaning you've grown to understand as a signal to depart. he doesn't even bother looking at you; he just lifts his hand in a limp gesture from his desk, his eyes still fixed to the screen of the monitor before him. you dip in a parting bow anyway, backing yourself towards the door.

you make your way back to your dorm--the same walk you've made a thousand times--each step robotic and rehearsed. it's a path so familiar you're sure you could make it even with your eyes closed; a journey so well-known to you that you don't even bother to lift your eyes from your feet as you place one in front of the other on the cold, tiled floor.

julai tower is so incredibly vast that you rarely cross paths with anyone else along the way, even though the eye of michael is anything but lacking when it comes to its members. but you appreciate that fact. socialization is often more unpleasant than the solitude.

your luck runs out on the 28th floor.

the elevator grinds to a halt unexpectedly, ninety seconds earlier than it should. your eyes flicker up from your feet to the panel on the opposite side of the narrow elevator car, and you realize that it's stopped to pick up another passenger. you press yourself to the wall in anticipation of the doors sliding open, your eyes rushing to resume their downturned gaze.

you know who enters the confined space without looking up. you'd recognize him even without the disdainful kiss of his teeth that he makes as he spots you while he steps across the threshold.

bluesummers.

his presence is effortlessly suffocating; the doors sliding closed behind him leave you feeling deprived for air. legato doesn't need to touch you, doesn't need to exert his power over you at all, and yet you still feel as though his hands are on your body--every part of your body--like his presence is crushing in on you from every side.

the sensation makes you feel sick.

"learn to greet your superiors," he sneers.

if you had greeted him, he would have taken issue with that too. legato bluesummers would find any reason to fault you if he could. any means to justify a punishment.

"bluesummers," you murmur weakly, lifting your head and nodding in his direction. his lip curls in disgust at the sound of your voice.

he must have returned that day while you were working. he'd been gone for weeks now, from what you could tell, sent out into no man's land on a mission that you didn't have the clearance to know the details of. his departure was something you had learned only in passing, only because you're always listening even when no one thinks you are. you knew he was gone, and you knew who had gone with him.

and now you know they're back.

the doors open on the 20th floor, but you feel no relief.

you won't feel safe until you're back inside your own room, with the door closed behind you. won't feel any semblance of comfort until the elevator carries the man beside you further away.

you step out past him briskly, moving much faster than you normally would, and don't spare him a second glance. you feel his eyes on you every step of the way back to your dorm, until the elevator doors slide shut once more.

getting back to your room is your singular focus, but seven doors down from your own quarters in the barracks, you pause. the doors had been open that morning, because the occupant had been away.

they're closed now, but they aren't locked.

the man shut behind them had long-stopped trying to run, too.

you stare at the panels of metal that seal the small room shut, reaching out until your fingertips are just shy of brushing the surface. you stop before they make contact, your outstretched hand curling into a tight fist.

you turn and continue walking back towards your own dorm.

your room is the same as it always is as you step through the doorway, and the mechanisms of the door groan unpleasantly as the two panels of metal join together when the shut behind you. it takes a moment for the overhead light to flicker on, which leaves you trapped in darkness temporarily, but when the bulb does eventually come to life something unexpected catches your attention--a glimmer of something that shouldn't be there peeking out from underneath your thin pillow.

your heartbeat knocks against your brittle ribs as you tiptoe closer.

it's small. littler than the tip of your pinkie finger. tiny enough to cradle in the palm of your hand. it's a carving of some sort, made of an unidentifiable ore. you aren't sure what it's supposed to be, or what it's made of--you haven't seen enough of the world outside of julai tower to know things like that. but it's cool to the touch. even as it rests against your skin, it doesn't seem to leech any of the heat from your body. it glitters in the light overhead. it's delicate. pretty even.

your throat feels tight.

quietly you crouch beside the edge of your bed, snaking your hand underneath the corner of your thin, lumpy mattress. from below you pull out an old, threadbare pillow case you'd hidden away years ago. at the bottom of the case a few things rattle around. a thimble. an old coin. a few shiny rocks. a broken watch-face. some small wood carvings, half-rotted away by time. you add your glittering little trinket to the collection, admiring it for a moment.

you think of the boy who had given them to you. a secret shared only between you both. a meaning in the little treasures that you don't know how to understand.

you think of livio, seven rooms away.

you pack the items carefully back into their pillowcase, return it safely to its hiding place beneath your mattress, and then you crawl into your bed overtop.

the light above your head flickers as you peer up at it drowsily. it's not unusual to see it dim and brighten sporadically, the inconsistent buzz a long-familiar sound you've learned to filter out. it won't keep you awake the way it used to. won't burrow itself into your brain it the same manner that it had once driven you mad.

it's easy to ignore it now.

it's easy to shut your eyes and let the world disappear.

it's easy to focus on other things. nicer things.

like the feeling of cool metal against your skin. the slight lump you can feel underneath your mattress. the steady thump of your heart.

sleep comes to you more quickly than it has in weeks.

you're happy that he's home.

#livio x reader #livio the double fang x reader #trigun drabble #trigun writing #writing

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