#fucking overrides mad as hell

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Alastor - [ CONTROL ]

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[ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ CNC ] + [ SLIGHT BONDAGE ] + [ MENTIONS OF BLOOD ]

( as always lmk the artist for the fanart so i can tag them properly thanks)

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Hours.

You’d been at Alastor’s complete mercy for hours…

All because you dared to tell him ‘no’ once. You hadn’t meant to let the defiant response out but in the moment you were overwhelmed and extremely emotional.

It wasn’t your fault that every emotion you felt doubled in intensity during your heat, triggering a less than agreeable version of yourself, and consequently making your giving nature highly restrictive.

How could you give anything to anyone when all your mind could comprehend was taking from them? Using anything and anyone for pleasure or downright zoning the rest of hell out to think about doing it nonstop.

You couldn’t function properly like that and Alastor took advantage of your distracted state time and time again.

He’d spawned into your room, proclaiming he had a task for you to complete, one that ruined your solitude and would take all day.

“My dear, return this to Rosie for me,” he set a stack of books on your disorientated bed, not at all bothered by the glare you shot him as your head peeked from under the heavy duvet you’d curled into.

Couldn’t he see you were busy?

Nearly encompascited at this point, unable to speak without whining, and noticeably shaking as if your body was withdrawing from some awful drug.

In a sense, it was, but withdrawal wouldn’t cure your state.

However, Alastor refused to leave until he heard a response, standing stock still beside your bed with that devilish smile plastered on his face, and the sight drove you mad.

He was so infuriating, looking over you all the time, demanding one thing after the next, and always acting smug…

Telling what to do, when to do it, and how..

Controlling nearly every move you made with a single look, languid gesture, and passive command…

Oh, how you hated being under his unruly thumb but every time hatred surfaced a dull annoying wave of arousal would follow.

Alastor owned you, the essence of your soul, and yet every instinct and nerve you possessed was more agitated by the fact that he wasn’t staking a claim on your body as well.

So, out of pure spite, and slight uncharacteristic boldness you sat up on your knees and got right in his face. Alastor’s gaze raked over your flustered body as you carelessly unraveled yourself from the covers, almost bare in his presence if it weren’t for the oversized dress shirt you’d put on, but he wasn’t given much time to admire your smaller frame trying to size up his larger one.

His attention no longer mildly revolving around your exposed skin but rather the spiteful “No,” you hissed out.

That was new…

Alastor could’ve sworn your soul was his and not your own…which meant refusing him should never be an option.

You watched as his eyes narrowed at you, his grin widening as anger clouded his aura, but unlike other instances you didn’t shrink away or apologize.

No, you decided to take it further. Wanting to push the radio demons limits since he so proudly proclaimed that ripping your soul to pieces wouldn’t be a bother to him.

Maybe then he’d touch you or at least end your suffering through this heat.

“What did you just say to me?” Alastor seethes, static overriding his voice more than usual as you smile at him defiantly and repeat yourself loud and clear.

“I said: No. So, fuck off and find another poor soul to do your bidding…”

Alastor for the first time in a long time since his arrival in hell felt hot rage course through him as you collapsed back into bed like you’d won whatever argument you thought he was entertaining.

You heart was racing as you curled back into the covers, core throbbing with anticipation as his eyes burned holes into the back your head, and the demeaning silence seeming louder the longer he stared.

His ears twitched, smile almost a wicked snarl as his anger began to manifest into physical prowess. “Surely, you’ve mistaken me for someone who cares what you want or think…” he seethes, letting his natural voice ring freely through your room.

Not a good sign at all…not for you, anyway…

A sharp searing pain entraps your throat, a very familiar green chain binding itself to your neck, and with one swift tug on it Alastor has you up on your knees facing him again.

You instinctively wrench your head back, teeth gritting together as your hands fly up to claw at the materialized collar, but your efforts for freedom prove useless when Alastor yanks the restraint so harshly it chokes you for a solid minute.

“I’m more than willing to correct that assumption, darling. “ His lips brush yours as he speaks, sending shivers through you with every word, but you find the will to respond defiantly.

“You wouldn’t dare…” you snicker at the overload, attempting to jerk back from him again, but failing miserably as Alastor pulled the chain taut around one hand while raising the other to grip your jaw.

His claws dug into your cheeks, nearly drawing blood from the sheer pressure he enforced to keep you still, and you only complied when the pain became distracting.

You’d surely have marks left on your face but it was worth it. At least then everyone might realize how much of a fight you put up with Alastor, that despite being indebted to him you fought for freedom every chance you got, and had the scars to prove it.

Though he did find your stubbornness amusing most of the time, at this particular moment you were taking his patience too far and he was well aware it wasn’t intentional -more so a side effect of your predicament- but what was the fun in excusing your behavior on a technicality?

You would need to learn your place one way or another.

“Is that a challenge, little doe?” Alastor held your gaze, his shadows beginning to emerge and slither around your body. The ghostly chill they emitted never faded, cooling your burning skin as each spectrum bound your wrists, snaked around your thighs, and twisted up your entire torso. Alastor hummed in approval as the shadowy tentacles tightened, pressing the red linen fabric of the shirt to your skin, accentuating every curve you had and gradually riding the hem of it higher up your thighs.

You jolted feverishly, relived to be touched finally, but beyond agitated with your current position. Every shift and twist of the shadows sent a surge of arousal to your core, causing slick to drip down your legs, and the sensation threatened your ego.

Were you really about to cum from being talked down to and restrained? By Alastor no less, the very reason you’d lost free will, but the only demon you fantasized about constantly…

“Don’t look so fearful, my dear. I only wish to teach you a much needed lesson….” You stiffen as a shadow passes over your clothed cunt, sliding back and forth at his will, and easing more cum out of you with every motion.

“S-stop..” you moan softly, wanting to fall forward against his chest as your thighs trembled, but you’re kept perfectly balanced without Alastor’s direct support. He watches, drinking in the way your defiant expressions dissolve into lucid pleasure induced hazes, and keeping careful track of how fast his shadow slithers over your cunt. Your head drops as the world starts to spin around you, everything feeling fuzzy as the knot in your stomach tightened, and any resolve you had left fading quicker than you anticipated.

A perfect picture of submission…

Alastor dipped his head then, leaning over you to get a taste of your skin, teeth nipping at your ear, and his tongue dragging along the flushed skin of your neck. “Mmmm….d-don’t,” you whimper and shake, unconsciously arching your body closer to his as your eyes slide shut, but he simply ignores your pleas. His subtle licks and bites progress to intentional kisses, earning desperate moans from you, and desiccating what little self respect you had left.

It was hard to think straight, wanting to come undone already, and your cunt clenching around nothing with only his shadows dragging across your slit in a set pace. String after string of wanton moans leaped from your throat as his specters fondled your body, squeezing your breasts, swirling your waist to keep your hips rolling against your will, and securing your arms in a painful bind behind your back.

Alastor tugged on the chain occasionally, laughing into your ear every-time you choked on a sob or preemptively gasped for breath, and the contrasting sensations left you unprepared and incredibly delirious.

“N-nigh…ahm’m! Hah…hah…ah…” you struggled one last time, losing strength as your legs buckled indirectly shifting your balance to one side. Alastor let you fall, finding your state pathetic, but amusing.

His shadows never ceased as your back hit the mess of covers on your bed, seeming to get bolder as they slithered under the dress shirt, and held your legs apart to give the owner of your soul a clear view of your drenched cunt.

Alastor took quite a good look too, slowly lowering himself to be face to face with your heated core as he spoke down to you, “My, my…you truly have some worth to me now, ma chère…. I hope you don’t mind if I have a taste…” The stag peered up at your flushed expression, smile widening seeing the panic in your gaze flicker with eagerness, but the animosity ever present.

Hate.

You truly did hate Alastor.

He found it the most appealing aspect about you, a girl so desperate for power, now naively giving it away to him after failing to attain any.

A hatred he could consume, taunt, and use to keep you in line.

Even now, as his tongue replaced the shadows task of ravishing your cunt he could feel the waves of anger merging with satisfaction pouring straight out of you and into his waiting mouth. He hummed against your folds when you hips lifted sparactically, wordlessly begging him to go further, push your harder over the edge.

“Fuck…fuck! N-no…y-yes!..” you cried endlessly, out of breath as he lapped up your essence, “So…indecisive…” Alastor drawled against your cunt with a smirk gracing his slick lips.

You attempted to sit up, struggle, or scramble away from him altogether but his shadows wrestled your small body down into submission again. The air grew thick, laced with hushed radio static, and faintly distinct screams of the many souls Alastor had ripped and devoured to shreds mixed together. It was a warning to you -a threat in Alastor’s definition- and you broke into a cold sweat as he sat up on his knees to glare down at your trembling form.

Alastor tilted his head, red eyes threatening to dilate, and a green hue starting to flicker around him.

“Move again without my explicit permission, my dear, and I’ll fuck you within an inch of your pathetic life before ripping what remains of your precious soul to pieces…”

Fear, wouldn’t begin to describe the blood chilling emotion that flooded you as his smile became eerily soft, not at all reaching his eyes, and the distortion in his tone reaching new heights as he lowered his face a millimeter from your own.

“Understood?” Alastor quipped, addicted to seeing your hopeful eyes darken with despair and lust when he threatened you into submission, “U-understood…” you mumble in return.

“Splendid! Now,….where was I?…”

The stag observed your restrained state, presenting a false sense of confusion as his shadows continued to toy with you, and when an inkling of a moan threatened to fly from your drooling mouth a tentacle invaded that space too.

Alastor chuckled lowly, finding the sight of you choking on the spectrum delightful, and your distressed gasps for air dwindling to pleasured whines becoming music to his ears. They flicked atop his head, perking up when you rolled your eyes to the back of your own while the shadow swirled in your throat as if searching for more warmth in your fragile body.

“Ah, I remember now. You were in need of my gracious assistance….” Alastor’s hands found your legs, claws grazing your damp thighs just hard enough to leave light red marks in their wake, and he only stopped scratching your skin to grasp at your ankles. He jerked your lower half closer to his own with a singular tug and you nearly gagged on his shadow as a yelp built in your chest from the rough movement.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as the need to breathe weighed on your lungs, hips unconsciously rolling to press harder into his obviously large erection, and in any other circumstance you’d fight for air over urging Alastor to fuck you…

But the thought of enduring your heat cycle for another minute erased any sense of logic you’d been clinging to since he’d barged in.

You needed him.

You needed Alastor to have his way with you… breathing be dammed…

He read your actions like a memorized book, snapping his fingers once to remove the shadow from your numbing mouth before bringing a hand up to cup your jaw. Alastor’s fingers squished your cheeks as he angled your head up to look at him directly.

Desire.

You desired him now, desperately.

Hate was no longer swirling in your watery eyes.

What a wonderful sight…

“Say it, mon chere…” Alastor spoke uncharacteristically quiet as you stared at him through your tear heavy lashes, “Ask me for help like the polite and sweet girl I know you to be…”

All your pride vanished, heat engulfing your body in waves as the need to be in control of yourself shut down completely hearing his gentle encouragement, “I need…” you began in a timid whisper, but Alastor clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he corrected you with low hum, “Mm mm, darling…where’s that ‘please’ at, hm?..”

“P-please!…ahmm…” you paused as a shaky whine tumbled from lips, shock coursing through you as he finally grinned his hips in rhythm with yours, “Please…help me…need your help…please A-Alastor…”

You babble, begging as he asked you to, and forgetting to care about how indecent you looked while doing so.

Alastor hummed in approval, letting you face go to unbuckle his belt and remove his bow tie before shrugging his jacket off. You watched in slight awe as more of his physique was brought into view. Alastor had a lean frame, seemingly slimmer than most demons at his power level, but that was all but an illusion apparently.

He was tall, hovering above you at a massive seven feet and another few inches, an evenly placed mass of muscle to match, and pale grey skin adorning a few scars. His usual demonic form portrayed him as prey but as you saw him now….he was far from the definition.

You were a bit terrified he’d unintentionally tear you apart in the current state he’s in -no antagonized version needed.

“There’s no need to be so afraid of me, little one…” Alastor mused at your wandering eyes, head lowered to the crook of your neck, and his tongue licking a long stripe over the skin there before he bit down hard.

“Hah!” You screamed in pain as his sharp teeth penetrated your skin, dark blood spilling into his mouth as he T asted your flesh, and no amount of your crying made the radio demon relent his greed for it.

You were tempted to kick around, smack him hard, and resist, but the memory of his very malicious threat ceased any fight or flight response you’d developed while under his control.

Alastor grinned, retracting himself from your throat with a lick of his lips, “You’re such a good girl… so well behaved for me now…” he praised you tenderly.

You shivered as he kissed the wound he made, his compliments causing a blush to burn your cheeks, and your stomach to so several flips.

“I could just eat you alive, sweetheart….” He panted into your ear, clearly feigning like a predator on the hunt for prey, and for once you were glad to be his next victim.

“Please do…m’ all yours…” you mumble in return, dazed out of your mind as he laughs while pushing the head of his cock past your drooling folds.

“Never forget it again, my dear. Ever.”

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Idk if is should turn this into 2 parts are not. I’ll see how you all like this one first and decide from there. Bye, loves! ❤️ Tune in again soon! ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Him + Lana = Perfect Combination 🥰 credit to creator ❤️

#alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor fluff #alastor hartfelt #alastor smut #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc #alastor x reader #alastor x you #fanfic writer #hazbin hotel fandom #cnc k!nk #Spotify

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Lazarus (Ghost x Medic!Reader Pt. 2)

"According to tradition, Lazarus never smiled during the thirty years after his resurrection, worried by the sight of unredeemed souls he had seen during his stay in Hell..."

Word count: 5.7 k

Tags and warnings: Angst, fluff, soft smut 🔞. Slightly possessive!Ghost. Graphic depictions of past suicidal thoughts. Dating, kissing, cuddlefucks, emotions (the most daunting cw there is). Unfettered prose about a grown man's complex trauma. Reader is female and works as a medic at the base. Ghost POV.

Summary: You've just started dating Ghost. (This is a standalone sequel to Refugee)

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses.

And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

. . .

They're some kind of a secret, although he doesn't know why exactly.

Perhaps because she knows enough by now. She knows he's a dead man.

A ghost.

And women like her don't date apparitions. They deserve more than just bones and a haunting: they deserve flesh and blood and solid ground. She deserves far more than promises he has no power or right to give.

He has no mandate for life. His is a half-life, and stolen; he's living on borrowed time.

She doesn't only protect his phantom, she shields herself from talk and rumors. It's only understandable. He takes everything she gives him, which is more than he deserves.

He fucks her to ruin on the conference table people share in the meetings. He makes her leak all over his desk during quiet afternoon hours of his office; he makes her come on his tongue in the fucking hangar after a long day, just to get the taste of dry desert sand off his mouth.

She stops complaining about propriety after that. After all, she's the one who came there on his call and allowed him to rip her pants down when there was only settling dust to accompany them in the quiet hall.

It doesn't take long to see that the woman's not actually complaining at all. She fucking loves it when he barges in and simply takes her.

And he buries himself inside her like she's the base. His home after a mission, his destined location after deployment. She lets him fuck her practically anywhere except on the floor.

That's his place. And he has no problem with lying down there in the filth, especially if it means he gets to watch how she sits on his cock until that pretty little face distorts with pleasure that looks like pain.

His field pants and navy blues have cum stains after his visits while she cleans herself up in no time, fixes her hair and looks as innocent as ever. His mask smells of cunt when he's trying to concentrate on missions, and the scent of her juice makes him hard while he's supposed to be instilling brass into bodies. He smokes cigarettes just to drive the maddening taste of her from his tongue.

He's gonna get killed one of these days. The irony doesn't escape him: it's not a bullet or a grenade that will take him, but that sweet, hazy memory of her cunt.

She's an obsession. He injects himself full of her like the most pathetic addict.

Until one day, she says it can't continue like this. That it won't do to rut like animals until the smell of mad sex coats the room she's supposed to stitch and staple people in.

It causes a small panic till she asks him to visit her.

In her home.

It sounds serious: it sounds like she wants more than just his cock. And he's fucking terrified.

Women think about whether to wear this dress or that on a date: he thinks about whether to put on the mask or not – he meditates on it for two whole hours. Everything else is clean and in order; he looks like a human and not a soldier. But he can't rid himself of the skeleton.

There's a storm coming when he reaches her place. It electrifies the air until his spine is full of thunder.

She seems surprised – happily so – when she finds him at the door, decent as can be. He gets one of those innocent smiles which are pure sin beneath.

"You came."

"Sure."

She doesn't ask why he's always wearing a mask. She takes what he has to give, which is his all, which he fears will never be enough.

"There's food–"

She lets out a delightful little noise when he picks her up and carries her to what looks like the biggest and softest bed he has ever laid a woman on, ever laid himself on.

So, she likes luxury. Or at least, comfort.

Softness. Hugs… Support.

And kisses, apparently, because his mask is lifted without permission. Not that she needs one.

"Simon, I made you some dinner," she laughs in his mouth, and he's smiling – she's the only one who makes him fucking smile.

"Later," he rasps with a sore throat – he has become soft, too, and it's her fault. He has barked orders all day, but with her, his voice always comes out quiet and calm.

Where her domain at work consists of harsh lights and sterile frigidity, her home is dark and warm like a womb. His senses are filled with lemon and thyme – she has made something he's never tried before, something… Mediterranean, perhaps. A culinary ambrosia for someone who has lived on dog food and tried to thrive on it.

It's a pity that he's a barbarian, and here for dessert. As much as he likes the dainty little thing she has put on just for him, it's not cunning enough to stop him from ripping it to shreds.

She protests at first with a posh little gasp, but then she spreads her legs like it's open season and he's the VIP customer. The laced, pathetic little thing lays in wreckage around all that softness creaming just for him, and his mouth shoots full of water.

The feel of her is better than sinking a knife between two ribs. She's velvet on his scar and coarse stubble and for the first time in his life, he curses the mask. She moans all around him, tries to grab him by the hair still under the black fabric.

And it makes him want to rip it off and let her yank and tug to her heart's content, grab his hair and push his face as deep inside her cunt as it goes.

He tries to fit inside her apartment, a serene space filled with scented candles and clean carpets and frilly little curtains that shift in the restless night wind.

He tries to fit inside her.

The attempt always makes her moan and tremble and sigh. It's hard to focus on the task at hand when he wants to freeze the moment to where her lashes flutter and she stops breathing for a second – when she takes him in with grace and hunger.

"Oh fuck…"

She swears this time, watches with helplessness and an open mouth as his cock slowly disappears inside her. Then she looks up at him like…

Like she's missed him.

"You're a brute," she whispers, eyes shining.

"Thought you liked brutes."

"I made you dinner and you…Ah…"

He arrives home, heavy and loaded with yearning.

First things first.

It has been a week, and there's been no time to relieve the pain, nowhere to go and wank off the sickness that festers inside him every second they're apart. And she's the only one who can cure his disease. But he does feel like a brute for not letting her feed him. When was the last time anyone made him anything?

The sea is booming now, roaring behind the window she has left open. This time, they're not fucking at the base, in some corner of a room with a lock hurriedly latched on. He's fucking her amidst doused lights and a seaside breeze that enters their skin through an open window. He's at the beach, even when there's no sun. The sands are even more stunning with a gathering storm.

He fucks her like a dog, and she looks at him with weak love in her eyes. She's looking up at him with those big, wet eyes like he's the best leader there is - like she's counting on him. Like the people under his command, those who ask for his advice, ask for the next move.

It drives him fucking insane.

It's even better than a good round of sex: that unbound look of adoration. His mask is a poor shield against all that. She slips past it like she's the expert in clandestine warfare here. And suddenly he doesn't want any more secrets. There's a ton of them already; he carries the weight of them in his soul.

He's an underdog, always has been, but he's also a hound for claiming her as his that night.

After he's done fucking her to oblivion, he descends. She comes alive like a jolt of lighting in his arms as he kisses her, then sucks the tender skin of her neck. Everyone's going to see it, he makes sure of that by using the tiniest amount of teeth to finally mark her. She moans an equal amount as she does when she's clenching around his cock.

"Did you just give me a hickey?" She asks, breathless when he's done.

"High time, don't you think," he mutters. The woman will look glorious on the beach and highly improper at work.

Lie down with dogs, get up with fleas…

"You're unbelievable." She only laughs at his obsession. The woman’s not afraid at all, even when she’s face to face with a monster. The sunshine of her smile pairs well with the crackle of thunder outside.

"You want a beer?"

He's too drugged to answer with nothing else than a surprised, drowsy blink. She laughs again and takes it as a yes, which it is. He stares in awe as the woman walks to the fridge, all naked and lax from his treatment, takes out a bottle, opens it, and brings it to him. She takes none for herself; she only serves him like he's some kind of a king. When he takes a sip, she smiles again: lighting flashes somewhere in the distance and gives her an aureole of light, a halo of an angel for a second.

"I'm gonna go take a shower." The wink she gives him makes it perfectly clear that she wouldn't mind him joining her. But as she goes by the mirror, the vision of his claim stops her.

"Simon…"

He gets a scolding, and it only makes the corner of his mouth tug.

"No concealer is going to cover this."

"That's the point," he takes another sip while lying on her too-soft bed. She shakes her head before walking to the shower. The eye of the storm is above him, and everything's silent, like he's lounging on a dream.

The bottle in his hand sweats cold condense in his hand, and like always with her, he finds himself in the present moment. He drinks the beer in less than ten seconds, then takes the mask off and leaves it somewhere among the sweat and cum stained sheets.

It's the first time she has seen him without the shield, the first time she sees his body in full light. Every protrusion of white scar, every part of uneven skin, every marring of two and three stage burns is visible as if he is on a well-lit stage.

"Well. Pleased to meet you."

The smile that greets him, the veil of surprise that draws aside to reveal pure delight and marvel is more than worth the risk. She's frozen in time with a bottle of shower gel in her hands, too preoccupied with the trust he has decided to arm her with. She now has power over him, but he proceeds to do what he came here to do. Which is to make her sing a second time.

"For what do I owe this pleasure–"

The bottle falls on the tiles with a soft plunk as he steps between her legs and lifts her against the wall.

On that, she doesn't only kiss him; she takes the scar of his lip between hers and sucks. The warm water is nothing compared to her hands which sweep up and down his back and release years and years of tension. She whines when he only gives her shallow thrusts, then tries to claw his back to get more of his cock. It makes him chuckle.

"Needy," he comments on such delightful hunger, and she lets out the most annoyed, frustrated noise he has ever heard on her.

"Stop teasing, Riley…"

She tends to use his last name when she's fed up with him. It's supposed to create distance, but it only makes him latch himself onto her more fiercely.

He could torture her, delve deep, dig out even more frustrated sounds from her, but that's a quest for another time. He grants her wish along with his own and slides fully in. She kisses him through the whole fucking, and he feels like he's in boiling water, cooking until the raw meat grows tender and prepared.

And he realizes he's not actually fucking her: he's making love to her. He didn't even know he could do that.

When they've had their fill, the water takes away his gift. It feels wrong that something meant to be inside her leaks down some filthy drain. It's like a testimony, an illustration of his whole life: that his essence, his worth, belong in the sewers.

"You're a beautiful man," she whispers on his skin while caressing his back filled with past torture. His stomach churns, he feels like throwing up and falling asleep at the same time. An odd sensation.

She holds his mutilated corpse under the descending water and breathes life into him. The vomit never comes. He exhales history on her skin, inhales some peace in its stead.

In the morning the sound of thunder has been replaced by myriad birdsong.

. . .

He never meant to bring her here, but the wind on the beach is too harsh today and she's cold. It would be ungentlemanly not to get her a jacket from his apartment when it's only a few hundred meters away.

"To say that this place needs a woman's touch would be an understatement, Riley."

There's little else here but a tv and a fridge. He doesn't need either of them, but they're there to remind him what a home should look like. She takes the deafening silence and barren wasteland well, far better than he ever imagined she would.

"Y'can touch anything you want."

She turns and raises an eyebrow – he already knows that look. He's in for it now.

"Smooth... Very smooth." She walks to him and pushes him to the armchair. Not with force, because she doesn't need it. He falls to the sagged old thing like it's suddenly cloud nine rather than his old deathbed.

He waits for her to climb onto his lap and ride him until the chair breaks under the weight of their love. He could use a new chair anyway.

But she doesn't do that.

She gives her what this place has been missing.

A woman's touch.

Her mouth is hot as hell, wet like the gulfs that used to drown men in the sea centuries ago. She's a siren with her songs, but this time, she's quiet.

The room is not: the deathlike silence is suddenly filled with wet urgency and sloppy sounds of adoration. All his hauntings recede to the shadows like the blowjob is a whole exorcism.

His head falls back, and the first charred moan coats the air like it's been entombed for decades. And it has.

She is encouraged by the sound, and the tongue that sweeps the underside of his cock sends him jolting from his shallow grave.

Jesus fuckin'–

"Fuck…" He tries to blink back tears or death while looking at the crumbling paint on the ceiling. He feels equally worn out on her tongue: old and a lot of work, but a woman's touch is like magic.

"Mm–h." She dares to moan on his cock as if it's the best thing she's had in her mouth in decades, too. She even brushes her fingertips over his balls like they're some newfound treasure. They pull taut under her touch, stupefied by the sudden attention.

He can feel the upcoming blaze. It gathers at the base of his spine, his cock is brick-heavy in her mouth, and she won't stop – fuck, she goes even deeper…

"Fuckin' hell, pet…"

His thighs bunch and spread, a scorching groan erupts like he's a volcano and not a man. That's when she gives his cock a long, torturing suck, and he's gone, there’s no time and space other than her hot velvet mouth that surrounds him like the hot core of a star.

She adds a hand at the base of him, and he explodes so hard that he barely has brain cells left to worry about whether she will choke on it. But she doesn't even gag, even if the first spurts must be more than generous.

Fuck, this woman…

He melts in the chair while she finishes the rest of him, takes all he has to give, like she always does. They're an odd pair: an angel and a demon, and he feels like he's finally saved, resurrected – this room, this chair has never seen anything like this.

It's different with her, the emptiness that comes after. It's not filled with grief but deliverance.

He wants her to know what she’s just done, but he knows the things he's good at, and he knows the things he's not. Words are one of those things. She moans and begs and shatters and swells in his arms, she takes on a volcano and resurrects corpses long since dead, and he still doesn't know how to tell her. That he's hers, that he wants to make her feel as good as he bloody fucking can. He could be tortured for days and he still wouldn't know the right words. He tries to tell it to her in other ways and sees how she settles.

He would rather kill the whole human population on this earth than see her settle for anything.

So he forces the strange words out, fleshes them on his tongue and pushes them through teeth to haunt the stale air of his apartment that has never seen such love before.

"I missed you."

Of course it sounds so odd that she laughs. Bitter, too.

"You missed my tongue."

"No. I missed you."

She finally raises her eyes to his, doesn't try to blink back the watercolors. Those eyes are shining; they're beckoning.

"I missed you too," she says, then lays her head on his thigh like she's only a humble servant begging for mercy.

It's a farce. He's a skeleton, a ghoul of useless rubble while she's celestial; she's summer, a fucking empress.

It rips his chest to see her on her knees on the dirty floor, that she's comforting him in a chair that should've been his disposal site. The leather was supposed to be painted with shards of bone and puddles of pink-white brain; this room was supposed to echo with a single blast of a gunshot, not with roars of fragile love. He would've been found relatively soon, the neighbors wouldn't have had to complain about the smell: after all, the military takes care of their own. A lieutenant's absence wouldn't have gone unnoticed, even if everything else in him would never have been missed by anyone.

He brushes her hair, and she sighs, oblivious to his past hell. All nine circles of it, an inferno that would put poets to shame. And she doesn't know she has pulled him from the depths just by smiling.

. . .

"Promise to come back."

"Yeah I promise."

He can't promise that. Fuck, that he wants to.

Every bullet acquires sound, like that birdsong from her little window. They gain weight, they start to carry death. It used to be his power: to bring destruction. He was put on this earth to reap.

Now he's alive.

He's suddenly a man who can be killed.

Now everything's bright like he's a newborn trying to get used to a world full of pain. Light and sound and time and space; mortality.

Sharpened instincts have never been his friend. It used to be a simple dance: knife out, knife in. Drop 'em.

Line the sights and deal extinction. Walk like a ghost until the battering ram announces there's death coming.

It takes him a while to understand where the sorcery lies.

It's in the senses. She's sensuous.

"Simon–"

He hears her in the shaded crevice of rocks, catches phantom notes of vanilla from the dry desert air that tries to push through the filthy fabric of his mask. She’s with him just before the hatch opens, and for the first time in his life, he hesitates before the jump.

She tastes round and sweet after the tang of blood and smoke and metal of the field. She feels like warm, cascading water after the bleak, dead weight of a gun that leaves his hands throbbing with recoil. Her skin returns the memory of Paradise until it overrides everything else.

She's a soft blooming to the senses. And his have been blown wide, torn apart, shot full of noise. There's an amputated, burnt stump where there should be a limb and some soft skin. But still, a blast that burns flesh from bones is not that different from her soft whisper that has the power to level him like a nuclear wind.

He has to learn how to come back to his senses. It's a joke that makes him wish he could shed tears. Luckily, she's the best teacher he could ever have.

"Fuck, Simon…"

He tries to quit smoking just to be able to taste her better. A scorched tongue is a curse when a man can't get enough of cream and silk.

"I need you. Need you so much. You don't even know..."

He knows. He knows that the depth of his need surpasses hers; it always has and always will.

The last time he saw her wasn't at the base; it was when he woke up to the sight of her foraging for orange juice from the fridge with his sweatshirt on. She combined sultry lace and bare, smooth skin with an old, black hoodie.

And it swallowed her. All his darkness. She only looked sleepy and content while being smothered by all that dark cotton.

"I'm gonna make some breakfast," she announces upon seeing he's awake. "You like bacon and eggs?"

What the fuck did I do to deserve you.

She knows full well she could offer him a chest filled with gold, and it wouldn't be half as tempting as her little American breakfast.

"That'll do."

He was supposed to go to the shower but instead, his feet take him right back to her. She gives him a pleasant hum when his hands fall on her shoulders and start to rub some stress away. He knows it will make her moan, as it does now. She leans a little into him, surrenders to his treatment.

"Simon… Do you come here just for sex?"

The hiss of cooking bacon almost drowns the question. Just one syllable less, and the question would be as she originally meant it to be.

Does he come to her just for sex.

"No."

She turns to look at him with a shy little smile. It makes him want to crush her against that counter until those lips part with a helpless sound.

"I like your cooking."

"You…ass," she laughs, shoves him lightly.

He treats every day like it’s his last with her, waits patiently for her to realize he is not the man she thinks he is. Under the bones he wears there’s only more bones, nothing more. She can feed him all she wants, but it will only make him more hungry; and a day will come when she sees he’s not actually a man at all but a yawning, six feet grave.

The black cotton hugs her and makes it falsely look like this woman belongs to him. It’s another round of torture to see how she takes his shirt, takes his cock, plays with the only things he can give her for a while or two.

She has the sweater on as she gives him the softest farewell smile. She adds a few words, some more detail to her request. In truth, it's his new protocol.

"Promise to come back to me."

He doesn't ask for the sweatshirt back.

She's left with it and his promise.

. . .

"Poor lass's always sulking when you're on those solo missions."

He knows that Price might know about them by now. But if Soap knows, everyone knows.

He doesn't care: after all, the woman doesn't even try to conceal the seductive looks and dreamy smiles she gives him whether there are other people present or not. They're not a secret anymore. Perhaps that's the way she wants it to be.

But the information Soap gives him is new.

"She is?"

He goes straight to her after the plane lands. Doesn't give a single fuck about that smug look the boy gives him.

She looks slightly surprised as he simply walks in: she can see he's filthy. He has grime on his hands, on the fingerless gloves that make it easier to operate a gun when there's no threat of sweating. He smells of smoke and ruin, gasoline and tobacco – a lousy compensation for her, a ridiculous substitute to calming his nerves when he knows the mission is going to be tricky. It already pisses him off that her cream will be mixed with smoke and disease again. He knows his weaknesses, which aren't many. But with her, he has learned it's not about the quantity.

The sorrow is briefly disguised from him. It's admirable: the way she tries to hide even the plainest of things. He knows her by now, knows that the sun casts shadows too. She should know he's the one she can cast them safely with.

The throat between the shoulders burdened by work and worries looks fragile in his hands. A bird's neck he could wrench without breaking a sweat.

"Mmh. I love your hands."

"Just my hands?"

He shouldn't be touching her with his filth, but he can't help it anymore. If she loves it, who is he to argue back?

Love your hands too.

Fuck, I love your smile. Your tits, your lips. That little pout you got when you don't get what you want right away.

I love–

She sighs. Then she cranes that beautiful neck, clings to him with one, tiny hand. "Why are you here, Simon?"

"Heard you were sulking," he mutters in her hair.

"What…?" She laughs. She laughs, but she's not happy. "What on earth are you talking about?"

She's shy. Reserved. Hiding behind a wall of humor and sunshine and smiles. His darkness penetrates it all.

"Heard you're devastated when I'm gone," he tries even more softly.

She could take it as arrogance. One of his lousy jokes. But she knows better than that.

"I am," she finally says, angel-soft. When she turns, there's finally sorrow in her eyes. She looks up at him, up, up, again with that stare that says I am yours to command. On the brink of tears; tears he wants to battle to the abyss. But his muscles are no use here.

Her lip trembles, just a little, when he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

"We can't have that."

"We can't?"

"No."

"Well what are you going to do about it?"

Her voice is soft, pleading. It's not a demanding question: the woman's simply out of it. She wants assistance, assurance.

What are your orders, sir?

She worries too much. Up until this point, he thought it’s just because she's dutiful, responsible, one of the best employees there is. But she's not tense from work.

It's not just the missed you's she whispers when his skin is at its most thin.

She fears losing him.

Stone-cold realism is required in his field of work; no sleight of hand magic can help him when he's facing the unavoidable. If the mission is impossible, he doesn’t take it. Because he can't change the unchangeable; he can't fight the inevitable. They both know he can't promise anything.

They both know he will do his best to come back. There was a time he would’ve considered it a blessing if he didn’t. Death used to be his only ticket to some peace.

She gives him an impossible mission, and he can't say no. Leadership is about taking care of people. His people. And she's more than just a subordinate.

He grabs her by the waist and raises her to the counter, relishes the way she gasps. She weighs nothing in his hands after cold, hefty cannons. It’s almost like she gains wings and flits to the tabletop designed for him to take her. It’s the perfect height for him to simply open his pants and alleviate her pain.

"Gonna fuck you until you cry."

She sighs. "You can't solve every problem with a gun or a cock, Riley."

The woman knows how to penetrate him, too. The stabbing doesn’t stop even when her thighs part slowly - she knows, just as much as he, that this is the best way to remind her just how alive he is. This is the only thing he can give her, and he is damn right going to deliver. His hand covers half of her thigh as he brushes a thumb over the sensitive inner side.

"You sure about that?"

That look of desperation makes him hard already. Her hands go about his neck in a perfect paradox with what she whispers next.

"Honey… Not here."

She calls him honey. As if this tar-black madness is only golden nectar to her.

"No?"

It’s not only sorcery, but necromancy: how she’s brought him back from the grave. No wonder such arts are considered dangerous. This is forbidden, and still, he cannot stop.

"Ya want me to stop?"

"...No."

He leaves most of her uniform on because he is in too much of a hurry to get between her legs. The woman molds herself against him the second his tip meets her folds.

"God, you feel good," she sighs as he slides in. It's like a prayer: both her words and his return back to the base. Alive.

"So fucking good…"

Fuckin' tell me about it.

She whimpers and clutches him like a little leech. Almost cries already.

"That's it. You just hold onto me."

If someone heard the way he's cooing in her ear, they would deem him soft in the head. He doesn't give a fuck.

Her moans chime inside his head like the softest, most beautiful opera. He has never been a man of high culture. The whole civilization could go to hell for all he cared. But she sings to him so beautifully that even a man like him can finally see the appeal. Legs wrap around him even tighter than those small hands until he doesn't know who's holding who here.

"That feel good..?"

"Yes… Don't stop, just don't stop."

She's almost limp in his arms. Good. He's managed to relieve that tension already.

He goes deeper, deeper, and a tiny hand that saves people instead of slaughtering them grabs him by the shirt, probably in an instinct to try and catch some skin. He can't see her face but the body against him trembles and shakes as he spreads her wide and pours love in her.

"No need to sulk, sweetheart. I got you."

She's crying, or laughing, or both. Of course she likes pet names paired with support. He adds it to the list of things the woman loves, the things he can give her. He hopes, half expects that she will shed some tears after shattering around his cock. She needs a good cry as much as she needs him. And nothing feels as good as this: being needed by her.

When she comes with an arched back and a scream he fears and hopes will reach every other officer here, he knows he can let go too. He's done his duty: now it's time to collect the reward. It's not transactional, she's not work, but she's still his responsibility. The woman's paycheck is fatter than anything he could ever get from his employer. He's inside her, but that doesn't mean she isn't inside him too. She's embedded in him in ways that threaten to swallow him and leave him on the shore like bleach-white bones on a beach. He stays inside her long after the waves have passed. She rests her head on his shoulder, and he doesn't dare to move.

"I still have your sweatshirt," she sighs while holding him.

"Good. Looks better on you."

"I sleep with it sometimes," she whispers and wraps herself around him so tight that he wishes he could be there every night to send her to sleep. Now she only has his memory as a company, some darkness far too big for her. "Sleep in it, actually."

His mind is like a wheel that turns around nothingness. There's nothing to hold on to; he's falling through starless space.

The eerie sound of gunshot echoes in his head, he thinks about the splatter of brain matter on the armchair; how there's at least one person in this world who would cry from hearing the news.

And not just any person, but her; a whole summer in one woman. A midsummer sun, missing some forgotten, weatherbeaten bones on a beach when there's plenty of flora and fauna to shine on.

"If you ever break your promise…"

She sniffs in his neck, and his embrace tightens instantly.

"Would rather die than break it."

His promise doesn't make any sense. Or perhaps it makes every sense. She finally cries like she's supposed to.

"Shh. I'm here now."

I'm not dead.

I'm not dead.

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley fluff #simon riley smut #ghost x you #ghost smut #ghost fluff #mw2 fanfic #ghost x female reader

[neverchecking]

Ok I saw the 🧜‍♀️ request and I have to ask for a part two

Can I have a yandere sky, fd,war, sage, CDI link ( excuses me princess) , Link between worlds, dark link x harpy reader please nsfw

You can!

I assume you meant Legend when you said A Link Between Worlds Link? And I think you also meant the animated Link (Courage) because CDI Link (Koridai) Is from a game. Those are the ones I wrote anyway. Also bc there are so many, these are shorter. And i know you also asked for Dink and FD, but I got lazy and didn't wanna make them a banner so...

(Have you guys ever seen the CDI scenes? Holy hell that is PAINFUL-)

Part one -> Here!

Smut so MDNI! 18+!

Smut CW: Breeding, Monster fucking, Reader is a harpy!, light baby trapping

A Bird's Eye View

・❥・Now, Sky, unlike the others, is used to birds. In fact, it was you who assisted him when he first began roaming the ground level.

・❥・You stuck by his side for the entire time before being left behind when he was deposited back on Skyloft.

・❥・He had tried finding you, but it was as if you just...disappeared.

・❥・So when he's on a ride with Crimson, and hears your distinct calls? He's thrown out whatever his previous goal was without so much as a flick of his wrist.

・❥・When he finds you hurt? He goes into total mother-hen mode.

・❥・When your bandaged and clean? hes just so ecstatic to see you again! He may be hovering, all but forcing food down your throat, but you have to understand.

・❥・He won't let you leave again.

<><><><>

"That's it, songbird. Nice and slow." His voice crooned smoothly over your warbled cries, hands holding your hips and easing your descent onto him. "You're doing so well."

You were a sight. Watching you above him, feathers ruffling as your body sheened with sweat, glimmering in the light around the room? It drove him mad with lust. Maybe desire? He just knew he wanted you. And he had you. You had come back to him!

He knew you were meant for him from the start. You had always been such a caring companion, perfect in every way. When you chirped at him for a cut a little too deep, or nuzzled up to him when the nights were a little too cold? He knew. When you shoved herbs and berries into his hands to boost his immune system? He knew. When you ran your taloned fingers through his hair, picking out twigs and bugs? He knew.

He knew that you were irrevocably his. His to keep and cherish and love and hold. Those were all privileges that were only bestowed upon him. He only had to give you your own privilege. One that would be exclusive to you and you alone.

And he knew exactly what he wanted it to be. Because he had seen you care for him. He had seen the way you fret and croon and-

And he wanted-no, needed to see you be that way with your child. No. That wasn't right either. Not your child. His child. A kid made from the two of you?

He was so excited to meet them.

・❥・You probably save him from that dragon knight. Yk the one? In the beginning of the game? Him.

・❥・It probably leaves your feathers scorched and that's where he steps in. He cares for you with his basic military first aid knowledge.

・❥・You prove to be useful in battle, acting as an aerial advantage, so he keeps you close.

・❥・Your especially helpful when it comes to Cia. Your an unaccounted for variable. And she doesn't like that. She can try and get rid of you, but because Wars keeps you so close, it doesn't quite work out.

・❥・This only deludes him further, because if this powerful sorcerer that has a hand in time and space, can't separate you two, nothing can.

<><><><>

The hand around your throat tightened just a bit as his hips crashed against yours. In the back of his head, he worried about hurting you, but he had a mission that needed to be fulfilled.

As a Captain, the mission would override any concern.

He needed to ensure you stayed with him. That no matter what, you stayed by his side. And what was more damning than a baby? A person who would rely on the two of you so heavily that you would never even think of leaving him.

And that's what he needed. He needed you to stay with him. He needed you to remain with him, with your unyielding loyalty and unbending ferocity. You were everything he needed in this life. And the thought of you having his baby? Was something he also needed. Just the thought of having this perfect little nuclear family made his nerves buzz. He would provide and you would stay by his side.

Like a good little bird.

・❥・I can't tell if I hate this guy or love him.

・❥・I just- I think i mostly wanna hit him.

・❥・Now, I don't know a lot about the animated series, but I have too much self respect (/j),

・❥・But he probably meets you through Sprite. She seems like the type to be like 'Look who I met' to attempt to rub it in your face, but it backfires.

・❥・Courage finds himself too enamored with your glorious feathers and effervescent eyes, immediately laying it on thick. He's complimenting your eyes and your smile and the way the light reflects off the apples of your cheeks.

・❥・If you dare even giggle at his honeyed words, he knows he's got you. Hook, line and Sinker. Now, Courage is more of a brawn over brains type of guy, but he's still a link. He knows how and when to go on the down-low.

・❥・And, honestly, who's better suited for you then the hero of Hyrule?

<><><><>

"Come on, Princess. I know you can do better." He knew his smirk was infuriating if your low grumbles were anything to go by. "How can you prove you want my kid if you don't work for it?"

You gave a challenging look, bounces speeding up as you leaned into his space. You gave a low trill, feathers moving in a wave of agitation as you did, teeth bared down at him . It was so cute seeing you act so aggressive. Like you would ever stand a real chance against him. It was almost daunting- how trusting you were of him. How you just believed everything he told you.

How you trusted he would ever let you out of his sight.

How you trusted he would never use whatever means necessary to get what he wants from you.

How you trusted that he wouldn't do anything to keep you tethered to him.

But he would. Because once you were tied to him, once you were his in every way- with a fat ring on your finger and your belly so swollen you couldn't see you feet- you wouldn't be able to escape. There was no where in this kingdom nor the next that he wouldn't be able to find you. Not that it would matter. Once his child was safely growing, you wouldn't be able to move fast enough to get rid of him! You would lose your, aerial advantage, your running and hiding abilities would be greatly hindered, and should push come to shove, he wasn't against using the triforce to keep you right where he wanted you.

Afterall, you wouldn't want the kingdom your child was growing up in to be destroyed...Right?

・❥・For Legend to trust you to this level, you must've met him at the beginning of his first adventure. In fact, you probably saved him when he was still young and inexperienced.

・❥・Thus proclaiming you as his most trusted companion.

・❥・After Koholint, he for sure latched onto you far more than ever before. He couldn't risk you being torn away from him too.

・❥・Because of what happened with Marin, he felt he had lost the ability to love. But you quietly and calmly reassure that he hasn't.

・❥・Thus leads to him just...knowing that you are here to stay. You won't be leaving him anytime soon. You won't ever leave him behind.

・❥・He lost his chance the first time and he absolutely refuses to lose it again.

・❥・Even if it means temporarily overriding your basic autonomy. You'll understand eventually.

<><><><>

He knew his other form sometimes bled over into his hylian one. it was something he learned to live with and, sometimes, battled with depending on his mood and the circumstance.

He was sure this was part of that.

He had heard the saying 'Fucking like rabbits' but this is just a little ridiculous. It wasn't all that unwarranted however. He needed to mark you as his. Brand you and litter you with enough hickeys and bitemarks to have even the most dense boys (Because that's all they were when compared to him) backing off.

Legend had lost too much in too short a time to take any chances. Honestly, it was a miracle that you were still here. Hylia had proven that she liked taking the most precious things in his life away from him (That fraud. Thinking she could outsmart him?! Thinking he would go down without a fight?! She had another fucking thing coming.) and you had held that title for years.

And you would. For at least a few more months. But even then, you would only have to share.

As he hoisted your legs up to your chest, folding you practically in half as he kept his rhythm steady and continuous (over and over again. Until you remembered the shape of him and only him.), he felt his lips twitch. He could see you now, cradling his and yours young. An absolutely precious little kit that would have your eyes, your perfect eyes, and maybe his nose. Who would be brought up with your gentle nature, but his intellect. Who would know no dangers of the outside world as he would destroy it to keep you two safe.

If it kept you two warm, he wouldn't hesitate to burn it all down.

・❥・Yall have been WAITING for this one.

・❥・Now, my broken little rat. He probably meets you up on the Sky islands. You probably help him get down and he just...latches onto you.

・❥・When you stick with him, even down on the ground and into the depths, he slowly learns to trust you.

・❥・If your patient with him and let him move at his own pace? You aren't leaving. He has let too many people leave and let too many people fuck him over.

・❥・He will not let you do the same. In fact, he's thinking of a million and one ways to keep you with him.

・❥・while all of the boys will think a5bout it, Sage is the only one to actually genuinely clipping your wings. You can't leave him if you can't fly, now can you? He's faster than you.

・❥・ Let's say, for the sake of it all, you happen to befall an accident that makes clipping your wings necessary. While he isn't super excited about you being injured in any capacity, he is a little grateful that he didn't have to do it.

・❥・And on the plus side, he gets to be the good guy and nurse you back to health!

・❥・Not flying health (He has no idea why your wings aren't healing like the rest of you), but healthy enough he can enact his own little plan.

<><><><>

"Shit."

His voice quivered as he bent over your own hunched form, keeping your chest pinned to the counter he had deemed acceptable. His one hand remained locked onto your hip while the other snaked up your chest to gently wrap around your throat. There was no pressure behind the action, just enough to keep you right where he wanted you.

Keep you perfectly still while he pumps you so full of cum you'll have no choice but to carry his child. You won't ever be able to leave then. No, you were kind. Too kind for his world. Too nice, too much of a beacon of pure light to ever do that. You would never deprave a child of his father, nor would you deprave a father of his young. And he knew this. If he planned on capitalizing that fact, just a little, that was no one's business but his own.

Just the thought of you carrying a child, a perfect mix of both of you-- just as much yours and they were his-- was almost enough to have him thanking Hylia for you. For putting him through everything if only to gift him with you in the end.

Almost.

"Keep going, dove. Your almost there. Soon, we'll have a family of our own."

#linked universe #yandere linked universe #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #linkeduniverse #yandere legend of zelda #legend of zelda #loz #link x reader #cindersins #lu fierce deity #lu sky #lu sage #lu courage #lu legend #lu dark link #lu dink #lu x reader #yandere lu legend #yandere sage #yandere lu sage #yandere lu courage #Cursed Links #*Vector voice* OOOH YEAAH #Yandere lu sky

[kendsleyauthor]

I also love your new characters! But I love your old ones too. If you’re still doing prompts, dealers choice for #11? You’re amazing ❤️

SNOW ANGEL

Print / Trinket Universe (Micah and Everly)

~700 words

G/t dialogue prompt list

Aww I'm so touched by your love 🥰 Here's a bit of Micah/Everly wintery cuteness! ❄

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Where the hell is she?

Everly typically woke up before him, but she never strayed far from their shared room on the bus. This morning, he couldn’t find her working on schematics on her tablet, or tinkering with the various tech she’d scavenged, or overriding the vehicle’s AI to cuss him out.

“Ev?” Micah called.

As he stepped out of the room and into the narrow hallway, a chill snaked around him. The exterior door panel was wide open, and Everly was still nowhere in sight. He ducked back into his room and snatched the first pair of shoes within reach. He wasn’t sure what could have possessed her to leave the bus on her own so early in the morning—if she left by choice.

Premature anger bristled at the back of his mind. Crew members had bullied her into working off the clock before, but no one ever dared to drag her out of bed.

As he stepped off the bus, though, he didn’t have to look hard to find her.

Everly stood a few yards away with her back to him. Snow fell lightly onto the asphalt and stuck to the ground. She wore only a t-shirt and jeans, shivering like crazy but rooted to her spot.

“There you are,” he said, all the breath leaving his lungs at once. “What are you doing? You’re gonna freeze out here!”

Everly turned and looked up at him. Her eyes were wide—and for a second, he thought he was scaring her. But a breathless grin lit up her face. Every smile he’d ever gotten from her was hard-fought. Her sheer, unprompted happiness made him wonder if she was tripping on something.

“Uh…” He cleared his throat. “Don’t get mad, but you’re freaking me out.”

“It’s beautiful. Look at it.” Everly’s wistful sigh puffed past her lips like a cloud. She stuck her hand out and caught a few snowflakes, bringing her palm close to her face to examine them. 

Then it hit him.

She’d lived all her life in southern California. 

“You’ve never seen snow?” Micah dropped to one knee beside her, cocking his head to continue soaking in the unbridled joy on her face.

She shook her head. “Not the real stuff, anyway. A couple years ago, they dropped synthetic snow on the slums around Christmastime to boost morale or something. It was depressing as fuck. But this…” She cupped her hands, grinning as snowflakes gathered in her palms. “It’s not as cold as I thought it’d be.”

Micah laughed, reaching down with both hands to scoop her up. “That’s just the childlike-wonder talking.” His smile wilted when his skin brushed against her. “You’re so cold, Ev.” He swiftly brought her against his chest, eliciting a squeak of surprise.

“Relax, I’m fine!” She squirmed for a moment, but sure enough, she leaned into his warmth. “Okay, maybe…” She rested her forehead against his shirt. “Maybe it’s a little cold.”

He chuckled. “Let’s get you into some warmer clothes.”

“I… I don’t have any.”

Micah made a wounded noise. “I thought you said you looked through all the clothes I got you. Liar.”

“I-I mean… Looking through all of it would’ve taken me days.” She tugged at his shirt, and he peeked down at her. While she was definitely cuddling up against him for warmth, there was a certain sweetness to the way she rubbed her cheek against his chest. “But that means you can surprise me with an outfit. Won’t that be fun?”

Hugging her closer, he could already feel the chill vacate her little body as he stepped back inside. “Babe, we’re going through all your winter clothes. By the time we’re done, there’ll be enough snow on the ground to have some real fun. Wanna bet I can nail Xan with a snowball?”

“Only if I can also bet that he’ll murder you in your sleep.”

#gt #g/t #gt writing #g/t writing #gt fluff #g/t fluff #gt community #g/t community #my writing #size difference #gt fandom #g/t fandom #giant tiny #giant #tiny #gianttiny #oc: micah #oc: everly #gt story #g/t story #print universe #trinket universe #print universe story #trinket universe story #printverse #printverse story #sfw g/t #sfw gt

[polyklok]

Movies I think Dethklok members would really like

No this is not based on anything I’m just in a mood™ rn

Nathan Explosion

Mad God

So, no, I did not have any ounce of an idea of what this movie was about when I originally watched it, and I’m still not 100% sure tbh but an hour and a half of these pure vibes would totally be up Nathan’s alley. The post-apocalyptic setting, all the gore, the details of the various monsters, and I think he would just really appreciate it from an artist’s standpoint as well. This movie would just resonate with him, even if he wouldn’t have a fucking clue what was going on the whole time.

Mary and Max

I’m, personally, a bit on-the-fence about this movie, but it is undeniably sweet and I headcanon Nate to be on the spectrum so 🤷

This would be, like, his guilty pleasure film. The movie he knows is for kids and is totally not brutal but he loves it anyway. The, “I do not feel disabled, defective, or a need to be cured” really hits for him every single time. He rewatches it at least once every few months, especially when he’s in some sort of emotional slump.

Mandy

Another one that just like, like, big Nathan energy, you know? He just seems like a guy to really love loose plots with trippy visuals and strong emotions attached to them. Also, this movie is so completely badass, it is certified metal in his book. He also finds the story incredibly tragic; having the love of your life stripped away from you in such circumstances really tugs at his heartstrings, but in a way that gets him pumped up rather than sad. This is probably his go-to when people ask, “what’s your favorite movie?”

Pickles the Drummer

Son in Law

Okay this is my guilty pleasure movie. I usually don’t like stoner-comedy from the 90s, but this movie hits different. Maybe I just find Crawl hot. Anyway, I’m projecting that onto Pickles. He honestly probably finds a lot of crappy comedies to be peak film, and this is no exception. Pauly Shore pretending to be a country boy for a whole movie? Hells yeah. Pickles would watch while high off his mind, laughing his butt off and going to town on some cheez-its or something. And you know what? He deserves it.

Opal

I’m counting short films because I feel like Opal is the movie for Pickles. He’d watch it on a whim, because these are not usually the types of things he enjoys, and then he’d in tears over the emotional rollercoaster he did not agree to go on. Like, he grew up in a neglective household with authority figures that were overly-selfish and projected their own problems onto the youngest one in the house, to which he had to hide within his own brain more often than not just to properly function. And then he just…watched it happen all again in the hypnotic style of Jack Stauber. The Mom’s song had him in gasping tears for a while, the way you get when a movie somehow perfectly captures your own trauma right in front of you. And the ending??? Ugh. Go watch Opal, guys, it’s on YouTube.

Nathan and Pickles both get very emotional about certain stop-motion films, isn’t that crazy?

House

Thank you to Lucy for this Letterbox review that I think he would write

Anyway-

This movie is actually so insane. It’s not scary in a horror-movie way, like it meant to be, it’s scary as in ‘What the hell is happening and why do I understand it?’ Pickles doesn’t like most traditional horror films, as the long, quiet suspense bores him and the sudden jumpscares freak him the hell out way more than they should. But he loves the campy-wacko-type horror that they were apparently making in 70s Japan. It’s just scary enough to get his heart pumping, but the pure silliness of it all overrides that, getting him in a giddy mood and excited to see what happens next.

(No I am not done but tumblr won’t let me add more pictures)

#polyklok is real #metalocalypse #dethklok #dethklok headcanon #metalocaypse headcanon #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #Nathan explosion headcanon #pickles the drummer headcanon

[solradguy]

asking this off anon since it’s p obvious who’s asking, but what are your thoughts on asuka? obvs you think he got off light with sol but do you overall think he was mishandled in the story/dislike him as a character?

As a villain he's awesome.

When they established the core of his character/backstory in Overture, they had him almost like a sympathetic villain. If you read between the lines, there were events where the only choice Asuka could have made were ones that were going to paint him as a raw bastard to the rest of society, with the biggest one being the Black Sunrise when he overrode Justice to blow up Japan to keep the Universal Will from manifesting (and making humanity go extinct, probably).

His options were either to override Aria's control over her own body or to try to convince her to do it herself, which she may not have been able to do in time because trying to convince someone to wipe out 99% of a country of people is a hard thing to do lol It sucks for the characters, but as far as writing goes it's awesome. It's a complex choice, and complex choices tell a lot about a character.

He did something similar with Frederick when he put the Flame of Corruption in him. Asuka knew that he was going to lose control over the Gear cell research (implied at the end-ish of Begin) and needed something on the outside to deal with it once that research inside got out of hand (which it did—Crusades). He also needed to somehow keep the FoC away from the Scales of Juno because of the risk of an Absolute World (mass extinction event). Asuka very probably could have convinced Frederick to accept being infected with the FoC but he didn't even try, he just did it.

Asuka had hundreds of chances across the timeline of Guilty Gear to try to explain things to Sol and he never does until the very end of Strive. Of course, Sol probably wouldn't have listened to him anyway because, as far as he knew, Asuka killed/did something awful to his fiancée, betrayed him, and turned him into a supernova barely caged inside a human form. But he could have at least tried. Asuka is complex as hell, and it's fascinating how GG has managed to pull that off.

Until roughly Xrd. And it got worse in Strive.

I don't know what the decision there was. It's like the foundation for an Asuka redemption arc was being put down before they just went and dropped the whole house on it anyway. They needed him to still be a bit of a villain, but they wanted to start wrapping up the Sol/Asuka threads at the same time and it just isn't doing it, imo. Like I said in my reply on that other post, the FoC stuff between Sol and Asuka has been brewing since Missing Link, 25 years ago, and they "resolved" it in a less than 10 minute scene that was in the middle of another scene where the Earth was about to be blown up by God!I-No at the climax of the entire Strive story itself.

Sol's in-game lines about wanting to beat up Asuka and beating him up in honor of Aria confirm that Sol's still mad at him, but... man.... I want to believe they're going to loop back around and expand on all that a bit more later because right now it's a massively disappointing end to Sol's biggest story arc and to Asuka's character as a whole.

Asuka knows he fucked up, Sol knows it, the rest of the world still knows it too. They can't just be like "and then Asuka went to the moon and everyone forgave him because he helped a bit with some stuff." Fingers crossed Sol's planning something with that rocket in his backyard at Iseo. Even if it's just to go up to the moon and monologue at Asuka.

#asks #I don't think Strive's writing is absolute garbage or anything though. There's a lot I DO like about it #It just could have been better in some spots #Probably being developed through peak covid years is what messed it up....

[lenreli]

A Memory of Ashes

[AO3]

Carlo/Romeo, pre-game. 600 words.

-

It starts with a necklace, carelessly left in plain sight that the Puppet King picks up in his cold hands, something pulsing inside as he stares at it, drawn to it inexorably as he steps out of the huge outer shell of himself. Picking the necklace up from his outer shell’s fingers, he stares at the necklace as his head ― swims, a thumb brushing over etched writing on it.

“To Romeo, your friend C,” he parrots, knowing that those are the words on it, that he’s caressed the words many times, and knows them intimately. “C,” he repeats, something in him writhing and glowing. There’s a turning of cogs as he sighs, bringing the necklace closer to himself, bringing up to rest against his forehead― 

“I recently get you a shiny new ring and yet you still hold onto that necklace,” a voice complains affectionately, the name of the person on the tip of his tongue― 

“It’s not like I can do this with my ring, Carlo―”

“Carlo,” he whispers, mind flooding with memories as he clutches the necklace tightly to dent it slightly. Wincing, he lets go as there’s the sound of muttering, of someone coming ― the Creator, he realises with horror as he hides the necklace, brain tugging between what the fuck is going on as he goes back into the outer shell. 

As Geppetto comes into the room, Romeo idly wonders how he died and ended up in Hell.

-

Of course, Romeo realises quickly that Hell is just waiting to be unleashed as he’s taken over by the Creator’s commands, the Puppet Frenzy tearing his mind apart as he kills humans, as he tries to fight against the command, mind ticking over as slow memories of him and Carlo keep appearing. 

One of them being Carlo, dying of the Petrification Disease and Romeo’s sheer desperation, that even Geppetto may be a horrible, neglectful bastard not even worth the air he breathes, he’s still a genius and so― 

That memory, the sheer crazed desperation and fear he felt is enough for him override something, and he’s the King, the fucking King of Puppets, not some bloody show-pony for the likes of that asshole Giuseppe Geppetto―

-

And of course, Geppetto’s commands isn’t enough madness in Krat, with the Alchemist’s terrible experiments razing through the humans who haven’t died yet, and he recognises distantly that the same disease that Carlo―that he― 

Is the same one creating new monsters, and if Romeo were still human, he’d probably break down crying as he tells the puppets to beat back the creatures, keeping the worst out of the town out of some semblance of his old self, who wanted to protect this town, to protect Carlo―

Of course, to top it all off, the puppets tell him of a familiar looking human, a metal arm in place as Romeo tries to send messengers, to send messages over the Ergo, but there’s a wall in place.

And suddenly the ‘human’ is at the Opera House, and there’s a scramble as he tries to set up a final message, as he sees the familiar puppet fight through his puppets. And naturally, he thinks as the puppet enters his stage, that the puppet is a dead-ringer for Carlo.

A much younger Carlo, because he remembers that Geppetto saw him once as a teenager, was absorbed in his work as Carlo grew up, as they rented an apartment together, shared discreet kisses and confessions, became Stalkers together and there was a brief moment of happiness, joy, and Romeo’s not-heart throbs as he thinks of how Carlo was shyly growing his hair out, was becoming more himself and less Geppetto’s cast-off son, after so long― 

The puppet slaps his hand away, and Romeo feels pure rage as the look-alike frowns at him, using Carlo’s face, but clearly nothing like him. 

Something cracks inside him, bleeding out red and anger, and he attacks.

[Fin]

#lies of p #lies of p fanfic #carmeo #carlo geppetto #lies of p romeo #writing #so yes #my brain has been thinking abt them enough to actually do a thing

[earthstellar]

if cyber-fleas exist, OH NO

so I’m having a “fun” day off where I have to look up and see if the active ingredients in my field camping bug spray will interact with any of my medications or set off my eczema and I also need to go get flea spray and wash everything I own because my dirt cat got fleas somehow despite getting regular flea medicine, poor little dude :( already called the vet and have to pick up slightly stronger flea meds but at least it’s not too expensive so ayyyy 

BUT this gives me an idea!!! 

concept: Ravage helps out on an away mission on a weird planet everyone wanted to check out for some reason but ends up getting cyber-fleas and is SO FUCKING MAD ABOUT IT and it’s embarrassing, god dammit 

he goes to the med bay and Velocity promises to be 100% confidential about it, reassures Ravage that no she’s not gonna tell anyone, of course not, it happens sometimes, if you’re OK with it here’s what we can do about it, we have a couple options etc. 

but it’s close to mid-day refuelling time, so Nautica stops by to see if Velocity wants a nice fresh energon cube 

and ends up seeing Velocity in the middle of screwing the cap off of what is essentially a flea medicine dropper while Ravage is furiously chewing on his tail 

and it’s just so fucking clear that Nautica is trying SO HARD to restrain herself as she just sets the cube down and backs right the hell out of the med bay 

Velocity immediately starts texting her “YOU CAN’T TELL ANYONE, PATIENT CONFIDENTIALITY IS IMPORTANT!! OH MY GOD I CAN’T BELIEVE I FORGOT TO LOCK THE DOOR NAUTICA PLS I DON’T WANT TO GET YELLED AT FOR THIS” 

and Ravage is now chewing on his paw like “the faster you give me the medication the faster I can be out of here please just do your job. also less chance of me spreading cyber-fleas the sooner this gets done” 

and Velocity just goes oh shit because he’s right, cyber-fleas can potentially infest everything, FUCK

so she tries to figure out the correct protocols for dealing with external parasites but selects the wrong code (one digit off, it’s an easy mistake to make) 

which then pings all the other medical staff that there is a “potential contagious pathogen” on board and the med bay goes on a mid-level auto-lockdown 

and Velocity is like SHITTTTTT but trying to keep cool in front of Ravage who is immediately sick of this shit (and he also immediately realises that Velocity is not having a good day but isn’t roasting her for it because he promised Megatron he’d actively try to not be an asshole to anyone as part of building up more positive relations with the crew lmao) 

so now Velocity is getting pinged with Nautica going “I’M SORRY I’M SORRY” and Ratchet and First Aid are sending urgent medical staff pings asking for details on the potential pathogen because they have no idea what’s going on as they were both assisting with other away team members when this started but now they’re effectively locked out of the med bay 

and neither Ratchet nor First Aid want to use their overrides in case it might actually be something serious warranting a lockdown, lol

and Rodimus, Magnus, and Megatron are pinging her asking for a sit rep on the med bay in case they may need to divert other crew to support the medical staff or extend the precautions to certain sections of the ship 

and it’s fucking chaos 

but Velocity is like “uuhhhhh fuck it” and gives Ravage the flea medicine and starts frantically trying to figure out what she fucked up with the protocol code (because prioritising the patient is always good, right??? she may or may not be panicking a little lmao we’ve all been there tbh <3) 

meanwhile Ravage is resisting the urge to roll around a little (because cyber-flea medicine stings for a second and he’s fucking itchy right now to begin with) and pings Megatron directly to explain what happened (and also request extreme sensitivity when disclosing any further information to others because I Do Not Want These People To Know I Have Fleas) 

Nautica hears about the med bay lockdown from one of the away team members who overheard Ratchet and First Aid talking about it, and so she starts panicking a little too and decides to ping First Aid (because she doesn’t want to potentially antagonise Ratchet lmao) and let him know about what she saw in the med bay right before it locked down which makes her feel bad but also oh shit what if it’s serious????? 

but this just results in Nautica actually physically going over to where everyone is sort of standing outside the med bay now trying to figure things out and everyone is bewildered at her very emotional (and very fast and maybe slightly too loud) explanation of things to First Aid 

(and Ratchet who actually is standing right there also, but he’s just like “listen it’s good to let us know, you’re not in trouble, neither is Velocity or Ravage, we’ll figure it out” but he says it in a somewhat put-upon way so she doesn’t relax until First Aid gives her a thumbs up when Ratchet isn’t looking while he’s busy taking his turn trying to get the med bay door open, lol) 

eventually it resolves after Megatron starts sorting things out on the command alert side of things to deescalate the automatic protocols that are activated when the med bay triggered auto-lockdown, so Ratchet and First Aid do eventually get the door open. 

Ravage is pissed off that now there’s a crowd etc. but also the flea medicine seems to be working so hey he’s not that mad, at least not until Ratchet and First Aid both tell him that he has to self-quarantine in his hab suite until they can do a room visit and ensure that all the cyber-fleas are dead to prevent any spread to other crew members with mechanimal alt-modes etc. 

(Ratchet pings Megatron with some details about the recommended self-isolation for Ravage just because he knows Ravage is more likely to listen to Megatron than anyone else; Megs just responds with an OK emoji because he’s still busy sorting shit out on the bridge lol) 

Velocity does get a little bit of a talking-to from both First Aid and Ratchet, mostly First Aid (since Ratchet’s too old to be doing this shit and someone has to file the paperwork about it lol), but it’s nothing serious; it’s an easy mistake to make, and they spend the rest of the afternoon going over med bay protocol numbers and lockdown procedures for potential contaminants/various other hazards. 

(and also many reminders to lock the door when a patient is being seen, but it’s pretty clear this is a lesson that has been Super Learned on this day, so they don’t roast her too bad lol) 

Velocity and Nautica do get very drunk at Swerve’s that night but it’s fine, they’re just glad it didn’t spiral more out of control than it did lmao :’) <3 

all’s well that ends well!!! 

also once he’s out of self-isolation when all the cyber-fleas are confirmed dead, Ravage does send Nautica a text basically saying “thank you for not calling me a “little cute meow boy” or some other nonsense while I was in a state of acute medical distress” which he feels may be a slightly dramatic way of phrasing things but he really fucking hates cyber-fleas lmao 

(Nautica replies with “no problem!!! :)” but also saves a screenshot of the text and puts it in her digital collage diary for posterity, because she is getting better at making friends!!!!) 

#long post #does this count as some kind of fanfiction at this point #lmao I don't know #headcanon? #idw 1 #maccadam #maccadams #idw ravage #idw nautica #idw velocity #medbay posting #idw first aid #idw ratchet #idw megatron

[mathlann]

Private bitchery

It is a special type of hell to be someone stuck with a tendency for endless over rumination to have a mom who just moves through life like shes the only one in it. Cuz like, my mom is trying to schedule the tri-monthly fight again because "I don't communicate with her" which like, true I don't. But that's because we've been having the same tri-monthly fight for over four years now and every time we have it I tell her the root of the problem is, she fundamentally sees her role as "the Parent" as a get-out-of-jail-free card overriding any and all consideration that she cant just do what she wants without me feeling some type of way about it? Like I say "i hate when you do this, stop. Heres all the reasons why with examples over the years on why the way you do this is upsetting" but because she is Mother and she knows Better and needs a way to relieve her anxiety that she won't treat the actual solution she's looking for is for me to stop hating that she does the thing, not to stop doing the thing you know? But if I say "i hate that you do this" and you keep going "well i have to do this, its my Duty as your Mother to only communicate in ways perfectly coordinated to piss you off and trigger the (actual) Brain Dysfunction (and don't even get me started about Schrodinger's Brain Dysfunction she thinks I have)" you cant be upset when the only solution becomes just not fucking talking to you about my problems???!!!??? And all the worse too because if i just shut down and refuse to engage she gets all smug about "oh well you're just mad because I'm right" not "maybe im bulldozing a boundary/dont actually understand the situation at hand and need to step the fuck back" so like....really what is the incentive to talk, ever???

Anyways to say I don't like my mom is an overstatement but I don't think she realizes how much better our relationship gets through the mediator of the Phone. Like, I am not meant to cohabitate with this woman. She is an Easter and Christmas mother only otherwise i start wanting to roll off a cliff.

#dl #im fine im chill i just need to scream into the void

[helenofsimblr]

Apex: This isn’t about winning Lyra, this, is about being a bad sport and flipping the fucking board over and scattering the cards, because when it all comes crashing down again, everybody who is left will once again start the same. I’m going to set us all free Lyra. 

Lyra: I thought, all this time, I knew what evil really was… I thought I had seen it up close and personal. But it turns out, I knew nothing. You are evil, and utterly mad with it.

Apex: No I’m not. I’m nobody, I’m just a pawn on the board. Expendable, inconsequential. You see as time goes by Lyra its going to get harder and harder to keep a lid on all this, the whole secret war that’s being fought. The status quo will have to change if it wants to keep vampires, werewolves, mermaids and all the others in the fiction section. That will mean more controls, tighter flow of information, greater limits on personal freedoms, engineered economic mishaps to divert attention, a more micromanaged media relations setup, and puppets in every facet of every outlet in society that the puppet masters can use to their own ends. Its time to set us all free.

***

Elita: Apex placed Lyra in the chair and activated restraints on her wrists.

Apex: I am truly sorry. But I want you to be spared. That’s why you’re here.

Lyra: Why? Why do you care? What’s another body on the pile?!

Apex: Because… *sigh* and I don’t know if these are his feelings or mine, I suspect they are his, but, when I look at you, I feel… affection. And the idea of something bad happening to you is not something I am comfortable with. I think the bits they took from him back in the day, the bits they used to make me, were infused with nothing but love for you. And perhaps a bit of that spilled into me, who knows. Shitty part is, you’re too fuckin’ old for me. 

Lyra: I’d rather you didn’t spare me. I don’t deserve to live over everybody else.

Apex: Oh but you do. I must say despite your age, you still have an epic rack on you Lyra. Better than my current girlfriends’ even.

Lyra: She must be even more fucked up than you! 

Apex: Quite possibly. 

***

Apex: Now keep quiet, I have to learn how to operate a highly complex space vehicle. This ought to be fun right? 

Lyra: You’re despicable.

Apex: Don’t worry, when it starts dropping, we’ll get to the escape pods and to safety. Ah… they have security lockouts. Of course they do, luckily, I can use Captain Robinson’s overrides just press my thumb there I guess. Ah, voila. We’re gonna go for a ride honey, everybody will be getting up from their beds to disaster in very short moments!

Lyra: Damn you Apex… Hell swallow you.

Apex: If it does, it’ll vomit me back up again.

(Special mention for the amazing set piece here built by @sparkiekong without whom, this story couldn't have been what I imagined.)

#ts4 #ts4 story #sims 4 #sims 4 story #The Tomorrow Men #KSU #Apex #Lyra #tw swearing #tw bad language #tw abduction #tw threat

[promiseiwillwrite]

Can't Know what you Don't Know

I am starting to think some thoughts that may get me shouted down, and hated.

I am not married to these thoughts. They are just thoughts. But I wanted to share them, because right now, they are helping me understand some things about my childhood, and to have compassion instead of Rage for people that affected me.

Being as it is that I am 40, I have a lot of lived experience. If you've read some of the things I've written recently, you'll know that one of those things is growing up with certain models of the world, beliefs, thought structures and notions about how things are supposed to work.

And watching people post about some things very near and dear to my heart, my identity, my sexuality has left me just breathless, over and over, with their ability to articulate things I didn't even know could be easily or at least gracefully accepted as modes of being.

Sometimes I run across a description and it's like I've come across an incredible archaeological find that illuminates something completely occult from my own understanding, making my whole life better, just because I have words and I know I am not alone in an experience that I have hidden from the entire world for decades.

But it is in this experience of not knowing, and then learning something so huge and new, that I have begun to look at other people in my life with more understanding. People who were abusive to me. People who were not for one reason or another, able to process things that I thought were easy or obvious.

My Step Father was a Fucking Monster. He was Horribly abusive, and focused mainly on me, despite the house containing three other people. He could literally tirade for hours. He was horrible and refused to see it as a problem, or seek any form of assistance. He very likely had complex post traumatic stress disorder, agoraphobia, and several chemical dependencies.

One day, my family gathered all of our laundry and we drove into town to the cheapest laundr-o-mat we could find. I was putting clothes into the wash, and sorting them as best I could, and, as you do, setting the machine according to what level of abuse the fabric could withstand. (Hot and power wash for towels, tap cold and delicate for some of our skirts and pretty things)

My step father saw me doing this, and fucking flipped his shit. He screamed at me that "WE are Fucking Dirt Poor! We have to use Permanent Press!!" and he reached over me and twisted the knob viciously. I retreated, not daring to even make a sound, because he was already mad at me. But when he walked out the front door, I turned and looked at my mother. I know I was wearing a legitimate "What the Actual Fuck" face. And she gave me one right back.

All the machines, on Every Setting, cost $1.25. So it made No difference whether you used delicate or permanent press. Hells, For all I know the settings didn't even make a difference in the actual function of the machine, but Maybe my skirts would last a little longer if it did.

Knowing what I know now, this incident was not about me at all. This was about his anxiety and agoraphobia spiking, because he felt vulnerable and embarrassed in the laundr-o-mat on the poor end of town, and him choosing to take his hostility out on me verbally because I was there and I was convenient.

He probably didn't even register how it would be to be on the receiving end of the exchange. Sometimes my Own anxiety overrides all logic and leaves me feeling like the world might explode at any moment.

Like it did the other day, when I found out that there is an entire community of people who live with a plural psyche, and that there are arguments in this community over language regarding how people come into that model, and whether or not they use certain language about it being a disordered state or not.

Hol-y Shit.

There is an entire vocabulary I don't know and will have to learn in order to navigate this space. The thought of it, after hiding my own experiences for decades, made me want to breathe into a paper bag for a while. Because I AM GOING TO FUCK UP AND I KNOW NOTHING.

And my mind is NOT kind to me when I make mistakes.

And in this experience, I saw a parallel. When a mother finds out her kid is trans, or when a father finds out his kid is autistic, there is an element of this same fear in play.

This is NOT an excuse to be a shitty person. This is NOT an excuse to Reject another human being who is probably feeling really fucking vulnerable in that moment, and probably needs that Mother, or that Father to be there for them more than ever.

I was married for 13 years to an autistic woman named A*. She had family who did not reject her, but were sometimes really shitty about the whole thing, especially right after her diagnosis. One night, driving home from visiting her Grandmother, A* told me that she felt so Angry at her parents for not doing more to help her growing up.

I kept my mouth shut, because while I could Never defend their shitty attitudes, I knew they simply were not responsible for some of their actions and reactions. Because you Can't Know what you Don't know. You Can't offer help that doesn't exist. They were all paradigm shifting without a clutch because none of them were medical professionals. They lived in a rural community in Eastern Kentucky, and had maybe heard of autism via television once or twice before A* had her diagnosis.

It was not reasonable to expect appropriate attention and assistance from family members who were completely unaware of the condition, and could not have been aware of a condition that was not known or even widely understood until A* was 25.

Your frame of reference makes a Huge difference in how you can respond to information.

Not knowing Ceases to be an excuse the moment you find out about a thing, and can then do some homework and educate yourself. And with time, A*'s mom really came around. She was willing to learn what everything meant for A*, and what the diagnosis meant with regard to their relationship up to that point. A* doesn't talk to her dad much anymore.

I saw a post about cis grief the other day. The context insinuated that a cis parent who felt like their child died when they came out as trans should never, under any circumstances express that to the child.

And I am not sure I agree entirely. I do have some wild ideals about humans being free to express how they feel to one another, and holding space for both positive and negative emotions.

I do think it is absolutely a Shitty thing for a parent to act like their child has been killed in the act of their coming out. But I also feel like maybe for Some people, and some parents, it is reasonable to expect different, irrational experiences and expressions of grief, depending on their frame of reference.

I see that it could be horribly damaging for a parent to tell their trans child that they died when they came out to them, or anything remotely resembling this.

But I don't think all experiences and expressions of Loss on the part of the parent are out of bounds. I can see contexts where a parent might deeply feel, especially if they had no clue that this was going to happen, a sense of loss for who they thought their child was. Humans mourn ideas of people as much as actual people. I think experiences of grief and anger and denial could very well be expected, and not be used against that person in an awful way.

But it would take a Very mature human to have those feelings and express those feelings in a way that was not damaging. It would take a huge level of tact and self awareness and love on the part of that parent.

And Especially this day in age, I fear that a very mature, Self Aware parent might not be as prone to an experience of loss in reaction to the coming out of their trans child, but rather, more along the lines of my reactions, with the "Holy shit I am terrified I am going to fuck up".

So maybe I still end up coming out at the same place.... Where I don't really believe in the decency or overall awareness of average people enough to think there is any healthy outcome for expressing loss in such a circumstance.

[eve-of-halloween]

Submitted by @theplagueprince​

Y’ALL DONT NEED CONTEXT FOR MY STREAMS

#submission #the most glorious post #fucking overrides mad as hell #override #tfa override #tfa wing ding #tfa wingding #wingding #wing ding #tfa #tfa oc #transformers #transformers oc #transformers animated #maccadam

[changminurheart]

the proposal. ( lee juyeon )

you find the ring before he’s even proposed and after finding you drunk and the happiest he’s ever seen you, juyeon doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’ve ruined his plans. but then again, he’s unintentionally ruined yours. an abundance of soft fluff (with a few swears :o) for soft boy juyeon. 🥺

juyeon is glad that you don’t have the same circle as friends he does.

he loves you- he really does, without a doubt, with every fibre of his being. he has one singular brain cell that is heart shaped for you. and the sight before him tells him that lee juyeon knows that you’re the exact same lovesick fool that he is.

he is also glad as fuck that neither hyunjae nor eric is not here right now. its a thousand percent true that if eric- the youngest with a questionably massive soft spot for you- was to witness the stars in your eyes blinding as they crease in a folded smile he would’ve cried. there’s no way eric wouldn’t. hell, juyeon rubs at his eyes this very moment because in this moment, you look so fricking happy that he’s fallen in love with you a thousand times again, a million times more. eric would’ve bawled and hyunjae would’ve grappled you into the warmest bone crushing celebratory hug, leaving behind jacob. oh boy, juyeon would’ve been fucked if jacob was here tonight. the born symbol of rationality and responsibility, laced with a canadian accent and a love for twice, jacob would’ve scolded him so hard when he finds out what happened.

its no secret that juyeon is slower than the world that moves far too fast for him- but its endearing and its one of the things you love most about him. hence why you were left confused standing in the middle of your closet, fingers fumbling with the black velvet box in your hands. your boyfriend had beat you to it. you hadn’t meant to find it, you were looking for the earrings he bought you for your birthday when you felt the whole world stop. you didn’t open the gorgeous cuboid, but you shook it gently to feel its weight and the growing smile plastered on your face etched into an entire grin of magic and madness.

you ignore the thumping of your heart, the butterflies swirling in your stomach and you finally unleash them when he answers the call. he cant even get out the cute “annyeong” he gives everyone because you’re already yelling with you entire being “oh my god changmin im engaged!”

the call cuts and his face pops up on face time, both his and chanhee’s faces squishing in the corner. “wheres the ring? show us the ring!” their voices heavy with excitement are loud enough to be heard blocks away and you wave the box in the camera view.

“wait,” chanhee’s voice is as soft as his eyes when he takes the phone completely off changmin, despite the younger’s whining. “either you havent asked him or he hasnt asked you yet” and you recognise this tone, the voice of reason that always has your best interests at heart but you cant find in you to be anything less than excited in this moment. “chanhee i’m engaged!” you laugh and he does nothing but smile warmly until changmin’s head pops back into view with a bite to his shoulder and amidst the screams you can make out the “drinks on me,” and you grin, feet stomping in pure bliss and you race to the bar. a red dress you were saving for a special tomorrow hugging your figure , forget tomorrow, you were engaged tonight!!

your friends are drunk before you even see them, changmin dancing around the table and chanhee’s eyes are twinkling with happiness when they catch sight of you. “there she is!” “theres the bride!” you giggle and clink glasses, shots upon shots. the alcohol is bitter but not enough to override your joy. you don’t know how long you spend at the bar, laughing with your entire body and yellow is all around you. the yellow lights, the yellow sweater changmins wearing the yellow that comes from pure glee. all thats missing is the man thats sparked this evening of love.

so for you, it starts with a black velvet box with your promise of forever lying in it and a champagne glass that never runs empty.

for him, it starts with a half coherent text message from your best friend.

changmin : cOem GEt YOR WIFE

juyeon : changmin ??? where’s yn ??

changmin : CAM I BE YUR MAID OF HINIHR

juyeon : jfc changmin pick up the phone.

its loud wherever you are and juyeon can just about hear chanhee’s voice.

“juyeon?” the tone in his voice is light and teasing, “when i see you, boy you better brace yourself!” and the phone is snatched by another, clattering when it drops and the voice behind it fumbles in apologies.

“yeah! who do you think you are trying to marry our best friend first!!” and juyeon can imagine the angry pout that lies on changmin’s lips that he facepalms.

“send me your location,” and its only when he gets into his car, driving to your destination that he stills in realisation. marriage. wife. oh fuck. the car jolts when he isnt paying attention, the sudden blinding of a red light catches him off guard. pausing, his breathing lags and he panicks. how did you find the ring? oh shit, youve found the ring.

the groan he lets out could be mistaken for a cry but as soon as the red light turns amber, juyeon is racing ahead, he just wants to bring you home.

he half asses his parking, the keys still gripped in his hands as he desperately searches for you. it doesn’t take long however, all he has to do is follow the hollering voice thats offering to pay for everyone’s drinks. and there you are. on top of a table with your heals tapping to the beat of the background song. juyeon bites back his smile, brain telling him to get over there and stop you from doing something that you and your bank account will regret but he knows this moment will last a lifetime in his mind and so he lets his eyes linger on you for a minute longer before pulling you into his arms.

you stumble back into his chest without realising its him and he turns your body around so he can stargaze at your orbs.

“hi,” you whisper in the minute distance between your lips. juyeon chuckles lightly at how quiet and small you seemed from the previous yelling and cheering he heard before.

“hi,” and your eyelids flutter closed as he presses a warm kiss to your temple. “you wanna go home?” his voice is soft, always soft for you. and you nod slowly before widening your eyes in thrill.

“this is my congratulatory party i cant leave!” you whisper, the features of your face twisting in such emotion and animation.

“oh yeah,” he moves closer to you, enveloping you in a warm hug. “what you celebrating?” and his breath tickles your ear.

“im getting married,” you boast, proud smile lingering on your kissable lips. juyeon’s heart is racing and he fumbles with his words.

“you’re getting married huh?” he teases a contrast to his eyes that dart to your bare hand. so you haven’t opened the box, that’s a good first thing. the only first good thing so far.

“yeah, to this handsome fella that looks a lot like you,” you cheekily wink and peck his nose. your lips feel soft and as much as he wants to stay here with you, changmin burning eyes into his back is getting a little uncomfortable. so he hurls both your friends into a taxi, sending them home with a wave and they almost refuse to let go of you. eyes tearing as they tell you how grateful they are for you, how much theyre going to miss you and how beautiful you look in white.

juyeon knows you’d look beautiful in white, the thought of it almost sends him into another panic attack but for now he focuses on your red. he drapes his jacket over your shoulders to shield you from the biting evening chills and guides you into his car. your head leans on his shoulder as the two of you walk and when he fastens your seatbelt, your arms cling around his neck again.

“juyeonie,” his heart soars. he hums in response, making sure youre fastened in tightly and you use the tips of your fingers to lift up his chin. his eyes settle on yours, theyre curved into a waiting smile and kiss him gently. when you pull apart for air, you stop his lips from chasing after yours again with a single whisper.

“im really happy juyeonie,” its not the alcohol flushed on your cheeks anymore but a blush of love.

“me too,” he breathes. “me too.”

the drive home is quieter, his heart still shakes loud as hell but youre sleeping quietly, burnt out from exhaustion that he lifts your body gently and carries you into the home that the two of you have made.

you just about make it to the bedroom, his shoes kicked off long ago and his fingers trace your skin as they fumble with the straps on your heels. you’re awake enough to remove your own makeup but he still helps you to get changed into comfier clothes- a t shirt and shorts of his.

its moments like this that make him sure of his decision to marry you. it wasn’t an epiphany or that time was running out, it was gradual. it was getting up earlier to make you some tea, its him coming home from work to find you trying to make his favourite dish. its you both playing in the duvet covers that hang over washing lines on sunday laundry day. its him teaching you new choreography because you love and support him through anything. its not knowing what to say, but what to feel and you understanding the unformed words. its love. juyeon loves you so much that he can’t imagine life without you.

his body is lying upright, sitting up with his torso leaning on the headboard. youre in his lap, head leaning on to his chest falling between the brink of midnights in seoul and the land of sleeping.

the box no longer sits in your shared closet, its under his pillow, hands toying with it as it clicks open and slams shut a few times.

your brows furrow at the noise that you lightly and lazily hit his arm for him to stop and he chuckles into your ear. his breath is warm on your skin and you nestle your head further into his neck.

“you know,” your tired voice breaks the comfortable silence and his head turns slightly to give you his full attention. “if you waited until tomorrow, the ring would’ve been on your finger,” you giggle, playing with his hands. theyre much larger than yours but still ever so gentle. they hold yours with such love that he grips your hands even tighter.

“w-what?” his breath and heart stutter profusely, his lips part open and you cant resist the urge to kiss them, so you do. he’s still frozen and in the darkness of your bedroom, the fairylights glowing above you.

he chuckles nervously when you get up from your spot, his legs suddenly cold when you move. “w-where are you going?” his voice is quiet, probably the quietest you’ve ever heard him and you dont miss it even with the ruffling of the duvet covers. your body bends till its half off the bed, arms reaching underneath for a matching box, clothed in white.

the box twinkled under his gaze and you slowly crawl back to your spot. hesitant to pick up his hands and place them in your lap so both his and your hands are touching it. “i uh, i had it all planned out,” you swallow nervously, suddenly not feeling any of the courage and confidence you radiated before. “i booked a table for us at your favourite italian place, we’d wine and dine or whatever, id tell a stupid joke and your eyes will crinkle gorgeously like they always do,” you gulp and his free hand traces circles on the small of your back to calm you. “but i wasnt going to do it there, i wanted to do it here, sober,” you both laugh “in our home that weve made, i wanted to ask you. id get on one knee and tell you all the reasons why i love you and cant live without you. id whisper marry me because my heart is beating so fucking loud and i cant hear myself think but i dont need to think when it comes to you, you always just know, you know?” your voice quivers and tears pool the corners of your eyes.

“but you beat me to it,” another laugh. “i found the ring looking for earrings and it hit me, like confirmation, like lee juyeon wants to marry me?” both yours and his eyes are glossy now and youre completely sober and serious.

“i do,” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“i do,” another to each of your eyelids, to your cheekbones and the sides of your jaw.

“i do,” he holds you steady and lips morph into yours in a sweet kiss of forever. “i , lee juyeon, completely wholeheartedly absolutely want to marry you,” you create a small enough distance between you two to open your white box and take out the silver ring, twisted in a rope to symbolise how you two will always be intertwined and connected, laced with little diamonds because your boy deserves something beautiful. “eric helped me pick it out,” breathing softly, you take his large hand in yours and bring it up to your lips, pressing your lips to the fourth finger and sliding it on. he smiles massive at the sight of you and the ring that you giggle in pure happiness.

he takes out his black box and clears his throat. “this is far from how i imagined us getting engaged but i wouldnt have it any other way, bug,” and you dont even hide the smile painted on your face. “and we must be the same person because,” he pulls out the ring and you let out a gasp. its almost identical to the one youve picked out for him, except in the centre lies a bigger diamond but its the exact same.

“juyeon,” you whisper, eyes focused on the ring.

“im so glad you didnt open the box, i wanted to see your face when i slip it on your finger,” he bites his lip and very delicately picks up your hand. he mimics your kiss but lets his lips linger a moment longer. “beautiful.”

“yeah it is,” you murmer, eyes still stuck on both your hands.

“no,” he tilts your head so you’re facing him ago. “you are.” and you crash so hard into him that his back falls flat on the bed. it doesn’t matter though not when you hair is tickling his chest, your nose presses into his neck in the warmest embrace ever.

“juyeonie were getting married,” you laugh and his hands rest at your sides, where they belong.

“yes we are baby, its just us forever from now.”

minnie’s note : hi ! i watched bride wars again last night and used a little wittle bit to inspire this imagine ahh im really happy with it and i hope you are too! lmk what you think and have the bestest day ever <3

#tbz #the boyz #tbz imagines #the boyz juyeon #lee juyeon #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #the boyz oneshots #the boyz reactions #tbz scenarios #tbz oneshots #the boyz au #the boyz fluff #tbz fluff #the boyz x reader #tbz fic #the boyz fanfic #the boyz fanfiction #juyeon fluff #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #juyeon reactions #juyeon x reader #juyeon #juyeon oneshot #the boyz fic #tbz fanfic #tbz juyeon #the boyz headcannons #the boyz timestamps

[hotwings0203]

Bully!Dabi pt. 3

Tags: @shikamaruscumrag @pinkiy13l @an-ambivalent @luno614 @sukunasleftkneecap

Tw:dubcon, noncon, bullying, manipulation, Russian roulette

“Doll? Come on out and I won’t hurt you too bad.”

You wait with bated breath as he walks right past your hiding place behind some crates, blue fire licking up the sides of his body and held in the palms of his scarred hands.

He’s mad, you know he is. He’s teasing you, of course he is, why else wouldn’t he just turn on the lights and pounce?

No, this is another punishment of sorts. A punishment for escaping your previous punishment from being locked in your room.

Another lash of burning cobalt strikes against a wall about 10 feet away from you, and you curse yourself internally. If only you had just stayed in bed a couple days more, if only you hadn’t snuck out when he left, if only, if only…

“Baaaabbyyyyy”

It sounds so wrong and uncharacteristic coming out from his gravely voice.

You huddle your limbs even closer to yourself, paying no mind to the cramping in your knees from being squished for so long.

It’s been about 25 minutes or so from what you can remember. It’s hard to remember anything that happened this bland morning anyways when the climax of your life was seemingly taking place here, after you entered the wrong room.

You had honestly just wanted a peek outside of Dabi’s room and maybe a drink of water, nothing more.

Or so you tell yourself.

But can you really be blamed? Who else wouldn’t have run out the moment they got a chance after spending almost two weeks in the same shitty room, being used as fuckmeat and only given bread scraps and salty cum as meals.

It didn’t matter how close he held you at night, how his strokes seemed to brush up against all the right places, how he tried catching your eye every time he wanted to talk about anything (which you would never really indulge in, only giving him a soft grunt or a nod). He was a monster, a demon in disguise that was keeping you against your will in his clutches.

A loud crash closer than before hits your ears, and you stifle an impending whimper. You can tell he’s roamed closer than before, finding nothing from his earlier place in the front of the storage room.

“I’m getting pretty fucking tired of repeating myself doll. You must be even more of a masochist than I thought since it’s like you want me to fuck you up even worse than I did before.”

His words are quiet but they do enough to cause a loud beating in your already-pacing heart, so loud in fact that you fear he can hear it racing a mile a minute.

You wonder if anyone is nearby, if they even remember you’ve been missing for a while now.

“Y/N”

“Come out, pretty girl. You know I miss you”

But you don’t miss him.

What you do miss, however, is not being chased into an empty storage room and hounded like a fucking dog. You miss joking with Twice, painting your nails with Toga, making Shigaraki chuckle.

All of a sudden, the crate next to you is covered with hellfire. The flames that are thrust from Dabi’s hands are so wild that they seat through your shirt and prick your skin.

You scream and scrabble backwards, the light of his fire illuminating his face leering up above you in the dark like a ghoul from a children’s book.

You clap your hands over your mouth, ignoring your bubbling skin as fear overrides premonition, but the damage has already been done.

It’s eerily quiet for a minute. Then, he whispers,

“Found you”

Even in the pitch black room you can practically see him lunging towards you, and you scuttle backwards on your hands and feet in terror. His hands miss your bare feet by a few inches, and he snarls before making another swipe.

“Fucking bitch, this is the thanks I get for taking care of you, bathing you, feeding and fucking you?”

You yelp as he lights up the floor on both sides of your trembling body, and you see his figure once more as the blue fire shows the sick grin twisted up on his face.

“Leave me alone,” you sob, clambering up on your feet and running backwards as he advances on you. The smoke from his quirk is filling the room, and you erupt in hoarse coughs as it’s filtered through your aching lungs.

Everything about him is toxic.

“Nah. That’s not how this works sweetheart. You see, I take care of you, and in return, you do whatever the fuck I say when I say it.”

He raises his palms to you and you flinch, covering your head and colliding with the wall behind you. You’re too scared and tired to evade him again as you feel his body cover you and brush against yours as you shake in place, your arms still above your face.

He cooes at you. “There there, my stupid little bitch. You were scared daddy was gonna hurt you, right?”

His stitched palm caresses your bitten bottom lip and trails up to your tear-stained cheek.

After a moment of you saying nothing, he slaps the side of your face, hard, and you gasp in pain. Now it wasn’t just your stomach that felt on fire.

“I asked you a question, you brain dead whore. Are you scared daddy’s gonna burn you? ‘You scared he’s gonna beat you black you blue? ‘Scared he’s gonna cut a gaping hole in your burnt tummy and fuck the gash?” He leans in and lets his raspy words settle over your ears as he tenderly brushes your hair away from it. He softly kisses the shell of you ear, and when you sob quietly he wraps his arms around your middle and hugs you close, paying no heed to how you uncomfortably squirm when your raw torso burns from the contact.

You squeeze your eyes shut and try not to inhale too much, lest the smoke embedded all over his body gets too close for comfort in your system.

“Y-yes daddy. Please don’t hurt me, I was…a bad girl.” You cringe when the words are wobbled out, but you know it’s what he wants.

To humiliate you, to hurt you. Who was he kidding when he said he loved you?

Dabi, however, feels butterflies in his own stomach.

See, this is what you need. To answer to Daddy, to submit to him so that he can take care of you. That’s why you stayed so long in his room, right? It’s cause you knew it would make him happy if you listened to him. You let him make love to you, and treat you like his little girl because deep down, you know this is where you belong.

So why are you fighting him? You never raised a complaint for a week and a half, you only stayed quiet and kept your eyes shut when he asked if you were okay. That means you liked it, right? No real opposition, after all.

Except for now.

Dani is honestly disappointed in you right now, you were doing so well…so why’d you have to go and ruin it?

He might’ve softened from the way your body shakes and your sobs are muffled by his smoke-scorched jacket as you press against him for comfort, but the image of you turning around and running away when you saw him earlier hurts him too much.

It angers him.

Why the fuck were you so scared? Hasnt he shown you enough that he loved you? What, does he need to fucking spell it out for you?

Why were your eyes filled with such terror when he caught you? Did you turn away from him and run because you thought he was going to make you look like him, all burnt up and hideous?

Honestly, he would never, but if you’re so hellbent on making him the bad guy, then fine, he’ll play the bad guy.

Anything for his precious little girl.

And so he tightens his arms around you and chuckles cruelly when you whine at the lack of air.

“Well, you were right. I am pretty pissed, I mean I told you to come out and you didn’t listen right?”

“S-sorry,” you weakly choke out.

He laughs even more crazed now, crushing your ribs so tight he could actually hear your breath wheezing out of you, could feel your weak little punches against his back.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it. No no, I want you to beg for your fucking life now.”

Your eyes widen as his arms begin to warm up and become unbearably hot.

“Dabi, no, no please!”

You writhe in pain as he cackles above you, savoring the choked breaths that emit from your wetted lips.

As soon as you begin to see spots, he releases you, and flings you against the corner of the room.

You go flying and bang your head against the concrete wall, his voice muted and swimming around in your ears as you fight for consciousness.

He saunters towards you in all his flaming glory, hands in his pockets as if he were walking out for some fresh air. He crouches in front of you and lifts your head with the pads of his fingers.

“Awww, my poor little girl. That had to have hurt, huh? You’re bleeding,” he cooes and blows a strand of hair away from your eyes.

He’s not lying, you can feel hot blood trickle down the side of your head as your vision sways.

“Stop this,” you pant. “I get it, I’m sorry- you were right and I was wrong, I shouldn’t have ran. I’ll listen to you from now on-“

“-But you said that last time, didn’t you?” He cocks his head and with the light of his turquoise fire against the shadows of the room, he looks like a being from hell itself.

“Remember? When you sucked me off like the dirty whore you are? Remember that you stupid cunt?” His grin becomes more reminiscent of a wolf baring its fangs, and you’re rendered silent in complete terror.

He takes your silence as an encouraging factor to continue his fun.

“You ever played Russian Roulette, Y/N?”

You have enough sense to quickly shake your head, a sinking feeling in your stomach forming at his implication.

“Me neither. But I kinda wanna try it right now. So, back against the wall. Stand up straight and spread your legs.”

You look at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious Dabi.”

He raises an eyebrow and a fire grows in the palm of his hand. “Wanna find out? Oh wait, you already are- now do what I said otherwise you’ll have one less leg.”

You don’t need more motivation to act on his orders.

Taking a deep breath, you hesitantly spread your legs and place your palms flat against the wall.

“Spread ‘em more. That shouldn’t be anything new to you.”

You wince at his dig but continue to widen the stance between your legs.

He smiles at your compliance.

“Good. This should be fairly easy, I mean the room is already dark enough to count as having a blindfold. Whatever you do, just don’t move.”

You wouldn’t know it, but he’s sincerely saying it for your sake. He’s glad for the safety of the dark, because he doesn’t want you to see the way he hastily wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans as he prepares himself for his next move.

The room goes dark, his fire has been put out.

You inhale softly, blood pounding in your heart as your hands shake in anticipation.

Then all of a sudden, a fireball comes barreling right towards you, in between your parted legs.

You shriek and jerk, but luckily you’re saved from being singed.

“I told you not to move, babe.” He clicks his tongue and rubs his erection absentmindedly.

A second, then third bolt of fire comes at the side of your head, singing your hair and then dangerously close to your already burnt stomach.

At each one you sob and do your best not to move, not to take in Dabi’s utterly emotionless face as you wail for mercy.

The last one comes so powerful that as it strikes the wall next to you, flecks of ash sting your cheeks and lips.

Your knees are jelly, your mouth is aching from begging for your life as he wanted.

But you know he’s done when he lets out a loud yawn and groan as he stretches his arm and flexes his fingers.

“A-are we done?” You sniffle.

He says nothing at first. You just hear him ask a couple steps towards you, his boots echoing in the room. You assume he stops in front of you because you can feel his body in front of your kneeling figure.

His hand descends and feels around until he reaches the top of your head. Stroking softly, he twirls locks through his fingers and gently shushes you until your hiccups subside, and you lean your forehead against his thigh.

“‘You happy it’s done? You did so well for me, sweetheart.”

“Yes Dabi. Thank you,” you utter softly, knowing it’s what he wants to hear.

“Yeah? How thankful are you?”

You still at that.

He starts to unbuckle his belt.

You pull your head back, and he pulls his pants down.

“Dabi-“

“Shhh, don’t ruin this. Just keep your mouth shut and let your body do the talking. Show me how grateful you are that I spared your fucking life.”

The gentle way he handled you clashed with his harsh words, and you have a moment of whiplash.

He kneels down in front of you and lets his hands wander in the dark until he meets your torso.

You hiss at the sensitive flesh, but he doesn’t stop. He just moves his hand under your shirt and higher, pushing your bra up until your tits spill from the bottom of it.

He bites his lip as you whimper from his touch, his thumbs swirling around your nipples and prodding the squishy flesh.

Dabi gets more eager when you throw your head back at one particularly rough squeeze and shuffles even closer, his pants and underwear at his knees, member bouncing out in the open air.

“Take your panties off,” he rasps, furiously stroking his cock.

You surrender and slowly pull your sweats off, and then your panties as you hear him lightly panting in eagerness.

The second he hears them drop to the floor he lunges for your feet and yanks your forward, catching you in his lap as you yelp.

It’s pitch black, but he can feel you clear as day.

The tickle of your hair hanging in his face, your sweet smell clouding his rationale, the melodious sounds of fear and pleasure mixed with pain make his prick stand painfully at attention, weeping at the slit for your pussy.

He doesn’t even bother taking your shirt off in impatience, he simply barks at you to hold the hem up so he can feel your breasts bouncing against his face when he motorboats them.

You, however, shakily hold his hand at your waist when he pulls you forward until your bare hole presses against his length, coating it with light juices.

“Oh fuck, doll, your pussy’s practically begging me to fuck it. ‘You like having your life in danger? No wonder you keep fucking up,” he groans as he moved beneath you, letting his hips rock back and forth to gain friction from under you.

“Wait, go slowly-“

“No the fuck I won’t,” he interrupts. You have enough sense to bite back any retorts from the subtle growl in his words.

He lifts you up from underneath your ass, and you raise your hips in compliance as he grabs his dick, circling it around your swollen nub and then pressing it against your entrance.

You breath shakily and run your hands through his hair, not so much in a loving gesture but tightly in futile hopes to deter him in any possible way.

He takes it either way as you wanting him equally, and without further ado he slams your hips down on his whole length.

You howl in pain as he begins bouncing you, pressing down on your shoulders and forcing your poor cunt to envelope him fully at each stroke.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of your ass clapping on his dick, the mixed fluids from both of your bodies and the harmonies of his low grunts and your high pitched whines.

You can feel his dick twitch violently inside of you as he nears his climax. He flips you over on your back and starts pounding into you, laughing cruelly in your face as you cry out from the intensity of his strokes.

“D-Dabi! Pull out, I’m not on birth control!”

“Good.”

You open your eyes to stare at him in horror, barely making out the marred features of his face.

“I’m gonna fill you up with my babies. You’re gonna be plugged with my cum from now on, ‘s the only way you’ll stop running.”

“Get the fuck off me, this isn’t funny-!”

He grabs your rising fists and pins them back against the floor, crushing your wrists in the process.

“Who said I’m laughing?” And he isn’t laughing anymore, no, on the contrary he looks the most serious that he’s ever been, and that terrifies you the most.

The upper half of his body is suspended in midair above you as his pelvis smashes against your clit in a steady rhythm.

“‘Bet you’d like that, bet you’d like having all your holes stuffed with my kids. They’re gonna grow up and know how slutty their mommy was, they’re gonna watch and learn how Daddy earned his name. You think they’ll cry when they hear you scream for me?”

You want to rip out your ears from the filth pouring from his mouth, but unfortunately your hands are trapped under his grasp.

All you can do is chant “no, no, no,” under your breath as he’s pushed over the edge.

“Or maybe I’ll tie your legs against the barstools outside and let every man out there have his way with you. You missed them, right? I’m sure they missed you too, I’m sure they missed the way you’d fuck them the second they made you laugh,” bitterness seeps into his voice as ropes of cum shoot out.

He moans loudly in your ear and collapses against your body, sweat intermingling in the cervices of your entangled limbs.

It takes around three minutes for you both to catch your breaths, and for him to shakily raise himself on his elbows to peer down into your ruddy face.

“Clean yourself up. You’re going back to my room. And this time, if you try to run we’ll repeat this entire process again, but I’ll actually let everyone have their way with you. It’ll be like an orgy version of Russian Roulette, well all place bets on whose kid it is.”

You don’t miss the rest of the League, anymore

#tw:noncon #tw:misogyny #tw: bullying #Dabi smut #mha dabi #yandere dabi x reader #yandere Dabi #Dabi mha #dabi oneshot #dabi imagine #bnha dabi #bnha yandere #bnha smut

[charmixpower]

Oh sense s4 is obviously not gonna give me any more good content for my girls, I thought I'd rank them based on how much I subjectively like them ^^

Musa: This one is obvious. Musa is very clearly my favorite girl... She's so pretty y'all, and she reminds me a lot of myself?? She's very relatable and in s1-2 she has almost all of my favorite outfits. Musa's sense of humor is absolutely peak as well. I love how she's both kinda upright about school rules but also clearly wants to challenge every soical convention. "Cheating on tests? Why, academic dishonesty only harms you. Follow the dress code? Fuck you fight me." Musa is also a bit unhinged, she wakes up and chooses violence. I esp love how a lot of her stuggles are her own emotions...girl me too

Stella: Stella is best girl. She's my second favorite but she's also best girl. She's funny, she's pretty, she has a deep emotional side? Get you a girl that can do it all. I really love how Stella functions 100% on emotions, girl will not give up on her friends/boyfriend for nothing. Stella is that bitch, she has probably punched one of the Trix before and I love her for it. Not to mention how confident she is while also being super insecure, that complexity is such an amazing layer to her personality

Aisha: Aisha reminds me of my mom but like with more of my personality. My mom is veteran and ultra protective and Aisha free climbing a palace to save the pixies? Hell or high water, Aisha never gives on someone she loves. Her strength is contrasted with her anxiety and I love that?? Aisha is the epitome of the mom friend anxiety override, and I love her for it. Tho my favorite part of her is how she goes into her own little world when she dances, she feelin herself, everyone else can leave this is her dance floor. Also Aisha's fashion being girly sports champion is so good

Bloom: I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about Bloom but that mostly bc she's the main character. Like Bloom has so many interesting things about her, I esp love the Roxy parallel and the idea of her having to take responsibility in a culture she's never seen before. It's sooo interesting. I wish the weird art girl thing was leaned into more, oh and Bloom's anger. Bloom growls at people and I respect that. Aside from that I'm kinda meh on Bloom, I don't dislike her but she doesn't make me think about her for multiple hours on end like everyone above her does

Tecna: if Tecna wasn't surrounded by characters that all act like her (Timmy and Digit) and didn't have one character arc she keeps repeating (learning to be more emotional) she'd be higher than Bloom. I love the concept of Tecna! Autistic girl is always connected to the internet, ostracized by all her peers she develops a hard outer shell and a strange way of communicating because she was nomrally around adults. Like? Yes, amazing. We were robbed of seeing Tecna's Omega Dimension adventure. I wish more of her dorky side was shown, the mini winx thing is adorable and her clear love of romance once she starts expressing herself is do cute

Flora: if Flora kept her mad scientist traits I would like her more, but after s1 Flora was like just kinda sweet. Also her being super shy around Helia felt ooc to me?? Idk Flora seems to be the most self secure of the girls, and she's also completely unafraid to mock and sass people, I could see her being shy but not that shy... I simply do not think about her all that much 😔

#Tecna and Flora fell victim to not enough screen time-itus #Tecna... i love her so much... i want more to think about with her PLEASE #winx club #winx musa #winx stella #winx bloom #winx aisha #winx layla #winx tecna #winx flora #rus chatters

[deadprocess]

Hide Away Part 2 (The Trickster x Male!Reader)

//Hi there! A lot of you requested more Male!Reader and I had some Inspo. Enjoy!

T.W: NSFW, Violence towards Reader, mention of alcohol//

Your mouth hung open, fists gripping soft lilac locks as the popstar bobbed his head. Ji-Woon's eyes were closed, cheeks flushed and hallowed with every upward movement, gagging softly when you pushed your hips forward to force more of yourself into his mouth. God, he was beautiful sucking your cock on his knees in some elaborate black harness getup, makeup smudged and hidden away behind a clothing rack back stage.

It started six months ago when he first shoved you into the wall, kissing you with such vigor and desperation that you were instantly hooked. You understood the secretiveness. The hiding in the shadows, a quick rendezvous in your dressing room, the private meetings in a tinted limousine with the driver being bought into silence. You were very much so his dirty secret and you really did feel some ounce of sadness deep down, but it never managed to surface.  You couldn't find it in you to care too much when he fucked himself on your dick or had your legs high on his shoulders.

It was the thrill, the passion and the pleasure. The whirlwind that is Ji-Woon and his lifestyle.

xx

"Do you love me?" The question knocked the wind out of you as your thrusts came to a stuttering halt, balls deep with the Korean man nearly bent in half under you. Your face stayed buried in his neck as you caught your breath, trying to decipher if what you heard was correct.

"What?" The popstar pried your face away from his neck, forcing you to look into his eyes. Today's colored contacts were an icy blue.

"I said do you love me?"

Your face must have been a mess of emotions as you thought about the question. Panic, shock, confusion...you hadn't really thought about the relationship between you two. Neither of you had even brought up the subject of dating, but you did have feelings for the other man. With a few months of constant touching and flirtatious behavior, who wouldn't? You two spoke nearly everyday either in person or on the phone except for the few times he would inexplicably disappear just to come back, apologizing for the lack of response before cheerily announcing he has a new song in the works.

"I...yes. I love you." you said dumbly, unable to place the emotions inside your heart which quickly began hammering in your chest as a grin broke out on the popstars face.

"Of course you do, how could you not!" his cocky laugh rang out and you shoved him hard into the mattress and scolding him for springing that on you, his laughing turning into a high pitch moan when you rolled your hips. You set a brutal pace, burying your face in his neck once again to hide the disappointment and shame evident in your expressions. He didn't say it back.

xx

He wanted it rough most days. His requests went from mild to hardcore within the following month. He wanted to scratch your back hard enough to draw blood, hear your screams, be choked till he passed out, chain you up and whip you...It was manageable for awhile before the the final straw came.

"No," your eyes narrowed and focused on the blade in his hand, "you're not coming near me with that."

"Come on, I promise you won't even feel it! You'll be too busy feeling me bounce on your dick to notice!" you closed shut your eyes, releasing a shaky breath. You could imagine that feeling.

"I said no."

When you opened your eyes again you were face to face with the other man, clear anger splayed across his face as his pink contacts seemed to glow brighter with said displeasure. You'd seen him mad before, of course. The long hours in the studio, the plummeting sales, the meddling executives weighing in on his creative freedom...but you had never seen that anger directed at you before.

"You can't say no to me, you stupid boy," his hand fisted the front of your shirt into a ball, the knife glinting in your peripheral vision, and for once a genuine feeling of fear struck you, "you love me, remember?"

Ji-Woon was dangerous.

"Of course, sweetheart," you kept your tone level, loving and gentle, bringing your hand to cup his face. You brought the k-pop star close, beginning to rock side to side, "I do love you. How could I ever say no to you?"

A sweet kiss was enough to temporarily disarm Ji-Woon and the minute his grip loosened around the knife, you ducked out.

You sprinted out of the unlocked front door, scrambling to make it down the stairway, the sounds of furious screaming and clattering behind you as the other man gave chase. You barely managed to disappear within the crowds once you stepped out of the building. Your saving grace was the flood of paparazzi that swarmed your pursuer, blocking his path.

You would see a disheveled Ji-Woon on the front page of Seoul's popular tabloid within the next few days, questioning headlines about why the popstar was half undressed in the front of his apartment building and cursing at the top of his lungs. Most popular speculation was drugs.

You would claim it was an unofficial breakup after that day. You resigned from your position as a dancer for The Trickster, sold your apartment and moved to the states. You never told your folks or friends what happened, not that they would have believed you anyways. You left it all behind and never spoke to the hurricane of a man again.

Well...you at least never answered back. Ji-Woon messaged you at least twice a day. From simple "hey, how are you doing?" to short snippets of his cock deep in some girl's pussy.

Other messages were aggressive. Telling you that he could easily find where you ran off to and it would be nothing to drag you back to Korea by the hair. But the ones that truly dug into your skin were the audio messages. Most were of similar nature: conversational, lewd, abusive...then there came the desperation. He would audibly sob into the phone, pleading with you to come back or at least answer him once. Listening to his wailing almost broke your resolve.

You deleted the past chats and every new one that arrived from then on. The only message that made you pause before erasing was a virtual invite to his performance for the Mightee One committee; a VIP spot and a first class round-trip plane ticket scheduled for next month.

You obviously didn't go and when the news broke that a mass murder had taken place at said concert, you could only feel a pit sickness forming deep inside you.

It was reportedly a slaughter, all victims in attendance were confirmed dead. However, the bodies Yun-Jin Lee and Ji-Woon Hak were not amongst  the confirmed dead. They were nowhere to be found.

You did manage to move past those terrible events within the following year. Hell, it was somewhat easy to now that Ji-Woon wasn't ringing your phone everyday. Part of you had always wondered if he was acting the entire time, only messaging you so he could be sure that you wouldn't forget him. Another part of you thought about his disappearance.

Was he alive? Was he okay?

You swirled your drink, sinking deeper into your couch. The tv played some old show but you couldn't be bothered to pay attention. Your mind replayed some old memories that crushed you with a peculiar emotion you couldn't place. Allowing yourself to drop your head back against the top of the cushions, you tried to relax and move past those painful times.

Flashes of Ji-Woon interrupted your peace. Your body entangled with his, hands delicately tracing patterns in your skin and noses touching from the close proximity. The city's colorful lights peaked through the window blinds, illuminating his figure to you. Yellow contacts piercing in the dark as you held each other, mumbling sweet nothings.

Your eyes closed, bleary with the drunken reminiscing of the past.

You didn't see the fog rolling through your room.

xx

"Did you love me?" you gurgled out.

The Trickster kneeled to your level as you sat crumpled against the rotting wooden palette.

Your body seized slightly as the trauma to your head began to override adrenaline, your eyes trained on him to the best of their abilities but the darkness began to seep through. A hand reached out to tilt your head back up. The killer (your killer) held your stare, admiring the horrific beauty of your broken iris caused by the harsh strike to the side of your temple.

"Of course, you stupid boy." The Trickster chortled, thumb softly tracing circles into your cheek. You were fading fast, but there would be no relief or solace in your fast coming death, "I still do."

You closed your eyes as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to see those yellow eyes.

"If I didn't, you wouldn't be here. I loved you so much that it brought you to hell for me."

The abyss took you and all you could do was accept the momentary peace of transition before you were thrown back into his hands.

There was no more hiding. No more prying eyes nor spotlight. Just him and you, interlocked permanently in this game that even death could not do you part.

#dead by daylight #dbd #dbd the trickster #the trickster #ji woon hak #slasher x reader #reader imagines #male reader #slasher imagines