#i know what i prefer for personal reasons but that's beside the point here

[lindwurmkai]

anyway! transfem li lianhua: what's the verdict

#i have many thoughts on this subject #initially when i said his story was very trans i was like ''well i only mean it as a metaphor this time'' #because naturally i tried to think of him as transmasc first and that just didn't work at all #but finally it hit me. lmao #not sure if woman or nonbinary - i think it could go either way and you have to be careful not to let stereotypes influence this decision #i know what i prefer for personal reasons but that's beside the point here #the details aren't as important anyway since these people don't have a modern understanding of gender #it's not like li lianhua would literally come out as trans #but maybe in the privacy of their shared home (what he's fine) he will let his two boyfriends in on a few secrets #i have been tormented by emotions about those two being all understanding and protective #let me live #mysterious lotus casebook #mlc

[greentrickster]

SVSSS AU set post-canon, the peak lords are having a meeting, business as usual, right up until a heavenly official manifests smack dab in the middle of it. Said official takes one look around, spots Shang Qinghua, and basically falls into a perfect kowtow in front of him while being a level of distraughtly sticky that would make Luo Binghe proud.

"Your excellency, we know you wanted to oversee this section of history, we know it's your holiday, but we need you back, please, no one can figure out your filing system-!!!"

There is an absolutely reasonable amount of pandemonium from ten of the remaining peak lords, Shen Yuan is feigning indifference while also paying razor-edged attention because 'dammit, Airplane, what did you do now', and Shang Qinghua is desperately trying to figure out how to get this god to stop crying and hugging his ankles while babbling about paperwork. Once everyone has calmed down enough, it's revealed that Shang Qinghua, on top of being Shang Qinghua, really is the creator-god of this world and his current human incarnation is the equivalent of a sabbatical to watch some really interesting current events.

Now, the thing is? Airplane is still very much Airplane, all that's true. The part where it gets complicated is that he really is also this world's creator-god, divine powers and all, and he arrived much earlier than the 40+ years ago he thought he had. He has, in fact, been here for most of the world's history, managing the logistics of things to keep them running relatively smoothly the whole time. Except then he realized, "Hey, we're getting close to the era of the Plot, I wanna see that and maybe fix it some!" So he sealed his own memories from between his death and his arrival in this world and incarnated himself as Shang Qinghua specifically so he'd get a chance to meet his favorite character.

The real kicker is, the System? Yeah, there's a reason it has such a modern-tech interface and sounds so Google translate and stuff.

Because Airplane made that, too. Primarily because, while it's been awhile and he doesn't fully remember how he was as a human, he does remember his tendencies to try and wriggle out of stuff, and even now he prefers a comfy life with a not unreasonable amount of delegation, so he decided to give himself a little something to keep himself on-task.

He did not mean to make the damn thing so mean, that was an oops on his part.

While Airplane is reeling with all the headache that is gaining a few thousand extra years of memories while still remaining primarily himself, one of the peak lords asks if the official is certain they have the right person.

They get a derisive sneer for their efforts. "Of course it's his excellency, you think a normal man could run the logistics for a great sect, the Northern realm, and a portion of the Demon Emperor's court, even without having a writing career and social life on the side? Besides, he's the only one we've found who takes notes in his excellency's secret language." And they point dramatically to where Airplane's scribbled some pinyin in the margins of his paperwork.

Airplane can feel Cumcumber-bro's judgement from across the room. On the plus side, his memories of being a god included how to power down the System, so that's something at least, right?

Right?

...

...he needs to go stick his face in his king's chest and cry for a little, he can just feel his workload increasing...

#shang qinghua #shen yuan #svsss #scum villian self saving system #great god airplane

[thexianzhoujade]

— AMONG THE DATA | honkai star rail fanfiction. dan heng x gn!reader | fluff, mutual pining | requested work. ⋆ friends to lovers, mutual pining, probably an ooc dan heng, reader is shorter than dan heng, there's a lot of simping and people who aren't good with emotions

⋆ thank you for the request dear !! this was requested by @lovingluxury !!

Okay, but what about Dan Heng x librarian!reader (can be gn) who has opened a library in the express (with pompoms consent of course)? When he is not working on an entry for the archives, he’s with you in the library watching you work.

— DATA HAS BEEN UPLOADED! send an ask to join the taglist; specify genshin, honkai or both! @lovingluxury, @dumbificat, @starryshinyskies, @ryuryuryuyurboat, @ainescribe

pom pom had taken your request well when you'd boarded the astral express with caelus at your side, march 7th trailing behind with the biggest grin on her face. that's a well known sign that there's trouble on the horizon but how could pom pom not trust caelus after all he'd done? he was a reliable member of the nameless and now, after march and caelus presented their ideas to pom pom, so was you.

nonetheless you were a bookstore owner tired of the dreary life presented to you in a city with a lack of fellow book lovers. when they'd met you, caelus and march only had one person on their mind; dan heng. 'why not open a library on the express?' caelus had suggested, his hands clasping a dusty tome you'd acquired a few amber eras ago. march grinned, chiming up from where she was swatting a cloud of dust away from her face, 'yeah! you can travel with us and set up your store whether we stop!'

these were very good ideas, you admit and so you had shyly followed them onboard the astral express, grand and refined in all of its glory. it smells of rich coffee beans and well cared for plush velvet couches in the parlor car. with pom pom's consent, you officially had your own personal library onboard the astral express, travelling the cosmos with new friends at your side - and not to mention the small store you'd set up whenever the express docked somewhere, business was booming well.

the main reason behind caelus and march's plans was going too well to be true, almost. with your library and dan heng's data bank, the express was almost a walking embodiment of knowledge - if it had legs, that is but that's besides the point! the two of you were commonly found together, side by side with your heads deep in literature and data as if it was the last thing in the cosmos.

"do you prefer them categorised this way?" you voice chimes into the quiet of the library car, decorated by rows upon rows of books and tomes and the occasional plant that pom pom had insisted on. dan heng lifts his head from the data he'd projected on the small circular table he sat at, admiring how you were testing new ways to organise your books upon his own opinion.

he liked being included that way, able to interject his opinion and you'd always take it so sweetly. he valued that as much as you valued his opinion, the feeling of being seen and appreciated. perhaps, he wonders if that's why he found himself drowning himself in your presence between stops; between the gruelling tasks that came with being a trailblazer. you were comforting, a safe place among the data.

realising he'd never responded to your question, he blinks and a crack of a smile forms on his face. you almost smile instantly at the sight as he speaks up, "what's next? colour coordinated?"

you shrug, a melodic laugh erupting from you as you turn back to your organising. dan heng relaxes, a sigh of relief coming from him as heat creeps up his neck, flushing his cheeks. by the aeons, what did you do to him? little did he know, the moment you turned away, your teeth tugged at your lower lip, unable to force back that lovesick grin as your hands idly dawdled with leather-bound books.

"maybe i can create a rainbow out of all the colours we store here," you comment in response after a few moments of recollecting yourself - dan heng doesn't miss how you use the word 'we' when referring to the library, "y'think pom pom would like that?"

we. dan heng's heart flutters, unsure when he'd suddenly 'adopted' this little library with you but he wasn't complaining, deciding to occupy himself as his hand swipes at the data, the hologram flicking to the next page of information on a planet far away. a hum of agreement rumbles from his chest and then the library falls back into a comfortable silence with only the faint phonograph from the parlor car to accompany your breathing.

maybe this is the opportunity to spill your feelings, you consider as you sneakily glance over at dan heng's concentrated form. the dark haired man's eyebrows furrow, creating small wrinkles on his forehead in thought and you wonder what he's thinking about. a shaking sigh escapes your parted lips as you clear your throat, about to speak up.

"can we talk-"

"-there's something i want to talk to you-"

the pair of you blink, staring at each other for a few moments as it comes to your realisation that you'd both uttered the intentions of starting a 'talk' at the same time, your words blurring over each other in nervous tones and bated breaths. dan heng smiles weakly, waving his hand to you.

"sorry, you first." he laughs awkwardly, leaning back in the chair he'd been perched on for hours now. your hands tremble as you try to keep yourself occupied, a battle with your nerves as you slide a thick book back onto the shelf in front of you.

"this is... going to sound really odd- and it's okay if you don't feel the same way or anything! i just think it'd.. be for the best if i just get it off my chest instead of bottling it up further-" you're rambling, an anxious mess that can barely breathe in between their words until dan heng cuts you off, his eyes sparkling in the overhead lights of the library car.

"are you... confessing to me?" he asks, holding his breath as his mind whirls for a moment. you pause, nodding in embarrassment. you're about to speak again when dan heng quickly continues, "i feel the same - i mean, that's what i wanted to talk about... too..."

he what? your thoughts are a jumbled mess, heat rushing through your every limb as you both stare at each other, processing the situation. oh aeons, you'd both gone to confess at the same time? among pages that hold secrets and hear all but never speak, among your own very special version of data compared to that of dan heng's data bank?

smiles creep onto both of your faces, you can't deny the lovesick feeling driving you as you take hesitant steps towards where he sits and dan heng rises to his feet, lanky cold hands finding your warm cheeks and cupping them so delicately as you stand before him. your breaths mingle, closer than perhaps either of you had expected when you both stepped into the library car that morning.

in the mix of breathing and trembling hands, your eyes gloss over each other's faces. they drink over the insecurities you love about the other, the soft appearance of their lips and the way their eyes shine in the harsh light. moments later, lips press together in a gentle kiss that say more than words could ever convey.

pom pom had taken your request well, yes. because they were onboard with caelus and march's convenient plotting. in their own defence, they claimed to have been merely trying to draw dan heng out of his room, away from his beloved data that he sleeps among. in the response to the library's opening, he would shuffle to your library whenever the silence of the data bank got a tad too loud, when it echoed in his ears and the past came back to creep into his mind.

you silenced it, your smile warm and inviting the moment he would slide open the car's door and step inside. you assumed he just wanted your presence, his eyes lingering on data about who-knows-what but at the end of the day, dan heng loved watching you work - he loved you.

now you were his, among the data and the books you both surrounded yourself in.

⊹˚₊‧───────────────‧₊˚⊹

© thexianzhoujade 2024. | reblogs appreciated | do not re-upload, copy, translate, etc. my works on any form of media.

#( sealed letters ) #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #© thexianzhoujade #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #dan heng #dan heng x reader #hsr dan heng #dan heng fluff #hsr fluff

[luffyvace]

Saiki k x Reader headcanons

This is on my anime’s I write for list and I haven’t written for it yet so I wanted to show what I can do! 😉

Enjoy!! I Love Saiki, Aren and Aiura 💗💜💛

Okay let’s face it

your regular.

average.

literally. (probably) like you are irl

doesn’t it feel good to have reader be accurate to how you are for once?

and that your fav would genuinely be into that and you know it?!

like you don’t have to pretend or imagine to be this cool, physically strong person your not for once?? Just me?

idk but it sure is refreshing

especially since it’s canon with saiki after he practically stalked that one dude

anyway onto the headcanons

I wanna start off by saying Saiki’s love languages are gift giving and quality time

the best part about gift giving is he could just leave it on your desk or night stand and watch your reaction from afar

they’re always very thoughtful since he can read your mind :) which is a plus!

and as for quality time he finds it quite peaceful to be around someone who’s not such a weirdo for once

and even if you are one, for some reason he can tolerate your strange behavior way better than he can your friends 😂

it’s always fun to play that one video game he has together

and it’s practically a requirement that every saiki k hcs have—you two will eat coffee jelly together

he would at least want you to try it and if you don’t like it’s that’s fine more for him

He’ll just get you whatever sweet, savory or spicy food you like so you can both enjoy something (and someone 💋) you love together!~

his mother absolutely adores you and is always pestering Saiki about when you’ll be back again

his dad thinks your a “good kid” (🗿) (like every dad says 😭)

Saiki loves to go on walks together

What he doesn’t like is when something chaotic happens to ruin it

but that’s besides the point—he loves to walk to school together!

nothing like getting up every day and seeing your lover. Going on a romantic walk too?*chefs kiss* 💋👩‍🍳

will try to indulge in your interests and hobbies to keep you happy

you may or may not be a introvert like him

if you aren’t he’ll go out and hang out with friends even if that’s outside of his comfort zone for you

but do remember to cut him some slack if he doesn’t want to or wants to go home early <3

and if your an introvert? Wonderful!

99.99% of dates are spent at either of your rooms (not just houses cuz parents are annoying)

or at that one shop that sells the coffee jelly he likes

only if you agree of course

if you prefer something even more private that’s just fine with him!

he only ever wants some peace anyway

and you simply never disturb that, to which he very much appreciates

if your a touchy-feely typa peep, please keep it to a minimum? Especially in public??

he’s already not really a physical touch person the way a perceive it

not that he hates it or anything

he just is more comfy without it when unnecessary

at least in public

he already will probably want to keep your relationship a secret/private for as long as possible

(he knows it’ll get out eventually by some misfortune event 🤦‍♀️)

but since they find out anyway here’s they’re reactions!

Honestly Nendo probably won’t realize your dating until you explicitly say so

either that or he’ll be the first one to know and just be like ‘oh, i thought everyone knew that’

Aren really doesn’t mind and thinks your relationship is sweet

Hairo supports wholeheartedly- maybe a little too much 😅💗

Chiyo is lowkey jealous you both got into a relationship before her but she’s happy

Torisuka is MAD jealous of Saiki but deep inside he’s still happy for you two

Kaido is also a tad jealous because he knows he would practically never find a girl his mom would accept but otherwise he pretty much supports 😭💕

Mera just uses your dates to get some free food (JOKING) she thinks you guys are cute

Saiko (Teruhashi’s brother) would be happy Saiki finally stopped desperately chasing his sister and learned his place (it’s the other way around bro 😑)

Uryoku (the magician dude) would be like ‘oh you dating someone master? Great! Now I need help for my upcoming show-“

Aiura immediately tests to see if you two are compatible and how long you’ll be together

turns out you are!! And you two stay together ♡

she thinks that’s adorable and will do anything for your relationship

will tear anyone who tries to split you apart a new one (they were just trying to say hi)

Aiura is the most supportive of your relationship

btw here we’re going with Saiki is her platonic soulmate instead (she prob already is)

Kusuke (Saiki’s brother) is very much so interested in the person his brother has fallen in love with

he will observe you and ask you lots of questions once he meets you

which I’m telling you Saiki tried so hard to make sure you never would.

what happened?

his mom happened.

”Kusuo! He’s your brother! He should get to meet your partner!”

now Teruhashi I had to save for last..

her reaction depends

if she still loves Saiki she tries to befriend you while turning on the charm with Saiki

her plan is to befriend you and basically make you go ‘oh! You like Saiki? Well I guess I’ll back off then since were friends”

and finally have Saiki go ‘oh wow’ and fall in love with her

otherwise if she doesn’t love him, moves on or whatever the case may be..

she probably doesn’t care much for your relationship unless your friends

i mean she’s kinda like that to anyone she isn’t friends with right?

In other news

Your friends def mess up your dates unintentionally

poor Saiki- since he’s usually the one to plan them

nothing too extravagant- usually just out for food..BUT STILL!

They always tag along and become 3rd, 4th and sometimes 5th wheels or more! 😀

on the bright side-

at some point in the relationship you get to call him Kusuo and it’s a big step for you two! 💖

”well, I guess we’ve been dating long enough right? You can just call me Kusuo..”

I wanna write for the disastrous life of Saiki k (mob psycho 100 and black butler as well) more in the future! So send in requests!

Truly hope you enjoyed loves~

#anime #anime and manga #luffyvace #anime headcanons #fluff headcanons #fluff #saiki k #the disastrous life of saiki k #tdlosk #saiki #kusuo saiki #saiki x reader #saiki k x reader #saiki k headcanons #x reader #gn <3 #gn s/o #x gn reader #gn guys #gn reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x m/n #gender neutral reader #anime hcs #anime x reader #anime x y/n #anime x male reader #all readers

[luveline]

I don’t have a specific scenario in mind- but please give us some more Steve X Shy reader, I’m living for them!

hi I hope this was a request because I took it as one <3. Steve trying to comfort you when you worry his friends don't like you 🥺

Steve finds you outside, sitting on the edge of the hood of his car, picking at your nails. You must not see him approaching — he steps down onto the gravel driveway and you flinch hard. 

You’re relieved to see it’s him. “Oh, Stevie.”

He dislikes and loves the nickname. Stevie sounds like someone’s great aunt, but it’s you saying it.

He lets it slide. 

“What are you doing out here?”

You flatten your hands over your thighs looking as high strung as he’s ever seen you, taking noticeably shallow breaths. “It’s so…” you scratch at your denim jeans. “It’s so loud in there. Right?”

“Right,” he agrees quickly, the car bouncing beneath you as he sits by your side, close enough to feel the heat coming off of your arm and thigh but not quite touching.

“I don’t…” again, picking at your nails. Your shoulders are slumped forward, dejected. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I don’t think any of your friends like me.”

“Of course they do,” Steve says. Doesn’t miss a beat. 

He doesn’t know if he’s being truthful. Certainly none of his friends dislike you; they’ve got no reason to. Steve thinks you’re perfectly pretty and charming, soft-spoken maybe, but striking in what you do say. Big-hearted. 

You get meaner, scratching at your cuticles, pushing them back with the pad of your thumb over and over. Steve cringes at the sight. 

You turn to him abruptly, sounding acutely miserable. “Why is this so hard?” you ask. 

Somebody knocks something in the house and you flinch for the second time. Steve nudges his knee into yours, thinking of what to say. Thinking, if they like me then they’ll like you, because you’re twice the person that I am. But saying something that earnest aloud is hard not because you don’t deserve to hear it but because Steve doesn’t know how to do that, how to comfort someone, not properly. 

You’re the first person besides these damn kids and Robin to show him a silver of tenderness. He doesn’t want it to go unpaid. 

He tries not to overthink it as he takes your hands into his. He pries them apart gently, soothing your sore skin before tucking them into his lap. You flex your fingers under his but don’t pull away.

“God, you’re cold,” he says, bringing them to his lips. He blows on your hands, once, twice, rubbing your knuckles with his thumbs in tandem. 

Your shoulders relax. Steve can’t help cataloguing your hands, your wrinkles, your veins and divots. The fine hairs at your wrists, shining in the porch light. He realises his distraction and covers your hands with his completely to stop from ogling. 

“Does it matter to you? That they like you?” he asks. 

“Of course it does. They’re your friends.”

“Right, but if they weren’t.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it matters to me. I want people to like me,” you say, voice small. 

He can’t understand why his chest hurts. Why his heart is pounding. 

“I like you,” he says. 

“I know,” you murmur. 

Steve purses his lips, feeling like this is a puzzle he can’t solve. And frankly, it’s a little ridiculous, not your feelings but the idea that you’re worrying about it. “Why wouldn’t they like you?” he asks, genuinely not understanding. 

Your hand twitches against his thigh. You shudder. He doesn’t think it’s from the cold. “I can barely speak to them.”

It clicks, then. You’re upset because you’re shy. There’s no point denying it, and he wouldn’t. Steve likes you exactly how you are, though preferably with less scratches on your poor hands. 

“Baby, they speak enough for themselves. They’re self-contained. Like an agar plate. Or a warm yogurt.”

You snort and the sound is like a lifesaver being thrown to sea. Steve swims for it. “They’re like if you put a few parrots in a cage with a Teddy Ruxpin bear. Just, repeating each other until the words lose all meaning.”

“That’s mean,” you say through giggles, not sounding very stern. 

“My point,” he says, squeezing your hands lightly, “is that they don’t need you to speak up. Not unless you want to. God knows there isn’t a room where silence and Dustin Henderson both exist.”

“I don’t want them to think I’m a priss.”

“None of them think that.” 

You steal one of your hands back to fix your hair. Steve allows it grudgingly, leaning back on the hood, one hand braced behind him. The other he pulls to his chest, your joined hands over his heart. 

“Max likes you,” he says. 

You look at him with too much hope. He needs to have a talk with you about self-worth. 

“You think so?” you ask quietly. 

“Definitely.”

You shuffle closer to him until your shoulders are wedged together and the two of you look away from the living room window, alight with the TV colours, and up. The sky is dark. Steve can’t see any stars, though he looks. 

Your head falls on top of his shoulder. 

“Can you see any?” you ask. 

He looks down at your face, finally serene, your eyes bright and shining, then back up at the sky. Corny, cheesy, rom-com style, he thinks, yeah, I can see one. 

“Nah,” he says. “Fucking pollution.”

#steve harrington blurb #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x gn!reader #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #steve harrington one shot

[fictionfreedom]

Listen ya'll, some people wanna act like you have to be a certain age to be a paraphile but man I've been attracted to animals since I was a kid. Like, I barely even knew what a pedophile was at that age much less a zoophile, but there I was with feelings toward my cat (She is still with us today btw!) And you want to know something super shocking? Even as a child, I didn't act on my feelings in any harmful way. Sure, I would be a bit more clingy towards the animals and a lot more okay with getting puppy kisses and love bites from the dogs and cats, but I never did anything to hurt them. I say this all to say, paraphiles are NOT deranged, rabid, (unless they want to be) or incapable of control over themselves, they are humans (or not, if you prefer another term besides human) all the same, and your constant assumptions that paraphiles "Can't control themselves" are going to end up turning the same way it did with people saying that men "can't control themselves" in response to their crimes. We can control ourselves, we are not immediately criminals because of our feelings or thoughts, and no paraphile deserves to be mocked or criminalized for things they can't truly control or didn't even do. So, no, that pedophile you attacked for talking about their feelings (even if in an inappropriate way) who never actually did a single thing to any children (or anything by proxy), and may have even just gotten used to their feelings that they probably felt horribly ashamed of before? Not a criminal, and did not deserve to be treated as such. That zoophile you doxxed and harassed because they mentioned they happened to have a pet, and after everything publicly says that they never once did anything to their pet (because shocker, they aren't incapable of self-control)? Not a criminal, and is probably telling the truth, and in this situation, you would be the criminal by all reasoning. And these below are less about legality and more about the fact even "gross" paraphilias deserve kind treatment You know, like Coprophilia? Because last I checked, they get mocked no matter what community they are in, because if they are in the para community they get mocked for it being gross, and about the same thing happens in the kink/BDSM community except they might just mainly be mocked/bullied (or harassed) for using a paraphilia label instead of just saying they have a kink. I'ma leave this off here though, and just say point blank: Stop harassing paraphiles, I don't care what the paraphilia is, unless you have point-blank proof that they've actually done something bad/illegal (I personally could care less if they did something "bad", if it isn't illegal/harmful idgaf)

#proship #comship #profic #proship please interact #pro fiction #pro paraphile #anti harassment #mogai #pro para #paraphilia #paraphile safe #para safe #paraphiles please interact #paraphile #paraphilias #rant post

[cupid-styles]

the pact

surprise!!! y'all seem to be LOVING the ymls blurbs so here's a lil something!!!!!!! hope you all enjoy :)

word count: 1.1k

content warnings: pregnancy

read the original blurb here | ymls masterlist

main masterlist | talk to me

. . .

Y/N is in that annoying headspace where she can't tell if she's fallen asleep yet when her phone starts buzzing on her nightstand.

Groaning, she sits up slightly and bats her eyelashes open. She doesn't look at who's calling as she haphazardly reaches out for her phone, pressing the green answer button.

"Hasn't anyone told you you're not supposed to wake a sleeping pregnant woman?" she grumbles into the receiver. Somehow, she's not surprised when she hears Harry's husky laughter on the other side. She squints at the bright screen in the darkness of her bedroom, the time reading 1:37 a.m.

"I have a question for you," he says and she huffs, propping her back up against the array of pillows behind her. Since developing a small bump, sleeping has been unexpectedly irritating — she normally prefers falling asleep on her stomach, but it's kind of impossible with her rounded tummy.

(Besides, one time Harry yelled at her for it, saying he didn't want her to smush the baby. She called him an idiot, explaining that was literally impossible, but he still sent her about six different articles on why you shouldn't sleep on your stomach while pregnant.)

"This couldn't wait until tomorrow? Or sent through a text, maybe?"

"No. I can't sleep and it seemed pretty dire, to be honest."

"Fine," she mutters, "What's your question, Harry?"

"Do you see yourself ever getting married?"

Y/N nearly chokes on her own saliva, annoyance steadily building in her chest.

"Seriously? You want to talk about marriage at 1:30 in the morning?"

"Just answer the question, please."

She sighs, allowing her eyes to shut. Realistically, this is never how she expected her life to go. She assumed, like any other person, that she'd meet someone nice, marry them, start a life with them — she didn't anticipate her first child being brought into the world via a one night stand with someone she didn't even like all that much.

"I don't know," she eventually answers. "I used to, yeah. But I don't know anymore."

"Would you want to get married?"

"Is this you proposing?" she fires back, a stroke of panic firing through her, "Because the answer is no."

"I'm not proposing, Y/N."

"Can you get on with it then? I want to go back to sleep."

There's some shuffling in the background, followed by a deep breath. She wants to roll her eyes but she's too tired.

"Okay. What if, when we're like 40, and if we're both single, we get married?" he asks, making her eyes widen, "Personally, I've always wanted some type of life partner and I'd like to make it official at some point. And I assume dating will be harder for us when the baby's born. And I saw it on Friends, Chandler and Monica talk about making this kind of pact—"

"A marriage pact." Y/N says flatly, "Yes, I've heard of it before."

"Right."

"And you want to make one with me."

"Yeah."

"Harry," Y/N sighs, shifting onto her side and curling up to the pregnancy pillow he bought her last week, "Harry, you're you. I have no doubt that you'll be able to find a husband or a wife or whoever you wanna spend the rest of your life with."

He goes silent at that as she rolls her lips into a thin line. She’s not typically so candid with him, so she blames it on her tiredness. Sure, the only reason why she and Harry know anything about one another is because of the pregnancy. The one thing she did know about him before was that he was a free lover — he put himself out there, he was vulnerable, and he almost always charmed someone into his bed by the end of the night. It was the thing that irked her most about him, but she was self-aware enough to know that it annoyed her because it was her downfall. Her discomfort with expressing romantic emotions, her consistently stormy demeanor — she wasn’t blind to it all.

So, it’s true: She doesn’t doubt Harry will eventually find the true love of his life, but she also doesn’t believe she should subject him to a life with her. They're complete opposites; she imagines a marriage between them would be unsatisfactory on his end.

Based on the jostling in the background, she can imagine the way he's probably flipped onto his stomach, his body tucked into some of the most comfortable sheets and blankets Y/N has ever felt.

(Reluctantly, she asked him a few weeks back where he got them from, and two days later, there was a package on her doorstep from the same retailer. When she demanded to know why he'd spent so much money on a new bedding set for her, he gave her a reasoning along the lines of, "you're carrying my baby, I'm allowed to treat you to things.")

"Okay, but what if I don't? Statistically speaking, I'm sure it's much harder to date as a dad."

"Sure, maybe," Y/N replies, "But that's when co-parenting comes in handy, right? I can always take the baby when you have dates or whatever."

"Don't you think it'll get messy, though?" Harry presses and she smushes her face into her pillow, "Like, what if one of us dates someone that doesn't like our dynamic or gets jealous?"

"Then they're probably not a good partner and we shouldn't date them."

He sighs into the receiver. "Okay, yeah. You're right. Sorry for calling this late, do you still want me to pick you up at noon for the checkup tomorrow?"

She can tell how defeated he is by the drop in his tone and, whether she wants to admit it or not, it makes her heart crack just a little bit. And even though she doesn't know why she says it — she doesn't have enough time to unpack it — she does, and she can't take it back. (She knows Harry will never let her forget it, anyway.)

"Noon is still good," she says, "And... if it really makes you feel better, we can have a marriage pact, Harry."

"Really?"

She rolls her eyes, "Yes. If we're both single at 40, we'll get married. Okay?"

"Are you just saying that because you're annoyed by me?"

"Yes and no. Do you agree or not?"

"Yeah. I agree."

“Okay.”

Harry’s silent on the other line. She tucks her hand under her head, tangling her legs under the blanket he bought her.

“Can I go back to sleep now?”

He clears his throat, “Yeah. Sorry for waking you up. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Mhm,” she murmurs, wedging her thumbnail between her teeth, “For the record, regardless of our situation or not, anyone who dates you would be stupid not to wanna be with you forever.”

It’s probably the most truthful and sincere thing she’s ever admitted to him, but something about his vulnerability and insecurity strikes a cord in her.

When he doesn’t immediately reply, she wishes she could eat her words; positive that she’s made him uncomfortable. What a stupid thing to say, he probably thinks I likes him now—

"Thank you," he finally replies and her heart softens at his earnest tone, "Just... thank you. I appreciate that."

"Sure." Y/N mutters. "I'm gonna sleep now."

"Okay. Goodnight, Y/N, sleep well."

Her stomach flutters with butterflies and she doesn't know why. She shakes her head to herself and mumbles out a goodnight, hoping she can manage a dreamless night that doesn't consist of Harry being her husband.

Ugh, she thinks to herself, he's so stupid.

#writing #Harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles one shot #ymls concept #harry styles fan fic #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #one direction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles fic rec

[cuubism]

Joy

Dreamling | T rating | Retired Dream | on emotional repression

I was thinking about a post, which I cannot find alas, about retired Morpheus struggling to deal with the fact that his actions and emotions don't have universe-wide consequences anymore. Like, he's allowed to just feel things now? And as someone who's also been extremely checked out of their own emotions at various points I can tell you the transition is… not easy. Anyways.

--

Morpheus is out when Hob gets home, or so he assumes. When he steps into the hall, the flat has the utterly still quality of total vacancy, no noise or distant movement. For all that Morpheus is a relatively quiet person, generally speaking, Hob has still become attuned to what his presence feels like, or the lack thereof.

Or so he thought.

For when he reaches the kitchen, Morpheus is there, sitting at the kitchen table, completely still. Hob almost doesn't see him, that's how still he is. Back straight, hands folded on the table, looking down at them as if he's meditating, or working out some complicated problem in his head.

Hob quietly sets down his bag and sits across from him. “Hey... love? You okay?”

He almost whispers it so as not to break the silence. Normally Hob would leave him to his devices if he was in the middle of something, but despite the fact that Morpheus is not given to unnecessary movement, the complete stillness sends something uncomfortable creeping up Hob’s spine. Morpheus hadn't even seemed to hear him come in.

With glacial slowness, Morpheus nods.

“It’s just…” Hob continues, biting his lip. “You’re not moving. At all. I almost didn’t think you were breathing.”

“That is the idea,” Morpheus agrees, still looking at his hands.

"Not breathing?"

"Not moving."

"Can I ask why?"

"I am. Preoccupied. With." His fingers flex against each other on the table as if forcing stillness. "Movement within."

Hob doesn't know what that means. "Can you elaborate?"

"I must make it still," Morpheus says. "I have before. I will."

Which clears up nothing. And Hob is getting the increasing sense that something is wrong but he's floundering as to what.

"Will you come sit on the couch with me?" he finally asks. "You look like you're about to snap in half."

"If it will please you," Morpheus says. Like his own pleasure-or-not in this matter is something he'd prefer not to touch.

"It will," Hob says. Morpheus follows him to the couch, moving like– like he did before. That ethereal creature that considered every step like he was crossing a thinly frozen lake.

So that's what it is.

Morpheus sits down beside him, drawing his knees up to his chest in a movement that, Hob is almost relieved to observe, is very much not like before.

Hob drapes the blanket from the back of the couch over his shoulders. Morpheus flinches, but doesn't push it off. "What's going on, hon?"

"It is..." Morpheus admits, slowly, "loud."

Hob frowns. "In your head? I thought you said it's been quieter since–"

"No." Morpheus presses a hand to his sternum. "Here."

Hob touches his chest, carefully, hand resting beside Morpheus's. All he can hear, or rather feel, is Morpheus's heartbeat, still a new and learning thing. "Your heart?"

"Everything. It... resounds. And drives off reason."

"Okay." Hob rubs his hand up and down over his chest, as if that might soothe him. Hob is aware enough of the feeling of overwhelm, and of Morpheus's particular brand of it, now that he has so little to distract him. "Just give it time and it'll pass, love."

Morpheus shakes his head. "That is not–" his lips press into a distressed line. "Duration is. Not the issue. It is. What will be left. After. Detritus."

Hob's own heart clenches. "Your feelings aren't a storm, love."

"Are they not?"

"You aren't going to make storms in the Dreaming, now," Hob says, though he knows Morpheus knows this.

"I speak not of weather, Hob Gadling," Morpheus growls. "I can– raze minds, I can spin balanced consciousness into euphoria, I can twist it all on its head with no effort and I will–" his fingertips dig into his chest, and Hob thinks that if he were still capable of manifesting claws he'd be drawing blood even through his shirt– "I will make it stop. It will be quiet again, I swear it."

"Only thing you're spinning is yourself," Hob says, gently.

And the thing is, he knows Morpheus knows this. Knowledge isn't the issue. It's sort of like how he never quite believes that Hob will never want to die, no matter how many times Hob tells him. I know that, Hob Gadling, he will say, but Hob can never quite get him to feel it.

"I know that, Hob Gadling," he says, again, now. That same tone. How dare you not believe it. How dare.

"Give me your hand," Hob says.

"Hob–"

Hob takes his hand and pulls it to himself, pressing Morpheus's palm flat to his own chest. Morpheus makes as if to pull away, then surrenders.

"Look," Hob says. "It's not hurting me, is it?"

"No," Morpheus admits, reluctantly, still with that tension through his shoulders.

"What about the room? Is everything shaking into pieces? Is it all going haywire? People rioting in the streets?"

Morpheus shakes his head no.

"See?" Hob says, squeezing his hand. "It's alright."

"I want it quiet," Morpheus says. He no longer sounds frustrated. More defeated. "It should not be... here." He touches his breastbone. "Here." His throat. "Here." His head.

"Where's it supposed to be, then?"

"Gone."

Hob sighs. This will not be an easy fix, not at all. He leans in, awkward though the angle is, and kisses Morpheus's chest, his neck, his temple, then stays, leaning against his shoulder. "I'm sorry, love. I know it's not easy. I happen to like you not gone, though, for what it's worth."

"Me?"

"Uh-huh. You. That's you in there, you know, not some brain-eating amoeba."

He gets a tiny huff of an almost-laugh from Morpheus. "Is it?"

"Yup. The part you weren't allowed to see because everything else was so loud." He rubs Morpheus's chest again, where he keeps saying it's hurting.

Morpheus's mouth opens as if to protest, and Hob adds–

"I'm not going to criticize you for it, okay? I promise I'm not."

Hob gets it. Well. He can't get it, actually, he's never been in charge of the entire dreaming world, but he tries.

"I thought you were supposed to go out today?" he says. "Weren't you getting tea with Rose? What happened with that? You were looking forward to it, I thought."

"I was, yes." He says it as if this is bad somehow. "Looking forward to it, that is. Her company is... enjoyable.”

“Okay? That's good, right?"

But Morpheus shakes his head. "It is too much."

"Too much?" Hob asks. "Were you nervous about it?"

Again, Morpheus shakes his head. “Joyful.”

Hob's heart is actually going to break. He knows this is part of why Morpheus left in the first place. And yet it's still tormenting him, which feels criminally unfair. And the worst part is there's no one to really blame, he knows why Morpheus did it, he can't and won't fault him for it when he was put in such a position.

He asks quietly, “So that joy didn't feel good to you?”

Morpheus shakes his head, biting down hard on his lip, and then, to Hob's horror, bursts into tears.

For all that Morpheus is prone to drama and moping, Hob has never actually seen him cry. He hadn't cried when he’d told Hob of his imprisonment, offering only a hint of scorched anger to indicate how he felt about it, the words, I had not realized what it was to be isolated and embodied until then. It was agonizing, said with the even cadence of the moon in orbit instead of the rawness they deserved. Nor had he cried when he'd shown up on Hob's doorstep and, when greeted with a concerned Hey, Dream, are you okay? – because he certainly didn't look it, drenched to the bone and his cloak absent its swirling inner cosmos – answered merely, You should call me Morpheus, I am no longer Dream of the Endless. The closest Hob had ever seen was the glimmer in his eyes when he'd thought Hob no longer wished to live, all the way back in the 1600s, and even then, his tears had not fallen.

“Oh, darling.” Hob pulls him into his arms, rubbing his back. “It’s alright.”

“It does not feel,” Morpheus continues, voice remarkably steady given the tears streaming down his cheeks, “good. It feels loud. And I am not in control, I am subject to these whims and I am no subject, Hob.”

"Those feelings are part of you. Not subjecting.”

“I don’t want it,” Morpheus insists, with the bitter frustration of a former king, used to shaping the world around him as he wishes. “If they are free I do not know what might come out.”

What comes out are parts of you, Hob thinks, but doesn’t express it again. The raw parts that you think are so awful. “Well, if there’s any feeling to try it with, wouldn’t it be joy? Happiness?”

Morpheus huffs. "Do you think that sorrow and rage are the only feelings with the capacity to destroy? Joy can become hysteria, joy can ruin, I have seen it, I have done it, when I was much, much younger and did not understand my abilities. Strong feelings have power, the very Dreaming is crafted of them. It could not exist out of apathy.”

“Neither could you,” Hob points out, and Morpheus just huffs again, shaking his head.

“I thought that if I relinquished my responsibilities, I would no longer have to worry so about everything outside of myself,” Morpheus says. “And how it entangles with me. Only now. It is still there, but I can do nothing to stop it.”

“But listen, darling.” Hob squeezes his hand. “You’re allowed to be tangled up with everything, now. You’re supposed to be.” He twists their fingers together. “I want you tangled up.”

“I will— without access to my realm I will step wrong, and—”

“And you can fix it,” Hob says. “Promise. No rebuilding a whole universe required.”

Morpheus sniffles, and Hob wipes the tears from his cheeks. “You always kept yourself above it all, didn’t you?”

“It is my responsibility to keep the collective unconscious in balance,” Morpheus says. He hasn’t quite stopped talking about his responsibilities in the present tense — Hob thinks it will be a while before he fully internalizes the lack of that weight. “Not to sway it to my feelings. Historically, when I have involved myself, it has… not gone well.”

“It doesn’t always as a human, either,” Hob says, and Morpheus’s frown deepens. “I mean, we’re all just bumping up against each other, you know? But you’re allowed to have space there, even if it doesn’t always go right.”

“If you mean this to be very comforting, I will have to disappoint you,” says Morpheus, but there’s more humor in it now, and he’s stopped crying. He pushes his head into Hob’s shoulder, and Hob wraps his arms around him tighter, holds him close.

“I wish it could all be immediately easy for you,” Hob says. “I’d do anything to make it so.”

“I did not expect this to be easy,” Morpheus says, voice rumbling into Hob’s chest. “But the challenges have repeatedly come from unforeseen directions.”

Hob kisses the side of his head. “I’m glad you’ve stuck with me anyway.”

“You have been very patient with my… meandering attempts at basic humanity.”

“Always will. I love you.”

It’s another thing he’s struggled to get Morpheus to truly accept, that Hob’s care for him was never contingent on any of his abilities or powers. That Hob won’t be scared away no matter his mistakes, because Hob has faced a lot of terrifying things in his life and the worst is the prospect of losing Morpheus entirely.

This time, Morpheus doesn’t reject it. He just hums and lets Hob pet his hair, lets Hob keep him and quiet him towards ease, which Hob intends to do until Morpheus can find it himself, and then after, too.

And several weeks later, when Morpheus comes home from the park with a colored pencil drawing Jed made for him, smiling and holding it to his chest with real joy in his eyes, Hob shines with pride, and the part of his heart that might have broken just a bit listening to Morpheus cry that day heals over again.

#how many goddamn fics is it acceptable to post in one day #this is technically the third #truly i wish i could finish and post things on a regular schedule instead of not posting for 2 months then finishing 80 things in one day #but alas #anyway #this has been lingering for months near finished but unsatisfying. finally scrapped 1000 words of the ending and just redid it #WORKING THROUGH SOME STUFF HERE PERHAPS #dreamling #dreamling fic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #retired dream #let dream be happy 2kforever

[growup-thatbeautiful]

Okay, now that you've introduced us to gym crush Dave, what about gym bf Dave where he's a lot more confident in watching you do your sets, and being a total hype gym bf <3

(Sorry if it's not descriptive enough... it's late asf and I'm tired)

aww this is adorable! thanks for the request lovely 🧡 sequel to this fic but not necessary to have read :) short n sweet for this one

The gym isn’t crowded today; you thank the early hour for the emptiness. It’s not your preferred time (5 A.M is a little too early for you), but Dave couldn’t find any other room in his schedule, and it’s always better to have a built-in-boyfriend/gym partner.

You’re benching, the rhythmic movement up and down timed with your breathing, sweat making your hair stick to your forehead. The burning in your arms has already started, a feeling on the edge of pain. You already finished one set, following the plan that you and Dave made this week for your goals together. If it was anyone else, you would’ve told them to fuck off for talking about your workout routine; but it’s how you and Dave connect, among other things. Somehow, it’s easy to listen to his guidance and his encouragement. It helps that he’s always the most sincere, quietly supportive person that you know.

He’s beside you now, scrolling through his phone while he takes a break. There’s a layer of sweat covering his body, the black material of his shorts and tank-top doing nothing to hide his muscles.

Through the haze of your music, you hear Dave’s voice, always patient and calm. “You can do more than that.”

“What?” you ask, frustration seeping through your tone. Ever since you started working out with him, your routine has become decidedly harder, which you’re both thankful for and tired of. It’s undeniable that Dave pushes you past your limits in the best way possible. He takes a step closer to you, leaving his own weights on the ground.

“Come on, baby. You can do more than that. Here-” he helps you rack your weight and adds another five to both sides “you go. Try now.”

“Dave,” you start, peeling yourself off from the sticky plastic of the bench, “I could barely do what I was already doing.”

“But you did it,” he points out. “You go until failure, right? So add more.”

Reasonably, you know he’s right. You’ve got more in you, even though you may not feel like it, but the heaviness of your breathing and the shakiness of your limbs protest.

“Fine,” you huff, ignoring the grin on his face. “But you have to spot me, bub.”

“Of course.” Easily, he steps around you to get into position, ready to help if you need it. There’s no one you trust more than him to spot you; he’s always unfailing protective of you. Quietly, when you lift the bar from the resting position, he urges you on. “You got it, honey.”

Breathing in, you bring the bar to your chest and pause before pushing it back up, breathing out. One rep. Two reps. Dave’s voice steadily counting as you keep going, encouragements littered in-between. You finish the first set and take a breath, sitting up.

“There you go, baby,” Dave cheers quietly, his headphones around his neck, curls sticking out in all directions despite your attempt to pin his hair back. “See, you didn’t even need my help,” he points out.

“Asshole,” you grin, popping the knuckles in your hand. He sees it and takes your hand in his own, massaging your knuckles and giving your wrists a squeeze before helping you lay back down on the bench.

The next set passes and the next set passes, until you can’t lift anymore and Dave has to help you rerack your weights. Your arms are bone tired, burning, and shaking.

“Good job, baby,” he says once you’re sitting up, your face flushed and heated with sweat. There’s pride on his face that makes you feel proud of yourself. “I knew you could do it.”

“That makes one of us,” you reply, taking his hand when he offers it to you. He grabs your water too and hands it to you, and you gratefully take it.

“Come on, have a little faith. You’ve got a great coach, you know.” Running a hand through his curls, Dave starts his own set, not waiting for you to start again, which you appreciate.

When he takes his next break, you take a look around the gym to make sure that no one else is looking your direction. Once you’re satisfied, you wrap your arms around his neck, sweat be damned, and peck him gently. “Thank you,” you whisper before pulling away, leaving Dave to stare at you, open-mouthed, his eyes wide and surprised.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” he warns breathlessly, a half-grin on his face.

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling his headphones back up to cover his ears. “I’m counting on it, coach.”

#gym crush dave #dave lizewski #dave lizewski x you #dave lizewski x reader #dave lizewski x y/n #dave lizewski fanfic #dave lizewski fic #kick ass #kick ass fanfic #kick ass fic #atj #atj x reader #atj x you #aaron taylor johnson #nova writes

[exitpursuedbyavulcan]

Monsters in the Garden (Ettore x Reader) 18+

No one comes to your garden but you, not even Dr. Dibs. So what is the most dangerous man on the ship doing leaning against your doorway and watching you work?

Pairing: Ettore x fem!reader (second person, no use of Y/N)

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT SMUT; hand job; kissing; blood; mentions of rape, murder, and violence; female genital mutilation; vague mentions of corpse mutilation

Author's note: This was inspired by a session I had with the Ettore AI made by @harrenhalhottie (RIP). It was just so good I had to write it out for y'all. This Ettore is a little different from normal, but I can't help but look at a one-dimensional character and want more. Hope you enjoy, and let me know if you want a Part 2, because I have ideas...

This song also heavily influenced the vibe:

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3

Monsters in the Garden

You were on your knees, leaning over one of your raised garden beds when you noticed him leaning against the open doorway. He wasn’t quiet on his approach – he wanted you to know he was there.

Ettore was always there, in some dark corner, watching you.

By this point, you were almost used to the burning feeling that crawled beneath your skin whenever his eyes were on you.

In the right light, those eyes were a mesmerizing blue. The color reminded you of the sky back on Earth. If he hadn’t been so goddamn creepy, you might have been happy to stare into his eyes just to remember home, even briefly.

But he was easily the most unsettling person you’d ever met. Always leering at the other women on board – though in the past weeks, you had apparently become his one and only target– and using the Box proudly, far more than anyone else did.

It was no wonder why. You knew what he was.

Everyone on board was a killer, including you. But Ettore was the worst. The most dangerous of you all. For he was the only one who had… done worse than just kill his victims.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Well, some would say what you had done was worse. But that was different. Your victim was already dead by the time you started your work on his corpse, and it had been more than deserved.

You did not let yourself linger on that. You never did these days. The further away from Earth you got, the more distant it seemed. The rage, the guilt, all of it.

Ettore wasn’t distant. He was mere feet away from you, intruding on your garden.

Not yours, not really. Because of your past – specifically, the degree in horticulture you were only one semester away from completing when you were arrested – you were assigned to look after the gardens instead of something more related to the actual mission of the ship like the rest of the crew.

Or more basic, in Ettore’s case. Dr. Dib’s called his assignment “ship maintenance,” but you all knew what he really was: the janitor.

But he never came in here. You made sure of it, keeping everything meticulously clean and fixing all your equipment yourself so no one – least of all Ettore – would ever have a reason to intrude on your space.

You didn’t even allow Tcherny, the other gardener, in here. He was fine with it. He preferred the vegetable and grains and left the medicinal plants – kept in their own room – to you. The only person beside you who ever came in here was Dr. Dibs, and she hadn’t been here in months. She didn’t like the dirt.

Yet there was Ettore, just staring at you.

His eyes weren’t that beautiful, bright blue you so rarely glimpsed. His chin was slightly tucked into his chest, his strong brow casting his eyes into darkness. His face was blank, unfeeling, and unmoving, save for those eyes.

They almost didn’t look human, but animal. Yes, that was the look of a predator. And it was directed at you.

You turned away from him to face the garden bed again, hoping he would lose interest if you didn’t engage. But if he didn’t, and he did try something…

Well, you had your spade next to you. It was probably sharp enough to dissuade him from doing anything you didn’t approve of.

So, you resumed your work, carefully tending to your poppies.

Once the lovely purple-pink petals that were just unfurling fell in a few days, you would harvest the sap from the seedpods so Dr. Dibs could synthesize more of the sedative the crew was forced to take each night. Only a handful, carefully selected by you, would be spared and allowed to produce the seeds that would become the next crop.

Though you hated playing a part in producing the drugs, the poppies were still your favorite plant. They were the only flowers you had left.

The garden was always your happy place, even on Earth, and you quickly found yourself concentrating not on Ettore or the sounds of the ship or even the ship itself. There was only you, the dirt, and your beloved plants.

So, when you finally stood and looked away from your work, you had entirely forgotten that Ettore stood there.

Still, he remained leaning against the doorframe, watching you. He hadn’t moved a fucking inch.

You jumped slightly at the unexpected sight, your hand flying to your racing heart.

While he did not flinch at the motion, Ettore’s brow raised slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirked up.

At least the hunger in his eyes had abated. Somewhat.

“Didn’t mean to startle you, love,” he crooned as he uncrossed his arms and took two steps forward.

God, you had never heard him speak before.

His voice wasn’t particularly deep, but it was low and smooth. His accent was like something out of those British action movies a boyfriend in high school loved to make you watch. Perhaps it was those memories – of either the boyfriend or the handsome actors, that made his voice sound almost alluring.

It had to be. It couldn’t be him.

You instinctively stepped back, raising your hands to try and communicate that you didn’t want him near you. Unfortunately, you forgot your spade on the ground, leaving your hands empty. Fortunately, your gloves were loose enough that he could not see the slight trembling in your fingers.

“I just…” you stammered. “I forgot you were there.”

He just stared at you impassively, those predatory eyes taking in every detail of your face, then traveling lower and lower.

Some of the hunger returned when his gaze landed on your breasts.

You had to shut that shit down.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, pouring all your contempt into your voice to mask the fear that still crept within your blood.

Ettore looked back at your eyes, the corner of his lip flicking up as though he was holding back a sneer. “Just passing through.”

You risked looking away from him to glance at your watch. It confirmed what you already knew. “You’ve been standing there for over an hour,” you informed him. One hour and eighteen minutes, to be exact. “Hardly what I’d call ‘passing through.’”

He raised his brows slightly, apparently surprised it had been that long. “Guess I lost track of time. Watching you is…” he turned his eyes, not to your body, but to the flower bed you had just been working in. When he looked back, he gave a sly smile. “Relaxing.”

Bullshit, you thought. But then you bit back the sharp tang of your own cynicism. Gardening was relaxing to you; it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility that he honestly found watching you relaxing as well. If it had been anyone but Ettore, you probably would have believed them without a moment of doubt.

But it was Ettore.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

You glared at him for a long moment, trying to communicate that you wouldn’t be fucked with – you wouldn’t be a victim. Then, when he still didn’t drop his gaze from yours, you took it as an acknowledgment of the threat and turned away from him.

You were at least half-expecting him to pounce on you then and there, but he didn’t. You didn’t hear a single sound as you walked to your workbench, situated on the opposite wall from the door, and took off your gloves.

“There’s nothing more to watch,” you said over your shoulder. Then, grabbing a clean rag from one of the drawers, you began wiping the dirt from your forearms – rinsing it off in the sink would risk a clog, which would mean a visit from maintenance and Ettore. “I’m done for the day.”

He didn’t reply, only grunted his acknowledgment. He never moved as you continued to wrap up your work – cleaning your tools, sweeping the dirt that had made its way out of the beds, and washing your hands. Still just watching you.

At least it confirmed that it wasn’t the gardening he found ‘relaxing.’

Finally, you discarded your rags in the laundry bin. It would need to be taken out soon – it was ready today, but you were already running later than you wanted. In just ten minutes, you had an ‘appointment’ with Dr. Dibs, and you didn’t want to make her angry. Again. Doing so has become kind of a bad habit of yours.

So, you turned to face Ettore, who continued to stare at you as you stepped within a few feet of him. He stood a little taller at your approach, puffing his chest out as that near-rabid hunger took over his eyes once more.

Your stomach fluttered, and you told yourself it was only because you were nervous about whatever Dibs planned to do to you tonight.

But then the corner of his mouth quirked up, and your heart sank at the realization that it was because you – or rather, your traitorous, repressed body – found Ettore attractive.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

He would be just your type if you didn’t know why he was here. You had never been able to resist a good jawline, and his could cut fucking glass. And as you took another step closer, his height became just as enticing. You always told people you only liked tall men so they could reach things for you. But really, you just loved the feeling of having a big, strong man to protect you.

No one had looked at you like you needed protection in years. No, you were now what people needed protection from.

“Though she be but little she is fierce,” the lawyer had said when convincing the jury to not be put off by your size. A fitting quote, since Shakespeare himself had inspired some of the more gruesome details of your crime.

And now, you couldn’t help but take another step forward, then another. All along, savoring how far back you had to tilt your head to look into those beautiful blue eyes.

God, as he tilted his chin back as well, the bright lights of the garden set them blazingly bright and the bluest you’d ever seen them. They were even better than the sky back home…

You forced yourself to look away when you felt heat begin to pool between your thighs. Instead, you stared over his shoulder to the hall, trying not to snap when you heard him laugh slightly at your movement. Was the blush you felt visible?

“You’re in my way,” you said, your voice more of a whisper than you intended.

When his smirk faded, and his lips – very pretty lips, you realized – fell slightly open, you thought he would have some cutting remark. But he only stepped to the side to allow you through.

As you passed him, you were close enough to catch his scent. Everyone on the ship used the same soap, so how did he smell so different? Beneath the clinical smell you all carried, there was something deeper, more masculine.

You really needed to calm down before your appointment with Dibs. She knew you didn’t use the Box – not after that first time had failed to get you off, despite the engineering genius of the contraption – so seeing you this riled would lead to questions you didn’t want to answer.

Touching other inmates was against the rules. And even if this wasn’t touching… even thinking this way about another prisoner may incur her wrath.

So, you walked a more than respectable distance away from him before turning back. He was still half-in, half-out of the garden. But he wasn’t staring at you anymore, but rather at the poppies...

When was the last time he had seen a beautiful flower?

You glanced at your watch again. You barely had enough time to make it to the infirmary.

“I need to lock the door,” you said, drawing his gaze back to you.

His brow furrowed slightly as he glanced from you back to the door, then back to you again. He sucked his teeth as he looked at you in condescending disbelief. “You need to lock up flowers?”

“It’s protocol,” you answered. Perhaps your tone was a bit harsher than it needed to be, but you were both criminals - murderers. He could handle a little bitchiness. “And there’s more than just flowers in there.”

Ettore let out a laugh that was little more than a hard exhale, but the twinkle in those eyes told you that he was indeed amused. Then, crossing his arms, showing off the odd, triangular tattoo on his forearm, he stepped away from the door.

You would have to walk by him again to get to the door. Perhaps he was cleverer than you gave him credit for – if you had previously given him any credit at all.

If you weren’t so pressed for time, you might have stayed to tease him some more. This was surprisingly fun, even when you knew what he wanted from you and what he had done to get it from other women. You were just that bored.

And horny. You were very, very horny.

That would be what got you in trouble.

You scoffed, pushing past him to lock the door. It took all your effort to slip the key in as your fingers trembled at the feeling of him hovering over you, his breath hot on your neck as he stepped closer to you.

This shouldn’t make you horny. On the contrary, it should make you afraid. But still…

When the door finally locked, you spun around quickly, tucking the key between your fingers like a claw – something one of the college policemen once told you about.

But Ettore stepped back – once, twice. And then the was pressed against the wall opposite you. His stare was still hungry, and you could easily see how heavy his breathing had become, but he didn’t advance.

“I have to go,” you told him, unsure why you were doing it. It wasn’t like you needed his permission or even wanted it. “I have an appointment with Dibs.”

His eyes darkened then. Not with lust or animalistic hunger, but rage. It was almost… possessive?

It was gone as soon as it appeared, replaced by his usual empty stare. Still, you did not dare move, not after whatever it was you just saw.

“Can I…?” Ettore gritted his jaw and looked away, his hands balling into fists at his sides. You didn’t know if he was about to cry or kill you – and you didn’t know which would be worse. He still looked away from you as he continued, “Can I come here again tomorrow? Just to watch.”

You should immediately forbid it. It was wrong, it was a bad idea, and it was just fucking weird. But as the hour chimed on your watches, you realized you couldn’t leave when he looked so desperate, almost sad. And you definitely couldn’t say anything to make that horrible expression worse.

“Yeah,” you whispered. You turned as he looked back at you to shut off the alarm on your watch. Dr. Dibs would be pissed at you, of that, you were sure. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem to matter. Not when his eyes lit up again, not from any light, but with excitement. “If you have nothing better to do, I guess that’s fine.”

The corners of Ettore’s lips quirked up like he would smile, but he quickly corrected it and set his mouth in a straight line. He didn’t want you to know just how excited he was, but you did anyways – he wasn’t a great liar. Tipping his head in an attempt at indifference, he sniffed before speaking. “Yeah, wicked.”

You winced a little at his pathetic attempt to seem cool, but it faded quickly when your watch beeped again. This wasn’t an alarm or the chiming of the hour but a summons. If you didn’t obey it, you knew Dibs would happily use the stupid watch to deliver a steady stream of low-level electric shocks until you did.

She was just as much of a killer as the rest of you – worse than some, if the rumors were right. Why should she have such authority over the rest of you?

It was pointless to question it, and even the beginnings of the line of thought had ruined your mood. So much so that you didn’t say anything else to Ettore before turning away from him and stalking down the hall toward the infirmary.

After you had disappeared around the corner, Ettore took a deep breath, silently congratulating himself on handling that almost like a real person would. Then, he turned in the opposite direction as you. He was due to clean the canteen before dinner. But fuck that. He needed the Box – now.

-

Dibs had been pissed. Not only that you were late to your appointment, but that you were so obviously turned on when you got there. It wasn’t like you could hide it, not when she immediately ordered you into the stirrups and got a front-row seat to your weeping and flushed cunt.

“Have you been using the Box?” she asked, that sickeningly sweet smile plastered across her face.

You pursed your lips, looking away. “No.”

Her smile faded, and her eye twitched. “And yet here you are, practically dripping.” She reached for something on her tray, but you couldn’t see what. You had a pretty good guess, anyway. “Well, at least it makes my job easier.”

It had been anything but fucking ‘easy,’ you thought as you cradled your aching abdomen. Under the pretense that you were already wet enough, she had shoved her speculum into you hard and fast – and without lube.

If you thought her tests and procedures had been uncomfortable before… they were downright torturous yesterday. Especially since she conveniently ‘forgot’ to give you any numbing agents or sedatives. And definitely no painkillers.

Not even the sedative you were served with dinner had helped. For the first time since you boarded this godforsaken ship, you hadn’t slept.

Thankfully, you had little work to do in the garden besides waiting for the poppies to drop their petals. But you didn’t want to just wallow in your pain, so you decided to sit at the edge of the bed where your little willow tree resided.

It wasn’t growing very fast, likely because it didn’t have the room it needed or deserved. Still, you were happy with the progress it had made. When the ship first took off, it was little more than a bonsai. Now, it stood a good eight feet tall – the only plant you needed your step stool to tend.

In truth, it didn’t need much tending. Trees never do unless they are very young or something is wrong. But sitting next to it, examining the patterns in its long leaves and tracing lines up its trunk, was spectacularly soothing.

You had never considered harvesting anything from it. Not yet. It was too little still, and you didn’t want to risk damaging it permanently since you couldn’t simply order a new start. But as another pulse of pain surged through your stomach, you found yourself reaching for a lower branch.

All you needed was a small twig to chew on. It was an ancient Egyptian remedy, one that eventually led to the invention of Aspirin. And even if the sedative didn’t help, perhaps something more natural, something you had grown yourself, would.

You had just wrapped a hand around the branch when you felt a large hand close around your shoulder.

Instinct kicked in, and you whirled around, freeing yourself from your attacker’s grasp. Without processing who it was, you threw your arms out, shoving with all your might. “Get the fuck away from me!”

You only recognized Ettore after you had backed into the wall. He had also fallen on his ass and crawled backward on the floor – apparently, you were stronger than you thought. Any amusement at the fact died when you saw the anger burning in those eyes.

It was entirely possible that you just really fucked up.

But your adrenaline, from the pain and the scare he had just given you, was racing too hot and fast to let you consider that possibility.

“What are you doing?” you spat. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Ettore’s face grew even more furious, if that was even possible. His eyes burned as bright as any fire you had ever seen. It was beautiful and deadly. “You fucking… you said I could come watch you!”

Damn it, you did say that.

But it was before Dr. Dibs had been such a cunt.

And she had only done it because he got you horned up like you were a pathetic high schooler.

“Well, now I changed my fucking mind!” you shouted. If you could stand, you would have. Towering over him and just screaming your heart out would feel so good. But you hurt too much to even entertain the thought. “I don’t want you here – I don’t want you!”

Ettore shattered.

You watched it happen as your venomous words left your lips.

His face fell, his eyes began to water, and even his tattoos seemed to go dull.

At that moment, he was not Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster.

He was just a boy – the both of you were barely more than teenagers when you left Earth – and he was broken.

You broke him.

You looked on in horror as his trembling lips set into a hard line that echoed in his harsh brow, and the tears in his beautiful eyes faded to reveal a primal rage that chilled your blood.

There he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

Ettore stood slowly, like a tiger rising from its crouch upon realizing its prey has no escape – that it could play.

But then he looked away from you, sniffed, and moved for the door.

His leaving without doing anything to you should have made you feel overwhelming relief, but it did not. Instead, a great yawning pit of guilt and regret opened in your chest, hurting nearly as much as your wounded core.

You tried to call out to him, take your words back, and apologize, but all that came out was a short yelp of pain. This time, it was accompanied by wetness between your legs – and not the pleasant kind.

As you folded over, burying your face in your knees as you pulled them into your chest, Ettore paused halfway out the door.

He’d heard noises like that before. From other women in pain – pain that he caused. His lip twitched, and his head tilted out of his control, the movement more animal than human.

You were helpless and apparently wounded. This was his chance.

But as he turned to face you, he caught sight of the poppies you so lovingly tended to the day before. With the memory of your soft smile as you cupped a particularly pretty bloom, one that was a deeper pink than the others, he was able to pull back on the reins of that instinct.

Just slightly, but just enough.

“You hurt?” he asked, his voice strained.

You nodded into your legs and lifted your head without meeting his eyes. “I think… I think I’m bleeding.”

Ettore was frozen, his hands flexing, relaxing, and balling into fists as he tried to keep hold of those inner reins. If he was smart, he would leave. Go straight to the Box and fuck himself until this hateful urge was gone. If he was a good person, he would offer his help.

He was not smart. And he was most definitely not a good person.

But something about you and those goddamned poppies woke what little was left of his humanity and made him want to try.

So, he just stood there, staring at your helpless form as he fought a vicious war inside himself.

You watched him. Watched as his eyes flicked over every inch of your body with dizzying speed, as various parts of his body twitched and flexed. You’d never seen anything like it before, except…

The vague memory of a play you went to on a middle school field trip reemerges. Your whole grade was reading Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and it just happened to coincide with the local community theater’s production of the play.

It wasn’t a good play. Even at twelve, you could tell it was objectively bad. But the man who played Jekyll and Hyde was decent (one of your classmates told you he was their pediatrician), mainly when he performed the ‘transformation.’ You hadn’t been able to look away as he contorted; every movement was desperate, halting, and frantic.

Not unlike how Ettore moved as he watched you.

When he came out of the fog that had settled over his eyes, which Ettore would you get? Did he even have a Jekyll to his Hyde?

You knew you should take the opportunity of his distraction to run. The infirmary would be best, but it would mean seeing Dr. Dibs again. You had no desire to admit that you needed her help. The showers were also an option, but it would allow others to see you in a weakened state. You didn’t want to admit weakness. Besides, Dibs would hear about that as well.

So, even though you knew it was stupid, you decided to take the biggest risk of them all.

“Ettore…?” You called his name softly, unsure of the pronunciation. Whether it was right or wrong, he didn’t seem to mind. He locked eyes with you, and his nostril flared as though he really was a predator and could smell the blood you were now confident was leaking from you. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened slightly, and he looked like he would run from you. But beyond another twitch of his head, he did not move.

“Please?” you begged. You felt pathetic, but you kind of were, so you tried not to let it bother you too much. “I don’t think I can stand on my own.”

Ettore’s brows furrowed at that, and his lips went from a near-sneer to a determined frown. Then, with a lumbering gait, he approached you in only a few steps, holding a hand out in front of him for you to take.

You stared at his hand for a moment, admiring the elegant length of his fingers. And then you realized: he was shaking.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Tilting your head, you looked up at his face. Apart from the slight widening of his eyes, it was again set in passivity. But what was more peculiar than his trembling or his expression was the fact that he was steadfastly refusing to look at you.

Indeed, those blue eyes were set on the softly swaying leaves of your willow, tracking their movement like the tree would attack him if he looked away.

You were so used to his eyes on you. Was it wrong that you wanted it back?

Before you could ponder the answer, you raised an arm to take his hand. He squeezed your fingers painfully as he helped you onto your feet.

The pain surged again as you stood, causing your knees to buckle the second Ettore let go of your hand. You stumbled, falling against his chest.

It was no more than instinct that had him wrapping his long arms around your shoulders and waist to catch you. An instinct that his brain was yelling at him to abandon you and let you fall.

It was too dangerous to touch you, to feel your soft skin as his hand accidentally slipped into the side of your overalls – why the fuck were the sides so low when your shirt was so short?

At the sensation of your hot breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, he let out an involuntary groan as he tightened his grip on you.

He had to get away. Now. As fast as possible. He didn’t want to hurt you. He really didn’t. But his blood was singing with desire, more intoxicating than any liquor or drug. Keeping his fingers from digging into your flesh possessively was almost painful, and he was so, so hard.

The reins were slipping…

You felt it, his hard length pressed into your stomach as you brought your hands to his chest to steady yourself.

You should push him away again. Slap him. Yell at him. Kick him as hard as you could right on that hard, impressively long length.

But you did none of it.

“I need to get to my worktable,” you whispered, “there’s a medkit there. And…”

You looked into his eyes, watching them dilate even further as you finished your request. “I’ll need help getting out of my overalls.”

That blue you were so entranced by was all but gone. Ettore looked like a man possessed, his breathing heavy and heaving as he lowered his chin to look into your eyes.

There was no way he heard you correctly. You knew what he was, what he had done. And you were smart, so much smarter than him. Far too smart to ever ask someone like him to take off your clothes. Even if it were to help you with an injury – an injury he still couldn’t see.

But then your eyes squeezed shut, and you fell forward to bury your face in his shoulder as you moaned in pain.

And then…

Then your right hand moved up his chest to wrap around his neck. Not to choke or hurt, but just to hold.

He expected your hands to be rough from working in the garden all day, but they weren’t. No, your fingers were unfairly, unbearably soft as they swept across his bare skin, coming to rest against the tattoo on the side of his neck.

When was the last time anyone touched him like this – tenderly and without fear? It had been years, even before he was put on this doomed ship.

Ettore almost came just from that simple touch.

More intense than even the extraordinary pleasure was the feeling of near calm that washed over him. It soothed the pain he felt in every muscle and quieted the violent, primal urges roaring within his chest. They weren’t gone, but they were further away.

It made it easier to take the reins.

“The worktable…” he breathed as his grip on you relaxed slightly. He still held you firm enough to keep you standing, but you no longer worried you would bruise.

You pulled away slightly, noting the way he whimpered and winced like a scolded puppy as you slowly removed your hand from around his neck. “Yes.”

He nodded frantically, sniffing and taking a few deep breaths. As if he needed to prepare himself for the short walk to the table. Then, moving with a slowness that suggested the motion took all his concentration, he lowered his arm from your shoulders.

When Ettore turned to the worktable, even with his other arm still around your waist, you felt a rush of unwelcome cold. Even when you were still clothed and the garden was kept at a balmy temperature.

He walked slowly. Perhaps you would have thought it was out of concern for you and your pain, but you knew by now that this was hard for him.

Indeed, when he pulled away after you were leaned against the table, a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across his brow. His breathing was still rapid, and his eyes were glassy, as if he were several shots in.

“Ettore?” When he met your eyes again, you looked down at the buttons on your shoulders holding your overalls up. He followed your gaze and made a choking sound when he realized what you meant. “If I let go of the table, I think I’ll fall.”

It wasn’t just his hands shaking now, but all of him. So much so that you couldn’t tell whether he was nodding or just shaking that badly.

Either way, he reached for the first button on your left shoulder. It took him a few tries, but he got it done. The strap fell, and one side of the overalls slumped, revealing the tight white shirt beneath that left very little to the imagination.

Ettore growled.

What the fuck? Humans don’t growl. At least, you had never heard it.

And yet he did.

A flicker of fear started in your chest, and you chose to focus on that rather than the bloom of something else lower within you.

He began to reach a hand, tense and shaking, towards your breast. But inches away, you caught his wrist. You had to lean further against the table not to fall, but you weren’t letting go.

“The other button, please.” Though you spoke quietly, the command was clear.

You only released his arm when he looked into your eyes and confirmed with a twitch of his lip that he heard you. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times before finally going for the other button.

It took him even longer to get this one undone. But at least he didn’t growl again when the other half of the overall’s torso fell limp around your waist. His eyes did linger on your breasts, but you let it happen.

You had great tits. And he deserved a little reward for helping you, didn’t he?

So, you let him have a few seconds to just stare. As long as he didn’t try to touch again. Because you didn’t want that, right?

Ettore’s gaze fell further, to where the overalls were just barely hanging onto your waist. You said you were bleeding, but he still hadn’t seen it. So just where was your injury?

His cock twitched, and he was sure you could see it through the thin scrub pants he was forced to wear as he realized what would happen next. “You need ‘em all the way off, eh?” He hated how weak and shaky his voice sounded, but he supposed it was better than growling. You hadn’t reacted well to that. “Do you need me to…?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. Of course, you knew you should say something about burying your spade in his chest if he tried anything. But the fact that he was asking, rather than just ripping the garment off, made you feel almost safe in having him do this. Almost.

You would feel even better about it if you couldn’t see his dick straining against his pants and twitching almost as much as he was.

C'est la vie, you supposed. Though that probably applied more to something trivial, like your school’s football team losing a game they should have won, than you being forced to ask a serial rapist and murderer to take off your pants. But close enough.

You shivered when he lowered his hands to your waist, causing him to pull back slightly. “It’s fine,” you assured him. “Keep going. I’m fine.”

Ettore nodded and fixed his eyes on the bottom drawer of the table as he took the thin fabric of the overalls between his fingers and started pulling them down. Really, he could have just nudged them, and they would have fallen to the floor. But he kept them in his grip as he lowered himself into a kneeling position.

He never once looked at you. Not at your ankles, or your legs, or the apex of your thighs – which were covered with more blood than you expected.

Damn it.

You considered what to do next as Ettore remained on the floor, carefully slipping the overalls over your feet. A difficult task when he refused to look at what he was doing.

By the time he finished, and you felt very much like Donald Duck – shirt, shoes, but no pants – you knew what you had to ask.

It was the stupidest thing you’d ever done.

“As long as you’re down there,” you said, your joking tone flatter than you intended, “the medkit’s in the drawer just to your left. Can you grab it and… and help me onto the table?”

Ettore didn’t reply but yanked the drawer open and grabbed the medkit. After tossing it on the table, he rose. Then, still not looking at you, he wrapped his arms around you again – one around your waist, the other around your upper thighs – and lifted you onto the table.

God, you felt so good in his arms. You were the perfect size, like you were made for him to hold. Warm and soft and… wet?

His eyes shot to the arm that had been wrapped around your legs. And both of you looked on in horror as you realized it was now covered in blood – your blood.

For the first time, you saw a look of disgust come over Ettore’s face.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, voice breaking as tears of embarrassment began to fall. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!”

But he didn’t say anything. Instead, Ettore simply stalked over to the utility sink a few feet from the worktable and slammed the faucet on. He didn’t wait for the water to heat before shoving his arm under it.

You watched in humiliation, fumbling to lower your panties as he grabbed the soap and began to scrub. “I’m so sorry,” you said again, ripping open the medkit to find a packet of gauze you could press between your legs. “Ettore, I’m so sorry!”

He shook his head as he scrubbed harder and harder, until his skin burned from more than the searingly hot water. You were bleeding, you were hurt, and all he had been thinking about was how much he’d like to fuck you.

It had never stopped him before, not with any of the other girls. He had never minded having their blood on him. He savored it, actually. But it had been him who made them bleed. You…

“Who?” he growled, stilling his scrubbing but keeping the arm under the water. The burning distracted him from the desire to find someone to hurt. Because he needed to hurt someone. Badly. Preferably whoever did this to you, but he wasn’t picky.

You didn’t want to tell him, not when you recognized that look in his eyes. It meant violence – retribution. You had seen that same look in your eyes when you watched the recap of your trial from your cell, and your lawyer was telling the jury, in excruciating detail, why you had killed your victim.

For a moment, you thought about trying to pass it off as you just being on your period. But he wouldn’t buy it. Not after what you’d already told him. Besides, all the women on the ship were synced, and your periods were still two weeks away.

Finally fed up with your silence, Ettore shut off the water and turned back to you, not bothering to dry his arms. He just prowled back to you, standing between your spread legs as he stared deep into your eyes without a glance at your mostly exposed cunt. You turned away, not wanting to face the darkness in his eyes, but he grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him.

“Who?”

You bit your lip and fought to get free of his grip, but to no avail. Knowing then that it was hopeless, you locked eyes with him again as you said simply, “Dibs.”

He growled again, not with hunger, but with rage.

And then he turned away.

He would hurt her, you realized. He would kill her.

You weren’t opposed to the idea, but you were opposed to what would come next. What the other prisoners would do to Ettore afterward. And perhaps you as well, since he would do it for you.

Before you knew it, your hand had shot out to grab his shirt, and he froze.

“Don’t,” you pled. When you tugged on his shirt to draw him back to you, he only resisted for a moment before coming back toward you. “It was just her punishment. I’ll be fine. She wouldn’t… damage me permanently. She needs me intact for her experiments. I promise, she was just being a cunt.”

Ettore cocked his head and pursed his lips like he would argue, but you couldn’t have that. So, you lifted the gauze from between your legs to show him how the blood flow had already stemmed somewhat.

“See? It’s already getting better.” But your weak, reassuring smile fell when you realized what you had just done.

He realized at the same time, and he could not stop his eyes from dropping to what you just made visible to him.

His erection had begun to flag while he cleaned your blood from his arm, but there was no stopping it now. Not when he had a full view of what he had been dreaming of for weeks.

Just like the rest of you, your pussy was so pretty. He wanted to kiss it, stroke it, fuck it. His blood hummed with the desire, and he barely stopped himself from diving forward. He closed his fingers around yours where they bunched the front of his shirt. The feeling of your skin against his was his salvation, an anchor to his humanity.

Not you, he told himself.

Not you, who didn’t look at him in fear or disgust. At least, not entirely.

Not you, the only person since his mother died to touch him with anything other than aggression.

Not you, who had trusted him, even knowing what he was.

Murderer. Rapist. Monster.

“Please.” His plea was hardly more than a breath. Pathetic. “Please, let me go.”

For even with your touch, he was losing his grip on the reins. If he stayed here one second longer, he would do something he really didn’t want to do. He wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You could see how much danger you were in, but you did not let go. No, you tightened your grip on his shirt, pulling him closer and closer until your forehead rested against his.

Finally, you could look into those eyes and remember the sky back home as you had wanted to for so long.

But the sky wasn’t enough.

You wanted him.

You knew you couldn’t have him fully, couldn’t do what you really wanted. Not when you were injured like this.

Still, you brought your other hand to his chest, feeling him shiver as your fingers traveled lower and lower. Finally, you rest your palm against his length through his scrubs, feeling a sense of satisfaction when his hips cant slightly forward into your grip.

He didn’t have to say anything for you to know he wanted this as much as you do. But, of course, he did. When was the last time a woman touched him there, let alone willingly? The thought should have disgusted you, but it didn’t.

Perhaps you were just as much of a monster as he was,

“Dibs will punish us if she finds out we did this,” you whispered, your lips mere inches away from his. “But I don’t really care, do you?”

Ettore shook his head, his eyes burning like the fires of hell, where you both belonged. He was so close to breaking, losing himself, losing control. He was little more than an animal following the primal instinct to mate.

But letting you take control – and you were undoubtedly in control now – made it easier. For once, it wasn’t him who had to pull back on the reins. Not when he gave them to you.

He nodded vigorously. He wanted you. He didn’t care that he didn’t deserve it. And he didn’t care that you were probably just as monstrous as he was. He just wanted you.

You smiled, pressing a single kiss to the corner of his lips before sliding your hand past the waistbands of his scrubs and boxers and taking hold of him.

He immediately let out a pitiful cry as his stomach tightened, and he had to concentrate so hard not to come before you had even begun to move your hand. It was only made worse when you giggled at his struggle. The sound was sweet and light and utterly infuriating.

Needing to shut you up, Ettore brought his hands back around your waist as he tugged you to the table’s edge. He leaned forward to kiss you, but you pushed against him, holding him back. Then, tensing, he grunted, a low, throaty sound and a begging.

“I know,” you whispered, mock sympathy barely disguising your amusement. “I know what you want. Believe me, I want it to.” You laughed again as you began to pump him slowly, collecting the precum on his tip with every stroke to ease your movements. “You can kiss me another time. Right now, I just want to look at you. Is that okay?”

His hands tensed around your waist, and for a few seconds, he looked like he would let that animal loose and lunge at you. Like he would kiss you with all the pent-up frustrations of an entire life spent unwanted.

But he stopped, looking from where your hand disappeared below his pants to your eyes. And he nodded. Not a small, weak movement, but a firm, final motion.

He would allow it.

He would allow you to do whatever you wanted.

You smiled broadly, and again, he had to hold back his release. He wanted this to last forever.

At last, you released Ettore’s shirt from where you had bunched it with your offhand, raising it to his neck. You traced each line of his maze-like tattoo as you sped your movements, savoring each wince and whine he let out. Cataloging each reaction to figure out, without him having to say a word, exactly what he liked best.

And what you liked best. You were particularly fond of how his eyes would squeeze shut, and his mouth would fall open each time you grazed your thumb over his leaking head, following a short trail up and down his slit.

It was such a mesmerizing sight that you brought your hand up from his neck to touch his face. Every movement of one hand was echoed by the other as you explored each feature.

The severe line of his jaw. His large chin. The sharp cheekbones and flat brow. His long, elegant nose. The pink plush of his lips, from which he let out such tantalizing moans and whimpers.

Once you had taken in every inch of his face, you cupped his jaw in your left hand to feel it work as you sped the ministrations of your right hand. His eyes squeezed even further shut, and he grunted like an animal. But you didn’t stop. You only went faster and faster.

“Are you nearly finished?” you asked teasingly.

Ettore cracked open his eyes, looking from your taunting smile to your hand, working him so skillfully, then back to you. He moaned almost inaudibly, and that animalistic hunger returned to his eyes. He had been locked in a cage for too long, and now you had set him free.

“Yes,” he moaned, almost too quiet to hear.

You brought your thumb to rest against his lower lip, smiling at the feeling of his increasingly frantic breath against her.

For so long, you had feared this man. And now he was reduced to putty in your hands.

With a mischievous twinkle in your eyes, you pressed your thumb further into his lip and let your other hand slow, ignoring his protestations. “Before I let you finish,” you said, your voice tauntingly innocent, “I need you to answer a question for me. Can you do that?”

Ettore’s body jerked wildly as he desperately tried to regain some of the friction you had just deprived him of, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

He knew he would do anything you asked him to then.

If you asked him to jump? He’d ask how high.

If you demanded he get down on his knees and beg? He’d do so happily.

If you told him to throw himself out of the airlock? He wouldn’t hesitate.

Compared to what he would do, what you actually asked of him seemed so simple.

“Fine…” he gasps, tightening his grip on your waist as though you would pull away. “What is it?”

You smirked, savoring that dark look in his eyes. How could you ever have been scared of it?

Then you squeezed his pulsing cock, just past the point of pleasure, to emphasize the power you held over him.

And, of course, he loved it. Groaning as his head toppled over into your shoulder. You carded your hand through his short hair as you whispered in his ear, “What feels better, my hand or the Box?”

Any pain, any embarrassment at being so pathetically at your beck and call, or any emotion other than his desire for you faded at the question. All that mattered was you and your perfect touch.

It felt wonderful even when you tugged on his hair quite hard to make him face you again. The answer was written on his face, in every piece of the complete, utter joy he felt in every inch of him, but especially where your skin met his.

“You,” he said, the word like a prayer. “You.”

Your responding smile was wicked, and you almost went back on your promise not to kiss him. But you resisted and began pumping his cock at a breakneck pace, brushing each sweet spot with every stroke and letting your pinky graze against his balls each time you came to his base.

It takes every ounce of what little restraint Ettore had to not scream at the overwhelming bliss. It was so much, too much. It was everything.

But what finally pushed him over the edge was you leaning in again to whisper against his cheek, “Just wait until you feel my cunt, Ettore.”

There was a sharp gasp, a guttural cry, a whimper, and a grunt, and then he was spent. Thank God his boxers were thick, or there would have been a very obvious stain at the front of his scrubs.

Ettore whimpered again as he looked into your eyes again, unsure what this meant or what would happen next. He was so drunk on his release that words failed him, or else he no doubt would have said something stupid and ruined his chances of actually getting to experience what you had promised just before he came.

You removed your right hand from his pants, wrapping it around his neck like the left, soothingly stroking the peach fuzz at the base of his skull as he came down from his high.

There was a new look in those blue eyes. Not hungry, not animalistic. Not angry or predatory. No, it was almost reverent.

Who would have ever thought that Ettore, the murderer, rapist, and monster, was capable of a look like that?

You parted your lips and leaned ever so slightly into him. “Thank you,” you whispered against his lips. “For letting me just watch. I think… after giving me that, you deserve a treat, don’t you?”

Ettore didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He could only stare at you as pleading vulnerability crept over his face. The look of a puppy begging for a treat.

Then, he nodded, his only pleading answer.

You ran a hand through his hair again, making him wait just a moment more. “Kiss me, Ettore.” His eyes went wide at the command. “Kiss me the way you really want to.”

His throat bobbed, and he nodded again, still holding your gaze. Then, before you could even take a breath, he pounced.

Ettore’s lips were hot on yours as he kissed you deeper and more passionately than you’d ever been kissed before. It took only a moment before it felt like your souls were melding together for how close he held you. He did not relent until you were both struggling for breath.

Even then, he kept his lips pressed against yours as though he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

“Thank you,” he said softly, the sound sending tingles up your spine.

You just sat there, smiling against him for a moment, wishing you could have taken him inside you. Perhaps you were fine now, and if he could get hard again, you could…

But then your watches both beeped the hour. He’d been there an hour. Someone was bound to notice he wasn’t scrubbing the halls soon.

So, you reluctantly pushed him away, heart clenching as he weakly fought to hang on to you. “I want to come back,” he whined.

You didn’t reply as you dressed again, your pain mostly gone, and pulled a clean rag out of another worktable drawer for him to clean himself. As you went to shut the drawer, an idea sparked in your mind. You grabbed another rag and ran to the sink, bunching the cloth as you moved.

Ettore looked on in confusion as you shoved the rag down and down into the drain until you couldn’t reach it anymore. But then realization set in, and he grinned wickedly.

You turned to him and returned the smile. “I think I may need to call maintenance tomorrow.”

#monsters in the garden #ettore #ettore x reader #ettore x you #ettore imagine #ettore smut #ettore fanfic #ettore fanfiction #ettore fic #high life #high life fanfic #high life ettore #ewan mitchell #Spotify

[felicjana050896]

A few words about Charlastor

Today I saw this post:

(Sorry, I can't post the link, Twitter doesn't want to work on my computer today :\ )

I will quote it here because it made me think again:

Currently, the closest person to Charlie is Vaggie, while Alastor invades her space, Vaggie and Alastor are opposed to each other, Vaggie wants to run a hotel for Charlie (her whole life is based on Charlie...), while Alastor has his own reasons (more on which later we don't fully know) and the two are portrayed as opposing forces pulling Charlie, Vaggie in one direction and Alastor in the other. Charlie's relationship with Alastor will deepen in future seasons (which the author wrote about, that Alastor and Charlie are the main characters of HH and what we see after the pilot), thus distancing it from Vaggie, which we see already in the first season (and what I wrote posts about ), that Charlie's relationship with Vaggie will surely deteriorate as it goes on, their quarrel over Vaggie's lie was, in my opinion, just the first glitch in their relationship (although not very well written in my opinion anyway), at some point in the story Charlie will had to choose between Vaggie and Alastor (and Niffty):

And considering the other screenshots, they are either forshadowings only to the fact that in future seasons Charlie will be getting closer to Alastor and away from Vaggie, or they may generally herald Alastor's victory over Vaggie, it depends, they are definitely confirmation that the further the seasons, the more Charlostor's content we will have than Chaggie's, the only question is which one will be the endgame?

Alastor stealing Charlie:

Significant bed scene, Vaggie wakes up without Charlie, alone, and Charlie is later in bed with Alastor on a heart-shaped pillow:

Besides, I read about Zoophobia and old sketches of Alastor and Autumn, and in my opinion Autumn reminds me a bit of Charlie... but in order.... First, let's go to Roo or Eve (if you prefer), well, I saw one Tik Tok and I definitely agree with it:

Charlie actually resembles Eve much more than Lilith, it always surprised me that Charlie has more father-like features both in appearance and character, and has none of Lilith's (especially when it comes to her ahem... physical qualities...), but I thought they just made her a typical "daddy's girl" and that's it... but if Eve is Charlie's mother and not Lilith..., we still had Lucifer's comment that he stole from Adam both wives, both Lilith and Eve, and although he married Lilith, he probably slept with Eve..., then the only question arises: why did Lilith decide to raise a child that was not her own?

Roo (Eve):

Charlie:

Lilith:

Lucifer:

Charlie and Eve (Roo) have exactly the same nose, the same lines under their eyes (Charlie in his demonic form has them) and the body sharp is the same, Lucifer by the way does not have a nose (:D), Lilith has a completely different nose, only Eve's nose matches Charlie's....

Moving on, we know that Alastor made a deal with someone, many people speculate that he made it with Lilith, but there are also people who believe that with Roo and I, although I also considered Lilith at the beginning, it was thrown in our faces this 7-year break (that Lilith has not been in Hell for 7 years and Alastor disappeared for 7 years), seems too obvious..., moreover, we know that Lilith had a contract with Adam (end of episode 8), and Adam did not know Alastor, so how could Alastor have an agreement with Lilith and be with her for these 7 years in heaven, if Adam didn't know him at all..., while Roo..., and this is where the issue of Zoophobia begins, i.e. Viv's first idea, where most of the HH characters came from:

In Zoophobia we had the so-called KayCee, i.e. chaos itself and the main antagonist, interestingly KayCee liked apples (a reference to Eve and her picking an apple from the Garden of Eden, the first sin?):

KayCee had white hair, horns, and the original Alastor was in love with her:

So KayCee is nothing other than the prototype of Eve.

Moving on, the original Alastor was also obsessed with Autumn, the character of Zoophobia, a blonde deer:

Autumn is a very helpful and good-hearted character and: ,,Although outwardly he appears mature and rational, in reality he is extremely insecure, suffering from low self-esteem. Autumn continues to seek recognition and thanks from others for a little help from him, showing that he needs the appreciation of others. Autumn is also very sensitive and short-tempered: in the webcomic, when Rusty teases him about the little antlers, Autumn explodes in anger and violently scolds him."

Doesn't this in some way resemble the description of Charlie..., a girl with a good heart, wanting to help everyone, and also sometimes quick-tempered (when, for example, heaven rejects her or when Susan pisses her off :D )

So we have Eve, who used to be KayCee, and Charlie, who has a lot of Autumn in her, and if it turns out that Charlie is actually Eve's daughter, Charlie will be a combination of KayCee and Autumn, considering her appearance and character traits are taken from both, two characters that the original Alastor was crazy about ;)

And finally, some shots of Charlie and Alastor:

And remember about Niffty and KeeKee, they are very important, after all they are in the HH logo :)

KeeKee, a pet belonging to Charlie and Niffty, Alastor's ,,pet" ;)

Sorry for the long post again, but I just can't keep it short :D

Thank you for reading and have a nice day, evening or night :)

#charlastor #hazbin hotel #radiobelle #alastor #charlie morningstar #charlie x alastor #anti chaggie #niffty #keekee #zoophobia #eve #roo #lilith morningstar

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Cross The Line 

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~2.2k

Summary: Wanda accompanies you to one of her clubs

A/N: Request: "Wanda getting mad at a stripper for offering us a dance not knowing who we are with and then firing her because obviously she owns the place". Enjoy!

Warnings: unwanted attention, jealousy

The fact that you’re even here is still a shock to you. Given the complicated history you have with strip clubs, you had never expected Wanda to let you go to one since you both agreed to steer clear. That said, when your best friend practically begged you to join her at one for her birthday, you were put in a tough position. Luckily you were spared from an argument when Wanda agreed on two conditions that were pretty easy to go along with. The first was that she was going with you which was preferred honestly because she’d been invited and it was going to help them all make sure they were treated well. The second condition was that you and your friends went to one of her clubs, so she knew you’d be respected. Your friend had jumped on the idea of you knowing a good place, and even without mentioning Wanda’s connections, you were glad that your friend seemed happy.

Now almost an hour after getting to the club, you and Wanda are having a good time. Wanda’s silently ordering people around with looks, but she’s not doing it in a way that’s obvious to anyone but you. She makes sure that everyone has as many drinks as they want, and she makes sure you get as much food as you want. She knows you're more focused on that anyway, and she loves the little thank you kisses you give her each time. You’re mostly sitting back and watching your friends enjoy themselves as they watch the performers or dance very drunkenly. You notice very quickly that there aren’t many people here, at least not as many as you expected. You ask Wanda about this at one point, but she just shakes her head before telling you not to worry about it. This definitely means she had a hand in only about 2 dozen people, including them, being present opposed to the near hundred that usually frequent the place on a nightly basis.

“I'm going to step out for a minute. I need to make a call.”

That was another thing about tonight. Wanda was taking off work to be with you which you appreciated, but you knew that it stressed her out. She obviously still had things going on tonight, and you just offer her a nod before meeting her lips for a quick kiss. She glances at your friends who are still watching the performers before heading toward the back of the club. You decide to join them once she leaves, but you want to finish your drink first.

“Hurry back?”

Wanda smiles with nod before standing up to excuse herself. It’s getting late and you notice as soon as Wanda leaves that new people begin to trickle in. After her last dance, the performer that had been with you for most of the night is finishing up her shift. She had mostly danced for your friends because she recognized that Wanda’s presence beside you meant that you were off limits. You were still polite as you watched her, and you tipped a lot once she was done for the night. She found it interesting that you’re even here tonight, but that’s not her business so she just leaves to let the late shift girls take over. She hopes they remember all the rules of the club. Even those not often applicable.

“Steve? What’s going on? I thought this was handled?”

As Wanda listens to her friend tell her about the little hiccup tonight, she regrets not taking the cigarette offered to her just a few minutes ago. She was craving one but you’d just busted her for it, and if she came back smelling like smoke, you’d likely chew her out in front of your friends and couch her for eternity. For this reason, she’d grabbed another drink on her way to the office where she was going to camp out for this call. She’s beyond frustrated at this person that she’s working with because he keeps changing his damn mind and taking up all of her time. She just needs him to give her what was promised then they can part ways and never speak again.

She sits in the chair behind the desk and sighs as she throws her legs up. She had let you dress her tonight, and in exchange she’d picked out your outfit as well. You’d wanted your wife in a nice suit, and Wanda had complied as usual. For you, Wanda had chosen a backless dress that was short, but not too short to risk anyone sneaking a peek at what was hers.

“Well can you have him call me?”

When Wanda leaves you move seats so you’re closer to your friends. The first row in front of the stage has a free seat and you slide into it with a sigh. Your friend whose birthday was today turns and hugs you tightly before looking around for your absent wife. You tell her that she stepped out and she just nods in understanding before smiling widely at you.

“Thank you so much for coming! And for recommending this place. It’s amazing!”

You smile widely before nodding in agreement. The service has been amazing, and you’re sure it still would be great even if Wanda wasn’t here. Still you believed that she made everything better. Your gaze wanders to the new group of dancers that have flooded into the club. You hadn’t realized that it was so late, but it didn’t matter much. You use this transition time to catch up with your friend. She’s only in town for her birthday and tomorrow, so you won’t have much time to hang out. You think about ordering another drink, but you don’t know what Wanda had ordered you. It was fruity because you drank it quickly and she got to see you tipsy and adorable. She let you finish the first one quickly, but the next one would either be watered down or not for a little bit. You didn’t like to get drunk and you made sure that she didn’t let you drink too much.

You end up ordering a mocktail and you’re sipping it as a new dancer wanders over toward your group. You stay quiet and wait to see what happens. You look over your shoulder hoping that your wife will suddenly appear.

“Hey there, beautiful.”

Tonight Wanda had dressed you up in a knee length green dress that showed off your curves, and kept her close by to make sure no one got too bold around you. You’re regretting her choice a little bit as you turn to see a beautiful blonde in front of you wearing something skintight and very transparent. You shift slightly before sitting up and looking around uselessly for your wife. Why you can’t have a sort of bat signal to summon her during times like this you’ll never know.

“Hi there. My wife just stepped out, but she’ll be back soon.”

You hoped this was true and you resist the urge to look for her again as you sit back in your chair and focus only on her face, not daring to look any lower as you smile politely while doing your best to convey zero interest in her. She smiles at you in a way that definitely doesn’t make your face flush at all. Walking towards you as you sink into your chair in an attempt to disappear, she eyes you curiously. She’s never seen you here before and she can’t help but want to get to know you as she watches you down your drink. She notices your wedding ring, but she ignores it for now as she moves closer to you and starts to lower herself into your lap.

“Well she won’t mind if I keep you company until she’s back.”

She definitely will, and you sit up suddenly to try and get away from the woman who’s about to sit in your lap. Your friends open their mouths to help you out too because they know how uncomfortable this makes you. You’re the only one of your friends who’s actually married, and of course you’d be the one that the stripper wants.

“Woah, no, no. Don’t—.”

“Hey! Get off of her!”

Wanda had finished up with her call and she was storming back into the club with a scowl and a ruined mood. She was going to have to deal with whoever fucked this up first thing tomorrow, but she’d like to try and get back to enjoying her time with you for now. She hates being interrupted when she is spending time with you no matter how long she’s taken away. She hurries back toward where she left you, and she takes a deep breath as she tries to calm down. She’s going to take advantage of the rest of tonight.

When she sees where you're sitting with your friends it takes her a moment to process the sight in front of her. You’re sitting in a different chair so you could be closer to your friends. However you’re not talking to them when she returns. You’re almost standing up as a new dancer that Wanda doesn’t recognize is only seconds away from sitting on your lap. Her scowl returns and she speaks up before she’s even within hearing distance which means she’s shouting across the room.

You jump in surprise and practically scramble out of your seat as you try to get as far away from the blonde as possible. Luckily the sound of your wife’s angry voice makes her stop in her tracks before backing away from you so fast that she runs into your friend who’d been out of her seat to help free you from the unwanted attention.

"Ms. Maximoff, I’m sorry, I--.”

Wanda didn’t give her a chance to try and come up with an excuse. She shakes her head before walking over so she’s standing in front of the blonde. She’s slightly taller than Wanda, but she seems to shrink under your wife’s harsh gaze. You almost feel bad for her.

“It’s Mrs, and the woman who told you no? That’s my wife.”

The woman turns pale and the visible horror is something you’ve only seen directed toward your wife a few times. You wait for only another second before Wanda turns her attention to you to make sure you’re alright.

“Get out of my club. You’re fired.”

You see the blonde consider arguing, but she thinks better of it and just nods before scurrying away as fast as possible. You frown as you reach out for Wanda with a relieved sigh. That was stressful. You ignore your friends' confused and shocked expression for a moment as you try to guess your wife’s mood. You pull her onto your lap and wrap your arms around her quickly with a small smile. You kiss her cheek and then lips when she turns in your hold to face you.

“Thank you for your great timing. I was about to come looking for you.”

Wanda nods as she watches the blonde disappear from sight and hopefully from her building. Everyone who stepped foot in here with an intention to work was shown her picture and told that she was the boss. The spiel was different depending on who told it, but the gist was to keep her happy and do as she said. Whether or not you were mentioned was something she’d have to check on, but the fact that she’d left you probably made it hard for people to know who you were. She didn’t want to keep a picture of you anywhere here . She didn’t want people to know who you were by face, only by name. She’s not sure if this is still the case after tonight.

“I’m sorry I was gone so long, detka. I should have left someone with you.”

You’re shaking your head because everything’s fine. It had been handled and you were just grateful to have your wife back. You give her another hug before sighing and looking over to your friends with a smile. It was getting late and you’d probably leave soon, but for now you’re going to sit back and enjoy having your wife in your lap.

“Don’t worry about it, Wands. I’m just glad you’re back.”

Wanda smiles as she shifts in your lap so she can throw her legs over the arm of the chair. She sighs before leaning further into you, and burying her face in your hair. You can’t help but smile as she stakes her claim for the new couple of dancers that wander toward your friends. You hold your wife close as you watch your friends have fun for the next half hour. You’re pretty sure Wanda’s fallen asleep on your lap, but you’re fine with that. You could stay here all night with your wife, and as you start to feel your eyes grow heavy you make sure that you have a good hold on her before you let yourself drift off.

“Night Wands.”

The only response you get is a mumble of acknowledgment and a tightening of the arms around your waist. You simply kiss your wife’s temple before closing your eyes and letting the noise of the club fade into the background.

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #silver springs #silver springs drabble #silver springs au #mob au

[shunsuiken]

Imagine when everyone is sitting on the sofas with the creator and the traveler and Xiao are fighting over who sits next to the creator, so the creator asks them to do rock paper scissors to decide, but the creator prevents the person who won from sitting on your side and let the person who lost sit on your side, the person who won the breeder sits on your lap ^^ (big text.) 👺

OOOOH OKAYY OKAAAYY I LIKE THIS

tags. sagau+ gn!creator!reader + u mentioned ‘traveler’ so u guys can just imagine either aether or lumine in this, whatever fits ur preference the most + fluff + some crack lmao + pretty xiao biased + some xiao x reader towards the end bc i can’t help it 🫶🏼

everyone’s minding their own business, conversing amongst each other in the living room. you lean on the armrest, your free hand holds a book, eyes only scanning over the pages because your thoughts are occupied by something else. you purse your lips, closing your eyes in exasperation.

the traveler and xiao have been glaring at each other for who knows how long. at this point it’s becoming a little ridiculous that none of them have yielded—or even just expressed what they had in mind (which was to clearly be the one sitting next to you). and you’re not very fond of your acolytes resenting each other for things like this. if they want something—just say it! you are their creator. there is nothing in this world you cannot do.

“how about a game of rock, paper, scissors?” you suggest, opening your eyes to exchange gazes with the traveler and xiao. “maybe if you both can relax the tense air radiating off of you, i will grant you what you want.”

now this gets the two of them going. childe even butts in to be a human-scoreboard. then the game begins. but for some unknown reason, xiao is… winning? you try not to display the confusion on your face as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. you must say, it is rather amusing to catch the traveler so flustered and bewildered by the hidden skill of the guardian yaksha.

eventually, after five rounds, xiao wins three while the traveler won two.

childe whistles dramatically at the result, looking at you to announce the winner. “your grace, the conqueror of demons won!”

“excellent work,” you comment, before patting the spot beside you. “take your place now, traveler.”

xiao’s heart drops. it’s like he was just smacked in the face. but he continues to look forward, masking his disappointment with a blank expression. he should have known this would happen.

on the other hand, the traveler’s previously saddened eyes light up immediately at your words. their chest blooms in warmth at the unexpected turn of events. they leave their seat to sit next to you as you offer your arm for them to wrap theirs around. the traveler obliges in milliseconds, a blush dusting across their cheeks at the physical touch.

you turn your gaze. “xiao,” you call. he looks up at you, a blank stare to the normal eye but to you, you see an amber storm of disappointment and sadness swirling within it. as expected of the creator of teyvat, nothing goes unnoticed by you.

“yes, your grace?”

nothing prepares anyone for the words you say next.

“sit on my lap.”

someone in the background chokes on his wine, a cup of tea shatters and the temperature of the room has somehow also risen. you silently neutralise the elemental energy in the air, hehe, these boys sure know how to get jealous.

xiao blinks owlishly at you, unable to process the words you spoke. he shifts in his seat. awkwardly holding his stare with you until you beckon him to come closer with a small laugh.

“i’m not going to bite you, now come here, xiao.” you smile at him and only then does he hesitantly trudge his way over to you.

you adjust yourself on the couch, asking the traveler beside you if they are comfortable in a hushed voice and when they gave you a quick nod of the head, you prepare your lap to receive xiao.

the yaksha’s skin grows cold with every step he takes towards your sitting figure. sweat forms on his back as he spins on his heel to lower himself on your lap but then some weird excuse of a yelp leaves his lips when your free arm snakes around his waist to pull him down onto you.

pink covers his skin and his toes go cold. what are you doing?! he wants to ask, but the lump in his throat doesn’t let him. with pursed lips, he keeps his hands neatly on his own lap, nails nearly scratching through his pants as stares laser beams into the wooden floor.

the tense figure on top of your lap makes you giggle, raising your hand to tilt his chin towards you. “dearest, why have you turned to stone?” you tease and xiao turns into this even more impossible shade of red that even the traveler gapes in shock. you can only imagine everyone else’s reactions.

“your grace… is very generous,” xiao manages to murmur after one successful attempt of clinging to his string of sanity.

you place a hand on his shoulder blade, your touch lighting up the goosebumps on his pale skin. before you reply, you place a chaste kiss on his nape, making xiao snap his back straight up in surprise at the gesture of affection he’s still unaccustomed to.

xiao’s knuckles turn white. “y- your grace?!” he stammers out, amber eyes the size of saucers meeting yours—excitement, relief, shyness—it’s written all across his face. this is probably the most expressive he’s ever looked in front of you too!

you grin, a twinkle of mischief shines in your eyes. “now, now don’t act like you weren’t expecting this…” you continue to tease him, watching him squirm on your lap so adorably.

#xiao x reader #sagau x reader #xiao fluff #genshin sagau #sagau xiao #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact x reader #my love for xiao is really showing in this one

[demolition-lesbians]

Rolling Stone #1119 December 9, 2010 - The Playlist Issue

(click for better quality) Here's the playlist if you want to take a listen! Transcript:

Gerard Way: Glam Rock

My Chemical Romance's frontman grew up a metalhead, but when he heard Iron Maiden's lead singer, Bruce Dickinson, cover Mott the Hoople's "All the Young Dudes," he discovered a whole other world, "I knew I had to find out more," Way says, "To some people, glam is just about makeup. To me, it's a very magical thing almost like witchcraft."

1: "Ziggy Stardust" David Bowie, 1972

This song defines glam. It was also the first thing in rock that really challenged people's notions of sexual orientation. Bowie actually sings about a man's ass! 2: "Children of the Revolution" T. Rex, 1972

You always knew Bowie would make it out alive and turn into another character; with Marc Bolan you didn't know that. He came across as very vulnerable. 3: "All the Young Dudes" Mott the Hoople, 1972

This is kind of a cheat because David Bowie wrote it for them, but I always preferred the Mott the Hoople version. By this point, Bowie was talking about the actual glam movement, which is why it's about kids stealing makeup and breaking into unlocked cars. Glam became about the kid in the room, the poster on the wall, putting on a women's short fur coat and eyeliner, with no shirt on, just listening to this music. 4: "Ballroom Blitz" Sweet, 1973

They completely break the fourth wall when the song opens up and they're calling each other by name. We emulated that on our song "Vampire Money." It literally starts out just like "Ballroom Blitz" does. 5: "Cum On Feel the Noize" Slade, 1973

Obviously, everybody knows this for the Quiet Riot version, but when you hear the original you realize just how bold it is. The soundscape they created is probably one of the best out of all the glam-rock bands. 6: "Love Is the Drug" Roxy Music, 1975

Roxy Music took the glam thing and then modified it. Bryan Ferry looks nothing like a glam artist, and that's what I love about him. He's wearing this great suit and he's got short hair and he's so romantic. Maybe some people wouldn't consider Roxy Music a glam band, but I do, for a lot of reasons. A major one is that they used to have Brian Eno behind the keyboard wearing feathers on his shoulders and eye shadow.

7: "Needles in the Camel's Eye" Brian Eno, 1974

Speaking of Eno, this is the first track on his first solo album. It's the glammiest track on the record. As soon as he finishes that song, he's almost over it, and he's moved on to something else. Besides Bowie, Eno is still the most important artist to me of the glam scene. When you heard his first album, you knew it was gonna be his last glam record. He just needed to do it once and he was done. 8: "Clones (We're All)" Alice Cooper, 1980

With "Clones," Alice Cooper was moving into the glam of the future, like this kind of Blade Runner replicant version of glam. Alice Cooper doesn't get enough credit for being a glam artist. A lot of people just say, "Oh, he's shock rock," but I think he's way more Rocky Horror than he is shock rock. 9: "48 Crash" Suzi Quatro, 1973

She's the most unsung glam rocker. She's also the prototype for the Runaways. "48 Crash" is one of her more aggressive songs. She looks amazing on the cover, wearing this black cat suit. Everything about the song is magic. 10: "Personality Crisis" New York Dolls, 1973

They were a lot more punk, but I will always consider the New York Dolls glam by the nature of how they looked and their attitude. They took glam to America and really challenged the sexuality of it. They also had Johnny Thunders, who's basically like the American Mick Ronson.

#can not describe the feeling of finding what issue this belonged to but man was it good #gerard way #glam rock #rolling stone magazine

[zg0nuwa]

Hey, sorry i feel so demanding when asking someone so i had to let they know that this is just a silly idea *_-YOU CAN IGNORE IT AND DONT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT!!!-_*

SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG BUT I HAD TO LET IT OUTT!!! I hope you understand what i meant, thank you take care!

Anyways... So the idea is: The earthrealm trio, Johnny Cage, Kenshi and Kung lao (or any charactr you prefer) liking the reader very much (It can be platonic or romantic up to you) and they always get in little fights or arguments because they are kinda jealous of you, not something sick and twisted but you know, like, little things like they fighting to sit beside you when watching a movie together and one of them end up sitting on the grund in front of you (so all of you sit on the ground together) or when they are walking and they see you from afar one of them starts to running to get to you faster than the other but the reader is very oblivious, besides loving all 3 of them very much and keeping to themselves because the reader doesnt know what polyamorous is and think its problematic to love all the 3 guys at the time and their worst fear is to hurt those 3 protective, dependable and caring fellas. Also the reader always makes a effort to spend time them too, specially with the 3 at the same time, and they are all very touchy with esch other? Like hugs, hand holding, hands on the shoulders when walking together...

( doing this also with raiden because this boy has my heart )

cw ; this is not exactly romantic but also not very platonic, i hope this is okay

first and foremost, may god have mercy on you, because these four won't. johnny and kung lao are the worst, childish competitions and being up in your personal space, always a hand on your shoulder, thigh, in their hand. kenshi and raiden are much more reasonable and just happy to be in your presence.

johnny is the initiator i would say, he'd probably be the first one to show you this type of attention, which, to be honest, is not much different from before. he is definitely more touchy and maybe a little pushover with his advances towards you. it's not because he doesn't respect your boundaries, he does and takes it very seriously when you tell him to stop. it's more like inserting himself wherever you are, dropped a pen? he already picked it up! forgot something? would you look at that! he has a spare or coincidentally has that specific thing on him!

kung lao is... specific. he's also touchy but he feels a little awkward, like he's not really sure he can be touchy and affectionate with you. while johnny is confident and straightforward he's more of a "pretending to yawn and putting my arm over your shoulder' type of person. this still doesn't make him drop the cocky personality.

kenshi is passive, at least thats how he seems to be, he doesn't mind the others behavior but much prefers being one on one with you. his affection comes in form of long deeps talks that go well into the night. he's open, he's comfortable and he shows it well. does small favors for you like putting you laundry away, turning the lights off if you fall asleep and forget, making an extra cup of tea and "surprisingly" it's always your favourite.

raiden is a charmer, sometimes without even trying. remembers the smallest things about you. not to mention that he's very timid but he's not this "shy baby" that blushes at any advance towards him. he's actually a smartass sometimes and has a lot of good responses to flirty anecdotes. also the best advice giver, no matter what it may be he's always here to figure something out for you.

together they can get pretty chaotic but not to the point where they're jumping at eachother throats. call it friendly rivalry they say ( usually it's between kung lao and johnny but johnny always seems to drag in kenshi so you and raiden just wait until the drama resolves itself)

#johnny x reader #johnny cage x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mk x reader #kung lao x reader #raiden x reader #mk1 x you #mk1 x reader #kenshi x reader #kenshi takahashi x reader

[tiredlilguy]

Take My Hands

a/n: i got sad, also there's like two lines of comfort in this, so im even more sad :( but enjoy regardless

pairing: Jouno Saigiku X GN!Reader cw: a little angsty, not proofread desc: he tries to stop you from crying by holding your hands in his. it works surprisingly well.

It was… hard to keep your heartbeat in check when it came to Jouno. He would always be able to know what your heart was saying, and it didn’t seem to matter what emotion was on your mind: he would know. He always seemed to know. Your emotions were rather loud, and sometimes you almost felt as though if you breathed incorrectly, he’d get upset. After all, he was a rather impatient and ruthless man when it came to his work. However, with you, he was willing to be patient: despite how loud your breathing or feelings could be, if it was you, he would leave room for you to be loud.

Unfortunately for you, you had a tendency to be an anxious person. Not only were the jobs he had making you anxious, but the nature of his job as a Hunting Dog seemed rather dangerous. You understood that surgery had to be done every month, but you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he simply… missed a month. He’d always tell you to stop worrying: confident in the fact that he’d be ok, and that all you had to do was just take care of yourself ‘till he got home.

However, tonight was once again another night where you’d have been anxious once again.

…

Opening the door to your shared home, he’d already noticed something. You weren’t there to greet him as you usually had. He took off his coat, hat, and boots and walked further into the room: his ears already searching for your beating heart.

Soon enough, the thumping of you heart became present in his mind, but it was uneven and fast: almost as if you were crying… and to his predictions, he heard faint sobbing coming from the bathroom. Without having to think about the layout of his home, he trailed a hand along the walls to head towards the bathroom. He knew of the layout of your shared house, but it was often a habit for him to trace the walls whenever he was walking: just in case he happened to trip over something that wasn’t there before. His hands eventually met the divot where the closed door was, his heightened senses feeling heat: you were most likely taking a bath.

Usually, you often took baths and showers on your own, as Jouno preferred to have his a certain way as the stimulation of a normal hot bath or shower was a bit much for his senses. However, in this instance, he didn’t care, not even bothering the knock on the door. Instead he just announced his arrival:

“ (Y/N), I’m coming in.”

As he opened the door, your sobs only seemed to get louder. You hid your face in your arms, feeling rather embarrassed and upset at your current state.

“ Why’re you here, Jouno…,” you mumbled, wiping your tears away despite them still falling down.

He walked over to the bathtub, kneeling down nearby you,” You’re heartbeat is awfully erratic, my dear. Besides, you were crying, of course I can to come and make sure you were ok.”

You frowned, noticing that he’d just gotten home: still in his uniform.

“… but it’s hot in here,” you mumbled, sinking a little bit further into the water.

“ Hm… You did that because you didn’t want me to go in, didn’t you,” Jouno teased. You continued to frown, not saying a word as you stared up at the shower head on the wall. He already knew that was the truth, so you had no reason to affirm his comment.

“ You always do things like this, my love,” he sighed, breaking the silence,” Don’t think I don’t know.”

You raised a brow, humming for him to go on. At this point, your tears slightly subsided, but your heart was still beating quite fast.

“ You never want me to be with you when you’re not upset. I know you’re an anxious person, so trying to cover that up won’t help your case. I know you run off into the kitchen whenever you cry at night, or you’ll clear your throat whenever you’re about to cry… I know what you’re trying to do, (Y/N).”

“ I only do that because…,” you felt something rising in your chest again, and it felt horrible. Without stopping it, you choked out a small sob.

Jouno felt something in himself break as he heard you sob. You couldn’t help but shield your eyes once more as the tears started to fall rapidly down your cheeks.

“ (Y/N),” Jouno’s hand reached out to find your chin, making you face him. You gasped, arms falling back down into the bathtub as you turned to him. He let go of your chin, taking off his white gloves one by one. He opened his hands out, palms facing towards you.

“ Take my hands,” you did so, placing yours into his. It was rare for you to feel his bare hands, as he was often wearing his uniform. It was nice for once: the skin to skin contact.

“ Now…,” his voice became gentler as his thumbs gently brushed over yours,” Since I’ve been doing most of the talking: tell me what’s on your mind. What’s making you upset?”

You sucked in a breathe, gripping onto his hands to get rid of the feeling of wanting to break down right here. He let you, reciprocating your own grip with his own. It was comforting in a way. Letting out that breathe, you answered,” I was just worrying… again. I’m sorry.”

“ Don’t apologize,” Jouno frowned, still urging you to continue.

Taking another deep breathe, you continued,” I as just worrying… about you. You know, that calendar that we have next to the apartment door? I was looking up at it after work today, and I saw that your surgery is in a couple of days. I know we’ve been together for a while, but… I just can’t help but be irritated by that day. The procedures, everything after that… I know it’s not much other than work to you, but to me. I just… don’t like seeing you in pain.”

Jouno didn’t answer for a while, only caressing your hands still when you finished. There wasn’t much that he could say, and his mind was racing trying to find words to comfort you. However, it was true: there was nothing that you could do. If anything, skipping a month would kill him more than not taking that monthly surgery.

On the bright side at least, you weren’t crying anymore. “ Feel better?,” he mumbled, loud enough for you to hear. You hummed in response. Standing up from the bath and reaching for a towel that was on a hook on one of the walls. Jouno stepped aside as you dried yourself off, eventually wrapping yourself with the towel. You were about to reach over for one of the lotion bottles, but you felt a hand tug you into a warm embrace. You blinked, realizing you were in Jouno’s arms: you head resting on his chest.

“ Sorry, I’m bad at comforting with words.”

You felt yourself smile softly at his gesture, closing your eyes,” I know.”

You wrapped your arms around his frame too. This time, you could hear his heartbeat for once: it was going a little fast, as you pulled yourself further into him. However, despite his heartbeat, one of his hands moved up to your hair, gently massaging your scalp, as you let out a soft hum.

“ Your hair is still wet.”

“… and your heart is beating really fast right now, Sai.”

“ Shut it.”

#jouno x reader #jouno saigiku #bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #jouno saigiku x reader #mono writes