#i love him so fucking much and hes fucking dead

[gay-dorito-dust]

I have been binging your work!

I don't know if this breaks your trauma rule or not, but (with the guys of your choosing as long as Ratio is there) how would the guys react to losing reader (they haven't confessed feelings yet) during a mission and thinking they died. Then, the reader reappears a week later bandaged up, but alive. Maybe spouts their confession first? ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

I adore your writing. Thank you!

This is way too fucking long, so be warned. It’s like I rammed 4 mini stories in one but got lost at some point cuz I left this ask to collect dust. Also thanks for enjoying my writing it’s much appreciated. :) 🦦🐿️

Sunday:

The moment he got news that you’ve been assumed dead in the aftermath of a dangerous mission, he looses composure really quickly.

Loosing Robin was one thing but loosing you on top of that was the straw that broke the camels back.

He originally doesn’t believe that you were gone, he refuses to as he practically tears his office to shreds in a fit of anger and grief before forcing himself to regain composure and clean up after his outburst. He needed to in order to keep up the illusion that he was the levelheaded leader The Family needed in these moments of chaos and mistrust.

Even if he himself was breaking down internally alongside everyone else, hellbent on finding the culprit for your death and punishing them so severely that they’d beg for death. He’d avenge you in anyway he could, even if it meant sending out the bloodhound family on a wild goose chase that only ends in dead ends, he would get you justice no matter how it may come.

His heart had died alongside you that day.

So when a week passes and he finally has you back in his arms, all the while being carful with your wounds as his eyes searched you over in a way you weren’t use to.

‘You’re alive.’ He breathes out in relief as he then begins to laugh and rest his head against yours, breathing you in deeply as he relishes in this long awaited moment. ‘Of course you’re alive.’ He mutters.

‘Sunday,’ you began but Sunday was quite to cut you off.

‘Do you know how I felt thinking you were dead? Driving myself insane to prove that you were still alive anyway I could as not to bear the idea of walking through this life without the one person I love so dearly.’ Sunday takes a brief pauses in his monologue, feeling out of breath after having put everything out into the open before continuing. ‘I thought my heart had stopped beating that day and now I have you bad in my arms.’ Sunday then chuckles darkly as he gripped you tighter. ‘I’ll ensure that I’d never have to revisit that part of my life ever again.’

‘Sunday-‘

‘Shhh.’ Sunday cuts you off once more, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he holds you close to his chest, rubbing your back soothingly. ‘Just know that what I do after this, I do out of my love for you.’ He says against your forehead before pressing another kiss there for good measure.

Jing yuan:

Loss wasn’t new to Jing Yuan.

He has experienced it in multiple forms throughout his life, but that didn’t made the news of your death any less painful for the General.

While his mind might’ve made peace with the fact that you were gone, his heart however did not as he would find himself in the places that you often vacated to in moments of stress, or to just be left alone for a while with your thoughts. So to no longer see you in any of those hidden spots -waiting for him to find you like you usually did- only worsened the grief he felt in his heart as he sat himself down and allowed the memories to pass over him in waves.

You were both so happy together and felt a sense of fulfilment that could only be achieved when you were within the other’s presence; A feeling that was uniquely yours and yours alone that could never be replicated, ever. For no one could ever come close to replacing you, nor the companionship you and he had for each other that many assumed would blossom into something more; Jing Yuan also shared the same sentiments as they did, but just as he built the courage to push that boundary between the two of you, you were taken from him before he could utter a single word.

So when a week passes and Jing Yuan found your battered and beaten form in one of your secret spots, back resting against a tree with your eyes closed.

‘Y/n?’ He called out and your eyes opened upon hearing his voice and looking at him with a weak smile. ‘Hey General, miss me?’ You said as you struggled to get up to your feet, only to stumble forward and into Jing Yuan’s chest as his strong yet gentle hands hold you in place.

‘More than you could ever hope to know.’ Jing yuan said as he focused on how you felt beneath his hands, warm and alive.

‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting.’ You muttered against his chest as his warmth made you realised just how tired you were from everything you’ve experienced this last week alone. ‘I never meant to keep you waiting in fear that you’d forget about me if I don’t stay in your life long enough.’ You admit and Jing Yuan instinctively presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, holding you protectively.

‘I could never forget about you my beloved.’ Jing Yuan reassured you as he looked you deep into your eyes. ‘You’ve managed to carve your place within my heart and soul, so much that there isn’t a day where you aren’t all I think about, regardless of whether or not your by my side or far away.’ He finished by pressing a gentle kiss to the gauze on your cheek, chuckling upon seeing your cute attempts of burrowing your face into his chest.

‘How long have you’ve been waiting to say this.’ You asked, thankful that he was the one to admit his feelings first, as you would’ve had a hard time articulating your words as fluidly as he could.

‘For a very long time.’ Jing Yuan replied with a small smile as he then proceeded to lift you into his arms, cuasing you to squeal in surprise, as he made sure to be carful of your wounds and began walking to the nearest medics to make sure your wounds weren’t going to be trouble later on.

Aventurine:

He didn’t know what to think when you were pronounced dead, all Aventurine could feel in that moment was an overwhelming numbness that encased him entirely.

The only light left in his life had been snuffed out, plummeting him into utter and total darkness he had once been well acquainted with until you came along, giving him a reason to keep looking forward despite everything.

You were no longer here to hold onto his left hand before he could even think of hiding it behind his back out of habit, you were no longer here to be his reason, his comfort, his safe place. You were taken away from him unfairly and once again Aventurine found himself asking the same question he has been asking himself for a long time; why everyone was born into this life just to die.

So when a week passes and Aventurine finds himself sat on a bench somewhere, still not dealing well then than he was the week of your assumed passing, lost in his own thoughts when someone took a seat next to him. Aventurine was just about ready to tell them to go away, when he saw just who was sitting next to him; you.

‘I know, I look like shit but you don’t have to look at me like that.’ You spoke upon feeling his eyes gaze upon the gauze on your cheek, then towards the array of bandages that littered the rest of your body.

‘I thought you died.’ He hissed, emotion was heavy in his voice as his eyes became bleary with unshed tears as he felt his breathing become heavy with the reality that you were alive. He didn’t know what was real and what wasn’t in that moment as his mind raced. And it wasn’t until you reached out to grasp his left hand and intertwine your fingers together, squeezing, did everything finally became clear to him.

‘I thought I was too at one point but there was something that kept me from journeying over to the afterlife.’ You admit, looking over at him and smiling sweetly, wanting nothing then to calm his thoughts and reassure him that this wasn’t a dream.

‘And what was that?’ He laughs humourlessly as he stares back at you, wanting to hear what excuses you could come up with for faking being dead for a week. ‘Willpower? Determination?’

‘You Kakavasha.’ You replied straightforwardly and his breath hitched in his throat. You rarely used his actual name unless it was absolutely serious. ‘You were all I thought about as I pushed through my injuries.’ You told him as you continued. ‘Kakavasha is waiting for me was just about all I could think about for a week straight.’ You finished as though you didn’t just confess that he was your soul motivator in staying alive.

‘Really?’ Aventurine said softly, finding it impossible that he could possibly be your reason for anything. ‘Why?’

‘Yes really.’ You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder. ‘As for why, it’s because I like you more then did let myself admit, but i just wanted you to know incase anything truly bad were to ever happen to me-‘

‘No.’ Aventurine cut you off suddenly, squeezing your hand as though he were afraid. ‘Nothing is going to happen to you, not now. not ever. I just got you back.’ He adds resting his head against your own in a desperate attempt of feeling more of your against him. ‘Just stay with me…please.’ He begs you in a whisper as he nuzzled further into you. ‘and don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I don’t think I can bear the thought of loosing you again.’

You smiled softly as you just whispered back against the skin of his neck. ‘As long as you don’t go anywhere I can’t follow. I like my crush to be alive and close by even if he can be a pain in my ass sometimes.’

Aventurine chuckles, his heart becoming whole again as he made you cuddle into his side, kissing your head once more as you took this moment to familiarise yourselves with each other. ‘At least I’m a pleasurable pain in the ass.’ He teased and you pinch his side, causing him to flinch, but his smile remained and this time his smile was genuine.

His light has came home.

Ratio:

Fully believed that he’d see you when the mission ended, knowing just how talented and dedicated to the craft you were, and having faith that this would be a measly walk in a park for you.

Only to receive word that you were one of the many who were assumed dead when you weren’t found amongst the living nor the dead.

Veritas tries to remain as levelheaded and logical as possible during this time and continue life as normal. However found himself retracting from everyone else and going none contact, more so specifically with the people you were once associated with, and instead focused heavily on his studies and academics to an unhealthy extent.

A week passes and Veritas feels as though he’s seen a ghost the moment he saw you in his peripheral vision, bandaged and dressed in ripped clothing but still somehow finding it in you to smile.

‘You idiotic Buffon!’ He exclaims as he walks towards you.

‘Well that’s a nice way to greet someone you care about.’ You replied as you readied yourself for a massive rant about how stupid you were and so on, but instead you were held against his chest as he burrows his head into your neck.

‘I thought you died.’ He says in a whisper as he breathed you in. This went against all logic but in that rare moment Veritas didn’t care, you were alive but he still couldn’t let go of the fact that you didn’t tell anyone you were still alive. ‘Why didn’t you tell anyone that you were alive, send a signal, anything.’

You shrugged as you made yourself comfortable in his strong arms. ‘All communications were badly damaged or completely cut off.’ You told him. ‘I was on my own for a long while before finding my way back to you.’

‘Me?’ Veritas asked, pulling away from you. ‘Why not a medial facility for a proper treatment of your wounds? Have you hit your head so hard that common sense had been left on the back burner when making that decision?’

‘I wanted to see you first you dickhead!’ You exclaimed, shutting Veritas up rather quickly with your confession but you didn’t care. ‘is it so wrong of me to let the man I love know that I’m okay? So go ahead and call me an idiot all you like but that won’t change the fact that I felt more fear about not telling you how I truly feel then dying on some stupid mission.’ You finished your rant.

‘You’re insufferable.’ Veritas said after a moment of silence and you couldn’t help but feel a little annoyed at this that you didn’t notice that Veritas has began to close in the distance between the two of you.

You scoffed. ‘Oh sure call me insufferable as if you-‘ Veritas cuts you off by cupping your cheeks and planting a sweet short lived kiss against your lips before pulling away with a smirk.

‘Glad to know that the feelings are reciprocated.’ He says, taking enjoyment of rendering you speechless as he gently guided you to medical, and remaining by your side for the remainder of the day.

#hsr imagines #hsr imagine #hsr x reader #hsr jing yuan x reader #hsr jing yuan x you #hsr aventurine x reader #honkai star rail #Honkai star rail x reader #Honkai star rail imagine #Honkai star rail imagines #jing yuan x reader #jing yuan x you #jing yuan imagine #jing yuan imagines #hsr sunday x reader #sunday x reader #sunday imagines #sunday imagine #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine imagines #aventurine imagine #veritas ratio x reader #veritas ratio x you #veritas ratio imagine #veritas ratio imagines #hsr fanfic #hsr x you #honkai star rail x you #hsr x y/n

[sluttywoozi]

Interlude No. 9 | yjh x reader

Interlude No. 9: Jeonghan broke up with you three months ago, so why is he at your door now?

Rating: sfw (minors still shouldn’t be here) | WC: ~3.3k

Pairing: yjh x reader | Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, a lil romance

Warnings: alcohol mention, swearing, breaking up and making up

Reader Notes: drinks wine, owns a blow dryer

You’re halfway into your second glass of wine and fully done with your skincare when a knock sounds on your apartment door. 

It sounds familiar for some reason, and though you normally would never entertain the thought of accepting an unexpected caller after 9 PM, your gut is telling you to answer. So onto the side table your glass goes before you stand on tired legs and slowly make your way to the hall. You should grab the bat but that gut feeling is still there, the one that says you have nothing to worry about, so you pass the closet you keep it in and continue on to the door. 

Closing one eye, you sweep aside the cover and look through the peephole, gasping at what, or rather, who, you find. 

Yoon Jeonghan. 

The man you dated for two years, the man who broke up with you three months ago without an explanation. 

The man you still love. 

You can’t see much, but you can see that he looks awful. His hair is long and sloppily tied back, his glasses are low on his nose, and his eyes are red, glassy. He gnaws at his lip as he waits, his posture growing worse with every minute that ticks by until he’s all but wilted onto the floor. 

You don’t know what to do. 

You blocked his contact after he left you, swore you wouldn’t speak to him again no matter how many friends you have in common, but here he is at your door, looking, for all intents and purposes, dead inside. 

You can’t see him anymore but he didn’t walk away, which means he must have finally sat down in the hall. You’re just glad he’s not making noise, your neighbors have always been nosy and you hate the idea of them knowing about this. 

He doesn’t seem like he’s going anywhere anytime soon, so all you can do is unlock your three locks and open the door a crack, just enough to spot him. 

His gaze shoots up immediately and he rushes to stand, his limbs clumsy as he picks himself up off the floor. 

“Hi,” he breathes, brushing his clothes off and fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. 

You ignore the way your stomach drops at his voice, ignore the way it feels like a balm to your frayed nerves, and ask quietly, “What are you doing here?” 

He glances away and pushes up his glasses, swiping a hand over his eyes and down his face before saying, “I wanted to talk to you, about us.” 

You bristle, unhealed hurt rising up within you at his words. 

“Now you want to talk? You didn’t seem to have anything to say three months ago when you left,” you remind him harshly, pretending your heart doesn’t ache at the way he flinches and tries to hide it.

“I- I fucked up, I fucked everything up, I know that. But I’ve been trying to talk to you this whole time, ever since I walked out. Please, just listen to me this once, and I promise, if you never want to hear from me again, I’ll leave you alone.”

He sounds distraught, as close to tears as you’ve ever heard him, and you know you shouldn’t, you know you shouldn’t, but you do it anyway. 

You open the door and step to the side, ignoring his deep sigh of relief and pushing down the shock when you smell the cologne you bought him last year as he walks past you. 

You didn’t live together but he knows where to go, making his way to your living room and settling into his corner of the couch. Maybe you should offer him something to drink, but you don’t feel like playing host right now, not when the wound you thought had scarred over has started bleeding again. 

Bypassing your spot on the sofa, you sink into the chair farthest away from him, tugging a blanket over your lap as if it could protect you somehow. 

He stares at you, his gaze a deep pool of sorrow and guilt and his fingers fidgeting in his lap. 

“Well?” You prompt him when he doesn’t speak, almost wishing you had the forethought to grab your glass of wine. You could use it at a time like this. 

“I- I guess I should start off by saying I love you and I’m in love with you and I never stopped being in love with you,” he says it like it’s a vow, like he fears you won’t believe him. 

You say nothing, swallowing around the pit of anguish in your throat. 

“When I left, it was because of me, not because of anything you did. You’re perfect, you always have been. I just- I couldn’t give you what you deserved. I saw how happy you were when Joshua proposed to his partner, and we both knew I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to get married, but I knew that you were sure.”

“I wanted you to be free to find someone who could give you that, and I thought breaking up with you was the right thing to do, but as soon as I left, I knew it was the absolute dumbest and most cowardly thing I’ve ever done in my life.”

“I shouldn’t have made that decision for you, I should have told you how I was feeling and let you make the choice yourself, even if the outcome would have been the same.”

“I’m so sorry,” Jeonghan chokes out, his face pinched and his eyes full of saltwater. 

Tears are threatening to stream down your face, your heart squeezing in your chest like someone is wringing it out. It’s time for you to respond to him, but you don’t know what to say. 

You’ve missed him more than you ever thought possible, and a part of you is comforted by the fact that he never stopped loving you. But another part of you is broken, your trust in him fractured and your faith in him lost. 

You feel like he’s misunderstood you on a fundamental level, like the years you spent together were for nothing because he obviously doesn’t know you as well as you thought he did. You feel like your autonomy has been stripped away, like he thinks you’re a child who can’t be trusted to form your own opinions. 

Most of all, you feel robbed, of the last three months, of the lifetime you would have spent with him, married or unmarried. 

“Why are you telling me this now?” You whisper, needing to know his angle. Is he just looking to absolve himself of guilt? You don’t know if you can do that for him. 

“Because I’m dying without you,” he nearly sobs out. “I’ve wanted to come back since I left but my texts and calls wouldn’t go through, and I didn’t want to show up at your job like a creep, and all of our friends hate me except for Seungcheol so there was nobody to carry a message for me. It’s all my own fault, and I know that, I just- I’m selfish, I can’t let you go without knowing you want me to.” 

“Jeonghan, I never wanted you to let me go. I never wanted to be free. I only wanted you,” your voice breaks on the last word, and you have to look away as you fight the urge to openly weep. 

“Past tense?” He sounds defeated, empty. “You don’t…” 

“Yoon Jeonghan, you’re a fucking idiot if you think I don’t love you anymore,” you glare, feeling like you could curse him, hex him and his whole bloodline for his stupidity. “But that doesn’t mean we can pick up where we left off. You broke us, you broke me, and I need time before I can let you in like that again.”

Finally, there’s life in his eyes again, gratitude and love shining on his face, like the fact that you’re even considering it is enough for him. 

“I’ll be here, I’ll wait forever if I have to. And I’m not saying this because I think it’ll change anything, but I do want to marry you, only you, so I mean it when I say forever,” he sends you a watery beam, his face shiny with tears. 

You can’t stop the corners of your mouth from quirking up in a smile, even if you do want to prod further into how he’s suddenly made up his mind. You fear you don’t have the energy for it tonight, not after all of this. 

You also fear you don’t have the heart to send him home alone. He looks a bit better but his cheeks are gaunt, his hair is greasy, and there are dark circles under his eyes. He hasn’t been doing well, and you want to feel vindicated but instead you just feel worried. 

“You can sleep here tonight, on the couch. Let me get you some blankets and pillows,” you whisper, rising to your feet and retreating to your bedroom before he can protest out of some misguided feeling of imposition. 

You gather up his favorite blanket, the one that’s been folded on the chair in the corner of your room since he broke up with you, and his preferred pillow. It still smells like him even though you’ve changed the case countless times, and you have to admit that you’ve been thankful for it. 

You also get some pajamas he left, having neglected to clear out his drawer because you couldn’t bear to open it. 

He’s right where you left him when you return, head tilted back as he dozes, and you set the bedding at the end of the couch before tentatively resting a hand on his shoulder to wake him. 

He blinks up at you and smiles his sweetest smile, and you feel your heart start to stitch itself back together. In a whisper, you say, “Jeonghan, why don’t you take a shower while I get the couch ready?” 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to do all this,” he mumbles, his eyes avoiding yours as he bites at his lip anxiously. 

“I know I don’t. Let me do it anyway,” you tell him, squeezing his shoulder and reaching down for his hand to pull him up and to the bathroom. 

He follows you obediently, taking the pajamas when you hand them over and grinning shyly at you one last time as the bathroom door closes between you. 

You don't have a lot of time to think as you set up the couch, knowing he takes around ten minutes to shower. You’ll probably offer to blow dry his hair when he gets out, he hates sleeping with it wet, he always thinks it’ll give him a cold. Even after three months without him, caring for him is still as easy as breathing. 

Now that you have space to think, you’re not sure how much time you really need to let him back in. 

Of course, you’re still wounded and bitter that he left you in the first place, but you can tell he wasn’t lying, that he really thought he was doing the right thing. You think he knows now that he shouldn’t ever do something like that again, and while your trust in him is cracked, it’s not as broken as you worried it was. 

Setting everything he should and shouldn’t have done aside, you have to admit that you miss him, desperately, and that you want to be his just as much as you want him to be yours. 

But with all of your feelings so fresh, you think you should sleep on it at least one night, just to be sure you have forgiven him, that you can take him back. 

You should have a few minutes left before he’s done, so you sneak back into your room and grab your blow dryer and hair brush from your vanity, setting up shop on the chair closest to an outlet. 

Soon enough, he wanders out in his baggy shirt and pajama pants, squeezing his dripping hair with a towel and grinning when he sees you. 

“Salon time?” He asks with excitement, and you smile indulgently, waving the hair dryer at him and waiting for him to sit cross legged in front of you, his back to your knees and his head at the perfect height for you to take care of his hair. 

It’s soothing to you, carrying out this routine and having this kind of intimacy with him after all these weeks apart. 

You dry and dry until his silky locks slip through your fingers, and when you finally shut the blow dryer off, the silence in the room is deafening. Jeonghan is leaning back against your legs, his head dipped low and his neck bent at an odd angle, and you realize he’s fallen asleep. 

It must have been soothing to him too, you think, gently scratching your nails over his scalp before whispering his name. 

He stirs, looking around in confusion and tilting his head all the way back to look at you upside down, a sleepy smile stretching his lips. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice hushed and relaxed. 

You fight the urge to lean down and press a kiss to his lips like you used to, smoothing your finger over his eyebrow instead and replying, “You’re welcome.”

He pushes up to his feet, stretching his hands overhead and yawning loudly, before turning and reaching for you only to stop short. 

“Goodnight,” he says, folding his hands behind his back like he’ll touch you if he doesn’t. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper, trying to ignore how weird it feels not to follow it with an I love you. 

You turn and retreat to your room before the words can escape without your permission, closing the door behind you with a soft click. 

You’re already all washed up for the night so you just slide into your side of the bed, pulling the duvet tight around you to mimic the feeling of Jeonghan’s arms. 

It takes you ages to fall asleep with the knowledge that he’s just a few yards away, that you could have him in this bed if only you would ask. 

It’s dark when you wake, your heart still racing with the nightmare that roused you though you can’t remember it. You lay in bed and stare up at the ceiling in an attempt to calm yourself, your eyes locking onto the blur of the fan, just barely visible with the moonlight seeping in through the curtains. 

You hardly ever got nightmares when Jeonghan slept over, but you’ve had innumerable sleepless nights over the past three months, and you were hoping tonight wouldn’t be one of them with him in your apartment. 

Maybe you should check and make sure he’s still here. He could have left, could have changed his mind, could have decided he was right to end it with you and gone home to his own apartment, and you wouldn’t even know until morning.

That anxiety is enough to make you roll out of bed and pad over to the door, your steps quiet and your breath caught in your chest. 

You turn the knob as smoothly as you can, pushing the door open and wincing when it creaks. But when you look over to check if you woke Jeonghan, he’s already sitting up, the lamp on the side table on and a book from your shelf in his hands. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks with concern, setting the book face down on the table and giving you his full attention. 

“I just wanted to… check on you,” you give him a half truth, forgetting that he always could see right through you. 

“You were scared I went home, weren't you?” He murmurs, a tinge of sadness to his voice and a remorseful frown on his face. 

“Maybe,” you fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt, avoiding his eyes. “I just had a nightmare so…”

“Was it that I left again?” He asks, pulling his legs up and making room on the couch for you before patting the cushion in front of him. You take a few steps forward and he lifts the blanket up, covering your exposed legs with it when you settle onto the sofa. 

“No, I don’t remember what happened. I just didn’t get them with you around so I thought you might not be around.”

You have to fight the urge not to crawl into his lap and curl up against him, feeling especially starved for affection after waking so abruptly. You wonder if he feels as far from you as you do from him, stuck in this limbo of being together but not together. 

You think he does when you notice the longing in his soft eyes, see the way his brows are gently furrowed and his lip is bitten between his teeth. 

“How can I help?” He wonders quietly, and you only give yourself a few seconds to think it over. 

Yes, he broke up with you for a reason that he should have talked with you about instead. Yes, you’ve missed him the past three months like you never knew you could. Yes, it’s probably too soon to let him back in like this. 

But you find you don’t care about any of that. 

You just want him close, need to know he’s here and he’s staying and he’s yours. 

So you push aside your bruised feelings and whisper in a fragile voice, “Come to bed with me?” 

He looks unsure but rises when you do, his face smoothing out as he offers you his hand and lets you tug him to your bedroom. He hovers when he crosses the threshold and it occurs to you that you might have to guide him. He was so respectful of your boundaries in the beginning of the relationship that you called almost all of the shots, and you wonder if your two years of progress have been undone over the past three months apart. 

But maybe this is a good thing, you think as you lead him over to his side of the bed and tuck him in. You’re the one who told him you can’t pick up where you left off, and you like that he’s reset a bit, that he wants to treat this like a fresh start, because it is one.  

Before, you would just crawl over him onto your side, but now you walk around the bed, climbing in and tugging the blanket over your body. You pull it up to your chin, still feeling a bit chilled, and it takes you less than sixty seconds to decide cuddling is allowed even if you’re beginning anew. 

So you roll onto your side to face him, your eyes just barely able to make him out in the dark of your bedroom. He turns his head to look at you, his hands folded together on his stomach before he reaches one out across the bed. That’s the only signal you need to close the distance and tuck yourself up under his arm, your cheek resting in the hollow of his shoulder and your hand finding his. 

He tilts his head up, pressing his lips to your forehead and sneaking a whiff of your hair as he tangles his fingers with yours. You take in a deep breath, what feels like your first since he ended things, and let your eyelids flutter shut, trusting that he’ll be here when you wake. 

“I love you,” he whispers, so low you almost don’t hear him.

“I love you, too,” you mumble back. “But if you pull that shit again, it’ll be the last thing you ever do, and I mean that.”

“Please murder me if I do. Obviously I’ve gone fucking crazy if I fuck this up again.”

You fall asleep with a smile on your face. 

AN: yayyy i wrote something!! a randomized wheel told me to write jeonghan so i did and it turned into this and then the wheel told me to make it smutty and i was like no that is not correct! so sorry lovelies but no smut today!! it just didn't feel right after them being apart for so long and jeonghan only just starting to make it up to reader and earn her back (even if she is making it easy for him)

thank u for reading, please lmk what you think!!

#k vanity #jeonghan x reader #jeonghan imagines #jeonghan scenarios #yoon jeonghan x reader #yoon jeonghan x you #yoon jeonghan imagines #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #svt fanfic #kpop oneshots #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic #✨emily writes✨

[divinedolliebun]

TW: stepcest, dead dove!! dubcon, yandere yuuta, reader is yuuta's older sister

Younger brother! Yuuta who's been attached to your hip since your parents got married. Yuuta never had a nee-chan before, being an only child with no one to care for him, but now he has you!!

Younger brother! Yuuta who finds ways to keep you by his side, even in his youth. He was notorious for throwing huge crying fits when you wanted to go hang out with your friends, his tiny fists clutching your shirt with tears dripping down his face. For an 8 year old, he sure found out how to get his nee-chan to stay...♡

Younger brother! Yuuta who never quite...branched out like he should have. No matter how old he got, his closeness to you only grew and grew, he didn't want to make friends or expand his social circle, all he wanted was his nee-chan!! Now, Yuuta is 21, and he's still not quite...unlatched himself from you. You're in college, about to graduate, and Yuuta is still just as obsessed with you as he was the day you two met.

Younger brother! Yuuta who's always been touchy, but now that you're both grown, he's gotten even more so. Always laying his head on your lap, hugging you from behind while you cook, insisting on holding your hand in public...and he still insists you give him a goodnight kiss every night like you have since he was 3, even though he's an adult man...

Younger brother! Yuuta who often finds himself knocking on your door, sleepy greyish-blue eyes looking at you and asking to sleep with you. You let him, since you do feel bad for his sleeping problems, as he's told you about. He snuggles up under your pink duvet cover, cradling his head into your neck and pressing his much larger body up against yours in a spooning position. "Yuu, don't you think this is kind of...inappropriate? I mean we're both grown adults, and siblings.." You feel his breath on the back of your neck, before he smiles and presses a warm kiss to your cheek. "No, of course not nee-chan. We're meant to love each other like this." He says it so simply, like it's no issue at all. All you can think to yourself is, what kind of love does he truly intend by those words...?

Younger brother! Yuuta who ruts against your big plump ass once you fall asleep, whimpering and fumbling his hands under your shirt to fondle your tits. He loves how soft and warm you are, you're always so squishy and nice to hold. He pulls his cock out of his sweats, pushing it directly against your warm back and moaning at the skin-to-skin contact, it feels like heaven for him. He continues fondling your soft form, moaning and trying to stay quiet in fear of waking you. "M-mmn, I l-love you, nee-chan, y-you feel so-ah! S-so good...I'm gonna make sure you stay with me f-forever..fuck..!" He thrusts a few more times before cumming thick long ropes of cum onto your body, him smiling like he hadn't just defiled your sleeping figure. He kisses your neck, sighing at your scent before cleaning himself and you up and drifting off to sleep, cuddled up to his nee-chan♡

So this is a lil drabble inspired by a draft I'm still working on about a yandere step brother Yuuta, what do we think?? I'm nervous abt posting because I don't want it to flop and dunno if others will like it 😭 hope you enjoy lovelies!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷

#yuuta x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #tw somno #tw stepcest #yuuta okkotsu #yandere yuuta #yuuta okkotsu x reader #chubby reader #fem reader #dollie drabbles♡ #tw dubcon

[kentopedia]

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ SAFEGUARD — dazai, chuuya, akutagawa

summary . . . they save you after you've been injured and captured by an enemy.

contents . . . sfw, f!reader (chuuya & dazai) and gn!reader (akutagawa), violence / blood, threats, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, established relationship, and it's pmboss!dazai bc i can't help myself — 3.5k total

notes . . . i got this request so long ago lol. not my best work, but i have been in the worst writing slump ever and just wanted to finish something. i've also never written for akutagawa before so pls be nice <3

𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐔𝐘𝐀 . . .

there are very few times that chuuya feels he’s been outsmarted. he knows he’s not the mastermind of the port mafia, but he certainly isn’t a fool. when it comes to you and your well-being, though, his mind short-circuits, half of his intelligence draining away while his emotions take hold. 

your relationship isn’t a secret to anyone in the port mafia, which means that it isn’t a secret to your enemies either. and while most people know it’s hard to land a finger on chuuya directly, his pretty little girlfriend doesn’t have the power of a god nestled inside of her.

the rage sparks through him, growing fiercely into the blaze of a forest fire, until all he can think of is getting you home safely. he thinks of your sweet smile as he rips the door of the enemies’ base off the hinges, crushing it into a million pieces with the force of gravity. 

the men are quick to react, but chuuya hurtles the crushed door towards them, knocking three of them to their feet. another group charges at him, but their guns do little against his skill. after years of fighting some of the strongest ability users, simple criminal organizations are as easy to step over like ants. 

chuuya kills them all — except for one.

the man’s knees are wobbling, hand shaking around the gun as he realizes that these will be his final moments. there is fear in his eyes, brown ones that rest wide open, and chuuya almost hesitates. his remorse doesn’t last long, though, before he’s wrapping a hand around the man’s throat, thrusting him backwards. 

“where is she?” chuuya asks, voice sharp and commanding. 

he can feel the man swallowing. 

chuuya knows that backup is probably on the way, but it won’t matter whether they show up or not. he’ll crush the rest of his enemies just as he’s crushed the last twenty men. the poor soul in his leather hold seems to know that as well. 

“i-i’ll take you to her,” he rasps, dropping his gun to claw at chuuya’s hand. 

he drops him, lets him take a few heaving breaths and coughs, before he’s kicking at him, forcing him back to his feet.

the young man takes him up the elevator, weaves him through a hallway as chuuya leaves a scattering of bodies in his wake, not hesitating to kill a single man that gets in his way. there is nothing that can keep him from you. 

how fiercely and loyally he loves you — it drives him to near insanity. 

finally, with blood coating his face and his clothes, the young man enters a room, locked with a code, revealing you. 

chuuya’s rage is almost as blinding as his corruption, as he gazes at the sight of you. bloodied and bruised, tied up in a chair, so visibly harmed. his hands clench into fists. “get the fuck away from her,” he says to the man who seems to be monitoring you.

“what are you doing in here?” the men left in the room panic, but they don’t have time to react before chuuya throws them back at the wall, so quickly, with so much force, that their spines snap. they hit it with a sharp crack, skulls shattering against the plaster, the wall crushing beneath the weight of them. 

limply, they fall to the floor. 

chuuya rushes over to you. 

the young man that led him here disappears, but chuuya isn’t worried about him. he’s a coward; he’ll likely flee from the country and never look back. the men that truly hurt you are already dead, and he’ll burn this building to the ground once he’s gotten you away from it. 

“hey,” chuuya says, cradling your cheeks gently, trying to coax you back awake. he’s not sure if it’s exhaustion, blood loss, or the obvious head trauma that caused you to pass out in the first place. but you’re still breathing, so he counts that as a blessing. 

“hey,” he whispers again, kissing your forehead, like it will heal all your ailments. “wake up, baby. we gotta get you out of here, okay?” 

it takes you a few seconds to come to, eyes glazed over and shell-shocked as you blink at him. “chuuya?” you say; your voice is so hoarse it makes chuuya want to keel over and vomit. “is it really you?” 

guilt gnaws at him, almost crushing, at the fact that thirty-six hours passed, and you’re delirious enough not to recognize him. you probably haven’t eaten, either. 

he should’ve been there. no one should’ve ever had the chance to hurt you, yet…

“it’s me, i’m here,” he says, kissing your lips, your temple, brushing your hair away from your face. the strands are sticky with blood. “shit,” chuuya nearly shouts, pulling a knife from his pocket, sawing through the thick ropes around you as quickly as he can. “i’m so sorry, i’m so sorry.” 

he can’t get you free fast enough, and you smile at him, drowsy, your eyes fluttering shut once more. “it’s okay, chuuya,” you say, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you’re here now.” 

“you have to stay awake,” he says desperately, realizing your head is still bleeding. he doesn’t know how hurt you are. chuuya’s no expert when it comes to medicine, but he’s smart enough to know that internal injuries could be even worse than the external ones. 

“stay awake for me, okay, honey? i’ll get you back to the boss and we’ll find you a doctor. you’ll be just fine.” 

“okay, chuuya,” you hum, weakly gripping his back. seconds of silence pass before you mutter, “i just want to go home.” 

"i know." his heart pulls, and he almost lets out a cracked sob. but he refrains, knowing that there is plenty of time to drown in his sorrows later. 

finally, he gets the ropes under, lifting you from the chair. you’re so much lighter, weaker, and it makes him sick as he carries you. “let’s get you home.” 

𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐖𝐀. . .

the call comes just as akutagawa is getting ready to head home for the evening, his tasks completed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. 

normally, he doesn’t stick around to say any goodbyes, sneaking off into the darkness of the night like a shadow, blending right in. but, something about the evening, so gloomy and drizzly with spring rain, feels off. 

with a heavy knot in his chest, so much different than an incoming fit of coughs, akutagawa heads back up to mori’s office, if perhaps to only ensure that everyone else’s jobs had been completed. he’s a lot of things, but he’s never been a slacker; and he’ll do what it takes to ensure that his position in the mafia is eternally secure.

though, he doesn’t have the opportunity to get all the way upstairs before he run into the boss, who is calm, but with an air of irritation clouding him. 

he explains the current situation to akutagawa in a clipped tone, bored — an enemy group has kidnapped you, holding you hostage. 

“how rude is it to bother a man, just as he is getting ready to go to sleep?” mori says, sighing histrionically.

but what is a minor inconvenience to mori sends an entire wave of dread through akutagawa, his entire body feeling as if it’s been dipped in ice. he can’t explain the horror that washes over him, not really, because he shouldn’t feel so panicked. it is rare for him to get worked up about the danger his subordinates find themselves in, save for his sister, of course. 

but you… you’re different. 

“can i trust you to diffuse the situation?” mori asks, impatiently glancing at his watch as if that will change anything. “i can call someone else, but they will not be so quick.” 

akutagawa doesn’t even think before he accepts the job, hating the way he sounds pathetically desperate for more details. his hands flatten the edge of his cloak, as if his ability is going to take on a mind of its own. 

he calls for a driver, calm but breathing so heavily that an aching cough rises up in him. his throat feels as if it may begin to bleed, but he swallows, glances away from the driver and gets himself under control.

there’s a ransom — bring them the money and they’ll return you, mori had told him. you’re only a lower ranking member of the mafia, and someone that makes for a pretty poor bargaining chip, so the motive is questionable. 

mori probably would’ve let you die, akutagawa knows, his teeth gritting together, so much so that a splintering sound comes from it. but the boss, in his infinite, concerning wisdom, seems to also know that his loyal dog has an soft spot for you. 

as regrettable as that may be.

akutagawa has no doubt that whoever the enemy is, they are no match for him. still, a twinge of anxiety settles in his stomach, fingers jittery as the driver, despite the decreased traffic of the hour, seems to drive impossibly slow. 

“are we not in a rush?” akutagawa snaps, leaning forward.

“apologies,” the driver, says, not daring to even look at akutagawa from the mirror. but the car speeds up, enough for akutagawa to be able to notice, at least. it cools the simmer that has already begun deep in his chest.  

even so, the car seems to go at a snails pace, minute upon minute flying by, with you in the clutches of an enemy. 

akutagawa doesn’t care who they are. he doesn’t care why, or how they captured you. he wants them dead. he’ll rip them apart, easily, and he’ll make them suffer — they’ll be alive for all of it, for every second that he peels the skin from their bones, ripping the smaller ones out of their sockets. 

what he feels for you… well, it’s too hard for him to admit to himself. he has no experience with what it means to care for another person, doesn’t even know if that’s his goal. he just knows he wants to protect you.

and he can’t do that if you’re dead.

finally, the car pulls up to an old warehouse, one at the very outskirts of the port, beyond the docks and the shipping carts. it’s tucked far back, an obvious lair for some villainous organization that doesn’t want to be found. 

akutagawa gets there, but there is nothing. he hears nothing, feels no signs of life as he trudges through the puddles left behind from the earlier rain. 

a small string of panic begins again, as he wondered if maybe the call that mori had told him was only a ruse. maybe this entire time had been a distraction, a way to lure him away. there are other skill-users in the mafia, but none quite as dangerous as him. 

though, he hears it, then. a small little sound, muffled and hoarse, full of pain. 

he ducks into another corner of a warehouse, and you’re there — bound with chains and a gag across your mouth, one of your eyes blackened with bruises, your nose bleeding. 

his heart aches. never in his life has he so quickly made his way over, used the sharp edges of his ability to shear through the chains, falling to his knees as he unbinds the cloth from your lips. 

“where are they?” he rasps, mouth opening and closing, hating the sound of his own voice. he recognizes his desperation, his anger, but the affectionate sound that clips at the end is unfamiliar, as he shakily pulls himself closer to you. 

you glance up at him, eyes glossy and wide, and though you are scared, hurt, he’s so thankful you are alive. his heart flips once, as you grasp at his cloak, the material that has the blood of so many staining the threads. 

“gone,” you say, throat chalky, words nothing more than a note against the wind. “they fled when they heard it was you coming.” 

“and left you?” he asks, jaw clenching, as he hopes that the emotions aren’t as visible on his features as he thinks they are. “were you not a ransom?” 

“no,” you swallow, hard, as if in pain. he notices bruises around your neck, the shape of fingerprints indented there. “i was bait.”

anger rises up in him like a wave, engulfing him, wholly and relentlessly. he is no stranger to that, like he is the kindness you show him, the way you look at him as if he is your protector, rather than a bringer of destruction. “i’ll go after them. where are they headed? they’ll pay, i’ll slaughter—”

“ryunosuke,” you say, reaching for him as he stands, expression pleading as he backs away. “stay.” 

he has half a mind to ignore you — the enemy escaped, after all. but your voice. your eyes… you look so small sitting there, bloodied and bruised and broken. 

“please,” you try again, near tears, and though he has never been good with obvious displays of emotion, something within him snaps at the desperation in the word. 

he nods, slowing his pace as he returns to you, lets you wrap yourself in him, cling to him. his hands fall, naturally, to your waist, somehow knowing where they belong, even if akutagawa never has a clue what he’s doing with you. 

“i’ll call hirotsu,” he says simply, before pulling out his phone, not bothering to untangle himself from you. 

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 . . .

dazai is not a forgiving man, and will never learn to be. forgiveness is not a luxury he is often able to indulge in in his line of work, and his heart has hardened enough that until the end of time, those that are branded his enemies will remain his enemies. 

though, in his blackened heart, one soured over the course of time, you have carved out your own little space, lit it up with golden rays of light that are fiery enough to melt the stone casing of his chest. 

his only love — his only weakness. but it is a weakness that his enemies know about as well. 

dazai tries his best to keep you safe. he always has, and he knows that, sometimes, his grasp on you can be a little too tight. that the way he tries to keep you under his watchful eye can sometimes be stifling, frustrating. 

but he can’t always be there to protect you. and it is in times like these, that he regrets letting you go without a bodyguard. he regrets that he listened to your insistence that you could keep yourself safe. 

he should’ve at least told you to take a friend. 

“boss,” his subordinate says, bowing his head, his voice pleading, desperate. “i’m so sorry. your wife—”

“if anything… anything happens to her, you will be the one responsible, do you understand?” dazai says, his eyes cold as he glowers down at the man, only a few inches shorter than him, but feeling so much smaller. “i will personally see that this act does not go unpunished.” 

“of course, sir,” the man says, and he, at the very least, has the decency to sound resigned. to accept his fate and suffer the consequences, for allowing the boss’s wife to get herself into such a situation. 

and dazai means it, every last word; if he finds you in a state closer to death, anyone who put you in harm’s way will be torn apart from the inside out. he isn’t able to think of anything but bringing you home safely, his hands shaking with rage as he sends more than enough people out on a search to find you. 

with all the strings he’s able to pull as the mafia boss, it doesn’t take long to find you, for those that have bravely — or stupidly — used his wife as bait to come forward, and offer an attempt at some sort of negotiation. 

there’s little of the conversation that dazai remembers on the phone, even less that he remembers after that. the anger bubbles up in him and grabs hold of his conscience, the emotion directing his movements with a mind of its own. 

he’s already sent out every last one of his people into the field, ensuring that the organization that had the gall to threaten you is wiped off the face of the earth. deleted from every corner of the world, buildings flattened to the ground. by tomorrow, they won’t have ever existed. 

today, he doesn’t care what happens as long as he finds you alive. 

you’re held hostage by two men — so completely beaten that they’ve given up on any restraints. whatever they wanted from you, you seemed to refused to have given up, lip bleeding, eyes swelling so badly that you can’t even open them. 

dazai doesn’t hesitate before pulling the trigger on the first man, then turning to the other, shooting the hand that holds the pistol. the man recoils, shouts, and drops the weapon completely, as dazai lands another bullet to his knee, causing him to fall. 

slowly, dazai walks up, firing again to his other arm, a loud snap echoing throughout the room. the man winces, trying to crawl to the gun, one last desperate attempt to stay alive. 

he kicks the gun away, watching, as, pathetically, the expression in the enemy’s face changes — any of his remaining hope vanishes. 

“you told me she was unharmed,” dazai says, bending down, his coat flaring out behind him as he squats. 

the man coughs, gasping for air as the blood seeps out of him. “we lied.” he smiles cruelly, and though he shares the same sort of darkness as those in the port mafia, there is something even more twisted in his smile. 

dazai hums. “you the leader?” 

the man doesn’t give an answer, but the slight twitch of surprise on his face is all dazai needs. he’s no one — just a grunt whose life was put on the line to guard you. 

“didn’t think so.” dazai shoots him once, straight through the forehead, instantly killing him. but he is vindictive, angry, and the man he truly wants to destroy, the one who took you, is nowhere to be found. another bullet lands, tearing apart the flesh of his temple, then another, and one more, his skull beginning to cave in from the force of it all. 

dazai heaves, letting the gun clatter to the ground as it runs out of bullets, and then he realizes, all this time, you’ve just been watching him. the ugliest side of him — the worst side of him. 

you’re no stranger to it, of course. how can you be, when you’ve shared a life with him for years? but that doesn’t mean he wants you to see it, see how bloodthirsty he can become. 

he stumbles over to you, where you’re still sitting on the ground, your wrist in your lap, bent at an angle that he knows isn’t right. bruises are littered across your skin, and your hair is matted from the blood that pools at your temple. 

it takes every ounce of restraint he has to stay calm, a million feelings swirling under his skin. ones that he was never familiar with until he met you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says, taking your face in his hands so, so softly, worried that he’ll hurt you even more. “i’m sorry, darling. i should’ve — i should’ve been there.” dazai notices his hands are shaking and he balls them up into fists, leaning back. “fuck. fuck — i’ll kill them all, just tell me who it was. anyone who laid a finger on you. i’ll cut them down one by one.” 

“osamu,” you say, and your voice is raspy, cracking, as your unbroken arm reaches for him, squeezing his shaking hand. “i—”

you open your mouth to continue, but only tears come streaming down your cheeks, over your bloodied lips, saltiness soaking your jawline. no words don’t leave you, but a soft sob chokes itself up your throat.

“hey, hey, hey.” dazai’s voice softens, every muscle in his body relaxing as he draws you nearer to him, into his chest with a touch that’s barely there. “you’re safe. i’m here, okay? they’re not going to hurt you again, sweetheart.” 

you sniffle, barely making a sound, but he can feel the tears drop onto his clothes, soaking the material.

“can you walk? are you hurt anywhere else?” 

you hesitate for a moment before answering; he’s not sure if there’s a reason you only answer the first question. “i can walk.” 

dazai nods, and though the rage is still bubbling there, underneath the surface, there is a coolant streaming through him at the vision of you alive. the men who did this will pay the price, but he still has you — and that’s all that matters.

thank you for reading !!! ❤︎

#bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x you #dazai x you #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd x you #bsd imagines #bsd x y/n #dazai osamu x reader #chuuya imagines #bsd fanfic #bsd x gender neutral reader #dazai x fem reader #akutagawa ryuunosuke x reader #akutagawa x you #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x y/n

[bigfatbimbo]

I am haunted by visions of Vox with a capable assistant who doms him after hours. The role reversal of guy thinking he can fuck his secretary but she turns the tables and fucks him has me sweating

I got inspired by a turn of phrase that would might have been popular a little bit before Vox’s time “his girl, Friday”

Basically a “girl Friday” was a term used for a woman in the office who acted as a jack of all trades and was good at doing a bunch of different jobs. This person was usually very capable and the office’s go-to-girl for anything and everything

So I keep imagining Vox with this hyper-competent assistant. He hires her and after becoming familiar with the company, she manages to handle things before he even asks her to do them. He decides to try and rattle her a bit with impossible tasks to knock her down a peg, but she takes that as a challenge and somehow completes them with a smarmy “will that be all,sir”

Game on. He keeps challenging her and asking for crazier shit just to prove that she can be shaken. She doesn’t even flinch, it’s a little intimidating and bruises his ego

Eventually he’s working late (which means she’s working late because somehow their work ethics are equally insane) and he starts being all snide and pissy and she just puts him in his place, insulting his behavior and his temper and physically backs him into his desk before telling him that he needs to be taught proper manners

And from then on, by day she’s Vox’s right hand who never leaves his side. But by night she bends her boss over his desk or presses him into his office chair, making him whimper and moan as she teaches him a lesson and berates him

So yeah, boss tries to dominate assistant but she effortlessly reverses their roles and makes him cry “Yes, ma’am!”

People think he’s tapping his assistant but whenever comments are made they share a look and Vox just thinks “they can’t ever know that I call you Mommy”

So the other day, I posted about wanting to do a human Vox au but lacking ideas, and one of the comments was involving an assistant x boss type deal. I don’t know if this ask is unrelated or directly caused by that post, but it gives me lots of ideas for a more specific au involving human Vox.

Anyways, since it wasn’t specified, i’ll keep the alive or dead details pretty vague. When I tell you this idea has been rotting in my brain all day, I fucking mean it.

Like this is genuinely about to get me out of writers block oh my fucking god. “His girl, friday” is a term i’ve never heard before but it’s so fitting with this. I love the go-getter incredibly efficient reader so much.

And god, it would bother Vox to an ungodly point. Because being in close quarters a lot, you being his assistant, of course he picks up on your efficiency. It makes him a little insecure because you honestly get things done quicker than he could.

So after throwing everything he can at you to knock you overboard your parade of orderliness, and you doing it all absolutely flawlessly, he can’t help but throw one of his tantrums.

Coming to him at the the end of the day, explaining you did everything he’d asked, and went beyond, closed multiple business deals for him, and got the inside information on upcoming possible marketing events. He should be happy, this objectively helps his business. But instead, he sits at his desk, watching you from across the room, before absolutely exploding.

I mean, you do his jobs better than he does. And he goes on a huge rant about how he doesn’t believe this, and how you must have absolutely no life, and basically degrading and insulting you for doing your job correctly.

And then yes, you yell at him, practically daring him to fire you. He won’t, you’re too much of an asset. You’re basically untouchable. So with that, you yell back, but unlike Vox who erupted with rage, you keep yourself as level headed as possible while talking sternly. Make even talking to him condescending as of talking to a child, explaining how it’s absolutely unbelievable he’s throwing a fit over good work ethic, and how he’d have to be out of his mind to pout about something so beneficial for Voxtech.

Going on and on about how his competitive, aggressive, targeting work behavior is unacceptable and pathetic… and now you have him back up against his desk, his sneer turning into a look of astonishment.

And then his eyes dart down, heat rising to his cheeks, and you notice the bulge in his pants. At first, you go silent, but then tease him with “You want me to take care of that too? Or will you yell at me for being too good at my job.”

Well, then he’s mad again. Probably definitely a struggle for power the first time you fuck. Yes, he tries to dom you, and fails because jesus, he really was pathetic. But you have him lied back in his chair, pinning his wrists down to either side of him, while you ride his dick into overstimulation. But he’s trying to keep quiet so no one else is the office hears his whimpers and whines.

But when he gets too loud, simply remind him that you’ll have to stop and he responds with a watery, whimper of “Y-yes ma’am.”

Now, fridays are dedicated to his girl, friday. Coincidentally, you’re both working late on those days, and even more coincidentally, you have business in his office.

That business being bending Vox over his desk until he has to cover his pathetic sobs with his hand so a janitor doesn’t hear him crying for his mommy.

Anyways, I’m almost done. I think this specifically appeals to me in a human Vox au sense because i’m hell, a work place of hell wouldn’t be particularly normalized, but it’s hell so it’s absolutely not frowned upon. He’d probably get teased about it at best, and literally a high five for tapping that. But in a human au, the stakes are much higher because there’s an actual sense of ethics and morals in business.

Also in the fifties, do you even know how taboo it would be for a boss to not only be sleeping with his assistant, but getting dominated by her every night???? I dunno.

Oh and the toxic masculinity of it all because it’s the 1950s and without being exposed to the normalization of kinks in hell, it would be so hard to break this brat down. Obviously not impossible, it’s Vox. But so much more irritating.

However, i’m hesitant to actually do a human au literally because of the silly picture I always put at the beginning. Because like I have such a specific image of what he looks like in my head (the @//notherpuppet human design) but… I don’t want to have to DM an artist and be like “Hey! love the art, can I use it for my dom reader power dynamic assistant x boss Vox x reader human au fic 😁😁😁🙏🙏” LIKE GANG I CANNOT.

Anyways, this wasn’t proofread, rant over, bimbo out.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #vox x reader #inbox open #sub vox

[chronically-ghosted]

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –  Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.  OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits. 

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang. 

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle. 

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on. 

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights. 

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will. 

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor. 

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him. 

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down. 

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window. 

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.” 

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world. 

All in the time in the world – for what? 

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell. 

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?” 

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.” 

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men. 

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again. 

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet. 

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable. 

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare. 

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again. 

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.” 

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword. 

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm. 

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.” 

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.” 

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.” 

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.” 

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too. 

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight. 

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with. 

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand. 

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.” 

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm. 

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . .  say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?” 

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.” 

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way? 

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.” 

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart. 

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.” 

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar. 

Fuck it. 

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.” 

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth. 

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel. 

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?” 

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last. 

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape. 

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you. 

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob. 

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.” 

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under. 

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.” 

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his. 

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar. 

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe. 

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on." 

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him. 

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised. 

“Unless you don’t want –,” 

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places. 

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword. 

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress. 

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed. 

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him. 

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh. 

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor. 

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.” 

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both. 

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips. 

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils. 

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm. 

“Oh, oh, Pero—,” 

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand. 

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.” 

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body. 

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing. 

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress. 

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace. 

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs. 

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear. 

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth. 

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough. 

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly. 

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving. 

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire. 

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets. 

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again. 

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care. 

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter. 

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.” 

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest. 

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.” 

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.” 

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.” 

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more. 

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss. 

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.” 

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.” 

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.��� 

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.” 

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble. 

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs. 

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides. 

“Have you had your fun yet?” 

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.” 

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.” 

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips. 

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest. 

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks. 

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted. 

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it. 

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known. 

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart. 

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you. 

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

+

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

#pero tovar #pero tovar x reader #pero tovar x you #pero tovar x ofc #pero tovar smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pero tovar fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #the great wall fanfic #pedro pascal #pero tovar x f!reader #pero tovar fanfic #pero tovar the great wall #tovar x you #tovar x reader #tovar x f!reader #tovar smut #tovar fanfiction #tovar imagine #pero tovar x fem!reader

[hurthermore]

»»------► 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝙰𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 (18+)

A/N: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚊𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚊𝚋𝚎𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚢 𝙰𝚄 𝚘𝚏 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 '𝙼𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚌𝚝' 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 (𝙷𝚊𝚣𝚋𝚒𝚗 𝙷𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚕)

𝟷𝟾+ 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚊𝚕, 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚕, 𝚜𝚘 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Extremely caring, Alastor will kiss every part of your body whilst trying to stay inside you as long as possible whilst he holds you like you mean the world to him; usually gets hard again if so. If it was a rougher session, he will run a bath for you and help you relax whilst he massages soap into your skin whilst whispering about how well you took him.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

This man is a cannibal; so obviously he's a thigh and chest guy. Alastor loves the thickness of your thighs and wants to bite into them to see how they taste. He likes your chest purely because your heart remains there, and he loves to feel the rapid beating that thumps from your ribcage as he fucks you. I’m regards to his own body, he likes his face the most; he’s a cocky bastard and he knows he’s attractive, what can I say?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Alastor will never cum before you; purely because he can only derive his own pleasure from the pleasure you feel. His cum is almost acidic in taste. After he enters hell, it becomes yellow instead of white simply cause I said so.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Wants to fuck you in the remains of everyone who dares to take you away from him; but it's not something Alastor would enact. Not unless you wanted him to.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Literal virgin. Never touched another person or himself romantically or sexually before you, so Alastor wouldn't be the best at first; but his charming and dominate demeanour makes up for it. Would become a god at sex after a while, and would memorise exactly what makes you tick.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Any position where he can look at every expression that envelops your face; Alastor gets off on seeing how much he's pleasing you, so although he will hit it from the back if you asked, he wouldn't enjoy it as much.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Alastor can't help but make a bad dad pun if the time arises for it; but typically he likes to keep it serious and passionate.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

No one is going to convince me Alastor shaves down there; and once he dies, it definitely changes into tufts of fluff instead of pubes.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a natural gentleman, so Alastor would be extremely romantic; groaning how well you're taking him, treating you like the most precious thing alive and dead as he defiles your body.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Alastor wouldn't touch himself with a twelve foot pole like that, and doesn't like you jacking him off either; it doesn't feel good for him, he'd much rather pound his fingers into you as seeing you on the brink of an orgasm makes his cock twitch to the point of wanting its own release.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Despite his want to please you, Alastor does have some rather fucked up things he'd like to do to you and for you to do to him. Definitely has a blood kink, choking kink, and pain kink, a sadomaso at heart.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In the privacy of a room, Alastor wants to keep your body and moans all to himself, but if you need reminding that you belong to him whilst you're in public, expect to have his hands touching you rather inappropriately.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Honestly? If you're blinded by rage, covered in blood, or start acting a bit crazy, he gets hard immediately. Other than that, he can't really get hard unless you make it clear you want him like that; you'd have to initiate every time or drop heavy hints for him to initiate, but Alastor is more than happy to make love to you whenever you ask - even if he's busy.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Would not partake in a three-way or more. You're all Alastor needs, all he wants, isn't he good enough for you? You'll break his heart asking this. Expect to be locked in his cellar if you have the stupidity to ask.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Alastor will only enjoy you giving him head if you get off on it, if not, he can't enjoy it. In contrast, he loves going down on you; loves tasting the natural essences of your body. He's surprisingly good at eating you out even from the first time he does it. With his acquired taste for human flesh, he will always suggest you sit on his face whenever it's that time of the month.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

In a normal initiation of sex, Alastor is extremely passionate and slow, he makes love to you whilst going so deep you can see stars, if you ask him to go harder or faster though, he will. In the case of high emotions, maybe the two of you had a lovers spat, or he's just killed someone from pure jealousy, expect to be fucked into oblivion; his pace will be relentless and you're always unable to walk straight the following day.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Prefers to savour you, take his time with you, and the only way you're going to get a quickie out of Alastor is if you start grinding against him before he, you, or both of you have to go somewhere. He also likes the thought of having his cum still inside you whilst you both go about your daily lives, and quickies defiantly help him live the reality of that fantasy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes and no? Alastor, being the murderer he is, knows the limits of the human body when it comes to anything that has the potential to kill, so he will never pass that limit with you; like choking you, for example. Because he knows these limits, its not necessarily a risk for him. In terms of potential voyeurism, he does like the thought of getting caught fucking his cock into you so whoever walked in on the two of you knows you belong to him - especially so if it happens to your first husband who walks in.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

At first, Alastor cannot last that long, so at the start of your intimacy, he spends a lot of his time with his face between your thighs, trying to bring as many orgasms as he can from you. After a while, his stamina will build, being able to last for a few hours and a few rounds. Will even fuck you if it hurts him, he just wants to please you that much; luckily for him, he's a masochist, and besides, you're too nice to let him be in pain... aren't you?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Despite sex toys being relevant to the time of both of your lives, Alastor never saw the point in sex toys, doesn't understand the need for them. He can only get off to you, and he is very capable of bringing you to orgasm, whether it be through his mouth, fingers, or cock. Will be a bit offended if you ask him to use one, maybe if you beg, he might be open to using some on you though.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Will tease you in the sense of asking you what you want from him. He'll ask you where you want him to touch you, how bad you want him, will even make you beg for him if you've been bad. Also, Alastor loves to tell you how good and perfect you are whilst his cock is thrusting in and out of you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Let's out a lot of low groans and grunts like a wild animal if he's fucking you hard, if he's slow and sensual, Alastor will breathe heavily to the point it's all you can hear, even if you yourself are moaning.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Has a husband/wife kink. Basically, he wants to be your husband; wants you to be his wife, and wants you to call him your husband whilst he fucks you. He craves for you to forget about your first marriage to the point where you believe Alastor is the only husband you've ever had. Also kinda likes to smell your sex...?

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Alastors cock is very girthy, heavy and veiny, with a curve that hits you just right; he's got a very pretty cock, and in my mind, he's your desired size, but if I had to give him an approx length, i'd say he's sporting a good seven inches whilst he's alive. When he's dead however, and sporting his demon form, not only has he grown a full foot taller, but his cock has an ombre of red and has somehow gotten fatter, now with a couple more inches to it.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Honestly, Alastor can live his entire existence without having sex; it's not something he's too bothered about, as long as you’re by his side he’s content, but his desire to please you and become one with you is something that has him drooling, so he's willing to do it whenever you wish.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After some well done aftercare, Alastor will only fall asleep once you have drifted off, he doesn't like thinking of you being awake without him. When he dies, he doesn't sleep, so once you drift off, he will just watch you sleep instead.

I didn’t even need to see the outcome of the poll; y’all just bashed tf outta that yes button soakskos so here he is; are there any hints here for the story? Idk probably not ;)

#alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #reader insert #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #wrote this whilst getting ready for uni #smut #alastor x y/n

[trans-axolotl]

content note: discussion of suicide.

this next monday will be the six year anniversary of losing one of my friends to suicide.

when he died, my high school barely mentioned his death, even though for other students who died by things like car crashes or illness, there were so many public expressions of grief. they believed that having any memorials for a student who died by suicide would encourage other people to die the same way. in their rush to erase the circumstances of his death, they erased the memory of his life.

there are so many things i am angry at that high school about in terms of how they treated mental health (mandatory reporting and collaborating with cops, their refusal to recognize the ways in which that system led to peer-to-peer crisis support, their refusal to recognize the ways that trying to keep each other alive through trial and error was scary and exhausting, carceral disciplinary policies, etc etc etc). but i think one of the things i am still angriest about is the way they enforced shame around his death. it felt like they were retroactively blaming him for the constellation of circumstances that made suicide an option in his life. it felt like they were blaming those of us who missed him and cared about him and wanted to grieve him. it made those of us still there who were actively suicidal feel even more scared about the reaction if we did reach out for help from one of those mythical safe adults.

as an adult now involved in psych abolition/mad liberation work, it makes me so fucking mad to see the ways in which he was discarded by people in authority positions. and the older i get, the more options i have found in my life for making sense of the world and finding healing and community and support which were never available to him because he died when he was 16 and the only things offered to him were a carceral psychiatric system that blamed him for his own fucking death. it feels so incredibly unfair.

i miss him and i think i always will; i can't remember his laugh or the sound of his voice or his favorite color any more and that aches. this grief is so heavy and it feels harder in a new way each year, when i become older than he will ever be. sometimes meeting new comrades or seeing new anticarceral suicide support models hurts because i wish so fucking bad that we had that back then. i remember how close we came to losing even more people that year and i know it is simple fucking luck that i'm still here when he's not.

i remember another letter (never sent) that i wrote to a friend while they were in an ICU bed after a suicide attempt when i didn't know if they would live or not. i have spent so much time in the past 10 years begging for anything to keep me and my friends alive, but even in that letter i knew that there is so much fucking violence that is hidden beneath psychiatric logics of cure and safety that promise a "solution" to suicide. I knew that institutionalization, coercion, and shame would not have helped build a life more liveable for him or **** or any of the people i've loved and lost since.

there needs to be more fucking options for care and support that aren't so incredibly cruel to suicidal people. i know so many people doing incredible work in alternatives, peer respite, a million different frameworks for healing and liberation. but it makes me so mad every day i have to live in a world where there are still people restrained, locked up in psych wards, having all autonomy and personhood taken away from them. knowing there are dozens of people every day getting blamed for their deaths the same way he was blamed for his.

i miss him. i cared so fucking much for him. and he died by suicide, and all of those things are true. he has been dead for 6 years and he lived before that and the people who loved him want to remember all of him; our celebrations of his life should not require hiding the way that he died.

Image description: [1000 origami cranes in all different colors and patterns that are tied together in strings of 25]

(these were the 1000 cranes we made to give to his parents, in memorial and recognition of how much he meant to us.)

#personal #suicide tw #suicide mention tw #psych abuse tw #psych ward tw #ok to reblog if u want #psych abolition #mad liberation #psych survivor #it's a lot of grief hours over here and will be for a while all week i think #lots of grief so many ways this year for so many people #but this week. his memory . my grief for him #is hitting especially hard. i think partially because of all the transitions in my life. i'm graduating college. he will never become an ad #adult. #i think i might ask my roommates if they will go do something to remember him with me. maybe making origami cranes and sending them off in #the river. or writing things down and burning them #idk. grief is hard #six years in grief is different. but hard

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Catching up.. ☕

Tristen: It’s pretty here, right? Matilda: For sure-.. but I wanna know how you ended up in Tartosa of all places. T: I guess it just kinda happened. M: [laughs] Yeah, but how? You randomly got on a plane one time and that was it? T: Pretty much! I didn’t exactly set out with a plan. I ended up in Moonwood Mill for a bit but it was kinda dead n’ I was running outta cash-.. decided I’d head to Del Sol ‘cause why not? Big enough place to get lost in and plenty of dead-end jobs, y’know? M: I didn’t think you’d wanna head somewhere so busy. T: I didn’t really think about that at the time-.. hated it the minute I got off the bus though. I overheard some guy speaking Tartosan in the smoking area n’ thought, fuck it. M: And that was that? T: Yeah, it sounds stupid now. M: Little bit-.. were you high by any chance? T: Little bit. M: [snorts] At least it worked out. T: I kinda love it here, everything’s so chill and relaxed-.. I did think about coming back sometimes, or visiting at least but… M: I get it. T: Do you? You’re here, I never had the guts to come back. M: I was dragged here. T: You didn’t want to come? M: I did, it was just… T: I get it-.. maybe you’d have been dragged here sooner if I’d told you where I was. M: Maybe. T: I’m sorry I ghosted you; I didn’t really mean to but the longer-… M: I know, it’s okay. T: Not if it made you mad. M: I think I was sadder than anything. T: That’s worse. M: Well.. I forgive you, so shut up. T: I’ll make it up to you.

Matilda cast a lopsided smile into her lunch, avoiding Tristen’s gaze. God, why was everything so difficult with him, so awkward? Men were easy, and Matilda knew exactly how to play each one to her advantage; it never took long to figure out how to get them hooked; she asked, she got-.. usually. But she didn’t want to play Tristen, she wanted him to love her without being cajoled, manipulated or asked. In some ways it seemed obvious that he already did, but Matilda had never played this game before, how could she be sure? She could ask outright, she supposed, but it felt impossible and far too vulnerable a task to bear.

T: So, what’s new with you? M: Nothing much, it doesn’t feel like anything’s really changed in the last few years. T: Take it you worked everything out with the whole Pixie thing though? M: I’m like a fun aunt, I suppose-.. all the good parts of having a kid without any of the hard stuff. T: Does she know you’re her mom? M: Yeah, we’ve explained that it’s a bit different but she’ll probably understand it better as she gets older. Ivan does a good enough job on his own though, so she doesn’t really care. T: Why the long face then..? M: I feel bad for him, I guess-.. him and Bruno are probably gonna break up. T: Oh, how come? M: It’s complicated. T: Chalk and cheese, right? M: Something like that. Breakups really fuck him up though and I can tell he’s wondering what he did wrong, as if it was his fault-.. he did the same thing when we broke up, blamed himself. I really broke his heart, y’know? Like, he was trying his best that time around and I threw it back in his face; not that I think we would’ve worked out in the end, but still… T: Yeah, but that was then. M: Do we really change all that much? T: I think most of us do; or can, if we want to. M: I don’t know… T: Are you seeing anyone now, like..? M: I kinda was.

Matilda shocked herself with her honesty, realising she probably should’ve lied; Triss must think she was a slut by now, always with someone new-.. someone pointless and vapid.

M: Nothing serious, he was an idiot. T: I sense a story… M: Well, everything was fine, everything was casual-.. and then he changed his mind, and got mad when I didn’t. T: Can you blame him-.. for changing his mind? M: Tch, that’s beside the point. T: Fair. M: He proposed to me, just.. out of the blue, and this was after numerous conversations where I’d told him I wasn’t into the whole kids n’ marriage thing. T: Okay, he definitely sounds like an idiot now. M: I said yes.

Matilda’s laughter hitched in her throat as Tristen’s face fell; teasing him suddenly didn’t seem so fun anymore.

M: I’m kidding! T: God-.. I just called the guy an idiot. M: Uh-huh. T: So, that’s over? M: I think he finally got the message; I’ve been ignoring him for months now-.. how about you, anyway?

Tristen laughed out loud, immediately clearing his throat with embarrassment; as though he hadn’t meant to declare his presence to those around them.

T: Uh, no. M: That’s it, just no? All this time, no flings, no nothing? T: C’mon, you know I’m no good at those-.. figured I’d be better off without the hassle. M: Guess it’s better than ending up with another Vicky. T: Exactly! M: I find it hard to believe no one’s at least tried. T: Aha, I guess there’s been a few-.. I dunno though, I always attract the wrong type. M: Yeah, maybe you do…

#ts4 #sims 4 #simblr #ts4 story #sims story #forever in between #fib #matilda douglas #tristen burks #get ur reading glasses out folks #sdjsk #sry but they just speak to me and i must comply ok #also nice to get all the catch up outta the way in one go u kno #YEET

[mrsparrasblog]

Jealousy Jealousy

Summary: Ghost wanted you but was to afraid to break the rules of fraternization, giving you only the last possibility of seducing him.

TW: Smut, Sex, Creampie, Spermplay, rough fucking, seduction, swearing, dirty talk

Wordcount: 3,9 K

MDNI

So Im back lol , and like always procrastinating and writing something else then I should and definitely more words then I planed thought about 1,5 K max . Dunno just enjoy your daily doses of COD smut.

You were aware of fraternization rules even if rules didn’t count that much for people like you, people who worked in the TF141, but your way too hot Lieutenant savored these rules because they were so important to him, or maybe he just didn’t find you attractive, you thought, until he kissed you last week after the mission in Las Almas, telling you he thought you were fucking dead. Graves captured you, but you managed to run away with your half-limp body. When he saw you, he couldn’t hold back, pushing his backlava up to kiss you, and then, after Las Almas, when you were in the pub, he punched a bloke just for looking at you. „Leave my girl alone,“ he barked, and of course, if a 6´5 masked man screamed, the man ran survival instinct, but you still needed to get laid, so you planned the perfect plan to seduce Ghost.

You looked into the mirror. The black dress clung to every curve and dip of your body like a glove. It was perfect. You knew what Ghost loved and how to highlight it. You pulled the stockings up to your lingerie and hummed in approval. He was just a man, after all, so of course he couldn’t decline this offer. At least you thought so, so you walked towards the common room. Now your only hope was that Ghost was alone and there was no Price in sight.

So as you walked into the room, the play of Manchester was visible on the TV, and he immediately turned around, noticing the different scents in the air when you entered—vanilla and amber—his weakness. “What the fuck are you wearin’?“ He looked at you from head to toe, trying to hide a smirk.

"Don't you think it's pretty? You asked while fluttering your lashes at him.

"Pretty? You're asking if this is pretty. You look like a fucking hooker." His voice was gruff and unapologetic. "Go change before Price sees you like this, or I swear to God."

„No, I would rather stay like this“

He grunted and turned back to the TV, not wanting to be bothered by changing your mind. But there was a strange part of him, a soft part, that found you so fucking attractive.

Now it was time for the next step of your plan. You sat down next to him, watching the match.

"Fuck off." He growled, trying to focus on the game but finding it difficult with you sitting so close. "Why are you always in my fucking space?“

„Because you know, I like watching Manchester too.“

„Well, then you should get your own damn TV and watch it in your room." He muttered, frustrated by your constant presence. But even as he spoke harshly, a small smile crept onto his face at the thought of you liking the same team as him.

„Why are you so grumpy today?“

„I'm not grumpy; I just don't like being bothered when I'm trying to watch my football." He snapped, annoyed by your question. But deep down, he knew it was just a lie. After what happened in Las Almas, this must stop, Ghost knew how to push people away, but you were just so resistant to his tantrums.

„I don't bother you, Ghost. Im only watching a match in the common room last time I checked. This area is for everyone.“

„Yes, you do. You always fucking do." He hissed, glaring at you briefly before turning back to the game. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the match again, hoping that would help him calm down.

„Are you bothered by this?" You gestured at your body.

"Yes, I'm bothered by it! You look like a goddamn whore, and it's bothering me!" He snaps, his patience finally snapping. He couldn't help but notice your body, however his mind was starting to wander inappropriately. Thinking of how you look without the dress, how he would rip it off you, and how good your red lipstick would look smeared on his dick while you cried from almost choking, but he was your superior,

„But a beautiful whore." You knew him long enough; you knew him when he was just a sergeant. This was just his way of pushing you away, and you were a patient girl, but now it was enough; he wanted you, or at least kept every male away from you within 20 miles distance. 

„Shut up." He growled, unable to deny the truth in your words. Despite himself, he found you so unbelievably attractive, and it was making him even more frustrated with your situation.

You rested your legs on his lap, leaning back into the soft cushion on the couch.

"What the fuck?" He immediately pulled your legs off his lap, glaring at you through the skull mask. "Do you have any idea how inappropriate that is?" He snarled, trying to keep his temper in check.

„They are only legs.“

„It's still not okay!" He shouted, losing his cool completely. "You're my subordinate, for fuck's sake! Have some respect!" His face was flushed with anger and embarrassment as he stood up from the couch, needing some space to calm down.

„It's not like I touched you anywhere inappropriate, Lieutenant. You knew how crazy he was when you called him, and you really thought you had him there.

„That's not the point!" He yelled. "You should know better than to behave like this!" He turned away from you, trying to regain his composure and hide the heat that burned in his cheeks.

“Why?“

„Because I'm your superior, you are under my line of command, dammit!" He snapped back, spinning back around to face you. "We are working on the field; you take orders from me, which means there are certain boundaries we shouldn't cross! You know this.“

„Price and Gaz always fuck with each other, and it doesn’t change the dynamic." You argue, how could it be okay for the Captain to sleep with his Sergeant but not for the Lieutenant?

"It doesn't matter! The fact remains that I’m your commanding officer, and that changes things." He argued, his voice rising in pitch. "I can't just ignore the fact!“

„You want it, you want me too. You can't just scare every bloke away who is interested in me, Ghost, and then don’t act on your feelings.“

„I want you who care. I fucking long for you. That still doesn’t change a fuck about that. I'm your superior.“

You slowly let the straps of your dress fall. „You long for me, Ghost? Then show me how much you want me.“

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asked, taken aback by your sudden action. His eyes widened as he saw more of your exposed delicate skin, and a bulge began to form in his pants. Despite his anger, he couldn't help but be affected by your provocative move. His eyes stayed on your exposed shoulders, and you knew you had him. You slowly started to let the dress fall to the ground, revealing yourself in black lingerie, his favorite with straps, and everything he could dream of.

He quickly turned away, trying to regain his composure. "Have you lost your goddamn mind?" He said this, fighting the urge to turn and look at you. His heart was racing, and his body was reacting against his will.

„Don't you think im beautiful Ghost?“ You looked at him with dear eyes, walking closer to him.

„I think you're incredibly fucking annoying!" He snapped, turning back to face you. 

He couldn't deny that you were attractive, but the situation was too complicated for him to deal with right now. "You making this really difficult, Darling.“

Your face turned the prettiest shade of pink when he called you Darling, and the butterflies from your stomach only moved between your thighs.

"Get away from me. I'm a patient man, but if you don’t put something on, I can't promise to not fuck that brattiness out of you." He growled, taking a step back and holding up his hands to stop you. His mind was in turmoil as he watched your seductive walk, and he felt his pants tighten even more. "This isn't helping anything, darling.“

„Ghost, please just dunno give a shit about the rule.“

„I wish I could.“

„Then let me have another man, Ghost; you can't claim me as yours, and then act on it.“

„I kill every fucking man who even thinks of touching you,“ he barked, his eyes darkened with his possession, making you start to plan B.

„You can either fuck me or I'm going to Johnny, and He can do it your choice." You took your phone, typed the message for Johnny, and showed it to him. You had enough; he needed to sort out his thoughts about whether he wanted you or let you have someone else, even if you only wanted him.

„You're not serious." He said this, shaking his head in disbelief. His face turned red with anger. "You really think I'd let Johnny touch you after what you just did?" He stepped closer, towering over your vulnerable frame. You were in the military and definitely not a delicate flower, but in comparison to Ghost, everyone looked small.

„Why? You didn't want me.“

He grabbed you by the shoulders and pushed you against the wall. "Johnny better not say anything about you to me unless it's to say he never will fucking touch you!" He growled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "Do I make myself clear?“

„He will give me what I want, and don't complain about it,“ you said, pressing your finger deeper into his wound of possessiveness.

"No." He said it firmly, his grip on your shoulders tightening. "You're not going to go to him. You're coming with me." He turned and started walking towards his room, expecting you to follow. The thought of Johnny touching you made him even more angry and possessive. You were his, and no other bloody bloke will touch you.

„Oh, will I now?“ You asked, chuckling softly at his jealousy. Maybe you would make it harder for him after all you were just as fucked up as he.

„Yes, you will." He said it without turning around. "You owe me that much after what you just did." His voice was cold and unyielding. He stopped at his door and turned to face you again. "Now, are you coming, or do I have to drag you?“

„Drag me“

„Fine." He grunted, reaching for your wrist and pulling you towards him. His grip was rough and forceful, but you didn't struggle, getting used to his strength in several sparring matches where he pinned you down. You entered his room, and he slammed the door shut behind you, taking his sweet time to look at your ass in the lingerie.

"Now what?" He demanded it, glaring down at you.

„You could just fuck me like I want,“ you suggested, teasingly stroking his biceps through his compression shirt.

„Do you think this is a game?" He asked, pushing you against the wall. "You can't just snap your fingers and expect me to do whatever you want!" His anger was palpable, but he could also feel the lust building within him. "What did you do back there?“

„I just showed you lingerie; it's nothing wrong.“

„It's not the lingerie!" He yelled, his voice echoing off the walls. "It's the fact that you're using your body to get what you want!" He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down.

„Are you too weak to resist?“

„I'm not weak!" He shouted, grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. "But you're pushing me too far! Now, either you stop or I'll do something you'll regret." His face was close to yours, bodies pressed together.

 „I won't regret fucking you.“

„You don't know what you're saying; you will regret it after you can't walk straight for days." He growled, his rough, chapped lips brushing against yours. "But if that's what you really want, fine." With a sudden movement, he spun you around and pushed you down onto the bed.

He climbed on top of her, pinning her arms above her head once more. "This is how it's going to be." He asked, his voice low and husky. "You're going to use your body as a weapon against me?“

„Yes Sir“

Sir, you had the nerve to call him this, with a growl he pulled off his shirt and tossed it aside. His muscular frame was covered in scars from years of fighting, but they only added to his rugged charm. He leaned down and captured your soft lips with his own, kissing you fiercely like all the time back in Las Almas.

„Mhm Ghost“

„When we're like this, you’re going to fucking moan Simon, not Ghost?“ He pulled his mask away, throwing it in the corner, and showed you his scared face. It was fucking beautiful, his blonde lashes, the brown eyes, the blonde stubbles, and the way too long blonde hair for regulation. "You're beautiful, Si.“

„Do you understand what you're doing to me?" He asked between kisses, his voice rough with desire. "You're driving me mad!" He trailed kisses down your neck, nipping at your skin. "Are you sure this is what you want?“

„I have wanted this for years.“

His fingers found the claps of your black lacy bra, and he began to pull it off, revealing more of your lush body. "Even though you've ignored me for months?" He asked, his voice shaking with need. "Even though you've flirted with him?“ It wasn’t like you ignored him back then, it was like ages ago.

„With Johnny? Jealous?“

„Yes," he growled, hooking his thumbs into your sweet panties and pulling them down your perfect legs. "I'm so fucking jealous of him. Of everyone who fucking looks at you" he stared at your bare pussy for a moment, his lust burning brightly in his eyes. "You're beautiful," he whispered, leaning down to inhale your musk scent and then flicking his thick thong over your complete cunt, savoring the taste of your leaking juices.

His tongue darted out to trace the folds of your pleading pussy, tasting the sweet nectar that coated you. "Fuck Darlin’," he hissed, picking up the pace.

You pressed his head deeper into your wetness, his fingers found your clit, circling it gently before plunging down into your. He groaned against your mound, unable to hold back any longer.

You squirmed beneath him, your moans getting louder and more urgent as he continued to pleasure you. "Your cuny tastes so fucking good," he muttered against your skin, licking and sucking every inch of your hardened clit.

„Oh god, Simon“

As you gasped his name, he knew you were close. With one last thrust of his tongue deep into your tight core, he felt you shudder violently around him, and your hot cum spurted onto his face. "Fuck Darlin’, "he groaned, drinking in your essence as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You are exquisite," he rasped, pulling his lips away from your swollen, overstimulated clit. "Absolutely fucking exquisite." He licked his lips clean of your juices, the taste lingering in his mouth for a moment before disappearing altogether. 

„Sorry, I made a mess of you.“ You chuckled, looking at his face all smeared down with your sticky juices.

"Don't be sorry." He smiled, gazing at you with adoration. "I prefer you wetter.“

„Can you finally fuck me now?“

He grinned, his hands sliding down your hips to grasp your thighs. "Oh, darling," he growled as he thrust into you, his cock sliding easily into your slick heat at first, despite his enormous length. "I've wanted to do this for so fucking long.“

„Mhm Si,“ his thick length stretched you out like no one ever did; you felt him in places you didn’t even know you had, and when his cold piercing hit your gummy walls, you squealed, making him only chuckle.

He groaned, his hips slamming against yours as he took you with a force that left no doubt about his desire."Fuck, you're tight," he gasped, feeling every inch of his length stretch your pussy to its limits. 

„You’re too big, Si,“ you whined as he hit your cervix, a spot no man before ever reached, not even Johnny. The burn was between pain and pleasure, making you rethink all your life choices.

„You can take it; begged for it, Darlin', didn't you?“

His eyes locked with yours, and the intensity of your gaze increased as he moved within you. "You like that, don't you?" He growled, his voice hoarse with desire. "Feeling my cock fucking you from the inside out.“

God, he is a talker, you thought, and his British accent made it even worse for you, making your gummy walls flood him with your wetness.

„`S hurt, Si“

He leaned down, his teeth nipping at your neck as he thrust deeper, hitting your cervix with each forceful motion. "I know." He smirked, his hips grinding against yours in a powerful rhythm. "But you seem to be handling it quite well.“

„Oh god, you squirmed beneath him, your nails digging into his back as you tried to cope with the sensations coursing through your body. "You're amazing," he moaned, his lips finding your ear as he whispered encouragement and dirty talk.

„Mhm Si“ 

He leaned down to kiss you softly, his hands running through your hair as he traced patterns on your scalp. "You drive me insane," He whispered, his gaze locked with yours, "I can't get enough of you. I have been addicted to you since the first time you walked inside the gym.“

„Please“

Simon grinned wickedly. „You want it hard?“

„Yes,“ you moaned naively, thinking you could take more of him and more of his restless vigor.

He smirked, his hips starting an aggressive, pounding rhythm that left no doubt about his intentions. "Well, you got it," he growled, each thrust hitting your cervix with devastating force. "You like that?“ 

Simon leaned down to capture your lips in a rough kiss, his tongue pushing past your teeth as he took what he wanted. He pulled back with a satisfied smirk, his breathing labored from the intensity of your lovemaking. Even if it felt more like fucking for you, it was making love to him, proving to you he was the right one. You knew no one could protect you better than him; he knew he could provide for you and grant you every wish you had in your fucked-out mind, and now he took great pride in knowing no one could fuck you like him.

"I could fuck you like this all day." His lips pressed against your neck, nipping and teasing the sensitive skin. "Is that what you want?" He whispered, his hips thrusting harder as he felt your body tighten around him. "To be fucked all day?“

„Yes Lieutenant“ 

Simon laughed, a deep, husky sound that vibrated against your flesh. "You're such a dirty little thing," he praised, slamming into you once more. His free hand moved down to squeeze your ample ass, urging you to meet his hips stroke for stroke.

„Mhm, Si, please“

Simon's grin grew wider as he felt the familiar heat building within him. He knew you could take it all, and he was more than willing to give you everything he had. "Tell me what you want, baby girl. Want me to cum in you? Want me to fuck your ass? Want me to forget your own name? Because I'm more than fuckin’ willing to give it all to you,“ he growled against your ear, thrusting harder than ever before.

"Do you want me to make you cum?" He asked teasingly, feeling your pussy grip his cock tighter.

"Yes, please,“ you whined, almost unable to speak.

Simon’s hand moved from your ass to grip your hair, pulling slightly as he drove deeper inside you. His other hand moved between you too to rub against your overstimulated clit in a rough rhythm. "Say it," he demanded, needing to hear those words from your lips.

„Make me cum.“ 

With a triumphant groan, Simon increased his pace, his hips meeting yours in a brutal display of lust and desire. He felt your walls clenching around him, muscles contracting as you edged closer and closer to your awaiting climax. "Fuck, you're so tight," he panted, his grip on your hair tightening as he felt the orgasm building within him. "I'm going to cum all over your fucking face and paint you like a masterpiece.“

Simon felt your inner walls pulsing around him as you reached your climax, and with a primal roar of his own, he released himself inside of you. His thick cum filled you up, overflowing onto your willing womb as he held himself deep within you. His cum was sticky and hot, sending shivers down your spine.

It took a while for you to come back to your senses after he fucked every part of your brain out of you. After a while, you were able to perform a snarky comment. the brattiness was still not fucked out by your Lieutenant. "I thought you wanted to cum all over my face, huh.“

With a smirk, he pulled out and replaced his member with his tongue, licking up every drop he could find on your cunt. "I changed my mind," he said playfully. "It tastes better coming from you.“

This was new; most men feared to kiss you after you gave them head, and he just licked his cum out of your vagina. "Did you just taste yourself?“

Simon's eyes flashed with mischief. "And if I did?" He teased you, planting another kiss on your lips. "You liked it enough to taste it too, remember?“

You licked the remaining seed from his lips, eager to make him crazy.

“Oh fuck." Simon's head fell back with a groan as you licked him clean. "You're so fucking dirty, and I love it." He grabbed your hair, pulling you into a deep kiss that tasted salty and sweet.

„God Simon“

„Best fuck of your life,“ he looked at you with a cocky smile fucking arrogant idiot, but he was right.

„Yes“

„Pull that on“ he handed you a shirt, one of his Ghost Lieutenant military shirts he wore to the training, and you couldn’t stop a giggle thinking of how sweet that action was, but Ghost wasn’t a sweet individual, well, at least not always. When you pulled the shirts on and he nicked your panties, he ruffled through your hair, smearing his cum over your red lips, making you only look more fucked than ever before. 

„Stand up, Darlin'; it isn’t nice to cancel a meeting over the phone. Tell Johnny you won't come or ever again to him.“

„Just let me get ready first,“ you tried to wiggle yourself out of his grip.

„No, you go like this.“

„But-“

„This was a fucking order now, Sergeant.“

So you went to the next barrack. You knew Johnny must have already heard you, but now you were on your way to him naked, just covered in Simon's shirt, tangled hair, red lipstick everywhere, cum on your face, and the remaining cum that leaked out of your cunt to your thighs. Simon could only admire his masterpiece; he felt like a Picasso for doing this to you. 

„Sorry Johnny can't make it,“ you said to your friend with an embarrassed expression. Maybe you deserved it after teasing Simon this way.

„The Lt.?“

„Yes“ 

Simon stood only in the corner and admired you, already thinking about how he would praise and reward you for being such a good girl.

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #call of duty #tf 141 #tf 141 x reader #smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #cod ghost #ghost fanfic #ghost headcanons

[writinginthetwilight]

Knock, knock.

Neighbour!Eddie x Neighbour! Reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ for smut in later parts if you are under 18 you do not belong here, be gone.

AFAB reader. Stress. Strong language. Nightmares. Sleep walking. Horror/creepy vibes. Shit jobs. Mentions of cheating. Let me know if you want any listed that I have missed. See the Masterlist for full list of warnings. 

Authors note: Thank you for all the love on the last part of this fic, it honestly makes me so happy that people are embracing this creepylittle story. This chapter made my brain melt a little but I'm excited to finally release it from its confinement.

As always all my love to @bettyfrommars  @allthingsjoeq and @somnambulic-thing for writing the original prompt that birthed this weird world I'm making. You're the best.

6. You move into a new apartment and soon discover that you share a wall with a very noisy neighbor. Loud laughter, talking, and music are a constant companion. When you decide to go over and knock on their door to confront them in person, you find that the apartment is unoccupied and has been for months.

Reblogs and comments are much appreciated. Love you bye.

Part 5 - The gods manual to the frail.

When you were small you longed for lucid dreaming.

The idea that you could control the vivid picture book of your unconscious mind was fantastical, to be able to puppeteer it to make you fly, race faster, fight stronger, it was overwhelming.

You soon learnt though that just because you knew you were asleep, that didn't stop your imagination from being overactive, didn't mean it would always play along.

Just as quickly as your mind could command you to fly it could also tell you to fall.

The bathroom door's wide open.

Your limbs are free, not rigid and wedged at the odd angles that usually come with being in this particular dream.

You're not alone though, you know it without seeing them.

A looming presence in your peripheral that's making your skin crawl.

Unseeing yet watching. No longer trapped in the shadows that writhed behind the bathroom door, they were out, watching you from the corners of your ceiling.

You can't look at them, an overwhelming knowledge overcoming you that to acknowledge them was to lose.

They slip like hot wax as they move, watching as you leave bed, your body's heavy and slow as you move through the dim light feeling your way, trying to escape.

You hear them move through the door frame above you quickly, wet and slick. Too fast.

You're asleep.

The reminder seems to make your body jerk as if your muscles had been released and the creatures chitter above you like cats stalking birds.

Your feet carry you clumsily through the main room as it stretches before you further than it should, the door you're trying to reach always suddenly behind you as soon as you start to make progress.

Panic rises as the creature's chitters get louder

Delighted.

You shouldn't have looked up.

The waxy unseeing faces twitch towards you and you don't know how you know they're smiling.

You start to run, faster and faster towards the door which never gets any closer.

Then the chittering stops.

You turn, watching as the creatures slither and melt into the cracks in the scar leaving you in dead silence.

Then you're falling.

You wake with a scream stuck in your throat, hands pressed against the uneven surface of the wall adjacent to your bedroom.

Your legs give way beneath you and you scramble backwards until your back hits the couch.

Breathings ragged and hands shaking you look up.

The scar sits quietly above you.

“Fuck you.”

So I spoke to this kid I know, well he's not exactly a kid he's 22 but I've known him since high-school…

Your forehead creases as you read your rambling morning letter from Eddie. Toast hanging out your mouth greasy spread sticking against the corner of your lips as you slowly dress into your rigid self appointed uniform.

It had become a routine in the days since you ‘met’, relaying back what you know slowly trying to put the puzzle pieces together of what was happening to you both.

He's going to send a mic over for my stereo. Do you think you can get one for yours? My haunting schedule varies…

You let out a snort as you throw the 'bottom of your refrigerator surprise' lunch into your bag, you're still not entirely sure he's not a ghost, but he no longer takes the bait to heart like he did, which makes it decidedly less fun to tease him.

.. It depends on which kids book lessons but they're always between 8 and 5. Bars 10-3 Fridays Saturday. I pick up extras where I can.

Batman Returns. No

Nirvana. Yes

Duran Duran. Unfortunately, yes.

Sepultura

Lost boys.

Donny Darco.

You frown at the last title listed in your ongoing ‘Does this exist 50 questions’.

That shouldn't be out yet.

Shoving the last of the toast in your mouth you scribble a note back to him, shaking off the crumbs when you're done and shouldering your rucksack before leaving.

The nightmares hadn't returned but the last one had left you anxious to fall asleep, any sleep you did get was short and light for fear of what you would fall into.

This was the fourth time the shadowy fucks had invaded your subconscious and every time, the images, the feeling, remained.

It's still there whenever you close your eyes for too long, like they're carved onto the inside of your skull.

But this last one was different.

It didn't feel like sleepwalking, all instances before sleepwalking had been more confusing than anything. Told to you by those who witnessed it but you yourself had little to no memory of what happened.

Then there was Eddie even when he was trying to be quiet, the man was a hurricane. Waking you when you had finally drifted off by rummaging around or having one of his late-night phone calls to whoever Wayne was.

The bus ride over to the office makes your eyelids heavy with its constant rhythm, the grey clouds muting the sun's glare into a comfortable warmth. You could easily just close your eyes, but every time they droop the hiss of a stop startles you upright.

The office is always too bright when you get there, grey walls and plastic plants welcoming you to the sea of desks under the fluorescents.

You tug at your fitted clothes, once your assigned funeral clothes and now your office outfit, it's fitting really, considering the place makes you feel dead inside.

Why you need to be smart casual for sitting at a desk for 8 hours is beyond you.

Shona's there as you sit down, cackling loudly into her headset. Your first day buddy, as they called her, hadn't really helped all that much. Told you where to sit then explained the office politics at such breakneck speed it gave you whiplash.

Surprisingly, or maybe less so now you know her, all those she seems to class as undesirables are the only people with decent conversation in this place.

The only saving grace to your tired soul is it's finally payday, due in your bank by closing time.

So you spend your day between calls, browsing microphones, looking up astral projection and Donny Darco.

You knew it came out later than 1993.

IT must think you're a riot.

A murmur goes across the office and Shona grins at you as she excitedly tells you she's going to go out for lunch.

You take out your phone quickly, opening your bank app. You can already smell the takeout, feel the new body wash on your skin, feel the comfort washing over you, you won't have to flinch every time a bill’s due.

Your stomach sinks through your feet and slithers out leaving you hollow.

The amount is low. Sickeningly so.

There must be an issue, a mistake, but as your payslip arrives in your email.

No.

New starter deductions.

Training.

Equipment.

Resources.

They go on, apparently Shona forgot to mention this, it slipped her mind she tells you with a pout before she breezes away.

You think you might hate Shona.

You shouldn't have, the little voice whispers in the back of your head.

You should have been sensible.

The takeout bag rustles from where it hangs from your wrist, it smells too good for you to regret it yet.

Your mood had soured by the minute until it was time for you to clock out and in some self sabotaging monetary cloud you decided for tonight, you were going to pretend that you'd been paid for the actual work you had done.

The apartment’s quiet when you enter and the tension in your shoulders drop a fraction at the sight of it.

Your rucksack falls to the floor, and you're popping the lid on the box of dumplings before you've even taken off your jacket.

The savoury cloud of steam that's released makes your mouth water and you groan at the first bite.

“Hey.”

The voice from above almost makes you choke and you wheeze, hands gripping the counter.

“Jesus Eddie. Why are you just sitting in silence like a creep? ”

“You're too loud Eddie. You're too quiet, christ.”

Tension floods your body again and misdirected anger makes you scowl at your food as you harshly put the lid back on.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading?” His voice is chipper and it instantly irritates you.

You don't respond, moving to your couch shedding your outer layers and popping the button round your waist before resuming eating.

“You okay?”

“Peachy.” You say around another bite hoping he gets the hint.

He doesn't.

In his defence it's probably hard to read the room when you can't see anyone in it.

“So, I was thinking”

“Dangerous.” you quip smirking to yourself at the disgruntled noise he makes as you pop the lid on your noodles.

You take a bite. God this is good.

“I was thinking. You should investigate apartment 7.”

You pause, noodles mid way to your mouth.

“I should investigate number 7.”

“Yeah I mean nobody lives there where I am-.”

“How do you know anyone lives there where I am?”

“Well, do they?”

“I don't know.”

“That's why you need to investigate.”

“Nobody lives on your side of the apartment yet here we are.”

You're being intentionally obtuse, you'd vaguely spoken about this before but your voice is raising frustration making your voice wobble, you don't want to deal with this right now.

He's quiet and as the silence lingers you lean your head back closing your eyes.

“So how was work?”

You crack an eye and look at the scar.

“I thought you were reading.”

“I was. Until someone disturbed the peace.”

He's such a shit. You don't respond again, trying to breath away the brewing tension headache.

“Any plans for the weekend? “

You sigh loudly, sitting up and looking around.

You crack down the centre a little, the sparse room looking back at you only serving as a reminder of all the things you still need, and will have to go without for another 4 weeks.

“No.”

“Want to hang out or something. We could have a movie night.”

A breathless laugh leaves you. He says it like you could avoid each other.

“How would that even work?”

You had planned to make cookies as some sort of peace offering before going next door, if people elsewhere in the building had come to you to complain then anyone who was in there definitely heard.

But ingredients are expensive.

As you approach the apartment your door seems so far away, it's odd being on this side and makes you realise just how close together you and Eddie are.

You knock and wait, store bought cookies in hand, arranged on a plate and covered in saran wrap.

You hear a scuttle behind the door, like the quick footsteps of a child before it creaks open slowly.

“Oh, hi”

The emerging face is low like you had expected but instead of the smooth face of a child, an elderly woman peers at you from the growing space in the door. Boney fingers wrap round the edges as she reveals herself.

You introduce yourself, cringing at the fact you're using your work voice on a weekend.

She doesn't respond.

Merely stares at you with light blue eyes, and a smile on her face that shows no teeth but deepens the creases on her thin skin.

“I'm sorry if we've.. I've been loud. ”

Her eyes widen at your mistake, but she still doesn't respond, her stare unwavering her thin lipped smile the same.

“ Bea?”

A woman around your age appears in the doorway behind her and gives you a warm grin.

“Hi, can I help?”

Eyes pulling away from the older woman, you work your jaw for a moment as you feel her eyes still on you.

“I brought some cookies, I live next door, I moved in a few weeks ago, ” you fumble.

“Oh, that's so kind isn't it Bea, why don't you come in.”

“Oh no it's okay-”

“No, I insist.” The way she says it is firm and she leaves you holding the plate in the doorway as she gently manoeuvres the old woman away.

Shit.

As you step through over the threshold the smell of patchouli hits you so heavily that you feel like it's sinking into your skin.

Closing the door hesitantly behind you, you're hyper aware that you're now sealed off from the hallway which has the same deep red walls as the enormous room you now stand in.

Shelves clink softly as you walk into the middle of the open plan room.

Multitudes of soulless taxidermy joins the elderly woman in watching you as you make your way over to them.

“We don't get many visitors, do we Bea?” says the younger woman and Bea whispers something back as she helps her into her seat and gets a wry smile in return.

This feels weird.

Taking the plate from you she motions for you to sit.

“Always surprising me, she's quicker than she looks. Could obviously smell desert.” she laughs as she turns away.

“Yeah. ” you trail off, turning to glance at the elderly woman, who's still smiling but a little wider now, still staring, fingers drumming against the linen tablecloth quickly.

“Well I'm Nell, and this is Bea, I live upstairs.”

“Oh, erm, how long have you lived here?” you say fidgeting in the hard seat, trying to ignore the way the woman's stare is boring a hole into you.

She chuckles, “Around 6 years now and Beas been here forever.”

Bea breathily mutters something to Nell you can't catch and she laughs before patting her arm and placing a cookie on a small plate in front of her.

She offers you one and settles herself down, the collection of bangles around her wrist jingling as she pours sweet tea into faded china cups for you all.

Bea picks up the cookie with trembling hands and breaks it apart before popping them between her lips, still staring.

The more you look around trying to avoid eye contact the more you find other pairs watching you, paintings, preserved animals. Jars.

Nells chatting absentmindedly and you make sounds of agreement while you pretend to listen and try to swallow the dry treat down as quickly as possible.

At the far end of the room, the floors raised a little, a double bed flush against the wall with yellow heavy curtains draped over the posts.

Shelving units surround it, built into the wall and filled with multitudes of more off putting belongings.

It's your wall.

Your eyes track back to Bea and she's grinning now so wide it looks like it should hurt, teeth on show.

You have the sudden feeling that you need to leave and it makes your heart flutter.

“She likes you,” Nell says with a chuckle and Bea still stares.

“Marco.” Eddie's voice reverberates down towards you as you slowly walk the line of the scar. Bare feet toe to toe eyes trained up.

In soft clothes and bare faced you'd had two showers since going next door and you still feel like you can smell it on you.

“Polo.”

You listen carefully for where his voice is the loudest.

Walking the same path as you, he does the same so you don't have to yell while you watch Donny Darco.

“It made my skin crawl, they were everywhere and she just sat and stared at me. I don't think I saw her blink.”

“Maybe she's a Skinwalker or, oh maybe-”

“You're far too excited about this.”

“Come on, she's an old lady.”

“You didn't see her Eddie, something was off.”

“Here?” He says voice ringing out clear.

“Sounds good.”

You drop a pile of blankets and pillows against the kitchen counter, thankful for the barrier between you and the back wall.

You get comfortable opening your laptop when you hear the distinct sound of something heavy being dragged.

“What are you doing?”

“Moving the couch and stuff,” he says voice strained and you can't help the smile that slips out at the sound of it.

“Just sit on the floor.”

“I'm not an animal.”

“I'm sitting on the floor.”

“Exactly.”

“Hey.”

His cackle rings out above you.

“You done?”

“Yeah, think so.”

You hear him groan as he settles in and you set up the movie ready.

It takes a few times to get the start right. Both having to forward it to the same point, you wonder if the movie will have changed over time or whatever this was.

You stretch out and lean back as you hear the echoing sound of the opening scene and for a minute you can pretend that it's not weird or supernatural and you just have a friend.

For all the effort it takes to get them lined up it turns to chaos, fairly quickly as lines change or are delivered wrong by surprisingly, still Jake Gyllenhaal which turns into another whole thing.

Cackling so hard at the contrasting lines at one point you have to leave to use the toilet, with your grin still making your jaw ache, it passes you by that the oppressive walls of the bathroom aren't making your skin crawl like usual, as you listen to him ranting to himself in the other room.

The movie ends but you both carry on speaking until your back starts to ache from the odd angle you've fallen into.

“Shit it's late”, you groan as you sit up. “This was fun.”

“It was,” he says his own yawn audible in his voice and you look over the barely lit room wondering where he would be if he was arranged in the space around you.

You get up, abandoning your empty snack bowls and laptop and dragging your makeshift nest to your room, the light from the lamp in your bedroom quickly submerging the shadows.

“Oh shit.” Eddie's voice comes from the darkness of the other room and you turn to stare into it.

“What happened?”

He groans loudly, “Nothing, I'll clean it in the morning.”

You grimace to yourself wondering what terrible choice of snack he'd knocked over.

“Night Eddie.” You say pulling the door closed.

“Night sweetheart.”

The nickname makes you pause just short of closing the door, all movement stops from behind it and you wonder for a moment if he's left before pulling it closed.

The sheets are still warm from where your giggling body had been nestled into them and with the dopamine still lingering, you climb in and drift easily.

“Marco?” The voice is muffled and you groan as you shift.

“Polo?” You groggily say eyes still heavy.

Drip

The sound finds you with its usual bolt of adrenaline and your eyes snap open.

At least there's nothing on the ceiling.

You pad slowly over to the door and lean against it ready to squeeze through, when it opens easily and you stumble forward.

You walk out turning to see the bookshelves moved over to the side no longer blocking the door.

Evidence of your night is floating in the puddle, his tv now fused with the counter and his couch slowly soaking in the black around the bottom. Nuts and popcorn are scattered over the floor by an upturned bowl and are slowly being swallowed.

You lean down watching how the pieces stick out, your laptop being consumed slowly, fading with every drop.

“I wouldn't touch that.”

You almost slip into it, quickly steadying yourself and glowering back at him.

He's got a shit eating grin on his face despite the way he's rubbing his tired eyes.

“I see you dressed for the occasion this time.” you say still a little breathless.

He looks down at himself to the grey sweatpants and an old band shirt where the motifs peeling away so you can't make it out anymore.

“Well I didn't pass out on the couch like last time, so.”

He's more disarming like this with hair sticking out, face a little tired, tattoos sprawling up under his sleeves. He's less stiff, the almost permanent scowl he wore last time gone.

He runs his hands through his hair and looks around eyeing the slowly sinking snacks in the black puddle.

“It's changing, like with what we do in the day. ”

You walk over to behind the counter, swallowing at the sight of the floor, only a few inches visible between it and the darkness of the back wall.

“Come on.”

You walk through the wall of light to his side and check for any changes.

But everything's the same, the only changes are the evidence of his life within the space.

You come full circle both coming out the other side to face the abyss again.

“Why is it only my side?” you whine looking at the nightmare factory before you.

“You dont think she's making it, do you?”

“Who?”

“Grandma death.” He says a little chuckle in his voice.

When you don't respond he turns to you, calling your name softly as you recall the shadows slithering on the ceiling in your dreams.

How did you know they were smiling? Her face flashes in your mind's eye.

“Have you had any other weird dreams while you've lived here?”

“Other than this” he laughs but his face falls a little as you look up at him.

“Uh, no, well I mean, nothing like this.”

Nodding, head swimming, you walk over to your couch curling into yourself and peering at the darkness of the wall behind it.

“So what do we do now?”

“I don't know. Wait, I guess.”

The couch bounces as he sits down heavily on the other end. The silence grows between the pair of you and you can see him fidgeting in your peripheral.

“So. How's the world?”

“How's the world?” you say turning to him

He shrugs and you exhale sharply out your nose.

“Kind of a loaded question, guess it depends who you ask. How's the 90s?”

“Ohhh you know, shit.”

Drip

The laugh you let out is hollow as you turn back tonstare into the blackness and you can't pinpoint why but your vision mists, tears threatening to spill over.

“Tell me something fun.” Your voice is thick around the lump in your throat, if he notices he graciously ignores it.

“About myself?”

“Anything.”

“Okay uh, I'm in a band”

You look back at him a smile tugging at you lips despite your glossy eyes remaining.

“That's the least surprising thing you could have told me. ”

He makes a face.

Drip

“Not in a bad way. Okay let me guess.” you squint, assessing him and he sits up a little taller under your gaze.

“Grunge.”

“Metal.”

“Ah, potayto, potahto”

He’s about to rant, you can tell by the flare of his nostrils and your smile turns to a full grin as you lay the side of his face against the back of the couch.

He deflates, squinting back at you .

“Your fucking with me.”

“What are you called? I'll have to look you up”

He preens at that “Corroded Coffin.”

“Nice.”

“Thank you. We're actually on hiatus, our bassist knocked his girl up. Band practice doesn't fit with the kids schedule.” he says, tipping his head towards you.

Drip

“How unreasonable.”

“Right.”

"Moved here thinking it would be better for the band.”

“To the place you can't afford.” The words come out quicker than you can think but thankfully he chuckles.

“Uh yeah, it wasn't just me to start, had a housemate. Girlfriend.” He looks away scratching his jaw. “They sort of, left together.”

“Shit, sorry Eddie, I didn't mean to-” he waves you off.

“What about you?”

Drip

Your stomach curdles.

“No other people.”

“What about me?”

It's your turn to avoid his gaze and you gesture around you.

Drip.

A sound from the abyss cuts him off, the sheer volume so loud you can feel it in the empty spaces in your chest, it sends you both off the couch and scrambling away.

“No, I mean-”

Drip.

Nothing changed, as your eyes frantically look for the source of the noise, wincing you cover your ears and slowly move towards it.

“What are you doing?”

You faintly make out Eddie’s yelling but you keep moving, your heart pounds as the liquid on your kitchen floor comes into view, vibrating where it's met the abyss.

The sound stops as quickly as it came, the absence leaving your ears ringing and you jump as Eddie arrives next to you.

He follows your gaze to where the darkness has met.

“That's not good.”

Tag list: @munsonburn3r @winchester-angel @kellsck let me know if you would like to be added <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie x reader #stranger things #knock knock #my writing #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #afab reader

[nyoomiin]

roommates: part ten.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

You can't breathe. You can't breathe and it hurts and it burns and oh god, are you dying?

You jerk upright, chest heaving, skin slick with cold sweat. Your hand reaches for your heart, and it scorches with a fiery rage. You died. You were dead. You were killed. You had died and then you hadn't and you had lived a lifetime in a moment and —

Someone's calling your name.

Your vision clears.

A white bed. Oakwood flooring. Sunlit windows. Someone by your side.

Kunikuzushi.

His eyes are wide, marred with concern, and for a second, you can't tell which Kunikuzushi you're looking at.

“Are you okay?” someone else squeaks. It takes you seconds to remember her name. Paimon.

No, you want to snap, but that wouldn't be very fair to her. She wasn't the reason you were feeling like you had been thrown down the Palace of Alcazazaray, then fallen into a rose bush of thorns.

“I need some space,” you say, swallowing thickly.

Aether nods understandingly. You stand, legs shaky, and Kuni moves to follow you out the door.

“You should leave them be for now,” Nahida cautions him.

You can’t see his expression, but you can hear the growl in his undertone. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”

You turn to him, and his agitation melts into something softer. He doesn’t expect you’d send him away. But… you don’t have the strength to face him just yet. How could you have, after everything? Was that even the right way to phrase it?

He must see it on your face. He glances away.

“I’m sorry,” you offer weakly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Crossing his arms, he raises a fine brow, as if there wasn’t any reason to be apologizing at all. You suppose there isn’t, but you feel bad all the same. He waves you away. “Sure.”

Shutting the door behind you, you duck into an empty hallway, back hitting the wall. Archons, you think. What a clusterfuck.

You find yourself staggering into Alhaitham’s office. You don’t even know how you got there, but with the way your feet ached, you supposed you had walked. For a second, you wonder why you hadn’t gone home instead. Stupid thought. Kunikuzushi is bound to be there.

Alhaitham’s gaze flicks upwards at you, then back down to his work. Still, he shifts, making some space for you. “You look unwell.”

“Nice to know,” you say, flopping down next to him. Your cheek smushes against his arms. Honestly, this man did nothing but sit around reading all day — why the fuck was he so fit? He was nothing like Kuni. That scrawny ass could never compare, both in the present and back then —

You stop yourself there before your train of thought can derail any further. Suddenly curious, you turn to Alhaitham quickly. “‘Haitham, do you… believe in past lives?”

He gives you an odd look.

“There is no scientific proof on the existence of reincarnation,” he replies slowly. Then, he pauses, and he has that slight squinty-eyed look on his face again, also known as the face he makes whenever he thinks about Kaveh. “Though, I assume my past life would’ve been much less insufferable without having to deal with someone like Kaveh.”

You roll your eyes. Insufferable, he says, as if Kaveh was someone he could ever live without. Sighing, you massage your temples. Gods if you weren’t exhausted. You need your brain to shut up and stop thinking about anything related to all this nonsense.

“I’m going to sleep on you,” you tell Alhaitham.

“You can sleep in your home.”

“But you’re more comfortable.”

( You were avoiding him.

He had expected it wouldn’t take more than a week to settle your thoughts, yet two had passed, and you showed no sign of seeking him out at all. Worse still, these days, it felt as though he lived in an apartment for one. You’d leave at dawn and return after dusk, claiming you were too tired to speak with him. You stopped meeting his gaze and that bright, stupidly endearing grin you always wore turned tight and pressed thin.

How utterly unamusing.

He refuses to let this drag on any longer. Frankly, the entire situation should’ve been resolved weeks ago — and you’d have gone back to being yourself. Bothersome and foolish and the only person in the world he’d allow to treat him the way you did.

Tonight, he decides. He’d speak with you tonight, even if it was the last thing he did. )

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi @xiaosantenna @idontevenknow129 @bfajax @mostlymoth @thenyxsky @kiyiiaarchived @skyvella @theautisticduck @someonealreadyhadmynickname @wanderersumbrella

#—stellaronhvnters. #scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #man its been awhile #JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT THEN THE EPILOGUE I THINK #☝️☝️☝️💪💪💪

[uselesslexbian]

the tortured poets department sentence starters.

i was supposed to be sent away, but they forgot to come and get me.

i love you, it's ruining my life.

my husband is cheating. i wanna kill him.

thought of calling you, but you won't pick up.

who's gonna hold you like me?

who's gonna know you, if not me?

sometimes i wonder if you're gonna screw this up with me.

everyone we know understands why it's meant to be. 'cause we're crazy.

who else is gonna know me?

i should've known it was a matter of time.

we could've played for keeps this time.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

he told me i'm better off, but i'm not.

fuck it if i can't have him.

i might just die, it would make no difference.

fuck it if i can't have us.

'cause fuck it, i was in love.

i stopped trying to make him laugh.

how much sad did you think i had in me?

you say i abandoned the ship, but i was going down with it.

just how low did you think i'd go before i'd self-implode?

you swore you love me, but where were the clues?

i'm just mad as hell 'cause i loved this place.

i forget if this was ever fun.

no, i'm not coming to my sense.

i know he's crazy, but he's the one i want.

i'd rather burn my whole life down than listen to one more second of all this bitching and moaning.

i'll tell you something about my good name - it's mine alone to disgrace.

you ain't gotta pray for me.

no, you can't come to the wedding.

it's gonna be alright, i did my time.

i will never lose my baby again.

ain't no way i'm gonna screw up now that i know what's at stake.

they said i was a cheat. i guess it must be true.

yes, i'm haunted, but i'm feeling just fine.

tell me i'm dispicable, say it's unforgivable.

am i allowed to cry?

i keep recalling things we never did.

someone told me there's no such thing as bad thoughts.

if it's make-believe, why does it feel like a vow we'll both uphold somehow?

they're gonna crucify me anyway.

what if the way you hold me is actually what's holy?

you don't get to tell me about "sad."

if you wanted me dead, you should've just said.

who's afraid of little old me?

at all costs, keep your good name.

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

so tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is?

say they didn't do it to hurt me, but what if they did?

i'm always drunk on my own tears, isn't that what they all said?

i'm fearsome, and i'm wretched, and i'm wrong.

you caged me, and then you called me crazy.

i am what i am 'cause you trained me.

i can fix him. no really, i can.

come close, i'll show you heaven.

trust me, i can handle me a dangerous man.

you said i'm the love of your life.

well, you took me to hell, too.

what we thought was for all time was momentary.

are they second-hand embarrassed that i can't get out of bed 'cause something counterfeit's dead?

you're the loss of my life.

i can handle my shit.

he said he'd love me all his life, but that life was too short.

i can do it with a broken heart.

i'm so obsessed with him, but he avoids me like the plague.

i cry a lot, but i am so productive. it's an art.

you know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart.

i'm sure i can pass this test.

they said, "babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and i did.

'cause i'm miserable! and nobody even knows!

was any of it true?

who the fuck was that guy?

they just ghosted you. now you know what it feels like.

i don't even want you back.

you didn't measure up in any measure of a man.

were you sent by someone who wanted me dead?

'cause it wasn't sexy once it wasn't forbidden.

i would've died for your sins. instead i just died inside.

i'll forget you, but i'll never forgive.

i haven't come around in so long, but i'm making a comeback to where i belong.

this town is fake, but you're the real thing.

the crown is stained, but you're the real queen.

you're the new god we're worshipping.

it's hell on earth to be heavenly.

#rp ask meme #ask meme #rp prompts #rp starters #rp meme #lyric starters #lyric memes #idk what else #if there's typos no there's not

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Okay I got more angst prompts, not from the list this time. Consider:

After the final battle, after the hotel is rebuilt, when Lucifer finally gets the chance to go home and rest, it all hits him at once. Adam is actually dead. He didn't feel bad about it in the moment at all but now it's hitting him that Adam is dead and gone and oh no I killed one of the first people I ever loved. (Niffty wouldn't have been able to kill him if not for Lucifer, so he would have enough reason to blame himself) He's struck by grief, that love having never truly left. Charlie finds him, and comforts him.

Mayhaps her reaction finding out that her father loved Adam, their enemy? Mayhaps Luci's reaction when Adam respawns as a sinner? Up to you!

Indigo (struck with the desire to hurt my favourite characters emotionally)

*Sips coffee* Ahhh, after battle angst. Thank you for this! Please send more if you'd like :)

Lucifer hadn't had time to really let it sink in now, in his new room alone. He sat down on his bed, his chest weighed like a ton of bricks.

Adam was dead. He was dead dead as in no coming back. He still remembers the angelic blade going through the angels chest. All that blood.....

Lucifer felt his eyes pool with water. His first love was dead and he let him die. His heart clenched in his chest. Fuck. He thought he was over Adam, but guess not.

At the moment he didn't care. He was still angry that Adam would try and hurt Charlie. But he was going to let him live, Adam may have been an asshole but he was HIS asshole.

Then Charlie's little friend killed him.....

"Fucking hell." He swore as he scrubed the tears from his face. Closing his eyes, Lucifer could still see Adams face. Not the one from the battle field. The one in the garden.

Even then his eyes were bright and golden in color like honey. Soft brown hair ruffled and wild on his head, smile wide and breathtaking. Oh, how Lucifer wished he could go back to those days.

'Will we be friends forever, Luci?'

'Every day is amazing when I'm with you.'

'Luci, I think I lov-'

"FUCK!" Lucifer screamed, he gripped his hair painfully. "I'M SORRY! I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE I'M SORRY!!" He sobbed. He was just destined to never save his favorite human was he? Adam was all he ever wanted and now he was gone for good.

"Dad, are you busy there's some- Dad? Are you okay?" Charlie came in and sat down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"No." Was all he said, the guilt was weighing on him.

Charlie frowned. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I loved him so much."

Charlie blinked and looked at her dad. "Who?"

Lucifer sniffed. "Adam." Not the answer Charlie thought she'd hear. "He was my first love Charlie, I was there when he was made from the dust of the earth. I showed him how to do many things. That man on the battlefield, the one filled with hate for demons. That was my fault. When your mother came into the picture I was blinded by her beauty that I didn't see who she really was." This was not a conversation to have right now. "I broke Adams heart when I chose her. I ruined something beautiful for something extra."

"But, he was the enemy. How could you love him?" She just didn't understand.

Lucifer smiled sadly. "You didn't know him like I did. The beautiful soul I knew he always was." And he was, Adam had a soul that shined so bright it was blinding. He just had up so many walls after Eden.

"What if he's not as dead as we thought?"

"Huh?" Lucifer looked at his daughter. "What do you mean?"

Charlie bit her lip. "That's why I came up here. Adam is here. Downstairs. As a sinner."

Lucifer never ran so fast in his life. Faster than Charlie could keep up, her cries in the distance. He flew down the stairs and stopped in his tracks when he got to the lobby.

There he was. In all his glory. Adam stood with his back to Lucifer, he had long black and gold horns that curved around to the back of his head like his exterminator mask horns. He was looking at his newly formed demon hands, black up to his elbow with claws sharp like knives. His robes were now black and red, slightly tattered and still dirty. He had hooves now and likely a mouth full of sharp teeth.

He was beautiful.

He was alive.

"Adam?"

Adam jumped at the sound of his name and turned to face the devil. "Lucifer." His voice sounded rough but the same. His golden eyes were firey with anger, Lucifer could just imagine how he felt about being a sinner.

"You're here?"

"I know, the fucking shocked too."

Even if he hated him, Lucifer could deal with that as long as Adam was alive and well. "Gonna give redemption a shot?"

"Might as well." Adam crossed his arms, an unimpressed look on his face.

"Swell! Let me give you the tour and get you settled into a room." Lucifer took Adam by the hand and led the way, all while the sinner followed him, grumpy and cursing under his breath. "You know, if you ever need protection down here. I'd be willing to provide it."

Adam scoffed. "Yeah, for my soul."

Lucifer looked back at him. "Would that really be so bad? To be completely safe, always?" His voice echoed around them. "I would never let anything happen to you, Adam."

He didn't miss the way Adam's face pinched pink at his words.

Maybe second chances do happen.

#adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x adam #ask

[mewcharm]

finished part 6. what the fuck. spoilers ahead lol.

I can’t stop thinking about how jotaro’s last words were his daughter’s name. I’m actually ill over this.

Jolyne was his world.

In that moment where everything stood still, all he could see was a reflection of his own experience - knives, aimed directly towards his daughter in frozen time. Pucci read that part of his disc. He had to have.

Our stoic, multi part protagonist who’s infamous for keeping his cool, screams. We’ve seen Jotaro scared before, sure, but to this degree? He was mortified.

Jotaro didn’t ask for this. He endured insane amounts of trauma, repeatedly put himself in harms way, his life revolved around relinquishing evil stand users even after defeating dio. He dedicated himself to this cause. he wasn’t vulnerable for a reason. Jotaro didn’t want to show weakness, even to his family. But somehow, his traumatic memories of fighting dio were exploited.

After Jotaro was repeatedly told by anasui that he had one shot - a single attempt to take out pucci - or they’d all be goners… He chose to save his own daughter. He loved her so much but we never hear him say it. He gives her a stand, subconsciously carves Jolene’s name into his arm, saves her from Pucci’s bullets and has protected her since she was born - but we never hear him say he loves her. Just that he cares, and in his last moments - her name.

He chose her over saving the universe, because without her, there would be no universe worth living in for him. im sure he would do so each and every time if faced with the choice across every universe.

That choice postponed Jolyne’s death by a few minutes - but that was enough time for her to act.

Jolyne had nothing left to lose. All her friends were wiped out instantaneously and her father was dead. Of course she was going to sacrifice herself to help Emporio escape. It was her fate.

Jotaro paid the ultimate price, and everyone else did as well, due to his decision. Anasui, Hermes, and potentially Emporio. None of them had any say in it. By definition, he acted selfishly - but proved to both jolyne and the audience that he truly loves his daughter.

Jotaro could’ve died in morioh, away from his family, and they wouldn’t have known why he was there or the cause of his death. I’d like to think that during Kira and Koichi’s fight - he thought about Jolyne, and found the strength to stand. He had something to fight for, even outside everyone in that town. That act alone was him attempting to save her, and to continue to live on, so he may protect her.

Dio, Kira - all the stand users who posed a threat to him and his family’s safety. He wanted her to live a normal life, away from all this - and he dedicated himself to eradicating this evil.

I can’t help but wonder if Jotaro, in his dying moments, heard jolyne talk about how she can always count on him to save her… or if he was already dead. Maybe she knew he was gone, but just wanted to say the quiet part out loud. Like pucci - she knew what he had experienced through the disc - but didn’t want to use it against him. She wanted to thank him… for everything.

Maybe in another universe, he gets to save both her and the world, one last time.

#im insane sorry for this literal essay. i have so many thoughts and feelings man. #jojo #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jolyne cujoh #jotaro kujo #emporio armani #enrico pucci #narciso anasui #ermes costello #stone ocean #jjba part 6 #diamond is unbreakable #jjba part 4 #stone ocean spoilers #jjba jotaro #jjba jolyne #jjba ermes #jjba anasui #jjba emporio #jjba pucci #made in heaven #text post #anime #art #artists on tumblr #digital art #my art #jjba fanart

[your-honor-im-zesty]

what do i deserve, really? part 2

Will never particularly liked the fact that he was a healer.

Oh, he was good at it. At the risk of sounding arrogant, he was extraordinarily skilled- healing came to him easily, like water floated within a stream. He could mend a broken arm or hum healing hymns as easy as breathing in fresh air or smiling in the sunshine.

But he didn't like it.

Growing up, he was surrounded by legendary warriors and fighters. Luke Castellan, Percy Jackson, Annabeth Chase, Clarisse La Rue- just to name a few. Even his siblings- Lee, Michael, Austin, Kayla- were incredibly skilled, especially in archery.

But Will? He was a healer. Not a fighter. His "weapons" were gloves and medicine- while others wielded knives and swords, he wielded needles and stethoscopes. While others were entangled within duels, he was performing surgery.

Theoretically, it wasn't a bad job. He saved lives, helped people. Many expressed their gratitude after that- they thanked him for being there, for being so quick and clever. And he was aware of that. But still, Will couldn't help but resent it. In a group of combatants, he was the only medic.

People told him he was lucky- being off the field meant he was safe, for the most part. The worst thing that could happen to him was catching a contagious disease, or accidentally stabbing himself with a scalpel. But that was precisely why Will hated it so much.

Safety. It made him feel guilty, like a fraud. While people were out there, fighting, risking their lives to save the world- he was confined within the infirmary, perhaps suturing wounds or healing cuts. His hardships- sleepless night, excessive stress, the crippling guilt when death struck too mercilessly- were nothing compared to theirs: nightmares, long-lasting injuries, PTSD. And Will was painfully aware of this.

Nico, he knew, was a well-respected hero. He had traveled within the depths of Tartarus twice, had fought fiercely in both the Titan and Giant War, had helped deliver the Athena Parthenon- and not to mention, he was the son of the god of death. He could raise the dead and travel through shadows and talk to ghosts- he was absolutely legendary. He was one of the strongest people Will had ever met- not just physically, but mentally, too. Not many people could do all that while dealing with grief for their sister's death and manage to emerge triumphant, sanity intact.

Which was why Will couldn't, for the love of the gods, understand what Nico was doing with him, of all people.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well?" Hades prompted. He was staring intensely at Will, as was Persephone, who now looked mildly interested. Across the table, Nico was stiff as a board, eyes narrowed at his father. He looked confused, angry, and perhaps a little...touched?

Will stammered a little. "I don't know," he said, more honestly than he'd expected. Nico's eyes snapped to him, surprised. "I really don't know, sir."

Persephone made a soft, tittering noise; Nico looked at her sharply. "That's enough," he snapped, rising from his chair and glaring at Hades. "Father, you promised-"

"I promised I wouldn't hurt him," said Hades coolly, without taking his eyes off Will.

Well, fuck. This was what the god of the Underworld's shovel talk looked like.

Maybe it was his face, or maybe she was starting to grow bored, but Persephone took pity on him. "Enough, darling," she said. "Leave the boy be." To Will's surprise, Hades leaned back and shrugged.

"If you insist, my dear," he replied, stabbing a fork into his chocolate cake. Will didn't like the triumphant look in his eyes, like he'd just proved some sort of point.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Apparently, Nico didn't like it either.

He cornered Will a few days later, in the infirmary. The blond was too busy stripping off his gloves and running his hands under cold water (he'd just finished a surgery on an Aphrodite camper's chest) that he didn't even notice Nico until his boyfriend was right behind him, breathing in his ear.

"You've been avoiding me."

Will jumped a foot, swearing loudly. He instantly regretted it when a seven year old Hermes girl peered over her shoulder from where she was propped up in a bed. Fuck, he was becoming a bad influence.

"What're you doing here?" he hissed, spinning around. He deliberately pretended not to have heard the previous statement. "It's fucking eleven at night."

"Could ask you the same thing," said Nico coolly. He studied Will, those dark eyes unnervingly like his father's. Then, in a far more hesitant tone, "Did...something happen? Is this about the dinner?"

Yes. Yes it is.

Ever since the dinner, Will had felt...off-kilter. He had always felt shitty about himself, but hearing those words from Hades had unlocked a new level of loathing. It was one thing to internalize it, and another for someone to point out that hey, you kinda suck. He was much more used to subtle insults- whispers behind his back, knowing looks exchanged right in front of him, eye-rolls or subtle barbs about his status as a healer. But being asked outright...

"I don't know what you're talking about," Will lied. He grabbed a towel and dried his hands. "I've just been busy lately- the infirmary's filling up really quick, now that kids are back for summer break." It should be shameful, how quickly the lie came to him- his father was the god of truth, and yet Will was an excellent actor. He could hide his feelings as easily as he healed people.

Nico's brows furrowed; he looked uncertain. Oh, shit- Will had forgotten his boyfriend had trust issues. He felt a surge of guilt, and remembered something Michael had once told him: lying will always come back to bite you in the ass, especially if it's to someone you love. (Granted, Lee had chided him after for swearing in front of 10 year old Will, but that wasn't relevant)

"I'm sorry," said Nico. He looked guilty now, which was infuriating because he had done absolutely nothing wrong. "My father...he and I haven't always been on the best terms, and I think it's just his way of caring for me. He hasn't been a father in years."

Oh- that's right. Will had forgotten that Hades was the only one to actually follow the Big Three Pact. He winced internally, but willed his voice to sound cheery. Peppy. "Yeah, no, I get that. Apollo isn't the most perfect dad either, but it's nice that he tries, you know?"

Nico looked at him a little suspiciously; had he sounded too happy? Maybe it was because Nico himself lied plenty of times about his own well-being. Like calls to like. A liar recognizes another.

"You should go," said Will quickly; he wasn't sure he would be able to withstand an interrogation. Wrapping an arm around Nico, he pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "You need your sleep, Ghost Boy."

Nico relaxed slightly and gave a thin, wan smile. "So do you, Solace."

"I'll wrap up in half an hour," Will fibbed, withdrawing his arm. He still had at least five patients to attend to, but Nico needn't know that. "Go to sleep, di Angelo- doctor's orders!" he added, inciting a small snort that- stupidly- made his heart swoon. He would never get tired of Nico's laughs.

The dark-haired boy had hardly walked a few steps to the door before he paused and looked back. There was a slight frown upon his face. He looked...concerned. "Will?"

"Yeah?"

"You know...you know what you're worth, right?"

You're certainly not worth him, a nasty voice whispered in his head. You're just a healer, and he's Nico di Angelo.

Thankfully, he was spared from answering Nico's question; there was a loud thump! and he whipped around to see the Hermes seven year old sprawled on the floor, groaning. She waved an angry fist at the window above her bed, where there were faces- of her siblings, no doubt- pressed against, smirking and laughing.

Oh, what the hell? Will thought as he rushed to help her to her feet. He almost didn't notice the soft click of the door that hinted at Nico's departure.

------------------------

ugh ok so this is part 2 its terrible ik i'm not really feeling it lately, idk why lmao...couldn't bring myself to properly edit this shit but so many people liked part 1 i figured why the hell not...may discontinue idk

as a writer i love to make my fictional characters suffer and insert my trauma on them :)

#percy jackson #percy jackson fandom #pjo #pjo fandom #solangelo #solangelo fic #will solace #nico di angelo #will x nico #will centric fic #will angst #ugh fuck writers block