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fraugwinska · 9 days

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Hey! Me again!

Could I get an Alastor x Female reader where she tells him she's pregnant, he's so stunned he thinks it a joke until she shows him the positive on the test and it shocks him to the core but after the initial shock he's overjoyed.

My dear jezebel <3 Thank you for being so patient! I took a few liberties from the ask, I really hope you don't mind! After a lot of rewrites and edits - I'm finally happy to share it with you! Thank you for the ask, my dearest! TW:Sickness&death-Light smut-Minors DNI-5.2k words

Autumn had always been your favorite season.

The most colorful of the four; from your bed you could always see various shades of red, orange, green and yellow, all mixed together to create a vibrant, warm impressionistic painting. Just looking at the bright shades outside had always made you smile.

There was also this peaceful ambiance around autumn that you could feel but not quite understand. Something so profound and yet ephemeral in a way.

"Should I close the window before I go?", Alice asked you, a sad smile on her face. Your favorite hospice nurse had spent her last shift before her holiday almost exclusively with you - somehow you both knew there wasn't much time left. The sickness that ate away at your body was unforgiving - you knew it was simply a matter of days now, and even that was generous. Alice must've sensed it, too.

"No, no.", you replied with a warm smile. "Leave it open. The night nurse can close it later."

Alice nodded, said her goodbyes and gave you a kiss on the head before exiting the room, carefully closing the heavy wooden door with a thud of painful finality. Breathing had become painful lately, but despite the sting you inhaled deeply, just to burn the smell of bristle leafs and warm wood into your memory. Right next to the memory of him.

Alastor.

Summoning him hadn't been easy, especially since you were bedridden and almost constantly monitored. Not only did you have to take special care of choosing the right night to be left unsupervised - you had to bribe Alice and make her believe it was her own idea to give you a few hours to be on your own, which you claimed to need desperately. The internet had been your biggest friend in the weeks before, preparing - you had used the time you had at your disposal to research on shady websites and occult forums who to summon, how to do the ritual and, in case he said no, which bargain to offer. And you chose Alastor.

It was the name that spoke to you the most - Unusual. Mature. Vintage. Mysterious. Powerful and yet gentle, in it's own way. 'Mans defender'. 'Avenger'. The more you read about him on dubious servers and obscure wiki's, the more you were sure it should be him. Still able to use your hands back then, in the chosen night you managed to follow all of the instructions perfectly, even while bound to your bed. When the living shadow appeared out of nowhere, twisting and contorting into the shape of a tall, handsome, dapper dressed demon, the tiny handheld radio you had in your hands slid from your weakened grip and your heart skipped a beat. As he stepped nearer, the perceived humanity of his appearance disappeared before your eyes - long, black fingers ending in red talons, small antlers sitting in between fluffy crimson-colored ears, razor-sharp teeth and blood-red irises shining with curiosity. He stopped just a foot away in front of your bed. As he began to talk, to introduce himself - as though being summoned by gravely sick human women were the norm - you stopped him with a raise of your hand, the action draining your already weakened body and mind.

"I know who you are. Alastor, the Radio Demon."

"My reputation precedes me, then!", he chimed, his voice pointed, melodic and so enchantingly and contradictorily full of life. His whole posture, his devious smile and the way his eyes glinted in the dim moonlight made it very clear that he was a dangerous creature, and yet, you felt strangely at ease.

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this summoning, my dear?"

You swallowed hard, knowing full well that if you wanted him to accept your deal, you needed to choose your words carefully.

"I... I am dying."

Alastor's grin twitched, but he said nothing, only tilted his head and waited for you to continue, hands folded behind his back.

"I've been sick my whole life, I...", you felt the need to explain, so that your offer wouldn't sound so... well, pitiful.

"Ever since I was born, I have been bound first to my crib, then to a bed, the hospital and now this hospice. I have never been allowed or even able to go to school, or make friends, or just... do things that children ought to do. Even though my life was always going to be short lived."

You could feel tears forming in your eyes, but blinked them away - you didn't want to cry in front of him, you felt pathetic as you were already. "I missed out on every milestone, every first experience a girl should have. First trip to a park, first day at school, first friend, first kiss, first... everything. And I'll miss out on so many more. I just want to have one normal thing, one 'first' before I die. One memory of a real and happy experience. Of something good."

"And what, pray tell, would that be?", he asked, a brow raised, his smile growing wider. He could probably hear the beating of your heart as you took a deep breath. This was it. Now or never.

"I want to lose my virginity."

The silence following your calmly stated confession was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. It took a while for Alastor to say something.

"Oh my, you really don't mince words, do you, darling?"

You shook your head.

"I have no time to waste. Every second counts."

"Believe me, little one, I'm quite... flattered that you'd go through the trouble of a summoning ritual for this... let's call it: venture. But... why me? Aren't there any men up here you would rather be with?"

"Have you looked at me?", you laughed bitterly. "I'm a sick, dying 20-something in a hospice bed. No man would ever so much as touch me. If I'd even get to meet anyone, since I can't get out of this bed anymore without a nurse. I have nothing to offer a partner anymore. No beauty, no future, not even money. I have only my soul. Please."

The last word came out as a whisper. Alastor's eyes glowed red in the growing darkness, his grin ever-present. He seemed to consider it for a moment, the sound of humming static the only sound in the room and you feared he might reject you.

"If I were to agree, would you truly be willing to pay the price for it? Your soul, darling, is a very precious thing. Do you know the implications of it's loss?"

You nodded.

"Yes. You can have it. It's not worth anything anyway."

Alastor stepped forward, his eyes locked with yours. He didn't sit down on the bed, instead he stood right beside you, bending over until his face was just inches from yours, the back of his hand lightly brushing your fringe out of your face. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of blood and something earthy, like wet soil or moss. He smelled like a forest in autumn.

"It is worth quite a bit, actually. More than you can imagine, I'd wager.", his voice was quiet, almost unfiltered and utterly beautiful. "But I can see you are dead set on it - Pardon the wordplay."

His sharp claw pressed into your skin, eliciting a gasp. He followed the curve of your cheek to your chin, lifting it to better access the side of your neck, just under your jaw. Your skin broke out in goosebumps because for the first time in your life, you felt a touch that was not clinical, not meant to treat you or wastefully bide you more time. This touch was gentle and purposeful. Sensual, maybe. A soft sigh escaped you against your will.

Alastor let out a hum that was not entirely unhappy, before bringing his face dangerously close to yours. You could feel the ends of his fluffy hair tickling your face, the tip of his nose lightly brushing against your skin.

"A happy memory, you say. One satisfying experience in return for your soul. I am certainly not usually known for my kindness, dear.", he muttered against the skin of your cheek, before turning towards your lips. So close. Your heart was beating as loud and as fast as it could, making you dizzy. "But I think we have ourselves a deal."

The golden hour has passed, turning bright orange light into fading blue to black. And the air was turning colder. The memory of that night was the only thing you thought about as you slowly felt death approaching.

The way his lips felt against your mouth, his tongue and the sweet taste he left on your lips that still lingered whenever you ran yours across them, recalling the sensation just once more. He had been gentle, patient, always asking and never assuming or forceful. He made sure you were comfortable before exploring you, careful in the places he touched, mindful in tasting you, praising you for the sounds you made. He allowed you to do your share of exploring, too, and although he wasn't human you found his body still wonderfully, beautifully male, no matter his thin, soft taupe fur and his many, shimmering scars. The memory of the moment when he had finally filled you, tender and slow, was as much sweet pain as it was blissful pleasure, and you found solace in his warmth and the steady, rhythmic pace of him moving inside you as you spilled his name, over and over again until he spent himself inside you, bodies deeply connected. It was hard for you to believe that all of it had been actually true, and not just one big fever dream your dying mind had cooked up to send you off gently when Alice woke you from your sleep later that night, wondering aloud why you didn't turn off the little, handheld radio on the floor that was still playing soft jazz music.

But the little, red and blue marks on your collarbones and the one red-and-black strand of hair you had found on your pillow were telltale signs that everything had been indeed real, and you made sure every detail was etched into your heart, into your body and into your skin. It was, and would remain forever, the happiest moment of your entire life.

'I hope my soul is worth enough...' you thought as the coldness finally embraced you, tears running freely down your cheeks now, but the smile on your face was wide and warm, and the last thing you heard before falling into your final sleep was the gentle hum of a breeze that brought in the smell of earth and rain and leaves.

Alastor had no need for sleep. He usually didn't spend his nights sitting in his favorite chair, motionless, listening to music. He was far too busy, too full of life and plans and energy to sit around and just wait for morning. And yet, there he was, sitting and brooding for the last month, every night, his ears tuned in on the low, static-y noise coming from the old-fashioned radio he was holding. A radio eerily similar to hers.

'How did it come to this?', he wondered for the thousandth time, like a broken record. 'Why did I do it?'

He couldn't fathom the reason for his actions that night, why he had given in to the strange, frivolous request of the frail young woman. Why he had agreed to take her virginity, of all things, in exchange for her soul. Granted, she wasn't the first to offer him that, not by far. But usually, the soul was the last thing a sinner offered, after a great many things of lesser value had been already offered and declined in return. It was, in essence, the most desperate measure, taken only by those who had nothing else to lose.

And yet, she had promised him her soul in the very beginning, treating it not as a valuable bargaining chip, but as an expendable object. A thing without use or worth. He didn't know what had intrigued him so much that night. She had been sickly and fragile, her skin almost translucent in the pale light, and yet there was a spark in her eye. Determination, maybe. Her voice had been strong, if quiet, and her smile, although sad, was still familiarly bright. The way she spoke and her body language had made it clear that she had been not as much afraid of him, despite her frail and vulnerable position, as she had been anxious about his response. She was clearly clever and resolute, despite her lack of personal experience. Otherwise, she wouldn't have been able to follow through the summoning ritual.

"I have nothing to offer a partner anymore. No beauty, no future, no money. O only have my soul. Please."

He couldn't remember a single instance where someone had begged him with the simple word please and he gave into it. And yet, he had accepted her plea - The whole of her soul, in exchange for a meager, single moment of ridiculous passion. The mere thought had repulsed him before: Body on body, blunt thumps of fleshes, debauched obscenities... it was something that had never held his interest. He felt like it was something unrefined and animalistic, something he had always regarded as unnecessary and obsolete. Until then.

Her body had responded so eagerly, so sensitive, so ready to his touches. It had been clear she hadn't lied about her virginity, and yet her eagerness, her fearlessness had surprised him. Acting solely based on instinct and the morals he was brought up with, no real experience of his own himself, he had tried to be as careful and gentle as he could, and somehow, her inexperience had made it... easier. She was not expecting anything in terms of skill, and thus he had to guide her through the process, allowing him to set the pace and giving him ample time to react to her reactions. Sweet gasps, subtle tremors, faint flushes - all of which had told him how she had felt, what had been pleasurable and what had been uncomfortable. He had been able to take his time and make sure she enjoyed herself. It had been fascinating and even... pleasurable for him, too.

Despite the obvious pain, she had kept her eyes open, watching his face intently as they connected. He had felt the warmth and the tension around him, and her little, breathy gasps had been such pleasant sounds that when she had finally found her release, it had triggered his own, foreign as it had been. She had sighed his name in pure bliss, and in that moment he had felt as powerful and as satisfied as the night he had gained his title as Radio Demon.

And when the deed had been done, the girl had smiled so serenely, he was sure he had rarely ever seen anything that could rival her in beauty.

Alastor shifted uncomfortably at that thought, trying to will away the memory and the sensation that the mere thought of her smile invoked.

It had taken a few minutes, but eventually he had collected himself and put his clothes back on. Her eyes had followed him, the spark back in them and even brighter than before, her smile not faltering even when her tired lids had drooped down, slowly lulling her to sleep. Alastor had stood there, in the small, plain hospice room, watching her for a while, a strange feeling in his chest. The deal hadn't been solidified by a handshake, her soul not yet firmly bound to him and the contract void if not officially sealed, but he couldn't bring himself to wake her. Something had stopped him.

The memory of her face, pale and beautiful, smiling so peacefully even in her slumber, made the corners of his lips twitch. She would've made a magnificent addition to his collection of souls. And yet, and yet... He had decided then and there that her soul would find its way to him, eventually. But not through the proposed deal. So, he had left, the exchange unfulfilled, the pact broken, turning on the small radio she had let slip onto the floor just as he heard her caretaker returning to check on her.

'Oh, how the mighty have fallen.', he mused bitterly, a small laugh escaping his lips.

"Alastor?"

Charlie's voice was a mix of concern and curiosity, muffled by the thick, wooden door of his room. She sounded worried, probably wondering why he had excused himself from the hotel's interactions more and more for the past weeks. He was about to ignore her, not in the mood to talk to anyone, especially not her, persistent thing that she was, but when her soft knock followed her call, his smile widened tightly and his eyes flashed red.

"Charlie, dear, I'm afraid I'm not available at the moment.", he called out, his tone a bit sharper than usual.

"Sorry, but...", the princess sounded hesitant, and he could hear her shuffle awkwardly outside. "It's just... There is someone in the lobby, wanting to speak to you. It seems... important."

He got up from his chair with an annoyed sigh and switched off the radio, straightened his clothes and smoothed out his hair and bow tie with one swipe. Whatever business matter was brought forward, Alastor didn't feel like discussing it. The smile he wore was razor sharp and dark, a result of his annoyance and brooding mood, and yet he couldn't bring himself to feign his cheery personality just quite yet. Maybe this mystery visitor would be a suitable punching bag to let off some of that steam.

When Alastor finally opened the door and walked down to the lobby next to a flustered looking Charlie, his breath hitched involuntarily and he froze mid-stride. Charlie stumbled at the sudden lack of motion next to her, the deafening static sound and the chime-like tuning of a radio startling her so much she flinched away from him.

"H-Hey Al!?", she called in shock, "Are you okay?"

He didn't move, didn't even react - his attention was solely focused on the figure standing at the front-desk, who, just a moment ago, had talked to Husker before turning around upon hearing him.

Hell kept her skin white and almost translucent in it's spite, but granted her soft, shimmering silvery fur in it's mercy. Her frame wasn't thin and frail anymore, she looked plush and healthy, soft curves where there had been nothing more than skin and bone before. Keeping almost all of her human features intact, the small, round ears protruding from her hair, the pink-tipped nose and the long and slender tail were definitely characteristics of a dormouse, their ends almost silver and soft-looking. Her eyes were of the same gentle color that he remembered, and when her lips spread into a sad, tender smile his breath was stolen away completely.

It was the same smile. The very one he hadn't been able to purge from his mind, and most likely never would.

"Alastor."

The sound of her voice, quiet and melodic as it had been weeks before, felt like an invisible touch that pulled the air out of him. Not enough to suffocate him, but he was still reeling none the less.

"So you finally succumbed, it seems..."

His usual bravado was absent, his voice lacked it's sharp, jovial tone, sounding more like he was actually talking. Charlie could do little more but watch with widened eyes, seemingly unable to fathom the scene right in front of her.

"What are you talking about, Alastor? How do you know...", the princess spoke carefully and uncertain, her eyes wandering from one demon to another, but she was quickly interrupted, not by him, but by...

"It's a long story better told another time, Miss Charlie.", she said with a genuine smile on her face, still not able to take her eyes off Alastor. She took a few tentative steps towards him, careful, but certain in her movement, a confidence about her that hadn't been there before. Her head tilted in an enigmatic way and she spoke again, this time solely directed at him.

"I'm truly sorry to impose. But I was hoping we could talk... privately."

Alastor nodded mutely, not able to think clearly, before taking a deep breath and straightening his back to tower over her once again. Husk seemed to notice his shift in composure, raising a brow when he passed him by on his way back behind the bar, noticing the strangely satisfied looking smile on Alastor's face that was as unnerving and frightening as always, but with a different tint that even Husk must've trouble placing guessing by the suspicious look that fell over the cat's face.

"Of course, my dear, my office will suffice. If you'll excuse us, Charlotte? We'll be only a short while."

He didn't wait for her response but took his guest by her arm and guided her past an astonished Husk and clearly confused Charlie, leading the girl down the hall and to his office, the air between them thick with something undefinable, and neither of them dared to speak until the heavy mahogany door fell shut, effectively cutting off all outside interference.

Her cheeks were flushed when she stepped closer towards him. The tips of his claws brushed against her fringe, following the curve of her soft ear, across the back of her delicate neck to pluck a strand of her hair, pulling it towards him and running the silky fiber between two fingers and over the pad of his thumb, bringing it to his lips with a deep, pleased inhale.

She looked up at him, her smile shy but hopeful.

"You remember me.", she said with a chuckle, her voice a bit higher, her ears twitching and her tail swaying behind her, showing her emotions all too easily. Alastor nodded, not letting go of her hair just yet.

"How could I not, dear. It's not common for me to leave a contract unsettled, you know."

"I had a feeling that might've been the case, since it took me so long to find you.", she said quietly. "So, my soul..."

"... is still yours, yes."

She wasn't looking at him, directly. Her gaze went over his suit, to his hands and cane, then back to the floor.

"Why?", she asked, a hint of confusion and hurt in her voice, her silken hair slipping from his fingers.

"Why didn't you claim it? You had every right, after all. I offered, you agreed and..."

Alastor didn't speak, couldn't speak. The answer was right on the tip of his tongue, and yet he wasn't sure if he wanted to share it. It felt... strange, and foreign, and not quite comfortable. But it was undeniably true, now - with her in front of him - clearer than any time in the last weeks in his chair, each night, in front of the fireplace.

He wanted her. Not just her soul. Her. So, he settled on silence and a half-truth, instead.

"It wasn't the right time, dear."

Her face turned to him, her eyes searching his. He felt exposed, like her eyes were piercing him.

"And now...?"

"That remains to be seen. Why are you here?", he countered, stepping back to put a more comfortable distance between them.

"I came to see you, because..." She swallowed hard, and Alastor watched her throat, the soft swell of her breasts under her modest blouse, the slight rise of her belly. "When I arrived in hell, I felt... weird. I thought it was because of all the changes, this new body and... generally being here. But it didn't go away, this.... feeling. I made friends with a lovely imp couple, they took me in after I fell. The wife, Millie, took me to a doctor because she got worried when I couldn't stop throwing up..."

Her face grew hot, a flush spreading across her cheeks, her ears folding back against her head.

"Alastor, I'm pregnant."

A loud bang rang through the hallway as Alastor dropped his cane and a deafening feedback noise filled the room. For the first time in what must have been decades, his face betrayed him completely, the smile ripping at the sewn edges as it dropped violently. He felt dizzy and his head was spinning.

"Impossible.", he breathed, the word almost getting stuck in his throat. The very notion was ridiculous, unheard of - clearly that must be a crude joke. Alastor started to laugh, though sounding not as amused and booming as he would've hoped, but more hysterical than anything else.

She stayed silent, looking at him with sad, but serious and almost pleading eyes as the truthfulness of her confession began to sink in and his laughter slowly died. He took a tentative step forward, a million questions running through his head, the sheer amount overwhelming his usually so precise mind.

"So, a month ago, it...", he stopped, feeling the corners of his mouth pull wider.

"...yes. The doctor told me there are only a handful similar cases like this known since hell was created... The circumstances are 'too specific' and it normally takes a vast amount of intimate interactions' between a hellbound sinner and a living, fertile human he said... Seems like you knocked me up with one round, buster." She wrung her hands, her smile forced and unsure. "Listen, Alastor... I know it sounds impossible. I mean, I couldn't believe it at first when he told me so I understand you can't, too... but I don't expect anything, I really don't. I just... I wanted to see you again, and-and you deserve to know, and..."

"Darling, hush.", Alastor interrupted, a sense of clarity taking hold of his chaotic mind. He had never felt a desire for a family, not in his lifetime nor in his death. Partners were liabilities and a distraction, relationships nuisances if they strayed beyond the borders of business or at the very most friendly aquaintances. He had no need for things like these in the past, looking down on people desperate to seek out partners, claiming to be lonely when in truth they were just weak or simply starving for a touch of the 'opposite sex' to make up for their own inadequacy.

Now, faced with the reality of fatherhood in a matter of minutes and the prospect of his life being bound to another - one who, undoubtedly, bore his child, no less - Alastor would be lying if he had claimed a part of him didn't absolutely reel at the prospect. A responsibility greater than his own had just fallen into his lap - a vulnerability he never asked for and certainly didn't expect.

But.

A part of him would come into the world, no matter whether it would look human, or demonic like him, or whatever strange combination of them both: This child would be proof of him. Him, not anyone else. There would be a person dependent on him for guidance and protection, a legacy he would be allowed to leave, a lineage that could one day claim that he, Alastor, had been the founding cause. His legacy. His blood and his seed had created another being against all rules and logic, an offspring, maybe a girl, maybe it would resemble him, or her, or even... his mother.

Despite the incredulity and the sheer panic the revelation brought, the longer he looked at the tiny dormouse in front of him, the more he realized how similar her traits were to his own mother's. Soft, but determined. Sad, but brave. Young but aged.

No, this hadn't been just some fleeting fling - Alastor had to believe in fate, given what she told him. There had been a reason why he didn't seal the deal that night. Why he had agreed to her request so easily. The more Alastor thought about the potential of a shared offspring, along with a loyal partner on his side, about the what-ifs and could-bes, the more appealing and pleasant the future appeared. She was carrying a being he created, one that had his essence – All the more stronger his grin widened, stretching so far it caused his cheeks to ache, but his blooming glee knew no bounds. He saw, to his own surprise, not a weakness or vulnerability.

But his greatest achievement.

With a laugh, this time sincere and booming and loud instead of hysterical, he picked her up on her waist, knocking the air out of her in a gasp, and swung her around several times.

"O-oh! Oh my goodness!", she stuttered, eyes wide and brows furrowed. "Alastor, calm down!"

"Oh, no no no, I simply can't! Dear, do you have any idea what a marvel you have wrought!?", he exclaimed in delight, setting her back down and bringing both hands up to her cheeks. "We've created a magnificent abomination!"

Her head shook as she chuckled, still nervous but with an edge of relief in her voice. "That's certainly one way of saying it. But... are... are you saying that... you are okay with it? That you..."

"What, dear?", he cooed, her big eyes shining hopefully as her ears twitched curiously. His chest swelled with affection, and he gently squeezed her cheeks between his hands.

"Does a daddy on your side scare you, darling?"

"N-No-oh."

The title invoked a peculiar reaction, and he made a mental note to use it again soon enough, as her cheeks flushed in a dusty rose. Alastor felt an unfamiliar and somehow primal pleasure at the sight of it, a surge of happiness in his chest, the warmth of it nearly too much. He pulled her face against his, smothering her with a kiss. He wasn't familiar with such embraces, but she felt like she was specifically molded to fit perfectly into him, her ears flicking with every beat of her racing heart.

There were tears welling in her beautiful eyes, and as he kissed her cheeks and brushed them away with his thumbs. Oh yes, Alastor was filled with a new kind of giddy excitement.

"Come on, dear, let's not waste time to spread the good news!", he exclaimed, unable to reign his euphoric mood, and before she could comment on his actions, he reached out and lifted her over his shoulder in one fluid movement, ignoring her startled squawk. The look of utter bewilderment on her face almost made him break out into more laughter, but he was already out the door, ready to take his child's mother, who was, without a doubt in his mind, bound to him forever with a force much stronger than any deal he could've made, downstairs to tell the news to his fellow friends, who would have no choice but to learn what a truly dangerous deal looked like.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #charlie morningstar #hazbin husk #habin hotel #soft alastor #hazzbin pregnancy #quickfic

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taintandviolent · 8 months

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feed my Frankenstein ; Frankenkyle x reader

summary: stripper!reader decides to dress up like a zombie for Halloween, and when the girls bring Kyle to the strip club…. He makes the decision for himself that he’s going to be with his kind. w a r n i n g s: 5k words! stripper!reader, female reader, cunnilingus, rough sex, violence, mentions of blood, biting, graphic descriptions. kyle being a big, horny zombie who doesn't understand his strength. a/n: [🎃 part of lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] probably some errors, whoops. I didn't want to label this as dead dove don't eat, but Kyle literally tries to eat reader, so be warned, I guess??? also my ending is very... cliff-hangery. don't come for me, this fic took on a life of its own very quickly. thank you for reading if you did!!! full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You dab a stippling sponge against your neck, hiding an edge with a speckle of grey makeup. You’d put a lot of effort into your silly little zombie look - but it was Halloween after all, and hardly any of the other girls had dressed up. Sure, they’d started out in low-effort costumes of Dorothy Gale and Snow White, but as soon as those came off, they were just their normal selves again. You… not so much. You went the extra mile. You’d spent hours applying prosthetics on your limbs, and painting your flesh to mimic the rotting corpses seen in cult classic horror films. Specks of blood around your perfectly lined lips, uneven skin, stitches from your neck down the front of your body.

It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, you knew. Some of them would lose their boners at the sight. It was time for your first shift. The club was rowdy, you heard it from behind the door. You lean against it, gulp down the last of your water, and fluff your hair before spinning on your red, patent leather heels and pulling open the door.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Madison…” Zoe confesses, nervously. She holds onto Kyle’s arm tightly, guiding him around a booth like an elderly man. He was already entranced by the vibrant lights that swept back and forth in shades of orange and green. It reminded him of his show. Colours….

“Oh, please.” With a roll of her eyes, Madison flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is the best place to put a braindead man… look, they’re everywhere.”

Men cluster around the stage, watching hungrily as women take their clothes off, gyrating their hips close enough to their faces that they could reach out and take bites out of their full asses. The bouncer in the corner makes sure that doesn’t happen, though.

Over the PA, a loud voice says: “Alright! Put your hands together for our resident nerdy girl, our very own reanimated sexpot…”

As though it was on hinges, Kyle’s head swings heavily to face the stage. H

“Look, he’s already fitting in.” Madison nips.

You prance forward, reaching for the pole in the centre of the stage. Men holler your name, the few regulars that came every night you were working. You’d earned yourself a reputation as the nerdy girl because of your penchant for dressing up on the themed nights. Your hips roll to the beat of the song, coming daringly close to the hands that hold dollar bills. When they don’t get the chance to slip them into your outfit, they flutter at your feet, decorating the stage. You undo the tie of your shirt, revealing white bikini with gratuitous blood spatter. You’d done that yourself.

You wrap one leg around the pole, latching onto it. As it spins, you reach behind your back, undoing the tie of your top. Your breasts fall free, nipples hardening in the air conditioning. You hold the bra out proudly, smiling as the hoots and cheers fill the room.

“C’mon,” she starts, taking hold of Kyle’s thick wrist. His skin is always slightly cooler than everyone else’s. She remembers how cold the inside of his mouth was when they first — She blinks away the thoughts, actually disgusted by the idea. After all, she’d never really wanted to fuck a dead guy…

“Hey!” “Watch it, sweetheart!” “Get outta’ the way, you’re blockin’ the view, toots!”

Madison ignores the heckling, and continues to the front, pressing her bony hips against the lip of the stage.

“Hey! Dead bitch!”

Her voice is loud enough that it carries over the music, and you furrow your brow. She wasn’t wrong, but the bitch part seemed unnecessary. Still, you make your way over to the cluster of them, and bend at the waist to hear her.

“Yeah - what?” You ask, still swaying to the song.

“This is our little zombie — ”

“His name is Kyle,” The other girl interrupts pointedly. Madison throws a look towards the other girl, who nods with a fake smile. Truly, she didn’t care what you called him. As long as she didn't have to deal with him, she was happy.

“Kyle — and he needs a babysitter. He’s a little…” she makes a face, stretching her mouth out in a sneer. You knit your brows together again, unsure what that means.

Kyle, you think to yourself. What a frat boy name. In fact, he looks like a frat boy with really really good makeup. Full head of curly blonde hair, dark eyes, strong but soft features… looks like he can absolutely devour a keg.

He’s wearing an open black shirt and jeans, and beneath the black shirt, you can see raised flesh, scars like he was put back together. Funny that you’d chosen to do a dance number to Feed my Frankenstein.

“Do your job and keep him entertained, okay?” She pulls the peeking string of your thong far enough out to freely press a one hundred dollar bill against your hip and lets go. It snaps back against your skin, hard enough to sting. You wince.

Before you have time to protest, the girls are walking back towards the entrance without their little zombie in tow. One of them casts a woeful glance over her shoulder, and you’re left wondering why if she cares so much, why was she still walking away? You fill your lungs with air, exhale and lower yourself down onto your haunches.

“Hey baby,” you coo, wrapping a single blonde curl around your index finger. It’s angel-soft, and bounces back as you let go, straightening up. He seems to melt towards your touch, starved for it. “I like your costume.”

He watches as your ample cleavage sways with the gentle motion of your body. He repeats the word back to you, laboriously. “Cos…tume….”

“That’s right,” you say, running your hands over your thighs as you stand upright. The long heels of the shoes elongate your legs, making you tower over the club’s patrons. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Kyle watches wordlessly as your hands glide over your body, carefully skipping over the stitches at your knees, along your stomach, and finally up to the long stitch around your neck, which to him is holding your head on. Kyle’s eyes blink repeatedly with recognition.

You dip down, reaching for his hand. The crowd woooo’s as you hand him the string of your skirt. He grips it hard before looking at it deeply. You take one step back, flashing a coy expression to the men in the front row. Another step, and the tie begins to slip through the bow, unravelling. Another step and the skirt falls to your feet. A cacophony of approval fills your ears.

You’re in nothing but the blood-spattered bikini bottoms now, and you sink to your knees again, flashing Kyle a bright smile. He blinks, your skirt awkwardly hanging from his hand by the string.

On all fours, you crawl towards him, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Dollar bills shower the stage, and when you slide your knees out to the sides, allowing men a delicious view of your backside, someone tucks another $100 in your bikini.

Kyle is watching you, but his hands drop to his groin where he makes a fist, and rubs it awkwardly over his now-throbbing erection. You immediately notice this, and your eyes widen. That’s a sure fire way to get kicked out, and for whatever reason, you’ve clocked him as too innocent to let that happen. There’s either a) something wrong with him, or b) he’s really committed to acting like a clueless, braindead boy. Both options require action.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, guiding him to the side of the stage. There’s an empty chair, and with a heel, you push him back into it. Sit. Stay. He does. Good boy.

He never takes his eyes off you though, and every time you’re looking at him, his jaw hangs slack, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. He keeps trying to get up, and you have to slowly shake your head at him, teasingly. He seems to understand that gesture, and stays put.

As you dance, you find yourself watching him, too. Inexplicably drawn to him, for whatever reason. You don’t usually take guys to the back, but $100 is a pretty good tip. Besides, you didn’t want to run into that girl again, and especially not angry.

As your routine comes to an end, Kyle gets up out of his chair, knocking into the edge of the stage. A few guys turn their heads, trying to figure out what this guy’s deal is. You’re too busy picking up your tips, and gathering your clothes to notice. With arms full, you race to the back, throw on a t-shirt and bolt back to the front, praying that Kyle is still where you left him.

He is. He may be trying to climb up on the stage, head craning in the direction of where you exited, but he's still there. You heave a relieved sigh, and saunter up to him, softening your expression.

“Hi, Kyle…” you murmur sweetly. You slip your arm underneath his, linking it with yours and softly pulling him down into a normal standing position again. There’s a small moment of processing and trust before he looks at you and smiles very weakly.

Destinee is next, and while she’s a nice girl, you absolutely loathe her taste in lighting. You enjoy a good rave, sure, but this is like the Electric Daisy Carnival in a much, much smaller space.

You learn very quickly that Kyle doesn’t like it either. At all. In fact, he might dislike it more than you. As soon as the beat is thumping and the bright red and orange lights are washing over the establishment, Kyle wrenches away from you, covering his ears. A low groan starts in his throat, bubbling up through his lips until he’s practically screaming.

“Shhh, shh it’s okay!” You try desperately to console him, but he can’t seem to hear you. Glancing nervously at the guests around you who are starting to take notice of him now, you smile apologetically. “Kyle, it’s okay!”

There’s only one solution - the private dance rooms. They’re quiet, secluded and a perfect spot to store a stressed out zombie boy for a few hours. You looked towards the spiral staircase that led upstairs, and hesitated. You were a dancer who rarely used the private rooms. You had been hard pressed to avoid being alone with any man, especially one that had paid you and felt entitled to whatever he wanted to take. Kyle, however, didn’t seem like the type to… well, do that. Or even articulate that he wanted to do that — did he even understand that you’d been paid to babysit him? Likely not.

You force his hand down as gently as possible, interlacing your fingers with his. “Kyle,” you say. “Kyle, look at me.”

His head moves sluggishly, and his eyes gradually follow. He looks at you with big, black eyes, the surrounding skin darkened and mottled. In the changing lights, he looks so lost, and your heart throbs desperately. Shucking the worries of whispers aside, you lead him through the club towards the wrought iron staircase.

“Hey Lance,” you say. “Private room open?”

“They sure are…” he replies with a large grin, his heavy accent coming through. Lance was one of the bouncers and rotated positions, so you had gotten semi-close with him. He enjoyed your presence and penchant for the strange. “Last door on da’ left.”

With Kyle in tow, you head down the long, red hallway. Each of the doors were painted black, with gold trim. Kyle’s gaze travels from each door, picking up on the various sounds that seeped from behind them.

“Okay…” You say, your voice a touch softer than before as you push open the last door, praying that it’s been cleaned adequately. You cock your head to the side, urging him inside. His concerned eyes swept from you to the door and back to you before he finally decided that it was safe enough for him to enter. “Look, no strobe lights. No loud music. Just you and me.”

“You… and me….” He grumbles. The door clicks shut behind you. His words are painfully slow and slurred, but you can’t help be charmed by the innocence of them. “You…. You’re…. l-like me.”

“That’s right, baby… I’m like you.” In a quiet, joking whisper, you say: “Raaaaauuuuggghhhhhh…. Brains.”

Kyle seems to like this. The tiniest of smiles forms on his mouth. His chest heaves, and without warning, he lunges for you. His strong arms wrap around you in a steely grip that at first terrifies you; your arms are pinned at your sides, locked into place. His tongue slips over your collarbone, wet and cool like he’s just finished eating ice cream. It slips over your neck, along your jawline, and up behind your ear. He’s licking you, devouring you with such pressure that he has to have eaten some of the makeup by this point. You wince as he nips at your ear lobe, his teeth grinding down on the flesh. With some inhuman gurgle, he descends, covering your chest in his saliva.

You were used to men being hungry for you, acting like rabid dogs the second that they caught a glimpse of your plump tits or your juicy ass. It was part of the gig, came with the territory. But not this. This guy was on something. Had to be. Without warning, he yanks your cropped shirt up, and his jaws clamp down on the meat of your exposed breast. You yelp, pushing him off. He looks hurt or confused, or maybe both. Immediately, you scramble, feeling like you’ve just taken candy from a child.

“Hey no.. it’s okay. You can bite me… I like being bit. But not too hard, honey… that hurt.”

He doesn’t understand. Or he doesn’t look like he understands. His brows knit together sadly, while the dark, ink pools he has for eyes glaze over.

“….biiiiiiiiiiiiiite….” He says.

“Softly,” you finished, with your cutest zombie voice. “Biiiiite soft…ly….”

He cranes forward, mouth finding your flesh again. His teeth continue to graze your skin, slightly softer than before though, so maybe he does understand. His tongue lolls out sloppily to taste every inch. He nears the jumbled up mess of liquid latex on your elbow, and you expect him to stop, or skip over it — but he doesn’t. He feels uneven, soft flesh and his front teeth clamp down on it with a guttural sound. He rears his head back far enough for the liquid latex to streeeetch, and snap.

This gorgeous, blonde boy has a chunk of faux flesh hanging from between his teeth. Fake blood dots his pale lips, and he’s looking at you with the most confused expression you’ve ever seen on a man. It’s a grisly sight, really, but it fits the theme of the night. He’s committed to the zombie act, you’ll give him that.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, spit that out…” You reach up, rubbing the fake blood off his bottom lip. flatten your slender fingers on his broad chest, skin smooth like stone except for the deep scars. These are really good prosthetics. You can’t even see the seam. Because there aren’t any…

Like a dog, he drops the wrinkly skin-toned mass from his mouth and frowns. He looks genuinely disappointed, like he expected blood and guts. “B-bad… th-that… didn’t taste….. gooood…” he stammers. "Hun..gry…..”

For a moment, you’re frozen. Your realization clicks into place painfully slowly, slower than his brain seems to move. He’s really too good at the whole zombie act, and a panicked thought writhes its way into your mind, penetrating it the way that a tissue absorbs blood. Just sucks it in, becomes a part of it. No, no way.

Heavily masking the nerves in your voice, you clear your throat and reach for his shoulder. You stroke the smooth roundness of it, raking your nails against his skin. “You want something that tastes good, baby?”

That ‘something good' is your cunt. You’ll let him eat you out so you can think. You assume he’ll eat you out like most men do — boringly — and you can process the realisation that this poor creature in front of you is actually really badly scarred, and possibly, a victim of head trauma, or something. Because there’s no way you’re meeting an actual zombie. Even on Halloween in New Orleans. That’s insane. So, you’re going to let him eat you out while you sort this out in your mind.

That was the plan, anyway.

Except the second you sink into the vinyl chair, he’s on his knees, looking at your pretty cunt with hungry eyes and the visual wipes your brain clean. It was like you put a plate of food in front of a starving man. His mouth opens. You untie both sides of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes drop heavily, watching every move.

At first, his tongue juts out, curiously tasting what you’ve put in front of him. It presses between your folds, pauses, before wiggling around. Your eyelids flutter; you were ready to zone out, but Kyle’s inexperience, his curiosity feels so good.

“Good,” he growls, the word vibrating your cunt. His cool breath washes over your core, sending a chill up your spine. He delves deeper, tasting more of you.

His tongue flicks at your clit, flipping the swollen bundle of nerves mercilessly. Your whole body is trembling, and you feel the first of your orgasms rushing towards your centre. Carefully, not wanting to scare him, you grip his angel curls and ride his mouth slightly. Shit. Almost instantly, the throbbing starts and you make a mess of his poor boy’s face, squirting over his lips and chin.

“You like that?” You ask, through uneven pants. The first of the night always feels sooo good.

He nods heavily on your cunt, still lapping up the juices that leak from your slick hole. Your legs start to quiver and a fire burns deep within your cunt. You try to pat his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to stop. His tongue delves in, and he freezes.

“Kyle?” You ask nervously. Unconsciously, you clench around his tongue. He snaps to life, like someone flipped a switch in his brain. His strong arms wrap around the front of your thighs, tightly. Very tightly. He starts to pull you off the chair, lifting you up into his arms. Your ass cheeks are pressed against his chest and the back of your head is on the chair’s cushion now. He’s holding you tightly, upside down, still swallowing mouthfuls of your sopping wet cunt. He can’t seem to hear your desperate, pleading cries to stop.

You blink back tears, your vision throbs. You don’t know if it’s because the blood is very obviously rushing to your head, or because you’re coming again so quickly, but he’s drilling his tongue into your cunt like there’s a cream centre. If there is, he’s found it.

A scream fills your lungs and your body lunges upwards, trying to find leverage — something, anything to hold onto. She clenches again, pulsating around his cold, slippery tongue. Kyle’s practically drinking you with each clench. The overstimulation is crippling, and you can’t help but scream out.

“KYLE! STOP!”

At the shrill sound, he immediately drops you and your body hits the ground with a heavy thud. Your ass aches a little from the fall, but it’s nothing that’s going to ruin the night.

He’s frowning at you, his lips and chin glazed with your cum.

“S-sorry…” he grumbles. “Sorry. Bad.”

“No, no… not bad. Accident. Accident. Kyle?”

You call his name and he’s looking at you with those big, hopeful, dark eyes of his. You can tell — he isn’t sure if you’re going to scold him, or praise him and the uncertainty terrifies him. You get to your knees, crawling towards the sofa. Once you’re up on it, you pat the spot next to you three times.

“Can I see?” You gesture to your own body, tracing the remaining prosthetics with a single finger before pointing to him. He looks down, his bottom lip jutting out. He nods after a few seconds and lumbers over to you, sitting down heavily.

Your fingers dance over his skin. He was literally pieced back together. His head, his arms, his legs, the lower half of his torso… he was sewn back together like Frankenstein. Different parts connected as one. You’re sitting next to an actual zombie.

And then it dawns on you. Those girls. You’d seen them before. You knew their faces. They lived in the massive mansion on Jackson Avenue. They were witches. Witches were a dime a dozen in New Orleans — in fact, it was weirder if you didn’t practice some kind of craft. But zombies… you’d only ever heard stories. You’d never seen one, let alone be eaten out by one.

You stroke Kyle’s broad chest. For being a zombie, he’s surprisingly soft. You’d always imagined them as dried out, crusty creatures, but he only had a few patches of dry skin. In fact, he had more patches where you could see dark blue pooling underneath his skin, where blood had settled after death. He is cold however, and that’s the most jarring part.

You ease him back on the leather sofa, making sure his head goes down softly onto the arm rest.

“It’s okay, Kyle…. I like your body.”

“Costume….” He says. You shake your head.

“Body. Body.”

His hips give the tiniest little buck, and it slips between your ass cheeks. He whimpers, trying to get a visual of what he’s feeling. Gradually, his thrusts increase in pressure, and you adjust for your own pleasure.

When you adjust, forcing his cock to slide in between your cunt instead, he feels the slick warmth, and his feral nature returns, stronger than before. His thrusts pick up, and he seems to realise that you are a living thing, with pulsing blood and a throbbing heartbeat. Something else is throbbing again, too.

You whine and match his thrusts, letting your head loll back.

Kyle has a different idea, and before you can stop him, he has your forearm in his mouth, teeth clamped down on the soft, warm flesh. It only takes a few seconds for you to feel the stinging ache consuming your arm. It hurts… bad. The muscles in your fingers contract, twitching limply. He aggressively shakes his head, and your heart drops. The terror sets in, and you’re suddenly running cold.

“Kyle, no- OW! KYLE!”

He shakes his head again, biting down harder and digging his the ridges of his teeth deeper into your skin. You don’t necessarily feel the flesh tear, somewhere near the top, but you certainly feel the warm flow of blood that drips down your arm, dribbling onto his chest. Your pupils dilate. The blood keeps flowing, and you feel him start to rear his head back. Something pulls back with him. The ache is replaced by a searing burn, and you realise that if he pulls back any further, he’s going to pull off skin. You’re panicking now, and don’t know what else to do but try again. This time though, you roar at him, bringing back your zombie voice. It’s not so cute this time. “Raaaaaaaaauhhhhhh, KYLE. KYLE STOP. STOP!”

You try to rip your arm away from his mouth, while pushing his head. Thankfully, his powerful jaw goes slack and your arm slides out, strings of spit stretching from his lips. Your blood is smeared across his chin and bottom lip, and collects in the corners of his mouth.

With your vision bouncing thanks to Kyle’s furious thrusting, you look at your arm, watching the bright crimson well up in the indentations of the bite mark. Amidst the rest of your makeup, the bite doesn’t look out of place. You hold your arm out further, trying to come up with a story for this one. Maybe the makeup had stained in an absolutely mind-blowing way. And you had a reaction to it, hence the bizarre swelling and scabbing. That sounds good, sounds believable.

“Want… more…” He says, and your stomach drops, praying that he doesn’t mean more flesh. You’re not sure you can handle another one. Mid-thrust, Kyle’s thick, veiny cock angles just right and slips into your cunt. She swallows him easily, still wet from being eaten — a mixture of cum and Kyle’s viscid, slimy saliva. You plant both hands on his chest, letting out a breathy, melodic moan. He feels good enough to make you forget about the bite, and as you begin to ride him, it seems that he forgets too.

You’re taking control, grinding on top of him, using his cock like your own personal toy. It’s hitting every spot you want it to, pressing into your walls with its girth, and you can’t help but whine about it. Pausing to smear your blood across Kyle’s chest with your middle finger, you leave deep, red streaks across pale skin. You shouldn't find that hot, but you do.

Kyle wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you down onto his cock relentlessly, each thrust feeling harder than the last. You lean forward, pressing your tits against his almost bare chest, and allowing him to take control, thrusting his cock up into you. The slightly bent positioning of his cock, head grinding against your spongy insides is enough to make you cum right then. You don’t though, holding back, clenching your pussy as tight as you can.

“You like it, Kyle?” You ask, through shaky pants. “You like that?”

Kyle nods, heavily, his darkened eyes watching the way that your body quivers on top of him, wordlessly marvelling at the way your thigh muscles contract and shake on top of him every time he slips out, and buries himself inside your dripping pussy again. He loves how it feels, even if he can’t articulate it the way he wants to, the sensations are everything he wants. Everything.

He grips you harder, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down, repeating this violent display of strength over and over again. Your cunt shudders, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. Kyle feels it first, and the sudden tightness has him growling, snarling and pushing his length into you as deep as he can. Kyle digs his heels into the sofa, lifting his legs. You feel the pressure against your cervix as he bottoms out, and press against his cock, forcing his cock deeper into you, until you feel the ache. You ride out the waves of your own orgasm, feeling his as it comes in thick, sticky ropes.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and you quickly get to your feet, pulling your shirt over your head. You scramble, trying to find the bikini bottoms and once they’re tied, you throw open the door. It’s Lance, who is looking very concerned. Your legs are pressed tightly together, in fear that Kyle’s load is going to start dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

“Miss Y/N. The club is closing… are you alright in there?”

Closing? What? It was bareley eleven when you brought him into the room. The seedy, slick realisation that you’d been fucking this zombie for almost four hours made your cheeks blossom with heat. You immediately tuck your bitten arm behind the door, flashing Lance a charming smile.

“Yes! Fine! Just uh, finishing up a dance. Hey - Lance… did two girls ever come back, asking for this blonde guy in here?”

He pauses, thinking. After a few moments, he shakes his head and apologises.

Okay, guess he’s coming home with me, then. “Thank you, Lance. I’ll be down in just a second.”

You shut the door and lean against it, looking at the zombie on the sofa. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. “Kyle, do you live on Jackson Street? Where do you live?”

He sits up abruptly, turning his head to face you. “Uhm…” He murmurs. “Big…… white.”

“Big white house?” You repeat, making a house shape with your hands. He nods.

“You wanna’ go home?”

After throwing on a pair of dolphin shorts, collecting your duffel bag and giving Lance a generous tip, you have Kyle in tow, fingers laced tightly with his. Jackson Street was maybe a twenty minute walk, something you both could handle.

Despite it going on 3 AM, the streets were still filled with partiers, people in masks, and drinks in their hands. You and Kyle blend in as you walk, heading down the busy roads. Once you arrived at the Mansion, the gates were open, a fine mist spilling into the sprawling yard.

The woman who answers the door is beautiful, graceful and composed. She wears all black, her honey blonde hair cascading graceful over her shoulders.

“Good Evening,” she says.

“Good Evening. Um.. this is going to sound strange, even for Halloween, but, um…” You want to continue. Desperately, but for some reason, you already know the answer. He does belong here. As though she’d said it to you, plain as day, he belonged here, this is where he stayed.

Zoe and Madison must’ve forgotten him.

Your brows furrow, indignantly. How could they?

Cordelia’s plump lips flatten into a knowing smile. You swallow, suddenly feeling uneasy. You scratch at the liquid latex on your neck, fiddling uncomfortably with one of the edges of the prosthetic.

“Well, Kyle… here you go. Go with…?”

“Cordelia.”

“Cordelia. Go with Cordelia, you’re home now.”

Kyle seems somewhat hesitant, but when Cordelia holds out a hand, he obeys and lumbers inside, looking over his shoulder at you one last time.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she says, softly. “Would you like to come inside?”

You consider that for a second. Deep within the wetness of your bones, and the warmth of your blood, you feel like you should. There’s something extremely comforting about this place, but… “No, no thank you. I should be getting home. It’s Halloween. Weird things happen on Halloween.”

She smiles again. “That’s quite a bite you have on your arm… did Kyle do that?”

“Oh, uh… yeah. He got a little excited earlier, I’m a dancer, and uh, y’know. Men.”

“I have something for that.”

You look down at your bite again, it looks nastier than before. You clear your throat, ready to reject and explain that your older sister is a nurse and she’ll help, but instead, and you’re not quite sure how that happened, you’re walking through the doors. Kyle is delighted to see you again, pausing on the grand staircase to look at you.

Cordelia’s hands end up being very, very soft.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz

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arcanesea · 2 months

Text

colors

PAIRING: hwang hyunjin x reader GENRE: fluff, established relationship WC: 558 WARNINGS: none

"There are only 3 primary colors, right?" you ask mindlessly as you watch Hyunjin's brush glide across the canvas. You heard a low hum from him before asking, "Who named the colors?"

he rolls his eyes, and a thin smile creeps on his face.

"What's on your mind pretty?" he asks softly, still focusing on the canvas in front of him. You had agreed to be his muse today. Though a very basic muse, you must say. He doesn't even let you hold any props, so you just sit there with a flower slipped in your ear.

"Well, orange comes from mixing red and yellow, so why not call it yed?" you propose.

Hyunjin stops to look at you with his confused face. "Yed?"

"Yes? well, you mix yellow and red? Yed? Or should it be redow?"

"You're absurd," he laughs, continuing his sweep of brush. You're cute, was what he was actually thinking. Since you sat on that chair, you hadn't stopped talking about everything, from the workplace stress you're currently experiencing, to stories of stray cats in your apartment complex. Your voice was a better substitute for the music he put on every time he started painting.

"Green should be called yellue," you push forward. Laughing when the words repeated itself in your head. "Isn't that cute, Hyune, yellue?" you ask.

"Sure, my love," he answered. "Tell me everything on that pretty head of yours."

"I think, you don't need me to sit here," you said softly. Hyunjin laughs again. If he's being honest, it's his first time drawing the muse directly. He could have snapped a picture of you and used it as a reference, that's what he always does. But who he is to say no when you're the one offering to be his muse for a day?

"Weren't you the one offering yourself?" He asks, not paying much attention to you who had started to stand. You stopped in your tracks, thinking to yourself.

"Right..." you shyly said. You walked behind him, leaning down to rest your chin on his left shoulder. You are the muse, but you're certain that the scene doesn't look anything like his painting. Not in a bad way, just in a very hyperbole way that the background colors seem to be muted while he gives you the spotlight with all the vibrant colors.

Hyunjin turned his head, pressing a kiss on your cheek. "What do you think?"

"I don't think there's any word that can describe the elegance of that painting, Hyune," you answered. "I think you're a great artist, I'm pretty sure I'm not as beautiful as the person in the canvas."

Hyunjin puts down his palette on the little table next to the canvas before standing up. He grabs your shoulder, just looking at you. No matter how many times he memorized your features, he can't stop admiring your angelic nature.

It's true that an artist's eyes see colors in a spectrum that's never existed before, but you're different. Hyunjin had always thought that he already saw all the colors of life, but your existence in his life gives him a taste of a new kind of rainbow. And he wished for nothing more than you to see yourself from his point of view.

"Believe me, my love, no colors can do justice to paint you."

a/n. Ramadhan Kareem everyone! We're well fed this month by the amount of skz record the kids released and some said we're getting cb announcement at fanmeeting😃 can't wait!!!!!!

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caramelberzatto · 3 months

Text

To Love Carmy Berzatto

Loving Carmy is... I'm not even sure if I could find the right words to encapsulate it for you, dear reader, but I will try.

Loving him brings with it an intensity rivalled only by wildfire. Strong and vibrant, untamed, unpredictable. It takes a great deal of bravery, of honesty and time.

Muttered revelations of past pain, resting your head on his shoulder as he talks; stilted sentences, furrowed brows, the way his nose scrunches when he's trying to explain things that hurt, as though he can't truly comprehend why he feels the way he does.

It's brutally strong coffee, and autumn afternoons. Blazing reds and oranges, bouquets of marigold. Leafy bunches of fresh farmer's market herbs, stored in spare mugs full of water atop the kitchen counter. It's forgetting to close a window all the way, allowing the cold to seep through the apartment, only for that to leave an excuse for an extra ten minutes tangled up beneath the blankets with him the next morning.

Loving Carmy is accidental intoxication, it's not seeing it coming at all. Until that feeling in your stomach, in your chest, a warmth that envelops you. Anticipation of seeing him again, even if you'd waved goodbye only a few minutes prior.

It's late nights waiting up for him, even though your eyelids droop as the television flickers. It's recognising his footsteps, the jingle of his keys in the door. It's taking in his tired gaze, the gentle uptilt of his lips as he sees you, still awake, even though he constantly reassures you that you should go to sleep. He's always secretly glad you don't listen to him.

It's dates to various markets, either food markets, art markets, wherever. It doesn't matter. It's just market days spent, hand in hand, sipping coffee as you walk. It's sharing wired headphones on the train, having a playlist of both his and your favourite songs. It's finding a sketch of yourself in Carmy's office at The Beef, on a sticky note, tucked between the pages of the big, messy binder.

It's noticing his clothes start to smell like your laundry detergent, or his hair to smell like your shampoo. It's the gentle incorporation of him into your life, so effortlessly, so seamlessly.

It's the build up of trust, it's the revelation of secrets. It's finding out about his brother one Winter afternoon, on a train ride through the city as the sun sinks beneath the horizon. His quiet words, a story of boyhood, a desperation for comradery, a series of self-inflicted trials to be noticed, seen, appreciated by his older brother. He just wanted to impress him.

Carmy had always just wanted to be part of something.

Loving him is the very definition of a slowburn, a staggered compiling of trust and care and tenderness. Millions of tiny moments, shared glances, quiet whispers, admissions of regret and guilt, feelings that you both struggle to put into words at times.

It's two steps forward, one step back, but there's always this.... one remaining constant that survives through even the most difficult of moments. Devotion. The two of you cannot help but care about each other, deeply. It's sticking with each other because there is so much love, so much adoration, care, all of it.

And all of it pays off. If you fight, you make up with kisses and apologies and long nights in his arms. Or he sits you down at his table and feeds you, each meal a white flag of sorts.

I feel like this is kind of messy, but I hope, dear reader, that you understand what I'm trying to say.

Loving Carmen Berzatto....... yeah.

#the bear #the bear fx #carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #jeremy allen white #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you

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milkb0nny · 7 months

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Burgundy Leaves

Ivar The Boneless x gn!reader

Comfortember Day 3: Leaves Changing

Summary: You and your little sister decided to take a stroll through the forest to collect the colorful leaves of autumn. While you both ate some freshly made buns and played catch, you accidentally bumped into Ivar.

Note: Okay... I'm fangirling. This one kinda hit me a little harder than it should. It's so wholesome.

Warnings: none

word count: 999

With the arrival of the cooler season autumn, the leaves slowly turned from a bright green to a sensation of colors. The dense, towering trees of the forest beckoned, their leaves glowing with the fiery hues of autumn. It was a world of vibrant reds, golds and oranges - a symphony of colors that enchanted your senses. This was the kind of season where you felt most alive, and the beauty of the forest had always been your refuge.

Whenever the temperatures dropped the people in Kattegat knew to prepare for winter, equipping themselves with wood, blankets and a food storage. Although the colder season might not be everyone’s favorite, you quite liked it. You had a younger sister, named Ingrid, who also waited for autumn every single year. Therefore, the day you noticed the significant change in the leaves, you took her by her hand and dragged her into the town of Kattegat. Before you made your way into the forest, you stopped by a small stall. You knew the owner of the shop quite well because you had been buying freshly baked buns every other day. After putting the still steaming baking goods in your picnic basket, you and your sibling started your journey.

While you entered the nearby forest, the sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, creating a mosaic of light and shadow on the forest floor. The rustle of leaves beneath your feet and the chorus provided a soothing function.

Your sister ran free, catching falling leaves, collecting the most beautiful artworks by nature and eating snacks out of the picnic basket here and there. A bright smile covered your lips while you watched Ingrid being a happy child.

“Can we play catch, y/n?” She asked you, her eyes flickering in hope.

You answered, “Sure, I’ll count to ten and then I’ll come get you!”

The loud giggles emerged from your younger sister, as her feet made their way through the familiar collection of trees. Shortly after you reached the number ten, you began to run after her.

Suddenly, you trip over a thick branch as you ran around the corner. Though, your lovable face did not hit the hard ground.

With a soft gasp, you stumbled backward as you made contact with Ivar's firm, armored chest. The surprise was mirrored in his cobalt blue eyes as you looked up, a sudden rush of embarrassment coloring your cheeks.

“Y/n!” Ingrid screamed, speeding back to you immediately. “Did you hurt yourself?”

You shook your head, smiling awkwardly.

“I'm so sorry," you stammered, glancing at the tall man, your voice tinged with guilt. "I didn't see you coming. Are you alright, Ivar?"

You felt his icy eyes inspecting every single inch of you, thus made you flush. In all secrecy you owned a soft spot for Ivar. Of course you weren’t in a very deep relationship, but from time to time you helped him, accompanied him or cooked him dinner, whenever he didn’t want to eat with his own family.

“It appears we were both lost in our own little worlds," he replied, smiling softly.

Your sister, confused about the romantic tension between the both of you, distracted herself with collecting more leaves. Ivar studied Ingrid for a moment, his curiosity evident in the quirk of his lips.

“You are collecting leaves? A simple yet beautiful pursuit." Ivar grinned at your sister, who picked out a beautiful red maple leaf. She turned around and gifted it to Ivar, expressing her appreciation. Your heart warmed up at that sight, since he was so gentle with your little sister.

Ingrid’s high voice chimed in with enthusiasm, "Would you like to join us, Ivar? I’ll make you your own crown out of red leaves!"

Ivar, usually not so fond of children, appreciated your little sister a lot. She was honest and kind, unlike many other kids who lived in Kattegat. On top of that, the Viking loved one particular person who was linked to Ingrid - you.

Ivar considered the offer for a moment before a playful glint entered his eyes.

"Very well, little Lady. I shall accompany you,” he accepted, watching her happily run off to guide Ivar and you.

As you continued to explore the forest together, you couldn't help but be captivated by Ivar's presence. Since he had learned how to walk with his crutches, his tall body always surprised you. You liked him, crawling or walking, it didn’t matter to you.

You and Ingrid led the way to the most unique spots in the forest, where the trees cast long and the colors of autumn were most resplendent. Ingrid collected leaves of rich burgundy, while you gathered those of gold and orange. Ivar watched the scene with a hint of awe in his eyes. Ivar's gaze met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The connection between you deepened - you felt like you were the only two souls in the whole forest. Ingrid, ever the perceptive one, excused herself to give the two of you some privacy.

Ivar leaned closer, his presence filling your senses as he whispered, "Y/n, there’s something immaculate about you. I hope we won’t grow apart."

Red hues rushed over your cheeks, your fingers fidgeted with the fur of your coat and you unconsciously bit the skin of your bottom lip while you let his words swallow you whole. You barely could form a sentence under the embarrassment.

“Ivar, no. I apologize, I mean, I’ll always accompany you. Wherever you go,” you stuttered slightly, staring into the blue, vibrant eyes which formed a perfect contrast with the orange hues of autumn. As the forest whispered its melody and the leaves rustled, Ivar closed the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss. His lips molded perfectly against yours, igniting passion that had smoldered beneath the surface.

A kiss you never forgot - your first one under the rain of changing leaves.

#ivar x reader #ivar lothbrok #vikings ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings x you #vikings x reader #ivar x you #vikings

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skzdarlings · 1 year

Text

part iii: bodyguard!felix x reader

masterlist.

PART I ; PART II ; PART III ; PART IV ; PART V ; PART VI ; PART VII ; PART VIII ; PART IX ; FINAL PART.

( READ ON AO3. )

Your father hires an inconspicuous bodyguard to accompany you at school and supervise you at home. What seems like an innocuous change in routine eventually spirals into a forbidden romance that grows more passionate over the years.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: eventual smut. violence. parental abuse. situations of intense peril overall. forced proximity. enemies2lovers. angst with eventual happy ending. (word count; 4800)

warning for this chapter: more explicit violence, physical abuse directed at felix.

When his dark roots start to show, Felix attempts to bleach his own hair. You ask why the aesthetic choice is so important.

“I just don’t like the dark,” he says with a toothy, too-casual smile.

You watch from the open bathroom door as he accidentally turns himself into a red-head. He fingers a vibrant red-orange strand, cocks his head, shrugs, and smiles.

His hair is a shifting mess of yellow-orange-red over the next two years. The nightmares start halfway through.

The first one frightens you awake as Felix shoots upright in a sweaty panic. A startled shriek claws up your throat and comes out raspy, your sleepy eyes darting around in the dark for an intruder only to realize the room is empty.

Felix slumps against the headboard, wiping his forehead. The fiery strands of his bangs are sticking to his face and his hands are shaking so uncharacteristically. Felix only occasionally loses his cool and even then, his retorts are curt and sarcastic rather than emotional. It is the first time you have ever see him like this, so small and so very human, and all you can do is stare until he gets his breathing under control.

“Are you okay?” you ask each other at the same time.

“Me?” you croak. “You were the one who just—”

“It was just a dream,” he says, in that clipped tone when his patience runs out. His breathing is still a little shaky. He goes to the bathroom then makes his rounds to check the security system, even though it is close to four in the morning. Your own adrenaline is still dwindling so you are awake when he gets back in bed.

You don’t know how to comfort someone. No one has ever comforted you in a substantial way. Even if they tried, you would probably rebuff it in confusion. You are certain Felix will do the same thing. He does not like focussing on himself.

But he is radiating so much stress and tension that you can feel it burning off him like a heat wave. He lays stiffly on his back and closes his eyes, pretending to sleep. You know if you say anything about it, he will ignore you.

You look at him thoughtfully, then you say in the smallest voice you can, “Felix, I’m scared.”

His eyes pop open, his brow immediately furrowed in concern. He looks at you and offers a hand.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, like nothing was amiss with him.

“Bad dreams too,” you say. Your nightmares have never caused you to wake so violently, but you do occasionally have them. You are in the habit of burrowing deep in your blankets and staring at Felix until you fall asleep, calmed by his presence.

Somehow, some way, you have found comfort in that silent company.

“Can you hold me, please?” you say.

You say it because his hand is clammy and cold in yours, despite all the heat of his anxiety. You say it because his forehead is still damp and his breathing is a little laboured. You say it because if you offer a hug, he will say he doesn’t need it, but he does.

Maybe he falls for it, knowing you have a good reason to have nightmares too. Maybe he sees through your ruse and doesn’t care right now. But he nods and tugs you closer.

A year of sharing a bed, not to mention every minute of the day, has made you a little thoughtless in regards to easy proximity, but this embrace is much more deliberate. You feel very aware of the way he fits around you. His arm loops around your shoulders and you hug his waist, your head fitting perfectly in the crook under his chin.

You realize you have never hugged anyone like this. You initiated contact for his sake, but the cradle of his arms and the warmth of his body relaxes your own tension. It feels like a great exhale, both of you releasing a breath you had been holding for a long time.

A part of you wants to shove him away. You think it would be very easy to find his embrace addicting and that is a weakness you cannot afford to have. You know this, he must know this, but you’re tired, so you fall asleep wrapped around him.

The next time he wakes with a nightmare, you don’t have to say anything. He pulls you close and you fall asleep with your head on his chest. By now you are used to him – behind you in class, beside you in the car, across the kitchen counter, standing at the bathroom sink, laying on the other side of your shared bed – so you let yourself drift, caught in the undertow of his comfortable presence, and you fall asleep like that.

Again and again.

His nightmares get worse before they get better. For a few months, Felix wakes every other night with a startled burst. He never talks about it. Sometimes he grounds himself and plasters on a bad smile, but it never fools you.

He always checks the security system after. One night he doesn’t return and you imagine the worst, plagued by fears that will seem nonsensical in daylight but pose a very real threat in the darkness. You turn on every light as you stumble down the corridor, a blanket around your shoulders, too frightened to shout his name as you shuffle along.

You find him in the gym. Felix is as strict with his daily regimen as every other protocol, from diet to exercise and back, so the sight of him sweating buckets in the house gym is not unusual. But it being three in the morning, coupled with the nightmares and your anxiety, makes you erupt with feelings you cannot articulate.

You are relieved he is here. You hate that you are relieved. You hate that you were afraid at all. You hate that you wanted him beside you when you should be relieved in his absence. When did it all get so backwards? He still reports to your father. You should still hate his presence. You shouldn’t be here, shaking, furious that he abandoned you.

You throw the blanket on the floor and the motion catches his eye. He turns, pushing his sweaty red hair off his forehead. His face contorts in funny ways before he forces himself to smile.

“Come back to bed,” you say before he can voice a stupid platitude. “Now.”

His smile disappears. He stands there for a moment, breathing hard, just looking at you. Then he nods.

He showers and gets back in bed. You are wide awake, but you stubbornly lay with your back to him. You say and do nothing when he slides up behind you, crossing the vast space of that big bed to curl himself around you.

“You’re safe in the house,” he says. “You don’t have to worry.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” you say before you can stop yourself.

He is silent for a long moment. He shifts behind you then exhales, his warm breath fluttering over your neck.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” he says. That’s not your job, is the unspoken addition your brain supplies. Because Felix shouldn’t care about you either. This is just a job. You have no real obligation to each other.

His arm is around your waist. He breathes out again.

“The nightmares,” he finally says. “It’s not… I think it’s just… Before this, everyday, there was a lot going in my life, yeah? And not… not good things. But now things are… calm… compared to that so I think it’s just… catching up to me. Um. I was going too fast before but now I’m… I’m just here.”

You know he won’t tell you what those nightmares entail. If you ask me, I’ll tell you, I will never lie to you, he once said.

You are too afraid to ask. It is scary enough, laying in his arms, at once adrift and secure. Scarier still to turn around and hide your face in his neck. You do anyway.

He strokes your back, a feather-soft touch, up and down. It becomes a familiar pattern, absent-minded. One night he touches you with that lazy caress while talking about nothing particular. Neither of you can sleep, but his low voice and gentle touch lulls you into a hazy in-between world.

You grab his hand and put it up the back of your shirt, not really thinking. You do not mean to be suggestive and realize too late it could be misconstrued. You are too embarrassed to apologize, laying there with a warm face pressed against his chest, his hand on your back. He stops talking and his hand freezes, fingers splayed on your bare spine.

You have never spoken aloud about how this kind of hugging is too intimate, even if it is innocent, considering what you are supposed to be to each other.

After a moment, he continues, his touch still gentle. You almost forget he is not a gentle boy, that he wouldn’t be here if he was. You fall asleep soon after.

You see your father less these days, no longer in trouble with the same frequency. It makes you understand Felix, the way he spoke about nightmares catching up to him. Over the years, your wounds have seldom had time to heal before they re-opened, both literally and emotionally. Now you have time to scab.

Those poorly stitched wounds start to fester.

One night, you and Felix have an argument. It is a petty, inconsequential quarrel in the greater scheme of things, and it ends with him rolling his eyes.

Irritation is an itch under your skin, worsened by your ongoing state of aggravation. When he goes to the gym for his work-out, trusting you to keep your own routine, you simply walk out the front door. You know he will track you down but it’s the principle of the thing.

Your act of petty retribution spirals out of control when your father gets home at the same time you are trying to leave. One of his men literally snatches you in the driveway. Your adrenaline was already running high from the argument, so you are a thrashing bundle of limbs as they carry you into the house.

Your father is frighteningly quiet on the walk to his home office. All at once you recognize this countenance. It has nothing to do with you, but his business. Something went wrong today, however menial or substantial, and his rage is an icy current. You slipped and tumbled headfirst into the flood.

You stop fighting. You try to muster the same icy resolve as he seats himself on the couch in the office.

In a way, you are almost relieved. It has been so long since you last stood here, but you knew it would eventually happen. Now it isn’t hanging over you. Now your wounds aren’t festering. Now you can rip the messy scab right off and finally just bleed.

Your father pats the seat beside him on the couch. You have only just sat when he says to his own guard, “Find me Felix.”

Felix is waiting right outside the door like the dutiful little soldier he is. He is in his work-out clothes, baggy basketball shorts and a t-shirt, running shoes, his hair messy from exertion. There is a flush to his complexion and it makes him look his age, sixteen and bright-eyed. He is a stark contrast to your father’s guard, a grown man with a hardened face as stern and full as a pit-bull.

Felix looks at you, a momentary flicker of eye contact before he half-bows for your father. Then he straightens, robotic. He clasps his hands behind his back in the same pose as the adult guard.

The dramatic pageantry makes you huff. You know your father will mete out punishment regardless of what Felix has to say. You do not know what Felix includes his daily reports, only that he has kept you out of trouble, but his cleverness will not save you now. It never could, you remind yourself. The hugs, the intimacy, the careful threads of friendship unspooling strand by strand, day by day – it was never going to save you.

“My daughter is headstrong to a fault, isn’t she?” your father says.

Felix glances at you then averts his gaze entirely. He nods sharply, just once. “Sir,” he says, an acknowledgement.

“Mm.” Your father sits back in his seat, his casual posture denoting apathy. He is staring into space, rubbing his chin. You realize he has not spoken to you directly when he says, “You know what happens now, don’t you?” It seems like it should finally be directed at you, but his gaze is still on Felix.

Felix says nothing, though his brow is furrowed with some consternation. You stay quiet. Felix has seen your father punish you more than once now, and you cannot find it in yourself to feel embarrassed about it. Maybe Felix needs a reminder too. Or maybe he has known all along there was no real substance to your connection, that you would always end up here and he would always betray you with his professional stoicism.

“Sir,” Felix says again, as expected.

You roll your eyes and look away from them all. You hear the tell-tale clink of a belt. A frisson is already scratching down your spine, a phantom laceration of its own.

You have this script memorized, having played out this scene time and again. Your father’s guard will hand him a belt, the room will be emptied so you are alone with your father, and he will remove the disobedience and weakness from your body – and the frustration and weakness from his – one stroke at a time. You will leave, contrite and penitent in the freshness of pain and humiliation. It will fade with your scars. You will be back here again.

Your father grabs your face and jerks it back to him. As if reading your thoughts, he says, “It never sticks with you, does it? Not one single lesson.” He lets go with a sharp snap, your chin smarting. You refrain from touching it. “Felix brought this to my attention on his report. You know, you could learn a lesson on reflection from him.”

You roll your eyes and cross your arms. You feel sick in an unusual way, more affected than you want to be. Your father does not know or care if you have ever sought Felix for comfort, so he does not know or care if it hurts for Felix to betray you. Felix is doing his job and playing his part. Your father is playing his. He will make sure you learn to play yours.

And then your father says, “I agreed with his assertion. Punishing you like a child does nothing to teach you true consequences. Being my daughter puts you in a certain position in this world. Thanks to the work I have done, your place will always be above subordinate persons. When you make a mistake, when you step out of line, there will be consequences, and those consequences will not only affect you, but all those other people too.” He waves a hand and the motion draws your eye. “Felix,” he says.

The other guard approaches at your father’s gesture. The belt is folded over in his hand. Felix glances at it, his expression inscrutable, as if a shadow has fallen over his brow. He does not look at you again, even when your attention focusses on him.

Your stomach turns over then seems to drop right out of you, a sharp plummet in your gut when Felix removes his shirt with a swift tug. His motions are choppy and automatic, his face set. He faces the large desk and puts his hands on it, his back to the guard.

“What is this?” you say, looking at your father and his impassive countenance. “What are you doing? What is—”

You flinch at the crack of the belt, a full body shudder as if you were struck. But the hit was not for you. You whip around to look at Felix, his mouth pressed tightly shut and his gaze on the wall ahead. When he is struck again, his instinctive recoil is smaller than yours, merely an eye twitch and hard exhale through his nose.

You start to stand but your father yanks you down again.

“Consequences,” your father says.

The blood freezes in your veins. Sardonic, you think about how moments ago you were wishing for that icy reserve. Now it locks you in places like a cold shackle. You watch with a bemused sort of detachment, like this can’t really be happening, and only when Felix’s arm shakes and his elbow caves, doubling him over the desk, do you snap out of it. The ice melts and water runs, your eyes filling with tears as your voice claws its way up your throat, fighting, fighting, fighting until you rasp, “Enough. Stop it. Stop it!”

You have yelled at your father many times, but this scream is so loud that it reverberates in the large room. A painting shakes. The guard actually stops.

Felix lifts his head and looks at you. His expression is pinched with fury, a barrier guarding the escape of any other emotion.

You know your own face is open with all that emotion. Felix has told you before that he can read you like a book, but right now anyone could. Your masks crack and you look at him then your father with terror.

“I’m sorry,” you say. “Lesson learned, I—”

Your father waves a hand. A frantic, “No!” has scarcely your left mouth before the guard hits Felix with a ferocity never once directed at you. You throw a hand over your mouth, horrified as Felix loses composure, face screwed up with pain as he collapses on the desk. A bit of skin is torn right off his back and you look away, sick, before everything goes quiet.

The guard steps back. Felix is breathing loudly. Your hand is shaking when your father pries it off your mouth.

“Thank you, Felix,” your father says. “I’ll send someone to administer first aid.” Like this is a casual workplace injury. Like he didn’t just—because of you—and—

You can’t look at Felix. You stare at the ground, still shaking, your breathing as ragged as his.

“That’s all right,” Felix says in a remarkably steady voice. He clears his throat. “I can take care of myself.”

Whatever happens next is a blur. The room empties and your father administers a lecture, looking very self-satisfied. When other things transpire out of his control, it is clearly reassuring to exert power where he can. He just as clearly believes he has finally got the permanent best of you. He might not be wrong.

You walk in a hazy shuffle, out the door, up the stairs. Near the top step, your pace quickens. You find yourself crashing through the bedroom doorway, only snapping out of your stunned trance when you see Felix. He is laying facedown on the bed, his bare and bleeding back a red canvas of pain.

“Sorry,” he mumbles into the pillow, “I’ll get up. Just… give me a sec—”

You shove the door closed and approach the bed, your hands hovering with no where to go. You stare at his bare backside, the angry red lines and the long stripe where he is bleeding. You reach, your fingers shaking, then you withdraw.

“I know, I know, I’m crazy,” he says dryly. “In my defense, it wasn’t supposed to happen like that.”

“That,” you say. “What was—”

Your voice cracks and disappears. You cannot find it again. Felix finally turns his head, somehow looking more composed than you despite the pain he must be in. Surprise is his most prominent emotion, deepening to confusion as he stares at you in your state. Then he exhales and closes his eyes, finally scrunching his face in pain.

“I didn’t think…” he says. He takes another deep breath. “I told your father I would… volunteer… for this… But that’s because I… I thought you didn’t…”

Your eyes meet. You stare at each other with equal intensity, your stare still rife with terror and his wet with grief.

“They would have stopped sooner,” Felix says, his voice low, barely above a whisper. “If they thought you didn’t care, it would have stopped sooner. I thought it would—I thought you didn’t—”

“Be quiet,” you finally say. You wipe the tears when they fall, then shake your head like you are scolding yourself. Your voice is shaky when you say, “Just don’t speak.”

I thought you didn’t care about me, was undoubtedly what he meant to say. He thought he could volunteer to take a beating for you and that you would be so stone-faced and indifferent, maybe even happy to see him suffering, that your father would not waste time with a prolonged punishment.

But you did care. Your father saw and your father acted accordingly.

I’m sorry, does not suffice as a reply. Sorry for running just to win an argument? Sorry for sitting there and watching them hit you?

Sorry I care about you. I wish I just hated you.

“I can take care of it,” Felix says when you fetch a first aid kit and sit on the bed. He says that, but he hisses when he tries to move. His arms shake with uncharacteristic weakness when he pushes himself up.

“Lay down, stupid,” you say, laying a clean cloth over the wound to soak up the blood.

He laughs. It is a little breathless, but it is that familiar deep rumble of mostly happy sound. Your face feels hot and your stomach rolls over with a topsy-turvy mess of feelings.

You quietly clean and apply medicinal ointment to his back. He lays with his chin on the back of his hands, staring for a while at the headboard, then looking at you. You can feel him looking, his gaze like a touch as it wanders your face, but you do not look away from your task.

When you are done, the injury still looks vicious. You know it will get worse before it gets better, the marked skin already darkening, but it will heal. You tenderly brush your fingertips over a line, gathering excess salve.

“I don’t remember what we were fighting about,” he says, “but I think won now, yeah?”

You suck in a breath to stop yourself from laughing. He laughs, still deep but more boisterous. It ends with a hiss of pain as he moves too much. You shake your head, biting your lip.

“Serves you right,” you say. “None of this is funny.”

“Uh-huuuh.” The weirdo is still chuckling.

“Well, don’t worry about the future.” You busy yourself with packing up the first aid kit so you don’t have to meet his eye when you say, “It won’t happen again. I’ll hate you and I’ll make sure he knows it.”

“Mm.” He watches you fold the cloth, over and over, his freckled cheek squished into the pillow. “I’d say you should offer to do it yourself, but I’ve seen you on a rampage, kicking a vending machine for not giving you your change, sooo… I think I’ll take my chances with them.”

“Keep up the jokes and I really will hit you,” you say with no animosity.

“Right,” Felix says, smirking into the bedsheets, “because you hate me.”

“Yes,” you say, still not meeting his eye. It convinces no one when you say, “Because I hate you.”

That night Felix is restless, forced to lay on his front. He shifts and twitches and groans, tugging a pillow of his head to whine into the sheets. He can’t get comfortable.

You open your arms to him. You think he might reject you. Though Felix is trusted with his work and they never intrude, there are other people in the house tonight, so it is a little reckless.

Usually, he would be careful, but you think he might feel a certain resignation. A dam has been broken, a wall torn down. The worst has happened and you’re still here.

He looks at you thoughtfully then slides across the bed. You realize too late his shirtlessness adds another level of intimacy. Your face and neck and chest all feel hot, plus there is a sensation like butterfly wings fluttering in your belly, but you swallow it down and stare at the ceiling as Felix carefully lays against you. He also seems to realize the awkwardness, the tips of his ears red hot with embarrassment when he puts his head on your chest.

You both lay there, stiff as boards, awkward and young and ridiculous.

Eventually, your nervousness bubbles out of you in the form of a strangled laugh. Your emotions are swinging on a rapid-moving pendulum and all that terror and sadness turns to a random euphoric burst of laughter. Felix lifts his head and looks at you, laughing just because you are. It goes on for a while, Felix the first to recover.

“Shh,” he finally says, stifling himself. He props himself up on an elbow, leaning over you, and puts a hand over your lips to keep you quiet.

Your heart stutters, stops, starts, and you stare at him through the blue dark of your room. His mouth opens but he doesn’t say anything. He slowly slides his hand off your mouth. Neither of you move, the newfound silence covering you like a fuzzy blanket.

He flicks his head to toss his shaggy bangs out of his eyes. The red is vibrant even in the dark. You are touching his hair before you can think about why you shouldn’t touch him at all.

He looks his age again, wide-eyed and nervous. Apparently bracing himself for a beating is not a daunting task, but you touching his hair is petrifying.

You twist a dyed lock around your finger. After some consideration, you ask, “Do you like the red?”

“Uhh… I preferred the, uh, the blonde, but, uh, yeah, I guess…” His voice sounds a little lower. He clears his throat. “I just can’t figure it out. Ha.”

“Hmm,” you say, letting him go. “Maybe we can figure it out together.” That sounds like a heavy promise, implicitly about more than just a hair colour. It registers with him, his brow furrowing. You quickly deflect by adding, “Because we’re gonna be seniors soon. You can’t spend your last year of high school with bad hair.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes, smiling.

“Not like I’m a real student,” he says, “but suuure. Sounds good. Thanks.”

You look down the length of his back. You think about how he described his life now as calm, compared to whatever came before. This is the lesser of two evils, this shoving and hitting and dehumanizing. The pendulum swings back and your throat clogs with a sob. You manage to swallow it down but you have to look away from him. Your hand blindly settles in his hair, absently feathering strands between your fingers.

“You don’t need to say it like that,” you say. “You’re still a real person.”

You look at him only because he does not answer. He is staring at you, lips drawn into a line and brows knit together.

“Some people might disagree,” he says in a very low, soft voice, almost conspiratorially.

Your heart skips a beat. You roll your eyes. “Like my father?” you ask. “Well. I never agree with him on anything. You know that.”

“Yeah,” he says, a smile tugging at his lips again. “Uh, yeah, I definitely know that.” A joking tone returns and he pulls a sarcastic face, like that much should be obvious.

“Be quiet,” you say, lightly teasing. “Just go to sleep.”

Your hand is still in his hair so you yank him down. You stifle a laugh when he hits your chest with a squeak. He clears his throat, forcing a stern expression as he turns his face so he is not completely planted in your cleavage.

“Good night, Felix,” you say.

“All right,” he says. “Good night.”

You fall asleep first. He is sensible enough to slide back to his side of the bed before properly sleeping. The motion stirs you and you instinctively reach for him. Your hand falls open between you. He takes it and holds it, palm to palm, and you fall asleep once more.

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee felix x reader #felix x reader #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #bodyguard au

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starsnsparkles · 1 month

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i was so excited for the new winx reboot sneak peak i kind of forgot to write down my initial thoughts so here it is (i’m so curious on how this opinion of mine will hold up once the show comes out!!)

first impressions - i actually really like it!

look, i love 2d animation just as the next guy, but i don’t think we’re ever getting back the s1-s4 animation (2d animation from s5-onwards was SO stiff and jarring looking, huge no thank you), and if that’s the case, i think the 3d style that they went for in the reboot is one of the better solutions for it.

it’s vibrant! it’s colourful! it’s giving “magical girls”! it just looks aesthetically pleasing! also i’m OBSESSED with the way they animate their hair, especially bloom’s, it’s giving “bratz series” level of eyegasm hair animation for me. so getting this after the moody, edgy, dramatic “fate: the winx saga” tone set in, i am so relieved we are going back to our roots babeey!! (now here’s to hoping that animation doesn’t tank as the series goes on like how miraculous ladybug is animated by like, 2 different studios and then one episode feels amazing and the other is “hm”)

now for bloom:

her iconic bangs are back baby!! i love how they translated them into 3d without them being too uncanny. the outfit is very cute, but can we PLEASE stop putting bloom in pink?? one of her major appeals as a main character in a girly show was that she wasn’t a pink lead! and blue works so well with her colour palette of red hair & blue/turquoise eyes it’s just aaaaah! replace the pink parts with blue and she’s perfect. (tbh these are still wip, so it could change!)

i’m still warming up to the idea of denim leg warmers though, they look weird to me now (will probably get used to them) but they kind of go with her character, because it looks likeee our bloom s1-s3 personality is back!!!!!! I’M SO HAPPYYY like YES!!! i missed her for a DECADE

next up is mitzi!

they nailed her design imo. she looks like original mitzi, but she also feels like a proper, “updated” version of her look. modern, but not too modern so she’s stuck in the era, but also retains the character of og mitzi. overall, no complaints on my part, only praises!

and then we have the new logo!

IT’S JUST DOING THINGS TO ME IDK it feels so pleasing to the eye?? the purple to orange gradient is just right, the pink is sprinkled in just right and the blues are there to accent it, it’s just. SO AESTHETICALLY PLEASING to me it truly does feel like a natural update on the og winx logo. it’s amazing!!

and if their transformation is the one originally leaked in 2021?? i think it’s on a very good path to being a great reboot! now i’m still really trying to keep my hopes as low as possible, because rarely do i watch a reboot of a beloved series and think it’s on par or better than the og (actually, only shera really comes to mind…), but! i am liking what i’m seeing! i choose to trust mister straffi on this one!!

#winx club #winx club spoilers #thoughts .･ﾟ

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minkydinks · 8 months

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SeaWings

SeaWings won the latest poll for which tribe I should flesh out next. I had a lot of fun with this one, even though it's stupidly tricky to get ocean vibes out of a big lizard. Forgive some of the messiness.

General

In my headcanon of WoF, SeaWings are very large, powerful aquatic dragons. Most trend toward a resemblance to varanid lizards like Komodo Dragons, or the extinct Mosasaurs. SeaWings sit as the overall largest dragon tribe, weighing the most on average. However, MudWings are dimensionally taller/wider, despite sitting at second heaviest.

SeaWings, despite having a thick layer of fat to insulate them, are incredibly muscular. Their tails especially; a SeaWing's tail is capable of breaking the bones of another dragon with enough force put into its swing.

While they do have wings that can be used for flight, they lack the appropriate wing musculature for extended air travel. Their wings are shaped in a way that allows them to catch ocean currents and ride them.

Unlike most other dragons, SeaWings have quite small scales, somewhat like fish.

A great portion of a SeaWing's scales have the ability to produce light. While not entirely obvious when only a few scales are lit, an average SeaWing with determination can light up a room with their luminescence. Aside from a handful in some places, most SeaWings are able to produce small lightshows across their scales, controlling the shapes the light of their scales make. Some SeaWings prefer to light up in spirals or starbursts, while others may prefer splotches or stripes. This is similar to RainWings' ability to change their scale color at will (and into any pattern they choose), but with light!

While they are primarily water-breathing, they are very capable of air-breathing when necessary. However, they rely on staying hydrated. Most SeaWings will trap water in pockets within their gills, and seal them shut if they plan to be away from water for extended periods. A SeaWing with empty gills can only be away from water for a few hours, while a SeaWing with full gills can be away from water for up to 2 days. Their gills can be refilled by drinking water, but they find it much faster to submerge.

SeaWing jaws have the ability to extend forward out of their mouths when they take large bites; similar to Goblin Sharks. Their jaw naturally retracts inward when their mouth is closed. For small bites, their jaw does not extend outward enough to be very noticeable.

When training for combat against a SeaWing, many dragons are warned that a SeaWing's looks can be deceiving; with this jaw mechanism, they can reach farther than you would expect. Just when you think you're out of reach, they've got you in their grip.

SeaWings can physically vary depending on a lot of factors, and are one of the most diverse dragon tribes.

They are one of only a few dragons with sexual dimorphism; female SeaWings (if they have sensory organs) have two pairs of 'whiskers' extending from their snouts, while males only have one pair. Female SeaWings also tend to be larger than males.

Deepwater SeaWings are one of the rarer variations of SeaWings; they frequent the deepest depths of the SeaWing kingdom and prefer to stay where it's dark. They tend to be very dark shades of blue, purple, green, and red; but their accents are often reds, pinks, yellows, and greens.

Deepwater SeaWings have the best night vision of all SeaWings, and their eyes are fairly translucent-looking, giving them an eerie gaze. They also have the brightest luminescence of any SeaWing, and their glow can be seen from very far away.

Surface SeaWings are the most common type of SeaWing found in the tribe. They frequent the open ocean and are vibrant hues of blues and sea greens. Their accents are usually green, orange, yellow, or red (rarely). Surface SeaWings lack the distinct 'whisker' sensory organs, since the visibility of their most frequented region is high. Their night vision is adequate, but not ideal for the deepest depths, or the darkest nights.

Freshwater SeaWings are the lightest in color; mostly sky-blues, light pinks or greys, and near whites. They're pearlescent and smooth, almost like fish. Freshwater SeaWings prefer the crisp coolness of fresh water in their gills; inhabiting deep rivers and pristine inland lakes, like Lake Crystal (headcanon). But, they are happy living alongside ocean SeaWings as well. When a Freshwater SeaWing wants to join the ocean side of the kingdom, they must undergo acclimation by spending time in brackish water, to adjust their gills to the salt.

Freshwater SeaWings have the least luminescence and minimal night vision. Their night vision is adequate for nights with half moons or fuller, but any darker and they tend to struggle.

Culture

SeaWings are spread throughout Pyrrhia, far and wide. Despite being the largest dragon species, their population is staggering due to the abundance of water (uninhabited by other tribes), and food.

While all SeaWings are ruled by one queen, they are broken up into many different living situations. Freshwater SeaWings prefer the comfort of inland territory, living as far north as the IceWing Kingdom. Ocean SeaWings tend to stick to the luxuries their original territory near the queen's palaces.

In olden days, there were smaller palaces in large inland lakes. Queens would send their relatives — usually nieces and daughters — to rule and watch over the Freshwater half of their tribe. If their relatives succeeded in their trial ruling, they would be ready to challenge the queen herself for the total rule of the entire tribe. This is an occurrence that has long since been retired due to Queen Coral's caution about her daughters' whereabouts; although the princesses have considered reinstating this tradition and making it a peaceful ascension through ruler's trial, like RainWings. (Anemone thanks Tamarin for the idea.)

Nowadays, the old freshwater palaces are communal spaces, manufacturing plants, or major hospitals; where SeaWings gather to help one another and create various essentials.

Despite the vastly different lifestyles of each type of SeaWing, there is surprisingly very little friction between them. SeaWings regularly commune with each other no matter their region of origin, and several members of SeaWing royalty are even mix-breeds of freshwater, surface, or deep water. (Some SeaWings are a bit more judgemental though.)

SeaWing tradition calls for a special ceremony whenever a member of the tribe wishes to life-partner with another dragon. In this ceremony, the SeaWings will celebrate for 3 nights.

On the first night, the pair of SeaWings will celebrate their partnership with friends; dancing and feasting. On the second night, the pair will celebrate with family; introducing one another and receiving blessing and honor from parents and siblings. On the third night, the pair celebrates by themselves, in a Moonlight serenade at the water's surface. They swim and glide and dance, and ask the moon Imperial for its blessing in their partnership. If Imperial remains clear and visible for the duration of the serenade, they take it as an omen that their partnership will be successful.

During royal ceremonies, the Moonlight Serenade takes place above the palace, where the moonlight can shine through the open skylight, and the kingdom can dance with them. The water will also be lit with bioluminescent plankton, creating a beautiful and unforgettable scene.

#wof #wof tribe redesign #seawing #sea dragon #wings of fire

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luaveltarot · 1 year

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🪞ᑭᗩᑕ🪞: ᗯᕼᗩT ᗪO YOᑌ ᒪOOK ᗷEᔕT Iᑎ?

🪩🪄✨📸

ᑭIᒪE 1

Chaotic Art Academia/ Trendy Dark 🧲💣

Lol your style is the complete opposite of your selection of image which is the red necklace. It’s funny but let’s talk about what you look really good in. Ok so you are my simple 90’s minimalist chic girlies.

You look best in black but your other wardrobe faves could be denim, white, tan, grey and light blue. Your black/tan statement flat or mules go with just any outfit so keep wearing them. I see you have the masculine boss look to you which is again ironical with the pic you’ve chosen (I’m sorry, i don’t want to sound like a broken tape recorder but you get it, right?). Your black bodysuit looks really nice with tan trousers. Your oversized blazer enhances your style even more. I get that people love your choice in handbags, sling bags etc. You can still wear your white shoes everywhere, it goes with everything.

You accessories your outfit less, one ring , a bracelet and a watch does the job on most days for you (which is a lot for you ik). Your hair looks best when you leave them as they are and don’t fret over it being perfect and neat from all sides. You look tamed even with wild hair so don’t stress about it.　

ᑭIᒪE 2

Colourful trendy/ oh so miss perfect 🧸🛍

You like solid colour outfits and co-ord sets. You have a light and warmth to your fashion. It’s breezy, flowy and one feels bright when they look at you. You have a thing for light shades.

You look so hot if you wear turquoise liner to your eyes. You have a good sense of eye make up. You look your best in off-white and cream coloured shades. Coral, rust, latte and peach; shades of sunsets at a beach kind. You look feminine and in your power in midi dresses or tucked tops and midi skirts. Turtle neck tops and parallel trousers/ short skirts with belt accentuates your lean figure and you look taller.

You should wear heels often, it looks good on you. I don’t feel you are much of an accessory fan may be just a classy earring, also I think you don’t need accessories since your make up holds all the glamour. Instead I get you are more into hair accessories like hair scarves and hats. You understand your style very well so I don’t need to say anything more.

ᑭIᒪE 3

The hippie baby/ colourful vintage 🎨 🗝

Colourful butterflies or should I say vibrant chameleons ( not in a bad way,I just feel whatever you wear , that colour looks good on you). I get aquatic kind of neon colours, something that catches the eye. You wear colours related to water, wellness and nature.

You look best in pink-orange colours and light blue- dark blue colours, shades of sea and candy pink. You look best in patterned clothes which have a boho edge. You look elegant and put together in skirts with crop tops and even an oversized jumpsuit. I don’t get any specific styles that you look best in because you have many styles, your mood reflects in your outfits and you like to dress accordingly. Though you could look great in floral patterned clothes, beach prints and abstract arts.

You are into accessories, you match your bags, footwear and glasses accordingly. You could like to wear rings in all fingers and if you don’t then you should try it, I feel it will make you more chic even if you choose to dress lazily.

ᑭIᒪE 4

Boss chic/ Flashlight on you 🔦 📸

You have Capricorn placements? A prominent mercury or a moon sign. You are a fashionista and have the model look,no matter your size, right, colour or hair texture. You have a look that turns people’s head. Your colours are silver, gold, purple, blue , yellow and red.

You look best in striped tucked button up shirt and dark blue jeans. You can have shoulder length hair and it looks exquisite. You can even wear a gold pendant or chain frequently or always which make you look dapper and elite. Your aura is really surreal with specs of silver and gold making you look beautiful.

You should wear boots often because that will accentuate your outfit. Try a kimono if you haven’t or leave your shirt unbuttoned and wear a vest underneath. Also a crystal ring or crystal bracelet covered in some metal will suit you. You look hot in two piece sets too.

ᑭIᒪE 5

Travel beauty/ ‘Who is that charming girl ?’ They say 🤳💅🏼

You are a true beauty even when you feel you look homeless. You have the, ‘who is that girl?’ Look, especially at airports and in grocery stores or even the girl who just passed by. You remind me of the meme where a guy who is with a girl has turned his head to look at the other girl lol. Your social media got many stalkers too haha.

You look the best in all white but if you want colours then wear a black top and red skirt with pencil heels. I also see that you look best in brown and black. You have an air of innocence in your dressing style which is draws in people like bees to honey.

For accessories your would look nice in caps, sunglasses, a watch but that doesn’t mean you don’t have to wear jewellery, you can wear earrings and necklaces but I just feel you look pretty in simple styles with light make up and branded high quality clothes.

ᑭIᒪE 6

Ancient witch / mythological goddess 🪄

You have a traditional look to you. You look gorgeous in your ethnic clothes or from the culture you belong to. I feel when you dress up in your social standings, you stand out. Then when you wear casual clothes for regular days people are taken aback by your transformation because one minute you looked so transitional and next you look like a model posing for brands in pictures.

You look best in traditional outfits as mentioned before, besides that you look really cute like kittens in dresses. You look pretty in sleeveless tops and relaxed fit straight jeans. Even a beach resort shirt with a sports vest and cargo pants. You look best when you have a sporty vibe to your personality.

You should leave your hair open mostly and a pair of earrings in accessories will accentuate your outfit enough to make you look just enough. Colours like orange and yellow look good on you too.

ᑭIᒪE 7

Fairy in the forest 🧚🏻 / Invisible crown Queen 👑

For some reason I feel that people find you unreal and unique in your fashion. You give off the severity vibes with the way you dress that people feel they’ve encountered a beautiful garden where there are many flowers and greenery.

You look best in pastel/nude colours and especially floral prints. You should wear the nude pink dress with little floral prints, even I feel enchanted by your presence. Even fur clothes make you look attractive.

For accessories, you should wear pearls because it will give you the moon glow and go well with your pastel outfits. If you have been feeling like colouring your hair then take this sign as a yes you can and also don’t cut your hair short. Your hair holds all the beauty.

ᑭIᒪE 8

Mermaid around the corals 🪸 / Angelic Baby👼

You look so sweet and dreamy. You look beautiful in shimmery clothes or see through tops. Crochet knit tops, trousers and skirts.

You should incorporate more of shiny pinks and turquoise colours in your wardrobe. Also purple is your colour. Clothes with shells or accessories with shells will enhance your personality

Stop being shy and dress as you wish girl. I feel you hesitate a lot in dressing authentically. Embrace your ethereal beauty, stop being the mermaid who hides in the abyss of darkness to protect herself from intruders. You can look beautiful and still be in limelight, please don’t shy away.

ᑭIᒪE 9

Bad bitch who is all money 💰/ luxury femme fatale

You dress expensive. You have all the trendy high brand clothes which most people can only eye. You have all luxe accessories and make up products.

You look best in everything because all your clothes screams money and let’s admit, expensive clothes look good on everyone. Your silver dress, silver boots with silver earrings will look best just in case you ever felt confused about what to wear.

Don’t forget to paint your nails red because you are the classy and elite chickkkk. Always and I mean always wear necklaces and a heavy ring because they are meant to be shown off and not to be kept in drawers.

Thanks for reading. Have a lovely day or night wherever you are. Sending you love and healing energy:)

#divination #tarot #tarot reading #pac #pick a pile #tarotblr #witch #pick a card #tarot witch #witchy #luaveltarot #tarot community #pick a card reading

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