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softlyspector · 8 months

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Moss & Mushrooms

Written for Haunted Hoedown !

Prompt(s): animal shapeshifter au + "he's a monster" + "he's perfect". With the additional prompts of "I accidentally called you into this world" + gothic au

Summary: You are alone, always. Then, one day, a beast emerges from the forest you've never dared to go into.

Pairing: shapeshifter!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Word count: ~4.2k

Warnings: toxically co-dependent, unhealthy, literal nightmare relationship, body horror (also shapeshifter transformation type of things), graphic descriptions of violence, lots of blood, smut, marking, pain kink, light choking, intense biting, possessiveness, devotion and loyalty that threaten to go too far, mentions of death, suicidal ideation, intense loneliness, the reader wears a dress, the reader is described with having scars, bruises, only very lightly edited

A/N: I wanna say thank you to @psychedelic-ink and @inklore for hosting the Haunted Hoedown writing challenge because this really got the creative juices flowing and it was also just a lot of fun to write. Anyway! I'm throwing this into the void and running away. Thanks for reading!

Something monstrous looms.

It has claws and teeth, bristling fur.

It emerges from the shadows with a growl, from the depths of the ever whispering forest, the ever murmuring leaves.

Wind whips the trees back as darkness encroaches on the garden. You stand on the edge of the balcony, the widow’s walk, and watch it emerge from the forest, the writhing mass of dark trees, battered by the brewing storm, the thorny, irritated air.

The wind sears your skin, so cold it burns, so violent it tears.

The sky churns violet, navy, midnight. White moonlight cuts through the clouds, fingers of forked lightning spear through the roiling mass.

The creature writhes.

A wolf the size of a moose, you realize. Larger than any beast should be.

It’s nails dig into the earth, a howl like a thousand years of pain wrapped in velvet echo across the yard, across the churning ocean that crashes against the seawall on the other side of the house.

Your belly knots up, a thrill tingles at the base of your spine. You are alone on the coast. Your nearest neighbor is miles away. At least, they used to be, anyway.

A storm is rolling in, the power flickering already in the ruinous house you call home, gothic and stately and in utter disrepair.

It’s falling apart. Any moment it may fall to the ground, it may sink into the sea.

The wolf’s howl breaks off, cracks, snaps.

What if it prowled closer to the house? What if it came onto the porch below? What if it threw itself against the door, shattered its way inside? What if it attacked you? Consumed you?

All the blood in your face rushes down, gathers hotly in your chest. It thrills you, the thought of being trapped by the beast, the thing crawling closer to the house, lithe body sleek in the moonlight, in the gathering storm. It thrills you to think of it snapping you open, prying you apart, ending your misery.

You have the urge to go downstairs, open the door and invite it in. It could carve your heart out with its teeth, you could eat it together. Blood dripping from your chin, it’s maw.

You would no longer be alone on this stretch of coast beneath you, threatening to consume you and leave your bones behind, like all the others that had come before you. You could live inside the wolf.

The cracking, snapping continues. A howl begins again, then chokes off. The smooth coat of fur jostles. The creature stumbles, falls halfway across the garden. The noise continues, like twigs snapped and rocks thrown.

You watch the grotesque movement, fascinated, blood pumping, heart racing. The howl transforms into a moan, and then, the cracking, writhing stops. Your eyes are wide open but in the space of a blink the monster is replaced with a man.

Before you can really consider what you’re doing, you fetch up the lantern by your elbow and fly back through the double doors to the staircase that winds down through the many floors of the ancient house.

Something laughs, but you don’t pause to find out what. The fluttering wings of cobwebs and dust chase you down, down, down. Moss and mushrooms sprout from the damp of the walls, watching with hungry eyes.

You know as your bare feet hit the main floor and the white of your dress swirls around your ankles, that even if you had paused to think it over, you’d still be here, pulling open the back door as the electricity flickers out and the rain finally comes crashing down from the sky.

The lantern falls from your hand and you bolt out into the rain.

The beast, the man, is beautiful.

You can tell even through the sleeting, hammering rain blurring your vision.

The whole world is dark and wet. The whole of the earth is soaked in chilled blood. And you and the creature are the last of the warm bodies to stand atop it.

You curl one hand under his naked bicep and pull.

The man is nude. He’s hard to make out in the dark and the rain and the howling, snarling wind.

He follows you though, follows the touch of your hand, the press of your fingertips, like you are a glow of light in a dark tunnel and he the moth.

The earth squelches beneath your feet, mud squeezes between your toes and tugs at the hem of your dress.

He follows you up the decaying back stairs, straight through the still open doors, gauzy curtains fluttering in the storm winds, ripping at their fastenings.

As soon as you’re inside, the din of the rain is muted. The air is heavy with salt, like blood is in the air, like a sea of red has spilled across the dilapidated floorboards.

All you want is to look at him, but violence breaks loose from the monster turned man.

His hands are large, veiny and thick and crushing when he backs you into a wall.

He is naked in his entirety, and you can’t stop your eyes from spilling down his body. He cages you against the wall, thick forearms and biceps pressing you in tight. His chest is broad, littered with a smattering of wiry, dark hair. Scars criss cross his arms, his shoulders. Broad shoulders lead to a tapered waist and strong thighs.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight of his cock, half hard and nestled in a thatch of dark hair. He’s big, thick.

You should not want this monster, this man without a name that has been gifted to you by a storm that seemed to be conjured right out of hell.

But he has been. He is yours.

He has been gifted to you.

Not the storm, you think. The forest. The dark green, solid black interior, has given him to you.

You can feel him, feel his soul, like fishing line connects you, is tied to the ventricles of your heart and his. If you pull away, it will tear, it will rip.

Your thighs ache. Tingling wanting sweeps from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. There’s a hollow space inside your belly, growling, hungry. Your pussy clenches and you almost reach for him.

The force of the wind blows a window open, slams it into a wall where it shatters with the impact. You glance into the stranger’s face, your eyes jerking up to his. He’s dripping with rainwater, hair slicked back from his forehead, black and gray in the moonlight, in the darkness of the storm and the house and your heart.

He looks, for all the world, like someone you once knew.

You can’t place who, water dripping into your eyes.

One hand curls around your throat, and your eyes flutter closed at the sensation. You shudder when your heels leave the floor. He lifts you until you’re left on your tiptoes, gasping.

You’ve never been lifted before, not in any kind of way, and certainly not like this. He’s strong, much too strong.

His eyes are dark, swallowed by black pupils. His teeth pull back from his lips in a snarl, white teeth flashing.

Maybe you don’t recognize him after all.

The darkness in his gaze makes you want to sink into the blank spots flashing in your vision. You force yourself to suck in a breath, force yourself not to get lost like a little lamb.

“Why did you call me here?”

His voice is deep and gritty. It’s a voice you would like to plunge your hands into, tweak into a melody, or something far more sinister.

“I didn’t,” you say. “How could I?”

He has crinkles by his eyes, the tops of his cheeks. His forehead is wrinkled with tension. His beard is mostly gray, his lips pink, like the only spot of color.

He’s beautiful.

And you want him so bad, you would let him pluck the veins from your body one by one if it meant he would keep looking at you, if it meant his attention was on you alone.

His gaze slides from your face to your body. Your dress is plastered to your frame with rainwater, wet and sticking. The white has been made transparent and there’s nothing left to his imagination. You may as well be nude. Goosebumps race across your skin.

The monster releases your throat and instead leans into you, his body so hot it burns. He inhales against you, his nose just below your ear. All you can do is hang on, dig blunt nails into the flesh of his shoulders. You feel the twist of muscle beneath your fingers, the sinewy pull of tendon along his spine.

The scent of rain and earth surrounds you, blood and pine. Like the forest just bore him into the world, like he is new.

Your taut nipples brush against his chest, lightning careening through your body. The ache between your thighs grows steadily, makes you twitch forward into him.

His stiff cock presses against your center, and you feel him inhale against your throat, bitten off in a growl that rocks the floorboards of the old house.

The earth shakes, like it’s thinking of cracking open to swallow you both down.

When he sinks his teeth into the juncture of your shoulder and throat, you groan. His bites so hard, your vision blurs with the pain. Your pussy clenches hard nothing and your hips rock forward into him, seeking pleasure to go along with the pain.

“This what you wanted?” He asks when he pulls his mouth away, hips rutting against yours. He licks over the wound, breathes you in again.

The wet fabric of your dress does little to dull the sensation, does nothing to protect you from the fire that looms inside.

You had it wrong, you are not a flame to his moth. You are a raindrop against a forest fire.

“I can fuckin’ smell what you want.” Blood sweeps down your neck in a heady rush, it soaks the front of your dress. His lips are red when he pulls back.

You tilt your chin back and nod, drunk on him, on the storm lashing at the house. “I missed you,” you say, and somehow it’s true. The twine that connects you to him pulls tighter and harder until you cry out, and you have to wonder if you did call him from some dark otherworld, if you made him from clay and darkness and saltwater and now he’s yours.

His eyes are familiar, the amber ring so small his eyes seem black.

Iron hot hands grip your hips, jerk you against him.

You’re nothing in his hands, incorporeal, like a ghost, like the world ended a long time ago and you’ve just been waiting to be found again.

Moss blooms on your soul, overtakes your lungs and your heart and your ribs, it consumes you and the house and the whole world.

There’s a tenderness in the way he lowers you to the floor, rotting planks of wood pressed into your spine. Your dress is rucked up around your waist.

The bulk of him settles heavily over you, his tongue sweeps against the mark he left on your shoulder. Something agonizingly loud chases the gods across the sky when he growls at the taste.

“We’re going to drown,” you breathe, air caught up in your chest. You clutch him closer, feel the bare press of his cock against your cunt for the first time, strong hands cradling your thighs, your hips. A shudder rakes up your spine, slices you open at the throat.

The monster answers, “Missed you, too.” He tugs down your bloodied collar, gaze sinking into your skin, sticking like a knife in your ribs. One huge hand passes over your breasts, pinches your nipples between rough fingertips until you cry out.

He’s inside you in one thrust. It hurts but that’s okay, because it means you aren’t alone. It means someone is finally at home with you.

He sets a brutal pace, grips you by your hips and then your ribs. Clawed fingers sink into your ribs, carve out pieces of your flesh, until more blood blooms. It's beautiful, like flowers opening in rain.

He covers your mouth with his when you scream and the whole world breaks apart.

He doesn’t know your name. He doesn’t want to know it. Doesn’t want to know what to call such a lonely little thing. Doesn’t want to know what to call something so powerfully alone, something so lost in loneliness it called him from one world into the next.

The rain hasn’t stopped. It pounds against the side of the house, against the weathered, creaking wood.

You carry a candle, body and hair and clothes dry now. The flame whispers gently, gutters between your fingers. Hot melted wax trails over your knuckles.

“Is there something I can call you?” You crouch and tilt your head, kneeling next to him where he lies on the floor.

He thinks he’s on the third floor, the hallway. He doesn’t remember how he got there.

He’d give you his name if he remembered it.

The side of your neck is bruised with his teeth, the outline of his mouth indented in your flesh. The sight makes his cock jump.

He feels like he knows you, but maybe you just feel familiar because he’s broken you from the inside out.

He doesn’t answer and you don’t seem to expect one. Your warm hand touches his shoulder.

He wants to have you again. He’s hungry for the nectar of your flesh. You taste like the sea, like the gales that blow against the creaking, ancient house. Like salt and rainwater and lightning. He wants to dig his hands into you, into the meat of your lungs so he can feel you breathing, into the chambers of your heart so he can feel which direction your blood flows.

He wants to be the one to stop your heart mid-beat, so it could always be his.

Breaking open your ribs, sucking the marrow from the interior, taking a bite from your soul—he thinks you’d thank him for something like that.

Your scent has mellowed out a little. You smell just like you taste, and now it's undercut with him, with the muskiness of him and the lingering want between your legs.

Thunder cracks overhead, splits the world in two. You don’t so much as flinch and he covers your warm hand. The storm seems to perpetually hover right above the house. It’s been days, and it’s still there.

He’s still coated in mud and you, his bones still hurt from the transition from beast to beast.

You’re tempting, lit in lamplight and the reflected glow of the moon.

He wonders if the sun ever rises here.

“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t know how you’ll get home.”

You voice is like a song that reminds him—

Joel. The name comes to him with a flash of lightning.

“Joel,” he tells you. He wants you to know.

“Joel,” you repeat.

His name sets off something dangerous in his mind, kicks something possessive and protective alive.

His.

His, his, his.

You belong to him.

He twists, and pushes you back. The candle in your hand tumbles to the floor and goes out. “Joel,” you coo again. “Joel.”

He pushes your skirt up, sees the shine of want on your pussy, your pretty cunt, still puffy from the last time he fucked you. Your thighs are rubbed raw from his beard.

He licks you there, sucks your clit between his lips. You moan, your hips buck, and he doesn’t stop. He wants all of it, that musky taste of you in his mouth forever.

You taste like crystal seas, like blackened skies and fire and darkness.

“Joel,” you say his name, you pant his name. Fingers tangle in his hair, yank so hard he snarls against you. “I want it to hurt.”

So, he makes it hurt.

The water in the bathtub is warm. He can see the steam rising around you in drafts.

He likes looking at you, softly bruised on your thighs and hips, perpetual bite mark on your shoulder.

Joel likes watching the way you move. He likes the soft curves of your body, the peaks of your tight nipples, the elegant curve of your waist and neck. Your body is like a music note, or a question mark.

The house feels swollen, waterlogged and dense. Laughter and voices twist behind doors that lead to nothing and nowhere. Fungi and moss and creeping vines claw at the walls of the house, rotting wood threatening to give out with agonized moans. There are moldering photos and paintings in the halls and bedrooms that he can’t quite look at. Rainwater seeps through the cracks in the ceiling.

“It used to be beautiful,” you say to him about the house, running a pristinely white washcloth reverently over the bite on your shoulder, then the scratches over your ribs. His scratches, his marks. “The sky was always blue. Everything inside was clean and light and everything outside was green and fresh.” You look at him, sitting in the dark beside the bathtub. “But that’s all over, now.”

The thread coiled around his head gives a twinge. “You were married,” he says. He knows things about you that he shouldn’t and he wonders if he really came from otherworld, or if you created him with grief and love and loneliness.

“He died,” you confirm. “The world ended. And then the rot crept in.”

Joel stands and your chest hitches as you stare up at him. He pushes down the trousers you gave him, that fit him just right, and climbs into the water with you.

You gasp and then tears are sliding down your cheeks. You must be wondering the same thing—if you called him here or created him.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that you open your legs and let him fuck you again, water spilling over the side of the bathtub, soaking the floor.

What matters is that you are his and he yours.

Your eyes flutter closed, your lips part, when his hand closes around your throat.

The house is like a prison, but you make it into something livable.

The moon and sun do rise, here in this foreign, familiar place. Candles weigh down every surface, and the lights stay off. Neither of you seem to want them on.

The sea crashes violently against the seawall, the sharp teeth of jagged rocks jut up from the bottom, like the mouth of Charybdis. You loom in the window some days, watching the swirling water with lust in your eyes, like you’d like to dive into it.

He can’t help but notice the widow’s walk is on the wrong side of the house. It faces the forest, not the sea, like the house has turned its back on the world, too. The forest whispers, trembles.

He always pulls you back from the edge, fucks you until you can’t take him anymore, until you’re crying and limp and the wire tied up inside him goes loose.

You ask him to leave once. You tell him he could figure it out, how to go home, but his devotion to you is total now, his loyalty is to you alone. Home is here, in the house swelling with moisture, with you picking herbs and sliding your fingers along the crowns of fungi like they’re beloved pets.

You are his altar, his god; the vision, the future.

Even thinking about leaving causes something in his chest to pang so hard he doubles over, that thing tied to you.

“Are you still lonely?” he asks, when his cock is inside you and his mouth leaves a new bite on your bicep. “I enough for you?”

“You’re everything,” your eyes roll back, slip closed. He cups your breast in his hand, sucks your nipple into his mouth and thinks of the straits of his heart. Your chest heaves against his lips. He still wants to break you, to tear open your chest, just to live inside it.

Devoted.

It’s a good word. He’d keep you safe, even from himself.

Your pussy twitches around him, clenching weakly. “Am I enough for you?” You make him lift his head, hands cupped under his chin. “Could I ever be?”

You don’t know. You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.

You don’t know how devoted he is. That he would kill for you, die, that he wants to live amongst your bones now.

The ancient house gives a groan, the rain comes down harder. He thrusts into you and you whine. “Will you leave?” Your voice is pathetically small.

The house trembles, like it’s afraid too and is threatening to crumble into the sea with both of you inside.

“Never.”

One day, the rain goes light and foamy, the sky turns slate gray. It's almost a sunny day.

Someone else emerges from the woods.

Joel turns to you. You’re still on the bed, snaked through with vines and green, naked, covered in him. His spend shimmers between your thighs, on your cunt. Sweat shines between your breasts and at the base of your throat and he wants you again.

“What did you do?” He snarls.

“Nothing.”

He watches the man, not beast, stumble closer.

Jealous heat rises in his chest. You’ve called forth another man. Consciously or unconsciously, he’s there.

“What d’ya want me to do?” Joel sounds desperate and he doesn’t care.

You don’t answer, you rise from the clean white of the sheets and go down the steps in all your naked glory. He follows, watches the jiggle of your ass, the movement of your back and waist, the weight of your breasts. The scars his nails left on your ribs reassure him.

You belong to him, he is yours. He would kill you both, to keep you safe from others.

No stranger would change that. Whatever your heart needed, that had conjured something else, another man, from the deep of the shimmering, knowing, rustling woods, he would become it, give it to you.

The man is kind and soft.

He needs help.

You talk to him, and Joel watches him lean in, eyes never straying from yours even though you are bare to the cold wind. “Is he hurting you?” The newcomer asks.

Joel doesn’t hear your answer. He feels the wire around his heart tug, the sharp echoing sting makes you gasp and clutch at the railing. The new man has no reaction and all the jealous possessive feelings immediately settle. If his heart wasn’t tied to yours, he wasn’t meant to stay.

He was a lesson for Joel.

The man’s eyes go to Joel then to you. “He’s a monster, miss.”

You shake your head. “He’s perfect.”

You turn and walk back to him. You touch Joel’s shoulder, curl your fist into his t-shirt. “Joel,” you say softly. You touch his cheek. “I know why he came.”

“I do too.” He stands there a moment longer, kisses your fingers when you press them against his mouth. “What d’ya want me to do?” He asks again.

You glance over your shoulder, then back into his eyes. “I want you to kill him, Joel.”

You watch the beast kill the man.

Then, you watch the beast break its bones, reform its skin, to come back to you.

And when he does, he tells you that was his lesson.

His hands are stained red, blood seeps into your skin. Joel pushes into you, soft and slow. He doesn’t hurt you, even when you tell him to. “You need a kind hand, girl,” he tells you. “You’ve lived by the sea for too long.”

Tears come first, pleasure without pain for the first time in years comes second.

He touches you with red printed fingers. The sheets are covered in the blood of a stranger that taught you a lesson. “Are you hurt?” You ask.

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

He looks at you with those eyes, dark and knowing and loyal. He would never admit to that. Instead, he says, “I would do it a thousand times.”

You stroke his cheek. “Do you think it was real? Do you think he was real?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Because I’m real, too.”

The forest gave him to you, to each other, so it must be real.

Joel must be real. You settle against him, and decide that’s true.

But don’t you ever wonder, you want to ask as you kiss his bare chest, what is in the forest? What is in the sea?

Don’t you wonder, you want to ask him, why you look so much like my husband?

💕 Thank you for reading! Comments, replies, and reblogs are so appreciated. 💕

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us #haunted hoedown

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actual-changeling · 7 months

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Crowley watches him silently, motionless, and with his shades securely in place. If he has been counting correctly, and he rather assumes he has, then Aziraphale has been talking uninterruptedly for twenty-five minutes and two seconds now.

Three seconds.

"…so, I'm sorry, Crowley. I'm so, so sorry."

He is wringing his hands, unable to stand still, and shifting his weight slightly from foot to foot, searching for Crowley's gaze and failing. The sudden silence feels almost odd, the expectation rolling off Aziraphale in waves even more so, only infinitely heavier, and for a moment, he entertains the thought playing the part Aziraphale has thrust upon him.

But only for a moment.

"Right," Crowley responds, tightening his grip on the door and pressing his other palm against the frame, effectively barring Aziraphale from entering like he has been for the last twenty-six minutes.

"Anything else?"

Confusion wrinkles his forehead, and his fingers no longer turn his ring round and round over a stretch of reddened skin. Maybe it is the utter monotony of Crowley's voice or the lack of reaction in general, but Aziraphale seems, finally, at a loss for words. His mouth opens and closes a few times, his eyebrows knitting together, and Crowley allows him another thirty seconds of patient waiting, after which he calls it a day.

"Great."

He steps back and closes his front door, normally and without slamming it, locks it, and then miracles up a deadbolt for good measure, before picking up his cup of coffee from the chest of drawers (still hot if it knows what's good for it) and strolling back to the living room.

Eighteen months. A year and a half. Another apocalypse is dawning on the world, but if there is anything the last six millennia have taught him, it's that humanity will fix it anyway; they have a knack for that, always outsmarting heaven and hell alike. Well, and him, since he is neither here nor there—so, a special mention to the former angel slash demon Crowley, thank you very much.

A familiar pain tugs at his stomach nevertheless, a faded lightning bolt of distress shivers down his spine, and Crowley sinks into the cushions with a sigh, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table and pressing play on Queer Eye again. The ache will never fully disappear, but it has lessened, and he has learned how to live with it, how to breathe around the crudely stitched-up black hole in his chest.

Aziraphale left, and Crowley stayed. It's really simple, in hindsight, and after weeks of moping and crying, being completely wasted for days at a time, and overall being so miserable, every single one of his plants stopped being scared and became concerned instead, Crowley had picked himself off the floor and kept moving.

Not moving on is worse, Nina had told him during one of their board game nights (none of them can resist Muriel's angelic puppy eyes in that regard, and it is, admittedly, kind of fun), and she had been right.

He still loves him, fuck, of course he does; he doubts he will ever stop. Yet if Aziraphale thinks showing up uninvited and monologuing without pause for twenty-five minutes is going to fix anything, he is sorely mistaken.

'Listen, do you hear that?'

'I don't hear anything.'

Ironic, somehow, that Aziraphale is still not listening to him. Crowley will wait because it's Aziraphale, because he loves him, because despite everything, he is fucking lonely and misses him enough to be tempted to take him back without any apologies whatsoever.

Just tempted, though. His barricades and well-practiced self-control are going strong.

He has to be sure this time. He has to be sure that Aziraphale won't break him again, because the most recent incident almost killed him, and Crowley loves earth, loves him—but he has to love himself more than he loves his angel, or it will destroy them both.

Jonathan van Ness gives some poor sod a new haircut, Crowley drinks his piping hot coffee, and Aziraphale goes home.

It's a nice Tuesday, all things considered.

i'm sorry but also not :)

#alex writes good omens #good omens #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale #good omens season 2 #go2 #aziracrow #crowley x aziraphale #ineffable divorce #good omens ficlet

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itshype · 1 year

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Navigate any storm, with nothing but the stars to guide you (DC x DP)

Hello! My other dc x dp notfic blew up overnight so here’s another one (this is not a part 2 but here is the link to Kingmaker, Kingbreaker, Crowntaker, Realmshaker where Danny is an important political ghost figure)

So, there are only a few Astronaut!Danny fics and most of them don’t quite land with me. They’re really good, but a lot of them have Danny getting his job at NASA because of his ghost powers. And like, nothing about Danny’s arc/s ever hints to me that he would show up to a government agency and give them a full rundown of his abilities – even for his dream job.

So instead of a protection-obsessed Danny, his Obsession develops as wanting to go to space. So, he’ll still fight the ghosts because he’s not a psycho with no regard for human life, but these fights aren’t a priority to him the same way in canon. Instead, Danny fights a lot dirtier, goes to 10 a lot faster – instead of it being a rarely used ability, his go-to is the Ghostly Wail in round one of a fight because it’ll get everything over nice and quick. He needs great grades to even enter the space program let alone astronaut training.

Because of this, Danny isn’t getting involved in problems just because ghosts are involved.

Did he turn the portal on for the first time? Yes.

Is it his responsibility because his parents refuse to add security or even just turn it off when not in use? Absolutely not!

There’ll definitely be a short-term dip in Danny’s grades but he plays up the “I was in a lab accident” thing to his school (actually more like he just didn’t cover it up) and can get extra credit or whatever (in Australia they’d just ignore the assignments you missed/failed and make your average from everything else but Teen Wolf fics often go on about extra credit so lets whack that in for Cultural Authenticity). But after that, Danny only gets involved if it’s getting really dangerous out there because he can’t skip this test/miss this homework etc.

Because of this, Phantom would probably be a lot more popular. Instead of running around and chasing ghosts and causing damage, he shows up like a Deus ex Machina when people are terrified, and lives are at risk. Downside is probably that Amity calls him Invis-o-bill for a while longer – he still wants to go by Phantom but correcting people isn’t his priority.

Also, his obsession makes his crush for Paulina turn off because I never found that a fun storyline. Also, when he gets in trouble for Dash’s bad behaviour he fights back against Dash and/or the teachers because “There’s a new documentary about theoretical White Holes tonight and our DVR gained sentience and ran off, so I have to watch it live.”

Downside of all these great changes? Jazz. In canon it takes ages for Danny to find out she saw his death-event. But in this, Danny’s personality changes are a lot more evident and drastic. I still don’t think the parents would suspect anything because my opinion of them is so far down it popped out of the other side of the Earth and spun off into the cosmos.

Jazz wants to be a psychologist. ‘Drastic changes in behaviour and personality’ are the early warning signs for hundreds of things from bipolar disorder, to drugs, to schizophrenia, sexual assault or joining a gang. She would be less likely to blow this off I think than in canon where his personality changes can be explained a lot more easily with “moody teen being taught by teachers who are on the bully’s side.” She figures out what’s happening a lot earlier. She doesn’t love that her baby brother is a ghostly hero, but his grades are great and it’s pretty hard to say “No you should let the town be destroyed and get a part-time job instead.”

So then, when the GIW come to town to try and set up, everyone is like “oh yeah, sure, go for it, except for Phantom, he’s our little meow meow.”

The GIW try to attack him anyway and the responding retaliation from Casper high students and most adults is so violent and extreme that the GIW mark the town as being completely 100% possessed with the hopes that they’ll get carte blanche to attack anyone they want in Amity (mostly because they’re petty manchildren).

However, declaring open season on an entire town is a bit much and all this ecto-nonsense is pretty new so the fear hasn’t 100% set into the administration. So instead, the President contacts the Justice League who call in the Justice League Dark (the magic department of the Justice League).

They’re probably freaked out but then Oracle finds footage of the ‘Possession attack on government agents’ from a security camera or something and Constantine is immediately like “None of those people are possessed, hope that helps, I have to go I’m late for a booty call with Beelzebub.”

MEANWHILE!!! Jazz has started coming to fights when she can (dressed like a real Fenton ghosthunter – Dad is so proud) and loudly announcing their insecurities because we know that psychic damage can actually cause ghosts to physically change (i.e. when Cujo is threatened he goes Big, when Spectra is satiated she appears more human, Amorpho’s whole thing). Within weeks, the less-evil ghosts want to make deals. I mean skulker and walker probably won’t want to concede, but the others get day-passes from the ghost zone like:

Ember can throw a concert and hypnotise everyone attending or streaming online but she has to let them go when the show is over.

Maybe Kitty can possess Jazz for a few hours for a date, or Tucker can build her a robot body assuming ghosts that aren’t Technus, master of all technology can possess electronics if they want to.

Eventually, Danny goes “Why is coming here so important, why do you go to so much effort and constraints to leave the Ghost Zone?”

And that’s when he finds out that the Ghost Zone is a ruthless, desolate place that’s awful and dangerous.

So, he calls the Justice League (Tucker gets him the number and he dials right into the Watchtower PA). And he essentially goes:

“I am Phantom, bridge between worlds. The ghosts of Amity Park were interfering with my Ghostly Dream and I have recently discovered that this is because the Infinite Realms is a sucky place to be. Can you fix it?”

The Justice League are thinking ‘wow two birds one stone and we get free amazing publicity!’ Then they talk to Constantine for two-point-five seconds, and he is all “It’s infinite, you morons, you can’t patch it up one villain at a time. Anyways I have to go sell my soul to a sixth party to prevent a magical demon war, peace out.”

So then, the Justice League are in Amity and tell Phantom that they’re very sorry but what he asked isn’t really feasible. And immediately they figure out that something is slightly off.

Now I stand by my headcanon that the Justice League wouldn’t immediately figure out Danny’s secret because there’s no real reason to think a ghost would have a secret identity. But just speaking to any of the halfas you can tell they’re different. Less obsessive, don’t go violent as fast etc.

Now, just because they don’t realise Danny is 50% human, does not mean they did no research. They looked him up and came across historical records made during his time travel jaunts and immediately reach the fairly reasonable conclusion that he’s special, more powerful and more human because he’s just that old. So they ask him why the ghost zone is like that and if it could be changed or fixed – even just a small portion of it for use by less aggressive ghosts.

Danny admits he has no idea, but they could all go find out because it was Sunday. None of the Justice League know why the day is relevant but through the combined powers of Sam, Tucker and Jazz, they manage to get his parents onto the other side of town while they enter the ghost zone.

They quickly find Ghost Writer, because he’s an under-utilised character. He explains that long, long ago the ghost zone was a much brighter place with a golden sunrise sky and an overflowing font of ectoplasm under the rule of the powerful King of the Infinite Realms – Inferna the Bright. But he was brutally overtaken by the disgusting Pariah Dark. Inferna never recovered and the entire zone changed, becoming dark and harsh like her master whose obsession was subjugation. Pariah was sealed away, but by a large group instead of in single combat. So technically he was still at the helm of the entire dimension.

If only there was another ghost, brave and powerful enough to defeat Pariah Dark. One strong enough to bear the helm of the Crown of Fire. One with an obsession that would transform the ghost realm into a place of wonder once more.

If only…

(TBC??)

(IN CASE IT WASN’T OBVIOUS, each King makes one artifact: Inferna was obsessed with the Sun but expressed it healthily, Pariah Dark was obsessed with winning and beating other people and expressed it terribly)

Also, fyi Inferna doesn’t just sound like Inferno but is also Latin for the Underworld, so the implication is that they were king for FOREVER before Pariah.

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bearsintreesofficial · 8 months

Text

a recreation of a sonic fanfiction i wrote when i was 10

ok y'all, some context is needed.

we have a song called cassiopeia coming out tonight. i made a tiktok that said if the sound for cassiopeia is used 100 times, i'll publish the sonic fanfiction i wrote when i was 10 that i joke about a lot but have never shared. anyway, this happened in an hour. i am shocked. i did not expect it to happen so quickly, if at all. i begin my search.

well, it turns out i can't publish it because the places it was published no longer exist, and 10 y/o me didn't back it up (although i thought i had). bummer. an early internet relic gone.

either way, the plot details are seared into my memory because honestly? for some reason, that small act of creativity was a core memory in my life. so while i can't share it, i can retell it, because it's silly and pretty accurately captures what it's like to be 10 and obsessed with a piece of popular media. so here goes.

enjoy, and stream our new single cassiopeia tonight.

SCENE OPENS

the fanfiction was about a page long. the story opens with me - in school, as i did most every day of my life up to that point. in the story, sonic/tails/knuckles live in the human world, and essentially function as superheroes. there's no explanation for it, they just are there keeping the earth safe and such. we are also friends. there is no explanation or backstory for that either.

with the setting established, we're straight into the action; an alien pod crash lands in our school playground after school. me and my friend are the only kids left. where are the teachers? who knows. as is evident, worldbuilding was not my strong point.

anyway, in this alien pod is...an alien. it was a spider that looked a lot like the facehuggers from the alien film franchise, because i'd seen a clip of that as a kid and it freaked the hell out of me. i call sonic (where did i get a mobile phone from?) and let him know something Serious is going down. sonic and tails arrive - knuckles is too busy trying to get the master emerald back from doctor robotnik in this instance.

my friend and i take a back seat and let sonic and tails deal with the weird alien thing. they deal with one, but as soon as they get rid of it 10 other capsules drop in the area. sonic and tails can't take them all, so me and my friend join in to help take them out. i didn't really account for how, but we're fighting all back to back and it's very epic. (sonic x was the prevailing sonic show at the time, and it was y'know - very dramatic. so this was like a scene from that.) tails even brings in the tornado two, his personal plane, to run rings around them. after we finish the final facehugger alien off, a final alien pod descends. but out of this pod emerges...

shadow the hedgehog.

the aliens had been sent by him, and he was here to take sonic down. this was all part of his master plan.

the piece then ended, because i suppose i was going to follow it up at some point. but alas, that did not happen.

moral(s) of the story:

archive the silly stuff you wrote when you were a kid, it'll be fun to look back on later.

stream our new song, cassiopeia. it has nothing to do with any of this, but i think it's neat regardless.

thank you.

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juneknight · 7 months

Text

•.Be Lost.• 2

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | Chapter 2.5

“You talk about them often enough. I feel like we should formally meet. What’s the equivalent of putting a face to a name, but with sex toys?” Marc asks, voice warm with mirth from the other end of the phone. It’s the only thing warm about living up here in the constant snowstorms. Your feet ache today from stomping around in the fields on the frozen earth. Even though Spring approaches on the calendar, you don’t yet feel it in the air.

You dread the thought of possibly having to delay your return home, to Marc, because of the weather.

Your box of sex toys (it’s a shoe box, yes, some nice Cat’s boots with steel in the toes and thick insulated soles, a half-size larger than usual to allow for thick wooly socks which you favored) sits on the bed. You no longer even owned the shoes, but the box was heavy, the lid bulging from two years of collecting an eclectic set of sex toys.

“I’ll show you. But I have rules,” you say, phone wedged between your shoulder and ear.

“I’m listening.” You can hear the smile in his voice, and it drives you nuts.

“One–absolutely no naming them. I’m serious. The last thing I want is to be trying to get off and remember that you named a certain dildo Colonel Mustard.”

“I’m more of a Professor Plum kind of guy anyway, but consider your objection noted.”

“No making fun of me of any kind. Not even light teasing.”

“Agreed.”

“And no questions.”

“That’s…yeah, I don’t think I can agree to that,” he says, surprising you given how amicable he’s been so far. “Can we agree on premeditated questions? Some basics that you answer for each of them?”

You purse your lips and sit down heavily on your bed. The box rattles beside you, lid almost coming off. “Depends on the questions, I guess.”

“When was the last time you used it, and your personal rating out of ten.”

You relax somewhat. Whatever you had been worried about Marc wanting to know—’gross, why that?’ or ‘who used that on you?’—disappears. Maybe it says something about the men you’ve been with lately that your first fear is that Marc will become jealous or judgemental. You should have known that Marc would be different. “Yeah, okay. That’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice growing firm. “I don’t want you to say something’s okay when it isn’t. That’s a big deal to me.”

“I’m sure, dad.”

Marc snorts. “Okay, champ. FaceTime. Let’s go.”

You press the button, and while it connects, you experience all five stages of grief, chewing on one of your thumbnails as you shift from one socked foot to the other. At last his face appears, and it’s like a punch to the gut. Marc is so handsome: his brows, the curve of his nose, his whiskey-warm eyes, the curls spilling onto his forehead. His hair is longer now than the last time you saw him, and it makes your heart clench. You find yourself smiling without meaning to.

“Hey, beautiful,” Marc says, eyes squinting with his smile. “Long time no see.”

“Too long,” you admit. You study the picture in the background, trying to piece together where he is in his apartment. Judging by the lighting (warm but dark) and the lamp in the background, he is in his bedroom. This is confirmed when he rolls over onto his side and props himself up onto his elbow on one of the fluffy pillows.

Once, you had gotten too drunk to drive home and Marc had let you sleep in his bed. You had spent the whole night rolling around on the soft sheets, breathing in his scent, aching but too guilty to touch yourself.

“You okay?” he asks, brows lifting. His mouth settles into a soft, more neutral position, like he is being careful not to convince you one way or another. His lips are so full and soft looking… “If you don’t want to do this, we can say forget it. I just like to know what my options are.”

His options—oh fuck.

Your face burns hot. You slap one palm against your cheek, feeling the heat your skin gives off, knowing that Marc is watching you (which makes your face burn all the hotter). Fuck, how can he just say stuff like that, calm and casual in his soft, warm voice? You think about turning the camera away for a moment just to catch your breath.

“You’re so shy right now,” Marc says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “God. It’s cute.”

“Quit,” you groan, parting your fingers so you can glare at the phone. His grin just grows. “I’m not shy, I have a strap-on.”

“If you think having six inches between your legs makes you immune to shyness, I’ve got news for you.”

“Is that all you’ve got? Six inches?”

“You want to see?” The way he raises his brow, the way he so expertly calls your bluff makes your thighs clench together. Like a great neon sign flashing behind your eyes right now are the words MARC’S COCK. You’ve never seen it, but you know Marc is well hung. You’ve seen him adjust his hard ons before—in the morning after waking up, during a particularly steamy scene on Netflix. The bulge in his sweats has made an appearance or two in your dreams, yes.

“Maybe,” you admit, wondering if he’ll show you. Right now. On FaceTime. Just whip his dick out for you to drool over.

“Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” he says, mouth quirking into a smirk. “But really. Go on. I have work in the morning, and I want to see every last toy.”

You bring out plenty of things that are “normal”. G-spot vibrators. Clitoral vibrators. Rabbit vibes, and pretty glass dildos. Most of the items get a high score—you have narrowed them down to your favorites. A natural selection amongst sex toys, if you will.

Sometimes you glance to Marc and get flustered at the solemn, studious expression on his face. He hangs on your every word, committing the things you say to memory. No man has ever given you attention the way Marc does: whole-heartedly. Singularly. Unconditionally.

Your throat gets choked up for a moment at the thought. God, you’re falling in love with him, you think in terror to yourself, as if you haven’t already. As if your knees aren’t skinned and palms bloody from the fall.

“You okay, honey?”

You jump a little, having gotten lost in your own thoughts. You clear your throat.

“Yeah, no, I’m good.” You pick up the next item, a candle. When he asks you what scent it is, you laugh a little. “The wax melts at a safe temperature for wax play. You know. Pouring wax on somebody.”

“Rate it.”

“It’s…maybe a four. May-be.”

Massage oil (8), cuffs (10), collapsible spreader bar (9), bite gag (5), blindfold (10), harness (7), all come and go. It is easier to continue once you get talking, and by the end you feel like late night Dr. Ruth.

At last, the box is empty.

“That’s all she wrote,” you tell Marc. He looks a little sleepy, though his eyes are still sharp where they focus on you, tracing over your features. He is quiet. You prod: “Well?”

“I’m going to have to use every last one on you,” he says, eyes on your own. “And until I can, I’m going to be thinking about you using every last one on yourself.”

His shoulder shifts, arm moving off screen—adjusting his hard cock.

“Fuck, Marc,” you sigh brokenly. “You can’t say shit like that.”

“That wasn’t one of your rules,” he says, eyes going heavy-lidded. You thought he was just adjusting himself, but the motion continues. Not enough for him to be full-fledged jerking off, but you think that’s he’s teasing himself. Massaging himself maybe. Your thighs squeeze together. Would he notice if you did the same? “Thank you for the show-and-tell. You’re such a good girl for me.”

You groan.

He laughs, the sound gentle and teasing. “That gets you, huh?”

“Don’t laugh at me,” you bark, endeavoring to cover your face as best as you can with one hand. The truth of his observation doesn’t matter; it’s the principle of the thing. Peeking through your fingers, you catch his expression, and your breath hitches. Marc looks at the phone screen with something unbearably tender in his eyes, something so terribly soft.

Marc looks at you like he loves you.

“Which one’s your favorite? Let me see it again.”

Your favorite. Hmm. You step back from your bed and look at the toys spread out so neatly, your brain turning over the question. All of them get you hot in one way or another, but there is one that stands out. You end up choosing a relatively simple rabbit vibrator. It’s ol’ Faithful; what else can you say?

“Is this what you grab when you want to blow your own mind, or is this what you grab any old night?”

“I want to blow my own mind every old night, Spector.”

“Noted. But you’re not pouring hot wax on yourself every old night,” he says. It is utterly distracting how his shoulder still tenses periodically, hand moving off-screen. You spend an inordinate amount of time watching those small muscles flex, trying to recreate the image of what his hand must be doing in your mind. “What is it about this one? What do you like about it?”

“I like that it fills me up,” you admit. It is a little easier to talk when you’re so distracted by him. “I like that I can use it without hands. Sometimes I put the spreader bar on and bind my hands to the headboard so I can feel like—”

Marc’s arm has stopped moving. His eyes are sharp, burning hot, like iron from the furnace. How voice is quiet but brooks no room for avoiding the question when he asks: “So you can feel like what, baby?”

“I…I don’t know,” you say. It isn’t a lie, either. You aren’t sure where the sentence was heading, and so much about your relationship with being submissive eludes you when you try to put it into words. You chew on the inside of your cheek while you think, and Marc is utterly quiet and still while you contemplate. “Like…like I’m suffering for somebody. Like my pleasure belongs to somebody else. Whoever tied me up. I don’t know.”

Marc nods a little, quiet for a moment himself. “From now on, it belongs to me, yeah? Even if you’re the one tying yourself up—you’ll be doing it because I tell you to, alright? And you’ll be doing it safely. It’s dangerous to tie yourself up when you’re alone. That’s not like my good girl. I don’t want to hear you doing that again.”

“Sorry,” you whisper. You kneel on the floor, bed too covered in toys to lay on. You rest your head against the edge of the mattress, adjusting the phone so that he can still see your face.

“I’ll forgive you when I hear that you won’t do it anymore,” he says. His hand is moving again. Maybe he is jerking off. “Promise me.”

“I won’t tie myself up when I’m alone. I promise.”

Marc lets out a breath, a literal sigh of relief. His eyes go squinty as he smiles, pride evident in the curve of his lips. “There’s my good girl.”

You groan again, turning to bury your face in the mattress.

“Are you on the floor right now?” he laughs.

You groan in an affirmative.

“Kneeling for me?”

You hadn’t intended it that way, but now that he says it, you realize that you are. You nod your head, face still hidden.

“Thighs apart?”

You peek an eye at him and hope he can tell that you’re scowling. Determined to follow his rules (even if your sex positively aches between your thighs) you shift your legs apart.

“You make me feel so powerful,” he says, voice a little shaky. His eyes are looking just off screen, like he can’t make eye-contact with you right now. “Kneeling for me, following my orders. So powerful. But so, so small. You know that? Because you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. And I like it.”

“I like it too,” you murmur, head a little foggy.

“Why?”

“It feels real safe,” you admit. “Like you’ll take care of me. Like you’d never have me do something that might hurt me or embarrass myself.”

“I wouldn’t, baby, I swear I wouldn’t,” he says. Then he sighs. “You’re driving me fucking crazy. I’m jerking off twice a day just to function.”

“Marc,” you say, your voice literally shaking. “Are you—right now?”

He hums and lets his arm grow bolder. The motion is unmistakable now. Marc Spector is masturbating on the phone with you—because of you. The knowledge is like an electric zap that you feel from your head to your toes. Is his dick out? Does he have a hand beneath his sweats? All of this is too much; your own hand falls between your thighs.

“At-at,” says Marc. His shoulder stops moving. “No touching yourself.”

“What?” you whine. “That’s not fair!”

“I stopped too!”

“You’ve been jerking off for twenty minutes though, you owe me!”

“That’s not how this works,” he laughs. “Not to mention, there isn’t a chance in hell you’d last twenty minutes even if I did let you touch yourself. No—we’re going to wait.”

“Til when?”

“Spring. The first time I hear you cum, it’s going to be with my fingers tucked inside you. I want to kiss you and swallow every sound.”

“Then can we hang up?” you ask, shifting on your knees. “I need to touch myself.”

“Use your cute little vibrator,” he murmurs. You both hang up.

He’s right. There’s no way you could have lasted twenty minutes when you barely make it to two.

Spring is never going to come.

Except it does. Of course it does. There is still the occasional snowstorm, but they are irregular enough that you are no longer needed. You book a flight back home, and send Marc a screenshot of your ticket.

I’ll pick you up.

The thought makes your belly flip with nerves. You decide that as eager as you are to see Marc, you are just as anxious too. You would rather prolong it a fraction more, would rather it took place on more familiar turf (outside your apartment rather than the strange unfamiliar-familiarity of an airport). So instead you tell him to meet you back at your apartment. If he brings some basic groceries, bonus points for him.

Though planes don’t often make you nervous anymore, you find yourself gripping your folded hands so tight that you leave marks from your fingernails. What are you doing, agreeing to have sex with Marc? This could ruin everything: your most valuable friendship. The one person in the world who had stuck beside you through thick and thin, even when you had lost people you thought you’d die without.

Even more frightening: what if everything goes right?

Landed, see you soon!! You hope that your exclamation points cover up your anxiety.

Don’t be nervous, he sends back. Fuck.

The Uber is the longest of your life, familiar scenery passing by as you leave the airport and enter the city you’ve called home for so many years. The city where you met Marc. The city where you meet him again and again in the spring, like Persephone coming home. It always happens like this too.

The Uber pulls up to the curb outside your apartment, and Marc is sitting there on the steps. Today is only different because he’s pacing—maybe you aren’t the only one who’s nervous. He’s dressed for spring in just a light jacket, t-shirt, and his jeans. He doesn’t recognize the car when it pulls up, but he recognizes you in the passenger seat. God. His face lights up. Marc goes to the car door and opens it for you, draws you out and into his arms. The first hug he always gives you is bone crushing. He lifts you off the ground and twirls you in his arms before helping you regain your footing.

“Long time, no see,” he says—like always.

“Too long,” you say, clinging to him.

“Uh. Don’t forget your bags,” your Uber driver calls through the open window.

“I got them,” says Marc. He insists on carrying them inside and up the stairs—nice to see that the elevator is still out of order even after the winter. On the way up, Marc fills you in an the uneventful time he spent popping into your apartment every other day to collect your mail, to dust, to water your plants.

You wonder if he slept in your bed. If he laid amongst the scent of you and wanted to touch himself, like you had that night you were too drunk to drive home from his place. You hope that he did—you hope that he touched himself. You—

“Bed,” he says, giving you a jumpscare. At the wide-eyed expression on your face, he misunderstands. “Not for sex! Just—your exhausted. That’s what you get for taking such an early flight. You should nap. Then we should get dinner, my treat. Then we should—”

“Talk.”

“Exactly.”

At his mention of it, your exhaustion (which you had been adamantly pushing back with nerves and adrenalin) resurfaces. He’s right; you always take the earliest flights you can manage, to get home as soon as possible, and yes you arrive to the airport way too early. You’re a woman with anxiety; it’s a given. But the last thing you want to do right now is part ways with Marc. A part of you believes that if he leaves, then you might chicken out. You might never let him back in…

“Stay?” you ask.

“For a nap?” he wonders, mouth stretching in a grin that reeks of fondness for you.

“Sure.”

“In your bed?”

You swallow past the sudden knot in your throat. Fuck, it feels so real. You’re going to have Marc in your bed tonight—for more than just a nap. You push the thoughts away with violence, feeling the way heat rises in your face at the thought alone. Come on, get it together! The way you’re pining for this guy is ridiculous, like you’re a virgin on her wedding night!

Fuck, but can you help it?

“Just sleep,” Marc says, interrupting your spiraling. “Then, dinner. Then…we’ll talk.”

Something inside you relaxes, your shoulders drifting away from where they had been climbing to your ears. Just sleep. You can do that. You’re certainly exhausted enough. A trail of you is formed throughout the apartment: your keys left in the dish by the door, shoes toed off at the shoe-rack, suitcase left haphazardly outside your bedroom door.

Inside, your room is as pristine as you had left it. The sheets are fresh. You have suddenly never been more tired in your life. Taking the last few steps to your bed—a full, larger than the twin you had suffered on during the winter—you collapse on top of the blankets. Who needs to be underneath them? You’re tired enough to sleep just like this.

But Marc pulls the blankets and the sheets back, working them free from beneath your body. He tucks you in, and he climbs into the bed on the other side. Peeking one eye open, you see that he is on his side, watching you. He grins when he catches you looking.

“Sleep tight,” he says sweetly.

God, you do.

When you wake up, the shadows have changed on the wall. It is early evening, your sleep schedule properly fucked. Marc has come to spoon you sometime during your sleep, and you relish the feel of his strong arm looped around your waist, his warm chest pressed flush against your back. The both of you had fallen asleep in your jeans and socks, and neither one cared. For a moment, you let yourself lay there, enjoying the intimacy. It’s easy to pretend you are lovers when he holds you like this.

Then his nose brushes a line up the side of your neck and his breath is hot against your ear as he whispers: “Sleep good?”

“Holy shit, I didn’t know you were awake.”

He snickers, unapologetic.

“Yes,” you say, twisting in his arms. “I slept great. But now I’m starv—...ing.”

As soon as you had turned in his arms, Marc’s eyes had gone molten. Outside, a car alarm goes off. There are horns honking. Someone plays music, but it doesn’t matter. Inside you room, the only sound is the heaving of near-silent breaths as you both lean precariously over the ledge of friendship—whatever rests below, who knows!

“I’m hungry too,” he says, innuendo in his words. His hand on your back traces a line down to the curve of your hip and then up to your ribs. His thumb barely brushes the space beneath your bra. He whispers your name.

He kisses you, a soft press of lips on lips. Again, heads tilted a little differently. Again, noses brushing in a way that has him smiling against your mouth. You part for a single heartbeat before he is leaning back in and kissing you deeper, tasting the seam of your lips with his tongue. Eager, you part your mouth and let him in. Fuck the uncomfortable angle of your neck—you’re kissing Marc Spector.

And God, what a kiss it is. He explores you in a way you hadn’t been explored before. Oh yes, you’d been plundered: had men whose tongues were like their cocks, thrusting away at your mouth, no finesse, no savoring of the moment. Marc kisses you like this is the first and last time he might get to. He traces the line of your teeth with his tongue. He softly nips your bottom lip. He coaxes your tongue into his mouth just to suck at it sweetly. Never have you felt so worshiped from a single kiss—nor so aroused.

Your hips rock against him, finding that he is already erect. You manage to loop one leg around his waist before he breaks the kiss, laughing breathlessly.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he teases.

“Aren’t we—?” you blink.

“I said dinner first.”

“But I’m hungry,” you remind him, arching your back to drag your sex over his hard cock. You’ll never forget the sight of his eyes rolling back, his mouth going a little slack as he takes a shuddering breath.

He rolls you over and straddles your hips, hands finding your wrists and pinning you to the bed. His cock tents the seam of his jeans. Like this, you suddenly feel so small. Something inside you gets small and soft and says, ‘Be good for him. Do as he wants.’ You have long come to terms with the instincts inside you that make you crave this, knowing that they do not make you less of a modern woman but God, it’s still so embarrassing how easily you want to fold!

You argue instead, arching up to rub yourself against him, a spark in your eyes. A challenge. Marc’s own eyes narrow. He kneels up off of one of your legs, gripping your thigh to push it up-and-out, spreading you open for him, and God for a moment you think that you’ve convinced him, swayed him with just a wiggle of your hips, and the coming satisfaction will be (almost) as strong as your disappointment.

Instead, he brings his hand down on your pussy in a spank. You yelp. Muffled as it was through the denim, you could still feel the strength in his hand, and you are sensitive enough that it leaves you with a brief, stinging ache. He cups your sex with his palm, soothing it with the warmth of his hand.

“Dinner first. Where’s my good girl at? The girl who fell to her knees a thousand miles away without me even having to ask her, huh?”

You’d cover your face, if your hands were free. Suddenly you are shy and embarrassed at your own behavior. You don’t even allow yourself to rub up against his touch, light though it may be. Looking at him through your lashes, you say: “I’m sorry, I just…”

“You need it,” he says, thumb smoothing along the sensitive stretch of your inner thigh. “I understand, baby. Was I harsh?”

“No.”

“No, what?”

“No sir,” you whisper shyly.

His grin is broad, beatific. It turns teasing almost right away. He leans down and brushes his nose against yours before releasing your wrists and rolling off of you.

“I want to be just friends for just a while longer,” he admits in a whisper. “Throughout dinner. There’s something important I need to tell you.”

#marc spector x reader

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wayfayrr · 4 months

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May I please have a soft hot coco with red velvet as a takeaway?

order up dear - I hope you'll find it to your tastes <3

soft sweet wars outside of hyrule, one of my favourites to write of everyone? 👁️ this was so fun to write peep - he's just so fun to play with in different ways and this in particular? there are so many different ways to build up to it, this is only one of the ways I planned it out of about four different ideas for confessions I had for him >:) if you're curious at all I will so ramble about them on demand

[Event masterlist]

“You look good in that link, I’m almost jealous of how good you look in modern clothes, I knew getting some better fitting ones was a good idea.”

“Really honeybee? I don’t think I would go that far, even though I agree with the second bit.”

Oh, he knows how stupidly attractive he is, I can hear it in his voice and see it in his actions. The way he spins me to face him and leans in close - just lean in a little closer, please.

“Won’t you say it for me again honey?”

“You’re stunning…”

“And to think I’m all yours.”

Following up that last line with a chuckle and a featherlight kiss on my lips, pulling back as a sly look crossed his face like he’s not yet had enough. Letting me take in a short shocked breath till he closed the gap again, silky soft lips meeting mine for the second time, his hand coming up to gently start playing with the hair on the back of my neck like he already knows how to make everything feel right. Tilting his head every now and then I can’t help but melt into it, like he’s simply asking me to be his. The lightheadedness when he pulled away was only natural.

“Sorry I - I should’ve asked first. I know I’m moving fast.” Isn’t that an understatement. Even though he hasn’t been here long, it’s only been a few days since we both ended up here, earth is working miracles on his confidence. He doesn’t seem as paranoid as he did back in Hyrule; which led perfectly to him biting a bullet and asking me to date him the minute he realised we were in my world.

“Don’t be, you know I would’ve said yes anyway.”

“Still…”

“If you feel that bad, you could make up with another kiss?”

That snapped him out of it, bringing back his laugh as he let go of me although not before one last kiss, to my cheek this time.

“In a bit, I wouldn’t want to keep us here too long would I? You did mention that if we leave this ‘mall’ too late then it’ll take longer to get to your home after all.”

“Yeah! Yeah, I did say that, wish we wouldn’t have to worry about traffic though.”

Driving back doesn’t take all that long, especially since we beat the rush. It was only a matter of minutes till we were home, sorting out his bags while he offered to make us both a drink. Thankfully he picked up how to use appliances much faster than I would’ve assumed so I don’t even have to worry.

Within what felt like the blink of an eye we were both sitting down in the living room, laying on each other and just existing, without having to worry about things that used to be commonplace. Back to normal for me, but for wars, for link? Has he ever lived in peace like this, ever?

“[name]?”

“Yeah link?”

“If I asked you if I could stay here, after everything is dealt with, would you let me?”

That answers that question then, that and the tears running down his face.

“You wouldn’t even have to ask if you wanted to stay. I’d be more than happy for you to stay with me, love.”

His sobs were heart-wrenching, has no one ever cared to make him feel safe before? It’s like he’s never been shown even basic kindness before with how he’s reacting, with the things I’ve heard from time about his past though… Should I be surprised? I always hoped they were rumours, as much as I knew they can’t have been.

“You’ll always have a home with me link, okay love? You never need to question that.”

Setting aside my mug and his I coax him into my arms, drawing him into a hug so that he can cry, so that he can know he’s safe and wanted. Rubbing his back while his head buries itself into my neck, my shirt becoming sodden as he tries and fails to put the broken parts of himself back together. The longer we stay like this the slower his tears form.

“It’s okay, to want to scream and say that you’re still afraid. You've seen more than a hundred lies, each one simply trying to hurt you worse, but you can let yourself be safe here. I swear on my life.”

“I know, I know, I know and I’m scared.”

“And it’s alright to be scared link, just know you aren’t alone.”

It almost hurts with how tightly he’s holding onto me, nodding desperately into my shoulder as he takes shaking breaths.

If you told me it was an eternity until he started to get less tense, I would believe you, but eventually, his grip does loosen somewhat.

“Can we just stay like this for now?”

“As long as you need dear.”

Which seemed to be the final thing stopping him from falling asleep on me, his breaths evening as he just drifts off, not that it takes all that long for me to follow his example.

#I could so continue this ngl #:)#I love him your honour #he's a simp #but so complex too #I can hurt him but be fluffy too???#best man #link x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe #tloz #the legend of zelda #moss✦writes

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rainbowchaox · 1 month

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OKOKOKOKOK ANOTHER AU FOR ADOPTION:

Space Romance Au

Pretty much Earth sends out people on missions to research alien flora and fauna. They arrive on a distant planet and live in like a portable housing/research station. The station has good housing quarters and labs filled with the best equipment. Also each station has a food replicator. Usually these stations are only manned by one human. Mostly everything is automatic. And Missa is part of this project and is currently manned on the recently found planet coined Vita Viridis.

Vita Viridis is an oxygen rich planet whose natural flora experience gigantism. It’s heavily forested with flora reaching almost unnatural proportions. It tends to be a mild climate but does have typical seasons. It’s tends to rain often and it’s common for bodies of water to dot the surface. So often in fact that Missa usually goes around by boat.

The station Missa resides in is on an island in a middle of a swamp which the roots of the massive trees delve into. It’s the only dry land he saw when he landed so he had to make do. And also why he takes full advantage of the water to explore Vita Viridis.

But the fact is Missa soon realizes he is not alone. Introducing the humanoid insectoid species of Vita Viridis. (Thank you @changeling-ash for all of these)

Class: Suprainsecta (Above Insect)

Order: Sapenoptera (Wise Winged)

Family: Elytronidae (Covering [wing])

Genus: Sapien Vitari (Wise Vitari)

The common name is Vitari. Named after the planet as it’s the dominant species. And one Vitari is very attached to Missa. A Vitari named Phil. Missa saved him from a giant spider web and he now wants to court the pretty human. And does make himself known often to Missa. He is fully sentient but unable to speak human languages.

Vitari communicate by complicated vocalizations including clicks, chirps, trills, rattles and buzzing. Though they can eventually be taught human languages. Vitari also use wing vibrations to communicate as well.

Missa at first was terrified of Phil because he has common sense and healthy sense of what is dangerous. But it wasn’t long until he found out Phil was pretty harmless and mostly curious (Though it does take him a bit longer to realize that Phil wants to court him)

Vitari have elytra that can make them able to fly. Silver or black are the most common colorings. They also have a stinger of sorts that puts venom into whatever they are hunting. They have black sclera with strange pupils. Their elytra is very fast. Their skin is mostly cartilage but can be numerous shades. They tend to wear basic like robes made from spider silk though some Vitari tribes have ways to dye the silk. And some Vitari communities have made full blown cities deep in the forest. Though it’s more common for Vitari to live isolated lives from the rest of their species.

Anyways Phil is courting human missa. This includes serenades. Mainly flapping his wings to create vibrations (not like actually singing). Phil also does elaborate dances and show off with his flying. Also just in general fly close to him (For example in real life male flies would fly close to female flies for attention). Another big thing is the nuzzles. Phil loves to nuzzle into missa hair or shoulder. Also loves to bump foreheads together. Another thing common in real life is insects prepare a meal for females. So Phil keeps trying to feed Missa with strange creatures he hunted. He eventually learns Missa prefers alien fruits and therefore gathers that for him instead. (Yes Missa falls victim to puppy eyes on his alien love interest and goes against all his common sense and eats the fruit. It’s delicious)

Missa has to contact the crew on earth with new findings and just in general checking he is fine and healthy. And they make fun of him so much for going against basic scientific principles and eating foods he doesn’t know how it would affect his human body. Missa too enamored by sweet alien to not accept his gifts. If he gets poisoned he gets poisoned.

Vitari live in hidden treehouses in the canopy. It tends to use whatever is around them to make it though they make the floor soft with fur and moss to sleep on. And they tend to hoard materials for either expanding their nest of sorts or stock food items. They also make simple tools to help them with their day to day. Vitari are pretty smart.

I personally like to imagine during the period Missa didn’t realize Phil has a crush on him and is courting him the Vitari way is when he had to contact the base on earth about his findings and research and Phil just climbed into his lap for cuddles and nuzzles. As he buzzes and chirps happily. His higher ups are concerned at first that he somehow got the dominant species to want to court him. But he is still doing excellent work so it’s fine with them.

#feel free to ask me questions in my ask box #this is a au for adoption btw pls @ me if you make art or fic of it #pissa #qsmp pissa #bugza being gay #bug trigger warning #space au

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aziraphales-library · 2 months

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Hello! First off, your blog is amazing, and you're really helping all of us extraordinarily! 😭 anyways, do you have any angsty fics where Gabriel tortures Crowely and/or Heaven tortures Crowley and Aziraphale has to help him? (other than the obvious fic choices, Reposession and That Hopeful Feeling) thank you!

2/2: Oh and also, sorry I didn't mention this in my last ask, so just feel free to combine them. I rather prefer longer fics - 90,000 words at least (or else I get sad that I don't have enough Fic to cry over 😭😂) anyways, just any angsty and/or hurt comfort fics you can give me about Crowly, Gabriel, and Aziraphale would be so amazing!

Hi. We have #torture and #kidnapping tags you can check. But really, with requirements as specific as this, your best bet is sorting and filtering on AO3. Here is a search for angsty hurt/comfort fics which feature Gabriel, sorted by word count. I did the same thing, but with the torture tag, and here are some of the fics I found. Obviously, mind the tags and warnings on all of these!...

Tossed and Torn by Fire_Traveller (M)

Disclaimer: major character injury (he'll be fine, though, I promise) Disclaimer Number 2: This is part of my Per Aspera verse and will likely only make sense if you've read the other stories... When Crowley is forcefully summoned right from the sofa of the South Downs cottage, this does not only put the demon in a very dangerous place, out of which Aziraphale will need to save him somehow, but it also causes both him and Aziraphale to develop serious doubts concerning their seeming safety from Heaven and Hell. While they do have friends on their side (from both Above and Below), it seems that, despite all the promises, they are still not without very determined enemies...

Totality by rowenablade (E)

Crowley and Gabriel have a history together. Gabriel is the only one who knows about it.

A Memory of Eden by ImprobableDreams900 (M)

When Crowley gets captured by angels and dragged up to Heaven, Aziraphale knows he has to rescue him—no matter the consequences.

Another Time, Another Place by indigo (E)

What if? Two words - so powerful. A slight divergence from canon sees a very different life for Aziraphale five years after the world didn’t end. Ostracised from Heaven, he now lives in a world with bookshops and Afternoon Tea, but without Crowley; a world in which he believes Crowley gave his life to save him. However, it’s not quite that simple, and maybe they can somehow get a happy ending after all??? (They can, and they do. But let’s not tell Aziraphale that just yet. It’ll spoil the fun!)

Dark Our Woes by EdosianOrchids901 (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley's pleasant life together is thrown into disarray by captivity and torture. Heaven doesn't know how to kill either of them, but the angels have found plenty of ideas for punishment from the Earth Observation Files. After all, humans come up with the most inventive ways to make other humans suffer. Unsure what their captors really want, Aziraphale and Crowley struggle to resist Heaven’s manipulation, to find a way to escape, and to help each other survive.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #torture #kidnapping #major archive warning #graphic depictions of violence #non con #angst #hurt/comfort #mind the tags #adult omens #mod d #long fic

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stafyliaa · 9 months

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"Miles it's me!"

Prowler!Miles x Spiderhero!Reader (gender neutral)

cw: angst,Jeff being funny,mentions of Jeff death (sorry it's earth 42 😭),tears,no comfort (maybe there will be on part two) "betrayal" and a big misunderstanding

Hii! This is my first time writing hehehe give me a chance and please be nice :D im gonna do a ending to this fic but it's gonna take a while

I'm more than happy to write requests so don't be shy!!

You are Miles lover..but you are also the friendly neighborhood Spider hero! While Miles is the Prowler! And the worst..you both didn't know that

But you never thought Prowler was a bad guy,he actually helped people too but- he kinda hates you for some reason

maybe he was jealous of the amount of popularity you have and how you are incredible strong and how your suit was soooo pretty so yeah,who cares about Prowler anyways? He's a douchebag

As for Miles..He is the best!!

He looks like he is trying to poop everytime with that "scary" face of him but he is really sweet and respectful boy

he respects your space and supports your decisions,he is great with gifts (handmade or purchased) and never fails to make you feel especial regardless of anything ♡

You were great friends with his family too! They love you! But, something happened

His dad was captain Morales,he passed away doing his job..being a hero without spider powers or something like that yeah good guy

You remembered that when he was alive he didn't liked the ideia of a masked hero around (another jealous man),but after some events you kinda "worked together" to protect the peace at the city

The Spiderhero and captain Morales protecting our dear Brooklyn! couldn't get better

he enjoyed talking about his son and you can't deny it was fun to see what Miles was like from his father's point of view

"My boy has a beautiful significant other,i consider them as my own child! You know? Don't tell anybody but i kinda get jealous on how much of attention my wife put on them cause like,does she like them more then me?!! That's unacceptable hmfp"

Yeah and things like that was really fun too

But that day you couldn't saved him

You tried.. But unfortunately it didn't worked

Miles was devastated..you felt so guilty every day for not being able to save his dad but you always comforted him whenever he need it and he is very grateful for that

If you thought you were nobody under your hero mask you are sorely mistaken! You are everything to Miles,you are his hero

it's been sometime since that happened and everything seems to be okay

Until now

It was a random night you were patrolling the city when you ended up realizing that you were close to where Miles lived

It wouldn't hurt anyone to take a look would it?

But the last thing you expected to see was this

And this i mean

Prowler on the rooftop at Miles building

[•••]

What if he is planning to hurt Miles? You couldn't let that happen, could you?

You were ready to attack him sneakily but his mask came off

Curious to know who your unbearably annoying enemy is you decided to wait a while

Then..you saw him!Miles Morales was the Prowler,and he wasn't alone..Aaron was with him

You were surprised! Who wouldn't tbh

You decided to stay a little longer to see what he is going to do:

- Miles..we will finally catch that spider,i can feel it.- said Aaron

- Yeah,i can't wait for that Tio (uncle) Aaron

You noticed that Aaron seemed to be hesitant to tell Miles something,then he said:

- Look Miles,they.. could be anyone -you thought to yourself "does he know I'm the spider hero!?-

- What are you trying to say?

- I'm trying to say that - he hesitates one more time - don't forget why we are doing all this ok? Mi hermano (my brother) ..Your dad, está muerto (is dead) because that "hero" couldn't save him,they saved everyone but couldn't bother to save him and - Before Aaron could say more Miles interrupt him

- I know tio,don't worry - his mask returns to his face - esta noche(tonight)..I'm gonna kill that spider

You know what he said

You know what he is planning to do

Miles..the boy you love

Is going to kill you

[•••]

You are on the edge of the building

The only thing keeping you from falling is Prowler

He got his claws ready to kill you

Your heart is beating fast

"I don't want to die! I can't die yet! I don't want to get killed by him! Miles please!"you thought:

- Who are you?

- I... - he moves his claws closer to your face

With his claws he slowly takes off your mask

When he took the mask off you ,tears rolled down from your eyes

That look of fear and your watery eyes

Made Miles heart break

"This wasn't supposed to happen"

Miles thought

"Why is this happening?":

- Miles.. - you said whispering looking at him

Miles is feeling a lot of emotions

He is scared

He is angry

He is confused

And he is sad

Miles face is revealed

You see a tear fall down from his eye:

- Amor.. - you can hear by his voice that he is hurt

He don't want to do this,he can't do this!

But still

Miles doesn't let go of you:

- Miles..look i know why you are doing this! And i swear my love i really tried to save him!

"My love" he loves when you call him that,you always call him with so full of love on your voice that always make he feels warm

But is he feeling warm now that you are calling him? With so much despair trying to prove your point?

He close his eyes for a second and looked away as if he was trying to ignore you:

- Please! The fact that i couldn't save him still hunts me..Look at me Miles

He looked at you

More tears fall down from your eyes:

- The hardest thing about this job is that you can't save everybody..It took me a while to accept this but it's the truth

It took a while to accept this? That made Miles wonders if you even asked to be a hero at all

He loosens his grip a little

You wanted to tell him everything

How much it hurts you to be a hero

But you keep it to yourself:

- I know it hurts Miles,i know you want to kill me but please..Those people - you you looked around - they need me..let me do for them what i couldn't do for you

He moves his claws close to your face

You look deep into his eyes and said:

-Please..if you find a little sympathy in your heart.. forgive me for everything- you said honestly - I love you Miles

you shut your eyes and...

[•••]

Please be patient cause this fanfic will have a ending!! Thank you for reading ♡

#atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderman #miles morales #miles x reader #miles 42 #prowler miles #miles morales prowler #atsv prowler #prowler x reader #prowler miles x spider reader #prowler miles x spiderwoman reader #prowler miles x spiderman reader #spiderman reader #spiderwoman reader #angst #gender neutral reader #miles x y/n

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starsstuddedsky · 1 year

Text

In Sickness and Secondhand Embarrassment

seungcheol x reader

summary: what’s the best part of a terrible date? the end. that is, until a roommate catches covid and you’re forced to stay together

genre: fluff

warnings: swearing, food, SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT

wc: 5.3k

a/n: hello!!!! this is kinda based more on pandemic protocol from a year ago so it’s not quite the same as the current experience, but also covid is still very real!! anyways if you don’t enjoy second hand embarrassment don’t read.. I need to stop writing kiss scenes 😭

Seungcheol’s shoulder brushes against yours again. He isn’t doing it on purpose, but he thinks it might be his subconscious since he isn’t brave enough to ask to hold your hand.

“Nice night,” you say. Seungcheol doesn’t miss how you avoid his eyes, staring at your toes. Everything in his heart screams awkward as he tries to think of something, anything to say.

He thought it would be easy: he called Vernon about the friend he brought to the party, found out your name, and then found out you had asked about him as well. He got your number and asked you out to dinner. He likes you and you like him, so why is this so awkward?

“I guess this is goodnight,” you say. You smile and Seungcheol forgets what he was about to say.

“I… had fun today,” he sputters. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he knows if he doesn’t do anything soon, this already-painful date will turn into a terrible memory that he’ll never be able to live down. He thinks about telling Vernon about this nightmare, or, god forbid, Jeonghan and Joshua find out. He’d never hear the end of it.

Maybe that’s why he catches your hand before you can turn around. In a spurt of his only confidence of the night, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

You look startled at first, but your frown quickly turns into a smile, if a bit nervous. “Sure.”

Seungcheol leans closer, pausing over your lips and suddenly remembers the garlic pasta he had for lunch earlier. He swallows and prays it’s enough to hide the taste. He leans a little bit closer and your lips are touching and Seungcheol thinks they are warm and soft (and maybe a little bit chapped but his are too). Move, he thinks but the thought doesn’t travel to his muscles and his stupid brain can’t figure out what to do. The kiss lasts longer and longer and all he does is stand there with his lips pressed against yours.

Finally, you pull away. Seungcheol doesn’t dare look in your eyes as he takes a step back. He can already feel his face heating up with embarrassment. Maybe it’s not too late for him to catch the shuttle to the airport and get on a flight and leave somewhere and never come back, maybe go to Guam, or Canada, or really anywhere but here.

“Goodnight,” he mumbles, daring to glance at you once. Your hand is pressed against your lips as if you can't quite believe what happened either. Seungcheol turns down the sidewalk and walks away, hoping that he’ll never have to think about this again.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, a welcome distraction. Joshua’s face appears on his screen.

“Hey, is it too late to cancel your date?” Joshua asks. He’s in the apartment that Seungcheol, Joshua, and Jeonghan share, evident by the cardboard cutout of the Rock that Seungkwan gave Jeonghan for his birthday last year that is staring at Seungcheol over Joshua’s shoulder.

“Uh, yeah,” Seungcheol says, praying that’s the last question.

“Cool, how are you feeling?”

How to answer that? How does Seungcheol explain that he wants a comet to wipe him off the face of the earth, or maybe a time machine so he can go back and at least stop himself from that horrible kiss.

“Fine,” Seungcheol says, because he doesn’t want to deal with the teasing from the J’s. It’s the only way this night can get worse.

“No coughing? No sore throat?”

Seungcheol stops. “What’s going on?”

Joshua smiles, though it doesn’t reach his eyes and Seungcheol recognizes the anger burning behind them. “Well, the little asshat is coughing and he took an at home test and it may or may not be positive.”

“Joshua,” Seungcheol says slowly. “Are you telling me Jeonghan has covid?”

“Yes! I’m supposed to have a meeting with my thesis advisor tomorrow, goddammit. Well, if you’re feeling fine you should probably just find somewhere to quarantine, or come back here and take the L, I guess,” Joshua says. “This is so annoying, and Jeonghan is going to milk the shit out of this until we’re sick too.”

“Joshua,” Seungcheol says slowly. “Jeonghan and I ate breakfast together today. We shared a spoon.”

“Oh, then you should come back.”

Seungcheol sighs, remembering the kiss that would likely go down as one of the top five worst moments of his life. And he thought things couldn’t get worse.

Well, he can’t be too pessimistic. Maybe telling you that he may have given you covid will somehow make this night better.

He sits on the far end of the couch. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to invite him to quarantine with you, but you trust that any friend of Vernon’s isn’t a psychopath, and he looked genuinely upset about the entire situation. Besides, if he really isn’t sick, then there’s no danger.

Except for the fact that you cannot forget the horrible kiss that wasn’t even five minutes ago. It wasn’t your worst kiss (that title went to Jimmy at the ninth birthday party of your best friend, who thought the enclosed space you were crammed into together during an intense round of hide and seek was the appropriate time to confess his love and then force a kiss on your lips when you were mostly thinking about how much you had to pee), but it definitely wasn’t the best.

At least he seems to feel as embarrassed as you are. The few times you work up the confidence to look at him, he’s either staring at your carpet or fiddling with his thumbs.

“Thanks again,” Seungcheol says. “You really don’t have to do this.”

“Like I said, if you don't have it, we’re fine, but if you do, there’s a good chance you gave it to me, so you might as well stay here.” You tap your fingers on the arm of the couch.

“Well, thank you anyways,” he says. “And I’m really sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say. Not for the first time, you wish you had a roommate, or at least someone else in the apartment so you wouldn’t have to figure out how to deal with this all on your own. How does one properly host the person they went on exactly one (bad) date with and then possibly gave them covid? Offer tea?

“So, you want to play Mario Kart?” You ask.

“Are you sure you want to challenge me?” Seungcheol asks. “I should warn you, I’ve been trained.”

“I have too,” you say, thinking about how many times Jihoon had cursed you out playing the game throughout your lifelong friendship. He taught you curse words you didn’t know existed.

“Jeon Wonwoo himself trained me,” Seungcheol says, taking the controller as you hand it to him.

“Jeon Wonwoo?” You frown at him from the other side of the couch.

“He’s a streamer,” Seungcheol says. “And I thought a pretty popular one, but now I’m realizing I sort of sound like an idiot and should have kept my mouth shut.”

“I’m sure he’s really good,” you say. “He could be really popular, I really wouldn’t know.”

Seungcheol flashes a thankful smile and you remember why you asked Vernon about him in the first place. Not just because his smile makes your heart skip a beat, but because he’s so expressive that you think you can read every thought that comes across his face. As painfully terrible as the date was, you aren’t completely opposed to a second date, and his wide smile isn’t helping at all.

Though, the way things are going right now, you are a little worried you might be stuck with him for the rest of your life.

“Well, either way, we won’t know until we try,” you say. Seungcheol points his controller at you as if it were a sword, accepting your challenge. The familiar music begins and you select your character (always Shy Guy). Seungcheol chooses Bowser, which doesn’t surprise you. He chooses a kart while you choose a bike, and before long, the numbers count down.

In hindsight, Seungcheol wonders if he was too competitive. Then again, the score is still 50-50 for first place after playing four rounds, so it’s not like you didn’t match his energy.

“This isn’t over,” you declare when he wins the final match and sets the score back to an even win rate.

“It’s almost midnight, I think it’s over for the night,”Seungcheol says. “Besides, it’s tied!”

“The last time I settled for a tie was Jihoon, and now he refuses to play with me,” you say. Seungcheol idly wonders if it’s weird that he finds the borderline violent look in your eyes attractive.

“Oh, believe me, I’m not settling for a tie,” Seungcheol says. “Wonwoo would kill me if he ever found out, he called me his protegé.”

“And you’re proud of that?” You ask, but you’re smiling. “Fine, I’ll concede for tonight, but this isn’t over.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Seungcheol says, grinning even wider at your fake glare.

“Are you sure you’re okay with the couch?” You ask, standing up.

Seungcheol is tempted to flirt and say, “Unless you want to share a bed,” but he decides with how badly he fumbled earlier in the evening, it would be safest to nod and keep his mouth shut. Besides, he is beyond grateful that you’re letting him stay with you; the couch might as well be a king-sized bed.

Unfortunately, it is not king-sized, and his feet stick off the edge when he tries stretching out on it. You return with a rather flimsy blanket and a giant stuffed dog that Seungcheol is afraid is his pillow for the night.

“I’m really, really sorry,” you say, “Nobody ever stays over so all I have are these.”

“It’s fine,” Seungcheol says, already preparing his back for a very long night. “Like I said, I’m the one intruding.” You hand him a spare toothbrush and point him in the direction of the bathroom.

Seungcheol understands why you never have people over: the apartment, putting things kindly, is shit. From his first step inside, he was shocked at the small size, with a kitchen that doubles as a dining room and living room (and where he would sleep tonight), a bedroom (that he assumes is tiny because you didn’t invite him to see and he figured it would be inappropriate to ask), and the bathroom. On top of the size, he was sure he saw a monstrous bug flying around that looked like some sort of cockroach abomination, but you didn’t mention it, and there was a strange smell coming from the sink drain. At least you were able to lighten the beige painted walls with what looked like handmade canvases.

There is no saving the bathroom. Seungcheol was scared to enter it earlier, and his fears are confirmed now. He thinks the tile might have been pink once, but it had seen so many years and so many… fluids, that it has become a sickening brown color. The walls have suffered a similar fate, though it looks like there has been a fairly recent coat of paint. There’s no bathtub, and the shower head looks like it hasn’t been changed in ten years, and doesn’t seem to be able to control the water heat or flow at all. The room mostly smells like lemon and bleach, and Seungcheol wonders how long you spent scrubbing before you realized it was a hopeless effort.

He brushes his teeth quickly, feeling a little guilty that he has to dig through your cabinets for your toothpaste. He tries not to look at anything, focusing on his reflection in the mirror. That’s when he realizes that he’s stuck with these clothes: his nicest pair of pants and a button down that Joshua insisted he iron before he left. At least he had a white t-shirt on beneath it, but he was stuck in these clothes unless he asked you for a change, which was not happening anytime soon. He could only pray that he didn’t get covid from Jeonghan and would be free in three days.

You’re sitting on the couch when he comes out. You don’t turn right away, and for a moment he catches a glimpse of you, back towards him, head facing toward the windows beside the door and staring outside. He wonders what you’re thinking, and hopes it’s not something along the lines of I hope this man leaves my apartment as soon as possible. He doesn’t want to be a nuisance, but he can’t help but feel that after the rousing game of Mario Kart, maybe the relationship between the two of you wasn’t completely destroyed.

You’re smiling a little when the bathroom door clicks shut and you turn to see him. You’ve definitely caught him staring, but Seungcheol doesn’t really care, returning your smile.

“Thank you,” he says. He trades spots with you as you stand and he sits on the couch. You linger for a moment, leaning against the arm.

“I’m really sorry about the lack of a bed,” you say. “But I’m very broke.”

“How about you stop apologizing and I’ll stop saying thank you?”

You laugh. “Yeah, that works.”

“Good,” Seungcheol says. There’s more he wants to say, but unlike before, it doesn’t weigh him down and make him panic. It’s a warm feeling that makes him think he has a lifetime to learn everything about you.

“Goodnight, yn,” he says, loving the way your name feels in his mouth.

“Goodnight,” you say, finally standing and crossing into your room, pulling the door shut behind you with a resounding click.

You wake up to banging noises in the kitchen. It takes a minute to remember that you aren’t alone in the apartment, and you aren’t being robbed. Though you want to go back to sleep, the banging is rather noisy, so you drag yourself out of bed and into the bathroom.

You just woke up, but you’re glad you went into the bathroom before confronting Seungcheol, because as your brain slowly wakes up, you realize your hair is a total mess and your breath is terrible. You brush your teeth quickly and try not to think about the boy in your kitchen because it only makes you more nervous.

Strange, how your feelings for him changed so much in such a short time period. You were nervous before the date, then disappointed after how bad it went, but then last night was so much fun, and you’re back to being nervous at the thought of him. You hate the butterflies that are fluttering around your gut.

They vanish when you see the state of your kitchen.

“I am so sorry,” Seungcheol says the second he hears your footsteps. “I wanted to do something nice for you because you’re being so nice and letting me stay, and the least I could do was make you breakfast, except I got lost in your kitchen, and then there was an incident with the flour, and then this giant bug flying around my face, and I was going to clean it all up before you woke up, but I guess I was being really loud, and this is a huge mess, and I’m really sorry.”

Seungcheol himself almost looks worse than your kitchen, between the frantic look in his eyes and flour covering half of his body. There’s some red sauce spilled on his shirt (which you have absolutely no idea where it came from since you don’t have ketchup in your apartment), and it’s clear he spent the last few minutes failing to get control of the mess of ingredients that spilled on the stove.

“At least nothing’s on fire,” you say.

“Yeah, I put it out pretty quickly.”

“You set my apartment on fire?”

“Only briefly!” Seungcheol grabs your shoulders, then lets go when he realizes his hands are still covered in flour. “Look, I promise I’ll clean everything up, just go take a shower, wait, no, I’m not saying you smell or anything, but give me like ten minutes and I’ll make it look like nothing ever happened.” He looks really desperate.

“I’ll order some food,” you say, walking dazedly back to your room. Your kitchen was falling apart before, but Seungcheol has made it unrecognizable between everything that he spilled and whatever he tried to cook. You think maybe it was pancakes, but whatever happened in that kitchen is between Seungcheol and the bug that might as well be your roommate since all of your attempts to kill it have failed.

“Yn?” Seungcheol says. It sounds like he’s standing right outside your door. It’s only been a few minutes, so there’s no way he’s finished cleaning.

“Is something wrong?” You get off your bed and pull the door open to find him standing in front of you, head hanging low like a puppy that knows he messed up.

He shakes his head, looking up at you with an exaggerated pout. “Are you mad?”

You can’t help but laugh. “No, I’m not mad. A little stunned, because I didn’t think there was that much flour in my kitchen, but it’s not like you did it on purpose, so, why would I be mad?”

“Seriously?” Seungcheol says. He looks almost hopeful.

“Yeah, it can be cleaned up, and you didn’t actually set the place on fire, so it’s fine.” You shrug. Seungcheol doesn’t look like he really believes you, so you add, “Seriously, I was just really surprised, but I’ll find the bleach and help you clean as soon as I change out of my pajamas.”

That’s when you realize a) Seungcheol is still wearing the clothes from the date the night before which b) are now absolutely covered in flour. You can’t believe that you didn’t notice earlier, but it’s obvious that he needs something to change into. You close the door to change, but dig through your drawers to find someone that suits Seungcheol and can’t seem to find anything.

Your phone rings, and you realize you have the perfect solution.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but Seungcheol thinks the kitchen looks cleaner than it was before. It smells distinctly like lemon, and the black stains under the cabinet (that were one of the few spots Seungcheol didn’t create) were successfully removed. Maybe it smells so clean the bug/monster/demon would finally leave your apartment (definitely wishful thinking). He washes his hands again, but they still don’t feel clean; he doubts they ever will be again, since you didn’t have any gloves.

“It looks good!” You say. You insisted on working alongside him and refused to take no for an answer, which he was grateful for since Seungcheol had no idea where any of your cleaning supplies were. It was a challenge to use bleach without gloves, but Seungcheol is 90% sure you both managed to avoid bleach poisoning. Still, he figures it’s safest to usher you into the shower while he tries to figure out what to do now.

He can’t even sit down and relax since he keeps leaving flour behind no matter how much comes off him. He ends up sitting on the floor in the doorway since it’s the only place that isn’t clean. Though the door is solid, the large panels next to it are windows, and Seungcheol watches the empty street.

Here are his options: ask you for clothes to change into (mortifying) or live the rest of his quarantine life in clothes that are turning stiff from the mix of grease, flour, and cleaning supplies that have seeped into the fabric (possibly deadly). He strongly considers running away, but he decides it’s unethical to wander around while possibly infected.

It’s from staring out the window and longing for freedom that he first notices it. A flash of movement out of the corner of his eye so fast Seungcheol thinks he imagined it, but then it happens again. Black clothing, he’s sure of it. It’s moving so fast Seungcheol isn’t quite sure that it’s human. He stands up, now certain that whatever’s out there is real and a threat.

Are there any weapons? He does a mental checklist of everything he’s seen in your apartment, and all he comes up with are the kitchen knives he saw in a drawer while looking for the cleaning supplies. He wonders if he should ask you, but the water is still running, and he doesn’t want to scare you just because he’s jumpy. He is already beginning to second guess whether he saw anything at all, when there’s a little knock at the door.

Seungcheol inches back, hands feeling dreadfully empty. As much as he wants a knife, he doesn’t want to turn his back on the door now that there’s noises.

The knock comes again, a small sound followed by a soft rattling, as if something was rolling on the ground. Seungcheol freezes, not daring to get any closer to the glass, but trying to peer out and see what he can.

The knock comes a third time, except this time it hits the glass and Seungcheol realizes that it’s a tiny rock being thrown. He watches it land in the dirt, trying to determine if it’s from the yard or another planet. Seungcheol takes a step up to the door and realizes his hands have curled into fists.

He knows more likely than not, it’s probably some town kid that’s looking for an easy prank on poor college kids, but on the off-chance that it’s some other-worldly demon trying to steal his soul, Seungcheol braces himself for the worst. He rests his hand on the door, ready to tell off the kid (or die painfully), taking a deep breath.

Before he can pull it open, he sees another flash of movement. He turns to the window and suddenly the entire left side of the door is covered in black. Seungcheol drops to the floor, cowering back. He doesn’t realize that he’s screaming until he hears your voice.

He looks up to see you, hair dripping wet, glaring at the window, which isn’t populated by a monster about to pull him apart, but is just a boy, around his age, dressed all in black making silly faces. Seungcheol can feel his ears turning red with embarrassment as you crouch down next to him.

“Are you okay?” You ask, looking genuine.

“Yeah,” he says, accepting your hand to pull himself up.

“It’s just Seokmin,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He thinks it’s funny to try and scare everyone. You get used to it.”

“I don’t think I ever will,” Seungcheol grumbles but he follows you to the door and forces a smile on his face because he doesn’t want your friends to think he’s a sore loser, even if he is.

Seokmin is still laughing when you open the door, which annoys him even more since his laugh is infectious and Seungcheol can’t help but feel smile isn’t as forced.

“I got you so good,” Seokmin says. He backs away, keeping a safe distance, leaving a large plastic bag on the doorstep. “Oh my god, I’ve never heard a grown man scream like that, that was hilarious.”

“Very funny Seokmin,” you say. “Did you bring what I asked?”

“Everything is here!” Seokmin says, as if immune to your passive aggressive tone. “Breakfast, clothes, half the toiletry aisle from CVS, and two rapid tests donated from Jihoon because he said, ‘check and make sure yn hasn’t been murdered because I don’t trust some random man.’”

“You can tell him I’m fine,” you say. “And he should stop being a little bitch and apologize.”

“I’ll pass the message on,” Seokmin says. He turns to Seungcheol. “So, you’ve survived a night with yn?”

“Yeah, I don’t recommend the couch,” Seungcheol says. He doesn’t want your friends to think he did anything strange the night before. “Thanks for the clothes.” Seungcheol lifts the bag and frowns at the pattern that he can see through the opaque bag. From what he can see, he’s doomed.

“No problem!” Seokmin says with a grin. “You can keep them, I was going to donate them anyways.” He winks at you. “Stay safe.”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” you say with a sigh waving goodbye as the door swings shut behind you. You glance at Seungcheol and raise your eyebrows. “You need a shower.”

Putting it kindly, Seungcheol looks like a Christmas tree from the 80s that was left up year round and then left forgotten to rot in someone’s backyard. The sweater was once bright green, but faded to a strange color that you don’t think actually exists on purpose, and has a swirling bright yellow pattern that’s somehow withstood the test of time to remain neon. Because there isn’t enough going on, the sleeves have a plaid pattern in the same green and yellow, the hemming around the neck and at the bottom is faded red. You have no idea where Seokmin found it, or why a sweater like that was ever designed.

Still, you can’t quite say you regret asking Seokmin to bring the clothes, because as chaotic as it is, he still looks rather cute. His hair is wet from the shower, a mess of curls that seem to be just a little out of place, and you wonder how long he spends styling his hair each day.

“I’m hideous,” he says.

“It’s horrible,” you say, “But you look kind of cute.”

“You’re just trying to make me forget the fact that it was your friend who brought me the sweater,” he says but you see his smile.

“Maybe,” you say, crossing the room to stand in front of him. “Or maybe I think you’re cute.” The last time you were this close to him, he kissed you. A terrible kiss, yes, but you were very nervous, and you know he was too. Now you’re just curious if a second kiss will be as bad.

Before you get the chance to ask, you hear a rumbling sound from Seungcheol’s pocket. He grimaces and pulls out his phone, answering it before he looks at the screen. You take a step back and fold your arms, wondering if you should give him some privacy.

“Hey, what’s up?” Seungcheol says. You can’t quite make out the words of the voice on the other line, but after a moment Seungcheol frowns.

“You’re joking,” Seungcheol says. “How many tests did you take?” There’s a pause before he asks, “So what do you have?” A few moments later, he shakes his head and hangs up the phone, saying, “I’ll talk to you later.”

When he looks up at you, you are suddenly reminded of the night before, when he knocked on your door and told you that he might have given you covid. There’s this look in his eyes that says I’m sorry without him speaking a word.

“So, that was Jeonghan,” he says.

“Your roommate that has covid?”

“Yeah, so apparently he doesn’t have covid?” Seungcheol says, looking exasperated. “I’m really sorry about all of this, but he just called and said his PCR test was negative and he’s feeling a lot better today and he thinks it was just a cold.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, Jeonghan tends to be dramatic,” Seungcheol says. “Listen, I already felt terrible that all of this happened, and now it turns out that it was for no reason, so I really don’t know what I can do to make up for it.”

You tilt your head. “No idea?”

Seungcheol frowns. “No?”

You take another step closer to him, peering into his eyes. He really doesn’t know what you’re implying, so you ignore your pounding heart and smile at him, tentatively resting your hand on his shoulder.

“Oh,” he says. “Maybe a small idea?”

“You should at least try,” you say.

He leans a little closer, and you catch a whiff of his hair, which smells like your own shampoo. “Can I?”

You nod, and this time he doesn’t waste a second before kissing you. He doesn’t freeze like last time, and neither do you, molding your lips against his. After a couple seconds, you can’t help but smile, and Seungcheol pulls away with his own smile. Much better than last time.

“Does that make up for it?” He asks. At some point his hand found its way to your waist.

“It’s a good start,” you say, “But you’ve got to at least ask me out on a second date before you have a chance at fully making up for it.”

“I think I could do that,” Seungcheol says, almost sounding arrogant. It makes you smile. His smile fades after a moment and he sighs.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve got to go back and save Jeonghan,” he says. “Joshua might actually kill him when he finds out.” He flashes a smile at you. “But I will call you as soon as we’re done and we can schedule that second date.”

“I like the sound of that,” you say. You nearly jump when he kisses your nose, dropping his hand from your waist and wandering around the house as if nothing happened. He doesn't have much to collect, so it isn’t long before he’s standing in your doorway, poised to leave (and avoiding the flour on the floor).

“I’ll call,” he promises. “Unless Joshua is in jail, then it might take a while, but I’ll call eventually.”

“I know a good lawyer,” you say. “Well, he will be, eventually.” He pushes the door open and walks out, but pauses before letting the door swing shut, turning back to look at you again.

“As chaotic as it was, I’m sort of glad that this happened,” he says. “I mean, obviously I still feel bad that I crashed on your couch for basically no reason, but I got to see a lot more of you, and I really liked it. Being with you.”

“I like you too, dork,” you say. “And if you didn’t crash on my couch I never would have called you back, that was a terrible first date.”

“Yeah, it really was,” he says. He still lingers.

“Don’t you dare forget that we still have a rematch for Mario kart.”

“Oh, liking you means nothing, I will take you down,” Seungcheol says. He smiles at you. “Goodbye, yn.”

“Goodbye, Seungcheol,” you say. He finally lets the door swing shut, walking down the sidewalk. He pauses at the end to wave a final time, then disappears around the corner.

You turn back to your apartment. Though you didn’t even spend twenty-four hours stuck here with him, it already feels emptier without him. You lay back on the couch, thinking about the whirlwind of emotions of the past day, and finally settling on the thought of seeing Seungcheol again. And you smile.

a/n2: I had to clown dk I’m sorry

#🌟 stars galaxy #seventeen #seventeen x reader #svt reader #svt #seventeen fluff #scoups #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fanfiction #scoups fluff #Seungcheol fluff #scoups x reader #s.coups #the period in his name is the bane of my existence

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saltnpepperprentiss · 1 year

Text

Always and Forever

Hope x fem reader

Au that idk where exactly it fits in but I'll leave that up to you. It kind of follows Canon except reader is somehow a tribrid too. Anyway Hope is not having the best day and reader appears and cheers her up, in the softest way 🥺

Hope yall enjoy, especially you @huskyhunny 🤗

Its fall time. Hopes favorite season , when the earth adorned its vibrant shades of reds , oranges , yellows and browns. The brunette stands before her easel , starch white and a contrast to the view from her bedroom windows. Mystic falls was washed in all the warm colourful tones an artist could dream of. The sky a murky grey foretelling the downpour it would soon bring and the whistling of a ghastly cold wind that made the branches in the woods even shiver. She knew many would be adorning the fall uniforms essentials by now. A yellow orche scarf with burgundy stripes running horizontally across it ,their schools emblem adorned on one end , the blazers now with long sleeved shirts or maybe their red or yellow (really preferences to each student) cardigan or vest with the sigil of the school found above the right breast. The plaid pants was opted for over the skirts this time of year or if a part of a club would sport the tracksuits instead.

Not everyone saw the wonders in such weather , how the grey of a once bright blue sky wasn't mundane but rather serenity. A promise of natural calming bliss that only a grey sky could give as it almost always accompanied rain. There was another contradiction. Little droplets of water plummeting the earth and soaking everything in its wake. Though the wolves describe it to be a run like no other , they often complain of the cold that follows and the heavyness of wet fur complying to gravities rules. Other students find the wet dog smell way too pungent and rue the poor teardrops of nature for ever falling to begin with. Hope thinks otherwise. She sees them as nature's way of cleansing the earth (must be her witchy side), of days spent in a firelit room bathed in orange light and listening to the persistent pitter patters that aided as a melody to stories told from a time longer ago,, from a man whose lived through them all. Its a promise of large puddles the next day when the sky stops its cleaning and allows for rainboots to thrash and kick at its remains, of happy cries when the murky water touches bare cheeks , rosy from all the joy shared between mother and daughter.

Hope looks away from the window , tries to quell the nostalgia , quiet the thoughts that she could never share those memories again. Never have someone to share that joy or paint beside her as the rain continues its job time and again. Her aunts weren't too fond of the winter chill or its watery promises and although sitting before a fire with popcorn and hot chocolate watching classic movies was fun in its own way , it never made her feel as happy as enjoying the natural moments nature had provided them. That's why when Freya had told her over a phone call she'd rather not reminisce in those days, opting for the rather brighter more warmer moments from the sun and its special season , did Hope truly feel alone.

Her sad thoughts were interrupted by the abrupt thuds against her dorms door. The bronze handle swiftly turning on its own , the locks clicked open and the door swung in to reveal a sheepish looking y/n with two mugs of what looked to be hot chocolate with one too many marshmallows.

"Mind if I join you?" The girl asked although she had already stepped inside and let the door shut probably with the same spell used to open it. A visible chill passed through her.

"Hope its like Antarctica in here!" y/n exclaimed. She made her way to the Mikaelson and set the mugs down on the desk. Its then that Hope notices the girl is clad in a sweater , her school scarf and beanie and the ever present black leather jacket. She's wearing the timberwolves football sweatpants and the whole look seems ridiculous but just shows how not big of a fan the other tribrid is of the cold.-wait y/n doesn't even do any sports, nor has she ever been at mystic falls-

"That's my sweatpants!" Hope finally says. Not even giving it a thought before saying it. She watches y/n freeze for the slightest minute , cheeks rosey and lips quivering as if on the verge of defending herself when her y/e/c eyes lands on the scene behind her.

"Your windows are open! That's why its below freezing point in here!" y/n stomps towards the windows as if it were the greatest enemies shes ever faced. She shuts them with a force that might have shattered them and turns to scowl at the rooms inhabitant.

"Are you trying to catch a cold?!" YN reprimands.

"It wasn't open that long" Hope says , "Besides the cold does not bother me and shouldn't you either , you're a werewolf"

"What ever you say Elsa" the y/h/c girl falls onto the neatly made bed and ignores the eye roll from the Mikaelson. "I might be a wolf but that does not mean I enjoy the temp drop and for you to assume that is stereotypical to your own kind"

"Well its not my kind "Hope says and twirls the dry paintbrush in her hand. She hasn't even set out her colour palette yet , all her paint is still stored in its tubes.

" Oh yes it is fellow tribud" YN remarks and smirks at the groan erupting from Hope's lips.

"Seriously YN ? That nickname is so lame" the brunette practically whines out. Her arms crossed as she stares at the girl casually lazing on her bed. YN knows Hope isn't a fan of the nickname her ex boyfriend coined the two with years ago when he'd finally acclimated to the school. She also knows Hope isn't a big fan of the boy at all at this point but as always YN enjoys teasing the shorter girl to her hearts content.

"Auw cmon its actually a good nickname" YN continues "we're the only two of our kind and we're close" the other tribrid shrugs, "I happen to think tribuds is fitting to our little duo"

"Keep this up and I'll kick you out" Hope warns.

"Auw cmon Hopey I brought you hot chocolate" YN sits up and bends forward for the mugs , wisps of steam still floating up. Hope finds it surprising how any steam could find its way through the horde of marshmallows smothered atop the drink. Hope's gaze jumps from the co-ordinating blue and red mugs to the puppy pout YN is shamelessly sporting and releases an audible sigh.

"It better be good" the brunette mumbles , giving in and taking a seat beside the taller girl.

"Ouch, you wound me Mikaelson" YN says with faux sad expression , handing the blue mug over.

"Well what can I say" Hope starts before taking a sip of the hot chocolate. Its good , as expected. YN never seems to disappoint, not even with a cup of hot chocolate. "Its in my blood"

YN let's out a laugh , one that's filled with endearment and warmth. She scoots closer , mindful of the hot liquid and nudges the brunette's shoulder with her own.

"So are you going to tell me what's got you so worked up , more than usual that is"

"Ha ha" Hope rolls her eyes again at YN 's jab. "Why would you think something's bothering me?" The Mikaelson tribrid asks and when turning to face the y/h/c haired girl , is met with a raised brow.

"You zoned out in front of a blank canvas is never a good sign tribuddy"

Already annoyed by the nickname Hope looks over to the canvas as if it had betrayed her. "What if its just artist block?" she retorts.

"Its not because when you have a block you're glued to Pinterest looking for reference photo's until inspiration hits" YN raises her cup to take a sip then points accusingly , "also art block Hopey doesnt put walls up and accuse her favorite person of not knowing her and her little niches"

"Bold of you to assume you're my favorite person" Hope grumbles poking a marshmallow before looking up to see YN give her that knowing brow raise , driving her point home.

"Okay so I'm a little bit guarded today!" Hope let's out and drops the paintbrush she'd forgotten even having in her hand. She let's out a sigh, taking another sip and letting the warm liquid make its way through her insides hoping the heat could bring comfort to a never-ending ache in her heart. She's brought out of her slight reverie by the soft hand of YN, who squeezes her knee gently as if to remind her that she is here. She is here and will always be.

"I won't force you to talk Hope but know that when you do feel ready, my shoulder is here for you and so are my ears"

Hope rolls her eyes at the way the girl worded her supportiveness. Yet that was one of the many reasons why she was so fond of the you. Your outlook on life was so different hell everything about you was just.. Different and enticing and oh so endearing the tribrid had difficulty picturing a life without you. It was impossible.

"I can't really put what it is im exactly feeling into words but" Hope chews at her lip then gives YN a sad smile. "something about today makes me miss them even more"

You watch her fiddle with the ear of her mug, she darts her gaze away from yours, deciding to keep focusing on the little white treats in her cup.

"it's crazy I know, it's been years and I'm still hung up on it"

She's got tears in her eyes, you know because her lashes seem moist like she'd just tried to bat those salty drops away unnoticed. But you did, you always do. So you take her cup, despite her slight protest she allows it and watches you place it on her desk. You come back to your place on the bed and pull her into your body, arms wrapped around her so tightly you can feel her body tremble as she let's out her cries into the crook of your neck.

"you're not crazy for missing them Hope. Grief doesn't have a time limit you know." you stroke her back with your thumb, making small circles as you continue, "Just know I'll always be here for you Hopey"

"it's not up to you" you hear being mumbled against you and you pull the smaller girl closer. No one deserves the trauma the young Mikaelson had been through and to think she had to face most of it alone still breaks your heart.

"says who" you say with bravado, "I'm not ever leaving your side Mikaelson not even death could keep me away"

You both know Hope has a point, especially the life you both live any day could mean your last. Yet you were sure of your own words, you were holding your world in your arms and there was nothing you wouldn't do to keep the girl who had already suffered so much from being happy. So if death were to ever come knocking you'd meet it with fangs bared and claws out.

"promise?" blue eyes meets yours, staring from below long lashes it makes her suddenly seem younger, as if she somehow de-aged to the little girl who had shouldered too much and held powers she never asked for.

You pull her even closer not wanting any space between you especially since you were trying to warm the shorter girl with your body heat after leaving her window open on such a cold day. One hand coming to cup her cheek, stroking it as if you were holding the most prized possession this world had and smiled at her "I promise"

Kissing her forehead you whisper the words against her skin,

"always and forever"

#legacies #hope mikaelson #hope mikaelson x reader #Hope Mikaelson x female reader #Hope Mikaelson x y/n #Hope Mikaelson is Pansexual I Stan by this #Pansexual #WLW

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cometrose · 2 months

Note

yap about uhh zhongli and azhdaha (please)

I believe I already talked about zhongli and azhdaha but everytime i reread the last lines of their dialogue together I feel so ill, its just like getting sucker punched

first there are theories that azhdaha could be the geo dragon sovereign and I mean its certainly possible. First he is described as the "Lord of the Vishaps" and he lashes at Morax for being an usurper which is the first time this word has been brought up within the main story itself. Plus Morax also struggled to seal him away during the fight showing immense strength so maybe?? I am leaning towards this theory but I have no idea really.

It would make zhongli and azhdaha's relationship 10x more interesting but a billion times more complex.

But that aside reading through the zhongli's second story quest, I think its interesting how Jiu (evil azhdaha) refers to zhongli as a traitor/betrayer this could refer to the fact that morax sided with humanity to stop him or it could refer the heavens and the authority of the archons.

anyway im still crying because morax sharing his power with azhdaha to stop his erosion is so sad but he can't stop it so he has to watch his consciousness and reason turn to nothing. I can't imagine its not only finding a new enemy but losing a friend.

Azhdaha also holding Morax is very high esteem is also super interesting. Apparently in the chinese text it signals that morax had azhdaha's respect or support in the sense that if azhdaha was the geo dragon sovereign he willingly allowed morax to use his power.

I could talk forever but as you go through act II azhdaha recites a poem "a star appears within the wild...a sun ascends as bright as...jade" LISTEN my number 1 theory for what zhongli's true form is, is that he is a star, just a fallen star for the heavens, so not only is this line super important but it also reflects how much meaning morax had to azhdaha. A blind dragon yearning to see the sun, morax embodied that sun is almost every way.

azhdaha uses kun jun to track down morax but also senses morax is no longer than geo archon, i wonder how he found him then- just the scent of the divinity?

"even without a god above, this remains a nation of men. I was once their god. I ought to be here to witness their rise and fall." ugh zhongli please dont say such things

"you were always the strongest among us, yet it would seem that even you have been eroded" see now im confused and upset. zhongli says he struggled to seal azhdaha away but azhdaha also refers to zhongli as the strongest amongst them. the truth seems as that both of them were very close in power with zhongli just peaking over him. When it comes to their fight in the chasm, it seems morax fought azdhaha alone and out of the chasm while 3 of his adepti prepared the seal in Nantianmen. (fun fact you can see the stone formations where morax "dragged" azhdaha out of the chasm)

BUT azhdaha also says that morax came to him not as an assassin so he was willingly sealed away. BUT then zhongli is like the "movements of the Earth Dragon can tremble the earth and shake the heavens. with your abilities even at my full strength i struggled to confront you, let alone seal you away." First zhongli refers to him as Earth Dragon as in a title so wink wink nudge nudge are you the sovereign azhdaha? then zhongli kind of emplies he wouldn't have been able to seal azhdaha had he not consented to it, but azhdaha also believes zhongli was still stronger than him. I guess for now we have to accept both truths.

Also im upset please dont say such things, like the fact that zhongli has eroded in his own way makes me sad.

"you may live forever, doomed to a lonely existence...yet even this is temporary" FUCK. Like this is also part of the reason I think zhongli is a star, because eternal life? loneliness? the sun shines brightly all by itself casting a shadow on everyone and burning whoever gets too close. zhongli is bright and beautiful but he ends up losing everyone within his orbit, like this is so awful but like the adepti, the archons, azhdaha, guizhong like everyone close to him is always dying. even though he lives amongst humanity now he is still going to watch all of them die. someone hold me!!! Azhdaha does say he will meet all his companions at the end, but that could be an eternity away from now.

Also after this zhongli is like my lifespan can't compare to yours, the life of an elemental being is longer than anything but wait a second, in xianyun's story line she mentions that adepti are pure elemental beings. so like is he or is he not an elemental being. If he isn't why is he called the prime of the adepti, if he is why does he state that he could not compare to the lifespan of an elemental being. then again morax could be non-elemental being that just ascended to the title of adepti.

But- kun jun states that if he were not an elemental being morax would've killed him a long time ago, so maybe it's less of the lifespan but more to do with a cycle of rebirth. In the sense you cannot truly kill an elemental being as they will simply revive or come back to life thousands of years later. who knows!

"that day in the chasm? did you hesitate?" "a heart of stone is a heart nonetheless" I don't even want to talk about it, to this day this is still the most homoerotic line in the entire game. i feel so ill, want to throw up.

I'm kind of curious when zhongli and azhdaha met, because azhdaha is like I was there with Liyue's founder, as in he was there when the harbor was founded 3,700 years ago and was sealed 1,000 years ago. BUT liyue was founded before the end of the archon war, hell it was founded at the climax of the war, so were zhongli and azhdaha already partners when zhongli became the geo archon? If so it could grant more meaning to the idea that azhdaha approved of zhongli as in he accepted morax taking his authority IF he was the geo dragon sovereign.

"you're leaving?" dont talk like that zhongli it makes you sound (and me feel) pitiful

See also zhongli is like “centuries have past since the day azhdaha attacked but the events remain crystal clear in my mind” so like i feel zhongli erodes in a different way than azhdaha i don't think his memories are just degrading away.

BACK to the power thing, zhongli says despite being the victor he cannot claim to be stronger than azhdaha, because in his heart he still retained good will, and although he wished to be sealed away, erosion made him forget this wish. SO azhdaha says morax was stronger but zhongli says azhdaha was stronger.

In this situation, zhongli could be referencing power of will. In the sense that even though zhongli won the physical fight, azhdaha was still "stronger" than him because, despite losing his memories, he still retained goodness in his heart. I will leave the power thing between the two as "ambiguous" just for my peace. But zhongli could also be saying that erosion made azhdaha "weak" in some way and if not for that he could not have bested him in battle.

Erosion talk makes me sad, zhongli describes his erosion as "people abandon and surrender the things the love to pursue the right path". And god it hurts, he loved azhdaha, truly! But to protect liyue zhongli had to turn his back on his companions. there are probably so many people zhongli loved that he couldn't protect or couldn't be with to protect liyue.

Which is why I don't think I can be too harsh on him for stepping down as archon. Not only is erosion more dangerous the stronger the being is, but for a god that has lived so selflessly for all these years I cannot blame him for wanting to cherish the things he personally loves for once. But even then he still loves liyue so much he wants to watch them grow for many years.

So uh yeah azhdaha zhongli hurts me soooo because it was never meant to be, but there are a lot of theories out there that could change the dynamic of their relationship so I am just not sure. But i do like them together I wish azhdaha would come back simply because it would make zhongli happy.

#azhdaha #zhongli #genshin impact #damn i was talking #BUT REALLY #I ALSO heard theories that zhongli himself could be the geo dragon sovereign but betrayed the rest of the dragons to become archon #i am less inclined towards this one BUT it could also hold a double meaning for azhdaha's “betrayor and traitor” lines #i wish their was more rezhong content #i could talk more but im tired lol #and this is long enough #if azhdaha had an anime bishie form i wouldn't be suffering #azhdaha come back there are GAPS within the lore #DONT READ HISTORIA ANTIQUA ACT II #that shit makes me miserable!!!#also if zhongli is not an adepti what is he #like ofc yes adepti isn't a race its a title #BUT like the beings that become adepti are elemental beings #or at least beings like xianyun are other elite adepti #many questions

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