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nisuna · 2 months

Note

Requesting Toji fucking a single mom. That’s it. Ily hope you’re doing good ❤️

Hi Helloooo (Ily toooo), finally some goofy bickering and mindless smut 🥳 enough serious talk for now

Hope you enjoy! (read part 2 here!!)

TW: Pure smut, a lot of bickering, just a one night stand, right? or is it.., oraf (f. receiving), overstimulation, protected sex, a lot of positions, brat taming in a way, manhandling, tit sucking, Toji x single mom!reader, this turned out longer than I expected, 2.5k words

<3masterlist<3

---------------strictly 18+ MDNI-----------------

It was the first time you went out in months and you definitely weren't looking for a hook up. You just wanted to go out and have some fun, now that your kids were staying at their grandparents' for the weekend. So you definitely didn't expect to get hit on by the biggest man you've ever seen. His eyes were almost eating you alive. He even had his hand on your hip, while his thumb was gently swiping over the area. You were definitely enjoying yourself until he finally spoke up.

"First time here, doll?", he asked, full of confidence.

"Huh, doll?", you sounded confused. "Do people really use these nicknames nowadays?", you thought and felt your smile fade as you backed up a bit.

"What's wrong?", he felt his confidence crumble a bit. Usually, girls were eating the nickname right up. You definitely were a handful, but nothing he couldn't handle. Challenge accepted.

"Nothing really, I just haven't been flirted with in a long time and definitely not like that."

"I'll help you ease back into it, no problem.", surely, that had to convince you. However, you weren't playing along at all. You backed up even more.

He was starting to get impatient. Now he had to have you no matter what. "Why are you so difficult? I can show you a real good time. You'll be missin' out big time."

"You know what?", you approached him, "I'm not one of your dumb little girls that swoon at your every action you know", you answered while poking your finger right between his tits (were they bigger than yours?). You'd be lying if you said you weren't taken aback by his sheer mass, but you couldn't give in so easily.

"I know, I know, I haven't had a mature woman in a long time. Why don't you remind me what it's like?", he put his arm around your waist and pulled you flush against his hard chest.

"You yap a lot, you know that."

"Why are you holdin' back so much? I know you want me just as bad, hm?", he took a long whiff against your neck. You had to have nerves of steel not to whimper on the spot. "Pleasee", he fucking pouted at you.

"Shit, fine. But not here.", you finally gave in and he shot you the biggest grin you've ever seen a grown man do while he pulled you to one of the bathrooms.

------

"H-hold on. What are you, a horny teenager?", you panicked as soon as he picked you up and sat you down on one of the sinks.

"I might as well be. I'll do anything to get a taste of that delicious body of yours.", he stared you down and poked his tongue out. Shitty smooth talker.

As soon as he slottet himself between your legs, he began pulling at your dress. One of his hands went down between your legs and started rubbing at the already damp fabric while he licked a thick stripe up your neck.

"Shit", you tried to hold back your moans. He, however, showed no mercy as he began to suck on your neck, working down to your cleavage. As if to test the waters, he grabbed a handfull of your tit only to halt all movements.

"They're real, right?", he asked, almost too excited.

"Yeah, why? Did most of your other dolls have them done?", you fake mocked him before letting out a moan as he pulled his hand from between your legs and onto your chest.

"Yeah, not that I really care. Tits are tits. But yours definitely feel better than the last few I've had."

"Last few? How much does this man fuck?", you couldn't dwell on the thought for long though, because he was already pulling down your dress and latching his hungry mouth onto one of your nipples.

"Slow down ah- what if someone comes in?"

"Don't mind. They're probably too drunk to notice anyway." Thouché.

He was really taking his sweet time playing with your tits, but he must be getting restless as well, because he kept rubbing his hard cock against your, at this point, soaked panties.

"Are we gonna fuck, or are you just gonna dry hump me until you cum in your pants?"

"Better, I'll eat you out."

"Really? You don't seem like the type to just eat a girl out."

"Yeah, I usually just get my dick sucked. But I'm feelin' adventurous today because of you, mama."

"Mama, huh? I guess that's better than doll." You hummed and saw him get on his knees in front of you. Having such a huge man kneel between your legs definitely gave you an ego boost. So you were quick to put your legs over his shoulders and grab a handfull of his dark hair. He, however, didn't make a move and was just looking. Pulling on his hair and squishing his face between your thighs finally made him look up at you.

"Then you better get to work, I won't cum fron you just oogling me."

As soon as the words left your mouth, your panties were pulled to the side and your breath hitched as you felt his hot mouth on you.

"Just you wait", he mumbled between licks, "I told you, I'm gonna make it worth your while."

For having said that he doesn't do this often, he did have good technique. He mostly focused his tongue on your clit, alternating between flattening it and using just the tip. From time to time he even slipped a finger or two in to curl them exactly into your sweet spot. However, it was embarrassing how often he stopped just to breathe in your scent.

He even kept mumbling, "best pussy I ever had" between slurps. Your cheeks were getting hot and your hips started to move against his face. And with your teamwork it didn't take long for you to slap a hand over your mouth to muffle your lewd moans as you came on his tongue. Even after you've calmed down he kept his mouth on you making your legs tremble and toes curl in overstimulation. You had to yank on his hair to finally get him off of you.

When you looked at him, his eyes were blown wide and his chin was glistening with your juices. You didn't look any better, your hair was a mess and your skin was shining with sweat.

After he got back up and pressed himself against you, he asked, "Round two at your place?" Not that you'd ever admit it, but he had you hooked. So, of course, you gave him a nod and he gave you a satisfied grin in return.

-----

As soon as both of you arrived home, he didn't waste any more time and clothes were flying off faster than you had anticipated.

He's never impatient with hookups. Afterall, they're usually the ones that beg him to finally fuck them. But you were far too composed, even squeezing in some snarky remarks here and there. He knew you'd be trouble after your first interaction at the club. You weren't easy and his ego told him that he had to have you no matter what. But he didn't expect you to stay so calm. You had him practically begging to finally get inside of you. Finally a worth opponent, huh? He didn't even argue when you told him he had to wear a condom.

When he finally had you where he had wanted you all night, naked and in bed, he smirked and ripped the condom wrapper with his teeth.

"I gotta be the biggest one you've ever had.", he boasted while rolling the condom on.

"Don't flatter yourself", you lied. Any virgin would be shaking in her boots at this sight. You haven't had any action in a long time, but you are definitely no virgin. Surely you could take it, right?

"I'll make sure you'll never forget my dick. You'll want to come back for more. Not that you can have it again, anyway. No offence, commitment just isn't my thing. One night stands is where I shine. So, don't catch feelings alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, you yap way too much. Just shut up and give it to me.", was the last thing you said before pulling him into the first kiss of the night.

He was a little taken aback by your sudden boldness. He's not a big kisser, but this feels quite nice. So it didn't take long for him to compose himself and slowly press into you.

You overestimated yourself a bit, as the first stretch felt like you were about to rip in half, especially once he bottomed out the first time. But mama didn't raise no quitter, so you took it like a champ and dug your nails into his back instead of whining about it. However, some tears did manage to make their way into your eyes and you fully expected a snarky comment to come your way, but to your surprise, he leaned down to kiss them away.

You could cut the tension with a knife as you both just looked at each other. To lighten the mood you playfully hit his chest and chuckled. "Wow, didn't know you could be such a gentleman. But enough now", you put your arms around his neck and pulled him close. "Fuck me till I pass out", you purred into his ear.

After that, he finally snapped out of his trance and went to pound town. The first few thrusts almost knocked the wind out of your lungs, but once you got used to them, you felt extra daring.

"That all you got?", you challenged.

He didn't react at first, but he was determined to shut you up. He looked strong, but you were still taken aback when he pulled you up with him as he knelt down on the bed. One arm was behind him supporting his weight and the other was grabbing a handfull of your ass. He smirked at your shocked expression and you couldn't contain your voice when he started to pound into you from below.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and leaned down, pressing your lips against his. You were trying your hardest to muffle the embarassing moans that just kept spilling out of your mouth at his every move. He felt his ego rejuvenate at your obedience, which is why he started to kiss you back with much more enthusiasm than before.

"Feels good, right? Nobody's ever fucked you this good, huh?", he mumbled against your lips. You frantically shook your head, going right back to kissing him. It felt overwhealming at first, but you found your composure soon enough. He was trying his hardest to tame you, increasing his speed and spanking your ass between thrusts. But even that didn't shut you up so he finally snapped.

"You've been running that mouth of yours the whole night. Don't you think it's about time you finally shut up and take it. Just lay there and look pretty."

You cracked a smile and whispered, "make me."

Now he's had it with you. Before you could react, he pulled out of you and turned you on your tummy.

And before you could make another snarky remark, he pushed back into you and pulled your back flush against his chest. He's holding you up with one arm while sticking his thick fingers in your mouth. You felt drool drip out of your mouth and your eyes roll back at the new angle.

For the first time tonight, you were truly speechless and his ego grew incredibly more as he started to pound into you.

"Good girl, fucking finally."

You instinctively started sucking on his fingers at the praise. Is this what they call brat taming? It's actually quite nice being manhandled like that.

After a while he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and went straight between your legs. You let out the most obscene mewl, throwing your head back on his shoulder as soon as his fingers started to rub tight circles in your throbbing clit.

"Cumming on my cock will feel much better. I can promise you that."

And god, he didn't lie because the orgasm in the bathroom doesn't compare to what you're feeling right now. He had your back arching in his tight hold and you felt yourself go limp as he just used you. It didn't take long for him to reach his limit as well and he came with a low groan and bite to your shoulder.

He barely caught you after he let go and you almost fell face first on your bed from exhaustion. This fuck has definitely been worth your while.

You two didn't speak much after that as you went to clean up in the bathroom. This was it, right? It's kind of a shame that you were never going to see him again. It was nice having some company, but oh well.

"See yourself out once you've finished alright?", was the last thing you said before lying down.

"Sure."

Usually, that would be it, right? That's his thing, just a quick fuck and then dip. But oddly enough today, that just didn't feel right. It's been a long time since a woman made him sweat so much. Girls in their early twenties truly didn't compare to you. So when he saw you just laying there so peacefully he felt an urge to stay longer.

"I'll just leave as soon as I wake up. One night won't hurt."

You were already fast asleep when he snuggled up to your side. So much for not catching feelings, huh?

---------

When you woke up, it was with his heavy arm draped over your waist. You rubbed your eyes and tried to sit up, but no chance with the tight grip he had on you. So you opted for shaking him.

"What are you still doing here? I thought you said you only do one night stands.", you questioned. With a groan he finally gave you room to turn around and face him.

"Answer me now.", you poked and pulled on his cheek.

"Just leave me be. Your bed's way comfier than mine and it smells nice, too." In his sleep drunken state, he nuzzled his face against yours. He was nothing like the man you got to know yesterday. He was kind of cute, actually. So you just sighed and didn't resist his hugs.

"Want to stay till breakfast?" Nod. You didn't expect this outcome, but oddly enough, it wasn't an unwelcome one. You missed sharing a bed with someone anyway, so where's the harm in trying it out with him. You're gonna enjoy this for as long as it lasts. Who knows what'll happen.

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Tell me what you think!! xoxo

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angel-of-the-moons · 5 months

Text

Eccentricities

Yandere!Miguel x Fem!Reader

TW/CW: DDDNE, Dead Dove Do Not Eat, NSFW, masturbation, spying, camera usage, Miguel being an overall gross creep, stalker behavior, possessiveness, obsessiveness, mentions of murder from the previous chapter, manipulation tactics

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

A/N: Woot! Sorry it's taken so long, everyone! I reinjured my back somehow so hopefully I can relax and get comfy enough to be a bit more regular with uploads to this! This chapter is a bit of filler before we once again, get into the heavier stuff later on. (And yeah I totally looked up the recipe for that drink because UGH I want it so BAD)

Part 2

Taglist: @vineberries9 @irmiki @autismsupermusicalassassin @obi-mom-kenobi @rin-matsuoka345-blog @loosecan @6thhokageswife @selarus @heyohalie @sapphire-and-ruby @night-spectrum @famouscattale @thespaceinbetweennothing @lazy-idate @toshimoshiko @saharadesertaj @flaps200 @amelialysm @fried-milkfish @zaunsin @darksidescorner @renareyouhere @vide0-vamp @reverieblondie @bunnibitez @kaqua @peterbparkersburger @tojishugetiddies @aisyakirmann @itslariette @xxeclipze @oharasfilipinawife @amber-content @ixanne2006 @miguels-aranita

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Pt. 3

Several weeks had passed since the incident with the man in the alley, since Spider-Man had come to your rescue.

Several weeks since Miguel first felt the taste of euphoria from claiming you verbally. Even if you didn't know it, or knew he was Spider-Man.

Snapping that disgusting prick's neck was satisfying. It would only have felt better if he had sunk his fangs in his throat and just ripped it out, or curled his talons deep, his fist wrapping around his windpipe and yanking it free of his body.

No, no, he had no time for that, though. He had to hurry up and get home so he could comfort you, his scared Little Bird.

His precious Little Bird.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulders and patting your back filled him with such a sense of accomplishment. Not even fighting and detaining anomalies felt that good. Protecting the multiverse paled in comparison to feeling your trembling little body beneath his hands, seeing your body visibly relax under his touch and in his presence.

Fuck, did he want you so badly. But, he couldn't. Not yet. He had to earn more of your trust.

Or at the very least, coerce it from you.

He felt pangs of guilt whenever he would think too deeply on it, but he realized when he checked your canon events, that... well. There was nothing saying you couldn't be his. That your universe would collapse.

You were safe, because you were in his native universe. You were safe because you were his.

Or, you would be. One way or another.

He wouldn't lose you the way he lost Gabriela. He wouldn't watch as you crumbled in his arms.

He wouldn't be alone again.

The way he rationalized it when his morals clouded his drive to possess you, was that you were precious. A cool drink of water after a run in the desert, a calm spot in the middle of a hurricane.

You were something pure that he needed to have. He needed to keep you safe.

Pulling up the statistics of your previous apartment district definitely solidified his reasoning that you simply couldn't be trusted to make decisions on your own. Why else would someone as naive as you move somewhere with a crime rate that reached nearly 76% in petty violent crime?

Which brought him back around to the garbage he tossed into a random alley in the city.

His fingerprints and DNA tied him to assaults and break-ins at your building and the neighboring district.

So once again... Miguel was merely doing what was best for you.

Thankfully you didn't have many friends, your busy work schedule from before saw to that. You were simply too raggedly worn to make friends. You even admitted that Lyla was probably the only friend you had (Miguel heard in the recordings of your conversations that you were still too new to Miguel as a person to count him as something so intimate just yet).

Another reason he was taking care of you.

You couldn't manage your work-life balance on your own, and you were struggling financially and mentally from the workload and lack of funds.

But because you were living rent free and with a paycheck to boot... Miguel knew that was the first turn of the proverbial key for your situation.

Soon, you would be locked inside your guilded cage where only he could touch and hold you.

You would thank him for it, eventually. He was sure of it. He would have you on your knees, smiling up at him happily, a pretty gold, necklace-like collar around your neck, the key would hang over his heart.

The thought alone made his cock throb.

No, no...

First things first.

He needed to earn you a bit more. He'd realized that with his work in Alchemax and the Spider Society, you and him hadn't had much interaction save for the end of the day, just after he'd come back from patrolling and you were headed off to bed for the night.

Well, lucky for him... Miguel had put in that he was taking a week away from work, and he even let Jess, Peter, and Lyla take control of things back at HQ, just so he can have time to spend with you.

He needed to make sure that you knew he wasn't afraid to be social with you, that he could be friendly and charming. Maybe once he hammered your walls down a bit... Things might be able to flow naturally. Maybe you would be interested in a relationship with him. It would make manipulating you that much easier.

'It's all for her own good. Nobody else can protect her like I can.' He kept telling himself.

'She'll realize that.'

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You had just let the dinner you made finish baking in the oven.

It was nice, you discovered, to have a conversation with your boss and Lyla while you worked.

Miguel--as politely as possible--convinced you to let him help you cook. He made some interesting dishes that smelled amazing, plus you two worked together to make a tres leches cake just for the two of you. He even showed you how to make homemade whipped icing! (That was messy but you two had fun doing it, of course)

He promised he'd teach you how to make chocoflan and a few other sweets, sometime. Maybe over the next week, since he had the coming days off; and your skills lie in appetizers and main dishes, not desserts.

And it was because of this topic that you learned Miguel had a hell of a sweet tooth. You made a note to add a few new items to your grocery list to make up for this oversight.

Because, hey, he's been working so hard, comes home ragged... who wouldn't enjoy coming home to a nice sweet, homemade treat after working all day and most of the night?

Thankfully your time as a bartender, you knew some things about making some good cocktails without skimping on the liquor.

Like, right now.

Miguel had a bar in his mansion (like most rich people in Nueva York, you assumed), and he allowed you free reign of it because he trusted you.

That knowledge made you feel a bit more pride than you normally would, because this rich and powerful man trusted you with bottles of liquor and champagne that cost more than a year's worth of rent at your old apartment.

At the moment, you were making him a cocktail you've always wanted to try, but menus priced them too high and you couldn't afford the proper stuff to make it right at home.

It was difficult, however, because he was so close, with his Adonis-like good looks and the body that surely made any woman's eyes wander. You had to snap your eyes away when he leaned on the counter, his biceps flexing beneath his partially unbuttoned dress shirt; the sleeves rolled up revealing his thick forearms and the veins lacing the gorgeous tanned skin that probably had phlebotomists fainting or swooning at the sight.

You tried so hard to stay on task as you carefully dipped the rim of the martini glasses in marshmallow fluff and rolled the rims in the crushed graham crackers. It took a few tries, because you were so distracted by the sheer inhuman beauty that was Miguel O'Hara, but his voice snapped you to attention.

"So... What is it you're making?" He hummed curiously, his brow quirking up from behind his glasses.

You cleared your throat and held up the two dusted glasses, "It's called a s'mores martini. It's a bit of a pain to make, but I'm told it tastes amazing."

"Ah." He smiled at you, resting his chin in his palm, his plush and pouty lips curled upwards as he watched. "But you've never made it before, hmm?"

You cringed. "Er... Well. I mean... I've seen other people make it plenty of times..."

Miguel laughed a little, the noise softly escaping his lips as you first poured in the Irish cream, heavy cream, the chocolate syrup, and finally the chocolate liqueur into the shaker.

"Of course. We learn from watching others experience, right?" He hummed softly, eyes tracking your hands.

You awkwardly avoided eye contact as you closed the shaker and held it above you, shaking the contents to make sure they were well mixed. You didn't notice because you were a little embarrassed, that Miguel was staring shamelessly at your cleavage as they jiggled with each over-the-shoulder shake of the metal shaker.

"Well... Yeah! Exactly!" You smiled, finally looking back at him. He'd corrected his line of sight swiftly so you wouldn't notice his hungry leering.

Once it was done, you strained the mixture into the glasses slowly, smiling proudly at the fact you didn't accidentally drop or--god forbid--throw the shaker into the glass bar behind you or across the goddamn room.

You then impaled two marshmallows on both of the smaller skewers you'd prepared, and held them up one at a time, lighting them with the small handheld torch.

You always liked yours a teeny bit more burned, so you let yours bubble and blacken a bit more to ensure optimum gooey-ness before placing it above your cocktail, leaving Miguel's lightly toasted before placing his.

They looked damn delicious, if you did say so yourself.

Miguel gave a tiny congratulatory clap as he watched you finish garnishing the drinks, his lips still curled in that smirk of his.

He took the stem of the glass and plucked the skewer from the rim, making a small show of his tongue curling around the sweet fluffy treats before pulling them off the stick and into his mouth.

He felt his gut twist with a fire as he watched you awkwardly avoid looking at him once more as you munched on yours a bit less eloquently than he did, getting some of the delicious sticky treat on your bottom lip. Miguel continued to watch with ravenous eyes as your tongue swiped the excess off and into your waiting mouth.

Miguel cleared his throat to get your attention again, and lifted his glass in a small toast, "Salud."

Your smile could melt his heart any day, and he felt it do a funny little flip as you returned it. "Salud!"

You wanted to squirm with glee when you saw his eyebrows shoot up when the flavor hit his mouth. You could tell by his expression that it wasn't bad; on the contrary, it was the look of someone who tried something new for the first time and absolutely loved it.

"Muy Bien." Miguel grinned. "You're right. This is good. I didn't know this cocktail existed 'til you showed me."

"See?" You chuckled, licking some of the fluff and crackers off the rim before taking another sip (something Miguel couldn't help but shamelessly watch). "I love looking up drink recipes. There's this one made from melon liqueur that involves soaking chunks of the melon in the alcohol, right..."

"That sounds good... Sprinkle a little chili-lime salt on it, it could almost be like a treat I used to eat as a kid with my brother." He grinned at you.

"We'd go to the park, buy a mango fresh from the bodega, some of the salt, and just sit on a bench and eat it after school."

"Oh! You can make it with mangos, too! We could try that." You chirp helpfully, ignoring how your heart skipped a beat

"I'd like that." Miguel chuckled, taking another sip. "Perhaps I can make you a white Russian, too?"

"Oh! That sounds good! I've never had one of those..."

You smiled, taking in the quiet, budding camaraderie between you and your boss. Lyla had long since moved her little holographic self to the kitchen, carefully monitoring the food so it didn't burn, so it was just you and Miguel in the comfortable silence as you enjoyed your drinks.

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God, of course you couldn't keep your hands to yourself. The moment you finished your chores and bade Miguel goodnight, you ran to your room, your heart fluttering like a wild hummingbird.

It was the booze. It had to be the booze.

Especially with these thoughts running through your head. He was your boss.

He was your boss.

You couldn't think about him like that, it would only complicate things. Being friends you could do, but... job romances always ended nasty. Like when you broke up with your coworker at the insurance office.

Bryce was still pissy about that and would harass you on occasion, sending hurtful and suggestive e-messages to your addresses.

But... working for a guy who may as well have been molded by the gods themselves; how the fuck were you to function properly without your mind wandering to less family-friendly thoughts?

The answer: not fucking easily.

Like right now, you were laid back on your cushy, soft bed, your fingers rolling soft circles onto your clit as you plunged your silicone dildo in and out of your wet and messy channel, your slick and juices leaving a shiny and creamy trail along the length as you twisted and pulled, desperately trying to get that orgasm you wanted. Thankfully you had a towel cushioned beneath you to contain your mess...

Hell, you tried watching porn on your phone, but even that could only get you so fired up. And thus, you were stuck with what your imagination could cook up.

And right now it was a heated image of Miguel leaning over you, whispering filthy things into your ear;

"Ah, so wet and needy, doll? Need my help to work you through it?" He would growl, his teeth just barely grazing the shell of your ear.

"That's it, just tip it up a bit more, thrust it harder--like that. Good girl."

You couldn't help the small moans and breathy gasps that trembled free from your lungs as you felt that wonderful pressure begin to curl your toes.

Your fingers slid down, gathering some of your slick as you imagined Miguel praising you, encouraging what you were doing as you used your wetness to lubricate your fingers so you could do smoother rolls on your little bundle of nerves.

"Good girl." He'd breathe softly, his voice a hair above a whisper as his breath fanned over your cheeks. You could imagine smelling his cologne and aftershave wafting off of him, his natural musk bleeding beneath it all...

"Get yourself nice and wet. Keep going. So close now, muñeca, so close."

You imagined him then, behind your closed eyes, hissing through clenched teeth as he would smack your hand off of your toy, taking the base in his palm before shoving it roughly up into you.

"Need my help, huh? Your little hands not good enough? Fine."

He'd lean back, staring down at you with heavy, lidded eyes as he roughly fucked you with that pale imitation of a real dick; the bulge in his pants straining against the seams in a way you'd swear they would burst.

Miguel would bring a hand back, slicking his messy hair, the sticky gel coming loose from the sweat and heat that was shared in such a small space between you; and he would rip the buttons of his shirt open as he watched you squeak and mewl as your orgasm got closer.

He'd grin down at you, his crooked teeth gleaming like shark teeth on display as he'd twist and thrust the toy up further and further, hitting every spot you needed with every deft curve of his hand.

"And once I'm done, magdalena, I will show you what a real cock can do to that cute little pussy of yours."

You tossed your head back when your imagination spat that line of dialogue out, and moaned wantonly as your orgasm gushed out of you, every muscle in your body tensing and relaxing all at the same time as the euphoria crashed into you like a violent surf.

You just couldn't contain yourself, crying breathily at the mental image:

"Miguel."

You laid there for what felt like forever, breathing, trying to regain from the intense orgasm that made your head and heart pound.

That's when the post-coital clarity began to set in, and you sat up abruptly, covering your mouth in sheer shock at the fact you just called out his name.

Your boss's name.

You looked around, knowing it was stupid, that he couldn't have possibly heard you from elsewhere in the house, but the flush that crept up your body was there all the same.

Equal parts shame and arousal, honestly...

Thankfully, Miguel didn't hear you.

But you were still none the wiser to the cameras above your bed, pointing straight down at you; feeding right to Miguel's office so he could watch you like his own private peep show.

And you were definitely none the wiser about the thick ropes of cum that covered Miguel's fingers, or how his lips curled into a sick smile as he licked his warm spend from his own hand, his face awash in the dim glow from the monitors in front of him.

Yes. You were going to be a fun little project.

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Part 4: Coming Soon

#yandere!miguel o’hara #yandere!miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara atsv

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messyhairedhazeleyeddude · 5 months

Text

Ache // Yandere! Ticci Toby x

Fem! Reader {SMUT}

[Hello, this will be the first fic that I post. What I'm going to give you guys beforehand is some trigger warnings before we get on to it. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it and give me some feedback whenever you're done if you feel in the mood.]

TW // Violence, r@pe, and a whole lotta mention of murder as always.

𓌏 ☒ 𓌏 ☒ 𓌏 ☒ 𓌏 ☒ 𓌏 ☒ 𓌏 ☒ - First P.O.V

Every day, it started like this. Planted in my bed, tangled in my grey sheets, waiting for that one sliver of motivation to get out of my blankets. My room was a mess. Pieces of clothing scattered across the floor, piling up around my dresser, and hanging off of places I tossed them.

I stared over the rest of what I could see while trying to get rid of the bitter taste of soda left on my tongue from last night. The posters I've collected of my favorite bands clung onto the wall for dear life, fading away from how long they had been there. An empty Sprite can stood on my nightstand, left there after my body decided to have its third caffeine crash this week.

It was getting so warm where I was lying that I was starting to overheat, making me shuffle around to stay cold. That wasn't too hard because of how freezing my room was.

When I looked at my window, I noticed it was cracked open. If I didn't shut it soon, it would get worse. But minutes were melting into each other and I didn't want to get up. Why did I love to procrastinate so much? It shouldn't be this hard to move on with my day.

Silence filled every corner of my apartment, leaving me to peacefully rot. Was it selfish of me to be like this? That's what it felt like they were trying to say when I talked to relatives. But that's the reason why I prefer to be shut-in. I never had to hear that about myself. The world outside would remain indifferent. And hopefully, by the time I had to move, I was swallowed into the Earth below.

A sudden vibration of my phone startled me. I mumbled a barrage of curses and reached for it slowly, furrowing my brows and groaning. I could only pray that it wasn't him trying to contact me.

The last time he visited, I no longer felt safe outside. I would check behind me constantly, feeling as if his light brown eyes were glued to my back, and at any moment, he could come back and chop off my limbs until I was a headless torso. Remembering that he existed caused that horrible anxiety to spread goosebumps across my skin. I was shaking as I tried to unlock my phone.

Hundreds of notifications popped up that I had been ignoring, some of them messages from my mom, and the rest were emails. I almost accidentally clicked on one before I found the most recent. "Return library books today," it read. Fuck, I forgot today was the due date for those. Despite not wanting to, I had to get up. I did promise that if I had a reason to, I would.

I peeled myself from the comfort of my bed. My sheets clung to me like glue, trying to pull me back as if it were a bad idea. Fighting against it, I shivered at the sudden change in temperature and pulled down the bottoms of my shorts so they weren't wedged in between my ass.

After not walking for what felt like forever, I took my first steps, a soreness on my left thigh making me place a hand on my dresser for support. I looked down at a bruise from that encounter, biting my lip to distract myself from thinking about it. I need to take my pills or I'll get suicidal. So many things to do. So overwhelmed.

Encouraging myself in my head, I found the strength to go for the door. I opened it and turned down my hallway, going for the bathroom with quick and light steps.

Many pictures of family and portraits were loosely decorated on the wall, a pit in my stomach opened when I stared at them. I lingered on my dad and had to tear myself away from the picture before I felt the need to cry.

Stumbling into the bathroom, I flicked on the harsh yellow light and stood before the mirror, running a hand through my disheveled hair. I reached for the medicine cabinet, the hinges squeaking as I rummaged through it. I grabbed my medication and popped the bottle open, tossing out a tiny pill into my palm. I swallowed the bitter capsule and cringed as it slowly went down.

Turning my attention to the sink, I turned on the cold water and brought my mouth to the tap to take a sip. Then I splashed it on my face after I was done, relieved that the pill was no longer there. On the counter, I focused on the facewash I hadn't used in god knows how long. I missed the feeling of my face being clean. At least, I can't forget about it now.

I poured the runny liquid into my hands and rubbed them together, slapping it on my face and rubbing it in circles to get deep in my pores. It foamed up a bit and burned. If I'm going to be honest, I don't know if I'm supposed to be using this, but it works.

As I was splashing the water on my face again to clean it off, I opened my eyes to a man staring at me in the mirror, causing me to freeze. I could see the glisten of his goggles from here, that blue hood covering his messy hair, but it didn't contain enough around the edges. It was him. The man who attacked me and my dad a couple of days ago.

A scream clawed its way up my throat, but before the sound could escape, I reached for something. Grab anything to protect myself, that's all I needed to do. But before I could, the room blurred as I twisted, my hand grasping a razor for a split second.

I was torn away from it. I felt a hard impact on my back as I was slammed against the wall, the air forcing out of my lungs in a sharp gasp. I struggled to breathe, my hands grabbing onto his wrists while they dug into my neck.

He had me pinned against it and struggling to get any sort of noise out. Slowly, I was dragged up upward and lifted off of the ground. I choked, my vision was fading as his glare burned into mine. He's going to kill me. Just like he did to Dad. He's going to get away with it. I pulled my head back against the wall before lunging it forward to collide it with the serial killer's, his hands faltering their hold and dropping me from the force of it.

I collapsed to the floor and sputtered out several coughs, hunched up in a ball and desperately trying to regain the oxygen he took from me. My neck felt numb, the indents of his fingers bruising and stung like a bitch.

He crouched down to me. I closed my eyes and thought he would finish it right there. But when I suddenly felt his lips press against mine, they shot back open. Breathing heavily through my nose, I stared at his shut eyelids. I glanced down at his lashes, feeling his breath as he sighed. He relaxed into me for a split second before pulling away, lowering his voice to a rough whisper to introduce himself, "It's nice to meet you finally, {F/N}. The name's Tobias."

Struggling to get myself sitting up, I made it by resting on the wall and using my hands to keep me there. My chest rapidly went up and down as I watched his every move. He backed away a bit, but not enough to give me leverage. I repeated, "Tobias?" And his eyebrow quirked up like he was questioning my reaction.

"I can also go by Toby. Whatever you prefer. But I gave you my full name because I really like you, [F/N]," he added. I knitted my brows and shook my head, unable to understand what he was saying. He liked me? He just kissed me? What the fuck?

I pushed myself away from him and got back up, running for it and successfully escaping the bathroom. The front door was right in front of me, I barely got to reach for it before I felt a hand grab a fistful of my hair. No, I almost had it!

Strands of my hair were ripped out as I was yanked backward and thrown onto the couch, falling onto it and yelping in pain. Tears fell from my eyes and I clutched my head, grabbing the part that hurt the most. A headache was coming on and I couldn't help but rock myself to soothe it. I sobbed, "Leave me alone! Please, just leave me alone..." I twisted myself to let out the rest in the cushions, hearing him approach behind me.

After crying for a bit and nothing was happening to me, I hesitantly lifted myself to take a peek. Toby was sitting next to me, almost as if he was waiting patiently for me to finish. When he saw that I was staring at him, he patted his lap and said, "Here. Rest your pretty head and we can get to talking about this, sweetheart."

I was too scared of him to tell him no. It was the first time I felt pure terror from somebody. Like I would never be able to fight back with him. And I was right. I couldn't. The sad truth was that if my dad had fallen to this man, I'm sure I would live the same fate if I didn't listen. Dragging myself, I cringed while laying my head onto his leg, feeling his hand rest on my head and causing me to flinch. "Sh, sh, I'm not going to hurt you anymore. I told you, I really adore you, [F/N]," he reassured me. A part of me wanted to bite his leg to pieces, but if I went along with this until he fell asleep or left, then I could escape and possibly go to the police.

Deciding to go with it, I pretended to enjoy the warmth and snuggled into him. I wouldn't call it pretending actually, he was pretty warm. Toby hummed and it stayed like this for some time. He kept petting me, brushing my hair out of the way, soothing me from the chase earlier.

Eventually, he got bored of it and nudged me to sit back up. I tilted my head and asked, "What?" His hand went to rest on my lower back, applying pressure around it, pushing me forward until I was easing into sitting on him. A smile crossed his face at the compliance. He seemed intrigued by it.

"I didn't think you would give up this quick. I thought I was going to have to give you a couple more marks for memories," he sounded pleased as both of his arms wrapped around my waist. They were much bigger than mine, with a couple of veins etched up around them like vines, and faded scars littering everywhere on his skin. He had been doing this for years by the looks of it. There was no way in hell I was going to escape, huh?

Placing another kiss on my cheek, soft and gentle, his eyelashes brushed against me before he pulled away to speak again, "Do you know what I've been picturing every night to the thought of you, [F/N]?" His hands dropped lower to skim over my ass, lightly gripping, and dragging me toward him. My breath hitched. I didn't say a word.

Toby answered for me, "I've been picturing taking these off..." His fingers gripped around the waistband of my shorts and teased me about taking them off by pushing them down lightly. Continuing that, he said, "Have you to myself for a couple of hours..."

There were so many reasons why I should say no to him and why I shouldn't allow him to touch me like this. For one, he killed my father. He broke into my house and he was physically violent to me. I felt disgusting that he had gotten to this level too. But, I didn't stop him. I didn't say no and I didn't deny it. I looked into this killer's eyes and I leaned onto his chest, giving into what he wanted

When we kissed for the second time, I noticed how chapped his lips were, and opened my mouth a little to swipe my tongue across his bottom one. Toby tensed up. And without warning, I felt his tongue use the opportunity to have an exchange with mine. I gasped through my nose, the escalation getting worse and worse. A blush began to spread across my face.

He lifted me off of his lap to flip me onto the couch, putting both of his palms by either side of my head. I was back to being pinned underneath him. I don't know what was happening to me. Something was wrong with me, I was sick for this. I was sick... because I enjoyed this.

His sweater and shirt fell to the floor as we fought each other with kisses. His teeth bit into my lower lip and pulled it back while I moved to unbuckle his belt. I was giving in to this. I was really fucking the guy that took away everybody I loved in my life.

Barely in any clothes, we both took a moment to stare at each other, oddly feeling like he was admiring me from how he looked up and down my body. Toby took his time, pressing small pecks across my chest up to my neck, snaking his arms around to my back. He unclipped my bra and slipped it off of me. I wanted to cover myself, but I no longer wanted to move. I didn't have any motivation. There was nothing left to fight for.

The gloves and bandages around his fingers felt weird against my skin especially when he played with my chest. He squeezed one, bit the other, and once he heard a moan slip out of me, he stopped to let me process. He complimented me, his voice a bit raspy like he was fighting the urge to do something to me already, "You look even better so close like this, with how foggy those windows would get. It would make me want to break them and threaten you then and there."

I bit the inside of my cheek and he got closer, hooking onto my panties and pulling them down as a smirk spread on his face. My lack of response didn't concern him. He kept going despite that, throwing the thin fabric somewhere in the room before he looked up at me. His hair was in his face and the eyebags around his eyes told me he was more than dangerous. How many times has he done this?

Toby muttered seriously, breaking me out of the moment, "Who do you belong to?" I blankly gazed at him, watching as he stood up and slowly inched his boxers down. I can't speak. I can't tell him that. More scars appeared, his v-line making my eyes linger, and I got distracted. His dick was let out before I could respond.

My eyes widened and I tried to squeeze my legs shut, but he kept them apart as soon as they moved, holding both of my knees up to my shoulders. I was breathing super fast, my heart raced, and I was feeling the ache in between both of my legs. It was nothing compared to when he positioned himself and pushed the tip inside.

Digging my nails into his arms, I cried out in pain and threw my head back, looking up at his satisfied face. Toby groaned, a laugh following behind it, "You don't have to answer. I'll do it for you." He rammed most of what he could, grabbing both of my thighs so tightly that it was guaranteed to be bruised. I screamed out. He was too rough and too much for me to take like this. It hurt. It fucking ached. I was being drilled into the cushions.

Trying to handle it was impossible. He made it impossible for me. His hips connected as he went deeper, loud slaps coming from it, bouncing off and echoing. I didn't want to think about the neighbors hearing me lose my dignity like this. I didn't want to think about the fact my dad could be witnessing this. But it was starting to feel good. Really fucking good. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and after that, I didn't care anymore.

I wrapped my legs and arms around him, pulling him closer and savoring his dick carving into the parts I didn't know were there. Moaning, swearing, and muttering filled the room. We were getting lost in the bliss and saying whatever was on the mind. Or I was. His name left me a couple of times and so did encouragement, "More.. More, please, Toby!"

Flipping around again when he got a little tired, I gyrated my hips and sat on his lap so I could bounce, sliding up and down until I could feel my walls beginning to squeeze. I was close and this position wasn't helping. I held my breath and Toby took notice, pressing his forehead against mine.

"Let it out for me, baby. Don't be shy," he cooed, sweat dripping down his forehead like he was holding back his own. I bit the inside of my cheek and a desperate moan came out, "Fuuuuuck, cummm with! Please!"

He didn't listen to me and lifted me off of the couch with him, holding me up in the air while guiding me down onto his shaft. I went limp and drool fell down the side of my chin as I buried myself into the crook of his neck, biting it a little to vent out the overwhelming pleasure. Toby didn't let up until a couple of more minutes of fucking me passed and I was fucked out enough that my legs were shaking.

When he was about to cum himself, he set me back down, rushing up to my face to give me a facial. My mouth was open from panting and I caught a bit on my tongue, swallowing it when we were back to locking eyes. The rest landed on my nose, cheeks, and lips. He let out a loud groan as he unwinded, pulling away to see the display once he was done.

I lay there. Used. I lay there for him to stare at. Until he walked away for cleaning supplies. To think about what I was doing. To come back down and face the new reality I was in. I was his now and he was mine. And there was nothing I could do about it.

#creepypasta smut #creepypasta #ticci toby x reader smut #ticci toby smut #ticci toby x reader lemon #ticci toby x y/n #ticci toby

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silverflqmes · 12 days

Note

sephiroth x reader where he meets this amazing girl (note: you) and she cooks him a homemade meal but he freaks out because he doesnt understand how to take it properly? but he starts crying of joy because he's happy to take it since he read about how moms treat their kids and he just kinna finds solace in this girl and wants find her again but obviously shinra keeps having other plans until finally one DAY she comes back again and you can decide what happens next :)

໒⦂ 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔.

notes. i may have indulged a little ( a lot ) here, anon.. but i hope it’s somewhat okay.. brb i might have to ugly cry after this.. he makes me so😿 IM NOT NORMAL ANYMORE SOBS

genre. hurt + comfort

tw. discussion of bad eating habits.

sephiroth x gn!reader

the water came to a boil as you threw in your spaghetti, twisting the knob on low for the sauce you’d prepared.

sephiroth would be home any minute and as a reward for working as hard as he did everyday, you had taken it upon you to prepare his most favorite meal for him. it wasn’t too hard to cook, luckily, but hopefully it tasted good.

you allowed the pasta to come to a boil, taking the time to set the table nicely. while sephiroth wasn’t one for the fancy shit or grandeur, you wanted to provide him with a good ambience. he deserved it, anyway.

on a trip to sector five, you’d managed to score a dozen of flowers from a sweet girl zack was interested — aerith, as you recalled. somehow he had started her on a business with her rare blooms, it was creative and cute that he’d made the time to do that with her.

while passing by him, he had urged you to buy some to help her start out — which you were happy to do. certainly when they made the perfect centerpiece and smelled pleasantly.

the bubbles began to surface in your absence, a jingling sound entering your ears once you’d returned to turn off the heat. sephiroth was home!

a smile lifted the corners of your mouth as you wiped a bead of sweat from your forehead before walking up to the door when he emerged. “welcome home, sephiroth!”

his face that was colored with exhaustion instantly contorted into one of ease, lips curling at the sight of you, his precious partner. were you waiting for him? how adorable.

the first class SOLDIER leaned in closely to your face and bestowed you with a chaste kiss, chuckling softly. “thank you, y/n. it’s a lovely sight to find you here,” he continued, holding your cheek in his gloved hand before looking behind you. “i see you’ve been busy.”

your cheeks burned at his words, a fuzzy feeling finding its way to your chest as you let out a sheepish laugh. “a-ah, i may have helped myself to your kitchen.. i hope you don’t mind.” he wouldn’t mind, he never did — but you still felt the need to say so.

his thumb rolled over your soft skin, a sound of amusement tumbling past his lips. “not at all, might i ask what you prepared yourself?”

blinking, you then proceeded to quirk a brow before snorting. “i composed a gourmet meal for the both of us, featuring candlelight and flowers. up to your standards, mr. first class?” you joked, to which he rolled his eyes, playfully.

“you treat me as if i were royalty.” sephiroth turned his head away, failing to suppress the small lift to his rosewood appendages.

you took ahold of his leather clad hand, snickering softly. “the best way to treat you, according to your dearest lover!” came your cheery response as you tugged him forward. “now come on, i doubt a battlefield has a scheduled lunch or dinner time!”

the silver haired male couldn’t argue with that reasoning. some missions went without food for long periods of time — just another thing he’d learnt to bear over the years. the human body could go weeks without alimentation, and he was no stranger to being denied or prevented from having a meal.

however, upon meeting you and having explained that reasoning to you early into your relationship.. he was met with quite a different perspective. while the SOLDIER found eating to be secondary — something that he would indulge in if the time and situation was right, you.. stressed it.

it had come as a great shock when he would announce he’d only had breakfast for the entirety of the day — which was basically just a bar or shake.. the bare minimum, in other words. frustrated, you’d scolded him that very evening before falling into a routine of meal preparation.

you didn’t care if he had to show up with this cutesy lunch box in a den of SOLDIERs, but it better have been emptied or so help you.

sephiroth had been greatly confused by your concern, and quite frankly — still was, however he understood where you were coming from ( despite lacking the same care for himself that you showed him ), and ate every last bite.

“i suppose i have to agree with that.” the long haired swordsman finally answered, bringing his steps to a halt before your work.

it wasn’t like you hadn’t made him food before, but this time felt different. you always put your all into everything, though this felt extra, extra special, somehow. perhaps, being cooked dinner was more.. intimate?

you patted his armored shoulder, grinning. “good! now get comfy while i get your plate ready, i used up the wine for the sauce.. so um, just water for tonight — but you need it!!”

with that, you had dashed back over to the kitchen, leaving behind a chuckling sephiroth. he’d never seen someone be so serious over dinner, it was silly. and yet, endearing all at the same time that you cared so deeply for his health when everyone had taught or treated him otherwise.

“are you certain you don’t require my assistance?” he inquired, leaning back in his seat to see if you were managing.

a laugh echoed from kitchen at his expression of concern. “nope! you just sit tight, on my way over now!” you assured, picking up your bowls and a basket of freshly sliced bread before making your way to the table.

despite your dismissal, the cat eyed hero made his way over to help with the placement, not wanting you to struggle any longer. you’d gone through great lengths for him today after all, it was the least he could do.

as sephiroth sat across from you, he was finally given the chance to take a look at what you’d put together, blinking in surprise.

“seafood pasta..?” he couldn’t remember the last time he had it. “how.. did you know?”

picking a piece of bread, you found yourself winking, suppressing a giggle. “i may or may not have asked cissnei.. given her network of information.” you smiled sheepishly, grabbing your silverware. “i hope that’s okay with you- i just wanted to make something you really, really liked!”

the first class SOLDIER was quiet for a moment, a strange warmth bubbling in his chest.

subconsciously, his hand lifted to touch where his heart had been, if only to find out what that strange feeling had been. “you.. you did that, for me?” his voice had almost come out in a weak whisper. the mako hued male was soft spoken to begin with, but this held more vulnerability than the other times.

an eager nod was the response he’d received, and despite his desire to question why, he took it as his cue to pick up his silverware, twirling the spaghetti with his fork. it.. had been a long time since he’d had his favorite dish, and homemade.. was a first.

as he tasted your work, he almost melted at the flavors — the nostalgia of it all. and yet.. it somehow was even better than any other occasion he had ordered or cooked it himself.

was it.. because you had made it specially for him? how odd, that the cooking from a specific person could affect the outcome so drastically.

“how is it?” you finally spoke up, curious to hear of his thoughts. “the seafood was a lucky find, i’m hoping it’s good and that i didn’t get scammed ahahaha..”

given midgar’s inland location, fish.. wasn’t something commonly sold, and if it was — it certainly would have costed a pretty gil. had you really gone through all this effort, just for him?

sephiroth swallowed the next bite he took, inclining his head. “it’s wonderful- nobody, i realize.. has ever done something like this for me before — or gone through as much trouble as you had to do this for me..” he spoke up in acknowledgment, feeling his eyes soften.. and blur?

why was his vision — was he.. crying?

the silver haired SOLDIER raised his gloved hands to brush the corners of his eyes. fresh tears, yes. he’d almost forgotten the feeling.

“seph-?” you blurted, getting up from your chair before rushing over to him. “oh no- is it bad?? are you having allergies — i didn’t put anything spicy in it.. a-ahh, i don’t have an allergy pen..” you panicked, dashing over to your purse before feeling a hand grasp your own.

your lashes fluttered in surprise when you were suddenly pulled into firm chest, silver draping over you as a pair of strong arms encircled your body.

“s-sephiroth?” you called out softly, worry in your voice as you rested your hands on his back, reciprocating the embrace. “everything okay? you’re crying..” you added quietly, frowning. did something happen?

he sucked in a breath, shaking his head. “i apologize- i didn’t mean to bring you anxiety with my sudden reaction.. the food was lovely, truly, and i.. could not be more grateful for it.” shinra’s hero began, relenting his grip a little. he didn’t want to hurt or bruise you after all with his strength. “i guess i was just.. taken by surprise, is all — being treated in this way is still.. rather foreign to me.” he admitted, attempting to even his voice out.

but you were patient, and listened to the best of your extent, at last understanding what he meant.

your boyfriend spoke little of his past, but the few things that he’d felt comfortable enough to elaborate on.. had been horrible to hear- it made your heart ache terribly in your chest.

“oh sephiroth..” you whispered gently, sliding your fingers into his hair comfortingly. “you’re okay, don’t apologize.. i was just worried since shellfish allergies are common..” you exhaled, panic dissipating. “i’m just glad you’re not sick.. but hey, you deserve this- alright? you work really hard everyday, you have been all your life.. this is the least i could do.”

he felt himself calm down gradually with your words, breaths slowly coming out more even. the male hadn’t planned on breaking down so suddenly, and while he felt bad.. you assured him that it was okay to react and feel as he did.

what.. made him so special to you? to go to all these extents for him and yet disregard all your efforts all at the same time..

“the ‘least’ you speak of hardly covers all that you do for me, y/n.. despite finding myself undeserving of your kindness.. i am forever grateful to be wanted and cared for by you — to be looked at in the way your eyes view me.. rather than the usual contempt and obsessive fascination scrutiny that i am met with.” he spoke after a brief silence, wanting to translate his feelings into words as best as possible.

they nearly had you melting, and out of pure adoration, you brought your lips at last to his. a reassurance that you had understood every bit of his feelings and that you had returned them all in full.

“you are every bit as deserving, sephiroth, as am i of you.. and i’ll always, always care for you. to me — you are everything, and worthy of all the love in the world.”

notes. screaming crying this is a little rushed towards the end but i hope it’s decent enough anon! my illiterate ass did not read the last bit of the request.. so i didn’t include the shinra bit😭 hope it’s okay!

↳ return to main masterlist . request rules . send an ask

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kyemna · 2 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel Characters Positive and Negative traits

Headcanons

I apologize for any grammer mistakes!

Tw: none

Charlie

Positive:

-Loves to do things for you.

-Also loves it when you bake together.

-Keeps every single gift you give her in a box with rainbows and glitter on it.

-Unironically says 'yo mama' at the wrong times LMFAO

-Plays with your hair or fingers when she's in deep thought

-Brags to her dad about how you're the most amazing partner ever

-Has the most amazing made up stories and fantasies. Talks your ears off with them

-When you're laying in bed, and she wakes up before you, she'll lay on top of you to wake you up.

I'm not kidding. It can be 6 am, and she'll crawl over to your side of the bed and lay her whole body on yours.

-In general, she's super fun to be around.

Negative:

-Overworks herself.

With that, she forgets to eat.

On a few occasions she actually fainted.

-Becomes distant when something's bothering her.

-She can get too swept up in her ideologies/fantasies, that she doesn't see what's right infront her.

-Lowkey controlling, but doesn't realize it.

(I don't think there are many negative things about Charlie to be honest LOL)

Vaggie:

Positive:

-Considerate.

-If she sees something that reminds her of you, she buys it.

-Knows how to calm you down/put you in your place.

-Admits when she's wrong, and knows when to apologize.

-Smells good. I have a feeling she just smells sweet. Like coconut or something.

-A surprisingly good artist?

-Has a great wardrobe. Let's you raid it every once in a while.

-Strong asf. Often lifts you up, and throws you over her shoulder.

Negative:

-Aggressive.

Normally, she has no way of outing it, so she bottles it up. Because of this, she can come over as aggressive, simply because her cup overflows.

-Drowns in her feelings.

-Takes things too seriously.

-She hit you in a fight once, and she still regrets it.

-Also hold grudges.

-Gives you the silent treatment if you did something to her dislike.

Alastor:

Positive:

-Surprisingly understanding.

-I said this once, and will continue to say it, he has AMAZING taste in music. Many of the characters do.

-A great cook.

His mom taught him many recipes, so he loves to make them for you.

-Protective.

-Open minded/open to new experiences

-Intelligent, always knows when you lie.

-Good at boardgames.

Beat you at Uno SO many times, it's getting a little humiliating..

-Aware of your likes and dislikes, whether that be: Music, clothes, topic of conversation, certain foods, and tries to help you avoid those things in your daily life.

-Gets along with your mother very well.

He's always willing to lend her a hand.

Negative:

-Obsessive.

-Has his eye on you 95% of the time. Not in a good way.

-Decides things for you without you asking him/giving him permission.

-does NOT mind his business.

-Not good with kids.

Because he's born in the 1890's he's super old fashioned. Therefore I think he would strike his kids if they misbehaved.

-Doesn't get along with your male friends, and is 'overly' friendly with your female friends, which makes it seem like he's flirting with them.

-He's a murderer. That speaks for itself.

-Blood thirsty as hell.

-A good liar, which makes him seem untrustworthy.

Angel Dust:

Positive:

-Loves grocery shopping or shopping in general with you.

-Notices small changes in your behavior, whether it's due to stress or simply a bad day, and helps you relax/cheer you up.

-Is great at planning dates!

-Also has amazing music taste.

I personally think a few of his main artists are:

Lady Gaga, Kesha, T-ara, Britney Spears and The Weeknd

-Funny as hell. No pun or joke gets past him.

-Great with animals! If you have a pet, he has a nickname for them.

-Unironically calls you 'Pookie' or 'Snukems'

-Has a good memory. Remembers your favorite color, your favorite flower, etc.

-Chases you around the house/appartment with a bug he caught. (Whether that's negative or positive is totally up to you)

Negative:

-Doesn't really understand/do boundaries, so he'll often take things too far.

-Argumentive. He enjoys a good argument or fight, which makes it difficult to find a solution to the problem your fighting about.

-Holds grudges.

-Overthinks the smallest things.

-Secretive. It takes a lot to get him to talk about his feelings and problems.

-Takes his anger out on you sometimes.

-Passive aggressive.

-Borrows your things without your permission, and doesn't put them back when he's done.

Husk:

Positive:

-Funny. Like, his jokes are actually hilarious. Unlike Alastor who makes the most awful dad jokes ever.

-Is so fully aware when your bullshiting him, he just pretends not to know.

-As i said in previous headcanons, he LOVES to dance with you.

He's super good at it too!

Has his hands all over you.

Hips, waist, neck, back, you name it.

-Will never admit it, but he likes it when you sneak up on him/jump him.

-In general he's pretty accepting of physical touch.

-He purrs, when you scratch his ears or something.

-Leaves you small gifts and letters around the house/appartment.

Negative:

-Messy. Has trouble cleaning/keeping things clean.

-Forgetful. Often forgets your dates.

-Anger Issues.

-Snaps at you when he's overwhelmed or stressed. Doesn't apologize for it because he's not aware of it. You'd have to point it out to get an apology out of him.

-Easily irritated.

When you're too close to him, when he's in a bad mood or when you take jokes a little too far, he ignores you for a few hours.

Thank you for reading!

#x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #angel dust x reader #angel dust #husk #husk x reader #hazbin hotel husk #charlie #hazbin hotel charlie #charlie x reader #vaggie #hazbin hotel vaggie #vaggie x reader #headcanon

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horrorisunknowntoyou · 1 year

Text

The Moon will Sing

[SAGAU x Mexican! Creator-Reader]

A/n: I love SAGAU but realistically if I was stuck there I would be so sad I can't eat my culture foods ngl. Also y/n is implied first gen. Sorry lol. Also heavy leaning on y/n x Zhongli. Also title is from the song from The Crane Wives.

Also sorry if this sucks, it's kinda rushed and Idk what to do.

TW// obsessive-ish behavior

------------------------------------------------------------

You were transported to Teyvat after staying up all night playing Genshin before eventually passing out Infront of your computer.

When you open your eyes, you weren't in the comfort of your room but instead on gold altar.

People you recognized Infront of you as you sat up in shock. You hand hurting slightly as you looked down at it.

Blood.

In matter of fact, the blood was gold.

You watched as the wound healed itself on its own but your thoughts get interrupted as someone speaks up.

"My Grace, we are honored to have you here. The imposter has been dealt with, we pledge our devote loyalty to you."

You straight up passed out after this revelation.

After that whole fiasco, and you woke up to a bunch of crying acolytes.

Turns out, you were asleep for DAYS.

But you eventually grew accustomed to everything, honestly it wasn't as bad you thought it would be. Besides the weird obsessions and yandere like tendencies But there's one thing you missed dearly.

Home.

You were home sick and even the acolytes can see that. You didn't smile, you look off into the distance.

You miss the parties, music, going to swap meet and family members. Even the novellas your mother watched and eating her cooking.

Hell, you missed the internet.

It was just boring.

Then you got an idea, why not share them with your acolytes?! You get to explain your culture and maybe try to recreate dishes your mom made with ingredients here!

You immediately stood up from your throne excited. You immediately ran out of the temple, with the archons following you panicked.

"Your grace wait!" Zhongli yelled out chasing behind you. " You can't just leave abruptly like this! Please take me with you. "

You stood there, looking at a map you summoned looking at the places. "Sure! Let's go!" You grabbed around his waist and flew to places you needed to go.

He was practically beating his heart against his chest. The Creator was holding him! His ears were burning red in embarrassment.

You literally searched high and low, for ingredients alongside Zhongli. You either found substitutes or you quite literally had to create the ingredients. But once you had everything, you went straight to the kitchen.

The Archons were begging you, that they can someone else do it.

But you declined them, deciding to do it yourself.

You think the easiest recipe to do would be caldo de res. It's the one you seen your mother do countless times. And with your powers it should quicken the pace.... probably

Some of your acolytes were watching you, making sure your safe and do any task you asked.

Venti stood by the door way, along side zhongli and Xiao. Making sure your grace was fine.

At this point your at probably your third attempt at making this but you were really determined to get it right or at least

You took a spoonful and blew on it, taking a sip. And God it tasted like home, you place the utensil down and started to cry.

Venti was first to noticed, and thought you were upset. " Your grace don't cry! We can have some one else do it for you if your tired! "

You shook your head, wiping your tears smile. " I'm not sad, in fact I'm happy. Really happy. Would you like to try? It's a soup my mother always made."

Venti was so honored that the creator would even let him try, let alone a recipe the creators mother made!

Zhongli and Xiao whined, they wanted to try it too!

"Don't worry, you'll try it too!" You smiled, as you got a small spoonful.

Venti blushed, he's truly being rewarded, to be fed by the creator itself. He knows Xiao and Zhongli are practically seething in jealousy over this.

You were oblivious to it, feeding Venti small spoonfuls laughing. " Is it good?" You asked practically shaking in excitement.

He nodded happily, unknowingly teasing the other two in the room.

You made the jealousy even worse when you grabbed a handkerchief and clean up ventis face. Getting to be touched and so close to the creator smelling your perfume/cologne.

The other two pushed Venti aside, practically begging to be fed too.

You stood their dumbfounded but reluctantly agreed as well. Spoon feeding both of them, their faces light up.

They were so happy.

-----------------------------------------------------------

After that, you started cooking other dishes, your acolytes and followers were always so excited to try it.

They saw how much you emotionally improved so they was no discussion over it.

You also started telling them old folktales and customs from your culture. Scholars started to appear and request to write it down and study it. You even taught them Spanish!

Thought they call it, [y/n's] language. And etc.

Sometimes when doing a task, followers can hear you quietly sing songs in your language.

---------------------------------------------------------

Your favorite thing, was reactions. The reactions your acolytes and followers had to your culture. They saw it as sacred, but you saw it as home.

You remembered talking to Zhongli because he remembers all of liyues stories and such.

"Zhongli, would you like to listen to a folktale?" You quietly asked, sitting on your throne. Him standing besides you.

" I'll be honored. " He says with a smile.

"There's different variations of this story depending of the region, but this is how I know it. Usually told to children to scare children into obedience. "

You cleared your voice, " long ago, a beautiful indigenous women fell in love with a man of higher social status. They lived happily together, having two children of their own. One day the man abandoned her, to either marry a more beautiful woman then her or a woman of his status. It depends either way, he leaves her. Her feeling threatened by this, consumed by rage and despair. She drown her children, meeting her own demised along side it. God curses her to wonder as a ghost searching for lost children so she can get into heaven."

Zhongli perks up at the story, " did you curse the woman yourself ?"

"ummm...yes?" You said unsurely.

" I see, a fitting punishment of her. " He says proudly.

" ahem, yes of course. Anyway she's called "la llorona" meaning The weeping woman..forever walking near bodies of water in search of her children so she may enter...umm.. heaven? "

Zhongli, tilts his head " what is heaven? " At this point your hands were sweating. " Ummm it's kinda like Celestia? But instead angels and stuff are there and it's like... Holy. You know? Anyway no more questions."

--------------------------------------------------------

Random Head Canons and such

If you have curly hair, best believe the acolytes would be fascinated by it. Especially if they give you baths and pamper you.

You would teach Venti songs you know for example: hijo de la Luna.

Sometimes you sing them if you feel like it. Mostly to little kids.

The Adults are definitely not jealous.

The Archons fight each other over being your dancing partner. This is because you needed someone to show how to dance bachata. And ever since they just fight over that spot.

Same for being food taster, they like eating your food and being the first one to try it is such a big honour. You don't know why? Either way they like being spoon fed your cooking.

They all listen to your stories and take your advice very very seriously. It's annoying lol

You taught them your cultures customs, for example birthday customs. You're absolutely not allowed to have your face smashed into cake. They absolutely refuse to do that to you.

Also if you like spicy food, they probably be amazed at your spice tolerance. You'll probably mess with them by eating a whole chile Infront of them.

There are times where you do get very home sick and won't leave your room. When you do, they try their absolute best to comfort you.

Also you have given some of your followers Spanish nicknames for funsies.

Sometimes you and your acolytes would speak Spanish with you. They think it's like the biggest honor to understand your language and speak it with you. But you just think it's nice. Plus you get to have secret convos with people you don't want to know what your saving.

That's all I can think of , off the top of my head lol.

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iwaasfairy · 3 days

Note

Forgot how much I love Atsuko until I saw him again, spent the next hour scrolling his tag and reading about the nasty lil demon

He's so horrible❤️ really is his father's son

YeYEUEYEEYE honestly same I go through periods of withdrawal and then severe addiction sFYDYTSST he iSSS HE IS a nasty lil demon he’s a gross guy just like his dad and we love him for it

quick n very unchecked so sorry if it’s full of typos I just missed himmmm

tw mom x son incest, jealousy, ko being sweet for once gets him privileges

“Hi, Mrs. Oikawa! Looking good!”

“Yo, your mom is young. And hot.” Someone pipes up too loud, making the guys snicker when Atsuko resorts to chucking an empty beer bottle at his head. He dodges just in time, maybe luckily, because the others don’t know he definitely meant for it to hit. All except probably Eiji, who’s brows arch up in a knowing sort of quirk before he takes another few swigs of the alcohol.

“Gotta help unload, don’t wait up,” he says.

And it can only be the smart ass older guy who mumbles back an amused “Take your time.”

Atsuko doesn’t bother to reply further. He might’ve started a fight when he was a bit younger, instead he just jogs up to pick you up into a twirled hug first thing when you get out of the car.

You laugh brightly, and his mouth aches to meet yours. “Oh, hello,” your soft voice chants almost song like, rubbing your hand along his cheek just quickly before already starting to worm out of his grip. Too soon. “Missed you, Ko. You should have seen some of the rooms Tooru set us up into— they were perfect. I’ve never had such a relaxing time in my life.” Your face is coloured from the sun, a few extra light freckles to be seen on your cheeks when you click open the trunk and sigh at the luggage.

He’s quick to dip down and steal a kiss when you’re distracted, before tossing the bags over his shoulders and picking up the slumped luggage. “I got it.”

“Sure?” Your eyes shine, and he tries his best not to be jealous at the idea that you spent two whole weeks celebrating your anniversary with Tooru. Two weeks where his dad no doubt fucked you in every corner of the fancy suite and every semi-private area of the beach. He is though- extremely. “I leave for a few days to come back to my baby all gentlemanly,” you smile softly when he motions his face at the door.

And he clicks his tongue, before pulling the tip of it between his teeth as he trails behind you to get a good look of your ass in the elegant, but skintight skirt you’re wearing. “I’m wooing you, that’s why,” he nods back, grinning wider when you stare back at him.

His hands are on your shoulders as he manipulates you to sit in front of the mirror and look back at the both of you- hanging onto his hand as he stands full, towering height above you. “Atsu,” you start when his one hand moves to your crown, grabbing himself through his boxers while looking at every perfect expression on your face - flushed and needy and distracted, “I just got back, I’m tired. And your dad will be home in an hour, he’s just gone to get groceries- and- agh.”

He doesn’t bother to wait to push his underwear down until his already hard, flushed and heavy cock bobs up between his legs at the sound of your voice. Then his fist wrings around the edge of the head to watch some precum bead at the slit, and he shuffles in to put it up to your face. “Missed you too much. Don't tell me that old geezer tired you out that bad. See what I’ve been dealing with for weeks?” You don’t say anything because you’re too distracted with letting your hand wrap around as he insists, throwing his head back when you let your tongue out to meet his pounding tip. It thumps almost meanly with his heartbeat when your mouth lets him invade into it, slowing to suck around the most sensitive part of him. Ohh- fuck. Oh fuck, mom. Missed my mom’s fucking- taste so much. Your mouth, ‘n your cunt- fuck me.”

It makes his entire face reddish with hot blood, mind so empty, and his eyes blurry when fucking into your mouth with impatient bucks. It just feels so fucking good when you don’t stop him, let out a soft mewl when sucking your cheeks around his thick length on the way up. “I’m in-,” you smack when you come up, smiling up at him and moaning when his fingers pull into your hair and yank you around, “in a good mood today.” Atsuko’s fucking flushed. Where you’re sitting under him without a complaint in the world, taking his balls into your mouth to make him shudder on his legs and stare down at you with mouth agar, he can barely believe it when you slip off your ring to put it on the grond, then blink up at him. “I like it when you miss me like this. It’s sweet.”

Your naked chest rises and falls in tune with his, where you blink big, loving eyes up at him Like you’re seeing only him. There’s no complaints of Tooru to be heard, and you’re kidding up his thigh in a way that will surely haunt him. “Tell me where you want me? Missed you, baby.”

#tw.incest #💫oc.atsuko #honey mail #🍯honey.pot #tw.dark content

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x0x0josephinex0x0 · 6 months

Text

Wedding Bells

Summary: Choi Seungcheol, your bff's older brother, is at your house when you get home from a very long day.

TW: Academic abuse of power, s3xual harassment

1.8k

Leave it to you for him to be here right now. Seungcheol, your best friend’s older brother, who had won your heart when you were twelve years old when he, two years older than you, had punched a school bully who was picking on you, just had to be there on the worst possible day for him to be sitting at the kitchen table.

You had had a tough childhood. The best thing about it had been meeting Bug in the second grade, when Seungcheol had been in fourth grade and you both still believed the opposite gender had cooties. You had grown up side-by-side, spending time at Bug’s house more than your own, and for the first several years you knew him, Seungcheol was just a thorn in your side: the one who teased incessantly and ruined perfectly good fun.

But then, you had gone to junior high. Within weeks, you’d become the target of the local bully. He had singled you out because you were quiet and studious and tried not to draw attention to yourself, and he had made your life miserable for two weeks straight. He never touched you, though, so it was difficult to catch him at it. Until one fateful day when he had tripped you, sending you stumbling into a thorny bush and knocking your mouth against a curb. You still remembered the taste of blood as you pushed yourself up, crying.

And then it happened, so fast you barely registered. There was a thick smacking noise, and the bully tumbled backwards, landing on his butt in the dirt. You looked up to see Seungcheol standing there, his eyes flashing with rage. “Pick on someone your own size,” he’d growled.

His eyes grew tender as he turned to look at you. “Are you okay?” he’d asked, helping you up and dusting you off. He winced when he saw your bottom lip, which was still bloody. “That looks bad.”

Your eyes had spilled over. Seungcheol had waved away the group of people who were staring at you before holding you against his shoulder and calling your mom to come get you. You had cried quietly into his school uniform until she’d come, but that day had changed the way you saw Seungcheol forever.

You had spent your teenage years being quietly smitten with him -- popular, funny, talented, and smart, there had been plenty of girls who had liked him, and even a few he’d dated. You tried not to let it get to you, but you’d spent plenty a lonely night wishing it was you he was asking out. It was, to date, the only secret you had ever kept from Bug.

When time had come to select a college, you knew where you had wanted to go -- wherever he was. The college was close enough to home that it wasn’t suspicious why you’d like to go there, and Bug got in too — an easy excuse. You knew you’d wanted to study journalism since grade school, and the program was just what you needed. Within your first two semesters, you worked hard enough to make honor roll and dean’s list, although the highlight was still seeing Seungcheol’s eyes light up with pride whenever you mentioned a new achievement. Even if he still thought of you only as a little sister, his support meant everything to you.

“So it’s been that kind of day,” Seungcheol says languidly, turning his attention back to his phone.

“You be quiet,” you say indignantly. “I’m not in the mood.”

He looks a bit surprised and displeased at your tone. “Bug isn’t here,” he says, standing up, “so if you’re going to be rude, you can do it by yourself.”

“This is my apartment,” you remind him, eyes on your papers, “so if you don’t like it, you can always go back to your own house.” You mentally curse your voice for how it shakes toward the end of the sentence.

He notices the change in your tone, watching you now, eyes sharp and discerning and almost black in their intensity. “Hey,” he says, his voice gentler. “What happened? Why are you especially prickly today?”

You look at him to check if he’s sincere. His phone is nowhere to be seen, and his dark eyes are steady on your face. So you breathe in deeply, and then let it all out. “It’s that guy in my graphic design class again.”

Seungcheol wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Not that guy,” he groans. “What’d he do this time?”

You robotically pull a microwavable burrito out of the fridge and unwrap it. “He just…said something really gross,” you say, still avoiding his gaze.

“Gross?” he presses, walking to stand across the table from you with his hands in the pocket of his gray sweats.

“It’s really not worth repeating,” you say, putting the burrito in the microwave looking through your tote bag for your laptop charger, although you feel Seungcheol’s gaze on you like a laser beam.

“No,” he says, moving closer, so that he’s standing right beside you, and places a hand on the countertop to prevent you from brushing past him. “You never go into detail, and I’m starting to get worried that that’s because it’s worse than you’re letting on.”

When you still don’t look at him, he leans down toward you so that his eyes are nearly level with your own. “Hey,” he says, soft but firm. “Look at me.”

You finally do. He’s looking at you with a gentle half-smile, one dimple visible. He nods encouragingly.

You rub at your forehead in distress. “He told me that the teacher probably gives me extra credit for the way my legs look in these jeans.”

Cheol’s expression shifts, his gaze going icy. He raises an eyebrow, and his jaw flexes for a split second. “Is it always that bad?” he finally asks in a slightly strained voice, tense as a rubber band pulled tight over a watermelon.

“Well,” you say, hesitantly, “That’s actually pretty mild, but the real issue is…”

“Is what?” Cheol asks sharply. “Please tell me how this situation can become any less awful for you.”

You close your eyes as though trying to block out the memory. “He’s faculty,” you finally admit. “Tenured faculty.”

Your hands are shaking with anger. You brush your hair out of your face to try to hide it, but Cheol catches one of them and holds it. “Hey,” he says again as tears sting your eyes. “Look at me, love.”

You force yourself to meet his gaze. A single tear slips out, and he brushes it away with the hand you’re not holding. “I am so sorry,” he says, “And I’m going to do what I can to make it right, okay? No girls should have to deal with that.”

You nod. He’s looking at you with a burning look, worry mingled with iron-hot rage. “And I hope,” he says, his voice low, “That you’re not forgetting that you are the reason you’re here. Nobody else gave you your drive or your intelligence. You worked so hard and pushed yourself to succeed, and you have.” He hesitates, seeming to catch himself in his passionate words. Then, in a tender tone you rarely hear from him, he says, “I’ve never met anyone who does it like you.”

You look up at him, and his eyes are burning with something like anger — fierce and fiery, but not quite as hard. Your vocabulary has never failed you, and it doesn’t take long before you can name what you see on his face. Desire.

He’s still really close to your face. But now you’re looking at him with a question like his eyes know the answer. And they do — for a split second, they flick to your lips. He leans in slowly, and you involuntarily find yourself reaching for him as he closes the distance between you.

He brushes your lips with his so softly at first — more of an experiment than a kiss, really. He pulls back to look at you again, and his face is red and his eyes are wide. Somehow, your hand has found its way to his cheek, and you brush the redness that has appeared there with your thumb, feeling your heart pounding. He seems to process for a moment — and then his face lights up with a realization. He leans in again, more sure of himself this time, and kisses you more deeply.

You wrap your arms around his neck as he does. Somewhere between kisses you feel him lift you off the chair into his arms, and he carries you to the couch where you kiss some more. Finally you slowly ease slightly apart, your foreheads still together, both of you breathing heavily.

“Whoa,” you say, smiling at him sheepishly.

He laughs. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Have you been wanting to do that awhile?”

You roll your eyes, blushing furiously. “Since seventh grade,” you admit, and he chuckles, pulling you into his chest so you’re snuggled in tight.

“You mean that time I slugged that dude?” he laughs. “I’ve wanted to too,” he says, “except for me it was like two years ago.” He tucks your hair behind your ear. “But it felt like forever,” he complains.

“So…just so we’re clear,” you say, sitting up to look into his eyes, “that wasn’t a one-time thing, right?”

He scoffs. “Absolutely not. I would never think of kissing you like that if I wasn’t at least planning on dating you, but I’m pretty sure I’m planning to marry you.”

“Come on, be serious,” you protest, slightly panicked.

He smiles. “I am so serious right now,” he says, cupping your face with his hands. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for two years straight. You’d think that amount of time to fantasize about kissing you would make the actual first kiss a total letdown, but it was somehow better than I thought it would be.”

You gape at him. The door opens and shuts, and you hear Bug’s voice. “Hey, where are you guys,” she calls, then walks into the kitchen to see you snuggled up with her brother.

She pauses for a minute to look at you. “So is this finally happening now?” She asks, a knowing half-smile spreading on her face.

“Bug, your brother just told me he wants to marry me,” you say incredulously.

“That’s great! Now he can stop telling me about how he wants to marry you. You probably like hearing it a lot more than I do.” She heads to the fridge and starts putting groceries away. “Just don’t make out in front of me,” she warns.

You look at Cheol. He is beaming at you, looking utterly in love. “I can’t wait to file a lawsuit to get your teacher fired,” he says, rubbing the back of your arm with his hand. “Happy day one of being my girlfriend.”

#svt #kpop #seventeen #short story #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seventeen seungcheol #svt fluff #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic

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girlscoutbrownies · 5 months

Text

sbg headcanons!

(i had to put a title because it keeps just showing up as “aiden” in my notifs)

some of my favourite school bus graveyard headcanons! (in celebration of 101 followers) some are mine, some belong to other people that i’ve taken as well

these got really, really long so ill split it into two parts: aiden, tyler, and taylor for this post and ashlyn, ben, and logan will be in the next

——

aiden

(bit of a tw for disassociation around the end)

- uses he/any pronouns, he mostly doesn’t give a fuck. also doesn’t care if you stick to he/him because he likes it. he also tries out mirror pronouns every once in a while and flipflops between any

- unlabelled energy. also doesn’t care abt that type of stuff, but he’s asexual and it takes him a while to grow feelings. he’s afraid of letting people close to him but it really doesn’t matter to him, not that much. he’s pretty apathetic about it

- generally smells like shittily applied cedarwood cologne. it’s one of those cheap drugstore brands and sometimes he forgets to apply it in the morning, and he doesn’t spray it very well. also smells like grass sometimes

- his favourite subject is psychology/maths/anything logic based (he likes those puzzles). growing up with his bitchass karen mom who probably twisted all the words he said, he doesn’t like cryptic or vague language or poetry (english class) because it reminds him of her. in math, there’s only one answer. in english, there’s hundreds. also the words swim on the paper and he finds it hard to focus

- he has his ears pierced. he begged his parents to take him to an ear piercing studio they just ended up taking him to claire’s but he was still so happy about it

- he BEGGED for a dog or a pet when he was very little but eventually stopped at some point. he asked for stuffed animals and never got any because “it would be too hard to keep track of when we’re moving and you would lose them and get sad” and he’s still very upset about it. used to hug like three pillows when he slept

- he was told they were settling down in georgia and now his current room has millions of stuffed animals i will not hear any arguments about this

- he’s a kicker in his sleep (when he gets any). he kicks plushies off his bed like all the time, he’s not apologetic though he’s just like “oh shit”

- worst and best guy to have a sleepover with. super clingy

- he knows very few actual life skills other than operating a microwave for frozen meals because he largely grew up alone without his parental figures in his life. ashlyn and tyler eventually teach him how to cook

- his growth is stunted bc of that period in his life and he’s short like ashlyn

- he is a HORRIBLE gossip addict. they’ll be sitting at the lunch table eating in silence and he drops “did you hear that samantha’s parents are divorced and madison dropped her bc samantha’s mom doesn’t drive them to the mall anymore” like HUH WHERE DID YOU HEAR THIS?

- he gets school lunch and very rarely (if ever) brings lunch from home. sometimes ben makes him lunches

- plays with his food (this is canon) but he makes storylines out of whatever he does its like his personal roman empire

- big fan of extreme foods (spicy, sour, etc) ((he grew up eating plain ramen)) and loves weird food combinations. everyone always makes weird faces at him when theyre at the mall and he orders weird shit

- he doesn’t know proper meal etiquette until someone has to tell him, his parents didn’t teach him anything (I HATE THEM)

- he’s a really bad cook like ben because he always ends up getting distracted, and somehow manages to skip over steps in the recipes.

- he probably likes cooking shows though and is like “yeah i could do that” (he can’t do that)

- the first time someone (tyler) made aiden a homecooked meal he started cry laughing (it was mostly crying) (nobody talks about it)

- the few times his mom has made him meals whenever she’s home they’re really bad. they don’t taste anything like home, but he didn’t know what home tasted like so he just cried. his mom thought it was because of how good it was (it wasn’t) and he just cried harder

- he dislikes bitter flavours, especially like, orange juice that you make from scratch but you don’t put any sugar in it (it’s because his mom once tried to make homemade orange juice/lemonade to feel more like a “real mom” and it was horrible

- he’ll still eat bitter food though he just wouldn’t like it that much

- likes crunchy food or food that pops in your mouth (poprocks) bc he thinks its cool

- probably needs glasses from how long he’s spent staring at screens (his backstory)

- the one thing his parents consistently did as a kid was take him to his doctors appointments so he has stellar teeth

- he’s fit and fairly athletic (jumping off walls and all) but he doesn’t play sports because he just. isn’t interested in any of it. he tries everything but nothing really sticks that much

- he eats his greens but probably wouldn’t care much for the healthy vegan lifestyle, not that much of a picky eater (this part is canon)

- his favourite holiday is halloween because 1. candy (which he didn’t get much as a kid unless he specifically asked for it or ben brought it over) and 2. he loves dressing up it’s so fun to him

- understimulation is the BANE of his existence he genuinely wants to tear out his own hair every time he gets like that. gets really irritated

- he disassociates a lot, generally experiences a lot of derealization. he doesn’t feel like he’s in his own body sometimes

- insomniac

- chases thrills so that he can “feel” something. doesn’t care if it hurts him or not, because at least then he’ll remember he’s a real person and that his life matters

- really bad at telling when people are lying/are irritated with him. he just keeps pushing until they explode

- good with secrets (his own) but isn’t good at deflecting if asked about someone else’s. he’s just like “ummm. would u look over there. a bird!”

- runs really fast, he wakes up early in the morning to take a walk around the neighborhood. he sometimes encounters tyler if he happens to go into his city (which is often, because he doesn’t like being in his house)

- his house is always really cold, which is why he tends to run really warm (his body is compensating). he knows how to turn the ac off, but it always ends up turning back on in the middle of the night

- he grew up learning The Gifted Child instrument; the piano. he dislikes classical music (he says it’s boring but it’s because of this). he also almost got forced to learn the violin but he once practiced so hard his fingers started bleeding which is how he got out of it

- likes verbal validation bc his parents never told him they were proud of him

taylor

- she/they cis demigirl, gets a bit upset at being misgendered though (people think she’s the transfem twin because tyler passes really well)

- bisexual fem pref

- decorates her locker for almost every occasion. halloween, christmas, easter, birthdays. also decorates other people’s lockers for their birthdays before school starts with sticky notes

- has tons of stuff in her locker (except food because tyler won’t let her) just in case anyone needs anything but she’s not very organized so she doesn’t know where anything is

- because of this she’s one of those people that barely makes it to the door before the bell rings but she’s trying to fix that habit

- enjoys crime documentaries/true crime, horror stuff. used to make tyler watch with her but his anxiety gets really bad and he started getting paranoid

- adores christmas bc it’s a family holiday she makes tyler and her mom homemade gifts every year

- loves dogs with every bone in her body she asks santa for one every year but alas. tyler always has to write “a letter from santa” back saying they ran out of dogs at the north pole

- uses emoticons like “:D :] :3” all the time when she types, downloaded a bunch of sticker packs too. especially cat ones

- had her future all planned out as a kid and told her dad she’d be a mechanical engineer and build trains and rockets to bring him places when he started getting really sick and couldn’t move anymore

- her hair is actually kind of dry (compared to aiden’s or ashlyn’s) because they couldn’t afford great shampoo or anything

- has an ehh skincare routine and doesn’t care much for her fashion sense, just wears whatever’s comfortable

- knows a lot of random facts as conversation starters, she’s surprisingly good at small talk ( + comforting people)

- gossips with aiden aallll the time bc she’s super sociable and knows lots of people who tell her secrets. she doesn’t tell any of the important ones but just little drama things

- her and aiden are bffs

- really likes kids because they’re funny, she has a big imagination like them so it’s easy for her to play with them

- she’s a swiftie and whenever someone asks her if she likes taylor swift as a joke bc of her name she says “i like all music!” (she loves tswift)

- really likes sweets over most types of food, she’s healing her inner child guys

- has always ALWAYS wanted to go to a circus/carnival/festival when she was younger, but they couldn’t afford tickets. she still has that dream but she obviously has bigger priorities now…

tyler

- transmale he/him

- doesn’t care that much about dating, he actually doesn’t think about it that much until he meets The Gang. he always too busy taking care of his family to bother with relationships

- dislikes heavy meals, eats in small portions. it’s a habit

- used to be a picky eater but isn’t anymore, when he was younger they struggled to put food on the table so

- he’s like tigris from ballad of songbirds and snakes; when he prepared food for the family he’d eat bits and pieces of it while cooking. eats raw meat sometimes but once got sick from it so never again because he doesn’t want people taking care of him

- he HATES being sick. HATES HATES HATES it, hates having to burden people

- stress cooks because he likes having things to do with his hands. he also runs laps/paces around when he’s stressed

- runs his hands through his hair so it’s always messy

- he doesn’t bother combing his hair unless it’s for a special occasion like the first day of school, he just doesn’t care that much

- gets up early like aiden to keep up his physical fitness, doesn’t stray far though because his mom wakes up around the same time he does

- is VERY punctual. will be furious if someone makes plans and then is late. always arrives somewhere like, fifteen minutes early. he’s trying to break taylor’s habit of being late

- occasionally scolds taylor about how messy her locker is

- is extremely (and kind of scarily) meticulous. clean backpack, clean locker, clean room. it’s a habit

- book smart and figures things out pretty easily. he has an internal computer inside his head i swear. latches onto concepts very quickly

- likes math because he’s good at memorizing concepts but biology is his worst enemy, he gets queasy very easily

- motion sickness

- doesn’t actually have a set plan for the future, other than “help his family.” will probably do something related to sports (sports scholarship) or will do something math/analytical related

- spams people when they don’t respond to him but quits eventually (semicanon)

- has some sort of separation anxiety i swear he does

- keeps every single promise he makes because he hates broken promises (his dad told him he’d be fine and out of the hospital soon), he also doesn’t make a lot of promises

- dislikes nicknames like “champ” and “buddy”

- he’s ambidextrous

- he always seems to be like, tense? can’t relax at all. it might be because of his anxiety (HE HAS ANXIETY)

- only ever relaxes if he’s at home

- rarely watches television, he says it’s a waste of time (he always gets distracted and gets up and goes to do something else) he can leave it in the background though

- i think he has chronic pain, i don’t know where but i just think he does. everything just aches sometimes and he’s so young fuck life

- he’s okay with kids like his sister, not as good as her but he’ll take care of them (habit x37362828) he’d probably say everything really monotone though “there’s santa claus, wow.”

- he and taylor both have a pretty strong southern accent from living in middle of nowhere georgia (i think someone made an art post on this a while back :D)

- is really bad at video games because he gets frustrated easily

- he grinds his teeth when he sleeps and has jaw pain what a loser

#sbg #aiden rambles #school bus graveyard #school bus graveyard (webtoon)#headcanons #sbg headcanons #aiden clark #taylor hernandez #tyler hernandez #i didnt think these would get so long… help…#let me know if they’re inaccurate or if youd like to disagree i would /gen love to hear :D

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doublekanble · 1 month

Text

dead meat

Alastor/reader (gnc)

romantic-platonic

word count: 11.1k

Or, the progress of going down and deeper. (please treat this as if theyre a bunch of drafts coupled together (they are) this read so much funnier if you keep in mind the fact alastor have genuine feelings/genuinely cares for you but he’s just batshit insane) its 13min til 2am if theres an error no theres not tw: gorish talks and imagery littered thru specifically 1, 5 and 7. alastor chased you down in 7.

1. Because you listen.

When you finally came back — frayed at the seams, run-through you with a headache and a rock in hand. You looked down, the warm wetness oozing from him and seeping into your pants quickly turn cold. You couldn’t tell what you’re looking at for a minute, adrenaline still running through you and your head ache just a tad. When you finally see the pink bits and the leaking blood, your breath runs ragged and your thought run miles. You try to remember all the warning your mother gave you about getting involved with a man like Alastor, you don’t know how you’ll tell mom she never gave you any advice or warning about this.

“God… Oh my God what did I—What—“

Not a single book warned you about the way you physically feel ill touching a body growing cold. So with guts churning and the prickling on your skins, you scrambled to throw yourself off and backing away from the body on all four. Desperately, you called out to whatever is there and beg in your head to wake you up from this nightmare of a show. And when you hit something distinctly warm and alive from behind, you call out to it, thinking it’s your mother, coming to save you from this, to tell you that it’s alright and that everyone make mistakes and this is nothing more than a bad dream. You’ll wake up from this soon, in your childhood bed, in your childhood room, in your childhood house and you’ll be anywhere else and not here.

But when the warmth embraces you, and you feel a warmer breath by your right ear, pressing a soft smile and a bliss-filled chuckle into it, it hit you that your mother would’ve hated you if she sees this. If she sees him.

“Oh, mon Chéri, I knew you’d have it in you” You hate the way the voice swallowed and a take a breath, as if mesmerized by the sight, like you but so wholly unlike you, it whispered in your ear, “What a show. What a show.”

Your eyes is focused on him, but not on him, not a person. That couldn’t be a person at all. Saliva tasting bitter, the bile rising in your throat hurts as you desperately tries and tear your eyes away from it. But enraptured by the intricacies inside his head, you only do so much before finding yourself looking closer for something you couldn’t understand.

“Don’t worry,” setting his lips on your temple, he sigh into your skin, one hand held onto yours and gently rubbing the red from your fingers onto his, as if helping you clean up, “It’s your first time, everything will be so much better once you’re used to it.”

Your eyes flickered between the thing and whatever of yourself visible to you. It’s all red, so much red. Its head, his head was caved in, you can see the front of his skull, everything else is everywhere. How could this ever get any better if it’s going to be this red? Was it going to be this red every other time too? You can feel your fingers going numb from the grip you have on that rock, you can feel the dent from where it dug into your palm, you can feel clearly the traces of well-kept nails running down your left arm from where he tries to pull you away. And every bit of it is red. And suddenly your clothes and his grip and the night air and your skin felt just a bit too tight, too suffocating. Your brain pulses and compressed against your skull. It hurts to think, it hurts way much more to speak.

“I—I don’t want to – I can’t-“

“I thought I couldn’t too, until I did it again, and then again. And then I realized that this,” raising the hand he held onto so kindly, almost like guiding your eyes to the sight. While the pain in your stomach is almost unbearable, he couldn’t sound any more ecstatic. “This, is freedom. Our freedom”

You were sure that the freedom that you’ve been yearning for wasn’t supposed to be associate with a corpse. No type of freedom will ever be going to drive someone to cracked open a skull in the middle of the night. There’s nothing but pure malice that will drive someone to bring a rock onto another man’s head and refuses to stop even when his ears bleed and he stop fighting and started begging. Your mother hated Alastor, and she never break his skull open. You hated your mother, and you never break her skull open.

You want to open your mouth and tell him to shut up. You want to say your mother was right, you shouldn’t have gotten involved with him, no matter how inviting his offer is. You shouldn’t have run off night after night chasing the daylight with him. He is a scoundrel, he is disgusting, he’s the worst type of delusional criminal there is, the most pretentious man in all of Louisiana. But you can’t, because you just maimed a good man and refused to hear his pleas. With nothing left to you, you all but break down into his arms.

“There, there~” he coos into your hair as your wailing get swallowed up by the cold night air, “I’m right here, aren’t I?” if only he’s anywhere else but here with you, mouth spewing reassurances one after the other.

(It’s alright, he’ll take care of it today. It’s ok, he’ll teach you about some other day. From now on, you’re going with him, whether liking it or not.)

2. Because you wouldn’t

“Isn’t he one of those highbrows you like to rub shoulders with?” her tone accusing and upset, you almost choked on your tea when she slapped the papers down in front of your food and walk out the living room. Even though you have an idea about what she talk about – the news came out just in time for it to be covered on the radio first, you still pick it up and scanned your eyes along.

“So I’m supposed to remember every face I came by now?” you glowered to yourself, “How do you know who I’m ‘rubbing shoulders’ with anyway?”

Over the sounds of your heart beating wildly in your ears, over the humming in your head, you hear her mumbled something about “that boy” as she starts to vacuumed the carpet. It’s a ridiculous thought, but for a brief second, you were sure she’s going to ask you about your numb fingers.

‘SON OF FAMOUS MUSICIAN, REPORTED MISSING AFTER NIGHT OUT-’

It’s so odd to you, how much he worth, yet how little people care. Name printed in bold font atop news about the fast declined of the economy and crashing stock markets a full week after he disappeared. He never told you his full name, nor does anyone around him ever make mention of it despite their occasional jeering and jokes. You didn’t bother with it at the time, you two weren’t the most talkative person in the room, let alone together.

Then again, it does make sense. He told you before that he’s not proud of what he came from or what he became, under drowsy lights and forced to sit side-by-side like all the other night. You still can’t drink, he still can’t dance while being miserably drunk, and nobody else wants to babysit a miserable drunk. You don’t get why anyone needs you to look after him, despite being so out of his head, he seems perfectly well with handling himself.

Your lift the tea cup to your dry lips and take a sip, the tea tasted bitter.

A voice loudly called for you, irritation written clear in it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and all but jump to her spot in the small hall, unwilling to let the two talks for more than necessary. Your mother stand with a huff to her posture.

“It’s him again.”

You laugh dryly, “It’s always him, mom.” tugging the receiver from her hand, you bring it up to your ears. The moment you do, a chuckle rang out. You shivers.

“There’s the lad of the hour! Why, I almost thought your mother was trying to stringed me along before shutting the line off again!” the mother in question grunt and grumble about how annoyingly persistent he is, you agree. Last time she did so, the phone kept ringing until she relented. “In any case, I hoped you’re all up and ready today!”

“We have nothing planned today.” Your reply was immediate and flat, hoping he would leave you alone, but Alastor only laughs in an almost affectionate tone.

“And I’m here to changed that!” he exclaimed, you run a hand down your face and try to keep your calm.

“Alastor, John’s missing. This is not the time.” you whispered sharply into the receiver, hoping to whatever’s true he’ll shut his trap for once. You’re not interested in getting caught by the neighbours over the phone of all thing.

“John? Now that sounds familiar…” he pauses, you can almost see the way he turn a brow up and pretends like he’s lost in thought, it’s almost endearing, “Why, isn’t that the lad I named on the radio yesterday?! What a horrible case! Some people are saying he finally throw himself onto a train and-“

“Alastor!” at the sound of your own voice scrapping in your ears, you pauses. You relax your grip and lower your voice, doing your best not to pay attention to the figure peeking out from your kitchen, “Listen, I don’t have the time to play around. Get to the point.”

“Clearly, you’ve the time for nothing, you and your mother…” sighing heavily, he dropped the act. “Fine, fine. I’ll stop kidding. We’ll talk once I get there. Be ready in twenty.”

“Wh— Alastor!“ The phone turn dead in your hand and you’re left standing in the hallway.

You stare at the receiver in shock, then, you grip it. Holding back the urge to break it open over the table it sits on, grinding your teeth, you place the receiver back. You clutched at the end of the table and count to ten, jaws aching and head spinning from anger. Even with your head hanging low, you can hear footsteps falling along the hallway. Your mother red house slippers stand in view from the side, you wondered if you can burn it and buy another pair.

“You’re going out with that creepy radio host again.” she’s standing with her hand crossed and an exasperated look, you just know it.

“Mom, please,” heaving a sigh of your own, you don’t want her to rub it in your face, even if she doesn’t know it, “Alastor’s not creepy. He’s a good man, I promise.” you have to believe he’s a good man, after everything. If you don’t, you’ll lose the rest of your mind. You prayed that she leave you alone, but she kept pressing.

“You keep saying that, but I know he’s nothing but trouble. I mean- look at you!? You looked so exhausted every day. Every time you leave with that scurf, you came back looking more lost than before!”

Turning to her, you have a retort at the tip of your tongue, you always do. But the looks on her face was nowhere near what you thought it was, so you stumbled. For a second, your vision blurs and your head spins. When it cleared up, your eyes met.

“That good for nothing man, dragging you out every night! Have he ever asked what you want before?!”

Standing like a cornered rat, you try to find your voice.

“I-“ you swallowed again, “I don’t mind it, mom. I like going out.”

Have your mother always looked this tired and worn beyond her age? It almost as if she’s been holding the world alone. She said your name, and you feel all lost again. Like a small child with bare knees stripped red and wailing for her to come and save you.

“You don’t even like parties.”

You remember how much she always scolded you when you got yourself into troubles, but your mom always patches you up while she does so. In the time frame before your home became more of a house and your front door is a front door without any sort of implications. And then it hit you just how old mom looked now. She used to be so tall compared to you, but now you’re over her slightly hunching figure, a little bit or a lot, it’s just enough to look down on her. Suddenly, the world feels too constricting and your skin feels too tight.

All this time, she wasn’t angry at all, was she? Your mom haven’t been angry for a long time now. But it doesn’t change you, it doesn’t change anything else. You closed your eyes and push a breath through your nose.

“Maybe I’ve changed, mom,” you walk past her into the living and tug on your overcoat with fingers stained red, fighting against the waver in your voice and hoping she won’t hear it, “maybe you should be happy for me.”

Alastor always take less than twenty to show up, but you didn’t know how long he was watching you for before clearing his throat. You didn’t bother to respond, only lifted your head up to make sure it wasn’t some random prude before shifting aside. He have the decency to stay silent and sit down with you on your front porch, offering a sympathetic smile at your sorry state and gently wiped away your tears with his red handkerchief when you refused to move and take it yourself. It wasn’t the first time you sit out and wait for him on the porch instead of listening to her outburst, but it was the first time you ever cry over it.

You wanted so desperately to turn back and tell her that you haven’t change, that you’re still her little kid. The same one that want to sit out the parties and the smokes and the dancing and the jazz just to spent the days working on something with her nearby, in the kitchen working on something or sleeping in the armchair, always in the old set of red house slippers. You want to show her something you make, only for her to not get a single part about it. You want to fall at her feet and begged her to tell you you’re still the same kid. You want her to go back to closing the front door and locking you away from the world again.

But you’re nothing but a rat, fresh off from a murder. You’d soon throw yourself in front a running train than to ever let mom know her child will ever do anything wrong. So you swallowed everything back, stand up, and walked away from her porch with Alastor hot on your trail, smiling all the while.

(you want to tell her you haven’t changed at all, but you know better than anyone else. you thought you know better.)

3. Loosely, you’ll fall.

The show was an utter bore, you’ve concluded. The allure of watching history made quickly died out when it pertains to dancing, something you’ve been watching people do with much more grace. It might’ve been much more interesting too, if the dull drums in your head invites itself out. But even when you step outside into open air outside the theater, it remains.

“Well, that certainly was… something.” Walking after you in a leisured pace with one hand behind his back, another going back and forth on brushing off his coat or adjusting his glasses, to anyone else, he looked completely normal. But you know him long enough. “I could’ve sworn it’s a musical show.”

Usually, it’s fairly hard to catch Alastor in a flustered state, facial or demeanour wise. You supposed years of practice couldn’t really stamp out personal discomfort. You would’ve felt bad, but you don’t have enough strength to bother.

“There is musical, alright,” you grumbled, a hand to your temple as you walk on without waiting for him, “I’d say it’s too much even.”

Obediently, silently, Alastor traces your footstep as you seethe to yourself. You were supposed to be back in bed and sleep away this headache and your free day at this hour. It’s a shame you just can’t help from talking back to your mom and chased yourself out of the house, onto the street, and right into his games.

You wish you could rub those kissing scenes into his face and mocked his offbeat timid nature and tell him to go shove it. For once, the mere thought of intimacy itself reminds you of that night and forced you to think about how Alastor always stands just a bit too close to you, always just behind you. It takes everything in you to not scratch at your wrist and tears your skin open, so you opted for patience and sympathy, no matter how much the image haunted your eyelids said otherwise.

Before you know it, the voices and the hollers and bumping shoulders traded itself for a single bell chiming, then hushed murmurs and echoing clinks of porcelains and glasses filled the space. You invited yourself to a small spot off in the corner with a lone seat and hunched over with your left hand over your face, while Alastor comes up to the counter. When he came back, he pulls another chair from the table right next to yours and all but covered you from everyone else’s sight. You stare at him in between the webs of your fingers while Alastor rest his chin in his right hand and hums all softly at you.

“You should’ve told me it’s still there, dear. I wouldn’t have bother dragging you out.” His free hand brush against yours in a gesture you can blindly guess as benign and kind. Unlike the Alastor from this morning, unlike him in the theater. Unlike Alastor from the broadcast and unlike the man holding onto you that night. You’ve seen this so many times before in so many people, it’s just make-believe for adults and you’ve already seen this in him. You thought you have, anyway, so you take your hand away from him and look at the approaching waitress. It must’ve been a trick of the light, the way his eyes grows just a bit darker. But you still think hard about what you would’ve said back then.

“I need to get out anyway, better here than there right now.” You would’ve been fine with the idea of going back in, but by the time you do, Alastor was standing in front of you, and you would rather let him think whatever he wants than to pissed him off even further somehow.

“Better with me~” When push comes to shove, he is a bitter man with a silver tongue, you’ve seen him pour drinks onto people and getting away scot-free. It’s always funny to everyone else in the group, until they’re at the direct end of his bitter temper.

Alastor have never even so much as raising his voice at you in anger, but you also thought he would never kill anyone, so you refuse to take any chances. As long as you stay cordial and don’t step past your line, Alastor won’t ever have a reason to. So long as you keep to your leash, he’ll be pleasant and let you go home soon. It leave a nasty taste on your tongue, how you know exactly what to do with him.

“Whatever you say, Alastor.” Gently nursing your headache, you sits a bit straighter. You really couldn’t tell what’s worse, the oddly plastic smell of the café, or the light from the bulbs burning your retinas. “You never told me why we’re out here in the first place.”

Clapping his hand together, he grins. “Oh, yes! Terribly sorry my dear, I figured we shouldn’t talk about it over the party line. Who knows what else is lurking, yeah?” you stay seated despite your instinct telling you to run. You know this was coming anyway, “See, we didn’t get to celebrate the other day. You got so sick, after all-”

He kept on talking, seemingly perfectly fine with you tuning him out. Even if he’s not fine with it, he can’t do anything to stop the almost freakish way statics filled your head and washes your entire body in a cold and numbing wave of sweat, electrics ran through your head while you grips your hair. And it’s almost like he knows what’s going through you, because he wiped away a drop of sweat running from your forehead with a knowing smile.

“Be careful now, if you get sick, I’ll have to take care of you.”

“As if you can take a step into my house.” As if she’s ever going to let him take a single step inside after today. But he kept that irritating look on him, if only the thought of tearing it off his face doesn’t hurt you so badly.

“Who said it’ll be at your house~”

His chuckle right after shuts you up. Right, you forgot. Of course you did. He have a lodge somewhere near a bayou. You weren’t sure whether Alastor meant it as a tease or a threat, you don’t really want to think about it. So you forced a laugh when he grows just a tad silent. Tilting his head, he looked at you with something you couldn’t tell, and like aways, he switch topics without a bat of an eye while you sat there with sweats running down your back in the middle of winter.

You reach for your cup and bring it to your lips without bothering to know what’s in it, trying to follow along while Alastor rattled off a to-do list he made without your consent for today’s hangout. A visit to a confectionary shop, a trip to the tailor, quick stop at a small dinner he discovered recently and, if there’s still time, he can take you to your book shop. As your vision blurred for a second, the bitter taste of coffee hit your tongue, and it took everything in you to bite back a swear and to hold your mask of politeness. Accidentally flitting your eyes up, you catch him smiles. But it isn’t the kind of smile friend gives to one another, it isn’t the type where two people love and care for each other. So you keep your gaze low and keep drinking the coffee he ordered, at least they do a decent enough job at taking your mind off of John.

(somehow, it felt so familiar, it wasn’t until the moment you crawl back into your warm bed after a cold dinner that it hit you. it wasn’t against your ear this time, but it was the same smile. you swallowed the acid in your throat and thought about how many people saw it just before they lay six-feet under.)

4. And when you finally fall,

John wasn’t that much of an asshole, but he lives like he’s the most wretched man in all of Louisiana. A shadow of a person, beyond that of a ghost. Alastor told you that the only reason anyone ever stuck around is because John have more money than anyone could ever understand, and as long as you can withstand the awkward silent and the sneers, you can count your worries for the night’s drinks goodbye.

Coming from a long and well-known line of gifted artist, John was set for life, even with his less-than-responsible lifestyle. His great grandfather wrote plays, his grandfather paint, his father plays the piano and John drink himself blind. He stop touching anything that even insinuate the idea of creating art on his twenty birthday. Ever since, he wanders the night, going from place to place to emptied his family’s wealth into pretty floozies and drink away his own shame.

With an eerily out of place grin, just close enough to his normal happy demeanour to count, just a bit too wide to be normal, Alastor show you off to John like an exotic pet while his friends already dash off to dance.

“Oh! And how could I forget, this one might not be able to play it, but they have a fantastic taste in music!” then, he turns to you with a friendly hand on your shoulder and a sympathetic look, “If only you ever have the means to pick it up, you’ll be the talk of the town for sure!””

“Surely.” John reply with an odd laugh and look you up and down, suddenly the idea of sitting back with him and watching the others felt just a bit too much for you. But you only brushed their comment off with a wave of your hand. Acting like you didn’t pick up on how John down his drink with just a bit more fervour and Alastor smiles breached the border of normalcy before he pats your back gently, as if encouraging a shy dog to socialize, before inviting himself out and leaving you alone with a man you’re not sure was all there.

You tell yourself you just won’t go with Alastor to his night parties next time, but you pick up the phone every time. And every night you have to sit right by John’s side in complete silent when everyone spreads across the bar.

At first, it was somewhat scary and unpleasant. Then, it was awkward and uncomfortable. Every time you sit right next to him, he would scoff and chuff at you under his breath. Refusing to ever talk or look at you. Unless it was time to leave, John will never do anything more than call for a drink and then sip on it until he needs another one. Every time Alastor came to check up on you, he would smile at you sweetly and make a jab or two at John. You figured by now it’s a show of sort to him, but sometimes you still make a small effort to shut Alastor up and direct him back to whatever he was doing before. It became your new normal for half a year at least.

And then one night, completely worn out and tired with the day and the loud jazz inside a loud room with lousy lights and lousy companion, you stand up without a word to anyone and went out the back door. Outside in the cold air of October, you huddled by a wall inside the back-alley and pulled your knees to your chest. Staring at your hands, you can only sigh and ruffled your hair, digging the palm of your hand into the base of your skulls and wishing you can break it open.

“If you’re so tired, then why not haul yourself back home?”

Jumping up with a yelp, you clutched at your heart, completely missing the door creaking open the first time. You forgot how John even sounded like for a minute, voice low and gruff, completely contrasting everyone else in the group.

“…” halfway peeking through the door and staring impassively, you wondered why he even bother when he seems so done with you. Words right on the tip of your tongue, you him a passing glance, debating whether this worth an excuse out of your pocket. He cut you off before you even begin to open your mouth.

“What? You’re deaf now?” John shouldered the door and step outside fully, standing in front of you.

“…And if I am?” You frown, this feels too much like being scolded. At least his voice is kinder to your ears . “Better off if you are.” He chuckled, “…So?” You would be upset, but you’re too tired and he’s not leaving you alone, so you shrugs your shoulder apathetically.

“Horrible day at work, fight with my mom, then got dragged out here again.”

“Heh, figured.” You glare up at him, he raises his hands up in defence, whiskey with a single ice cube in its glass clinking as he does so, “You seems miserable whenever the lot isn’t around to see.”

You want to spat at him, what would he know about you? But you know he’s right. It really does feel miserable, going all the way out here just to sit and having nothing to do. So you dropped your head into your palm and groan.

“Ugh-…Is it that obvious?”

He cackle, you take it as a yes and sink your head a bit lower at the sound.

“Why not just—not come?” taking a sip from his whiskey, he sat next to you without invitation, “You can just say no to him, y’know.”

“As if I haven’t tried.” You grumbled, but stop when he raised a brow at you, motion for you to keep on. A bit clueless, you shrugs again, “What? You know him for longer than me. You should know that.”

John looks at you as if you’re stupid, and you’re beginning to think you are. Pointing a finger at you, he asked you about your job. Then with a nod, he stated outright.

“But you don’t do anything for him.”

You sputtered, the irony of a drunkard basically calling you useless and being right about it doesn’t escape you at all.

“What does that have to do with anything? He’s a persistent guy, that’s it.”

“That bastard doesn’t bother hanging around anything that isn’t useful. He’s not that type of guy.”

“Then what type of guy is he?” you ask. He looks at you, licked the top row of his teeth, then heave a heavy sigh.

Dowing the rest of his whiskey, John stand up and offers you a hand. You hesitate before slowly taking hold of it and nearly fell over when he pulled you up. He mumbled a half-hearted sorry with a look.

“Not whatever you’re thinking of him, that’s for sure,” he drag you inside by the shoulder, snickering when you try to keep up and failing miserably before slowing down for you, “Now common, I need another drink.”

It’s all John ever told you about Alastor, it’s all you ever need, but you never listen.

John didn’t change fully after that night, but he still change somewhat. The John that was so drained and empty was still there, but he sits up a bit straighter, as if managed to confirmed whatever else he have in his head. For three months, you two never talked about what happened in the back alley, nor do you talk at all. He still down enough drink to kill an elephant and lost his balance to the point someone needs to take him home. But he nodded his head whenever he’s not tipsy enough that the ceiling spins like a globe and you catches eyes, and sitting beside him felt a bit less draining and off-putting.

You told Alastor about it later, the conversation you two have in the back alley, because of course you do, telling everything to your good friend. Alastor would then look over whenever John’s acting friendlier to you, because of course he does, and joked about it. You saved him five years of his life, he laugh. You laugh along because his tone seems just a bit off. You sometimes think about who Alastor is, whenever you have a moment to sit back and contemplates everything between you two. But not for long, because like clockwork, Alastor would pull you away to do whatever he wants for the day, and like always, you would follow along with little to no complains.

Sometime before John went “missing”, you break the thinning layer of ice between you two and tell him out of the blue that you never actually touch an instrument in your life, but you wished you have the chance to. You thought he would’ve laugh at you, but he sat through your recount of younger you being enthralled by a street musician, seeing it as a form of liberty you can only hope to capture through any other art you made. He asked why, you said there was no space in your life for making music. Not then, not now. He asked if it’s ever a regret, you stay silent.

You asked him to play you something, he huff a laugh behind his glass, but shut up when you didn’t laugh along. A false police alarm got the place empty enough for your group early that night, and the owner was desperate enough for extra cash, enough for him to mousey up and play a song you remember by heart. He played really well, you told him. His playing is the bare minimum, it lacks the souls his father have, he sneers at you. He doesn’t need to have a soul in it, just get used to being mediocre while having fun instead, you reply, leaning against the piano and staring at the group chatting away from you two. He didn’t bother with a counter, but he kept playing, this time it’s a melody you’ve never heard before. You saw Alastor turning his head to you two, but you pay him no mind and turn back to John. He looked so calm playing something like this.

John trips over his fingers and curses a lot, you tell him to keep playing. Until the song’s finished and you left standing in silence for just a bit, waiting for the other to say something. Turning the word over in your mouth, you’re a bit speechless, like you’re face-to-face with a kindred soul. But there’s no real comfort in telling a drowning man he can breathe, so you say his melody felt like home.

Worn beyond his age and exhausted in a way that’s so out of place for someone who have the world in his hand, his smile was genuine, facing towards you, like an old friend and a warm meal. The bar dives and the social circles Alastor loved pulling you along have always made you feel so out of place. Their grin’s too perfect and their voices too pleasant, all with an oddly rotten attitude. It’s like watching a picture show, it’s not how people genuinely act, it’s the semblance of one.

Maybe that’s why you and John never got along too well, he was too busy hiding his face behind glasses of gin and whiskeys, you’re too busy hiding in Alastor shadows. But you both never play along, and you both never faced each other fully before that night. You hope John never have that realization, the fact you’ve never faced him at all.

Then before you knew it, his face to the ground, all red, turned from you. That’s all you knew about John Holloway, that’s all he ever get to tells you.

(deep inside, you want to say that it wasn’t your fault. but the difference between getting swept along with life and standing in a back alley with blood on your hands is that somewhere in your empty head, you did register his scream. there’s a reason you can’t see his face and there’s a reason the rock was in your red hand, sitting in your red palm.)

5. so far down, you won’t know the way home

The forest floor was red, by the time you realized it.

It wasn’t by your hand, but it’s enough for you to step back and breathe. It always so odd to you, just how easy it really is to see in the dark, even when the moon hides away behind strips of clouds. In the dark, at the dead of night, your eyes should’ve been blind to the red that’s bleeding all over, but it never does. It took you a second to remember what you’re supposed to be looking at, and you turn the light towards the main figure, standing so proudly in the middle of this. In through nose, out the mouth. Don’t focus on the thing below, look at him and smile. He smiles back, genuine joy stiches itself on every corner of his face. If only this flashlight is weaker.

“Sorry darlin’. This one have more fight in him than I thought he would,” he strides towards you, the familiar metallic stench overwhelms your senses when his red hand came up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind your ear, “Good thing we got it done before he find his way out, huh?”

Good thing he got it done at all, you thought. You can only bother to hide your exhaustion with a mute nod and a grim grin. Knowing exactly how this will plays out again, you remind yourself to be ready. Alastor laughs and pat your cheek affectionately before pulling you by your hand towards the corpse quickly growing cold amongst the grass. As he does, you try to ignore the echoing in your eardrums.

It was gut wrenching at first. The panting, the gasping, frantic steps that echoes through the empty woods, devoid of bird calls, devoid of life. Just a hound, chasing its prey, and a vulture perched on a tree waiting, watching. The choked exhale when they fall, eventually tired out and tripped over themselves or getting a bullet to the thigh. The way they all looked so confused, then they bargain, then they get mad and calls him every name under the sun before shutting up and look at him in the eye. You weren’t sure just how he looked to them, but perversely, you’re glad you never get to see it.

They scream and yell and beg for someone to please come and save them until they can’t anymore, but it felt like they never stop at all.

“Come here.”

He sits you down by the body, open and ready, still holding onto your wrist while you fight every bone in your body to keep your hand still and keep your foot nailed down. His face, flushed with excitement and sweat running down his forehead as he rattled on about how soon, you’ll have enough guts to do this with him instead of only ever following after and picking up the scraps.

“Remember that feeling? Remember the rush?” lifting your clenching fist up to his lips, he smiles and chases your gaze, you stare back, “Etch it into your brain, don’t ever forget it.”

With that, he plunges your fist into the open cavern of flesh and red and it feels so incredibly blasphemous and wrong. While Alastor knitted his fingers atop yours and guide your hand through the process, you feel your senses grows fuzzy around the edge. Half of you wish that headache didn’t die after the 3rd time, at least then you have something else to focus on other than the sopping wet red mush slipping in and out between your frozen fingers. The idea that someone’s inside would immediately cool off after their death is a farce to you, their warmth still so tangible and so fragile it takes everything in you to stop the burning acid from bursting in your throat. He told you on your fifth time that if you vomit on the body, he’ll have you cleaning it with him, sounding just a tad bit considerate, as if the idea of forcing you into doing something you dislike hurts him.

It's almost too much to think about, how you’re becoming something so different, something that’s just enough to his liking, to the point where all you have left are instincts and the alarms in your head. It felt like years ago when your weekdays are filled with nothing but sitting inside your cozy home and looking out the window, hoping one day you’ll be able to experience that high life and being cared for by someone who love you with everything they have, even if it’s the worst experience of your life. It’s almost like decades ago when your thoughtcrimes are no more than passerby on a long day and your smile is a sham but it’s ok because everyone bought into it and you do too. Now you spent your days looking behind your shoulders for excuses while pinprick runs up your neck, waiting for the day you’ll be buried with the people he hate.

You hope when, not if, you do have to, you’ll manage to come up with an excuse to mom for the body in that alley way. You clenched your fist, only the red squelching and spongy inside of a man you barely know respond.

(the hound stare up at the vulture and leave with a red maw, it watches the vulture from the shadow of the trees. the vulture learned to ignore the hound and feast away at leftovers.)

6. I hope you’ll call out for my name.

Unconsciously, you tap your index finger to a rhythm a man showed you some years ago. One you called beautiful, and one that made him smile. Like always, your weary and sunken eye catches red painting your left hand, but you only sigh and return to penning out your letter. A ringing echoes throughout your bleak and empty house, but no voice call out for you. There’s no point in picking up, you simply let the call die on its own. If it’s him, he’ll crawl his way to the front door with or without that call either way.

When the noise abruptly ended and didn’t pick up again, you put down your pen and hold the letter in hands that never lost its stain. Staring down at the words you’ve painstakingly poured over since her funeral, you crumbled the page and held your head. Over and over again, you write and write, hoping that some way, somehow, something can change.

But like always, nothing is enough, so you throw the paper into the small bin next to your seat, holding back the urge to throw everything else on the table with it too; your mom raise a murderer, not an ill-manner rodent. There’s no longer a point in lamenting things that can never be change in your lifetime. You can do this tomorrow, or the next day, or the day next to that, you’re considering how to go out still. As long as he’s not here, that is. You check the clock, eleven and a half, you have around fifteen minutes before he’s here.

Alastor was always suffocating, you thought, dragging yourself to a wardrobe that haven’t felt familiar for more than half a year now. Nosy and meddlesome, it’s something you picked up on even when you were a doe-eye little rat running across the night without realizing you were walking with a hunting hound, but you always thought it was simply how Alastor cares about people. Your mom was right, you were so naïve about him, thinking he can care for anyone else aside from his mother and himself.

He was always suffocating, but ever since the funeral, he all but latch onto you.

The pure black outfit he gave you was something you would wear to mom’s funeral. But coming from him, it makes you feel like a stranger was staring back from the mirror’s view, out of your own skin. So you boxed it and hid it under the sofa after the whole thing.

And of course, Alastor knows this. So whenever he browse through your wardrobe on his own accord, he would always make sure to make a comment about how these plain and boring clothes never look right on you with a good-nature smile. You no longer have the mind to bother with a reply, so you let him do whatever he wants. As long as he get his digs in, you get your peace of mind. The things in here means the world to you, but what use is there to defend something you’ll soon have no use for.

Clicking your tongue, you pulled out something that looks decent for the street and locked the door to your room. You fixed your clothes until it fits right on you and sat on your bed, wondering if you should just stay inside and make him take some couple extra steps. But decidedly, being in your own room with him will always be so much more unnerving of an experience rather than just letting him shuffling through your stuff on his own. So, the door to your room open with a click, and you step out into long familiar but distant hallways. You wish you can unlearn the concept of loving something that isn’t tangible anymore. It’ll make the hallways a bit brighter.

Like usual, you peek into the empty, almost sterile kitchen and walk up to her armchair. After confirming that you’re alone today also, you found yourself back on the sofa with nothing else to do, simply waiting for Alastor. Checking the time again, it’s exactly mid-day now, so his mother must’ve needed help with something, you’ll have to wait for a bit. Gulping down the uncomfortable heavy weight that settled over your heart since a year and a half ago, refusing to ever die, you lie down and close your eyes.

A year, a half, two week and three days, it’s really a wonder how you work. Maybe that’s what Alastor sees in you, a walking list of contradictions, or maybe this is how everyone works, and you were just cruelly kept out of the loop. Even though you never bother to consider her in your own life, ever since a year and a half ago, you wake up staring at the ceiling with bleary eyes wondering what’s she’s doing every day and why you can’t hear her. Then, remembering that she won’t be doing anything from now on, you get up and make yourself breakfast. Sometimes you would still hear someone calling for you, along with the constant ringing from the phone, but then one day, you forgot how she sounded like, so you starts to ignore the calls.

The day you realized you can no longer hear her voice, calling out to you from the door to your house, you’d tried to trace her footstep by opening her cookbook and making the dish she love. One moment, you were staring down into the pages, the next, you’re seated at the counter, surrounded by Alastor’s companions. You’d call for a whiskey. Everyone find it absolutely hilarious and jokes about your new life while you held the glass in your hand and stare down into the amber-colour liquid. Just as Alastor laugh and reach out for your hand to take it away, talking about how you simply won’t be able to handle the aftermath, you knock your head back and the glass ran clear in one gulp. His friends all cheered for you and shoving another glass into your hand, assuring you’ll get used to this soon, but you don’t know how much you can trust them.

Quite frankly, the whiskey was beyond repulsive. As if you just swallowed flaming charcoal, your throat burns so badly, it’s stopping you from forming a single coherent sentence. You can’t stop yourself from tearing up over it, either, vision blurred and unsteady while a beginning of a headache started creeping up on you, so you down whatever’s in your hand again in the hope of becoming familiar with it fast enough to never have to think twice about it. Before a pretty dame in the group can pass you a third drink, you were hauled up by the shoulder and drag out the door, Alastor hissing a goodbye to the group through his teeth.

Storming off ahead and ranting about how utterly irresponsible you are while you stumbled behind him like a fawn, Alastor would slow down and stare when he can’t hear your soft footstep anymore. You remember walking by a closed tailor shop and flopping yourself down, back against the glass window and weeping without a word. He walked back and sit next to you after a while. You know he’s waiting for you to say something on your own, but you only shrink into yourself. You don’t know what was worse in that moment, the burning in your throat, the head splitting ache slowly brewing or the fact you never know your mother favorite food. How are you supposed to grief someone you don’t know anymore?

In the midst of it all is Alastor, who seemingly lost all of his previous anger. You’ve seen a lot of him over the years, you know he sees all of you. But this is the first time you break down without a word or a reason and you wondered if he feels just as lost and confused as you are. It as if he doesn’t know what to do with you once you actually breaks in a way that doesn’t serve his vision of you, in a way he never have to fix before.

“…Tough day?” with an oddly shy tone, he nudge you from the side, “Didn’t know you’re this much of a sad drunk, honey. Guess I was right to keep you off the bottle after all.” He chuckled, then trail off when you stay silent and stare off into nothing.

It must’ve been no more than ten minutes, but it felt like years before you gave up and open your mouth, voice breaking and quiet. “He made it look so easy.”

“He? Michael?”

He perks up the moment you speak, mouthing off the names of all his associates in hope of finding the one that raises your ire. You would’ve found him endearing if things were different, but you cut him off.

“John,” Then as if it’s not enough, as if Alastor never remembers anyone else, you try to keep your voice even while rubbing your eyes “John Holloway. He made drinking look so easy.” Even without looking, you can see his lips pulled into a taut line.

“Ah, right, John Holloway,” rolling his eyes and shuffling that much closer to you and pulling out his handkerchief, he sneers, holding your wrist still while wiping your face, “No doubt he does. If you didn’t take him out, that chump would’ve drink himself to Hell on his own.”

“At least then he gets to pick his own way out…” You huff.

“It’s been years, honey!” done with cleaning you up, he stuff the handkerchief in his left pocket, “I can’t believe you’re still hung up on him!”

With every word out of his mouth, Alastor’s fake and chipper accent gets just a bit firmer, as if finally knowing what to do. Sitting up straight and pulling his glasses off, he wiped it on his vest and ask dismissively.

“When did he die again? Was it 1928?”

“1929,” you breathe and lean your head against the glass, “Remember that musical you called innovative and new?”

“If only I can forget.” He blanch at the thought of it, you smile wistfully.

“The music was nice, it’ll be nice to watch it again.” From the corner of your eyes, you catches his. You hated how he look so content with this.

“That makes one of us…”

After that, a blanket of silence fell onto you two. With a headache in full swing, you recalled asking whether he ever remembers how they look. Chuckling, he only leans close until your nose almost touch and say that he does. You ask if he’ll ever remember you, he froze and stare into your eyes with an almost incomprehensible look. Standing up, he brushes himself from dust and give you a hand, you take it.

Before you two departed in front of a door that no longer lead to a home, he tells you in an almost too quiet voice that he hope he never have to remember you. You hate his everything in that moment. From how his stands was just a tad bit different from his usual tall and confident poised self to the way he looks so abnormal with the corner of his lips dipped down. You hate how you’ve grown fond of his smile, so you turn and closed the door with a good night.

In the morning, sounding like you just dragged yourself from hell back up, you asked him for a clipped picture from the old newspaper and leave it under your pillow. And ever since, you’ve been rewriting the same letter. To everyone that you ever have a hand on, and to John and your mom. But specifically to John and mom.

John was a good man. It’s a shame he drank too much and care too much in one night. It’s a bigger shame that you can’t keep your thoughtcrime as exactly that, a thoughtcrime. He was right, too. You never knew the man you called Alastor, you don’t think you’ll ever do and you’re happy for it. You only ever find the cowardice to take another man’s life with his help, and you’ll only ever find yourself in more trap than being free from it.

You still bought yarns and cookbooks that you think your mother would’ve love. You come back with enough groceries for two people and the kitchen table are always set for two. You check every day in the kitchen for her still. You still crept up behind the armchair just in case she’s sleeping. Her red slippers still sat patiently just in front of her door. You know she never will be there, but it’s a nice thought. And since mom won’t ever going to be there again, you’ll take a nap. Alastor can have fun dealing with half-asleep you once he’s here.

(you’re woken up by the sounds from your kitchen, the smell familiar. as if finally escaping a bad nightmare, you sprang up on your feet and peek in like a child. Alastor stood at the stove, smiling at you. for the first time in years, his smile didn’t reach his eyes.)

7. we’re going to hell together, after all.

Left, right, right, left.

The silent always puts you on edge, as if there’s something out here, biding for it’s time. If only it’s a beast you can take down with a shotgun. You try to recall the forest trail that you know is somewhere out here as shadows of trees covered you from the moon. But you know Alastor, and you know for a fact that if he wanted to, he could herd you out of New Orleans with just a couple of words and a smile. So you uselessly try to focus past the thundering in your ears, you can’t hear a trace of him anymore. So on the count of three…

Throwing yourself to the right, you almost slammed into a tree as a bullet lodge into the trunk of another just right ahead. A soft chuckle rang out from behind, you kept running. Left hand clutching your right wrist, a sob bubbling up from your aching throat, it’s between running like this and letting the hand ram itself into whatever’s there in the forest. Even if you’re blessed with the chance to get out of this alive, you’ll never have use for your right hand ever again. Bones doesn’t heal right when they sit past five days, but you’re not sure you can even hold a pen with a mangled thumb and a pinkie barely hanging on. You lost a bit of your will at that, but the silence of the woods draws you from your thought. You want to die by your own hands.

Right, left, right.

But you know you won’t be able to. The moment you let him take you here, you already lost. Alastor knows the woods better than you. He knows hunting better than you. And you’re sure he knows he can outrun you at any time. You refuse to dwell on the meaning of it and push your left hand against a tree.

Another shot rang out, this time hurling right by your head and nicked the tip of your right ear and went into the night. You don’t know where it goes, but you staggered just a bit and nearly launch yourself forward when a small bush snatches the end of your clothes.

“Sorry honey!” his voice gets further and further away while he stand still and yell out to you with a casual tone, as casual as he can keep it, “Frayed nerves and all~” he laughs, the rest of his words intelligible, and then suddenly, the forest went silent again. You can’t afford to stop and think anything through, so you push on ahead.

When you’re stuck with only the breaking and crushing of leaves under foot and your own winded breaths filling your ears, you cursed. Your throat starch, your lungs burns. With every step you take, your visions blackened around the edge and breathing alone hurts so horribly. It’s a blessing you even lasted for this long, you never have to chase anyone like he did. You wishes you burn that letter instead of dropping it in the bin, you wish you burn that house down instead of living with a ghost you can’t see. You wish you burn him. You know something was off with him that day, Alastor couldn’t shut up to save his life ever since he gets the key to the house. But he didn’t so much as uttered a word to you while staring down at the cutting board, but you didn’t care enough to ask him. Biting back a curse when a stinging pain shot up from your ankle, you feel your head spin as a short and pained chuckle escape your dry lips, he was thinking about how he wants you dead, surely.

Left, left? Right. L-

You can’t help but cry out the moment the bullet sink into your right upper thigh and sent you down. You crashed sideway onto the forest floor and black out for just half a second when a rock dig into your left temple. Clutching at your thigh with a broken hand, your laugh sounds unfamiliar to your own ears, almost choking as it drags nails and spikes through your throat, like that of an animal, like you’re an animal. The loss of oxygen is getting to you, the irony doesn’t escape you.

While your body winds down and the pain and exhaustion settles in, you go into the most horrible aftermath you’ve ever have to endure. Your head pulsating with every beat of your heart and your limbs grew heavy and cold. Vividly, you pick up on leaves breaking and sticks crushed under heavy footstep and you abandoned all sort of dignity to scrambled and try to drag yourself away from him, fingernails dug into dirt and grass to pull your lead like body away. But another clink, another shot hit your lower torso from behind as your choke scream got swallowed up by the earth, left to clutch at your wounds with face buried into the earth and tears streaming from your eyes.

“Oh honey, why so sad?” a heel sit on your bullet wound, dancing in circle before he slowly press his whole weight onto it. Your suffocating wail isn’t enough to amused him, but he still laugh with such gentleness in his tone. “I thought this is what you want? Weren’t you writing to dear old John about leaving? Well, here it is!”

The relief he granted you last for all but half a second before he bring his foot down. Stinging, numbing pain spread through your entire body and you’re left gasping for air while he held your shoulder and set you to face him. Hunching over your shivering body with a hand on your face, he smiles. Or at least you think he is, there’s not a point trying to make out a single thing over the agonizing pain that’s making a home in your body. You wanted so badly to just black out and die right here, you pretty sure you did black out at some point, but Alastor slap your cheek lightly and calls your name with almost a whine to his tone. The warmth from his hand stand out amongst the incomprehensible burning of your flesh and the blood rushing through your head, why are you here again?

“Oh come on, don’t leave me hanging like this. You know I hate it when you ignore me.”

You’re not, you want to scream. If there’s anything you can ever say for him to get off of you and leave you alone, you would. You don’t know if it’s the blood lost or the pain getting to you, but your already waning visions of him blurs beyond recognition while he coos at you.

“I guess it really do hurts that badly?” he laughs, “One question solves then!”

At the mention of it, your blood ran cold and the forest felt just a bit more freezing than it already was. Right, he did say something about John, didn’t he? Almost like it was yesterday, when you’re sitting alone in your room at eleven in the morning. Although barely able to remember the exact wording of every letter, you know by heart the concepts and questions in all the letters you’ve written and rephrased a thousand times and over. But the question wasn’t in that one, it was at least several drafts before it, dropped because it was too presumptuous to ask your first and closest victim such a horribly him question. All of it, sitting neatly in the bin right by your writing desk. All of it, he could’ve read in the hours it took you to wake up.

You want to stick to what’s left of you and die raising your head just a bit higher than when you live by not letting him hear a word out of you, either the fact your throat still hurts so badly just swallowing or the fact you know it’s all but useless talking now that’s keeping you. But from the corner of your eye, you saw his right, red hand gripping tightly onto something that you can’t properly make out, and then you remember the reason you never anticipated any of this occurring within your lifetime.

“Th-the letters…” you groaned, “it’s not-you-“

Right, the reason you were caught off guard by him breaking your fingers while pinning you to his car, the reason you couldn’t even begin to make head from tail when he pressed you for the name of whoever it was that makes you do this. The letters that is, for all its intended purposes, your suicide note.

“Yes, yes,” with a draws to his voice, as if he’s tired of this, “Your lovely letters, to dear old ma and John. We both know I read all about them.”

“No-“ you cough, it’s hurts just to breathe, “I wasn’t going to- tell them-“

“Oh, that. I know.”

For just a moment, you’re void of anything. All the pain and the blistering heat and the cold night air leave your body for just a second and left you with nothing at his words. You’re aware of his every movement, even through the darkness of the night. Suddenly, everything is too much, too loud.

“I thought you’re smarter than this, love.” you can’t see him properly at all, but you can’t see him smiling and it scares you, “It never was just about the letters.”

“Then what-“

Shushing you, he leans down until your forehead nearly touched, you try to focus and find his eyes at this awkward angle but it only worsen the unbearable pounding in your head.

“This, is what you want,” he pauses, you can see the outline of his jaw shifting, like rolling words on his tongue. You want to call him a madman, but you don’t even know if this is him anymore. This isn’t the Alastor you know for years. He would’ve never talk to you without that stupid accent that’s everywhere on the radio. The Alastor you know doesn’t need to considers his words talking to anyone, always with an excuse on his sleeve. And that Alastor would never gotten so close, wouldn’t have sounded so personal. “You said you want to leave. To get to that ‘freedom’, right?”

He sounded so hurt, as if it’s him that’s being crushed under weight with bullets in him and two broken fingers, as if it’s not you writhing on the forest floor, as if he’s the one dying tonight.

“You can’t bear to live anymore, right? You can’t do this with me anymore, can you?” you’re painstakingly reminded of the fact he still have his right hand on you, casually moving it down to your neck while he raises his left. You aren’t sure why, but you still try to claw at the hand clasping gently around you. You think this happened before, but you weren’t sure where the idea came from, the loss of oxygen getting to you quicker than you thought it would. Somewhere in the back of your mind, your fingers, two broken and eight dirtied with dirt and your own blood, it lost the red that have been clinging onto you like a disease.

“Al-“ in that moment, your vision suddenly cleared, like a last-ditch attempt at life. The grip he have around you is like that of a snake, too. Coiling gently and kindly, with a thumb digging into your skin while the inners of your ears felt like bursting open.

“It’s alright, mon Chéri, I’ll help you. I always have, haven’t I?” he always have been helping you, but that was Alastor, your friend and the demon on your shoulder. Not the man that’s staring down at you with such a look and speaking to you with such tenderness and love you can’t begin to dissect.

Desperately, you stare up at the image of an unfamiliar man with voices you’ve never heard before. He smiles a smile so painful, as if losing his mind too, but you can’t tell who he is anymore. Your mom was right, John was right, you’re right, but none of it matters when you’re running out of breath and the rock in his left hand fits so well into his palm.

“I’ll come see you when I’m down there, wait for me.”

Your vision bloomed and blurred away. You stay awake for long enough to hear the first crack of skull, reverberating through your eardrums. You’d stay awake for the second hit, and the third. And you stay awake for just long enough to grow envy of John for never having to faced you that night.

(the hound leaps, sharp fangs breaking tough skin and tearing veins, the vulture, without a mind to think of god, only knows how to cries out.)

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thewulf · 3 days

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A Safe Place || Dallas "Dally" Winston

Summary: Request - Can you do a Dally or Darry x female reader where reader is having a really difficult time at home (mom and dad are kinda like Johnny's parents and beat up physically and mentally on reader?)... Read Rest Here

A/N: As long as I live I will forever write The Outsiders. Such a unique group to write. This one is tough but I really love it!

Pairing: Dallas "Dally" Winston x Female Reader (Johnny Cade Sister)

Word Count: 3.3k +

TW: ABUSE, talks of abuse, hitting, bruises, cuts, blood, threats of violence, general Outsiders warnings

As you stumbled through the door of the Curtis household the entire greaser gang turned to look at you. Their expressions shifting from surprise to concern in an instant. Dally was the first to react, his eyes widening in realization as he took in the extent of your injuries.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" Dally's voice was gruff but there was an underlying edge of worry as he approached you. His movements were surprisingly gentle as he took in your battered appearance. His usually stern expression softened which revealed a glimpse of the concern that lurked beneath his tough exterior.

You could feel the weight of their stares. Their unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air. It was clear that they were shocked by the state you were in, and the realization only made you feel more vulnerable. Because for as bad as you felt you just knew you looked 10 times worse. It wasn’t the first time he’d laid hands on you, but it was the first time he didn’t seem to want to stop.

"I-I... I had a run-in with my old man," you managed to choke out. Your voice was barely above a whisper as you fought to hold back the tears brimming at the edge of your eyes. You’d done so good escaping it was suddenly catching up to you what you had just gone through. The words tasted bitter on your tongue. A painful reminder of the nightmare you couldn't escape.

Steve's jaw clenched tight with anger as he took in your bruised and bloodied face, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "That bastard," he muttered under his breath, his voice thick with rage. "He’s gonna pay for this, I swear."

Dally's expression darkened at your words. His features contorted with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "I'll kill him," he growled, his fists clenched at his sides as he fought to contain the rage simmering just beneath the surface. His words hung heavy in the air as it was a promise of retribution that sent a shiver down your spine. The scary part was that you knew he would kill him given the chance. It was one thing with Johnny… but when he saw you so battered he found a rage not even he knew he had.

Instinctively you flinched at his declaration. The raw intensity in his voice triggering a flood of memories you wished you could forget. You had already endured so much, the wounds—both physical and emotional—still fresh and raw. The thought of more violence only served to deepen the pit of dread that churned in your stomach. Sure, you grew up with the greasers but it never made the violence and threats of it any easier.

As if sensing your reaction Dally's eyes softened with remorse. A pang of guilt flickering across his features. He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering uncertainly over your shoulder before finally making the gentlest contact. He was afraid of the bruises underneath your clothes, the ones he couldn’t see. "Hey," he murmured, his voice surprisingly gentle despite the harshness of his earlier words. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

You blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. For all his tough exterior there was a vulnerability in Dally that few ever got to see. A glimpse of the boy beneath the cocky attitude that he showed all too often. As you looked into his eyes you saw not just the anger and the pain, but also the deep-seated compassion that he tried so hard to conceal. His presence was a balm to your battered soul. A reminder that you were not alone in your struggles.

Dally's sharp gaze hardened as he turned to the group just staring at the scene unfolding before them. "Get the hell out of here if you ain’t gonna be useful," he ordered, his voice firm and commanding. "Give us some space guys." The rest of the gang exchanged uneasy glances before nodding in agreement, understanding the need for solitude in such a vulnerable moment. With one last look of concern, they filed out of the room leaving you and Dally in a cocoon of quiet solidarity.

As Soda made to leave with them Dally stopped him with a firm hand on his arm. "Soda, wait," he said, his voice softer now, filled with urgency. "Get the first aid kit and a warm towel. We need to clean her up." Soda nodded in understanding, a determined look crossing his features as he hurried off to retrieve the supplies.

As Soda hurried off to retrieve the supplies, Dally turned his attention back to you, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "Hang in there, sweetheart," he said softly. His voice laced with reassurance as he gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. "We'll get you patched up real quick."

You managed a weak smile. So grateful for his comforting words amidst the raging emotions swirling inside you. Despite the pain and the fear that still lingered there was a sense of relief knowing that you were in capable hands. You were being taken care of the boy who cared deeply for your well-being.

A knowing smile just ghosted over Soda's lips as he returned with the first aid kit and a warm towel. He was silently acknowledging the unspoken bond between you and Dally. He knew how much Dally had loved you for so long. And seeing the two of you together now filled him with a bittersweet sense of pride. He’d never seen Dallas so gentle.

With practiced efficiency, Dally and Soda set to work cleaning and dressing your wounds. Their movements gentle yet purposeful as they tended to each cut and bruise with care. Dally's hands were surprisingly gentle as he worked. A stark contrast to the roughness you had come to expect from him. However, even he wasn’t perfect. There was a moment when Dally accidentally pressed a little too hard on one of your bruises causing you to let out an involuntary yelp of pain. Instantly his expression shifted. A look of sadness crossing his features as he realized his mistake.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he murmured. His voice filled with genuine remorse as he gently pulled back, his hands hovering uncertainly over your injured skin. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll be more careful, I promise."

You could see the sincerity in his eyes. It was layered with a depth of emotion you hadn't seen from him before. A stark reminder that beneath his tough exterior there was that vulnerability he tried so hard to conceal. You saw not just the pain and the regret in his eyes but also the profound sense of care and affection that he held for you.

"It's okay, Dally, really" you reassured him, your voice soft as you reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm. "I know you didn't mean it. I’m so lucky to have you."

His gaze softened at your words. A small flicker of gratitude passing between you as you shared a moment of understanding. Despite the rough edges and the scars that marked his soul there was a gentleness to Dally that few ever got to see. A side of him that he reserved for those he held closest to his heart. A side that only seemed reserved for you.

With a nod of appreciation Dally resumed his careful ministrations. His touch lighter and more cautious than before. And as he worked to tend to your wounds with a renewed focus, you couldn't help but feel a swell of affection for the boy who had always been there for you. Always, no questions asked.

As Dally apologized profusely and you reassured him, Soda noticed the exchange between you two. Sensing the depth of emotion in the room he took a step back giving you and Dally a moment of privacy. There was that knowing look in Soda's eyes, an acknowledgment of the connection between you and Dally. With a subtle nod Soda retreated to give you both some space. His intuition telling him that this was a moment that needed to be shared between just the two of you. As he busied himself with tidying up the first aid supplies before exiting the room, he couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth fill his chest for the two of you.

Once Dally finished tending to your wounds with careful precision a flood of emotions washed over you. Threatening to overwhelm your fragile composure. The physical pain had subsided only to be replaced now by a tidal wave of raw emotion that surged through your veins like a raging river. Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you struggled to contain the torrent of feelings that threatened to consume you. It wasn't just the pain of your injuries that brought you to tears, but the weight of everything you had endured, the fear, the loneliness, the relentless cycle of abuse that had plagued your life for so long.

You cried for your little brother, lost and alone in a world that had turned its back on him. Your Johnny. You cried for the father who had betrayed your trust as his fists rained down upon you with a cruelty that knew no bounds. But most of all you cried for Dally, for his unexpected gentleness and the overwhelming sense of safety and comfort that he had provided in your darkest hour.

As you sat with Dally in the quiet intimacy of the room you felt a sense of release wash over you. A cathartic release of pent-up emotion that had been building inside you for far too long. And as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks you knew that you were not alone. That you were loved and cherished by the one person who had always been there for you, offering his unwavering support and understanding in the face of adversity.

As your tears flowed Dally's heart ached with a depth of emotion he had never allowed himself to fully acknowledge before. Without hesitation, he shifted, pulling you fully onto his lap, cradling you against his chest with a tenderness that was so different than his tough exterior. His arms wrapped around you protectively creating a safety that enveloped you both.

He rubbed soothing circles on your back. His touch a comforting reassurance of his unwavering support. In the quietness of the moment, he whispered words of comfort and encouragement. His voice a gentle murmur in the stillness of the room.

Feeling your sobs intensify he tightened his embrace. His hold on you was firm yet gentle as if trying to absorb some of the pain that wracked your body and soul. With each shuddering breath you took he squeezed you tighter. His touch was a silent reassurance that he was there for you. He would never let you face your demons alone.

"You're safe now, sweetheart," he murmured. His breath warm against your ear. "You don't have to be strong all the time. Let it out. I'm here for you."

His words were a lifeline in the darkness, a reminder that you were not alone in your pain. With each gentle stroke of his hand against your back, he offered you solace and understanding, his touch a silent promise of his unwavering support.

"It's okay to cry," he whispered, his voice a gentle murmur in the stillness of the room. "I've got you. I won't let anyone hurt you again, I swear it."

His heart broke for you, for the girl he cared for more deeply than he dared to admit. In that moment, as he held you close, he wished he could take away all the pain and suffering you had endured, to shield you from the cruelties of the world with nothing more than his love.

As time passed your sobs gradually subsided leaving behind a lingering sense of emptiness and exhaustion. In the quiet aftermath of your tears, you took a shaky breath. Your chest still tight with emotion. Dally held you close.

Feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your ear you found solace in the warmth of his embrace. With a heavy sigh you finally found the strength to speak. Your voice trembling with the weight of the words you had kept buried deep within your heart.

"I miss him," you spoke. Your voice barely above a whisper as you spoke of your little brother, lost and alone in a world that had turned its back on him. "I miss Johnny so much it hurts."

Tears welled up in your eyes once more, threatening to spill over as you thought of your brother who had been forced to run away. His pure innocence stolen by the cruelty of the world.

"I miss the way things used to be," you continued. Your voice filled with longing as you spoke of a time before your father's descent into darkness, before the alcohol and the violence tore your family apart. "I miss when my dad wasn't a drunk, when he was still my dad, you know?"

Your words hung heavy in the air, a poignant reminder of the innocence you had lost, of the life that seemed so distant and foreign now. In the safety of Dally's embrace, you allowed yourself to mourn the loss of the past, to grieve for the family that had been torn apart by forces beyond your control.

As you spoke of missing Johnny, Dally's embrace tightened. His arms offering you a sense of strength and stability amidst the chaos of your emotions. His voice was gentle as he responded. His words a quiet reassurance in the face of your pain.

"I know, sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "We all miss him. But you know Johnny, he's resourceful as hell. And with Pony by his side? Those two can handle anything."

There was a quiet conviction in Dally's voice. It was a steadfast belief in Johnny's resilience that offered you a glimmer of hope in the darkness. Despite the uncertainty of his fate, you found comfort in Dally's unwavering confidence. He was a reminder that you were not alone in your worries for your brother.

"And your dad..." Dally trailed off, his voice heavy with sympathy as he spoke of the man who had once been your protector, now reduced to a shadow of his former self. "He's not the man you remember, I know. But that ain't your fault, darlin'. None of this is."

His words were a lifeline in the darkness, a reminder that you were not to blame for the sins of your father, that you deserved love and happiness just as much as anyone else. In the safety of his embrace, you allowed yourself to mourn the loss of the past, to grieve for the family that had been torn apart by forces beyond your control.

But even as the tears continued to fall, you knew that you were not alone. That Dally was there for you and always ready to offer his unwavering support and understanding in the face of your pain. As you clung to each other in the quiet darkness you found solace in the simple act of being together.

As your emotions opened you realized your love for him wasn't triggered by a simple moment. But rather by a complex series of events that had been building up over time. It was the culmination of countless conversations, shared moments, and lingering glances that had slowly but surely chipped away at the walls around your heart.

It started with the little things. Like the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say to make you laugh or the way he would brush a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that took your breath away. It was the late-night conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning, the whispered confessions and shared secrets that bound you together in ways you couldn't explain. But it was also the bigger moments. The ones that left you reeling with emotion and uncertainty. There was a time you called, and he showed up at your door in the middle of the night. No questions he was there as his face drawn and tired, and you knew without a doubt that he would always be there for you, no matter what.

As you looked into his eyes and saw the depth of his feelings reflected back at you, something shifted inside you. It was as if all the pieces fell into place like a puzzle finally coming together after years of searching. And in that moment, you knew. You knew that you couldn't keep it to yourself any longer, that you had to tell him how you felt, no matter the consequences.

So, you took a deep breath. Steeling yourself for what was to come, and you let the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion. It was messy and imperfect, but it was real. It was true. And it was exactly what you needed to say.

"I... Dally, I just... I don't even know where to start," you began. Your voice trembling with emotion as you struggled to find the right words. "But I can't keep it in any longer. I think... no, I know I... I love you. Like, really love you."

Your admission hung heavy in the air, a confession so raw and honest that it left you feeling exposed, vulnerable. But as you looked into Dally's eyes, filled with a mixture of surprise and tenderness, you knew that you had made the right decision to speak your truth.

"I know it sounds crazy," you continued, your words tumbling out in a rush. "But it's true. You've always been there for me, through thick and thin. And it's not just because you're always there to clean up my messes or protect me from the world, although you do a damn good job of that. It's because... because I genuinely care about you, Dallas Winston. I care about you more than I ever thought possible. And it scares me sometimes, how much I care."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you bared your soul to him, laying your feelings bare for the world to see. But as you spoke, a sense of relief washed over you, knowing that you had finally spoken the words that had been weighing on your heart for so long.

"And I know it's a lot to take in," you concluded, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I had to tell you. I couldn't keep it to myself any longer."

For a moment, the air felt thick with anticipation. The intensity of your confession hanging between you like a tangible thing. And then as if a switch had been flipped, the hardness in Dally's eyes melted away. Replaced by a warmth that seemed to radiate from deep within him.

A soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth gradually blossoming into a grin that lit up his entire face. It was a grin like you'd never seen before. A grin that reached all the way to his eyes filling them with a light you hadn't realized was missing.

His fingers brushed gently against your tear-stained cheeks. His touch tender and affectionate as he cupped your face in his hands. There was a sense of wonder in his expression, as if he couldn't quite believe what was happening, as if he had never dared to hope for this moment.

"Damn, sweetheart," he breathed. His voice tinged with awe. "I never knew you had it in you. Talking like that. But I'm glad you did. Because, hell, I love you too. I always have."

His words sent a rush of warmth through you. A feeling of elation that bubbled up from deep within your chest. And as you looked into his eyes, shining with a happiness you had never seen before, you knew that this was just the beginning of something beautiful, something real and true and utterly perfect.

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