#written at 3 a.m

[ayameakuma]

Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom Theory/Analysis/Rant?kinda

Since there is like 2 or so more months till Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom is out and, since I saw a lot of people debating the name/logo/what will be the story/involvement of the Zonai Tribe (*insert Zonai Swirl meme here*) I wanna put my own two cents in here, so here goes nothing:

First, the Logo:

This thing made people on the internet (as far as I've seen) think this might be the end of the Zelda Timeline and take the 2 Dragons circling each other as confirmation that the timeline runs in a loop, an eternal samsara if you will.

I think that this isn't the case.

Usually, when it comes to the ouroboros symbol, the snake or dragon eats its own tail, and this doesn't seem to be the case here. The mouths of the 2 dragons are closed, and they appear to just chase after each other. In this case, instead of the symbol of a loop, the ouroboros might take onto the meaning of harmony.

Since there are two dragons there, it could mean two entities need to find harmony. This is also very much supported by this screenshot:

Look behind the logo.

We see the new God? Entity? Creature? - whoever the hell that is together with who I assume is Zelda. It could imply that the two need to find a way to work in harmony to defeat Ganondorf. This is also mirrored by Link and his new arm since they also need to work in harmony to fulfill their role as the Hero. And, because Nintendo loves the number three, Zelda and Link themselves need to work together to solve whatever is happening in Tears of the Kingdom.

Again, this logo is more about harmony rather than a never-ending loop.

But, the main question I ask myself when I look at the logo is: Why dragons? Why is the logo depicted with dragons? And why two of them?

Well, the answer has to do with the Zonai, a barbaric (were they really?) tribe who is behind a lot of the old structures around Hyrule, as well as being, apparently, very technologically advanced if we are to think that the monsters from the trailers (blocky moster and the one that looked like a one eyed mechanical cyclops) and the weapons shown (flamethrower, homming arrows and the canon that shoots out balls of evergy) are made by them.

And yet, every piece of lore about them says that they are "barbarians" or a "barbaric tribe." I will go on with this later but remeber one thing: the history is always written by the ones that survive the wars or cataclysmic situations.

Either way, back on track, the Zonai Tribe had three types of animal like structures they probably worshiped because the animals represented the Triforce:

1. The Boar/Pig structures most likely represent the Triforce of Power. This could also allude to Ganon's monster forms as they, usually, resemble a pig or a boar. (Also, as a side note, in the Farore Region, where you find the most Zonai ruins, the boar/pig statues are either buried in the earth or broken, so it is most likely they haven't had the same faith in them compared to the other two)

2. The Owl, which represents the Triforce of Wisdom. The owl is a symbol of wisdom and spiritual awakening, as well as a very intelligent animal in and of itself, which fits the bill for the mascot Wisdom. The bearer of the Triforce of Wisdom is always the reincarnation of Goddess Hylia. (Funnily enough, Typhlo Ruins, the ruins that are always shrouded in darkness in BoTW are full of torches in the form of the Owl structures from the Zonai Tribe. And owls are nocturnal animals.)

3. The Dragon, which represents the Triforce of Courage. Yes, you read it correctly. The Dragon represents the Triforce of Courage, aka the Hero of Hyrule, Link. Rather than being an animal/creature that represents courage, in this case, I think it refers to those who can face a dragon without backing down being called courageous. You know, like in fairytales where the Hero faces against the evil dragon and defeats it. After all, having courage doesn't mean not fearing anything; rather, it's about doing something in spite of the fear you feel. (On top of that, since the Faron Region is said to be the place where the Zonai Tribe lived before, you can tell that they were the most likely to be followers of the Dragon, aka the representation of Courage; that leaves the Sheika Tribe as the followers of the Owl, Wisdom and the Yiga Tribe as the followers of the Boar/Pig, the Power.)

Now that we have established this, let's look again at the logo:

Two green dragons chasing after each other in an attempt to create harmony... and everything in this logo is green, the color we associate with the Goddess of Courage Faroure. But, if Link, as the barer of the Triforce of Courage, is one of the green dragons, does this mean the other is the Goddess of Courage herself? Or is it someone else?

We will come back to this a bit later. For now, let's move on, onto the title:

Second, the Title:

We know that the producer of the Legend of Zelda Tears of the Kingdom, Eiji Aonuma, said that the title would be a huge spoiler. However, the way I see people look at it, they don't consider the title a spoiler, but the logo. Which, given the previous games in the franchise, it is a bit wrong to do.

Here are some examples:

Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

The logo has the Wolf and the Fused Shadow silhouettes behind the text, but the title in itself alludes to, arguably the most important character in the game, Midna.

Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask

The Logo has the Majora's Mask itself, but the title not only gives us the name of the Mask but also the name of the villain in that specific game.

Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword

The Logo shows us the symbol that is now arguably the symbol of Hyrule itself, but the title tells us about a sword, which is later revealed to be the soon-to-become Master Sword that we know today.

As you can see, every single title does have something to do with the plot, and it is, in retrospect, a big spoiler. The Logos are a lot more vague about what they portray, especially since we don't know the names of the items shown before we play the games. (Who knew what the Fused Shadow was when they saw the silhouette in the logo?)

Regardless, when it comes to Tears of the Kingdom, things are indeed a bit vague. Since it was confirmed that "Tears" refers to actual teardrops, we can assume that it could have something to do with the Silent Realms in Skyward Sword where you will get Sacred Tears so you can forge the Master Sword. This makes a whole lot of sense when you see that in the Logo for Tears of the Kingdom, the Master Sword second half seems to be made of a green substance while the first half seems to be very damaged. (And we know that will most likely be a part of our quest from the trailers)

The problem I find with the title is the second part. "Kingdom." What Kingdom? We know this game happens at best, maybe 6 months after BoTW. Hyrule Kingdom is definitely not recreated overnight; nothing seems to have been worked on at all. So the question is "why call that a Kingdom?"

In BoTW, after you meet with the King at the Temple of Time at the beginning of the game, he says, "I was King Rhoam Bosphoramus Hyrule. I was... the last leader of Hyrule. A kingdom which no longer exists."

So, if the Hyrule Kingdom no longer exists following the Calamity from 100 years ago... why is it called a kingdom now? Just because Zelda is alive, that doesn't mean the Kingdom is back, especially since all the Hylians are scattered around Hyrule and the only parts of the Royal Family and the Knight order remaining are Zelda and Link.

To answer this question, I need you to think back to the two dragons on the logo. If one is Link, why couldn't the other one be Link too, but from 10,100 years ago, the Hero that sealed Calamity Ganon first alongside that time's Zelda.

This is the tapestry that spoke of the first sealing of Calamity Ganon. This depiction of Link is very strange, though. Full of bluish-green around him, red hair and a golden arm that holds a sword.

Dosen't it remind you of this?

It is a bit of a stretch, but if the developers went for minimalism, then the golden ornaments around the arm could be the reason why the Hero's arm is golden in the tapestry.

Also, before you say something about Zelda, look here, outside of the power of the Goddess and her hair, her hands and face are a similar color of red like that Hero's face, legs and OTHER ARM. Meaning only one of his arms is golden in color.

Which brings me to the whole Harmony symbolism again. Link's arm is definently damaged beyond repair, so now he gets a new one, one that possibly belonged or was powered by the energy of the Hero from 10,100 years ago. So they need to find a balance and coexist to defeat Ganondorf.

So while the word "Tears" refers to what Link has to collect to repair the Master Sword this time, maybe the word "Kingdom" refers to the place where the green energy comes from initially aka the Kingdom of Hyrule from 10,100 years ago when they used, what is most likely, Zonai Magic to help defeat Calamity Ganon and seal him? This would certainly spoil a lot of the game if it is true, so maybe this is it.

But there are still some other mysteries I wanna touch on next:

The Zonai

As I said before, the Zonai Tribe is considered "barbaric" in nature, but there is a high chance they were behind the mechanics and weapons we have seen for Tears of the Kingdom so far. So why are they "barbaric"? Well, remember when I said, "History is written by the survivors"?

What if the Zonai were eliminated in that battle against Calamity Ganon? They could have lived in Hyrule for a whole millennia before that battle, which is how their structures are older than the Sheika Shrines and the like. There is also the fact that rather than being constructed for that time's hero, the Sheika Shrines we know in BoTW were made after the sealing of Calamity Ganon as tests for the future Hero who will have to seal Ganon again.

This way, we can confirm how Sheika Shrines ended up in Zonai made ruins (aka Typhlo Ruins). The shrines were erected after the fall of the Zonai. This means the Guardians and the 4 Divine Beats were constructed first.

But the question still remains: Why are the Zonai not mentioned in the History of Hyrule if they helped with the first Calamity Ganon?

Welp, there could be that the Zonai never really interacted with the people, thus making them seem "barbaric" and "unapproachable" for the Royal Family (of which we know has done some pretty stupid/dark stuff in past games) so they decided to not put them in the history books, thus they were forgotten.

And I can already hear you: "What about that time's Zelda and Link? Wouldn't they overule this or do something?"

You see, dead people can't complain, can they? We don't know if the Princess Zelda and the Link from that time were still alive after the sealing. For all we know, both could have died sealing Ganondorf underground (like we saw him the in trailers) and the King (cause, let's be honest, the kings of Hyrule have done some pretty shady or stupid stuff in the past) of that time decided to just go with making his daughter and the soldier that was with her into heroes in the Kingdom and let's the Zonai, a Tribe he couldn't control nor truly talk with, fade from the history.

Also, I said "soldier" and not "personal guard" like the legends about that time said about Link. Why? Welp, the tapestry.

Red hair Link... is not really likely right?

He is always blonde haired, at least in all the games we have right now. So why is he depicted with red hair, when Zelda has blonde hair in the Taspestry? Welp.

The Barabrian set, specifically the Barbarian Helm.

Red hair is overshadowing the blonde hair of Link, so there is a possibility that the Hero of that time was wearing a Barbarian Armor Set in battle. But it's a bit strange since... well, this is the compendium description of the helmet.

"A helmet once worn by the warriors of an ancient warlike tribe from the Faron region."

Why would the Hero wear a warrior set that is solely worn by a Tribe of the Faron region? Maybe because he was part of it.

Think about it. The Zonai were followers of the Dragon that represented the Triforce of Courage to them. Wouldn't it make sense for the Hero to be born in this Tribe?

And since Link and Zelda of that time had to work together to seal Ganondorf, the Hyrule Royal Family of that time couldn't ignore the existence of the Hero. So, instead of making Link as a part of the Zonai Tribe like he was at the time, the Royal Family made him into the personal guard of the Princess in the story, while people could explain the tapestry as an armour set that existed long ago and was worn by the Hero in combat (when the events were still fresh in the minds of people) or worn paper in the current time of Breath of the Wild.

The Mysterious Figure

This is the figure I meant.

Welp, she is definently not Zelda from 10,100 years ago, so maybe a Zonai depiction of Hylia. Cause well, she is apparently on a pedestal high in the sky, if those are clouds.

Also, notice that there are seven swirls around her. Maybe the tears we need to collect? Or maybe a depiction of the Seven Sages in Zelda? Who knows, but it is worth mentioning that this figure is seen intertwining hands with a depiction of Zelda behind the Logo.

The "Zelda" shown in the last trailer

This will be the last part of this long-ass rant/analysis/theory thingy I made so here we go.

This may not be our Zelda. At least not this timeline's Zelda.

Look a bit at the dress she is wearing. The blocky symbols and that eye towards the bottom of the dress are not of Sheikan origin. Which most likely means it is from the Zonai Tribe. I can’t put any more images, but there is a new eye symbol that is present on a new shield. An eye that is looking up and has five droplets falling from it. Just like this eye symbol that has five tassels attached to it.

And, if you wanna argue that it could be Hylia, look at the figure from the drawing above. The clothing is extremely intricate and very well detailed, but you don't see an eye with five droplets or tassels hanging from it on the clothing, right? Even tho the other details are so clear on the figure.

So, either this is the Princess from 10,100 years ago who fought together with the soldier from the Zonai Tribe that became the Hero, or our Zelda gets a Zonai get up from somewhere, cause the background reminds me of the Time Gates from Skyward Sword.

At this point, we don't have a clue and this is PURE SPECULATION.

So, if you read till now, congratulations! Hope you enjoyed my zainy ideas and theories for Tears of the Kingdom.

Tell me if you agree or disagree with anything here cause I am curious about your opinion on his.

Hope to see you guys again soon! (I WILL TRY to be more active)

P.S: If anything from here becomes reality, I called it, and I am gonna be so proud of what my brain came up with at 3 a.m. in the morning.

#legend of zelda #loz zelda #botw link #tears of the kingdom #zelda theory #loz totk #my god this is long #written at 3 a.m #goddess hylia #botw zonai

[keeps-ache]

souP..

#just me hi #sou p #now That's a word #//it's 5 a.m. and i woke up like 4 hours ago for whatever reason and i've been scrolling the hurt/comfort tag on ao3 for like 2 hours hfbvs #do you ever realize that you aren't very interested in many things sometimes? bc it's definitely a Feeling loll #like it's nice! i don't get very overwhelmed with things i like but also. very sorry that it's so hard to get invested hbhdb #/i Know what i wanna read and unfortunately anything less and i will mentally file it under Ah. Okay :/ fvsh #and ALSO the things i am currently interested in are either my own Ocs (<///3) or shows made in the 50-60s that have nothing written at all #'why don't you write it yourself' 1) that's what the Ocs are for babyyy (and i don't trust myself to get other characters right HFvbs) #and 2) sometimes you just wanna read. you know. reid #oh and also Books written in the 40s. i cannot win out here Lollll #love Farewell My Lovely but also i can completely understand not really wanting to interact with it after reading fhfshc #the main guy is just So silly-putty to me. anyway #there was another book but i aem forgretting the Nayme #//anyway shoutout to the shows and books and my own projects that on every existing state of being i just Can't be/stay interested in hfhsb #:)

[gottagobuycheese]

A WIP I didn’t end up having time to finish and I’m not sure when it’ll really be “IP” again sdkjfhsk, BUT since it’s still February 15th in some time zone somewhere, HAPPY BIRTHDAY KIM DOKJA!!

[ID: a digital sketch depicting several characters from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, posing for a photo. A young Kim Dokja lays asleep in a hospital bed in the center of the frame. A slightly older Lee Gilyoung and Shin Yoosung crowd his sides; on Kim Dokja’s right, Lee Gilyoung half-climbs onto the bed to rest his elbow on Kim Dokja’s shoulder, while on his left, Shin Yoosung kneels beside the bed and rests her hand on Kim Dokja’s arm. In front of her, Yoo Sangah rests her right arm on the foot of the bed, a somewhat wistful expression on her face as she kneels on one knee so as to not block the people behind her. Han Sooyoung stands behind the bed with her arms folded over the top, chewing a lollipop stick as she stares at the camera with a tired yet determined smile on her face. Finally, Lee Jihye stands in the right foreground, grinning at the camera and making a peace sign as she takes the picture. /end ID]

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #kim dokja #yoo sangah #lee jihye #shin yoosung #lee gilyoung #han sooyoung #it is very important to me that you know ysa is wearing a leather jacket but that ID was getting so long already :( #thank you ljh for blocking all the body parts I didn't want to draw skdjfhsk #LSH JHW LHS YJH and JHY *would* be there if it weren't 3 A.M. and I didn't have work tomorrow #alas #if HSY looks incredibly tired it's because she's pulled three consecutive all-nighters trying to get as much writing done before The Launch #also known as a scene from a fic I haven't written yet lol #perhaps some day... #anyways hopefully you do not hear a peep from me until mid-March #because I really really really should be studying so I don't die in approximately 2.5 weeks #but realistically #I'm sure the procrastination will strike again #ahhh but this felt good it's been ages since I drew anything #my attempts at art #sincerely hope I can call this a wip but I have no idea when I'll be able to come back to it #so I'm just gonna go ahead and post this and then hopefully some day post the ‘finished’ version #ideally with everyone else #maybe a background #maybe even a splash of color who knows #although I kind of like the sketchiness tbh #ANYWAYS TIME TO SLEEP

[scoopertrouper]

summary:

Vignettes, 1986-1987.

Or, how Nancy gets her groove (and the guy) back.

(prequel fic to sweet dreams and flying machines)

COMPLETE - 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

*****

surprise i am back. the stancy sickness has not gone away. in fact it has gotten measurably worse, like cholera on the oregon trail.

my fever is raging, and soon i will either be dead or mainlining laudanum. i hope i finish this before either of those eventualities.

update: the story is complete but i now have a debilitating laudanum addiction. worth it.

#stancy #steve x nancy #stancy fic #steve harrington #nancy wheeler #my stuff #actually this is mostly written #just a few things to wrap up #which is good because i need my life back #i am in agony #i do not just stay up until 3 a.m. on weeknights this is unheard of #you me and an rv series

[iknowitwontwork]

the byler tag is so dead rn

#*old grandma voice* in my days we used to stay up till 3 a.m. so we can read scripts written by a guy names nick #byler

[myname-isnia]

Pumped out another 1543 words for AIDIB in the last two hours or so, bringing the total word count of chapter 3 up to 4031 words so far. Baba's couch works wonders for my writing ability, apparently :)

#writing woes #this scene will probably end up being around 6-7k. unless I come up with something else to add to it #there are 2 other scenes that will go into this chapter so I'm expecting the final word count to be between 10 and 12k #wouldn't it be funny if I beat out uprooted or burning wood with the length of this chapter lmao #but okay I think I'm done for tonight. I need to let it sit for a while so I can better recall everything I wanted to include in this scene #I'm actually really proud of myself #just goes to show what happens when you write what you genuinely want to write #this scene has been in the planning stage for nearly 2 years. it existed even back when the fic looked completely different #before even tell me I did well was written #so it's a nice feeling that I'm finally getting around to it #but enough rambling. it's half past 3 a.m and I really should be asleep #turns out I write best between the hours of 2 and 8 a.m 😅 #if capitalism's favouritism of early birds wasn't a thing I'd be unstoppable

[fictionallyinparadise]

I finally wrote something based on this post but it's the comfort specifically while I think about how the other stuff would work

Content Warnings: Mentioned violence (not descriptive), mouth horror, description of blood, attempted brainwashing mention, torture mention (not descriptive), feel free to ask for more.

His eyes opened again, staring at their hands. A slight tremor, the weapon they stole dropped a few feet behind them. Clean from any bodily fluids physically but not mentally. His head was pounding, the accelerated heart beat not helping the noise.

Freedom was here yet it felt so far away. He had no fucking clue where he was or what was around. There could be traps or other threats about. Worrying over that made their head hurt more. "Damnit. How do I get home?" D'zca muttered, starting to wander around. Nobody was out, likely all fixing the damage he caused. As if they had actually planned to do so much damage to aid their escape. There weren't any thoughts, just...violence.

Which was what those bastards wanted technically. Mindless actions. Just not the kind they wanted.

D'zca kept walking, legs shaking with every step. They stretched their wings out to try and balance themselves, though it just added weight. He ended up stumbling into a nearby wall, cursing under his breath. "D'zca? Where are you, baby?" A familiar voice called out. They stood still, repeating how his name was said over and over. It eventually sounded like a fake name after the seventh mental repeat. The torture technology that these other Ricks had made was incredible, but nothing could mimic the way their Rick said his name.

He was here. Real and here, not a trap. They approached, stumbling like a newborn deer. Thankfully the scientist spotted them. Rick caught up to him halfway, wrapping his arms around them tight. Was it to keep them upright or to confirm they were real?

Either way, it was appreciated.

"Sorry it took so long to get ya, sugarcake. I got a little caught up in 'how do I make sure these shitheads don't try shit again' and-" Rick stopped himself from talking, taking a breath. "I'll talk your ears off when we get home."

Home.

D'zca lifted their head from his boyfriend's shoulder, blinking his smaller eyes. "How long have I been gone?" It felt like a week, maybe three. It had to have been.

"A day and a half."

He blinked all their eyes at that.

"...a day and a half?"

Rick nodded, his face dropping at the question. "They really did a fuckin' number on you." He muttered. It wasn't a question, just a statement that had revenge plans brewing behind it.

"Already showed 'em." D'zca muttered, wings drooping down.

Rick was silent for a moment, the sound of fabric rustling implying he was searching for something. "Is it okay if I activate your human disguise? Everyone's already gonna freak the fuck out about you being kidnapped and tortured. Finding out you're an alien would probably give Jerry a heart attack." He paused after that, as if to add a correction to his last sentence but decided against it. "Not that I'm ashamed that you're an alien but like, you mentioned that you didn't want to reveal the truth so-"

"You can do it." D'zca mumbled with a weak attempt of a smile. Slender and strangely soft fingers brushed against the side of their neck before stopping.

"Did...did they fuckin' rip your threads out to re-do them?"

They froze at the question, lips parting to the painful they spent hours achieving. Blood crusted around and on their lips like a dry lipstick, the taste permanent on his tongue. Salty metal with an unnerving sweetness to it.

"I tore them."

"What? Why?"

"...to talk back."

Rick raised a brow, gently pressing to the spot on their neck that would activate the human disguise Rick had made months ago. "What did ya say, hun?"

"...that you made a fighter, not a bitch." D'zca muttered after opening and closing their mouth a couple of times. Their jaw was sore from grinding their teeth so much.

"Attaboy. Let's get you home, baby." The sound of the portal gun followed as well as the weightless feeling of being returned home. The garage; it's familiar smell and sights. The screwdriver that kept rolling back and forth on the desk, the assorted screws scattered on the floor, the blueprints crumpled up near the garbage can, the smell of rich metals and oil.

Home. It smelled like home.

Rick carefully laid them on the makeshift full bed that was made whenever D'zca was first brought here. The flannel sheets felt softer than a feather, cooing the oracle to sleep.

They reached out a sleepy hand towards his partner, tugging on his labcoat. The question was understood without words, Rick laying next to them. His face was the same as those bastards but it was...kinder. More smile lines, eyes that always carried softness to them until someone said or did something to make that go away.

"Just let me know if you need me to leave." He whispered. "I'll understand. You're safe either way. I've got you...and the garage's got you. So, two forces to be reckoned with."

D'zca managed a smile at that, eyes closing. Tired and sore, it was hard to resist sleep. The feeling of something warm being put around him- Rick's coat or blankets, he couldn't tell- and that was all. They frowned slightly, curling closer towards their partner.

A careful arm wrapped across the oracle's body, waiting for a moment. Then those thin fingers curled into D'zca's, squeezing his hand gently. Just that arm around them completed the feeling of being at home.

Rick always gave amazing hugs. Even if he was covered in something, those arms were always perfect. Warm, secure, and carrying the scent of chemicals and cheap cologne. It didn't take long for D'zca to fall asleep, breathing in the scent of home and Earth's oxygen.

#i think this is the most content and tws i've had to mention #oh boy- #tw violence mention #tw brainwashing mention #tw torture mention #tw mouth horror #tw blood mention #🧬; let's waste time... #self ship writing #jesus christ #self ship hurt/comfort #if you recognize this from my main.......no you don't <3 #what else do i tag fuck #also excuse any errors or any awkward phrasing this was written at 6 a.m. out of impulse #also i had a sub optimal day so obviously i need to write my self insert being in misery so i can describe rick comforting. #<- that was really fucking sad to write out holy shit i'm pathetic SHFHSHGHSH- #as strange as this sounds this was also kinda self indulgent #i've been out of the writing flow lately and brainrot over horror and angst (not exclusive to each other but can be) #so writing this was both a challenge and like. powering up the writer urges #so i might continue re-writing canon with pierce and maybe do shit with other f/os #wasn't there something i wanted to write up with arthur hastings??? idr. #ANYWAY I'M RAMBLING BECAUSE I'M IN A RAMBLE MOOD-

[shu-porang-porang]

Cat In Heat

You got him a little surprise!

(sequel: Bunny In Heat)

Pairs: Lee Minho (Lee Know) / fem!reader

Rating: Very Explicit!

Theme: Smut, 18+ NO MINORS.

Warnings: oral, fingering, butt plug, spanking, unprotected sex (do not try at home!), (I think that's enough! let's keep some elements of surprise!)

Word count: 2.8 k

You received a text from Minho: “Hey baby, I’m gonna hit the gym and grab a bite with Jisung next.”

He arrived at 4 a.m. so you didn’t expect him to go to the gym first thing when he woke up, but apparently that’s what he’s gonna do. He was away for only 3 days but you missed him so much it was gnawing at your every fiber. Last night you only noticed his arrival when the mattress dipped next to you and then he spooned you. You tried to fight your sleep weary eyes and wake up to greet him properly but his warmth and the comfort of his presence lulled you back to sleep seconds later. When you woke up this morning, leaving the bed was the hardest thing, you just wanted to stay tangled up with his limbs but you had to leave for work. You slowly slipped out the bed, trying to not wake him up in the process, then placed the softest kiss on his temple, you couldn’t wait to get back and feast on his lips later.

You can’t wait for this work day to be over. Your mind is somewhere else entirely, you’re thinking of the little gift you prepared for him. Two days ago was Valentines Day and he was away. Since it was your first valentine together, you were bummed that you couldn’t spend it with him, but you knew what you got yourself into when you started dating a very busy idol, so you put up a front and did your best to assure him it didn’t matter and you weren’t upset. There’s no point in making a fuss about it anyway, it’s not like they would cancel their plans because you wanted to be with your boyfriend. He said he’d make it up to you later and you decided you can plan a belated valentine when he’s back. Little did he know, you’ve been preparing something for him for weeks. You just can’t decide on the right time to give it to him.

You’re done for the day and there’s nothing else for you to do at work, you ask your boss if you could leave earlier and he says yes. So, you rush to your shared apartment. You have some time before he’s home so you decide to unpack his suitcase. As you’re going through his stuff, you find a box of chocolate, you can’t read the Japanese written all over it, but there’s no doubt it’s chocolate. He always brings you some souvenir so without giving it much thought, you open the box and try one. Well, it’s nothing special, just descent chocolate. Not every souvenir has to be something unique, right? You place it on the drawer and go back to your task at hand.

As time passes by, you start to feel impatient and on edge. It’s like when you have lots of caffein and you get jittery, except that it’s more of a warm feeling, it settles deep in your stomach. It’s not exactly uncomfortable but you’re not sure what’s causing it so you decide to distract yourself by checking the little surprise you got for Minho. You take out the stuff you hid in the back of your bottom drawer and sprawl them out on the bed. It’s an outfit you’ve put together. White and pink lingerie, stockings, garters, a chocker, and few other accessories, but the most exciting parts of the ensemble are the fluffy cat ears and tail. You pick up the tail, feel the weight of the plug attached to it. It was the last item you got and you haven’t come around to try it yet. Suddenly you worry you won’t be able to wear it. What if you can’t get used to it and have to take it off? You don’t know when you’re gonna give him his gift, but you decide to try it now that you’re alone and see if you can handle it.

You take your pants and panties off, hold the tail in your hand, not sure how to go about it. You poke the tip of the shiny plug to your hole but you stop as you can’t get it in even the slightest. Idiot! You need to prepare with lube first! Your hands fidget through the drawer with excitement in search for the lube you bought. You picked a very specific flavor, caramel, hoping it would taste similar to pudding! Too bad they didn’t have a pudding flavor! You lather a finger up and try again. It’s really uncomfortable but you wanna do it for him and you will do it. It’s a weird feeling, having a finger up your butt, and you think there’s no way it’s gonna get loose enough for the plug to fit in but you don’t give up. The warm feeling in your stomach from earlier encourages you to keep going. You move that finger around till you feel less resistance, then you take it out to lube up two fingers this time. You don’t wanna get too loose or the plug will fall out? Is that even a thing? You don’t know, so you decide to give the plug a try. You carefully pour lube on the plug, you don’t wanna ruin the fur, then you push it in and it fits perfectly! You clench and unclench your sphincter a few times, testing how it feels, then you stand up and check yourself in the mirror.

Watching the tail dangling from between your butt cheeks turns you on instantly. You immediately rid yourself of the rest of your clothes to put all the parts of the ensemble on. You pose in front of the mirror. You spend some time putting on a light cute makeup while enjoying a second piece of chocolate, then take another look at your entire outfit. Wow! You look so fuckable!! If only Minho got home sooner. You take a photo of your thigh hugged tightly by the stockings and the garter and send it to him along with: “Are you really gonna hang out with that stupid Ji while I’m waiting for you like this?” 

A few seconds later you receive a text from him: “On my way, be there in 10 minutes”

He finally gets home. He’s heart been racing since he laid eyes on that photo and he’s been sporting a semi-hard cock all along. Good thing his oversized hoodie covered it up. He opens the door to the apartment to find you stretched out on the couch, practically humping a cushion.

“Holy fuck! What’s gotten into you today?” He says as he approaches you in disbelief. His eyes scanning your outfit and becoming wide in shock as he notices the tail poking from under the mini skirt covering your ass.

“I’m just being hot for my boyfriend, is that wrong?” You say, stretching like a cat and raising your ass in the air. The skirt rides up and he sees that the tail isn’t a strap on or attached to the skirt.

He kneels next to the couch, running a hand up your thigh till it reaches where the tail inserts your body. He gives the plug an experimental push that draws a whimper from you.

“Kitty’s in heat, huh? What a naughty lil kitty. I’ll take care of you, pussy cat.” His hand comes in contact with your drenching pussy as he says the last word. You mewl in need. Your skin is on fire and his touch feels too good to be true. You can’t think straight, all you know is that you need him next to you, on you, in you, you just want him to take you right then and there.

He picks you up effortlessly and carries you to the bedroom, plops you on the bed and causes the plug to go a bit deeper, drawing a hiss from you. You sit up and get on your knees, reaching for his hand to drag him to bed.

“Easy baby, what’s the rush?” He says as his free hand is unbuttoning his shirt. Despite your needy erratic movements, he’s so calm, mostly just enjoying the view of your eagerness.

As soon as he gets on the bed, you reach to unbuckle his belt. He watches you in silence, the way your dainty fingers struggle with the belt and his waistband. You pull his pants and boxers down and he eases out of them. His cock springs free and you don’t hesitate to attach your lips to it. Usually it’s not how things go, you haven’t even kissed him once since he arrived, but your head is filled with carnal desires and you don’t need foreplay to get in the mood.

He leans back on his elbows as your head bobs up and down on his member, bringing it to life fast. You lick a fat stripe from the base to the top, your tongue teases the head with playful licks, his low grunts are melody to your ears. Precum pearls on the tip and you collect it all with your tongue. You wrap your lips around the tip again and give it a few sucks. He sits back up to stop you.

“I won’t last long if you keep that up.” he lifts your chin up, and fixes your cat ear headpiece “Aigoo! What a dirty little kitty.” He coos at you with his eyes fixed on your lips, all swollen and red, so kissable. You get the cue and move closer, clashing your lips. Kissing him after days feels like you’ve been deprived of oxygen and you can finally breathe. You straddle him, your fingers in his soft locks, his hands around your shoulders, your chests heave against one another. You push him on his back as you deepen the kiss, you hungrily suck on his tongue and pull his lips between your teeth. You only stop when your lungs are burning. You hide your face in his neck as you’re gasping for air, your core finding a rhyme to ride his thigh. You moan out his name at the new found friction. You’re not wearing any panties; you thought it wouldn’t be practical with a plug up your butt. Your slick coats his muscular thigh.

“Is kitty having a good time?”

“…mmh” you can’t form words, your brain already signed off and he hasn’t even touched you yet. You suck a spot under his ear while his hand reaches down to squeeze your butt cheek under the skirt.

“Then do me a favor and sit that pretty pussy down on my face.”

You don’t hesitate to follow his order. His tongue skillfully laps at your wet core, his nose nudges your clit. You try not to move but you have no control over your body anymore. Your hips move on their own, riding his face, so he gives your ass a slap as a warning. A loud squeak escapes your lips. You do your best to behave but how can you when now he’s sucking on your clit, while hooking a finger inside you and toying with the plug at the same time. He stops all stimulations at once when he realizes your close.

“…Min…… please”

“Naughty kitties don’t get to come so easily. Now get on fours”

You comply, what else would you do? You’d jump off a cliff if he told you so. You wiggle your ass to his face as he’s closely observing where the plug disappears inside you. Your outfit’s still intact but it’s not gonna last long. He pulls the plug out without warning and replaces it with his tongue. Instantly you hear his satisfied groan, he’s probably enjoying your choice of lubricant. You push back on his face, needing more friction. He brings a hand to rub around your clit while his teeth graze your rim. Your arousal drips shamelessly on the sheets, it’s like a leaky faucet, that’s how good he’s having you now. You never even imagined having your asshole eaten would feel good, something’s really gotten into you. He stops his ministrations just as you’re starting to feel the orgasm build up for the second time. He steps back to admire the view before shoving the plug back in and give you new instructions.

“Close your thighs and press them tight for me princess.”

You look back and see him aligning his oozing cock.

“Just… fuck me… already”

“Too soon…” he forcefully shoves his cock in the small gap between your thighs “…ughhh….for that”

After a few thrusts, he’s fully covered in your juices so he picks up the pace as it slides easier. His member rubs on your clit with every thrust but it’s nowhere near enough to get you off. He gives you a slap that makes you press your thighs harder, so he gives you another, and another, and another. You press your head to the pillow to muffle your yelps. You think you might be reaching a climax this time but no. He takes the plug out and flips you around. This time you don’t just complain with words, but tears are running down your face. You’re a mess.

“Oh little kitty, why the tears? Was I too harsh with my sweet angel?” he says as he towers over you and leans to kiss your tears away.

“No…. just….wanna cum”

“You will baby. You will”

He kisses your face some more and moves down to your neck and chest. He yanks your frilly chocker with his teeth and throws it on the bed, so he can properly kiss and mark your neck. Then he unhooks the lacy matching bra and discards it somewhere else in the room. His hands come in contact with your soft breasts, his thumbs rub your nipples simultaneously and your lips part in a whimper.

“My gorgeous lil kitty” he admires as he continues to knead your breasts and then dips to take one pebbled nipple between his teeth. His tongue twirls around it and he closes his lips on it to suck. His hand travels south to slip between your folds and find your entrance. He has two fingers inside you, with his thumb pressing down on your clit. You buck your hips up to his touch. He lets go of your nipple and comes back up to kiss your lips with his fingers still inside you. You’re so lost in the hot sloppy kiss that before you know it, his dick takes the place of his fingers in you. Fucking finally!

You bite his shoulder as he bottoms out in one go and the stretch overwhelms you. He moans in your ear from your delicious tightness.

“Please….Move baby” you plead and he obeys. Caging you between his hands on either side of your head, he takes his sweet time with slow thrusts. He pushes your thighs to your chest and throws your legs over his shoulders. With this new angle he reaches deep inside, hitting your cervix with every single thrust. It doesn’t take you long to feel the knot in your stomach again for the… you don’t even know how many times he got you there and left you unfulfilled. You tightly hold onto him as his thrusts get faster.

“ugh… gonna…. c..cum…”

“Cum for me… angel” he kisses your parted lips, muffling your moans, as your orgasm finally washes over you. He reaches a hand down to pinch your clit, your entire body jolts with each pinch as you’re riding out your orgasm. It’s the best orgasm you’ve ever had, well, you’d say that about every orgasm with him, but this one really hits different. Your fluttering walls around him milk him dry and a string of curses leaves his lips as he joins you. He rides his climax, still thrusting into you until your mixed cum forms a ring around his base.

He pulls out and falls on top of you, you don’t mind the weight, you’re too tired to care anyway and he feels like a heavy blanket, you don’t even care about your sticky bodies or sheets. You think you could die happy at this moment but he gets up to clean you before you drift off to sleep. He takes a good look at your fucked out state “Gosh! Baby you’re so hot. I love you so much”. You smile with your eyes closed “love you too”. You’re almost entering dreamland when he startles you:

“Fuck! Baby you ate these chocolates?” He found the open box of chocolates you left on the drawer.

“..mhmm”

“Did you know these were aphrodisiacs?”

“WHAT?” suddenly you’re fully awake, your eyes darting towards his direction.

“I wanted to try them together.” He says with an evident pout on his face.

“There’s still plenty left bunny boy.”

#lee know smut #lee know #who needs valentine when you got fics? #lee know imagines #lee know fluff #lee know x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids #lee know drabbles #lee know drabble #stray kids drabbles #skz drabbles #skz smut #skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz imagines #skz #kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop smut #changbin #han jisung #bang chan #hyunjin #lee felix #i.n #valentines day

[moony-2001]

The real-world impact of Lore Olympus

i.e. do your research Rachel

Trigger warning: racism, fetishization, appropriation, mentions of SA

Long post ahead

A while ago, someone told me that Lore Olympus was just a silly little comic written out of boredom. That it was made to be "funny". They told me that "[I] can't hope [for] an extremely [well-written] story when it was just made with the intention to make something goofy" and that if Rachel actually wanted to make something serious like I had, she would write a book and not a comic.

At the time of this exchange, it was past 1 a.m. and I was exhausted. I did not want to argue with this person and it simply wasn't worth my time or energy in the moment.

But looking back at that (mostly one-sided) interaction, I can't help but think that there is so much wrong with that point of view. Of course, everyone is entitled to their opinion about Lore Olympus, whether good or bad. But Lore Olympus isn't just some silly little nothing comic about nothing important. It is a comic that actively appropriates and erases Greek Culture. It is a comic that has no respect for the actual stories that have been passed down over thousands of years whether by word of mouth or written text. It is a comic that perpetuates a false narrative and harmful stereotypes about characters or certain groups of people. So, no, it's not just a silly little comic.

Incorrect information

Here’s an example of what I mean:

When I was doing research for my post about the 10 year time skip, I looked up Leuce to reconfirm the little information I knew about her. Wanna guess the first thing that popped up about her?

A Lore Olympus Wiki article.

Okay. How about Minthe? Hundreds of pictures of her from Lore Olympus and a LO Wiki article as one of the top 3 results. Both character are horribly represented in LO and unfortunately there isn’t really any documented stories or records that can refute how LO paints them. Because of this, other characters in Greek Mythology like Leuce and Minthe, whose stories have little to no documentation, stand to suffer the most harm from deliberate misrepresentation on Rachel’s part.

Of course well-known and better documented figures in Greek mythology face slander as well. What about Thetis or Leto? How about Apollo? All of their portrayals in LO are HORRIBLE. I have seen people online absolutely drag them to filth not because they're upset about how the character is portrayed compared to their mythological counterpart, but because they have no knowledge of how they are actually portrayed outside of LO. They just assume that's how the characters are. Similarly, people who have either very little or no prior knowledge of Greek Mythology and Culture would look at the comic and go "Yep, sounds legit. It must be true." and go about thinking that what is portrayed in LO is accurate to what was transcribed thousands of years ago.

Creative interpretations and racism/fetishization within LO

Don’t get me wrong. Creative interpretations and artistic liberties can be great. When they’re done tastefully. I personally think if done correctly, a Greek myth spun in a modern way has the potential be very good. But that's not what we were given.

Characters like Minthe, Leuce, and Thetis (all nymphs btw) are portrayed as trashy tramps who put out and are used as a foil sabotage Persephone and/or her relationship with Hades. Compare that to Greek Mythology where in the Iliad, Thetis is very well-respected by the gods, particularly Hera. Unfortunately, other similar characters like satrys (and basically any character that isn’t a god) are usually portrayed as a low-class POC that can be easily exploited, manipulated, or used as a temporary villain/lover/pawn to “get back” at Persephone, our white-coded protagonist who can do no wrong.

Additionally, there is a clear race/class bias against characters like nymphs in LO. We see many cases scattered throughout the comic of gods like Hera or Aphrodite referring to nymphs as "trash" or "low class" or the idea that nymphs do not belong with gods being heavily implied if not outright said. I cannot tell you how often I've seen Minthe be called some variant of "cheap" by the readers of LO. Even Persephone (who created the flower nymphs) treats them with such disrespect. She frequently calls them some variant of "stupid" or "simple" like saying how they're not the sharpest crayons in the box even though she's the one WHO MADE THEM. However, it's so odd not really to note that nymphs like Echo, Amphitrite, or Psyche (who was previously disguised as a nymph) are not discriminated against. This is because they are liked or trusted by the gods they are around and ergo are often portrayed as the "good ones", which is a disgusting mindset to have.

We also see the fetishization of nymphs in the comic that is disturbingly similar to the fetishization of women who are Black, Asian, or Latina. It is a known fact that Hades has a flower nymph fetish. Not only is this implied in the comic, but Rachel stated it outright in an old Patreon post. Nymphs are also generally treated as sex-symbols, disposable, and as a lesser-than. Zeus frequently displays this behavior by abandoning nymphs he knocked up in the mortal realm.

For example, when Persephone finds out Apollo is dating Daphne, she isn't upset he's dating her friend. She's upset he's dating a flower nymph, beings that are generally considered to be "rare", "dumb", and objects of sexual desire. Ew.

Even on the Lore Olympus website (loreolympians.com) nymphs are regarded as "beautiful", "desirable", and "very exotic". And when they're not described in a sexual manner they're say it with me now regarded as "low class" or "workers" for some kind of god/goddess.

Final thoughts

So not only is the characterization of characters like Minthe or Thetis harmful to Greek culture and the stories that are so ingrained in their society, but it is also perpetuating harmful stereotypes about people of color and women who are confident in their sexuality.

Of course, the characters within Greek Mythology had their own issues. Zeus was a serial rapist, many of the goddesses deemed to be "feminist" by today's standards were actually horribly misogynistic looking at you Athena. But 1. that's just how things were back then (but that does not make it right) and 2. all of the good, the bad, and the ugly is still there in Greek Mythology. They're not denying how fucked up it is, but they're also not changing their history to better fit their own narrative or the narrative of the modern world. It exists, it happened, but now it is studied and called out by historians.

Rachel, on the other hand, is doing exactly that. She is actively changing the Greek's cultural history to better fit her fic's narrative. She is constantly sweeping things under the rug or going "No this is how it ACTUALLY happened". Lore Olympus is marketed as a "feminist retelling" yet somehow, it takes allllll the ugly parts from Greek Mythology (rape, incest, problematic age gaps, dubious consent, etc.), mixes it with a majority of the issues we have in the modern world (white feminism, rape-apologists/rape culture, grooming, fetishization of certain minority groups, etc.) and then amplifies the concoction to 20. Lore Olympus cannot be a "progressive, feminist, retelling" and also have characters that are morally apprehensive/come straight from the ancient myths. It does not work. In fact, IMO it makes all the problems from both eras worse.

News flash: actual cultures that are still thriving today are not your toys. They are not "made up". They matter. Do better.

#anti lore olympus #lore olympus #anti lo persephone #anti lo #lore olympus criticism #lore olympus critical #lo critic #lo critical #unpopular lo #unpopular lore olympus #appropriation #greek mythology #if anyone who is actually Greek wants to comment on this or share their thoughts please feel free #I'm not Greek but I have a deep love for mythology/Greek culture so this is just my take on things

[rainybubbles]

How do the COD men end up calling you at 1 A.M ?

Gaz, Price, Soap, König, Ghost, Alex, Alejandro

(Sorry in advance for my mistakes, English is not my mother tongue. So sorry if it's badly written or if they're OOC)

G A Z :

-"I don't think I can help you Gaz" you said on the phone, while sitting on your bed.

-"but you said you like animals."

-"YES BUT I CAN'T MOVE A FUCKING ALLIGATOR BECAUSE IT'S ON YOUR BALCONY" you scream on the phone "How..." you take a pause "I don't want to know how it ends up here."

-"...so you won't come."

-"Gaz it's 1 AM."

-"You said I can call you if I need help."

-"Yes. But the alligator is the exception."

-"...and if I also have a racoon in my bed ?"

-"...Gaz did you..." you realize.

-"It's a hypothesis."

-"I can hear on the phone, the crack behind you."

-"...okay maybe it's true."

-"WHY DO YOU HAVE A ZOO IN YOUR HOME ??!"

-"It's not me, animals like me."

-"You're a fucking Disney princess."

-"...does it mean if I whistle, they go ?"

-"...I don't want to answer that."

-"...so you're coming ?"

-"Only because I don't want to end up in prison for failure to assist a person in danger."

-"And you like me."

-"Gaz I'm not confessing my feelings after we talked about a racoon."

-"You don't deny it."

-"..."

-"you will see the alligator is nice."

-"Gaz, no." you sigh

P R I C E :

-"John ?" you answer on the phone. Your voice is hoarse, the call has woken you up.

-"Sorry I have woken you up, love."

-"Is there a problem ?" you ask. You were worried because last time John called you, Soap exploded John's bathroom and he needed your help.

-"No, there is none. I just finished a mission and wanted to hear your voice." he says with his deep voice.

-Your heart skips a beat. Alone in your dark room, you feel butterflies in your belly. Price and you were friends, you were a librarian and you met because John was a regular who reads many history books.

-You have a crush on the man, but you didn't know if there was a chance because of his job.

-"I see" you answer, you don't know what to add "does my voice sound so charming ?" you joke

-"It is honey for my ears, love."

-shit.

-The man has rizz at 1 AM after a fucking six-months mission, you thought.

-"I...I can say the same for you ?" you try to flirt, but it sounds more like a question than a compliment.

-He laughs on the phone.

-Oh gosh how you love his laugh.

-"In fact I was trying to think of a clever way to ask you out, but it's late and my brain isn't functioning properly, love." He confesses.

-"oh" you say

-oh ? You really said oh to a fucking romantic confession at 1 AM, like in a dramatic romance movie ?

-"I DIDN'T MEAN OH ! I mean, yes, but not to your confession. It...Yes. yes." you say embarrassed

-He laughs again.

-"then we have a date."

-"yes."

-"I'll text you the information, good night, love."

-"good night."

-You didn't sleep at all this night.

-You were too stressed about the date, and too happy to have this date.

S O A P :

-"you won't believe me."

-"Soap, it's like 1 AM, why the fuck are you calling me ?" you answer sleepy.

-"I discovered this new recipe."

-"...so you decided to call me at 1 AM, for a recipe ?"

-"It's the best you'll ever hear."

-"...go on" you sigh.

-"You mix marshmallows."

-"Ok."

-"With nutella"

-you frown your eyebrows.

-"ok"

-"And bacon"

-"everybody is so creative." you say

-"What ?"

-"Soap you- wait, did you eat this ?"

-"YES ! It's so good, you have to try it."

-"It's 1 AM. Why did you try this ? Why calling me after, I...Soap are you okay ?"

-"I am."

-"you eat nutella, marshmallow and bacon mixed."

-"yes."

-"It's not what an okay person does."

-"Person with taste do that."

-"Yes person with taste and no taste bud."

-"You haven't tasted it yet."

-"And I won't."

-"...so me being in front of your door with this incredible midnight snacks is a no ?"

-"Soap you- I live like 3 hours from your flat."

-"I wanted you to try it !"

-"It's fucking creepy."

-"so you won't open the door ?"

-"I will. And I will throw this snack in a bin, cook a real snack, feed you with it, and call Price to have your taste bud check by a doctor."

-"I'm fine."

-"No, your tastes are horrible." you say

-"So you're insulting yourself."

-"What ? why ? I said your tastes are horrible not mine."

-"But you're my taste in human."

-You shut up.

-"did you-"

-"I'm trying to say you're my type, yes"

-"fuck I open the door."

-"Told you it was a game changer."

-"I don't open the door for your snack. I open for your ass"

-"that's mean."

K Ö N I G :

-You saw König calling you on your phone which surprised you because you know he hates talking on the phone.

-You immediately answer.

-"König ?"

-"...You're awake," he says relieved.

-"yes, are you okay ?"

-"Ja, I'm back home."

-"I see," you smile.

-You met König on a base. You're a trainer of detection dogs, so you often work with the army. Since this meeting, you both text each other a lot.

-"Do you want to talk about your mission or do you want me to vant about how annoying my day was ?" you ask as usual

-"I wanted to know if you're free now."

-"Well it's 1 AM, so yes."

-"I don't have any sugar, and I want to bake. But I can't. And I don't want to go outside."

-You know König bakes when he has anxiety, it helps him to relax. So if he wanted to bake, it would be probably because he needed it.

-"Ok, I'll be here in 30 minutes."

-"thanks."

-"But you let me eat the finished products."

-"of course," he laughs.

-You start to dress and put your shoes on.

-"What are you baking exactly ?" you say on the phone

-"Cookies."

-"that's one of my favorite snacks." you said while you put your sugar in your bag.

-"I know." König answers

-"you know ?" you repeat

-There is a silence.

-"I wanted to give you cookies tomorrow, but everything happened and..." he starts hyperventilating.

-"König, calm. Okay so you wanted to give me cookies but you felt a wave of anxiety coming, so you decided to bake them now, but you ran out of sugar" you summarize.

-"yes."

-"Can I ask why you want to give me cookies ?"

-"because it will be a good idea to picnic with you"

-"as a date ?" you ask.

-"yes."

-"well I hate picnics."

-"oh"

-"But guess what my favorite activity is ? Baking at 1 AM cookies. Guess you're a lucky guy."

-He laughs.

-"you just try to comfort me." he says

-"Does it work ?"

-"yes."

-"then we have a date."

G H O S T :

-"Simon" you answer on the phone.

-He doesn't add a word.

-You know why he is calling you.

-He has had nightmares.

-Every time, when he was not on the field and had them, he usually did nothing. But since he met you, he knew that focusing on your voice, helped him to not think, to just erase everything.

-"Do you prefer me rambling about my day or a funny anecdote ?" you ask.

-"your day." he says quickly, his voice is hoarse.

-"Well at work a grandma fought against a gym bro in the line. Because the guy was mean to my colleague, he said she fucked up his coffee just to have one free. Nothing unusual sadly. But the grandma started to snap at him. And we were scared because the gym bro was all muscular so if he decided to fight, the grandma would finish to the hospital, you know. And...she beat him up. She was like super strong. It was so cool. She was like Batman."

-You ramble again and again.

-Ghost just listens, every word was his anchor. Every word was a flow calming him.

-And until the sun rises up, you talk.

-It's his favorite thing about you, your voice.

-Maybe one day, he'll hear it saying sweet nothings to him.

-But for the moment, he'll focus on it and just feels at peace.

A L E X :

-"what's your favorite flower ?"

-"Alex it's 1 AM, what the fuck," you say on the phone.

-"What's your favorite flower ?" Alex asks.

-"Why do you want to know that and why now ?"

-"I have already asked you that during a break on a mission but you never answered the question."

-You frown your eyebrows.

-"It was like 2 months ago."you realize

-"yes, and ?"

-"And you ask me a question you have already asked me two months ago, on the phone at 1 AM ?"

-"yes."

-"...you have drunk Price coffee, isn't it ?"

-"...yes."

-"how much ?"

-"four cups."

-"you're still alive?"

-"I hear my heart. I don't know if it's normal."

-"Shit the fuck this man is drinking." you groan "Alex you know you can't drink his coffee, it could wake up the dead."

-"I know but I needed one."

-"Drink water. I'll come."

-"So you'll answer my question ?"

-"No, I'm coming so I can avoid you having a heart attack. The flowers are not important here."

-"even though I want to give you flowers for a date ?"

-"We'll see later, first your heart."

-"so it's a yes ?"

-"yes but first your heart Alex, focus damn."

He laughs.

A L E J A N D R O :

-"don't laugh." Alejandro says

-"How can I not laugh ?! You stuck on a stranger's balcony in panties, Alejandro."

-"Y/N."

-"Okay, okay. So tell me how it happened ?"

-"I was at my sister's flat. I was dressed up as a princess, because I was playing with my niece."

-Cute, you think.

-"And after few hours, my niece fells asleep, so I changed my clothes but while I changed I heard a meowing. So I checked, and a kitten was precarious on the balcony under my sister's flat. So I went through the window without thinking, using my phone as a flashlight, and I jumped."

-"And now you're in panties with a safe kitten but you can't go back to your sister's flat."

-"No, and I can't call her. I was supposed to babysit my niece because my sister and her wife are on a date, I don't want to bother them."

-"You didn't need to wear panties for a princess costume." you realize

-"I like to immerse myself in the character. If I cosplay someone, I take it seriously." he says firmly.

-You laugh at his determination.

-"Okay, but how can I help you ? I mean I can't teleport."

-"You can ring on the owner's flat, so he could open the door. I don't want to break in someone's flat. I'm not a criminal."

-"You fight the cartel everyday Alejandro."

-"It's not the same."

-"Okay, I'll come."

-After this you helped him. But you sent a picture to Rudy of Alejandro with the kitten and the panties.

If you want more, my COD masterlist : here.

And my masterlist : here.

#cod x reader #captain price x reader #gaz x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #call of duty x reader #alex keller x reader #mw2 x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Mischievous Curiosities

(Part 1)(Part 3)(Part 4)

—

Time written- 11:52 a.m.

Titans! Jason Todd/fem!reader fluff/smut

(Tags: 🔞📲 Phone sex, use of toys.)

—

The same day after convincing him to step off the ledge, you recall taking a seat beside him at the vacant table to listen to what Dick had to say.

From the faintest glance over your own shoulder, you saw many eyes on you. You didn’t care, Jason had never done anything wrong to you. He hadn’t done anything wrong to them, you never understood their abrupt change in behavior.

You only hoped your presence provided him some sort of comfort. You didn’t know them, but even with his hidden, somber expression by his propped up arm, he truly appreciated it.

That very next night, your abandoned phone on your bed rings from an unknown number.

A hopeful bloom of warmth rose in your chest from your immediate suspicion of who it was. You remember slipping him your phone number if he ever needed someone to talk to.

Answering the call, you never smiled so big upon hearing his voice. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, a faint sniffle coming from him. “Do you.. do you got a minute?”

“Of course,” your smile waned a little when you detected his wavering emotional state. “You okay?” You question, immediately concerned for where he was now, if he needed some help. “Do you wanna meet up—?”

“No, no,” he’s quick to respond, followed by another sniffle. “No, I.. I just wanna talk. You free?”

“Yeah,” you sit on your bed, crossing your legs as you got comfortable. “I’m here.”

That very phone call had mostly consisted of him thanking you, to your absolute surprise.

Full bodied words of thanks, spoken amidst breath halting sniffles and stutters in between words. Your heart ached as you patiently listened, your own tears invading your screen the closer you clutched your phone to your ear.

Jason was grateful, grateful that the person who he assumed hated him was the only one who believed him in the end. In a sense, you didn’t need his thanks, you were just doing the right thing.

You did what your heart told you to do, listening to him pour out his troubled mind over the phone as the hour grew late. Until his mind was eased enough to let him sleep.

A mere two days passed before he sends you a text while you were occupied with apartment searching on an early morning.

Hey. Wanna meet up for breakfast?

It made you smile, along with a little flutter in your chest as you liked his text before asking for a specific time.

Jason surprised you with flowers at the small cafe, a simple bouquet of roses framed with baby’s breath. He shrugged when you kept asking him the reason for them, a smile nearly permanent on his face at your reaction.

You rarely got flowers. You didn’t care much for them before, but for him to surprise you with them was a heartwarming sentiment. Another way of saying thank you for being there for him when no one else was.

The two of you spent your breakfast learning about each other, leaving the establishment knowing a whole lot more in about two hours than the months you worked as colleagues at the Tower.

The unofficially stated, preferred method of communication became long phone calls when neither of you were available. That, or random texts throughout the day when either of you needed the company and entertainment.

Jason’s texts were never dry, always interested in anything you had to say. You loved that about your quickly blooming friendship, it was never boring, never running out of room to speak of anything and everything on your minds.

As it turned out, your sense of humor was eerily similar towards his. Especially in the friendly insulting department.

One day, he called you up after Dick had finished helping you into your new apartment, your phone ringing merely minutes after the man left your front door. Talk about timing.

His laughter invaded your apartment kitchen after you struggled with how to use your new toaster oven, one of Barbara’s house warming gifts.

“It is even plugged in??”

“It is!” You yell at your phone, your hands occupied with finding a nonexistent on and off switch on the appliance.

“Try turning it on, maybe??”

“You get your ass over here and try it—!” You cut off when it occurred to you that he meant using the knobs. The bright red button blinking to life as the coils inside glow a hot orange.

“Did it work?” He speaks up shortly after your silence.

“Yeah.” You mumble, your defeated tone making him laugh.

“You’re a bit of an airhead, babe.”

Babe? Why’d he call you that?

“Fuck you, Todd.” You spit back at your screen, your cheeks dappled with color.

He would call during when you worked, sitting on the carpeted floor of your apartment. Days like these, he’d share more and more of his interests, pieces of his past, and funny memories of what few friends he has. And had.

You questioned him about this after laughing about the story of Gar hitting him on the head with a staff during a sparring session. You weren’t there to see it and only heard Gar’s version of it. Hearing Jason’s side was just as funny.

“Gar and I… we don’t talk much these days. Especially after everything.”

“You should,” you say, hoping you could get them to reconnect. “I mean, you should reach back out to him. He’s got a big heart, I’m sure he’s wondering if you’re okay.”

You knew they were friends, both boys laughing and talking nonsense behind your shoulders as you worked on the Batcomputer. Back then, the additional noise annoyed you, but thinking of it now, you preferred that then silence after everything that’s happened.

“You want me to send him a text for you?” You offer after a short silence, fingers now mindlessly fidgeting with your laptop keyboard.

“Yeah,” he replies. “That sounds nice. Thanks.”

He started with the minor pet names a little more often, to your surprise.

After waking up one morning in your bed, you were surprised at the nine hour phone call from your overheated phone, clinging to life on a measly three percent battery.

“Jay?” Your tired voice calls for him as you rub your eyes, stretching your arm out over your head. “You up?”

“Yeah,” his exhausted voice responded after a few seconds, his voice riddled with lack of sleep after the both of you stayed up until three a.m. “Morning, babe.”

“Huh?” You ask, a tickle of a smile forming on your lips.

“I said morning,” Jason repeats, as if he’d never said it at all. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

It seemed like Jason’s response to you letting those little pet names slide was to continue, which he did. After a few more easy to miss little names here and there, he grew more bold, his ego stroked every time he heard your minor stutter over your phone call.

Boundaries were slowly crossed, from playful insults, to minor flirts on his end that left you speechless, not having that quick, witty dexterity Jason was blessed with.

Speaking of boundaries, Jason had a knack for calling you late at night, when you were supposed to be asleep.

Your phone cuts off your music, the ever so familiar Caller ID popping up on your screen before vibrating.

“What, Jason?” You purposely begin with feigned irritancy, your attention focused on your laptop, in the midst of some midnight online shopping.

“Jesus,” his amused chuckle floods your room once you put him on speaker. “Did I interrupt your private time?”

“Private time?” You muse, eyebrows quirking in amusement. “What do you mean?”

“Y’know, late night activities. The usual… y’know.”

“Ohhh,” you vocally express your understanding, shaking your head as if he could see you. “Nope. Not my style.”

“You don’t use those?”

“Use what?”

“A toy, babe.”

It took a few seconds for you to reply with no, your upper body fully flushed with arousal as your fingers halt on your keyboard.

“Why’re you asking?” You question after some hesitation, a strange little hum pooling at the bottom of your tummy, but you ignore it for now.

“Just curious,” he brushes off his out of pocket commentary. “What’re you up to then, mama?”

“Just doing some shopping,” you reply, quickly submerging yourself into conversation with the man. While you had been occupied online, Jason had been lounging in his own room, struggling to sleep.

His habit of calling you up nearly every night since the very first time had never broke, not unless something important had to make either of you reschedule.

“Do you really not have a toy?” His curiosity over the supposedly past subject made you pause, having you wondering why he was so interested on it.

“I do,” you weakly admit, believing it was bad to lie to a close friend like this.

“Aww, why’d you lie to me?”

“Cause it’s embarrassing.” You mutter, slowly forgetting about your pending shopping cart full of clothes you’ve debated on getting this entire day.

“I don’t think it is.” Jason smirks on his end. “What, Is it pink?”

“No,” you bite your bottom lip for a second, closing your eyes in a sort of shame. “It’s red.”

Jason nearly snorts over the phone, muffling out a chuckle to himself. You just know he’s gonna say something about it, you know him incredibly well by now.

“You think of me when you use it, Princess?”

“Fuck you,” you whine out, your cheeks burning as bright as overheating technology.

“Know you wanna,” he rasps. “But first, you gotta earn it. Tell me the truth.”

You grunt again in a jumble of irritation and embarrassment. Jason was your friend, your very good friend. You didn’t have a right to think thoughts of him like that, regardless of how attractive he is.

The man was still fresh out of a relationship, poured his heart and soul out to you, relied on you for structural stability, the bond he craved. In term, you were on the same boat, minus the relationship.

This was wrong, it had to be. Right?

But he knew what he was doing, of course he does. How else did you get to this point?

“I do,” you exhale in defeat, crossing the forbidden border for good.

The muscles in your hips slightly quiver with a growing, aching heat in your core. He lowly chuckles, his voice slowly dropping an octave, pure sex dripping off his tongue.

“Anyone ever done this with you?”

You shook your head at first, quickly forgetting that again, he couldn’t see you. “No.”

“Must’ve had some boring boyfriends, eh?”

“Never, actually.”

This takes Jason by surprise, causing a jumpstart in his heartbeat. “You’ve never—“

“No.” God, you were so quick to reply, making his mind run wild. This means you’ve never… you really shouldn’t have revealed this to him.

“You ever taken dick before, babe?”

“Elaborate, please.” Your nose crinkles with amusement, making him scoff.

“You ever been fucked before?” He questions again. “Ever have a guy make you come?”

“I.. no.” You admit again, your heartbeat running wild in your ears.

“That’s okay,” Jason soothes, a big smile plastered on his face. “Just listen to everything I say, an’ I’ll get you there. Alright?”

You close your laptop before pushing it aside, a large air of nervousness bathing your senses. Were you really gonna do this?

“Does it feel good? Knowin’ you’re fixing to give me a private show?”

A huge part of this was exciting. Any possibility of red flags looked friendly enough to be considered green clean though. You trusted him, just as he had with you.

“Kind of.”

“S’okay to be nervous, it’s just me. Get comfortable, mama. Relax for me.”

“Okay.” You say, laying back against your bed, your hair sprawling along your pillow. It didn’t help that your nightmare was an oversized shirt and plain, cotton panties. Or maybe it did help, all for convenience.

“Touch yourself how you usually do.” Came his first request, a gentle demand that made your heart nearly jumpstart.

Your trembling hand slip under your panties, touching yourself as if for the very first time. The muddled warmth in your tummy that formed since the start of this conversation resulted in your fingers delving along your slippery wet heat, nearly making you shudder.

“You wet, baby?” He asks, hearing the faint hitch in your breath you attempted to hide.

“Mhm.” Was all you could say.

“S’okay, babe,” he exhales, the hem of his sweats pushed down under his waist, grasping the head of his cock in hand. “Let those pretty sounds out. Lemme hear you.”

Your fingers hesitantly trail over your swollen clit, your breath hitching again from newfound sensitivity. Two fingers stroked along yourself, gently pinching your bud in between, making you hold a muffled whine.

Jason pictures the sight of you now, pussy hot and wet and aching for cock. What he’d give now to replace your fingers with his, lips plastered against your sticky clit, your hands grasping against his curls as he busies himself in between your thighs.

Imagining what his mouth must’ve felt like, those plump lips drinking up your syrupy sweetness left you nearly moaning, clasping your phone against your chest. Your pussy clenches over nothing, desiring to know what it feels like to be stretched wide and full of Jason’s cock. Rugged hands grasping the fat of your hips as leverage as he fucks you into the mattress.

“Can almost hear how wet you are, babe,” he mutters against his phone, tucked snugly against his head and shoulder as he brings his hand towards his tongue, collecting spit to smear along his cock.

“Lick your fingers, an’ play with those tits, Princess,” Jason requests, imagining your fingers slipping under your shirt, pinching your eager little nipples. He’d do the exact same, pinching them until they’re sore before repeating the action with his teeth, watching each abused breast bounce once he releases it.

Turns out, you thought the very same, hooking your shirt up just enough with your thumb to squeeze along your chest, sighing with the additional friction.

“Take out that toy you were talkin’ about. Wanna hear how it works.”

You say nothing at first, leaving him slightly concerned. That feeling quickly diminishes once he hears shuffling along your blankets, the dull glide of your drawer getting pulled open making his smirk return.

“No way is that toy gonna fuck you stupid,” he mutters instantly into the phone. “That’s gonna be my job. Y’hear me, babe?”

Those filthy words nearly set your nerves on fire, causing a trembling change in your breathing.

“Mhm.” You nervously reply again.

“Shy little baby,” Jason lightly cooes, amused by your hesitancy. “M’waiting, Princess. Play with that toy, lemme hear you.”

He waits anxiously as your nerves make your thumb tremble along the button of your red vibrator, his own hand coming to a halt as he does so.

It takes a good moment for the phone call to pick up a slow, muffled buzz, but the sudden little whimper that erupts from your lips makes it all worth it.

“Ohh my God.” Jason mutters to himself, feeling lightheaded as he feels himself throbbing in hand.

He fights back a grunt himself while fisting his cock, wanting nothing more than to be buried deep into your tight, warm cunt. Jason wondered just how many noises he could pull out of you, bullying his cock deep into your inexperienced pussy until you screamed.

He never expected this, but he’s beyond glad that he pried. The Titans’ smart brains of nearly every operation, now resorted to becoming his quivering little virgin, getting off on his voice while fucking yourself with a fake cock, imagining it to be his.

Your naturally induced whimpers confirmed that, your phone slipping out of your hand as you weakly your breast again.

You whine a bit louder, your approaching climax so close you could taste it. Having an audience to this otherwise private, sensual event had you feeling unvisually exposed, completely vulnerable to the man who started this.

“That thing have settings?” Jason voices out over speaker.

“M-mhm,” you whimper out, silently thanking him for the question. “Yeah.”

“Turn it all up baby,” he urges, his voice growing raspier with his quick, frantic breathing. “All the way high.”

Quickly doing what you were told, your thumb shifts over the settings, quickly clicking on said highest setting. Your spread thighs immediately tremble with the sudden change of pace, the loud whirr of your toy invading your bedroom, along with your sharp gasps and abrupt moans.

“Ohh, good girl,” Jason nearly groans out, the muscles along his stomach tightened with urgency. “Good fucking girl. Wanna hear you come, babe. Wanna hear you make a mess of my fat cock. That’s what you want, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whimper out while your back arched off your bed, your bucking hips begging to be held down by his strong, calloused hands. Your chest heaved, dampened nipples exposed to the heated air, begging for a touch other than your own.

Jason’s audible presence was more than enough for you now.

“You wanna cum, babe? Wan’ me to fuck that little pussy?” Jason pants out, his voice slurring with an arousing ruggedness that shot shivers down your spine.

“Gonna ruin you, Princess. Gonna break you in good— shiiit, gonna ruin you for any other guy. That what you want?”

“God, y-yes Jason!” You gasp out, your head tilting back with another vulnerable whine, your eyes sealed shut.

“Good girl. That’s my good girl— Fuuuck!” Jason grunts out, his head buried back against his pillow, adam’s apple bobbing as he pants hard, eagerly stroking his soaking wet cock faster, fully leaking with thick, stringy precum.

“I-Jaaay.” Your sweet, quivering little voice calls out to him, your trembling fingers attempting to keep a strong hold on your vibrator. “Shit. Jason, I-I’m—“

“Yeah, I know,” he pants out, keeping a tight squeeze on his phone. “Come on, babe. Come for me, come on this cock. Lemme fill up that perfect little pussy.”

A sweet, burning release nearly blinds you, muscles tightening as your cunt quivers, releasing along the toy with a series of broken, genuine cries of ecstasy.

Jason never heard such genuinely erotic sounds come from your lips, pushing him off the edge after successfully nudging you to it. Thick, hot ropes of cum bead along his abdomen, the muscles in his neck growing taunt as he vocalizes his finish through gritted teeth, gasping for breath shortly after bucking into his fist.

The nearly two hour call goes quiet, filled with nothing but two deflated, sexually satisfied people gasping for breath in their own beds.

Your cheeks remained flushed as your orgasm died down, your toy shut off seconds before you accidentally set yourself off into overstimulation. Your mind, after regaining some logical sense, wondered what the fuck just happened, but you weren’t ashamed.

Retreating your red toy away from your sticky cunt, your reddened cheeks heat further from the sight of strands of your arousal clinging along the device. Picture worthy evidence of what your close friend had done to you.

Your eyes catch a weak glimpse of a bundle of dried roses along your vanity after your trembling hand placed your toy on your nightstand. The same roses you debated on hanging on your wall for decoration, still secured together by your favorite colored bow.

Oh shit, you quickly realize. He had took you out on a date.

You may never have been friends to begin with.

“Babe?” His soft pant calls for you over the phone, snugly tucked underneath your shoulder after your vigorous activity. “You there?”

“Yeah.” You grasp hold of your phone, putting it off speaker before bringing it close to your ear. “I’m here.”

#Jason Todd #jason todd x female!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader smut #titans jason todd #dc jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #the toaster oven bit happened with me so now you gotta do it too #I’m not good at writing out phone sex so like #there’s that #🧍🏽‍♀️

[rreids]

hey, i was wondering if you'd be able to write smth with Spencer in a relationship with someone with bpd? it's totally okay if you're not comfy with that, but I've just been suspecting i may have it, and ppl with bpd are always portrayed so negatively in relationships. it would be just rly nice to read ur take on how Spencer would handle that and just see some positive representation! (my mental health has also been shit so it would be p comforting lol) thank u 🫶

hi love 🫶 i don't know a ton about bpd, so i hope i did this justice! i researched the diagnosis and how healthy relationships help with regulation and in what ways they do (both accounts from experts and from those who are diagnosed). and i hope you feel better soon <3 it sucks when your mind fights against you.

PROMISES • S. REID X READER

reader has bpd (written by an author without, ideally will be comforting rather than hurtful. please let me know if it is offensive in any way); gn!reader; spencer has to break a small promise but makes others; talks of therapy; teasing; fluff; ~500 words

“Hey, sweetheart,” Spencer whispers into the phone, voice a little strained. “I’m really, really sorry, but I can’t make lunch today. We’re on the way to a case in Omaha. It’s a really bad one.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh.”

“You know I want to be there more than anything, right?” He’s shuffling papers in the background, and you know they’re in the middle of getting ready on the jet and that he’s still making time for you, but it still makes your mind race with worry and upset. “I’ve been looking forward to it all week. And I promise I’ll take you out as soon as we’re back.”

You frown, fiddling with the promise ring on your finger. “Will you still talk to me?”

Spencer chuckles. “I think I go insane when I go too long without hearing your voice. As long as you don’t mind calls when it’s two a.m. there, I’m calling before bed every night I have enough time.”

You sigh.

“I know, honey. When’s your next meeting with your therapist?”

“Tomorrow,” you mumble, gnawing on your lip.

“Well, you have permission to talk about how much I suck,” Spencer teases lightly. “As long as you know it’s not by choice that I’m being a bad boyfriend.”

“You’re not a bad boyfriend.”

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

“You’re the best boyfriend. You understand me.” He does. He’s looked into BPD extensively — he knows even more than you do, rattling off statistics, assumed causes and connections, coping methods, everything. He knows how to break you out of the spirals and to calm your impulsivities.

“You have other boyfriends?” Spencer sighs dramatically, and you laugh.

“Why would I have them? You’re more than enough.”

Spencer hums. “I am, aren’t I?” 

You groan.

“I’m messing with you,” his voice is fond and soft. “I gotta hang up, everyone’s coming and we need all our focus on this case. Message me if you need anything. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t.”

“You don’t do anything,” you know you’re exaggerating, but it’s hard to stop the words.

“I do, just nothing out of our normal,” he’s nudging you gently, reminding you to think things through before acting impulsively. “I give you permission to watch our show without me if it’ll keep you entertained.”

You laugh. “Okay, okay. Fine. I’ll be good,” you draw it out.

Spencer snorts. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Spence.”

A beat.

“I’m not actually going to talk shit about you to my therapist, just so you know. I do talk about you though.”

And then you hang up. 

He sends you a ‘???’ and a ‘I wanted to say something still.’ right after. When you tell him to say it, he sends a ‘Do what you need to feel regulated. I don’t take it to heart, you know I don’t.’

And he doesn’t. He’s so sweet, so achingly perfect, understanding of when your moods swing, or when you feel empty, or whenever anything changes and you can’t tell why. 

And he always helps you down, kissing scars and tears and whispering praise as he gets you to feel right again.

#my works #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid scenario #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid imagine #requested

[rel124c41]

BITCH CAME BACK. vox

You leave the VoxTek tower at 3 P.M. and return to it at 3 A.M.

Vox likes to think you would never betray him like that.

tags: established relationship, bodyguard, relationship issues, implied/referenced sex, big brother is watching complex, canon typical violence, unhealthy coping mechanisms, & fist fights

word count: 8,626

It is not cheating.

He chooses to believe it is not cheating. 

No matter what Valentino whispers about you being unsatisfied in bed; no matter what Velvette teases about how you always leave behind your phone; no matter what his derailing mind starts to image (some muscular hellhound, incubus, sinner, overlord, defined biceps gripping your thighs and –) in his most calamitous moments: Vox chooses to believe you do not leave VoxTek tower to go cheat on him. 

Relationships are built on trust. That principle rule is often why relationships fail in Hell. Trust from sinful liars was as valuable as a rock painted gold. In Hell, trust comes from blood signatures and thumping, electric green deals. You and Vox were not bound through these standard demon methods. No contractual deals, you outlined early on, just verbal agreements. 

You and Vox did have a certain verbal agreement: three little words. Whispered into the drool spot on his pillow, bleeding from your mouth when you two collided in kisses, breathed on your wrist when you found him hunched and tired in his office, flashing on your cell’s screen, and written on his hand. That was the deal. 

Though, Vox muffles a curse into his pillow, you certainly have been saying those words less now.  

He moves his monitor off the pillow surface when the rain of the shower ebbs. When you came in, the scent he had picked up on you was thankfully not sex. Instead the scent of metallic blood clung to you like amber honey on a bear’s mouth. Your signature scent. Vark and his hammerhead brother were drawn to how deeply the smell was oiled and shampooed into your skin. Violence: a perfume tailored for you. 

A hair-dryer starts up in the bathroom and Vox stops busying himself with sharpening the metal of his claws. 

Still, even if sex was not a present scent, that didn’t mean you did not have it. The dark part of him stirs like a hive of bees. Foreplay for you is like a mimic of lions fighting a buffalo to eat her child. His purchases of new screen protectors and bandages increased when you two first kickoffed a relationship. So scent is not a good thing to completely go off on –

The sound of water returns. Ah, the sink faucet. Buried under the first sound, he can hear the tiny scrub of a toothbrush. Light leaks under the closed door. If you kiss him tonight (he hopes you will), he would be grateful for the smell of mint on your teeth. Mint and iron. Mint and iron and the possible burial of body sweat, sex.

You left VoxTek tower at 3 P.M. – in the middle of a weekday before anyone working there would dare to clock out – and then you returned to your shared bedroom at 3 fucking A.M. He should zap the information out of you.

It’s not cheating; it’s not cheating; it’s not cheating. 

The bathroom door clicks open. A towel is thrown around your neck. Already dressed in your pajamas, a simple billowing pair of sweatpants and socks, you make your way over. Tiptoeing even though you know he is awake.

At the ping of you entering the building through surveillance cameras, Vox had started to gradually stir. He could not fake being asleep. As soon as the black on his monitor melted away to reveal blue, you knew he was awake. There is no acknowledgement of him from you. No hi honey or night Vox. And his face brightness is not dimmed below seventy percent so you know he is awake. Azure lighting filtering over sheets and floating in the air, you pull back covers to sink into bed, shirtless as was your habit. You turn your back to him, which has regrettably become a new habit.

He tracks his eyes over the canvas of your back. On it, mauve and ebony bruises are speckled. They are like lily-pads in a dark lake or a thousand eclipses lighting up a dark sky. Never an absence of bruises with you. Across the canvas, there are bisecting marks of sharp claws not made by him that cause him some stress.

Vox remembers once connecting all your bruises into constellations, shapes of animals and faces and other things, post-aftercare scrambling up his wires and guiding him do something so sinfully, sentimentally human. He remembers your laughter and whines at his cold claws on warm skin. Remembering not in a human way but in an electronic way, memories always fresh in his mind, recorded.

You were like a virus. The most prominent memories he has are ones with you.

Blue light slimes over your skin. Vox dims his screen in hopes you might turn towards him. No luck. He lifts up one sharpened claw to drag a line shaped like a cleft note from bruise to bruise. He goes to —

“Stop that. It hurts.”

He goes to do nothing. Defeated, Vox returns his hand underneath his pillow. Why are you acting like this? Why were you doing this to him? You must feel his eyes scrutinizing on the cusp of your shoulder. Moving, you do something that takes that dark, calamitous part of Vox and squeezes it like a dog clamping his teeth around a squeak toy, all the ink spilling over and soaping up his systems.

You inch to the edge of the bed, so close to falling off that you might as well leave altogether.

It’s not cheating. Vox rolls over and tries to sleep without dreaming. 

You are a hired bodyguard for Valentino. Out of the ten bodyguards employed, you are closest to Valentino. Though you do not flank your boss all hours nor all week, you are seen most in the public eye out of the others employed to protect this pompous moth prince. This is because you are so efficient at your job.

It was that efficiency that drew Vox to even glance in your meaningless, background direction.

For a sinner demon, your physical appearance does not often stir up anything for anyone. Your employer did give you lipstick tubes a few times and perfumes for you to try. If Valentino said you had potential, he wanted you to embrace it.  You politely declined but kept your gifts. To be honest, you are very plain. Your hellish form was disfigured to give the mimicking resemblance of an oni, a yokai, but most human features remained. 

You had two physical differences that Valentino nettled you on showing off. One: golden spirals running down your arm like kintsugi art; two: a set of heavy, crimson horns growing from your temples. Every first of the month, Valentino mourned your horns.

January first, February first, March first, April first, and so on, you would grind down your horns. Equipped with a hacksaw and then a sander, it was a routine task for you. What could have grown gorgeously into carmine bighorn sheep’s horns were ruined to Valentino’s grief. You snipped them away like a disgruntled gardener. Like two red tree stumps, your horns sat on your head.

You went through with this cosmetic change for two reasons. You could not stand the look of a demon on yourself. Your horns were so heavy that they often disturbed how you moved. 

“I could not kill your enemies if I am toppling over due to the heft of my horns,” you told Valentino and he conceded. 

So unburdened by that obstructing weight, you did your job remarkably and accidentally captured Vox’s eyes. Sparked him, you joked. And then he came to agree and would say you shocked his heart – which often left you with warm cheeks. A relationship built all because someone grew obsessed over a pornstar and felt owed a performance, thus deciding to take it out on Valentino at one of his clubs.

It was nothing remarkable. You were not intimidated by the demon’s size despite the Vees awe. It was simply your job to do. If someone threatened Valentino, a bodyguard needed to react. 

“But a runt like you being able to take down someone like that. What a treat you are, (Name)!” Sharp teeth flirted with you and the moth kissed your bloody cheek when it was all done.

You were not small in stature like an imp. You retained your human height. However, some sinners grew with the hellish transformation. Thus, a 7’ 6” demon was a spectacle against you who was very obviously not reaching that. Though, your hellish transformation had selected a different prowess of your physical form to alter: your strength. Fondly, you reflect on that day.

“Mr. Valentino! Sir!”

Valentino blinks behind his heart-shaped glasses. In front of him, the head of the sinner woman he was talking to gained a third eye. Valentino only blinks because as she slumps lifeless to the ground, her drink slashes on him, causing him mild stress. Then, he blinks a second time as you grab him by the waist, spinning him off the leather booth, a hole suddenly appearing in the exact spot his back was reclined on. 

His lips upturn into a smile, amorous pinks and warm amber lighting raining down on his features. How theatrical you are! He mourns when your hands slide off his waist as you jump in from the shadows to do your job. 

He distantly hears Velvette curse. She was sitting on his left so it is only natural she would be startled, so close to when the gunshots were fired. Valentino watches as you jump down from the high platform where the three Vees were sitting and watching the night’s performance before being rudely interrupted. 

The demon is easy to make out in the crowd, Carmine-manufactured gun raised in his hand, standing at a height perhaps only three feet smaller than Valentino himself. He is not standing for long. You vault yourself over a table, kicking him down to a height you can reach and starting to take care of your job. Now, this is not as good as the performance on the stripper pole but is not half bad. 

“Vox. Light,” Valentino says, turning to his right where the television demon is in a similar state as Velvette, but collecting himself. A cigarette hanging from a long cigarette holder is waved momentarily in his face. 

“Thank you,” Valentino says and, smoking, watches. 

There are a million tools you could be using – glasses from any of the nearby tables, the arm of a leg chair, Valentino knows you are skilled enough to grab the gun laying two yards across the club floor to finish this job. Yet, all you do is punch and punch, enjoying and savoring your job.

Raising your fist by your head, launching it down into the demon’s face. Again and again and again. Valentino watches with great delight how the speed at which the demon’s legs fail miserably underneath you wans off from panicked kicks to tired scuffling. Your knuckles are recolored. You raise back up your fist. You launch it back down into the concave space you are making. There is a nose, underneath that is a gorey sunken mess, underneath that is a disconnected, bottom jaw. The crimson warmth coating and nuzzling into your hand is a welcome feeling. You miss it dearly when the body underneath you eventually stills. 

With a push, you stand back on your feet and start towards Valentino. He raises one of his four arms out to you – the upper right one drawing you in as he spins you excitedly on the platform. Valentino dips you and kisses you on the mouth, giving you the courtesy of blowing out his smoke first.

“Well done!” He pulls you back up into a standing position. 

“It is my job, Mr. Valentino.” Your voice is monotone which isn’t too entertaining but it does not dampen Valentino’s cheer. “No need for praise.”

Your gaze briefly flicks over to the couch. Genuine scolding burns you up inside while looking at the hole in the leather booth, should have been quicker. You startle when you see one of Valentino’s associates staring at you. Was the television demon named Vel or Vox? Doesn’t matter.

Hating being ignored, a finger on your face tilts your gaze back to the heart-shaped glasses. Valentino leans down, humming at the side of your face when some gore must have billowed up from the mess you were making. “But a runt like you being able to take down someone like that. What a treat you are, (Name)!” Sharp teeth flirt with you and the moth kisses your bloody cheek; all of it done and all of it set in motion.

You will never know Heaven. After some tears, skin punched off your knuckles, and snowflakes of broken glass, you accepted this. You will never know Heaven and its comforts. This is a second Heaven.

Red rivers waterfalling over and down trembling fingers. Warm pain of a bruise kissing into an ankle or wrist like an amorous cat. A crack as the cartilage of bone is split like a pencil. Skin rubbed off like latex on a scratch ticket to reveal bone, blood, and fat. Bitten tongues elongating into red syrup; a black gap in the military cemetery of teeth; an eye rolling on the ground in a morbid game of golf. Blood and injury, a frequent lover of yours. All these wonderful experiences and sensations: backdropped by the sound of sinisterly supportive cheers from imps and sinners. 

Your chance of redemption. Smoke billows off your lip and past your bloody nose. This is a chance to feel what Heaven could possibly be like. Redemption and honor made possible through violence, something you have known for a long time. A moral as ingrained in you as the gold rivulets falling down your arms.

Fiddling with your cigarette with your tongue, you busy yourself with wrapping white around your hands. Over the left and diagonal across the right – like a child practicing tying their shoes. 

You finish your work, checking your compression is tight, when the door opens and a muscular hellborn demon with defined biceps walks in. “(Name).”

“Yeah?”

“Only three more minutes.”

“Got it.”

Vox will never know Heaven. This is nothing that causes him any grief. During his entrance into the realm – before he set up contracts, set up VoxTex, set up a reign of control – it had been a heavy stone to lay with until erosion crumbled it down to a pebble. He will not know Heaven; so fucking what? 

He put so much stock in his business that it would be unfortunate for him to be pulled into heavenly gates. This was Heaven, not a second Heaven but Heaven itself. In the military march of obedient corporate slaves, a hymn. With the simple spiral of his right eye, he could get people to revere him. Proverb 15:3 says: the eyes of the Lord are in every place (every cellphone, house security system, every television and computer), beholding the evil and the good. Alastor gone and probably buried somewhere, Vox was on top of his game. Heaven was perfect until you started acting so strangely.

Something dark stirs in him in his news studio. His brain and eyes are wired to every device in the room. Vox turns from talking with the camera operator, words automatic as if they were pre-recorded. Even when you are concealing yourself in shadows, he can see you and when you step out of them, he wants to watch.

“Sir, is this a correct height for the trucking?”

“No, you’re doing it wrong,” Vox says without even turning his body to check the camera’s position. 

His attention is raptured by you. As it always is. Woefully, he watches as you talk with Valentino in the corner, before another bodyguard with defined muscles, puts a hand on your shoulder. Vox does not even try to hide the abhor spark that flicks over him. He could hear everything perfectly from Valentino’s phone but it is nothing of use. You switch out a shift and are letting your boss know that you are clocking out. Simple, quotidian activities. Nothing of use to try and decipher where you go. 

This is Heaven, Vox reminds himself, standing in Hell.

“Five hundred, nineteen.”

The room tilts and billows.

“Five hundred, twenty.”

There is something about pain that is so satisfying to you.

“Five hundred, twenty-one.”

If you could stay in pain, it would be as beneficial as a plant in sunlight.

“Five hundred, twenty-two.”

You – You, huh? – You turn your head to the side slightly. Blue light fruitlessly hides from you. Oh, he is awake. Releasing the tension from your muscles, your feet take a slight drop to the ground. You can finish the last of your six hundred and sixty-six pull-ups at a later time, you relinquish.

Just as you grab yourself a shirt, Vox finally decides to speak. It is a tone as if he is trying to gauge which version of you he will receive today: your old self or your new self. “Morning.” He rises up from the pillow and smiles dubiously. “You still have a bit more than a hundred to go.”

You stare at him. In his expensive, personally tailored pajama button-up. Him, with the hesitation in his eyes. Vox. Your Vox. Who despite the distance you have carved out, you are still incredibly fond of. You pull the shirt down over your abdomen and say, “Morning.” Slowly, you take a lazy walk to the side of your shared bed. “How do you feel,” you ask as you plant yourself down.

“Definitely felt better before,” he grins lopsided, trying to flash on some boyish charm. “Think you almost dislocated my shoulder.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I liked it.”

“Still, it’s not right of me.”

“...” Vox runs a hand up and down your thigh before lifting it up onto the bed.

“What is the agenda for today?”

“Let’s see. Marketing team has a change of manager which is gonna be a bitch to handle; we have a mid-morning segment to do on Velvette’s love potion; I have a 2 o-clock, a 4 o’clock, then a 5 o’clock; today is Friday so another Vox-2-Nite is scheduled. And that is all planned without any wiggling room. So if just one thing goes wrong –” At the mere thought, his voice starts to drop in octaves, prematurely vexed. World never seems to stop spinning, even when being below it. 

“Sounds dreadfully long. Are you sure your charge will hold on through it?”

“I scheduled a fifteen minute break in there … somewhere.”

“Ah, yes, Vox’s infamous fifteen breaks. Ones that always get pushed off until the end of the day.”

“They aren’t so infamous when I have you there, forcing me to take company-policed hour breaks … You really have to stop doing that.”

“Well, you’ll have to trudge through today without me or an hour break. Valentino has me booked today, honey.”

“That fucking bastard,” Vox shimmers, cursing Valentino, and you offer a timid chuckle. You trail a calming hand up and down his arm. Throughout the conversation, he and you had fallen into the lotus sex position – just awfully more clothed and less sexy– one of the numerous you two had been tangled into last night. 

Last night … your mind cannot help to wander to it and not fun wandering either. Two awful images keep spinning in your mind. One: the image of you grabbing his upper arm in the cowgirl position only to push too hard and hear a sickening crack from his shoulder, his screen malfunctioning. Thank your lucky star, it was just air bubbles. Two: in the middle of your rendezvous, the image of his screen turning black because you had taken talons and dug them amorously into his abdomen, your passionate action almost punctuating his colon. 

You kiss under his monitor when Vox rests his chin onto your head, feeling the warmth of electronic currents mimicking a bloodstream long since retired. You let him stay that way for a while, enjoying his presence. It is a little better than finishing up those pull-ups. 

“Hey, are we alright?”

Spoke too soon.

You stone up in his arms like a garden statue – ah, his arms. He has thought ahead and wrapped his arms around you, forbidding you from escaping this question. Well, you can still escape as you had no contract requiring you to answer his questions. Avoidant kisses are speckled past his poorly buttoned-up pajama top. 

“(Name).”

At the stern tone coating him saying your name, you bite into his blue-tinted collarbone. Vox is expecting this so he does not even groan at the fresh assault on an already bruised neck. He lets you fight shy of this heavy conversation through your physicality. His pride is quite grand when he does not moan as you attack his particularly sensitive spot, just in the space between the vagus nerve and jugular vein. 

“(Name).” You sweat cold when you realize Vox’s voice is still controlled and level, absent of a single glitch.

“Yes, honey?”

“Are we alright?”

“Why wouldn’t we be,” you avoid the question with a question and start to unbutton his pajama top. 

“Because you’ve been leaving –” his voice glitches, just a slight temperament, but you jump onto the break in his words.

“Hey, Valentino’s working on,” you press a kiss to his dead heart, “on this new segment in his porn. And it’s got,” you bite down lightly on his nipple, “this really hot position in it,” you scold yourself when your fingers mess up on a button, “called the Valedictorian. I think we should try it.” You celebrate when you manage to undo the last button by sucking on Vox’s nipple.  

“(Name).” 

At least this time, when your name is said, Vox’s voice is wobbling. And, thus the arms around you are less like a steel cage and more like fragile icicles. Honestly, you could have broken out any time but you would rather slip out of his arms with humane strength. 

And Valentino comes to the rescue twice in this eventful morning. Mentioned in name and then showing up in the ring of your phone. Vox is in such an amorous state that he only disconnects the incoming call after the third ring which means its presence has been heard and cannot be ignored.

“(Name).”

This time he says your name mournfully. You place a parting kiss to his throat. From his fragile arms, you slip away. “Duty calls,” you say and then leave as you have done for weeks now.

EXPANDING THE VEES REIN. 

That is what the agenda for today’s meeting is, highlighted in bold in the most professional serif font, Times New Roman, and thrown up onto screen behind Vox’s chair. He had wrestled with that for a while, foolishly feeling like the intern he once was in the living world. Not that Valentino or Velvette would appreciate it. Crumpled papers littered his personal bedroom, alliterations and homophones scrapped. Absent from his usual sounding-board (your spot in bed empty), he had decided after frying his favorite mug that simple and cut-to-the-point was the way to go.

Expanding the Vees rein: how can they go about that, the next slide asked to a group of two. Well, don’t damage your dead brain too hard by thinking of that alluring question; Vox was already supplying the answers and then the execution. And he readily rambled on about it:

“Now this little beauty is called SPID. It stands for spider parodying intellect-gathering device. Spied and spider, see? The task of the SPID would be to lock onto anybody’s potential target, infiltrating homes and creating a web of information through this lens. If we refer back to slide thirty-three, we can see the previous success of –” 

“Vox.”

The Overlord screeches to a halt. Not really paying attention if either Velvette or Valentino were paying attention, his name being said catches him by surprise. His claws pierce gently into the plastic molded around the spider device in his hand. The SPID is just one of the dozen he has brought in, all masquerading under the purpose of Expanding the Vees Rein.

A snarl appears on his screen. “Yes, Velvette?”

“How long have you and (Name) been together?”

It gives the Overlord pause for a moment. Gently, he takes his claws out of the back of the mechanical spider. Letting the tiny creature join the others on the conference table, Vox grumbles, “eight months, one week, three days.” 

He onlys that so precisely because he has a detailed timeline of everything since his fall. Give him a precise date and year, no matter how far away, and he could tell you exactly what he had for breakfast. His memory was pristine. 

“Isn’t that enough time for you to trust them? And enough time where we don’t have to sit through your spiraling insecure bullshit?”

With a laugh: “As you can see, Velvette, this meeting is the betterment of the Vees. If one does not always expand his monopoly, he leaves himself vulnerable to be subdued by another monopoly. Sooo – as I was saying, this spider is going to help us –”

“He’s just being pissy because he doesn’t have his little bebito/a under contract.”

The spark of electricity that flies over Vox’s entire body is violent. Volatile energy pulses in the air as formidable as a gun. This time (because he had already picked back up the spider) the SPID dies with a crunch in Vox’s claws. All eight legs twitch in the tiny thunderstorm inside Vox’s grasps. Vox is envisioning crushing a different insect though. 

“Neither do yOU.”

“I might not have their soul, but I have their loyalty. Do you?” Vox can tell by the grin pulling up Valetino’s lips that he finds this remarkably humorous. Very pleased at himself that he knows something the Vox doesn’t. 

“You FUCKING –”

“Hahahaha!”

They never get to go over the additional twenty-seven slides Vox had slaved over the night before.

“Mr. Valentino? Sir?”

The strap of your duffle bag is choked by uneasy hands. When the door had opened in the back alley of Voxtek’s towers, you had admittedly jumped like a startled cat and screamed like a kid on a rollercoaster. Even when greeting the familiar face of your boss, you are still a little nervous. 

“Do you need me for something, Sir?”

Though you are off the clock, so Valentino really should not be down here. In the dirtiest part of the towers, in a small sliver of space ignored by security cameras. Which makes your apprehension completely valid.

“Can’t a man enjoy a smoke, bebito/a?” The uneasy wilts out of you as he pulls his cigarette holder from somewhere.

“Of course, Sir. I will leave you to it.”

“No, stay. That other demon is such a sloppy bodyguard.”

“Oh.”

“Light?”

“Of course, Sir.”

You take your place next to Valentino, his shadow. Looking down at the duffle bag, you judge that you can be a bit late. It is not like –

“Dunhill. Refined cigarettes, cinnamon and suet.” Pink smoke billows off tiny fire, slurring up into the air in the shape of sweet Valentine candy. It never fails to impress you with how delicately opulent it looks. “You know, the best cigarette is the first cigarette in the morning. The untouched, virgin cigarette after a night starved of them. Very new. Very Dunhill. 

“I do not like owning second hand garbage, (Name).”

You feel your heart beat faster just a few seconds. That tone of voice is one you have never had directed at you. The straps of your duffle bag cry for release as you strangle them in a worried grip. “I’m aware, Sir.”

“Typically, when you get out of the hole, you do not go crawling back to it.” 

“Yes, typically not, Sir.”

You two fall into silence. Where Valentino luxuriously leans against the brick wall, you fall back and dig your shoulders into the brick, making sure to feel the pain and burn of a bruise. At this moment, you can feel your heartbeat under the skin of your throat. You are sure Valentino can hear it too with how he is prolonging drags off his cigarette. Typically, you were not so afraid of Valentino – even now, your fear stems from the thought of Vox instead of Valentino. You wrestle with the thought of the repercussions if Vox knew you were crawling back into that hole as your boss said.

“Answer me this.” Smoke waterfalls off his lips and you look up. The Overlord slowly takes off his heart-shaped sunglasses and bends his height. “Are you being summoned there?”

“No, Sir,” you answer with your untethered soul still inside you, pounding away on your ribcage. 

“Hm.” Straightening up to his height, Valentino smiles and puts back on his sunglasses. “Good.”

It is not cheating, Vox reminds himself as he hops from television in stores windows to telephone wire to smart watches. Those four words are a fire blanket coating over his damned soul. They keep him from exploding in fiery rage. Even when he reaches a point where he has reached the last electronic he can use, he repeats that … ugh, prayer … in his head. Sparking out of a telephone wire, Vox stands formidable on the ground, energetic from his frustration. 

Then, he tries diligently to shrink and draw less attention to himself.

His screen brightness is dimmed to a submerged 16 percent, all of his notifications are thumbed over to off, and a gray hoodie is zipped over his red-and-black striped waistcoat: all the preparations for this espionage set into place. He had done exceedingly well keeping out of your sight while keeping you in his sight. Head down, Vox follows around the last corner you took. 

Every city has its bad areas. Pentagram City has managed to exceed the limits for a bad area quite impressively here. He has to side-step some monstrous activities he would rather soon forget. The depth of red liquid staining his shoes would put to shame a wade in a cranberry bog. Violence swims in the air like a body fragrance.

There is a hole in the world like a great black pit and the vermin of the world inhabit it and its morals aren’t worth what a pig could spit. Vox recounts you saying that once; he pulls up the recording in his files, listening to your voice in the back of his head. Perhaps you have meant here rather than Hell. 

Waiting thirty minutes inside telephone wires after you went in was painful. He had boiled over with the anxious energy of just wanting to follow you shoulder to shoulder. He knew better. So while watching you go down a flight of cement steps, past a black gate, into an apartment complex’s basement was like water in the wires, away from him, it was necessary. If you knew about his presence before he wanted to reveal it … well, he rather not clean up shit off fan blades.

This is just a simple check-up. An in and out operation. He just … He just needs to know what you are doing.

Vox cannot really wrap his head around why you are coming here. You are so much better than this cesspool – was it a kink of yours to socialize with the lowest of the low? Skirting around the gate and the door, he walks in uninvited.

No security checks? Really is the lowest of the low. Incredulous, Vox analyzes the place.

It is a lobby of sorts — a mock imitation of it and as close to organized as a hoarder’s house — and there is evidently a large gathering around a desk. There are some outliers standing to the sides of the room. To the far left are double doors, guarded by two well-built and muscular figures. 

Black, jealous spirals appearing in his right eye, Vox turns back to the crowd to calm himself. This does not look like a sex dungeon but he can never be certain. He watched as people elect to shove knives into throats instead of shoving to move up into line. Receding into his body, he feels around for an electronic he can teleport in and out of.

Hm?

Hm.

No way. 

There are zero electronics in this entire place. It gives Vox such whiplash he ogles at the place until he remembers to school his expression. No one even holds a phone in their back pocket. For the first time in his reign of control over technology, he cannot feel a single spark of anything. 

Vox is knocked out of his stupor when some sinner pushes him, “fucking move or lose it, flat face.” and melts into the bloody crowd.

Metal claws curl up into his right palm. He schools that whet vehemence in his soul, knowing he sadly cannot cause a scene. No one knows of his presence. Probably the only praise-worthy factor of a town empty of technology. Joining into the crowd, Vox thinks on how he will find that sinner later. Electrocuting him until his eyes pour out of his sockets like rooibos tea is a calming image to feast on. His digital mind plots in great detail as he waits to reach the front.

— according to — the eutectic point, two solids have the same melting point, of the human skin and eyeball is — between 500 to 2000 volts kills — and saline — a sponge moistened with saline as a conductive jelly for electric currents — according to —

Vox is kicked out of his browsing of the internet when a phlegmy throat clears itself. He narrows his eyes in annoyance, finally stepping up to the seat of his mind and away from the waves of databases. 

At least he was recording and listening to what others said before him: “I’ll have 80 on number 7.” Vox says, combining the numbers of two separate customers’ statements. Then, he pulls out his credit card from his slacks. Even under poor lighting, the ebony and gold surface shines pristinely. 

The demon at the desk raises an eyebrow at him, “We don’t accept cards, newbie.”

They don't — huh! Even the Epirorium down in Cannibal Town accepted credit cards — credit cards were the most effective way to pay for anything! A quick transaction without the hassle of juggling coins and crumbled bills. He cannot help gritting his turquoise teeth in frustration. 

“You cannot be serious.”

“No cards or phones. You’re already breaking one of the rules with that fucking Samsung you got as a head.”

“It’s a LG, not a Samsung.” He can feel his teeth grinding.

“I don’t give a fucking shit.” The demon deadpans. “Do you have any cash?”

Waste of space sinner; if his patience (his very small patience) keeps getting tested tonight, something is gonna go wrong. With a grumble, he searches around in his wallet. Credit card 2, credit card 3, credit card 4, a photo of you and him, credit card 5, cred— a measly five dollar bill. Slamming it down, Vox deepens the pitch and echo frequency of his voice, “Here you go. Five on number 7.”

Worthless piece of shit. 

The demon clears their throat and then hands Vox his ticket. Knowing that is all he needs from observation, the Overlord makes a swift turn to the double door. What greets him is crowds upon crowds of sinners, imps, and hellborns. A stadium of sorts? Vox walks across the top floor, analyzing the circling structure of seats. No one is sitting in the seats but they cascade down in a cup-like structure into this eight foot drop where he can guess the entertainment is. Off the top layer floor, Vox finds a staircase and sedately starts walking down them. All the while he listens to the crowd:

“Kill them! KillthemKillthemKillthem!!”

“The stomach! Go for the stomach!”

“They’re getting destroyed out there. I bet my left eye on this, if they don’t win …”

“Cheater!”

So he was correct in assessing this was a gambling spot. A fighting arena of sorts … Vox thinks he is starting to get all the pieces put together when a loud voice, unamplified by any technology but still pristinely clear, yells, “THE WINNER!” The crowd explodes; Vox lowers his hearing and disturbs the charge into his eyes. His shoes click measured on the stairs. Metal claws grasp the railing and he leans forward, curious and suspecting. 

“Announcing their one thousandth, two hundred and seventy-second win, it is our one and our only (Name)!”

Some skinny demon, smaller than Vox, raises your arm up by the wrist. The golden patterns on your biceps and latissimus glow like a fanning, spiraling wind-chime made of reflective metal. A Jason Pollock of red blood coats your body. Your hands however are thoroughly drenched in red, making the smaller demon’s grip unsteady and slipping. Your expression is tired and unsatisfied. Up and down, your chest rises in heavy pants. And though you look you could really use a nap, Vox thinks you still look stunning.

That is why Heaven felt so far away: in the news studio, in his bedroom, empty from the march of corporate slaves and the clicking keys’ symphony of obedience. Heaven followed after you. 

“(Name).”

Like a dog, you growl around the material in your mouth. Why could he never leave well enough alone? Him and his annoying persistence to always be in your business like a second skin! When he starts pounding on the door, you kick it back hard in retaliation. Thump! Wood groans at the assault. 

Glaring as your name is called again, you work. You had told him it would take five minutes and it had barely been two.

Forceps pinched between your teeth, you gently continue what you came in the restroom to take care of before your management interrupted. (Fuck, you were always under the thumb of someone, bending yourself to them always). Performing any type suture is vastly different when fake silicone skin was not geysering out a steady stream of blood. Pulling the needle holder towards yourself, you push your non-dominant away to lay the first knot. You watch as the loop of blue thread shrinks inch by inch. When the first knot is laid, you twist your hands to do the second knot. 

“(Name)!”

“For fucks sake! I told you five minutes! Not two, not four! Five minutes!” You squeeze the forceps and needle holder in the same hand, harsh metal almost crushing under your grip. You have enough control to not break the tools you need to sew up your thigh. “Am I clear!”

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to get your rocks off. You come out right now. This crazy fan of yours is causing a fucking scene and I won’t have it. It’s either you or nothing.”

“You own the souls of thirty plus fighters! Get one of them to handle it!” 

You look back down at your leg, trying to fruitlessly focus on your knots. Were you on the second or third? 

Your management bristles and shouts back, door almost leaning into the bathroom with the weight of his frustrated voice, “you don’t think I’ve tried that! I don’t know how they managed to do it but no one landed a single punch on them. Like I fucking said, it’s either you or nothing.”

If you were not so equally frustrated, you would have taken a moment to absorb that information. Instead, only a fourth done with your interrupted sutures, you bite back, “unless they want me coming out there with my sweats down my ankles, tell them to fuck off!” You tried to keep profanity out of your words most of the time but this was too frustrating. Putting the forceps back in your mouth, you end the conversation. 

There is a ghastly noise beyond the door. You startle on the toilet seat, the metal hurting your enamels with how your mouth tenses. It is the hollow thumping noise backgrounded by raining sizzles. There is a bloody cough. The raining sizzles billow then fall back, sound momentarily expanding then shrinking. A man’s electronic voice: “I’ve already seen that.” You bite the metal harder in denial.

“(Name),” Vox says. 

Absent of your senses, your hands finally get the second knot tied – it is sloppy and unaligned to the first. 

How? How did he possibly find this place? It is so off the grid of the Pride Ring that no maps or GPS know the name of it. It is a rumored place, absent of technology, that only the lowest of the low lived in. You have been so careful with triple checking your surroundings. No one on this side of town could afford a phone. No one on this side of town could afford to ever get out of it. 

You will never forget meeting Valentino. Long ago, he seemed supernatural and uncanny. Luxury branded cologne burning your nose and pink cigarette smoke irritating your lungs. Everything, the affluent aspects of him, down to his self-possessed smile was something alien and frightening to a sinner like yourself who never experienced the sight of wealth. 

Valentino had been right about it being a hole one would never want to crawl back into. Comparing past and present, you were comparing an orphan on the streets to a prince in the castle. It was obviously better to choose the laps of luxury you had fallen into, content and chesired. 

Yet home called to you and you, the bitch, came back.

You stare hard at the bathroom door separating you and Vox. Blood runs down your left thigh to floors that have never seen a mop. If there is a way to downsize yourself into abysmal nothingness, you yearn for that ability. To shrink away … you wish you could. Slowly, you take the forceps out of your mouth and hold them tight in your lap. Seems like you are going to have to address the open wound. 

“Vox.”

“Can I come in, doll?”

Two things. You wholeheartedly hate two things about his question. The nickname, doll, implying you could be anything like porcelain skinned dolls; then, the fake shyness in his voice, trying to seem meek when Vox is far from that. “No, you can’t. In fact, I think you should leave.” You can smell the mounting violence.

“(Name), please. I just want to know what the problem is.”

“There’s no problem. We’re fine.”

“If we were fine, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Well, I’m fine with me being here, so you’re just going to have to find it within yourself to accept that.”

You surmise this is it. This is going to be the first argument of the relationship. The catalyst of whether you two were going to spark with a negative or positive charge, growing or dying from this verbal fight. Physical fights are your raison d’etre. Now you shift to a wrestling ring. Amputated from the burden of your hands and left with your mouth. Eyes drawn to your lap, you are unsure if you are going to win this. 

“You’re obviously upset over something.”

“I’m not.”

“(Name).”

“Vox.”

“Why can’t you – UGH!” You can tell by the start of his sentence it would erupt into volcanic static and electricity. All the hair on your arms and exposed thighs rise as he sends a wave of energy at something beyond the stall. Good. Physicality you can handle. You wait patiently for Vox to knock down the door. “Do you want us to be public?” Your body locks up, spine pressing hard into the manual flusher behind you. Why – Why is he trying to gauge what has you upset!

As you are reeling from his question, your mouth remains shut. Vox, taking silence as a negative, asks, “are you upset about my past with Valentino because we both have a past with him!” He jumps back when the door thumps and bends with the force of your kick. “Okay, wrong choice of words. Just – ugh! Are you upset about my past with Valentino?”

“I’m not upset over that.”

“Sinners don’t just leave their home from 3 P.M. to 3 A.M. unless they’re upset over something, doll.”

“I’m truly not upset over anything,” you insist. You really need to get back to your sutures before anything has the chance of getting infected. “Vox –”

“Okay, I’ll stop hacking into your phone!” He shouts in defeat.

“You'll stop what!” This time you kick without holding back any of your strength. The locking mechanism splinters down the middle like a wafer cracker. You feel a little victorious in this match when the door hits him in the shoulder, his startled jump just a bit too slow to avoid getting hit.  

“Unholy fuck!”

“My phone,” you bite at him, eye to eye finally. Vox and his Big Brother is Watching complex is one of his worst traits. “You’ve been hacking into my personal phone like I told you never to do.”

“You told me never to do it because of trust. How am I supposed to trust you when you leave for twelve hours in the middle of random nights like you’re on a booty call schedule,” Vox bites back. His red sclera are pointed down, resembling the shape of orange slices with how deeply cut his glare is. Defensiveness is written into each twitch of his body. 

“What, you thought I was cheating on you?”

“What else was I supposed to think!”

That shuts you up. Your temperature on your face rises with each inch of shame that eats at you … well what else was he supposed to think. The image of him, lying in your shared bed alone, head swimming with sharks of queries about your relationship, paints itself in your mind. Eyes down, you concede that that thought of cheating was warranted. Relationships are built on trust. That principle rule is often why relationships fail in Hell. Trust from sinful liars was as valuable as a rock painted gold. Cheating? … Yeah, you cannot blame him there.

“It’s none of that, Vox. I wasn’t upset about any of that and I’m not cheating on you.” 

Even when you cannot look at him, he can tell by the frequency and pitch of your voice that you are telling the truth. A few advanced polygraph technology moves into his right eye, scanning you for any sign of a lie. “I would never cheat on you.” In your chest, your heart beats. Eighty-three beats per minute, completely at rest, completely truthful.

Vox feels awful, finishing up with analyzing your heartbeat. He feels like he has just given a public report wrong on live television and he can feel the social media downfall already materializing in the air; he feels sick to his stomach. And yet he is still mad because, “Why did you not talk to me about this?”

“I was ashamed; and a little scared.” You bite your cheek. “I was ashamed and scared about you finding this place for the longest time.”

Vox raises an eyebrow. “You think I would judge you for needing to blow off steam?”

“This place is beneath you. I know exactly what was going through your head when you entered here: this place is the worst of the bad or this place is the lowest of the low.” Vox inhales through gritted teeth and you know that you hit the bullseye. “I couldn’t just bring you here. You would have been disgusted. And … and that would have led to you eventually being disgusted by me.”

There it is. You guess that is all you really can give him. Still, Vox is looking at you like he does not understand you. He is probably deducing that his past self could have overlooked this revolting place like a lover overlooks an ugly birthmark or stretch-marks. This was not a minor impurity. 

“I fell here.” 

Understanding dawns upon Vox’s face like a gleam on sunrise. Falling … the spot where one fell was sentimental, perhaps not in fondness but certainly in a consequential way. A fool only dares to insult the spot where a sinner has fallen, their second home. 

In a sinister way, this is a homecoming for you. And – sending a wary glance to the bathroom door while he leans into the stall – Vox has realized he committed an illicit act on the same par as perhaps punching your brother or sister. Even if you hated your co-workers?, the sentiment remains. 

The live broadcast analogy is frivolous. Vox feels like he is an intern who just spilt coffee on the front of his boss’s suit a minute before the higher-up was scheduled for a momentail meeting. The burn in his stomach is paralyzing. 

“I-I uh,” Vox stammers. Little sparks are jumping up his body like happy stars. Frustration that mistakenly looks playful. He moans out, “Fuck, (Name).” and leans heavily on the stall’s inside wall.

You chuckle humorously and finally look up. “Yeah. I know.”

“I guess I get … the secrecy now.”

“I’m sorry for not coming clean. Even if this is a really bad hole, it is my hole.” Vox smiles at you, fondly without his previous hesitation. You know by that smile alone that you two are going to survive your first argument. However, you do not want the conversation to shift away from the thesis. Now that you two have finally managed to start it, there is so much that you have to say. “Vox?” He stares in attention. “... We’ve become domestic, Vox.”

“That bad, doll?”

“It’s awful.”

“...”

“I worry – I worry all the fucking time – about hurting you.”

“I’m an Overlord, you’re a sinner. It is a little insulting that you would think –”

“But I do! Every minute, I just worry and worry,” you interrupt, pressing a hand to your chest to emphasize those words. All your hands have managed to do are kill and maim and injure. Fighting quelled your hands. You were positive that if you drained your hands to the point of exhaustion it would keep Vox from getting hurt. “I’ve never been gentle – I’m awful – and I –!”

Vox kneels down on unwashed ground, covered in blood and piss, in his freshly tailored, iron-pressed slacks. Your dead heart pounds at that.

Then, Vox says three little words that you two have decided to put the coin of trust into, paying the fare to a relationship that both of you wanted to keep. “Hey,” he says to snap you out of your thoughts. Then, as he slowly takes the tools out of your hands, Vox says, “I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

As he helps you with your sutures, you still remember when Vox and you had finally said those three little words that built up your relationship. Your contract. One that in a way was not really a contract at all.

I love you. He had said that for the first time when you were checking his grammar for a broadcast. Highlighters and colored pens laid scattered on the ruffled sheets. You had been crossing out the tailing end of a sentence. Eight words stretched out when he only needed three to hammer home his point. You crossed out fifteen words in surprise. In Hell, he is akin to a shark and you are akin to a goldfish. Even so. Sometimes I think love and violence are the same thing. You had meant that as warning but he just leaned into you, biting your tongue when you two kissed. 

Accepting that part of you.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel vox x reader

[the-doomed-witch]

COME HOME TO MY HEART

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You rekindle with a childhood lover, now on the other end of the world. The love is still passionate, vibrant, but just far away. So you go back to meet her. // based on Supercut by Lorde

Word Count: ~4.0k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS + MEN DNI. phone sex, masturbation, long distance lovers meet up, fluff, a littttttleeee angsty, oral (both), fingering (both), strap-on (n receiving), squirting, light bondage, mostly reminiscent

Author’s Note: i’ve written a similar drabble with wanda before, but i wanted to write a complete one shot with infinity war nat bc why not 🤭

MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // REQUESTS CLOSED

— ✦ —

The room is dimly lit, almost completely dark, when you get a call from Nat at 3:00 a.m. There’s obviously nothing else she could possibly be doing right now, so a little sigh leaves your mouth as you prepare yourself to pick it up.

“Hey baby, w-” you attempt to ask her, but she moans loudly. Yes, she’s doing exactly what you thought before picking up her call.

“Y/N, I need you… your touch, your tongue… Ah-!” you listen to her closely, with a hint of redness flushing over your cheeks. You could vividly imagine the mess she would be making around her.

The sounds of her fingering herself stopped, and she asks you, “Wouldn’t you join me detka? Come along with me? Let me hear you say my name? Won’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth was already dripping at the thought of her wanting your tongue, but a pool of slick formed on your cotton panties at the thought of touching yourself to her sounds. You’d never done anything of the sort before, but ever since Nat reconnected with you, it was hard to resist or deny the offer she just gave.

You put your phone aside, on the bedside table, as you take off your clothes. You make her listen to your own sounds of pleasure, all the way in a different country. You can hear her overflowing pussy, and her fingers. Dip, spread, and rub, and again. Every moment or so, she pleads your name, as if you were right there, next to her.

Realising that mere touching is of no use for you to get yourself off, you introduce a toy to the moment, conveniently handy inside your bedside table drawer. “God, Nat, I wish you’d be taking this right now, I’d be pounding into you. You would take me so well…” you narrate to her, fantasising her touch, as you align the toy inside of you.

On the other end of the line, Nat is already reaching her climax. Her breathing is staggered, and her hole sounds as heavenly as her chants of your name. She screams loudly as she comes, hopefully making a mess around herself.

Just listening to her has been giving you chills all over your body. And no sooner than you sense her releasing herself, you do it too.

After moments of mutual silence filled with panting and whining, the question slips out of your mouth,“Why are you so far away, Nat?”

“Why did you move away, Y/N?”

You have no answer that is satisfactory. “I almost forgot that it’s morning for you, you really wanted me to come over and take care, didn’t you?”

“Isn’t it obvious Y/N? I ache for you, crave your touch every single night, hoping you’d come back here someday. We could go on dates, kiss each other, fool around all day in my apartment…”

“Oh my sweet baby… I promise I’ll be there soon. And when we go out on dates, I’ll hold your hand, always. Okay?”

“You’re going to make me come again with all your sweet talk. But this time, I mean it. I want to be able to do everything with you, just how lovers do. I miss you. I miss you so much.” You don’t need her to explain, you become cognizant of how her fingers slipped inside of her again. “Y/N, I’m so wet for you, I wish you were here to see it, do something about it.” she says shortly before cutting the call.

You think it’s by mistake, so you ring her again. She doesn’t pick it up.

With a heart full of longing, you recall your brightest memories with her. Right from coming out to her, to stealing moments alone after the day at high school ended just to give each other a kiss. The time both of you went to prom together, despite all your classmates thinking that both of you did so because “you couldn’t get a nice guy”. But nobody except you two knew the joy of being together.

Natasha Romanoff was your whole life before you left the goddamn place. She was so sure of a future together, before a silent and apologetic breakup came along, followed by you moving out to an entirely different continent. You still remember the tears pooling up around her emerald like irises, and then you attempting to calm her down. Breathe in… 2,3,4. Breath out… 6,7,8 you taught her before leaving as a naive teenager.

A flashback of every subsided memory in your mind filled up your thoughts for the rest of the night. Your heartbeat increases as you think of what you have done for the two of you, and how it was only the most reasonable option given your circumstances. As a young love, you were wild and fluorescent.

But it’s been a few months since you found Natasha again, thanks to an exchange student in your university who turned out to be a mutual friend. And you wouldn’t commit those same mistakes this time.

— ✦ —

After three days of a monotonous routine, you call Nat several times abruptly. Of course, she is busy on the other side of the world, but there’s nothing more prime than your excitement today.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick up!” you repeat to yourself till she actually picks up your call. “Y/N! You’ve been calling me aggressively, care to consider I’m at uni? What’s going on, is everything okay?” She sounds impatient. Not the impatient that you are feeling, but a rather frustrated one.

“Honey! Natty! I’ve got the best news for you!”

“Get to the point quickly! I cannot hold this call for long, my professor will be breaking my neck in half.”

“Mark the date Natty!! I’m just about to scream, oh my God! I love you! So much. Tell me that you love me too when I meet you at the airport, don’t forget to pick me up. I’m sending you the details of my flight, we’ll be walking around the town hand in hand in a few days!”

“Oh my God, Y/N. This is the best news I’ve heard, like ever! Fuck, I’m so going to cry, gosh. I lo-”

“No Natty! Say it when you meet me, I want to hear it in person. I can go for a week. Oh my God, there’s so much I need to do, bye! Take care.”

“Take care moya lyubov! See you soon.”

There’s a week left for you to catch your flight, but there's too much stuff to do. After all, it’s your home country and you will inevitably have to meet your family after years of no contact. That’s a fear, yes, but having Natasha by your side seemed soothing in a way.

Over the seven days, you cause havoc in your own apartment. Random calls with Nat throughout the day, going to university for the selected number of hours, bunking a few lectures to go and relieve yourself with what only Natasha could give you the best.

Definitely, there’s financing trouble to do, calculating the amount you’ll be spending, but you balance it all through with the help of your colleagues pursuing finance related majors.

From the depths of your wardrobe, you select the best pieces of clothing you have. Some bright, some in Natasha’s favourite colours, and some just a little provocative. There are an endless bunch of other things you want to carry but obviously, there’s a restriction on the weight of your luggage.

— ✦ —

“Babe, where are you? I can’t find you here. I’m at Gate 3.” you speak to Nat on call.

“Then what the fuck am I doing at Gate 2?! Wait I’ll have to run over to the other gate, I’m so fucking dumb!”

She turns to the other side, preparing herself to run off to the supposed gateway to find you. Suddenly, two arms grab her waist from behind, kissing her neck as you hold her in a tight embrace. “I was messing with you, love. I’m right here.” You whisper while planting kisses on her whole face as she giggles through your affection.

In the fullness of time, she pulls your face closer into a long awaited, and pined for kiss. Her tongue travels places inside your mouth as soon as you let her in, her hands pulling you impossibly close to her body.

Your hands stay gripping her back, entangled in her now-blonde hair. Your lips don’t depart till you’re both completely out of breath. “Before I forget to say it; I love you too Y/N! With my whole heart.”

“Seven years. Seven fucking years and you just taste the same kind of sweet, Natalia.”

She gives you a gentle smooch before replying, “And for seven fucking years I’ve waited for this. You’re here, you’re so here malyshka, my dearest!” Her muscular arms help you carry your heavy luggage, full of stuff you want to share with her.

She drives you around the city, reminiscing about places you both used to go to. “Wait, here comes the school! Can we please go inside? I want to take a look, it feels like I’ve missed years of stories I need to catch up with.”

You meet a few teachers from your childhood, many others have either left or retired. You meet Mrs. Agatha Harkness, who taught you history. She was the first adult you ever came out to, because you had met her wife Mrs. Wanda Maximoff several times in school.

She looked just the same, as if she were immortal. Agatha greeted the two of you with a cheerful glin, “What a lovely surprise have I got here! The two ladies; the secret high school sweethearts!” Both of you tensely blush at the addressal, and she teases the two of you again, “Your cheeks still redden just the way they did about a decade ago, oh my God!” She adoringly laughs at your innocent faces.

You find your secret spots in hidden staircases, near humongous trees, and the girls’ restroom. In the light of echoing your earliest happy moments, you kiss Natasha every time you find one of those places. The school is empty, since summer holidays are around.

Among other places in the city, you visit parks, cafeterias, and other sites you’ve been to with Nat ever since your childhood. From time to time, you recreate the past photos of the both of you.

You sit in the car after yet another round of wandering, tired of all the travel you’ve done today. You let out a sigh in the sharp afternoon sunlight. You haven’t rested in the last sixteen hours, but it’s been all worth it.

“I can’t imagine I get to say this today - Take me home, baby.” you tease her, tugging on her leather vest. The jacket you don’t understand for what godforsaken reason she still has on, in this summer heat.

Her apartment is a little cosy space, with hints of boldness here and there. Though there are spots recognizable from video calls and pictures, you’re surprised at the bigger picture that you hadn’t yet seen.

You never imagined her to be someone to hang artwork, but she has a few sapphic based paintings along the entrance corridor. You comment on the decoration, “Wow, I love how these are hanging by the entrance door. Someone could walk inside and just go like, ‘Natasha Romanoff. Badass, smartass, and girlkisser.’”

She chuckles at your little quip. Her bedroom is simple, not filled with many things, just some regular personal effects including photo frames. There were mainly pictures of her and Yelena, but some of them also had you photobombing the sisters.

“How’s Yelena?” you ask her, taking a seat by the bed.

“She’s alright. Like you, she doesn’t live here anymore. She goes around the world, teaching women about vigilance. I’m proud of what she does, but I wish she were here.”

“I was hoping I could meet her, we haven’t spoken in almost a decade. What about Bucky? Or Carol? Tony? All of our friends, you know.”

“Most of them left the city, and some, like you, left the country wholly. Bucky’s still here, he’s engaged to Sam. Bruce and Tony went to a science oriented institute. Carol comes around from time to time, to meet us. And well, Steve joined the military like he always wanted to. Everyone’s still in casual contact, except we miss you so much.”

“You know, we should be having a reunion someday. Not this time though, I think I’ll just meet a few people. Mostly, I want to be with you.” Your palm rests on the top of hers, fingers interlocking.

You let out another audible sigh, pushing yourself back into the bed. “You sound really dead beat, you don’t breathe out like this often. Do you want me to get you something Y/N?”

“I think I’m just facing jet lag, I’ll be fine in a day or so. But I could really use relaxation right now.”

She straddles your waist, moving strands of hair out of your face and tucking them behind your ears. “Then let me help you, detka.” Your lips part softly, signalling her to lean in. Instead, she places her thumb on your chin, making you suck on it. You close your eyes as they flutter, enjoying the feeling of her touch.

After a few minutes, she withdraws and gets her weight off your body. “May I?” she seeks your permission before proceeding. You nod at her in response.

She doesn’t pull down your pants immediately. Instead, her hands touch you over your pair of trousers. You cannot feel it as a direct contact with your skin, but it does tingle. A light tickle-like movement of her fingers traces your body, sending literal quivers and twitches from head to toe. Impatiently, you pull up your t-shirt and throw it away into a corner of the room. She unzips her shiny leather vest, only to reveal that there was nothing underneath this whole time. However, she doesn’t take it off her shoulders.

One flick of her hand, and your bra is unhooked. She covers your tits in her saliva with her sucking, biting and licking. You turn into a whimpering mess underneath her.

If she hadn’t cupped your core by pushing her hand down your trousers, you were sure you could’ve leaked your wetness onto the bed. “Fuck Y/N, who thought you’re going to be a dripping pool for me? You want me to fuck you so that you forget how to walk? Leave your legs sore? That’s what you want?” With every question, she spreads your juices up and down. She presses down on your clitoris harshly, “Answer me Y/N.”

“Mm” You give a string of incoherent mumbles as a reply. She unbuttons your pants and helps you take them off, to meet a sight of black lace barely covering any of your pussy. Natasha groans at the view, and decides not to pull them down.

She bends down to get to work as she lets two of her fingers hold the cloth aside. Her tongue rolls up and down and side, experiencing the full taste of your cunt. Every now and then, she pauses, leaves kisses, and moans into your slit, giving you shivers.

The room is filled with your screams, and sounds of your entire body heaving. Nat could sense the walls of your pussy clenching on her tongue. With a soft graceful tug on the bud, you squirt on her face, leaving you utterly embarrassed. “Oh my God baby, I didn’t know you were a squirter!” she says, excitedly. You get flustered as you misunderstand her words and push her away from your body. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Shh. Give me one more, I love it when you do it.” She interrupts your whole line of thought with a kiss, and simultaneously pushing her fingers inside of you, ultimately curling them. Your legs writhe against her touch, as her hand moves faster.

You separate yourself from the kiss to scream when she touches a deep spot inside of you. Your response is enough for her to do it again, and again, and once again, till you release your juices. As soon as you do, she goes down to swallow it all, licking you and your pussy clean.

Throughout the climax, you leave scars on her body in the heat of the moment. Scars on her shoulders with your tight grip, on her back, and bites on her lips till they bled. “Look at me malyshka, look me in the eye when you come. You’re so tight for me, so good.” she says as she rides you through another orgasm, staring into your eyes with nothing but adoration.

You let your panties slip down, exposing Nat to an unfiltered heat. She slaps it hard before spreading it wide with her digits, rolling her tongue inside once again.

When she’s done abusing your poor clit, she massages your sweaty body, helping you relieve all the stress you’ve been facing with the jet lag.

“Nat,” you say, rubbing fingertips on her head in circular motions, “I love you. Let me return the favour, please?”

“Tomorrow. You’re so tired dorogaya, you should sleep. We can continue anytime.”

“Now.” you demand, rolling one of her nipples between your fingers. Her grip on the bed sheet intensifies as you stimulate her gently. “Y/N…”

You shred her of all her garments till she’s left only with her panties. You rub them over her drenched core, and pull them out too. You use them to tie her hands above her head, so that you could have the space all to yourself.

Her holes expand and shrink, waiting to be fucked by you. So you dip your fingers inside her, and pull them out fully, sucking on them for a taste, a nice and loud slurp. Your eyes meet hers, fingers still in your mouth, her hooded glaucous sight connected to yours.

Carrying a string of saliva on their way back in, you penetrate her once again. Pump in, pump out. Your thrusting gets more quick with every moan she lets out with your name on the tip of her tongue.

Something sparked your mind, so you get off the bed and poke around in your luggage. Back in the bed, hands tied, Nat screams at the lack of friction, squeezing her legs together for some sort of relief.

“I’ve wanted to use this on you since so long, baby.” you say as you return with a strap adorned around your waist. “Wouldn’t you like to take my big dick? Make a mess on it?”

You don’t give her time to answer and linger on her top before deciding to fuck her throat. You shove the toy inside, practically gagging the woman beneath you. When you find it satisfactory, you align the tip against her hole, slowly inserting it till you bottom out.

“Ah… feels so full Y/N-”

You start pounding into her vehemently, evoking the loudest of noises from Natasha. “You’re so fucking pretty Nat, taking it so well.”

The words of affirmation made her come hard, almost tripping her over. Beads of sweat roll down her tummy, the dimmed lights giving them a different glow. Just the sight of her was seductive at its finest.

Your movements keep going mercilessly, till you turn her around and plunge into her even more rapidly from the back. And just before she is about to come undone, you pull out and put your mouth to work.

She keeps on grinding against your face even after coming, just to feel you in the places she always needed you the most. The panties tied around her wrists tear apart with a single attempt from her, just because she wants to push your face further inside. You moan and occasionally breathe deep inside her pussy, driving her wild. A little pressure on the clit and she’s coming again. You lick her thoroughly clean, not letting a single droplet get to waste.

“Y/N… too much… please.” she begs you to stop and so you do, with one last taste of her delicate sweetness. You lay down next to her, on bed sheets covered in the liquids of pleasure and lust. While staring at the ceiling, she utters, “That was the best experience I’ve ever had and you’re the worst tease.”

“Can you really blame me though?” You wheeze at her comment, and turn towards her, the weight of your right leg on the top of her. Fingers find their way through her blonde hair again, scratching her scalp. “When did you choose to get rid of my favourite redhead?”

“You know it’s your favourite. What would have been the point if I never saw you again? I changed it a couple of years ago.”

“Not that I’m complaining, you look really hot as a silver blonde. If I didn’t know you and you walked up to me I think I would literally do whatever you asked me to.”

“Except you know me, and still do it.”

After what almost felt like an hour of comfortable silence, she cuddles you like a big spoon, which is highly unlikely of her. But you are not whining, you love the warmth of her body, and her soul.

— ✦ —

Fast forward to the last day of your stay. The two weeks you’ve spent with Nat have already come to an end, and you find it difficult to believe. You struggle to pack your belongings, in a reluctance to leave the place. But you need to prioritise some things.

On a long session of scrutiny with Nat, you decided not to visit your parents. You’ve had your fair share of trauma already.

She smiles at you throughout the day, but her eyes clearly convey, “Please stay.” You’re convinced that the departure is going to be harder than you imagined it, but you had no choice.

Before leaving her at the airport, you don’t stop kissing her. She’s almost out of her breath, but doesn’t spare a single moment. Evidently, she’s trying to hold on to every bit of you that she could keep with her.

There are tears in her eyes, on her cheeks, as she cups your face even more close. “Don’t leave, malyshka. I can't beat this pain again. Please stay.”

“You know I can’t, honey. You know that if I could, I would.” you begin crying yourself, too scared to forget what it felt like to hold her in your arms.

“Shh. Breathe in… 2,3,4. Breathe out… 6,7,8.” you teach her again, exactly how you did years ago, when you broke up with her.

She didn’t have it in herself to let go of her grip on you, but a warning announcement for the passengers had to do it. She tastes your lips one last time before letting you go, unsure of when she will ever get to do it again.

But she doesn’t ask you about you coming back. Natasha is, in all respects, confident that you would. The ring on her finger does it for her, as she waves goodbye.

On your flight back home, you’re sure you’ll be permanently moving back someday, the ring on yours does it for you.

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #black widow

[scenteddelusion5]

Could you write a Vox x Alastor’s Child? Wherein reader views their fights as a “bonding activity” because it relieves stress for the both of them because they’re not willing to kill each other due to not wanting to hurt reader and they’ll be civil when they need to be. A large chunk of their rivalry being due to Alastor seeing Vox as trying to steal his child from him (making them his partner both romantically & business wise, them becoming an actor) and Vox seeing it the same way with Alastor trying to drag them on random outings when they’re supposed to film or have time together. - @am-i-interrupting

"Two households, both unalike in dignity, In our unsightly hell, where we lay our scene," PART 1

Vox x gn reader (Alastor's child)

Note: At first I wasn't sure if I wanted to do this one, especially because i had already written a daughter character, already have a daughter oc myself and then would have this child. But then I had this Romeo and Juliet inspo in mind and now I wanted to do it.

!!!!! NOTE ABOUT REQUEST !!!!!

So I really liked the idea of this Vox and Alastor dynamic but I can't write short stories so instead I'm doing a 2 or 3 parter about how they got into this dynamic. So they aren't like how you requested yet.

Word count: 3436

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

"Two households, both unalike in dignity, In our unsightly hell, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where denizen blood makes denizen teeth unclean, From forth the innovation of these two foes, A pair of star-crossed lovers arise,"

Y/n sat on the balcony of their father's mansion. Nothing but trees, or at least hell's version of trees, could be seen from there. The bustling city was ways away from the territory most denizens were too afraid of to enter. The book they were reading was written a small auteur in hell, it was obvious that he had taken great inspiration from a much more famous work. An old-fashioned, cannibal and a modern man, with more savoury tastes, falling in love, their families hate each other yada yada yada. Nothing they hadn't read before.

The demon, whom resembled a deer, put their book down and started messing with the knobs on their older radio. It sprung alive with the voice of their father; Alastor the Radio Demon, feared all throughout hell. On his broadcast played a catchy jazz song that, every once in a while, got interrupted by agonizing screams.

"That was an amazing number." The Radio glowed green as he spoke. "It brings me all the way back to the nights I spend in the speakeasies. Let's continue on-"

Everyday Alastor would broadcast the news and gossip of the week at exactly 10 a.m. and Y/n would always tune in.

"- Oh, and make sure to stay clear of the Carmine mansion this evening. The overlords are having a little get-together. So if you don't want to be served for dinner, I recommend you go home early tonight."

Right, Camilla Carmine was holding a party to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Carmine industries. Y/n was so excited. Normally their father wouldn't let them go to parties, but considering he would be there, he allowed them to go this time.

"Lastly I have a personal message to my favourite fan. I couldn't have wished for a better fawn. I hope you liked the breakfast I cooked especially for you, that demon was a struggle to catch. Hahaha," he laughed, "see you after the broadcast. Let's put on (song), it's not really my style but considering it's your favourite, I can make an exception." Their song slowly came on while Alastor's voice faded.

Y/n hadn't made friends outside of cannibal town. They had to admit they were a bit nervous...

The day went by faster and faster as the night grew closer. Y/n had put on their green gown/suit. It was beautiful; adorned with black lace, a pattern of turns and roses sewn into it.

"What do you think?" Y/n asked while turning around.

Alastor, whose suit didn't look all THAT different from his usual one, studied them up and down. "You look delightful, fawn. Every single demon in that building will see green from jealousy."

"Thanks dad."

Despite the fact that cars were already owned by most citizens in the time Alastor was alive, he preferred to walk, even to such an important event as this. So, when the two off them arrived, they stepped in through a side door instead of the big red carpet where the limousines dropped off guests.

"Remember Y/n, don't talk to people you don't know and if something goes wrong, find me or Rosie." Alastor's antlers started to grow and static filled the air. "I'll destroy however dares to hurt you."

"Don't worry, dad. I'm an adult, I can take care of myself." They laughed off their dad's threatening stature. "But if something happens I can't handle, I'll go to you."

The ballroom was decorated with black gold and white. All kinds of denizens were roaming around, from high standing overlords to imp servants. There were no familiar faces. The only other overlord Y/n had ever met besides Alastor was Rosie. Even so they had immediately split up from Alastor in favour of exploring the buffet table.

After picking up a plate, they started picking the tastiest little snacks. There was even a few dishes with demon in them provided for the cannibals.

Vox had spent four hours making himself presentable in a fancy blue suit and a new screen protector. the other Vees had matched his style. So when the three stepped out of their high-tech car and got bombarded with paparazzi, it was clear that the three belonged together.

It isn't often that they had the chance to converse with other demons of their status. It was the perfect chance to make new connections.

Vox had gotten the chance with a few other demons before it happened. His eyes landed on the most beautiful person Vox had ever seen. Their looks hypnotized the tv-demon... Which was supposed to be HIS power.

"Hey Voxie, you never guess who I saw~... Voxie? Vox... VOX!" No matter how hard Valentino tried, he wasn't able to capture Vox's attention. "What are you looking at?..." Following his colleague's line of sight, Val's eyes landed on them too. "Oooohhh, I see~ Should I go talk to them for you, maybe I can convince them to stay the night in our bed."

Vox slightly buffered. "What! NO! I'm going myself, yeah, I can handle this myself."

Y/n was enjoying a lovely tea sandwich with raw, demon heart on it, when a person they didn't recognize came up to them.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." The man with a tv for a head grabbed their hand and placed a kiss on their hand. "I'm Vox, and you are?"

"Y/n, and it's a pleasure to meet you too," they introduced themselves before shoving another tea sandwich in their mouth.

"You must really like those sandwiches."

Y/n aggressively nodded her head. "YES! Here try one!" they shoved one of them in Vox's face who reluctantly eat it.

"Wow, that's... an unique flavour."

"Yeah, heart does taste very peculiar but I like it."

It put Vox off that the demon had spoken so casually about cannibalism, however, he was even more put off that he was just fed ACTUAL DEMON. So, when they weren't looking, he drank an entire glass of champagne in one go, hoping to wash off the taste.

"Anyway... I was hoping to dance with you." Vox offered out his hand but pulled it away again when he saw the dissapointment in their face.

"I would love too but I don't think my father would be happy to see me dancing with anyone. I'm sorry."

He thought about it for a few seconds. "Y'know I'm quite familiar with this place, there is a smaller ballroom a few doors down. If you want to, you could take me up on the offer there." The overlord suggested.

Normally, Y/n would've never said yes. Going to an empty room with a stranger who must have quite a lot of power. Only an idiot would follow him... Maybe they were a bit of an idiot but Y/n was intrigued by the man, so much so that they decided to go.

"Alright."

Hours went by while the two of them danced, talked and drank in the empty ballroom. Y/n felt themself falling deeper and deeper in love with the handsome stranger. The confident way he spoke, the way he buffered and glitched whenever he got flustered, the way he would get angry when they hurt his pride by laughing at his attempts to woo them. He was perfect.

"Now, tell me Vox. Who exactly are you? Like, I know you your name but you must have been invited for a reason, so...??" Y/n asked.

"You mean you really don't recognize me?" Vox asked flabbergasted. "I'm the CEO of VoxTech." The other demon still looked confused. "The biggest tech company of hell? We release new products almost every single day."

"I'm not big on modern technology, I died during the 1920's," Y/n explained, "I tried using a computer once and it didn't go well."

"Well, that's really no good. As a demon of high society, you should keep up with modern invention, if you ever want the help I don't mind teaching you how to use it." Vox stared at them lovingly. "You know what, I'll even give you a phone. Give your address and I'll send you on-"

"HEY! Vox!" A girl with pink and purple hair walked in. She wore a poofy pink dress and her face was covered in make-up. Her bloodshot red eyes landed on the person standing next to her friend. "Oooeeehhh, and who are you?"

"Velvette, Y/n. Y/n, Velvette." Vox introduced them to each other. "They have been great company tonight, right love?" He caressed the side of their face."

Y/n got redder and redder as the conversation went on. "Yeah, it was great."

"Well, sorry that I gotta burst your bubble." Velvette interrupted the sweet moment between the two. "But the Carmines are about to have their speech and you know how pissy those old fuckers get about shit like this."

Y/n looked at the clock hanging on the wall and realised they had been gone from the party for hours. "Yeah, I should really be going back too. My father is provably worried about me."

The three swiftly made their way back to the main ballroom, Velvette joking about the two lovebirds the whole time.

Once there, they gathered by the crowd standing around a podium. Carmilla was standing there, already holding her speech about the start of her company, the amazing growth and the future. Although a very basic speech, demons were at the fact that the Carmine had mentioned future dealings and couldn't wait for the opportunity to become a part of them. One of them seemed to be the handsome TV Demon that Y/n had hopelessly fallen in love with over the course of the evening.

"Excited I see," Y/n said while pointing to the electricity coming off of Vox, "I'm not sure that a deal with Carmilla is going to happen if you electrocuted her."

"Hey! I'm a great negotiator. Thank you very much!" The man joked.

Alastor had kept his child in his sight the whole evening.... Until he didn’t. They were right over by the buffet table just a second ago. Y/n couldn’t have gone far. So, he went on a search, but after an hour, he found nothing. He even asked Rosie for help but no luck. He had stayed looking until Carmilla started her speech and even then Alastor still kept an eye open for her.

What he never expected to see, was his child, his lovely, well-behaved, miracle of a child, to be joking around with his nemesis. And were they.... Blushing?

Static filled the air around him, symbols floated around his head. The terrifying shadow of his ever-growing antlers made every demon and demoness run out of his way.

Once he got really close he could hear their conversation.

"You're such a dork!" His child laughed.

Alastor could only see their back, but he knew what their smile looked like right now. Unlike his plastered smile that hid his emotions, Y/n's was genuine.

"I'm the dork? Have you se-" Vox's eyes drifted to the strange red symbols, when he noticed Alastor standing there. A small x on his forehead, eyes like dials and his smile wide.

Normally, during their fights Alastor would be somewhat lenient with him. He still roasted Vox to the living world and back but he never outright tried to murder him. This meant that he had never experienced the true wrath of the Radio Demon. But right in that moment, Vox felt like his days were numbered.

"Holy shit," Velvette muttered.

Noticing the two Vees were looking behind them, Y/n turned around and as soon as they did, Alastor switched back to normal like clockwork.

"Oh, hey dad!" Y/n greeted him sweetly. "What are you doing?"

"Oh nothing, little fawn," the Radio Demon spoke, distain clear in his tone of voice, "now tell me, why are you wasting your time conversing with such vermin? Especially, a styleless one like that insecure, copycat, picture box."

Vox was still staring between the two of them. Y/n was Alastor's child! The one the Radio host always talks about, the only thing that freak actually seems to care about. Why did it have to be them the overlord had fallen in love with at that ball?

"You are the Radio Demons child!" The man freaked out.

"I didn't think you would care about that..." Y/n's face turned into a frown, unlike their father’s whose grin only grew wider.

"I-I" The tv started buffering. " I don't..."

"Come one Y/n, let's find someone with more class." Alastor turned around, his child in toe.

"Wow, can't believe you got the hots for that man's child." Velvette quickly snapped a picture of Vox's stunned face and send it to Valentino. You'll never guess what happened. She typed under it.

Y/n looked down at their shoes, not wanting to see their father's victorious grin. "I can't believe you just did that."

"Whatever do you mean, little fawn?"

"You know what," they replied sounding angry this time, "why did you scare away the first real people I made friends with here in hell?!"

Y/n had never had an attitude before, never talked back, never even sounded annoyed. It scared Alastor for a few seconds. "That... Vox isn't the type of person you should make friends with'."

"Isn't that for me to decide?" Tears filled their eyes and their voice was strained. "I want to go home."

Once home, Y/n attempted to rush up the stairs but was stopped by Alastor’s shadow grabbing them by the arm. They were struggling to get away when Alastor cupped their face with his hands and looked suspiciously in their eyes. He was searching for something.

"Let go of me!" Their eyes glowed as they screamed.

When Y/n tried to pull away again, Alastor's grip tightened. "You've never acted like this before. He must have hypnotised you, so be a doll and let me find his spell!"

But no matter how much he searched for even a sign of demonic manipulation. Did Vox not hypnotize them? Then why were they.... Because of Alastor's second of confusion, Y/n could quickly pull away. They rushed up to their room and locked the door.

Alastor just stood there, stunned until a knock came from the door. He straightened his suit before opening it.

"Hi Alastor, I saw you two... Leave and thought you might need a listening-ear." Rosie stepped inside and made her way to the dining room. "Besides I could really use a cup of thee after such a long night."

"You know me too well, Rosie. I'll get some snacks too."

"They've never even raised their voice at me before but one hour with that noisy rectangle and Y/n is acting like a rebelious teen." Alastor took a bite from the index finger snack. "I tried to look for a sign of hypnosis but there was nothing. What did he do to them?"

"Ever thought about it that Vox didn't do anything?" Rosie suggested.

Alastor's pupils turned into dials. "Hmm? What did you just say?"

"Ya have to think about this differently." Rosie took a sip from her tea. "A demon always buried in their books with little to no interaction with the outside world goes out for the first time in years and meets a charming man who's interested in them. It's just like one those romance tropes they always reads about."

The other overlord considered it. "Then what do you suggest we do about it. How can I show them that they deserve much better?"

"First of all, have a conversation with them. A genuine one."

"And then?"

Rosie's smile showed her sharp teeth. "Then-"

Vox was still buffering from that crazy night. He fell in love with ALASTOR'S CHILD, for god's sake. He was connected to his advanced computer, rebooting his systems. Images of Y/n, memories he saved in his files, flashed over the many monitors in his room. The doors to his office opened revealing the other two Vees.

"Damn, Voxie. You've never had to reboot after we've 'hang out' before." Valentino leaned over his colleague's shoulder. "You aren't going to demote me from being your favourite, right?"

"I wouldn't sound so confident Val. Vox was pretty hooked last night, you should've seen him." Velvette pulled up the picture she took. "This photo doesn't do his obsession justice."

"Stop it, Velvette." The TV Demon unplugged himself from the computer set-up. "It's never going to work out anyway. And it's all that shitty, old demon's fault!"

"You really think that?" Velvette asked. "I mean, they looked pretty interested to me... You could always go over to them and explain yourself. Oh and while you're there, try to find a snoop that'll make my drama Sinstagram go viral."

"Voxie doesn't need them. Just stay with me and I'll make you forget them in just five minutes." The moth demon's cigarette smoke formed a heart.

The screen buffered once more. "Get out! The both of you."

"I'll wait in my room." The two Vees made their way out.

Once he was sure they were gone, Vox pulled up another file. Y/n's beautiful face showed on the screen and their addicting laugh filled the room.

Y/n sat against their door, crying. They could see the moon through the balcony window. It's red light filled the room. They couldn't believe their father had reacted like that. And they couldn't get the face Vox made when he released their connection to the Radio Demon out of their head. It plagued their mind since the moment it happened.

Their room seemed so small, so empty, so cold. Nothing had physically changed but mentally, emotionally, everything was different. They got a taste of that beautiful romance and it was taking away from them in the blink of an eye.

Y/n was so deep in their self-pity that they didn't notice the moonlight was blocked by something. They were jolted out of their own thoughts by a knock on the window.

Looking up they saw none other than Vox standing there. His suit was covered in dirt and branches that he got certainly caught in on his way there.

They quickly walked over to open the door, stumbling on their way.

"Y/n, I- uhm, you must find it weird that I show up on you balcony like this." Vox's screen got slightly red. "I wanted to apologize for this evening. I don't care who your father is, I- uhm I care about you."

"Vox, I need you to be honest with me. Did you hypnotize me?"

Y/n's sad look broke his heart. Who got into their head that he hypnotized them?

"Y/n, I didn't and I will never do it." He put his hand on their cheek. "I promise."

Blush decorated their face. "Then can you tell me what's going on between you and my dad?"

"Of course."

The two sat on their bed, cuddling. Vox had told them about everything. The start of their feud, his constant fighting with Alastor but also the fact that he fell in love with them at first sight. It was a lovely, domestic moment.

"One time I got so angry at your dad that I made a complete smear campaign against him. it didn't work out, he completely cut off all my broadcasts, all seventy channels."

"I think he once told me about that," Y/n laughed, "you get more under his skin then you think. Even before he saw he two of us together."

"If you say so..."

Their banter went on for hours. The two did their best to keep sounds to a minimum so Alastor wouldn't find out.

"Oh, before I leave, here." Vox handed them a white box. "it's a phone. I made sure to remove all spying devices and I programmed you a special assistant. It should help you figuring out how it works."

"You put spying devices in people's phones?"

"Uh-I"

"Don't worry, I get it. It's hell. There is no need to explain yourself."

"Right." Vox tried to laugh it off like Y/n was doing. "It's getting late, I should go. Wouldn't want the Radio Demon to know I'm meeting up with his daughter without a chaperone."

This time when Y/n was separated from Vox, they felt fine. Because they knew that he loved them. They were still longing for him, but not in a sad way. It was pure, romantic love.

Part 2

Masterlist/request guidelines

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel vox x reader #hazbin vox #vox x reader #vox x you #hazbin

[flowercrowngods]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 (these make one big story, you won't understand this part without the others)

day 04: here come the tears

a/n: the people have requested a surprise eddie pov and i have decided to pull a eurovision and ignore the public vote, just a little bit. but you get a tiny eddie pov, as a treat 🤍

Steve is crying. It's 1:07 a.m. and Steve is crying. And there is nothing Eddie can do about it as he's lying in bed, his heart breaking further with every passing second that they lie there in silence, quiet sniffles carrying over the phone. 

Steve is crying and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not talking to him and Eddie is breaking. Steve is not okay, and neither is Eddie. They're both breaking. 

And Eddie doesn't know what to do about it, how to fix it. How to make it better. How to tell Steve that he misses him, how to ask him to talk to him, how to keep him. To stop him from slipping through his fingers further and further until all there is is silence. 

"You know," his mind wanders back to years ago, his heart cracking at the memory. "I had the biggest crush on him for the longest time. Forever, really."

He remembers the way Steve's eyebrows shot up, his eyes round with... shock? Surprise? Or maybe something bad? 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah," Eddie had chuckled, fiddling with the straw in his drink to give his hands something to do. "Remember that kiss?" Steve nodded. "Well." Another chuckle, awkward this time, and possibly too revealing. 

Steve grinned at him, a self satisfied smirk that wavers just a little. "So you're saying you did fall madly in love with me, Munson?" 

Eddie's breath had hitched a little because Steve remembered those words so perfectly that had since doomed Eddie completely. But he covered it up with a laugh so easily, he was sure Steve didn't notice. 

"Maybe," he grinned. "But eh, that's in the past." 

It wasn't a lie; not really. But wasn't the truth either. 

The truth was that Eddie had moved on. The truth was that it's the kind of crush that was never really a crush. The kind that is a Forever more than anything else. 

The kind that will always be there, a flame burning inside my chest that carries your name and keeps it alive, keeps me warm. The kind of flame that will always be ready to become a bonfire again. Just say the word, Stevie. It's written in the universe. Say the word and I'll be yours. 

"Good," Steve said after a while, and Eddie remembers frowning, remembers that he wanted to ask what that tone was, what Steve was thinking. If he was worried or disgusted or felt betrayed that Eddie's been so hopelessly and helplessly in love with him. 

But all he said was, "Yeah. Remember Chrissy? We're kinda official now." 

And Eddie had known then just as he does now, that he'll be a happy man with Chrissy. She's his best friend, a sunshine on bleak days. She's no Steve, but she makes him happy. He had to move on from Steve – to try – and allow himself his own kind of happiness. He'd never expected to find it with Chrissy, but he loves her so much. He's grown to love her in the past years – not the movie kind of love, not the all-encompassing Steve kind of love, because that flame inside his chest can still only carry one name. 

But life is not a movie. And love is not always a fire. But he's still warm, still content, still happy. And so is Chrissy. She knows about his flame, says she understands. Eddie thinks he has one of her own, but he never asked; just held her that night, creating more of that silent happiness.

…Is he happy? Lying in bed, listening to Steve's quiet breaths that are barely audible over the phone, remembering the kiss, the confession, the Forever that he tried to move on from, he wonders what he's doing. Wonders if that contentment is worthwhile if it somehow lead him to losing Steve. 

Did he miss something? Did he fuck up without realising? 

He can't ask; Steve won't talk. 

All he can do is lie there and feel that flame that still carries Steve's name after ten, eleven, twelve years scorching his insides. 

All he can do is wonder if the whispered, "Good night, Stevie. I miss you," is some kind of goodbye. All he can do is lie awake all night and wonder where they started losing each other. 

~*~

Missing Eddie is worse than loving him. Missing Eddie makes it feel like all the heartbreak songs are written for Steve and his pain that will persist.

It’s been three months since the engagement party, and the sharp, biting heartache that cut into his lungs every time Steve tried to take a deep breath has dulled now, turned into a constant ache, an emptiness, the sorrowful traces of where an I love you turned into an I miss you. 

He’s barely talking to Eddie anymore, and with every passing day he just misses him more. 

Steve types the words I miss you over and over and over again, but never hits send. Just stares at them, wondering if Eddie knows. Wondering if he’s doing the right thing. He isn’t. There is no right thing. Nothing is right. Not without Eddie. 

He scrolls up in their chat, past Eddie’s questions if he’s okay, past his very own I miss yous, up and up and up to the strings of hearts, to the inside jokes, to the gentle teasing, to the You’re my favourite persons, to the happiness and joy and good, good times. 

He scrolls and scrolls until his phone vibrates and tells him there’s a new message in the chat. Steve frowns, his hollow heart racing as he scrolls down again to see Eddie’s new message. 

Eddie Munson: — Can I come over? 

Steve frowns. 

— why? are you okay? 

Eddie Munson: — No. — Nothing is okay. You’re gone and you’re not talking to me and I miss you and I’m losing you and I don’t know why — I dont know anything. — I just wanna know, wanna talk, wanna understand — I wanna fix this. I fucked up, I think, and I wanna make it better. — I need to talk to you — Please. Please can I come over 

Steve swallows hard, as he reads the incoming messages over and over again, watching the little bubble that says Eddie’s typing still. Watching as it disappears and reappears, reading until his eyes begin to sting and his vision is blurred with tears for the first time this week. 

Letting them fall as he types, 

— no. please dont 

Eddie doesn’t reply to that, and Steve breathes out long and hard, throwing his phone to the side, not caring where it lands on the couch as he slumps over to the other side, turning up the music even louder. 

Oh, can you tell I haven’s slept very well Since the last time that we spoke. I said, ‘Please understand I’ve been drinking again And all I do is hope.’

It consumes him, this song and the way it was written for him. The way it was written about him. Because he has no right to ask Eddie to stay. He’s the one who’s leaving. He’s the one not telling Eddie what is wrong, why he’s pulling back so suddenly. 

I’m not strong enough for the both of us. What was I supposed to do, You know I love you. Please, stay.

Please stay. Please, please, please stay. It’s about him. It’s about Eddie. About them. 

And Steve listens to it over and over again, not caring that his neighbours will know it by heart by know, will be so tired of him wallowing for weeks and months, and will come knocking soon. He doesn’t care, not when Mayday Parade are singing, All the love’s still there, I just don’t know what to do with it now. 

He types that into Eddie’s chat. Doesn’t hit send. Sends it to Robin instead, and gets a shaking hands emoji in return. It makes him smile as he re-starts the song. 

~*~

That night, he wakes around 2 a.m. to a missed call an hour ago and one new message on his mailbox. He lifts his phone to his ear with shaking hands and bated breath, a pit opening in his stomach when he hears the Judas Priest song that’s been in his Sad Eddie playlist since the beginning. 

His heart cracks open when he hears Eddie’s sniffle, a heavy sigh, and another sniffle, followed by a little, Fuck. 

“Stevie? I’m… You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to just— to just disappear. To slip through my fucking fingers, or float away like a— a dream, when you wake up, and you wanna go back to sleep because it was a good dream, and you— I don’t wan’ you to be a good dream Steve. You’re like… Fuck, man!” 

Eddie’s voice is breaking, and so is Steve’s heart as his hand begins to tremble and he sits up in bed, closing his eyes, squeezing them shut because he doesn’t want to see the world as Eddie’s rambling at him. 

“I miss you. I miss you so much, and I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t… I don’t wanna miss you. How do I get you back, Stevie? Please just… God, please just talk to me. I’d do anything for you, you know that. Just tell me, just say the word. Just… Just say the word, please.” 

There’s silence after that, only Judas Priest’s Here come the tears over and over as the song is ending. Steve is crying as he listens to Eddie’s silence. 

“Just. Just… Please, Stevie.” 

The call ends then, the line cutting to the staticky voice instructing him to save or delete the message. Steve saves it. He doesn’t know why. 

He also doesn’t know why he’s scrolling through his contacts with trembling hands and hits Call when he reaches Eddie. 

The call doesn’t even get to the second ring before it’s picked up already. 

“Stevie?” Eddie sounds breathless, wild, and just a little hoarse. Like he was still crying. 

“Hi,” he says lamely, still shaking, a little breathless himself, and with absolutely no idea what he should say. 

“I’m… Hi.” 

Silence falls, and Steve wipes at his eyes. He’s still in bed, just sitting there with his phone pressed to his ear, and the ball that’s coiled inside him is growing larger and larger with each passing second that he doesn’t say Sorry, that he doesn’t say I miss you, too. That he doesn’t say I love you. 

“Can I come in?” 

He blinks, the question throwing him off his thought spiral. “Huh?” 

“I’m sort of… outside your building right now.” 

Why, he wants to ask. No, he wants to say. You’re gonna see, you’re gonna know, you’re gonna hate me forever. 

“Okay,” he breathes and climbs out of bed, blanket around his shoulders despite the summer heat, because suddenly he’s freezing. He buzzes Eddie in, listens to him on the phone as he walks up the stairs, neither of them thinking of hanging up, and opens his doors with shaking, trembling hands. 

tagging: @sexymothmanincarnate @mcneen @livsters @eddiemunchondeeznuts @abstractnaturaldisaster @steddie-as-they-go @hyperfixationgoddess @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @imzadidragonfly @eddiemunsonswife @bidisastersworld @ghost-ly-s @romanticdestruction @walkingaftermidnight07 @anaibis @rainydays35 @mightbeasleep @sunfloweringstories @korixae @tuesdaycats @totoroinatardis @ilovebookshowboutyou @musical-theatre-gay @theluckyalien @copingmechanizm @srra @changelingbaby @sassygoop @obsessivelyme @r0binscript (sorry if i missed anyone just give me a shout if i did <3)and thanks to everyone who said nice things about this 🤍🌷

come back tomorrow/later for [redacted] | read here

#steddie fic #steddie #steddieweek2023 #steddie week fic #steve harrington whump #eddie munson whump #dio words #hi uhm. please nobody be mean to eddie for moving on or think he's emotionally two-timing chrissy i swear i'll try to make it make sense #but moving on is good and healthy pls don't give him shit for it <3 sometimes in life that's what happens #also thank you all for being so nice to me legit all your comments and tags keep me going 🥺😭🤍🌷 thank yous