#ANYWAY BEFORE THE POWERS GO OUT FOR THE THIRD TIME

[2kmps]

DARK POOL

aquatic monster x reader | 18+ | 2.8k

story summary; your granduncle explains that the noises at the bottom of the lighthouse and the missing chunk out of his leg are from swimming rats. you let him think you're a fool.

story warnings; some graphic depictions that some may consider gory, mentions of biting, mentions of rats, creature in captivity, explicit sexual content, double penetration (not safe), prose + detail heavy, implied breeding, not proofread.

if you enjoyed it, please reblog + interact!!

Granduncle told you that the rats in Cape Tellis liked to swim and when they were in search of food, they didn't care how long they'd have to paddle through the water to find it. Some would simply drift with the current for days; black-gray fur rotted off, skin peeled off bone, little faces disfigured by sea and salt, but they would keep going until their bodies nudged the rust-red walls of the lighthouse and found the energy to scale upward to a window and squeeze inside.

He mentioned this anytime you had something to say about the ruckus down in the basement—sometimes scratching, sometimes powerful, erratic thuds that you felt pulse through the floorboards, through the rubber soles covering your feet, and into your skin. That place was sealed behind a rusted metal frame and door, deadbolted and locked with a key he always carried on a chain through a belt loop.

It always jangled when he walked because he had a limp so bad that his entire leg always dragged a pace behind him and took a great amount of effort to haul forward. When you had asked of it, as memory dictated a handful of years prior he didn't have such trouble, he first claimed it had been a bad sinus infection that got into his brain and disrupted something neurologically. In another instance where he had stopped for a third time on an evening stroll together, he had said he scuffed with one of Cape Tellis’ formidable rats and the mangy bastard had won and taken a chunk of meat out of him before scuttling back into the walls.

“Just ignore it, it's normal that they're active this time of year,” he was saying while scraping fried eggs out of a pan onto your plate. Meanwhile, you winced to the usual commotion downstairs. “They get real flighty this time of year. The rats do. They get frisky and chase each other all around. I don't know nothin' about them besides being persistent, ugly things, but it may well be their special season.”

You ripped a sharp edge in your toast and prodded the egg yolk until the sunny orb burst, oozing out across your plate before you could scoop it all up in the bread.

“How long does it take for the rats to go away?” you asked with some interest in his answer, if for no other reason to know what sort of yarn he'd spin next. The bread was buttered, the eggs unseasoned, but you ate it all anyway while watching him. “Are they permanent residents or do they come and go? You must be feeding them if they stay here.”

Granduncle took a long time to situate his bad leg under the table, longer to arrange his silverware and the direction of his food. “Oh, they have no interest in leaving, I don't think. If they really wanted to, I imagine they would've jumped back into the water and swam somewhere else.”

Each time the noises rose up between the wood slats under your feet during breakfast, granduncle told you not to worry about it, but you quieted every sound in your head to better hear rattling metal, reverberations of some sort—like having a man’s deep, anguished moan pressed right against your ribs. You weren't sure what you were looking for when you listened, only that you knew they were rats.

Granduncle looked at you, his appetite pushed away towards the center of the table with his plate. “Let's go for a walk, yes? The rain won't come back for a few hours.”

When you did walk after a meal, granduncle would often have to lie down with his dead leg propped up on a short stack of pillows for a long while. It became something of a habit of yours to exert him too much after dinner, forcing him to keep up with your youthfulness—your merry prances and unburdened soul.

For what it was worth, he did the best he could to never be a hindrance. He didn't seem to fully understand his own limitations either, making it quite a simple thing to steal the key from his belt loop while he slept—deep and silent, so much so that you needed to drop a tissue over his face from make sure he was still breathing—and unfasten the lock to descend a set of slick, stone stairs.

There wasn’t much to at the bottom; a space half-flooded from seasonal rains raising the sea-level, old pieces of ship equipment hanging like ornamentation, an old folding chair that had yet to rust despite damp air, and a large hole in the ground that was dark like the throat of a nightmare envisioned in the most precious hours of night.

You held a plate of raw meat, freshly thawed from the freezer, outstretched with a flickering lantern in your other hand. Anywhere else, you'd have just brought a flashlight—but, he didn't like the bright lights, had ripped the last one out of your hands and smashed it against the wall. Oil lanterns were better tolerated, but he still seemed to cower from the gentle flickers.

So, you placed the meat on the seat of the folding chair and walked closer to the hole, wading a hand through seawater until touching braids of cold metal, chains pulled taut as though weighted down by an anchor. You gave the closest one a tug, always with the same caution as a child gripping his mother's clothes in uncertain times, and backed away.

He never made noise when he surfaced, always frightfully quiet, only indicated by a trail of bubbles that followed after where he roamed underwater. The first thing to emerge was a dorsal fin flared proudly from the middle of his head until midway in the deepest curve of his back. His eyes were on you, abysmal black things with a luster you likened to a landbound fish, and skin and scales that moved stiffly with his facial movements.

“You,” said the creature, toneless and in a voice far too raspy and deep to have an equal match amongst human men. “You have come. You are here.”

Months ago, he hadn't been capable of simple speech such as this. The noises he made were incompatible to anything you had ever heard—perhaps mere vocalizations he utilized underwater, possibly something long gone and archaic—but he had started mimicking you when you'd speak, and eventually you started slowing down, giving him the time to feel how the sounds vibrated in his own throat.

“I brought you food, again.” You gestured towards the seat with raw meat with your lantern, prompting his passing glance of interest before he was back on you. “Not hungry? He usually doesn’t feed you that well. I haven't been down here in a week or so, so I figured you'd be ready to scarf it down.”

“No.”

He came closer and the size of him grew, a towering figure with strong, broad-shoulders and a chest built to withstand the friction of the sea he used to own. His face, although hidden in darkness and flickering shadow cast from your lantern, gleamed as the light struck his iridescent scales. The shape of his lips were human-like yet taut, helping to comfortably fit his sharp teeth inside his mouth.

You'd wondered at times what exactly he was, what your granduncle believed him to be and feared so much to hide him away, chained to a wall. You fantasized that he could be the lost prince of some underwater civilization, or the offspring of several thousands of years of evolution between humans and something else.

He never seemed to understand you when you asked him what he was.

“Come,” his reach was limited by the chains that bound his limbs, keeping him shy of touching your body. “Come to me.”

With the lantern set aside, a distance you hoped wouldn't turn him petulant, you walked in his arms and the shackles and made home there as he surrounded you. His embrace was not the sort you could escape, nor was the kiss he pressed against your mouth.

There were parts of him you were too scared to touch, where his scales were like serrated teeth and he had much less control to retract at will like the dorsal find along his back. His lips were smooth and cold, however, a safe place for you to be on his body along with the hard flesh on his chest.

He pushed himself into your touch as your fingertips traced the shape of his torso, rose with the sprawl of his breasts and shoulders, molded into the ridges of his lower abdomen that you felt pulse and tense the further downward you roamed.

The sheath around his groin had swelled significantly and seemed to twitch when you smoothed your hand across it, kneading it gently to see what would come of doing so. You'd seen this only once before several months ago, a time where you'd been more frightened of him and fled from the basement for weeks when he'd acted more aggressive than usual.

It was one of the many things he had taken notice of that were perceived negatively—with fear and distance and shutting him away in this deep dark until you found the courage to feed him again, because your uncle was petrified along with being restricted in his ability to navigate the stairs with his lame leg.

So, he had learned to behave at the worst of times to keep food supplied, for you to stay wrapped up in him like this and so curious to challenge the extent of his self-restraint.

His kiss had grown full-bodied and restless and gone elsewhere on your body to a great expanse of skin. His face nuzzled into the fabric hiding your warmth from him, teeth tearing and fraying the threads that kept your clothes together until you stopped him.

“Stop—wait, wait, wait.” You walked back out of his arms once he was able to recognize the words. He reached for you despite the clattering bonds around his wrist, but you took your time to shuck the clothes from your body and fold them.

Once he had you back, he led you to the edge of the pool of endless depths and sank down inside of it. Your toes touched the very edge of darkness, stirring a rabble of butterflies in your gut that did not dissipate even once he resurfaced.

“Sit.” He gestured right at where you stood. “Sit down.”

The idea of having any part of your body submerged in the black water left you with little desire in continuing this, but you obeyed and slowly lowered your rear to the rim of the pool, legs speckled by goose pimples as the cold water gripped up to the inside of your thighs.

“Yes, good.” He was close enough to push your thighs wide apart and stick his tongue inside of you. You took in a great sucking breath, startled from the suddenness of it and the long, articulate appendage massaging a part of you in a way no one ever had before.

You leaned back on your arms when they weakened and shook from the sensations, eyes flicking towards the drab ceiling, wondering just how far under the living quarters of the lighthouse you actually were and whether granduncle would hear any lewd sounds that were beginning to hum in your throat.

“Keep going.” He said when you moaned, tongue retracted from your body to mimic the ministrations you made with your hand and fingers while you stroked yourself. “Keep doing it.”

He nudged your hand away to put his mouth over that stimulated spot instead, sucking and licking along you with such fervor that you dissolved into hard pants and whimpers, tempted to close your thighs around his head and push him away as the tight warmth inside of you flushed out with a kaleidoscopic burst of color and cool air following the trail of something slowly oozing out of you.

It took a second orgasm and chanting turned to cries to get him off of you. That brief respite ended when he took you by the waist and dragged you into the pool with him. By that point, you were too far spent to have anything but unshakeable indifference to the depths and the cold.

His kiss was as it had been before, rough and restless, forceful in a way that left you malleable and melting against him. Even when he had your front wedged between the rim of the pool and his chest, you couldn't bring yourself to react much.

You felt his thighs mold to the back of yours before the slim tip of his cock pushed into you, the girth of it thickening considerably at the base. The friction of the water wasn't an obstacle for him to fuck into you with greedy thrusts that threw your hips forward, knocking skin and bone against the wall of the pool.

“Oh, oh, oh, oh—” the ridges of his cock were an unusual feeling, catching your walls in spots, spreading you wider when he'd withdraw part way and plunge back inside. “Oh, shit—feels good. Harder. Harder. Harder!”

There was truly never any way to know how much he understood when you said it, something called into question when his thrusts slowed to a stop, but he stayed hard inside of you. For a moment, the water settled along with your heavy breaths and blood gushing through your ears.

Things slowly came back into focus—the dancing lantern light, the room temperature meat, the wicked water in which you were immersed to the waist while the rest of you was braced by him.

He shifted behind you, adjusting his thighs so yours went even wider. Before you could ask the things you wanted to, a new sensation stole your breath—the swollen head of a second cock, different in shape and size from the first, pushed into you and lay flush atop the other.

“Don't—don’t move.” You were struggling to do the same thing with such an enormous stretch you'd never had to accommodate before. Tension built in your throat, whether a sob or a scream or your own anxiety, and stayed there to cinch your voice into silence.

He soothed you with lips and teeth all over your flesh; the back of your neck, the cartilage of your ears and the underside of your jawbone. His large hands left the shelf of your hips and felt along your front side, nipples, chest, stomach, and groin where he tried to recreate the same pleasure on you now as you had done for yourself earlier.

“Good?” He nested his cocks deeper when he heard you moan. The pain of it was beginning to subside, but the strangeness of it remained. “Is it good?”

"Just—just don't hurt me.”

His hands were back on your hips to keep you seated on his thighs while he thrust into you. It wasn't as easy for him to move as it was before, perhaps realizing the limitations of a human companion, but continued in snappy pulses that made the water lap at the skin on your back and turned your thoughts into senseless, garbled things.

Soon enough, you were riding a sloppy, savage rhythm to which you had no control of whatsoever as he chased his end. In moments where he seemed to regress into a natural state, almost animalistic in the way he rutted into you and buried his cocks, one would slip out and go forgotten for a time. The length of it glided against your groin, a smooth motion underwater that prodded your sore spots before he was able to fit it back into place with the other.

Amid your luscious sounds were those of his own; labored, air-sucking rasps that rumbled from places more than just his throat. They were probably never meant to be heard above the surface of water, just as he didn't belong fucking a human while being chained to a wall.

You thought about that fact while the last thrusts he took seated his cocks so deep that you ached, hard surges of warmth flooding your insides in a way unexpectedly delightful. He clung to you with his arms and shackles even well after he had emptied himself in your body and retracted both cocks into their sheath.

After a while, he hoisted you out of the water and followed you to retrieve your clothes. He stopped short of the chains pulling in the wall, watching while you wiped away the remnants of him oozing down the backs of your thighs and redressed.

“Don't go.” He kissed you and let his cold lips linger over yours. “Stay here.”

You returned the affection as endlessly as he gave it, only thinking that sunrise would soon come to pull you apart.

a/n: not my best work, but hopefully passable. it's really helpful when y'all reblog, so please do so!!!

I don't really have any comments on this because I'm starting over from zero on the long-fic of the aquatic monster story bc I hated what I had lmao.

anyway, please keep in mind that is a concept piece. chances are that none of this will be present in the actual long-fic. this just helps me to explore ideas and familiarize myself with characters.

#monster fic #monster x human #monster fucker #monster romance #monster story #monster x y/n #monster x you #monster x reader #sea monster #aquatic monster x reader #aquatic monster x you #writing #original fic #original story #original writing #original work #oc x y/n #oc x you #oc x reader #2k writes #.02 #monster fiction #romance #dark fiction

[chuluoyi]

✎ curiosity

- gojo satoru x reader

when gojo is found out by his own son during your nighttime activities

genre: 18+ suggestive content—minors do not interact! crack, fluff, dad!gojo

note: based on a fun suggestion by anon! and it’s been sooo long in my drafts🤧 anyways gojo in phantom parade game is so otome-coded, look at his innocent face!—that's how he's going to be while explaining this to his son

a part of gojo's love entries

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

"Nghh—Satoru... ah!" you mewled, breathless, right after the third time he made you cum on his fingers alone.

Gods, even with one kid already running around, Satoru never stopped acting like he desired you like when you were still newlyweds. The glint in his eyes never dulled—always smirking at you as if you were the prey, as he licked his fingers with a wicked smile.

"Ah, sweets, are you ready to take me in now?" he cooed in your ear. Really, he was at his limit, seeing how he brought pleasure to you as you writhed under him made him this close to becoming undone too.

With your nod of approval, he wasted no time. He gripped your hips, and swiftly slid his thick cock between your folds. As he sank into you—making himself fit, you accidentally let out a loud moan.

“So pretty,” Satoru groaned through clenched teeth, marveling at your scrunched face, feeling how your legs wrapped around his waist in compliance. “Still so tight for me...”

And the way you squeezed your eyes shut right before he started to pound into you made him finally lose it, as he hotly grunted in that raw, almost feral voice—

“All mine.”

With each thrust, you quite literally squealed. Seems like you were sensitive at this time of the month, because your senses were heightened and you couldn't help the nasty moans leaving your lips. The sensation of him repeatedly slamming his hips against you turned you into a crying mess, and had you totally forgetting that your toddler was sleeping just next door.

And when his climax exploded within you with one last powerful thrust, his hot cum spurting hard, stuffing you to the brim and painting your womb white— you clawed at him, tugged him closer to your breasts as a mix of scream and moan of his name escaped your lips, trembling at the depth to which he was burying himself inside you.

You were panting, totally spent, sensing the familiar way of his cum trickling down your thighs. And at that moment, you could have sworn you heard the patter of footsteps nearby. Before you could fully register it, Satoru hastily pulled the blanket to cover you both.

Suddenly, your bedroom's door swung open, revealing your precious boy standing there, visibly sleepy but worried. "Mama?"

You muttered your son's name weakly, disoriented, and it only served to worry him further. His little eyes widened, and he took a step—

"No, no, kiddo!" Satoru urged in a panic. "Stay there! Don't move!"

His son eyed him suspiciously. "What are you doing? Why are you crushing mama?"

"I—" Satoru collected himself, and put on the most innocent smile. "I'm... helping mama to sleep, you see."

You went pale, now that you realized the situation you were in. Your son had just seen you and your husband in the middle of the act. You were silently grateful for Satoru's quick thinking for covering both of you to spare your son from the indecency.

"Helping?" your son gaped in disbelief. "But she was just crying!"

"Yeah, she cried because she couldn't sleep," Satoru blurted, still smiling benevolently like he hadn't nothing wrong. You felt the urge to facepalm at his terrible excuse and the irony of the situation—how close he was to collapsing beside you, and that he hadn't even pulled out of you yet.

Your intelligent boy wasn't easily convinced, that was what you would expect of him.

"How's you hovering over her will help her sleep?"

“With this position, she'll sleep more comfortably, you know,” he asserted confidently, prompting a subtle twitch in your eye. He turned to you, a stupid grin on his face. “And who knows, it might also help to make your sibling. Isn’t it true, dear?”

Satoru nudged your side, willing you to agree with him. You were in utter shock and shot him a dark glare, before looking at your distraught son in a flurry. “Y-yeah… I’m fine, baby. Go back to your room now.”

“You're not hurting, Mama?” the little boy asked you worriedly. Thank heavens he was more focused on you rather than Satoru's little comment.

“No. Your papa is just… trying to help. I’m okay, yeah?”

“If you say so…” your son pouted reluctantly. He shifted his gaze on his father and 'hmph'-ed in accusation. “You’re weird.”

"Hey!" Satoru exclaimed, comically offended. "What are you doing here, anyway? Can't you sleep?"

“I heard noises... and now I want to go to the bathroom…”

Your husband grunted. "Fine, I'll come with you. Just wait a moment and close the door, please?"

Your son threw one last concerned glance at you before shutting the door. Both of you let out collective sighs of relief.

“I swear, he’s such a brat. He used to be so lovable too,” Satoru grumbled under his breath, finally slipping out of you and rolled to your side. He playfully tapped your lower belly and winked. “I hope it’s a daughter next. She will surely be daddy's girl.”

Your body was still shivering as a result of your high earlier, and yet you still managed to side-eye him, hissing, “I'm going to kill you, Gojo Satoru.”

“Wha—”

“Sleep more comfortably? A sibling?”

“Well, can’t we just say that we’re going to give him—”

“Satoru, don’t you put more weird ideas in our son’s head.”

“But—!”

“The moment you do, and if I catch you, I swear to God, I'm banishing you from our bed.”

Epilogue

“Uncle Nanami… does sleeping in certain position will give me a sibling?”

Nanami almost choked on his own words. “What?”

On this rather fine day, he had agreed to help you keep an eye on your child, as both you and Satoru went on separate missions.

He might not be able to stand his senior, but Nanami couldn’t deny that he had a soft spot for the toddler even if he was a carbon copy of his father, as the boy was sweet and overall more like you in nature.

Your son blinked at him curiously. “Papa said not to tell this to mama, but when I asked, he was actually trying to give me a brother or sister to play with when he squished mama on the bed the other day.”

Nanami felt a vein about to burst at the very implication. In hindsight, he shouldn’t be surprised at Gojo Satoru’s unrefined parenting skills but then again, anything that annoying clown did always managed to surprise him one way or another. He let out a long sigh.

“Kid, forget what your father said.”

“Huh? Is that not true then?”

“Report this to your mother, yeah? Ask her too, she will have better answers for you.”

#𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk drabbles #jujutsu kaisen #gojo smut #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk x you #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen imagines #gojo satoru smut #gojo x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo x you #gojo satoru imagines #dad!gojo #satoru gojo fluff #jjk gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jutusu kaisen x reader #18+ only

[bigfatbimbo]

And I saw sparks —

1.2k Words,, Lucifer x reader

a/n — So this was actually a request at some point but it was literally lost to the tumblr void. I cannot find it for the life of me but it had to do with brushing Lucifer’s feathers so here we are.

summary — Date night for the reader and Lucifer quickly turns into a bonding session where the reader grooms Lucifer’s unkept and touch starved wings.

warnings — Fluff, gn reader, obnoxious flirting, getting together (officially), Lucifer being touch starved and sad.

Lucifer groaned as he tried uselessly to comb the feathers on his far back. He didn’t know if he had enough time to finish pruning when he started, and now, barely a third done, he was sure he didn’t. 

His third date with you was in ten minutes. In ten minutes you would show up at his door and expect a fully prepared, well put together, king of hell to sweep you off your feet.

How could he do that when he couldn’t even brush his own damn feathers? What are you going to think when you see him? Maybe, he thought, you’d simply scoff and leave him totally alone with poorly groomed wings.

How pathetic would that be? He grumbled to himself, dreading the last few moments he had to prepare. What was it now, six minutes? If he’s lucky, eight.

Lucifer was so wrapped up in these pessimistic thoughts that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching behind him as he scrambled and whined over his knotted feathers.

“Lucifer, you okay over there?” You asked from the door way. 

He jumped back, brush getting caught up in the fluff of his wings and yanking two feathers out, making him let out a yelp and fall over. 

“Jesus christ, Luci—“ you laugh going over to help him up.

A blush spread across his cheeks. “I didn’t know you’d be here so soon,” he explained brushing himself off, “Wait how did you—“

“You left the door open and I heard very loud groaning so—“ You gesture to him, “—I thought i’d figure out where it was coming from. Oh, and you being demon royalty and all, I don’t think you should just leave your door open like that.”

He could tell you were joking and he was overjoyed that your attention hadn’t fallen to his exposed wings yet, so he played along.

“Actually, i’d argue that’s the very reason I can leave the door open,” he puffed his chest in his attempt to gloat his power.

This backfired when your gaze drifted to his roughly unkept feathers. Embarrased, he drew back.

“Uh, I was just finishing brushing them. They’ll be going away now, bye bye feathers,” he awkwardly laughed and rambled as he turned around him to hide his wings. 

“Wait, if you’re trying to groom them then,” your hands hovered over the wings before retrieving the brush from the table, “I can help with that. I had a friend way back when who—“

“Nononono,” he chirped, scooting back slightly, “I’m supposed to be taking you out and— and I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“Lucifer, it’s seriously no trouble. Shit, if anything it’s fun. Let me see,” you gently sit him down and take a seat on the floor behind him. 

Your hands find his feathers and begin combing through the unkept bits Lucifer couldn’t reach himself.

He tried with all of his might to stop his wings from flapping about. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t feel incredibly soothing having someone else care for his sensitive wings. 

“Oh god,” he sighs, letting his head fall back slightly as you work your way through his feathers. He collected himself seconds later, not wanting to seem weird, “Sorry, it’s just been a while since anyone’s…”

He trailed off so you took pity and finished the sentence for him, “No, it’s okay. It’s cute how flustered you get over shit like this, anyways.”

Your teasing smile makes his shoulders tighten and his head snap back in your direction, “I am not flustered,” he corrected, cheeks reddening, “maybe just discombobulated.”

“Uh huh,” you grin, “Of course, your highness. Are you too good for a little flirting, now?”

“Oh, Lucifer Morningstar is never not ready for a little flirting,” he smirked, trying to hold himself together under your gentle touch.

“Oh yeah? Hit me with your best line.”

“I—“ He struggled, “Uhm. Okay, well maybe I’m a little rusty.”

You rake your fingers through his feathers once more, softening them to the touch, “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that the king of hell had game.”

“I do ‘have game,’ excuse you,” he did air quotes with his hands, “You just put me on the spot. It doesn’t help what you’re doing with my wings, either.” 

His snobbish royalty tone was alarmingly present and he had his arms crossed as he pouted.

It’s true, usually, Lucifer was quite the flirt. If there’s one thing he knew about himself is that he was a hit with the ladies, in his experience, at least.

But maybe it’s because you’re the first person he’s been on a date with since Lilith. Or maybe it’s the way you’re softly raking your fingers through his knotted feathers. Either way, it was making his brain feel fuzzy.

“I’ll believe when I see it, Luci,” you laugh to yourself.

“Oh, i’ll get you good when I catch you off guard, believe me.” Lucifer bragged.

After a moment, the laughter died down as you focused on your work. Every now and then you drew long content sighs from Lucifer. 

Although you seemed happy enough with the silence, Lucifer squirmed uneasily. He felt guilt build up in his stomach.

“So this is some date, huh? Curtesy of the King of Hell, you’re welcome,” he said glumly, picking at a scratch in his marble floor, “Sorry I couldn’t have made this more enjoyable.”

You caught him off guard with a deep, warm-hearted laugh. The kind that made him else feel like he’s  missed a totally obvious joke or reference.

“What’s so funny?” Lucifer asked, clearly perplexed by your response.

“Luci, we’re in literal hell. Compared to everyone else in shit-hole, you’re one of the better people I’ve dated.” You smiled, freshening up a few feathers, “There, done. Good as new.”

Lucifer grabbed a mirror from off the table and examined your work before realizing what was just said.

“Dating?” his spirits rise, hands coming up to his chest before turning to you, “Are we dating?”

The surprise on your face makes him smile cockily. “Catch you off guard, with that one?” he brags.

“In your dreams,” you recover quickly, “And, yeah, I did say that, didn’t I?” You look at his expectant face, he grinned brightly.

“Well, you heard it yourself, pretty boy. It seems like we’re dating now,” you laugh and caress his cheek with your thumb.

Completely dumbly, he giggles and leans in your touch.

“Wow,” he simply says. He rests against your hand for a while longer before you pull him in for a kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet while it lasts, and when you break apart, you pepper kisses on his cheeks and nose.

“Stop it, stop!” he laughs as you come to another finish on his lips. “So, uh, do you still want me to take you out?”

“Actually, where’s your tv in this place? Let’s watch a movie, instead.”

And so you do, cuddled up on the couch together with Lucifer’s newly groomed wings draped over you both. 

He nuzzled into your chest, desperate for human contact after being alone for so long. And oh, he was especially glad he was getting it from you.

a/n — Was listening to sparks by coldplay ON REPEAT while writing this, so that’s why the title is like that <3

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel fluff #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar #luc

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (II)

The two yokai men reach an agreement and you begin your journey together, searching for clues regarding the mysterious case of your incomplete reincarnation. You learn about the third of the Legendary Yokai, a gargantuan monster worshipped in times of war.

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guide]

The next swish of the mysterious man's sword is parred by Kiritsubo, who managed to make his way to you in time.

"Wait! It's not entirely him, Murasaki, I can explain!" He shouts frantically.

"So you let him live. This is why you've never been good for anything." The dark haired man snarls in a low voice, disgust seeping through his sharp teeth.

It becomes obvious rather quickly that he has the advantage in terms of battle experience. You can only stare in fear, stuffing your wound with your jacket sleeve. What else can you do? You're bleeding profusely and if a demon of Kiritsubo's stature cannot compete, you'd be even less helpful.

"Listen to him, man, I genuinely don't know anything about your master!" You beg as your limbs are flooded with a prickling sensation. They're slowly going numb. "Please. I just want to go home."

Damn it. You have no idea whether the bleeding will stop anytime soon. Is this how you die? You won't even get a proper burial. Even worse, your family will live on thinking you vanished without a trace, unaware you've been stabbed to death by a crazy jackass in feudal Japan. You wish you could make them stop.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to think of a way to escape, when you hear both men groan in pain. You look ahead to see them on the ground, clinging tightly to their chests, faces twisted in a grimace. Huh? They couldn't have killed each other in the few seconds they were out of your view. What is going on?

After a few agonizing moments, the yokai seem to calm down. Kiritsubo is gasping for air, clumsily pulling himself back up. Murasaki remains on the grass, forcing himself to appear collected despite the cold sweat coating his forehead.

"That's...what...I...meant..." The silver haired demon groans between hitched breaths. "Whew. You see it now, don't you? She doesn't emanate enough power to pull this off. It's coming from somewhere else."

Murasaki clicks his tongue in visible annoyance.

"So then, what do you suggest?"

"I don't know. But something is stopping you from killing her and there's a chance she's connected to the source."

"What are you guys whispering about?" You inquire, crawling closer towards the horned men. "And why did you suddenly collapse? You scared the hell out of me!"

"You didn't feel anything?" Kiritsubo questions you with raised eyebrows.

"Besides the, I don't know, stab wound? No, thankfully." You respond sarcastically.

Without a word, Murasaki stands up and approaches you. He crouches down to your level and nonchalantly slaps your hand away from your shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Have you ever tended to a wound in your life? You're shit at it." He uses his sword to cut off your sleeve and folds it over your gash with calculated movements. You hiss at the pain and glare at him. "Bite down on a stick if you can't handle it. Better than being dead."

The white haired yokai flashes you an awkward but reassuring smile.

"He might be an ass about it, but he knows what he's doing."

"Why are you helping me, anyways?" you point out, somewhat wary. "You literally tried to kill me a moment ago."

"I changed my mind. You'll help us find the damned bastard or whatever it is he's using to control us."

"What, the priest? Hell no, I'm going back to my world. I've had enough action for the rest of my life."

Murasaki finishes bandaging you and gives you one final press, almost as if messing with you, and you wince. He stands up and slides his sword back in its sheath.

"If you focus a little, you will find there was no question or request in my words. I'm not negotiating with a weakling like you."

Kiritsubo squats down before you and claps his hand together, pleadingly.

"Please think about it, (Y/N). I know you don't owe us anything, but there's a chance we could finally break the seal and be free. If you'd consider helping us. You can walk away, but that won't change the fact you're part of Abe no Nakamaro. He will want his powers back at some point, and we can protect you when the time comes."

You cross your arms and frown thoughtfully, pondering the options. He did save you twice already. So in a way, you're indebted to him. And if he's right, and you will have to deal with more crazy encounters in the future, it's probably better to have two powerful demons by your side.

"Alright, alright. I'll help you." You exclaim with a confident nod.

Kiritsubo grins, satisfied, and Murasaki huffs and looks away. There's a prolonged silence as you wait for them to continue with further instructions, but the men remain quiet.

"So...what now?" you eventually speak up.

"Oh. I thought you knew where to go next." the silver haired man retorts, confused.

"Idiot. She's not a compass." Murasaki scolds him. "Can you stand?" He adds, turning to you. "There's a shrine a few kilometers away that belonged to him. If we leave now, we should make it before sunset. Maybe we can find something there."

You try to prop yourself up, but Kiritsubo promptly scoops you with his sinewy arm and throws you on his back again.

"I'll carry you. Just hold on."

A faint blush dusts your cheeks, but you don't have the energy to argue it. You clutch onto his broad shoulders and nod.

The walk is uneventful and both yokai seem to be distracted. The gentle swaying is causing you to be more comfortable than you'd like to admit and your eyelids become heavy with exhaustion. Before you know it, your head drops against the toned back and you fall asleep.

By the time you open your eyes again, you've already reached your destination. You yawn and stretch, lazily scanning the surroundings. A heavy shadow looms over you and you glance up. Still groggy from your nap, you scream before you can fully process the object towering above.

It's a statue. A colossal statue of some sort of monster. A demon with thick, wide bull horns sprawling out imposingly, almost eclipsing the ridiculously muscular build. The creature has four arms, flexed in a threatening manner, with one hand gripping a heavy spear and the other a skull. The crimson light of the sunset creeps through the windows and reflects against the chiseled clay, giving the statue a devilish glow. You feel insignificant.

"That's Suma."

"W-what?" your head tilts to Kiritsubo.

"He's one of us. You might meet him soon, if he's been alerted of your presence. This is a shrine built for him, to bring good fortune during times of war."

You cannot help but gawk at the structure.

"Is it, uh, life sized?"

"Heh, almost. He's a little taller than this." He chuckles, slightly nostalgic.

You swallow dryly. Just a moment ago you thought Kiritsubo was unusually big.

"I'd rather not meet him, to be honest." You shiver at the idea.

"Don't worry about it. Now that Murasaki has joined us, you're pretty much safe from anything. He's the strongest of us." The yokai remarks with a sad smile.

"Really?"

You peek at the dark haired man, currently flipping through dusty manuscripts, and briefly observe him. Compared to Kiritsubo, he's quite slender, with noble, elegant features. And he'd be able to defeat this enormous beast? Then again, the glimpse you've caught of his swordsmanship is enough of a convincing argument.

What a bizarre gathering of creatures beyond your understanding.

You remember to look away when Murasaki grunts and throws the remaining scroll of paper. His lips form a thin line as he rakes his mind for the next step.

"Nothing here. But I'm rather certain he has to be at one of his hideouts. We'll check each and one of them if we have to." 

"Wait, are you saying he's still alive? We saw his body before Sekiya and Sakaki took him for the embalming and burial."

Murasaki scoffs at his partner's gullible nature.

"And you believed it? That parasite spent his entire life searching for ways to prolong his reign. He's probably hiding somewhere, waiting for his renewed part of the soul to return to him." 

He rests against the wall and points a clawed finger at you. 

"This must've been his solution. Releasing his remaining energy until it found a proper vessel to grow stronger, and patiently awaiting the body swap. Then we go back to being whipped dogs fulfilling his whims."

It's your turn to be outraged, twisting your mouth downwards.

"No way, I'll pound that old man into sand!" You bark and throw a jab against the air, emphasizing your threat. "As if I'd just hand myself over."

"I'm not sure if it'll be that easy, (Y/N)..." Kiritsubo glances at you with a hurt expression. "He's a terrifying, vengeful bastard."

"Not if we find him first and take him out." Murasaki counters with a glint of determination in his eyes. "Humans need to rest, don't they? We'll spend the night here and tomorrow we head out. Kiritsubo, find me a map so we can keep track of the locations. I'll bring the wood for a fire."

And with this, he marches out. Kiritsubo scurries to his duty and you quietly follow his movements. He seems to be used to executing Murasaki's orders. You hadn't considered their group dynamic much, but it appears to have some rather complex hierarchies involved. You almost wish you could witness all of them together, wondering how they'd interact with each other. 

Who knows? If you stick around, it could happen eventually. Murasaki was surprisingly easy to convince, so the other yokai might as well agree to keep you alive until you find their source of misfortune. Heh. Almost like a harem, or something. You snicker to yourself.

Which reminds you...

The fire has been lit and Murasaki mumbles something about guarding the perimeter. This time you hurry outside after him. You reach out to the dark haired man and pull on his kimono sleeve.

He turns to you, mildly irked.

"What?"

"Teach me how to use a sword." You state with the assertiveness of an order.

"Why? I can assure you I'm more than enough. I've never been defeated." He stares at you, incredulous.

"I don't want to rely on you all the time. You're already this close to being unbearable", you explain, pinching your fingers together. "Besides, if I'm going to be stuck among beasts, I'd very much prefer being the one doing the cool stuff."

And with that, you pretend to slice through an invisible enemy, whistling the sound of your sword cutting through the air. You furrow your eyebrows, imitating the engrossed expression of a seasoned samurai in the middle of a battleground. Murasaki quickly lifts a hand to his mouth - did he chuckle just now? - and responds, the faintest amusement in his voice:

"As you wish. But I'm warning you now, I won't hold back."

"I've been injured twice in less than 24 hours, I'm sturdy enough." You answer, patting your chest proudly.

Next time one of the Legendary Yokai comes for you, you won't be as vulnerable. That's for sure.

#female reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #monster x reader #yandere yokai #yokai x reader #yandere demon #yandere monster #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #male yandere x reader #yandere original character #yandere oc #original character #original work #yokai oc

[needle-noggins]

(CW for SA, suicidal ideation) Here we go. My favorite and simultaneously least favorite panel of Vash and Knives.

I've seen a few interpretations of this scene and before we dive into the one that really struck me, let's start with the more... chill one. We're finally introduced to the third gun of Trigun, Vash's angel arm. And the way we're introduced to it involves Knives forcing him to pull the trigger. Of course, since no one knows anything about Knives, the people of Noman's Land blame Vash for Fifth Moon, and Vash likewise blames himself (this is kinda a spoiler but if you've been paying attention, it's just par for the course). However, he's not the one who pulled the trigger, Knives is. It brings up an interesting moral question of blame - do we blame the gun (and Vash, who is being used/objectified as a weapon here), or the person who wanted it to happen? Guns don't kill people, genocidal twins do!

Now for the awful interpretation, the one that makes me cry and wish Vash was real so I could hug him and pay for his therapy. And really highlights how awful Knives is and how far he'd go for his brother in his own, fucked-up way. I touched on this in a previous post about Legato and the Murder Cafe, and the whole time I was thinking about Fifth Moon but didn't want to say anything for the sake of spoilers.

So. Pay attention to the way Vash and Knives are standing. Knives, when he first grabbed Vash's head, was standing in front of him. He moves behind him to better control him and yeah, he's still controlling him via hand on head, and now he's got his other hand gripping Vash's chest, where feathers/wings are manifesting. Knives is assaulting him. If you wanna get crazy with it and say that the angel arm is kinda phallic, you could say... yeah. This is rape. I heard that specific interpretation once and while I accepted it I also don't know if that would be generally accepted or if I'd be called out for it, so I'm trying to tread lightly here.

It also doesn't escape me that of course the angel arm has feminine features like the plants - the plants that, again, humans are exploiting for their ability to create. There's a lot of feminist commentary to be made here but many people have said it better than me. Specifically I'm thinking of this one post I saw about gender fuckery and Tristamp Vash. Anyway.

Also, the atomic bomb/black hole/sun/whatever that is in the middle... It's just so powerful. It's terrifying. The eldritch body horror here is a punch to the gut. What the fuck, Trigun? I thought this was a funky space western!!!

Oh, and here's more commentary on the following few panels:

Vashussy shot, Knives is still right behind him. Yeah, I wasn't kidding about how bad this pose is for them. Knives, you sick fuck.

Vash shoots himself in the leg (a key difference from '98 trigun, lol), because of course he does, but it doesn't free him from the arm.

The arm's getting darker/the light inside is getting lighter! Stampede did an awesome job with their interpretation of the angel arm and I don't think I would have understood it without that. Also, on my first read I didn't notice that Vash is literally levitating, which is cool, but also terrifying because ?? he's not in control of that either??

Finally. A super painful, minimalist, double-page spread. Nightow loves 'em. Vash thinks he's dying (maybe?) and he wishes he had never existed. It's not suicidal ideation per se, but he wishes he didn't exist at all because he's already caused enough suffering. This is a low for him, because he believes so strongly in the concept of the Blank Ticket. (Come on, soupy brain bitch boy, get it together!) He's a monster, it's just how he was born, and he's not in control. Very specifically too, he says "we", and then changes it to "I"... he doesn't blame Knives at all, and that's very him. I want to shake him! Stop playing the martyr, Vash!

#trimax #trigunbookclub #cw assault #cw sa #ive never tagged content warnings before please help if i didnt do it well enough #cw sui ideation #vash the stampede #millions knives #also if you say ONE WORD about plancest i will kill you with my mind because you have sorely misunderstood the point here #posting this makes me so nervous ngl #dont hate me

[lonelyquail]

(for the bingo)OERSTED ill ask oersted one of the guys ever. ans if someone else already asked for oersted idk. tohri

YEAAAAA OERSTED MY BESTEST FRIEND I will actually do both for funsies but also oersted :>....

OERSTED MY BEST FRIEND OERSTED. of course he's done everything wrong ever in his life but it's in a (but look at him. look he's never done anything wrong) way yknow. I love me a blorbo who makes me audibly go (Jesus Fucking Christ dude). I think he should be zorped to stardew valley for a bit to calm down. he needs a hug So Bad. I need to ruffle his hair even if he has committed atrocities. also I know he doesn't talk for the first half and doesn't look at the camera in a lot of art for Reasons but have u considered that he might just have autism. anyway overall he is so haunted and tortured and did they have therapists in the middle ages??????

aaaand tohri!!

kind of wanted to check dont care abt them/I don't understand the hype just to piss him off. anyway tohri is SO funny. he's written so well to just eternally be Unimportant, Missing Out On The Fun and Hilarious All Around. I just wish there were more good character interactions w him that don't go horribly wrong at the end. like his interactions w the takaba lab guys are Essential but I do wish that despite how fun of a story it made, the holistar chapter Didn't end in (gestures vaguely) saturday morning cartoonism. because I wish tohri was anghel's reigen they'd be really funny just Interacting and not in a hero villain way. all I want from mirror is for tohri to take anghel to mcdonalds thanks

#i think oersted is also closeted but we wont get into that because its purely projection #anyway. im just a hate god and life is a nightmare yadda yadda #vee shut up #ask games #shoutout to my hbf fma au scenario where anghel (pride in this one) jumps out the window for the third time this week #and tohri scruffs him like a cat and runs back over to shuus lab going (souma i have ur creation!! i will only return him if #you admit how much more artistic and radiant i am than you) and before he even finishes rambling shuus just like #one look up from his work. (oh. him) gets back to his work (you can keep that one.) and then tohri and pride get kicked out #so Oops Tohri! You Have A Kid Now! #he Is a powerful homunculus in this one but hes not. helpful. so #anyway when did this become me rambling abt my deranged au

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Cân i Gymru 2024

It has just occurred to me that I can actually recreate Cân i Gymru for you all through the power of the Internet and Tumblr and such like. Given that Eurovision is out this year, please enjoy the Eurovision of my people.

The artists are much less important to us than the songwriters. Sometimes those are the same people, but sometimes not. The winners of this contest are the songwriters, though, the artists are just a necessary evil.

So! The entries!

First up! Heno, meaning 'tonight'. The songwriters wanted to write something that would make everyone want to dance :). The artists are therefore a sexy Eurovision-style singer who hits notes I previously have only heard autotuned in Crypt of the Necrodancer, and a funky DJ man. This is the most Eurovision-y song, probably.

Yr Un Fath (The Same Thing), by Jacob Howells! He wrote this one himself. Lovely lad, from Llanelli. A gentle ballad.

Again, singing their own song! These are the songwriters! Exciting. This is Cymru yn y Cymylau (Wales in the Clouds), which is a very nice song about how no matter where they go in the world, they see Wales - and by extension their Welshness - in the clouds, staying with them. A route back home.

Mêl (Honey). Same again, they wrote their own song. This is a song about late stage capitalism and the environment and having hope for the future told through the metaphor of bees. Slight funk/soul vibe. The stage backdrop was increasingly filled with clipart bees.

Cysgod Coed (The trees' shadow). A ballad about lost love and broken promises. The songwriter is teenage girl Efa Rowlands, the singer is classmate Gwion Phillips.

This one felt the most like a Swedish Eurovision entry. The singer is half of Welsh band Lofi Jones, but no one even mentioned that, because he didn't write the song, so it's not about him. The song Pethau Yn Newid (Things Are Changing) instead is about how life is moving too fast and we should appreciate the time we have more, because he's aging and everything is changing and he can't keep up. They probably should have gotten someone older to sing it.

Absolute vocal powerhouse ballad, Ti (You) is part-written and all-performed by music teacher Sara Davies. The lyrics were a love letter her grandfather wrote to her grandmother before he died; Sara then wrote the music for it. The background photos are her grandparents. Her grandmother was actually in the live audience on the night.

And the last one! Goleuni (Lights) is by a pair of songwriters (one music teacher and one West End star) who wanted to write a song of hope for the dark times, because the world is shit but Still We Persist. They're both talented and established songwriters. The performer is a seventeen year old schoolgirl in the class of one of the songwriters.

~~~~

So!

Anyway I disagreed with the first second and third placings of the Welsh public so hmu Tumblrs who are we choosing

#wales! #closed for cleaning on mondays #welsh musics #Youtube

[silverskye13]

"So I'm about to say something really... Hmm... Weird," Joe said as he leaned against the building, arms crossed.

"Is that supposed to be news to me?" Cleo asked, rifling through her bag and pulling out two apples. She passed one to Joe, and he took it.

"If it were, I don't think we'd be friends."

"I figured."

"Anyway it's a little weirder than normal."

"I'll be the judge of that, I think."

Joe shrugged, took a bite of his apple and said, "So, one of the arguments against a benevolent God -- don't look at me like that I told you it was weird -- anyway, so, if God was so nice, would he have put a bomb in the Garden of Eden?"

Cleo blinked at Joe for a long moment.

"Sorry, I'll back up a little," Joe smiled apologetically. "How much do you know about human theology?"

"I've been human before Joe," Cleo glowered, pulling a knife from her pocket and cutting a small piece away from her apple. "That's just a really strong lead."

Joe shrugged. "Did you expect anything different?"

"No, it's just a little early for theology today."

"We can talk about something else, if you want."

A shout interrupted their conversation. Grian sprinted past, laughing maniacally and apologizing in the same breaths. Doc followed quickly after him, shouting curses and insults. Joe and Cleo both took contemplative bites of their apples and watched the two run.

"No, I want to see where this conversation is going," Cleo said finally, slicing another piece of her apple off.

"Okay, so, some people believe God is all-knowing, all-powerful, and also, all-benevolent," Joe continued, twisting his apple stem with every adjective. "But if He were all of those things, why would He make a bunch of curious humans, tell them they could touch everything except one specific big red button, and, knowing they would definitely press it, just sit back and watch?"

"I wasn't aware buttons and bombs existed at the same time as the Garden of Eden."

"One could argue the whole Soddom and Gammorah thing was bomb-like."

"That was definitely, definitely meteors, Joe."

"Also the bomb thing is an analogy, and you know it's an analogy."

"What are we analogy-ing?" Mumbo asked, flaring his elytra as he landed beside them.

Cleo pulled a third apple from her bag and passed it to him, "Pretty sure Joe is comparing you to God."

Mumbo took the apple, looking incredulous. He gave a laugh that was half nervous, half confused. "I-- well that's-- that's very flattering Joe. I didn't realize you thought so highly of me."

"You would think that," Cleo smirked, slicing off another piece of apple.

"What?"

"So the question stands," Joe continued as though neither of the interruptions took place. "If God is good, why did he put a big red button in the Garden of Eden?"

Mumbo opened his mouth, and then deciding he had no idea what this conversation was about, actually, he closed it again.

"Maybe God was feeling optimistic that day," Cleo offered. "Or maybe even gods need to screw around and find out sometimes. For instance, I know this apple is definitely going to rot in me later, but I'm also definitely still eating it."

"Fair point," Joe said, twisting off his apple stem and flicking it to the ground. "So maybe God can make mistakes, or He was curious, or there was something ineffable going on at the time. But if God did it twice," Joe gave Mumbo a sideways glance, "would that be screwed up or what?"

Mumbo opened his mouth again, closed it, opened it again.

"Mumbo a fly is going to buzz in there if you aren't careful," Cleo said.

"Okay, okay. I can see where -- okay. So, first off, I'm not God," Mumbo said, and then paused, because Scar was screaming and running past them now, followed shortly by Grian, who was followed shortly by Doc. Then he continued, "Also this isn't Eden."

"It's an analogy," Joe reminded him unhelpfully, smiling warmly.

"Also how was I supposed to know this would happen again?"

"That Grian would push a button, or that Grian would push a button specifically to mess with Doc?" Cleo asked innocently.

Mumbo opened and closed his mouth again eloquently.

"You've gotta admit, at this point it is starting to look intentional," Joe pointed out.

"What's starting to look intentional?" Jevin interrupted, landing amidst the group standing on the fringes of the shopping district. Cleo offered him another apple.

"A malevolent God," Joe answered.

"My button," Mumbo grumbled at the same time.

"The hubris of man," Cleo added, because it seemed relevant.

"I HAVE BEEN STANDING HERE FOR THIRTY-SIX HOURS GRIAN. THIRTY-SIX." Doc screamed, passing so close to the four onlookers in his chase, they could no longer talk over his yelling. "I WANT THAT CROWN IT BELONGS TO ME."

Grian slid across the grass, narrowly dodging Doc's thrown axe. He threw the gaudy purple crown he'd stolen to Scar, who sprinted off in another direction with it. Doc roared angrily, "I LET YOU TOO OFF EASY LAST TIME BUT NO MORE! I WILL RAIN TNT AND FIRE ON YOUR BASES! I WILL TEAR THEM APART BLOCK BY BLOCK I WILL--!"

"I'm sorry Doc!" Grian cackled, not sounding sorry at all, "It's just -- you're so fun to mess with!"

He and Scar spread their elytras and leaped into the sky, followed shortly by Doc, who was still shouting.

Jevin, Cleo and Joe all turned to look at Mumbo, who rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Okay so... Maybe it's possible, yes, I could have foreseen this happening," Mumbo said begrudgingly. "But I mean, it's not all that bad, is it?"

"We do have a lot of fun fighting wars," Jevin agreed, shoving his entire apple into his face. It hovered blue-tinted in his opaque slime for a moment before rapidly dissolving.

"You would, Jevin," Cleo smiled.

"Sleep with one eye open, Cleo," Jevin replied conversationally.

"Some of our best mini games came out of the Mycelium War," Joe observed, taking one more bite out of his apple.

Mumbo looked down at his apple contemplatively.

"So the question still stands," Cleo said, after a long pause had passed between them, "is Mumbo evil for inflicting The Button Game on us the first time, or the second time?"

Joe shrugged, "I think like all religion, the answer is subjective. Doc would argue yes. Grian would argue no."

"That wasn't a yes-or-no question," Jevin said.

"I would argue I'm still not God, so this is a terrible analogy, actually!" Mumbo shouted defensively, and then took a bite of his apple, closing the subject.

#the barking writer #hermitcraft #joe hills #zombiecleo #ijevin #mumbo jumbo #docm77 #grian #goodtimeswithscar #the button game #theology #kiiiiiind of #anyway this popped into my head this morning like a fever dream lol

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 3 - Dreams And...

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE) - PLEASE REMEMBER TO CHECK, THIS CHAPTER IS DARKER IN TONE!

PREV - NEXT

Your hands are pruned. It’s quiet in the extravagant bathroom, other than the sound of the tap’s running water and your own shaky breathing. This was all a bit much. Your hands are more than clean now, but you absolutely do not want to go back out there.

You kind of just want to go back into one of the stalls and cry. A core girlhood experience, except you were an adult with a job and taxes. Or, you were. You think you’re some rich scion or something in this dream. Which like, cool, who wants to slave under capitalism anyways?

…You wonder if anyone would notice if you slipped out the window. You’d been gone for a while and nobody had come looking for you, since you’d totally gotten lost trying to find the bathroom. Sure, you were on the third floor, but at this point you were willing to risk it. Even if you couldn’t walk in a straight line right now, much less climb the trellises. For some reason, you could not handle your liquor today like you usually could. But once again, this was all just a very vivid dream, so it wasn’t like you could die.

To punctuate that thought, you hear someone scream.

It cuts off instantly, and then there’s quiet again. You pause, then turn off the tap, listening for any more sound. Drip, drip, drip… you press the tap down again and properly turn it off. Still no noise. Immediately, you realise you are standing directly in a horror film. You live in Gotham for fuck’s sake. It wasn’t an unlikely occurrence. You’d gotten mugged just a few days ago.

And you were alone in the bathrooms. So unbelievably drunk, and alone in the bathrooms. You were actually so dead, it was crazy. A dream, a dream…!

Your head bows, staring into the white porcelain of the sink as you focus hard on your hearing. You don’t think you could hear the party before, but you’re not sure. It’s definitely not there now. You swallow the dry pain in your throat, trying to summon a modicum of courage. Your vision spins.

You slap your wet hands to your face and then blink through your fingers. God. Okay, okay, okay. You can do this. You survived a mugging just last week with only minimal bruising. To convince yourself of your badassery, you dig your fingers into the blemishes, hoping to wake yourself up with the pain. It’s a bad habit but you have lots of those.

…Where’s the pain? Oh god, where’s the pain? Wait, don’t panic, it’s a dream! Of course, you wouldn’t have your bruises in a dream. That made total sense. And you definitely weren’t panicking.

You splash more water on your face. Time to face the music, you drunken moron. If you were going to be in a horror movie, you’d be the final girl of all final girls.

One hand on the sink, you take your heels off. They’re going to get in the way, and the sound of them clicking against the marble will give away your location. Massaging your sore ankles, you try and come up with a game plan. You don’t know what’s going on, and it really could all just be a false alarm, but better safe than sorry and all that. It’s a gala full of some of the richest people on earth, and you’re pretty sure you saw a swat team of security guards at the entrance.

So this was probably a hostage situation or a villain attack. You’d hear more noise if it was a supervillain fighting a superhero downstairs. Then you’ll bet on a hostage situation for now. Depending on who had taken you all hostage, that could be a totally fine situation where you all just end up leaving with lighter purses, or it could be the Scarecrow’s shown up and he’s about to mentally traumatise you. Like you needed any more of that.

Of course, this was all probably still a dream. Maybe if you say it enough times you’ll actually believe it. You’ll just plan ahead in case this is real (which it definitely isn’t). Plus you’d proven you could feel pain in this dream anyway, with all the times you’d slapped yourself. You hoped the fucking Tim Drake didn’t think you were too weird. Because he definitely thought you were weird.

It’s cool. You’re cool. You could handle this. You were a Gotham native after all. Totally cool. You have to force yourself not to gag on your own fear. Totally, absolutely, terrifically cool.

A few deep, calming breaths later, and you’re cracking the door of the lavatory open just an inch. You peer through the crevice, taking another deep breath when you don’t see anyone in the hallway. You push the door open a bit wider, peek your head around it to look the other way. Still empty. Another deep breath, you feel your chest rise and fall, and then you take the first step out onto the wooden floors. You wince at the slight noise the bare sole of your foot makes and hurry over to the long Persian rug to snuffle any more sounds.

And then you’re standing in the middle of the hallway in your ballgown, head swivelling back and forth as you try and catch any minuscule sounds, shoulders bunched up to your ears.

The first thing you need to check is the exits. Since you are on the third floor, and the banquet was on the first, you can assume that they’re well-guarded, but probably far away from you. Still, this is the Wayne Enterprises Tower, and there wasn’t just the party happening tonight. It was mostly empty as you’d seen but there’d been a few people you’d wandered past. They’d all seemed like late-night office workers, and the female janitor you’d bumped into was the one who had told you where the toilet was.

Was the janitor okay? Was that her scream you’d heard? Concentrate, dumbass. On airplanes, they tell you to put your mask on first before you do it for anyone else. The idea was the same here. Save yourself before you can hope to save anyone else.

That was… that was if you even needed saving. This could all still just be your own paranoia. Someone hit their knee on a ridiculously fancy side table or something. Like that scream wasn’t of pure terror. Like it didn’t sound like someone on death’s door.

Concentrate! Okay, check the stairs first. Don’t take the elevator, because you’re not an idiot. Maybe. Hopefully. Slowly but surely you creep your way back towards the entrance to the third level, where both the elevator and the stairs were. There was a map, too. You hadn’t been able to figure it out earlier, but you had a bit more incentive this time.

You make sure to place your feet carefully, aiming for the carpets and rugs. Even if your drunken steps miss half the time, you’re still mostly quiet. Every time you have to walk across a crossing you spend a minute listening, and then peer around every corner too. You’re not sure if you should be running, or if you really should try one of the windows.

Deep breaths. Keep moving. That’s the best course of action. Don’t get caught, but don’t just hide either.

It’s when you’re almost at the third-floor foyer when you hear something. There’s a crash, the sound of something breaking. No voices, though. Still, you can’t convince your body to move for a full minute. There’s a part of you that wants to go hide in an abandoned cubicle and wait, but there’s another part of you that is very aware of the rates of fires in this city. You keep going, taking a longer route to avoid the source of the crashing.

Another noise. A scream. Laughter. Spine-chilling laughter.

Shit, motherfucker. Why the hell did you get smashed at a fucking Wayne gala? Everybody knew the rogues of this city were totally obsessively in love with Bruce Wayne. Especially your own personal worst nightmare. You don’t dare even think his name, lest you summon the bastard.

Was he in Arkham right now? He should be. Like you should be at home in the Narrows getting a good night’s rest. Like you should be wearing dorky Flash pyjamas, not a dress more expensive than your rent.

He should be. It’s not nearly enough.

You realise, suddenly, that you have to make a choice here. You can walk away, pretend you didn’t hear anything, that you can’t hear anything. A woman’s cries, you think. You could leave her, save yourself. Hideaway and let whatever fate she’s facing befall her. Could you do that? Could you even stomach the idea?

In the end, the universe makes the decision for you.

“And who do we have here? What’s a pretty little thing like you doing wandering around?”

You hear your doom in his slimy voice, even though you didn’t hear him sneak up on you. Shaking, you raise your hands into the air, and slowly turn around. You see your doom in the twisted clown mask’s grin. For a second you think it’s really him, but then you notice his dark brown hair and the tanned skin under the mask. God, god, god. It’s a Joker goon. Your literal worst nightmare, given flesh. Is he here? No, no, no- You swallow down the urge to scream, to run, and do your best to keep thinking like a person and not a prey animal.

You feel like one. You think he knows that. You hope he doesn’t.

“Hey Travis, I found another one!” the man calls out, raising his gun to point at you. He jerks it, moving forward, and you turn back around obediently. The gun presses against the back of your head, and you move forward, obediently.

“Shithead, don’t say my name out loud!” another voice replies. You get to see its owner when you come around the corner and find the foyer.

There are five other people here, all tied up. Four seem to be exhausted office worker bees, who just stayed too late on the wrong day, and the last is the janitor who helped you. The kind lady gives you terrified eyes, but she’s the only one not crying among the hostages.

“Man, you worry too much. Like there aren’t hundreds of Travis’s in the city.”

“Just shut up, my god! If we leak info and it gets traced back to us, he’s docking our pay.”

Who’s he? Who’s fucking he?! He can’t be here, right? He fucking can’t be. You can’t, you can’t. God, you're going to vomit right here and now.

“Whatever. Anyway, this is the last person on this floor.”

“Check the feed again, dickhead,” the second one commands, obviously the leader between the two.

The one who caught you groans, and then you hear the sound of fabric shuffling. Is he looking at his phone? You wish you could turn around and look. You don’t dare with the barrel against you.

Your teeth dig into the side of your mouth. So did they have the security feeds? That meant you were doomed from the start. The only other option would’ve been to actually jump out one of the windows. They would’ve probably found you anyway. Hunted you down to meet their quota.

Shit. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. This is looking like a big deal. And everybody knew Joker never left out on his big deal jobs, he enjoyed them too much. He’s probably downstairs demanding the Batman come meet him and have tea or something. Shit.

All of a sudden these goons seem like the much better end of the deal.

“Checked, checked, double-checked, triple-checked… There’s nobody else here,” the man behind you grumbles, and the one in front of you sighs.

“Alright, alright. Bring her over, I’ll tie her up, and then we can blow this joint,” the man says, and you really, really hope he’s not being serious about blowing this place. You’d had enough of explosions, thank you very much. Especially ones organised by the Joker.

The gun digs harshly into your skull, “Well, go on.”

Swallow, swallow down your fear. Don’t let it stop you. You walk forward to the other man, arms in the air shaking. When you’re in reaching distance, the second goon roughly grabs you and shoves you to your knees. He pushes your hands in front of you, not bothering to tie them behind you. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

The rope cuts into your skin. It’s going to leave marks, and bruises. The man finishes tying the knot and then pulls you back to your feet. Then he shoves you towards the elevator and turns to start picking up the other hostages. You turn so your back is toward the wall, not willing to have your eyes off the monsters for even a second.

It’s when he’s pushing one of the office workers towards you, that the second man speaks again.

“Hey, the boss said we had to kill one of ‘em.”

What? What did he say?

“Oh yeah, oops.”

The gunshot goes off before you can process the words. Before you can process the gunshot, the janitor’s body is crumpling to the floor. Before you can process her fall, blood is starting to seep from the wound in her chest. Before you can process any of that, the man behind you laughs.

He laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs.

The janitor lies on the floor, blood seeping into her hair and uniform. You squeeze your eyes tight, tears slipping over the lids. You refuse to look at the wound. At the gaping hole in her chest. And despite yourself, you know why they shot her, not you. Not any of the workers either.

Because she wasn’t worth the cash.

Yesterday, that would’ve been you on the floor. You were a fake wearing a fancy dress, who didn’t belong here at all. Still, they didn’t know that. You didn’t think anybody knew that. Not anyone but you, who had woken up in a world a little to the left.

“I’ll be down in a minute, Trav. I wanna play with this one for a bit,” the shooter says, and all of a sudden you’re thrown back into your body, into your frail mortality. You’re cold, your spine gives a shiver, and your horrified eyes find the wretched clown mask.

Like you said, your doom. You wish you weren’t right all the time.

“No way. She’s one of the high-profilers, we need her,” his leader replies, and you’re desperate to stick by his side. You didn’t think a Joker goon would be your saviour, but here you were.

“I’ll give you five K of my split,” he offers, not willing to let go of it. Of you.

The other one pauses, glances at you assessingly. There’s a glint of something in his eyes, something that tells you you’re not making it out of here unscathed. It’s something you recognise, something you even recognise inside yourself.

It’s greed. And it’s going to kill you. You always knew it would, you just didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Make it seven,” he finally announces, the deal for your soul made without any fuss or fanfare.

“You’re such a hardass. Fine, fine, seven it is.”

“Alright, and only thirty minutes, tops. Not a hair on her head, you understand me?” he says over his shoulder, waggling a finger at his coworker.

The group leaves through the elevator. It dings, and you watch in mute, stunned horror as the other hostages refuse to meet your gaze. As they abandon you to save their own asses. You couldn’t really blame them, as much as you wanted to. You were ready to do the same earlier.

“I think not even a hair is pushing it, right?” the creep says, finger reaching out for said hair. You jerk back out of his reach, an instinctual flinch. He grins, and lets his hand fall back to his side. You take a shaky step backward.

You’re trembling with fear. With the need to get away from this terror, this situation.

He gestures with his gun, pointing back in the direction of the branching hallways.

“Well, go on. Run.”

And God help you, you do.

Spinning on your heel, you flee to the echoing sound of his laughter. Your feet fall rhythmically against the marble floors, the sound of your bare soles far too loud. You can’t even do anything about it. There’s no option for stealth here, only the sort of hunt you’d expect to find in the woods.

Not here in civilised mankind’s territory. But this was Gotham, and the monsters often looked human.

You dart into a large room filled with tiny square cubicles. A call centre or something, a maze of low walls that are too small to hide behind. You keep going, teeth-gritting when his laughter cuts off. He’s taking this seriously, hunting you down. You think he’s done this before. ‘Played’ with people.

You can’t worry about those other poor victims, lest you become his next one.

Another crash, this time to your left. Your head snaps to the side, eyes wide, but when you look there’s only a broken lamp on the floor. You have to swallow down the urge to cry. He is. He’s playing with you. He’s having fun with it.

You keep running, passing by halls and offices and don’t stop running till you can’t. Out of breath. You’re out of breath. You bend over, the stitch in your side too much for you to stand. Why are you out of breath? You can run more than this. You often run more than this when you’re late for your morning train.

What’s going on? What’s happening to you?

A bang, behind you. You spin around. Don’t see anything.

He’s nearby. Right under your nose. You need to keep running, you have to. Through your panting you hear his laughter again, and that’s enough fear to get you moving again. Maybe you were in Arkham, arms strapped to your side and screams wailing down the halls.

You didn’t believe it. No, not in this moment. Not right now, as you run for your life. If you lived through this, you’d probably go back to thinking it was all a dream or a delusion.

But with that monster nearby, there’s nothing this could be but real. With sweat dripping down your neck, smearing your makeup. With the feeling of your heart beating out of your chest, in your ears. With the blind, all-consuming panic you’re in.

He’s real. And he’s coming for you.

You lift your tied hands and press them to your lips, muffling the sound of your harsh breathing and soft sobs. Heart beating out of your ribcage, you push your body even as it screams for you to stop. You’re flagging. Vision’s swimming, and you can feel bile creeping up your throat. You can’t keep doing this. You need to keep doing this.

For a moment, you stop to catch your breath. And he catches you too.

You scream, tugging at the rough grip on him. He swings you around into a wall, and again, you cry out. Side throbbing with pain, singing with it. Still, you don’t stop. Can’t stop. Not safe, not safe, not safe. You push back against him, and he pushes back against you. Your drunken state is no match, and you tumble down onto the carpet. When he laughs, you look up at him, and he down at you.

The goon’s plastic mask merges with the Joker’s mutilated face, until you can’t tell the difference.

You aren’t the type to fight back. It’s just not instinctual to you. But when you hear his belt buckle clack, your foot kicks out before you can even think. You hit him squarely in the stomach, knocking him backward, and then you scramble away from underneath him.

“You bitch!”

He grabs you by the nape of your neck, yanking you backwards. You choke, hands grasping desperately at the grip around your throat, but he offers no relent. You’ve pissed him off. That doesn’t mean you can stop, can give up. You can’t stop fighting. Can’t stop struggling. Can’t stop, can’t stop, can’t stop-

The gun clicks. You freeze.

“Yeah, figured you’d be more obedient if I did that. Now, get up,” his voice is breathy, from the high of the chase or the hit you delivered, you’re not sure.

You hope it’s the latter. You hope this fucker drops and dies, right on the spot. You’re not that lucky, though.

Ah, your hands are hurting again. Not just the one, but both. Maybe you touched something. An allergic reaction of some sort. It shouldn’t be distracting you, it shouldn’t even be noticeable in the situation you’re in but god. The itchy heat is nearly as unbearable as the evil cretin in front of you.

“You think you’re gonna get away with that? I’m so fucking sick and tired of you whores who think you matter anything. You don’t, and I’m going to help you realise that,” he rants. His eyes are red through the tiny slits in the mask. Angry, dangerous, on the edge.

“Please, look I’m sorry,” you stutter out, stinging hands in the air. You want to run, but you think he’ll shoot if you do.

“You’re lucky I don’t fuck corpses.”

No, that doesn’t sound very lucky at all, actually. No, this seems like maybe it might turn out to be the new worst moment of your life. You don’t think it can get much worse than this, than the next moments that will pass. And it’s too much. It’s too, too much. Your palms are itchy and there’s a gun pointed between your eyes and the goon’s licking his lips and oh my god you’re going to die from an allergy before the bullet and-

And you just want it all to stop. You want it so desperately. You want the man in front of you to disappear, to never exist again, to go right down to hell where he belongs. You just want him gone.

Your hands stop hurting. The burning heat disappears. It’s quiet again. You can’t hear him laughing, the awful slick sound of him licking his lips. You can’t feel the cool iron on your forehead, the heat from his body so close. You can’t smell his sweaty stench. Your eyes open.

…There’s no gun. There’s no man.

You crumple to the ground with a relieved sob. Fisted hands lift to your eyes, as big blubbery tears stream down your face. Your shoulders shake with your cries. Your heart is screaming in your chest, trying to beat out of it. He’s gone, somehow. You’re alive, somehow. You’re not dead with a bullet in your brain, somehow. Somehow, somehow, somehow.

An impossibility. It’s an impossibility, and you’re so goddamn grateful for it.

As always, you don’t give yourself long to cry. Even as your tears still fall, even as you lick them off your mouth, tasting salt and lipstick and fear, you push to your feet shakily. You almost fall over with your hands still tied, shouldering the wall next to you for balance. You don’t have time to cry. No time to process what just happened. You need to get to safety.

You creep back into the main area, heart pounding in your ears, breath hiccuping. You don’t know how long it takes for you to get there. Ten minutes, thirty, maybe even an hour. When you try the staircase door, it doesn’t open. You yank on the handle, grab a chair and try and smash it in, but it stands strong. Fuck. You try the elevator as a last-ditch effort, but the buttons don’t respond.

You press your overheated forehead to the cool metal. Okay. Okay. Okay, okay, okay.

You turn around and storm back into the cubicle space, find one at the edge of the room with a clear view of all the doors, and tuck yourself under the desk. Pulling your knees to your chest, you resist the urge to rock yourself like a baby.

And you sit there, and you watch, and you wait. It doesn’t matter how many hours pass, you are not moving from this spot. It doesn’t matter how heavy your lids feel, how the adrenaline leaving your body has you sagging.

You’re not going to sleep. It’s not safe, and you’re not dying today. You’re simply not.\

You’re not allowed to.

-

A hand touches your shoulder, and you snap awake. Your fist slings out at the would-be attacker, but they dodge it smoothly. When you rear up for another, they move back, hands in the air in a show of surrender. Panting, you don’t lower the fist, your vision swimming.

It’s the Joker. But the Joker wouldn’t back up, right? And the Joker isn’t red, he’s green and purple.

It takes a while for the Joker’s pale, laughing face to disappear. But when you blink and he’s gone, you find someone else underneath. A red mask, a man you think you recognise from TV. A vigilante. God, you hated the vigilantes in Gotham.

Not more than the Joker. Not more than him.

The man stays a safe distance away, gloved hands firmly in the air. He’s tall, really tall. Broad-shouldered, scary. But he’s a vigilante, right?

Is he here to save you? Someone should've by now. The bastard's late then.

He says your name, you think. You can’t hear him properly. Wait no, it’s a nickname, one you haven’t heard in years. You could barely remember your mother calling you that as she tucked you in, as she told you she loved you over the phone, as she disappeared from the world entirely.

You hadn’t let anyone call you that since.

How does he know that name? How does this bastard know your name?

“-hurt? Hey, hey. Listen to me, are you hurt anywhere?” his voice is deep and warbled through the red metal mask, his eyes peering down at you through his domino. You just stare at him, eyes wide, barely breathing.

You need to know how he knows. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to him, and after a moment, he takes it in his own firm grip. It’s awkward, as you’re still sitting half under the desk and he’s trying to stay as far away from you as possible. Still, his hand is warm through the leather, grounding, keeping you from drifting off into panic and fear. Into your worst nightmares come to life.

Because this was real. It didn’t matter that it was impossible, it was real. You simply couldn’t deny it any longer, this was all real.

You stare at this stranger’s gloved hand like it holds the answers to the universe. It might, in the end. It really just might. It wasn’t like the universe was making much sense at the moment.

“She seems fine. Uninjured, if a bit shocked. Doesn’t seem to have a concussion. Hardly responding anyway,” Red Hood speaks, but not to you. An earbud, you think. Superheroes used wiretaps and things like that all the time, right?

If you could even consider Red Hood a superhero. Everybody knew he had his own gang. Of course, even as your very life is being saved, it’s by a morally grey hero who runs around with crowbars and guns. Ah, you’re crying again.

You told yourself a long time ago that you wouldn’t let yourself cry anymore. And you’d managed it, mostly. You think you’ll give yourself a pass for today, just a little one. You hold this stranger’s hand, and you cry.

You just cry. You cry, and you hold the hand of some stranger you hate, because you have to.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

#Series:WWW #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere batfamily #yandere x reader #dick grayson x reader #nightwing x reader #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #damian wayne x reader #robin x reader

[springcourtrose]

Please, stop... | Part 1

Pairing: Helion x reader (x Nessian)

Warnings: abusive relationship and descriptions of SA - MINORS DNI

Prompt: you’re Nesta and Cassian’s mate and yet you are so different from them. From day 1 you tried to be a good mate and do as they wanted and liked but they like it rough and you just don’t. Not only is it not enjoyable for you it is actually painful. And not just in bed. You always excused their behavior as being overprotective but recently you started calling it something else: controlling. And one night, all changed as you uttered the words you had tried so hard never to say, but always thinking if you ever did they would listen. But they didn’t. And that night, everything broke.

(A/N: it's my first time writing for ACOTAR - English isn't my first language)

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Please, stop.

You couldn't remember exactly how many times you had said it. It hadn't mattered. You weren't sure if they just didn't hear you or didn't care. You couldn't bring yourself to think they had just ignored it, ignored you. But you didn't know if the alternative was better. Maybe they just didn't care.

You cried and Nesta called you a brat. You asked them to stop the first time and Cassian shoved his large cock down your throat to shut you up.

You had almost passed out then. Not because of the way you were choking on his hard length but because you had asked them to stop and they hadn't listened. They had ignored you. They had kept going.

You were crying and begging and it just didn't register. Like it didn't matter. Like you didn't matter. All that mattered was them and their pleasure.

They had gone to bed after they were done, leaving you to care for yourself. And it was then, when you were sitting in that cold bath alone, that you realized. Your mates didn't love you. They loved each other, but you were nothing more than a sex toy to them. You who had tried so hard to be a good mate. Nesta had called you a brat and a bad girl. You who had tried so hard to please them and give them whatever they wanted. It hadn't mattered. They would have taken it anyway, no matter what you wanted.

Your heart broke. You wondered if they felt it through the bond. They didn't stir from their sleep.

You silently exited the bath and put on clean clothes. You packed lightly and quietly and didn't look back at your mates before stepping out of the bedroom.

You went to Azriel, because you really didn't have any other choice. Azriel never asked too many questions. It was as much a quality as it was a flaw. That first time he saw your bruised neck for example, he didn't say a thing. Nor did he mention it the second time, or inquire after your well being the third time. He never asked. Because it wasn't his business. But Mor never mentioned it either. Neither did Feyre or Rhys. Your friends, your family. They all had seen it at one point or another. The bruises. The look in your eyes. The flinching when either of your mate raised their voices or got anywhere close to you.

Nesta and Cassian like it rough. That was the end of it.

Azriel brought a dagger to your throat as you approached him. That didn't surprise you. You apologized for waking him up and asked him if he could do you a favor, no questions asked. You weren't sure he would. His loyalties would remain with Cassian. But, maybe it was the look in your eyes, maybe it was the tears, maybe it was the bruises, or the sound of your broken and desperate voice, but when you asked him to bring you to the Day Court in the middle of the night, he had just looked at you and your packed bag for a few seconds, then silently nodded.

Helion wasn't mad you had his guards wake him up at 2AM. No, Helion was concerned. Even more so when he saw you. You knew you probably looked exactly like you felt. Like complete and utter shit.

Helion had always been nice to you. What was there not to like? You were smart, gentle, caring and beautiful. You had similar interests and powers and had become good friends while doing some research with his healers when you were looking for a way to help Feyre when she was pregnant with Nyx.

Helion had become a true friend. The only one you had left after Nesta and Cassian had restricted your outings so much your old friends had more or less forgotten about you.

Helion made you feel safe. You had nowhere else to go.

He opened his mouth, but you spoke first.

"I request asylum."

Both males stilled. Your small and weak voice broke as you said the words but they had heard you loud and clear. You had never seen Azriel so surprise. You wondered if he would try and take you back to the Night Court by force.

"What?" was all Helion managed to say.

"I ask for refuge in your court, please," you said, voice trembling, tears filling your eyes.

"What happened?" he asked, hurrying towards you, checking you for any injury, eyeing you from head to toe, noticing the bruises on your face and neck.

"Please," you begged, falling apart, your knees giving up on you as you collapsed at his feet.

He knelt before you, taking you in his arms.

"What happened?" he asked again, but not to you.

Azriel's face was grave. He knew exactly what had happened. You'd had enough. You'd reached your breaking point. Like he knew this would happen. And yet he had done nothing.

You were sobbing in the High Lord's arms and he embraced you gently, running a hand up and down your back.

"Please," your voice nothing but a whisper. "I request asylum."

Helion's eyes landed on Azriel once more and the High Lord's silence had you panic.

"Please!"

"Granted," he said and you fell apart once more.

You buried your face in his lap, letting your cries and tears flow out of you. Helion looked at Azriel like he would tear him apart, as if he were the one who had hurt you.

"Y/N is now under the protection of my court. Inform your High Lord as soon as possible."

Azriel paused, as if considering not leaving you here, no doubt thinking about his brother, your mate. But, eventually, he nodded.

"Take care of her," was all he said before he vanished.

And as the spymaster disappeared, leaving you behind, your broken cries filled the halls of the Day Court.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #helion x reader #nessian x reader #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #azriel #helion #rhysand #rhys #rhys x feyre #Feyre x rhys

[nobodyfamousposts]

Do you think people cling on too much to Adrien's high road advice as a reason to salt on him?

Yes, especially when there are plenty of other reasons to salt him that have previously been ignored. But to that end, it DOES serve as the final straw for people after a SERIES of problems that had previously gone unaddressed.

Much like many aspects of the show, Adrien has displayed problematic behaviors that have been overlooked and waved off in the earlier seasons. This is likely or especially due to the way how in each and every incident, Adrien was narratively shown to be correct. In his stance. In his choices. In his behaviors. He was always right. It doesn't matter if he shouldn't be, because he is.

Now unless you're a hater or anti or salter or whatever negative name people tend to get for not liking a story as it's presented, readers and watchers tend to follow along with the narrative as it presents things and how it presents things. It's a common setup in any story. Protagonist Centered Morality, I feel framed best by Susan in the Discord series:

Susan: ...and then Jack chopped down the beanstalk, adding murder and ecological vandalism to the theft, enticement and trespass charges already mentioned, but he got away with it and lived happily ever after without so much as a guilty twinge about what he had done. Which proves that you can be excused anything if you're a hero, because no one asks inconvenient questions.

Pretty much this. Most people will follow what the narrative says because it's the narrative. If the narrative wants you to focus on Marinette being embarrassed, you're going to focus on how much she's cringe. And if the narrative wants you to view Adrien as a perfect sunshine boy who never does anything wrong, anything he does is going to be framed through that lens and it's difficult to break from that view and call out the times when he is wrong. Not unless he does something particularly severe.

It should be noted that outside of Chameleon, Adrien had, among other things: lied to his partner, caused someone to get akumatized and had his partner take the blame, was messing around during life-threatening and city-threatening situations, did nothing as Chloe tormented people right in front of him, DEFENDED Chloe after she tormented people right in front of him, bailed on an event with friends to set up a date with someone who said she had other plans and then got mad at HER for it, tried to flirt or confess in the middle of an active crisis which took necessary attention away from said crisis, caused himself AND his partner to get hit by akuma powers and needlessly be taken out of commission.

And yet people could mostly overlook these instances. They weren't his fault. Chloe is his friend. Marinette is worse. He's just a kid. He has a tragic backstory. So on and so forth. Easy to overlook. Easy to ignore in favor of the Sunshine Boy setup people were given and want to believe in.

But there were three major instances that really grabbed people's attention and stayed:

His attitude in Frozer. It probably wouldn't have been so bad except this rejection already happened in Glaciator, where he was supposed to have learned a lesson and accepted just being Ladybug's friend and now apparently didn't, despite it happening earlier that very season. Then in response, he decides to date Kagami as a rebound, drags Marinette with him on his date (without realizing how he's asking his friend to be a third wheel on a DATE) and focuses on her when he's supposed to be with Kagami, throws another tantrum in the middle of an akuma fight and refuses to work with his partner when the city is literally frozen, and requires Ladybug to apologize to him for hurting his feelings before he finally working with her. Again. But okay, he's a teenage boy in love. Not used to rejection and got his feelings hurt. Lovesquare is endgame so of course it'll work out anyway, so it's not like this bump in the road is really going to matter long term so we shouldn't hold it against him. Fine. Dumb, but fine. We've forgiven it in other shows and other poorly done teen romances, we can forgive it here.

His behavior in Syren in which he demanded to know secrets from people when the secrets were not theirs to tell him, and went so far as to attempt to blackmail his kwami (which was funny) and threaten to quit and abandon the Ring that the big bad is after while the city is flooded and people were trying to not drown (which was decidedly less humorous). But it was played for wholesome when Plagg reassured him and he got what he wanted by Fu revealed himself even if Adrien did nothing to actually show he earned it, so all's well that ends well, I guess? And people could justify it because "they're partners" and "part of a team" and "she should trust him" and "it's not fair he's the only one left out of the loop" and "he has a right to know" and just general "Fu is an idiot" (which is admittedly hard to argue). So people were disgruntled, but most were willing to overlook it.

His holier than thou lecture to Marinette in Maledictator over everyone being happy Chloe was leaving. When all Marinette was doing at the time was watching everyone else have fun. When Adrien specifically guilted Marinette and not any of the other actual partiers involved who were literally throwing a party over his friend leaving and probably should have warranted a lecture more than the girl just standing there. When the girl in question was also Chloe's main target and out of everyone had valid reasons to be happy that her bully won't be around to bully her anymore. When Adrien himself has historically been present to witness Marinette being targeted including twice he witnessed Chloe attempt to steal from Marinette, once he witnessed her try to blackmail Marinette, and numerous other times when she actively caused harm to Marinette and others. When Adrien then proceeded to sit in a corner and pout rather than do anything else or just leave if the party really bothered him. When Adrien, if he really cared so damn much, could have gone after Chloe himself! Or y'know...have stood up for Chloe earlier when she got upset in the first place. But fine, okay, Chloe is his childhood friend. So maybe he's just being biased and oblivious to the fact that his "friend" is a horrible person. But people can excuse and justify it in that they are friends and friends support each other, and the longer someone is friends with someone else, the harder it is to break from them. And that Marinette was probably just the target of his lecture because she was the one there in the moment (and the only one who would listen without arguing). And her calling Chloe useless was "mean" despite it being quite frankly the least of what she could have said about her in the moment (coughcough theft cough blackmail cough punished the entire school cough TRIED TO CRASH A TRAIN AND NEARLY KILLED HER AND HER PARENTS COUGH-FREAKINGCOUGH). Fine. Childhood friend means Adrien supports her in all her horrible and even deadly actions. Frustrating, but again, able to be explained and you can see where he's coming from.

These are all things that definitely got Adrien some side eye at best and some detractors at worst.

BUT if you really think about it, all of these examples are objectively worse than his lecture to Marinette in Chameleon. Not accepting being told "no" and continuing to chase a girl who isn't that in to him (while leading on another). Putting lives at risk over personal wants that could quite honestly wait until AFTER the crisis is over. Defending someone who is harmful and guilt tripping the victims. Compared to those, telling someone to leave a liar to their lying seems relatively minor.

So why this? Why here? Why is it Chameleon that has people saying enough is enough? Why is it this episode that is causing the sunshine boy to be so tarnished and the subject of salt in fan fiction?

Because this is the time when it couldn't be rationalized. There wasn't even a valid sensible canon-based reason for his stance. The arguments that Adrien "knew confronting her wouldn't work" or that he "handled her like paparazzi" or that he "knew Marinette previously failed when she tried" (even though he wasn't there and didn't know) or that he "didn't think anyone would believe him" don't come from canon. Those were fan arguments made after the fact to justify him after the base was broken and the outcry became too much to ignore.

This case didn't have any of the ties or rationales of the previous incidents. Adrien wasn't defending himself or his place in a partnership. He wasn't fighting for his love or his dream or an outcome he wanted and that we all knew was coming—if anything, he was fighting against her. He wasn't defending a friend like he did with Chloe—I mean, it's pretty evident he doesn't even really know or like Lila at this point, and for all intents and purposes, this is apparently only the second day he actually had any interaction with her. There was no notable reason Adrien really had for why he essentially chose to protect Lila over literally anyone else as she wasn't a friend and it wasn't in his interests to protect her from a consequence that wouldn't hurt her short term as much as it would likely harm everyone else long term.

And yet, he still defended her and her freedom to lie. Over Marinette. Over Ladybug. Over his friends. Over any sense of right and wrong he seems to have no problem throwing around when it comes to Marinette/Ladybug. Which seems like he targets her 9 times out of 10 compared to pretty much anyone else by this point. So it's little wonder then that people who didn't already hate the lovesquare because of the cringe factor from Marinette started to hate it for being incredibly unhealthy given that their relatively limited interactions tend to involve him lecturing her for failing to live up to his double standards that only seem to apply to her in any given situation.

This incident by itself doesn't seem like much, but when looked at as part of the series as a whole, it's when people couldn't keep overlooking this trend. Where he seems to admonish the wrong person. Where he acts like a mouthpiece rather than a person. Talks like he’s wise in a situation he seems to have a childish and one-sided view of. Acts like a brat but is treated as though he has no accountability in the situation he causes. Where he is wrong but no one and certainly not the narrative acknowledges it (not until season five and two seasons too late when it doesn't matter and he's still not the one facing consequences for it).

And it's not like he actually follows the stances he himself promotes. In Chameleon, canon presents him with this idealistic stance that Lila could change if given a chance, except he doesn't give her a chance. He doesn't push her to be a better person. He doesn't support or in any way help her to be the better person he insisted to Marinette she could be. He also doesn't do anything or warn anyone when she keeps lying and actively harms the people he says he cares about. He doesn't do anything one way or the other other than some lackluster encouragement to stop lying and a warning that goes nowhere. It just further gives credit to the argument that Adrien either simply doesn't care about other people, or that he doesn't care for Marinette specifically. Neither is conducive to the lovesquare or the increasingly tarnished view of the "sunshine boy".

And it could have worked. Canonically and intrinsically to his character. His idealism and trust in the wrong person comes back to bite him. He learns and grows from it. Except that, much like with nearly everything he does in canon, Chameleon set it up that Adrien was the writers' mouthpiece and thus was not "wrong". I'll grant that they did have him admit it and apologize to Marinette for it two seasons later, but it is pretty evident that during Chameleon, they intended his lecture to be right, with no foreshadowing and no implication otherwise. And I'm fairly certain they only backtracked and had him do that much because of the amount of fan outrage over the episode.

So yes, I think his lecture in Chameleon was really a final straw since unlike Chloe, Adrien has NO relationship with Lila to justify his defense of her. Especially when the argument is in favor of letting her lie to the people he's supposed to care about. That combined with how jarring it was how most of the class just sided with Lila over the seat issue in the first place, and I think people were less inclined to just ignore the problems in the episode specifically and with the series as a whole as they were compared to the first and second seasons. Not just with Adrien, as we see that Alya also started getting more callout and salt since then as well as more retrospective scrutiny over her behavior in earlier seasons.

But yeah...Chameleon was where things seemed to take a 180, so it's bound to be the deciding episode and deciding incident that sticks out in people's minds with these characters. That's probably why it ends up the go-to for salt and complaints on the characters involved instead of any of the other incidents that would arguably warrant it more.

#ml salt #adrien salt #chameleon salt #season 5 salt #ml analysis #ml essay #yes it's a lot of salt #yes i am doing this again

[bigfatbimbo]

OK but now I want to know who you consider the "most" and "least" bratty of all the characters. Like a tier list from "most" bratty ro "least" bratty.

I have a vague idea of what my tier list would look like, but I'm very curious on how you would create yours!

a/n — OMG THIS IS LITERALLY SUCH A GOOD IDEA. I’m gonna go from least bratty to brattiest though because like… suspense?

Also only doing characters on my list and not including Rosie or Mimzy because.. i’m literally stumped. I tried, and i’m stumped.

ok so charlie is not bratty at all like, let’s be for real. The most trouble she’ll give you is saying like “oh, I have more work to do!” but she doesn’t put up much of a fight.

Sir pentious is definitely not a brat, that guy lives to please. He will not dare do anything to cause degrading words, he’d rather die for a third time.

I feel like Vaggie wouldn’t put up much of a fight either but I think she definitely would have trouble letting go and relaxing. Like it’s not the concept of a lack of power she’d bitch about just more like vulnerability issues?

Lute would be the same way. Like the only thing she would really be a brat about is if this scenario involves a sinner reader. Because then she’d be higher up but she definitely has no problems with being taken care of that would be super comforting.

Alright so Lucifer is a tough one because on one hand, he’s the king of hell and can be incredibly smug, but on the other hand he literally craves validation so hard he’ll cry over it. The only reason he ranks over Lute is because I think he’s a little snobby and it would show.

Husk would also def have trouble letting go because I think he usually gives in the bedroom. So yeah maybe a couple remarks and protests here and there but once he goes into subspace he shuts up.

Now that we are getting into more bratty characters, Alastor would definitely piss you off on purpose. Only because he thinks it’s entertaining to see you mad and he especially loves it when you fuck the shit out of him later for it. But I also think he really wants approval especially from a femdom because mommy issues.

Velvette I think would definitely be a brat. Like she’s ordering people around all day, yes of course it would transfer. She definitely pouts and whines when she doesn’t get her way with you but like you know how to please her so she goes into subspace after a while.

This guys a wild one. Vox is such a fucking brat it’s not even funny. He has this terrible need for power and he always falls flat on his face because let’s be real he was not meant to dom. He will try his hardest though and when he inevitably fails, he will whine like a bitch about it.

This guys not even on my character list but I felt the need to include him because he’s literally the brattiest one here. Adam will not give in for sooo long. He will absolutely start crying before he stops bitching and then he’d probably get embarrassed and start bitching even more to compensate. Yea, he takes the cake for the brattiest character.

a/n — ANYWAYS, I don’t think I missed any that I wanted to do, unless i forgot which is very possible. But I am curious to see your list too oh my gosh so make sure to get back to me on this one!

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader

[fluffylino]

seungmin wants to be your princess

-contains mature themes (shhh boypussy)

"m-master ah ah a-ah" he's crying now. babbling on and on until you shove his head down into the pillows.

the brown floppy ears moving with each powerful thrust.

the skimpy dress is soaked with sweat and the lace panties are stained with his cum.

"puppies don't talk" you say, landing a blow to his ass. and the noise he lets out makes you even wetter.

a red imprint of your hand on his cheek. you knead into the soft flesh.

seungmin rarely makes noise in bed. its always little sounds and whines. but this time he was too far gone. loud moans muffled in the pillow. he had turned his head now. arching his back even more for you.

"be good, princess. let me hear you" you reassure. running your hand on his back. mind spinning with how he let you touch you however you wanted.

you wondered when he got so flexible. his thighs quivering as you started to fuck into his sopping cunt even faster.

squelching and lewd sounds filling the room.

"such a noisy cunt you have puppy" he whines, eyes rolling back at the feeling of your thumb pressing circles on his clit.

"mmh h-hnnngh" and he's cumming for the third time before you even know it.

breathing out in high pitched girlish cries. begging you to stay inside. to use him.

.

.

seungmin is genuinely taken aback by what pops up on his screen. his fingers furiously tapping away and closing the site.

how the hell was an....explicit video...still playing on his laptop. a young man on his fours. wearing a dress. he wasn't quite sure what dress it was but it looked outrageously slutty. yes that was the word.

two pointy white dog ears on his head, bouncing as the woman behind fucked him open with her strap.

he shook of the imagery, opening the laptop to go back to what he was doing.

.

.

he couldn't shake it off. it had been one day. shuffling around in bed while you were fast asleep. unknowing of the dilemma he was in.

seungmin wasn't one to submit easily. it depended on the day.

but these past few weeks you have been taking charge. since he has been feeling a whole lot more submissive.

the video keeps replaying in his mind. the choked out moans, the noises, the whines, the little ah ah ah's leaving that unknown stranger. he looked like he was in heaven. not a single thought.

just pure pleasure.

seungmin wanted that. he wanted to be fucked dumb. to be nothing but your play thing. your fucktoy. your...maid. your..princess.

and so he scrambles for his phone in the dark. heart racing. opening up various sites. searching for dresses.

"cute pink dress"

"lacey maid dress"

"puppy head band"

and he adds them to his cart. seungmin's found an even prettier dress. one that would compliment his physique. staring at the brown puppy ears.

imagining himself in that place.

imagining how you'll pat his head and tell him how beautiful he looks. with you fucking into him.

making him your dumb puppy. who's nothing but a cumslut.

he feels like he's going to explode. and then

proceeds to checkout and pay.

.

.

there's a unusual aura when you step inside the dorm. throwing your bag on the couch. as you inch towards your boyfriend's room.

no one's at home anyways. so you open the door. jaw dropping at the sight before you. you weren't sure how wide your eyes had become because seungmin's face was flushed red.

sitting in the middle of his bed, with a beautiful pink and white lacey dress. its completely see through except for some parts.

and its short.

very short.

doing nothing whatsover to cover up his glistening pussy.

there are clip on puppy ears attached to his hair. its funny because the brown ears match his dark brown hair.

giving the illusion that he actually did have floppy ears.

theres also a small gag in his mouth. in the shape of a bone. theres spit dripping out of his mouth. and his eyes.

oh his eyes look so pretty with eyeshadow on. a light pink shade that brightens up his lust filled eyes.

and he mumbles a soft "master"

.

.

.

#needy seungmin #is a sight #to behold #make him my princess #praise him #compliment him #lift his dress up #and make sweet love to him #puppy seungmin #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #skz imagines #skz drabbles #kim seungmin smut #seungmin smut #seungminnie in a dress #kim seungmin imagines #seungmin imagines #seungmin hard thoughts #sub!seungmin #sub seungmin #stray kids headcanons #fluffylino works

[popponn]

so what if mikage reo is running late and crashes to you—a culinary student, also late—on his rush. predictably, the coffee in his hand got spilled all over his expensive coat. unpredictably, you—a scholarship student too busy trying to survive—don't know how rich he actually is and automatically offer to compensate him somehow.

since washing his coat somehow will cost you ten times your rent while buying one is simply asking for a lifelong debt, you offer to him what you do best—your cooking for a full month. at first, reo really doesn't want it as he doesn't mind. also, stranger danger? but since you are adamant enough to even offer him "i will make it in front of you!" he ends up accepting it.

and somehow, as people say, a way to a man's heart is through his stomach. reo kind of falls in love a bit too hard and a bit too clumsily before he knows it. but hey, if the love of his life is offering him lunch with a full-blown smile maybe learning to be a proper domestic husband while juggling soccer and business is worth it.

#1:

"so, is it good?" you asked in the manner of a true excited cook.

reo wanted to say that he knew it would be good even before he put your food in his mouth. or say that even if you offer him to eat a marshmallow that is one fire he will still do it for you at this point. or maybe he really should just blurt out, "it is. please marry me and let me have your cooking for the rest of my life. i love you."

but, reo has his pride as your trusted food tester—so, with a wide grin that was objectively handsome if not a bit too full of love, reo answered, "very! guess, studying and testing all those spices really paid off, huh?"

#2:

"can you guys—" nagi paused, making a face as if he was tasting the words on his tongue, "—just get it together?"

you blinked. "uh? pardon?"

nagi didn't raise his head from his phone. "reo keeps looking at you like he wants to—"

"dude," chigiri interrupted, kicking nagi's leg visibly. nagi grunted, which chigiri ignored him in favor of offering you a nervous laugh instead. "sorry, reo kind of ruined his game yesterday. he kept grudges—"

"hey, reo kicked my head—"

chigiri immediately kicked nagi's shin hard enough that the table shook. you spared the white-haired male a pitying squint as you tried to not wince too much. you really should have gone to pick up the food with reo.

note: aka a post canon romcom au no plot no braincell just vibe of supportive x supportive. it's reo just falling in love with you who offer good food and good mental support. and hey this au entails classic "rich guy tries domestic mundane things he never even touch once" which of course would let to reo getting your guidance (while staring longing at you like a boy in love). at least this is reo, so through sheer power of natural learning capability and also love, he will do it right at the second or third time. oh, of course nagi and chigiri is there. chigiri wishes reo would stop bragging about your food and you if he isn't going to grow a bone and confess. nagi wishes reo would stop hitting him each time you send him an emoji or a praise—reo you are ruining his full combo. aka do you see idiot 1 & idiot 2? there is never too many idiots to lovers. might have went way too self indulgence thinking about this—"after bllk they still go to uni" this kind of thinking should tell you enough how many braincel is present here. but. uh yeah. "i want to support and comfort reo" is a feeling. anyway ok. thanks for reading this blurb i should be doing something else rn but 🫶 yeah have this. take this. love u.

#bllk #blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock fluff #blue lock x reader #blue lock scenarios #bllk fluff #bllk scenarios #reo fluff #mikage reo x reader #reo x reader #ngl im also manifesting a culinary cutie rn so there is that. but im also manifesting actual mikage reo #but all in all the thought of two kind supportive people finding each other is a nice thought like “you deserves good things” #drabbles #drabble #maybe one day soon #blurbs

[angelicsjn]

LATEN REED.

Laten didn't believe in love at first sight. He never felt much for anyone at all, really.

He would hop from one person to another, hoping to feel something. Even if it only lasted a few minutes.

This caused himself quite the reputation, a good-looking guy, talented and popular but also a player.

Some people saw him as a challenge, as a trophy to say, 'I fucked him too.' While others decided to stay as far as possible.

Deep down, all he truly cared for was his family and rugby. That was it.

The third month into university and his reputation became a well-known thing. You were one of the few people who avoided him at all costs. If he walked one way, you'd walk the other. If he went to a party, you'd make sure you'd be far away.

Seeing the campus beauties hanging around him, grabbing his big and muscular arms, playing with the soft curls of his hair, complimenting his beautiful green eyes, he'd smile back, act shy, and shrug. So humble!!

All in all, Laten Reed wasn't a very likeable person, and you most definitely did not like him.

You could see right through that little act of his, and with time, it made your blood boil.

Fifth month into university, a party on a Sunday. Who decided a Sunday party would be wise? You went anyway, after an hour of begging from your flatmates.

One of your friends, Maddie, recently became friends with Laten's close knit group, and she couldn't wait for you to meet them all! You wanted to scream and cry and hide..

A game of spin the bottle, you won a once in a lifetime opportunity! Fifteen minutes locked in the bedroom with Laten Reed. THE Laten Reed. How lucky!!

Laten didn't even know who you were before that night. You were some insignificant person that blended in the crowd, so why would he know you? Obviously, you weren't worthy of his acknowledgement.

That's what you'd assume anyway. You expected his mindset to he exactly that when, in reality, it was quite the opposite.

Did he know you before that party? No. He didn't. But once he locked eyes on your form an hour before the game of spin the bottle, he couldn't look away.

Laten couldn't really understand why, you ghosted yourself around the people, you didn't speak to anyone outside your little bubble and it was almost like you did everything in your power to not gain attention and yet at the same time you had his full attention.

He realised you were friends with Maddie. It took him a while to register that fact because he was so invested in you and the mystery of you.

How had he never seen you before?

That's when he wormed his way in using the mutual friend to force interaction between you two. But that didn't work. You avoided even looking his way.

Why didn't you like him? He wanted to see you properly, but you hid yourself behind shy hands and hair.

Skipping to the fated game, you filled with dread when the bottle landed on you both. He noticed it. He had been watching you all night. He saw every emotion that flickersd across your masked features, and it annoyed him that he couldn't see more.

Unlike yourself, he felt lucky to be able to be stuck in a room for fifteen minutes with you.

You begrudgingly followed behind. He locked the door as told and watched as you sat on the bed awkwardly. Looking at your lap and it was like he could hear you mentally chanting, "I want to go, I want to go, I want to go."

You expected him to move onto you, sit beside you with a hand on your thigh, whispering against your ear and you shudder at the thought, but instead, he sat on the floor in front of you, crossing his legs with green eyes looking up at you.

If your distaste towards him wasn't so big, you'd have found him sweet. Cute. Innocent. Three things he most definitely wasn't. You immediately shook those thoughts out of your mind.

Yet he watched you, he could see your features better and God, you were mesmerising. He had never felt that way before, not about anything or anyone.

For once, Laten didn't want to prove his reputation to be true. He didn't want to sexualise the moment. He just wanted to watch. To look. Admire.

How you played with your fingers. Looked at the floor, avoiding contact. How you awkwardly shifted on the bed attempting to appear comfortable.

"I'm Laten." He said, simple. He knew you'd know. Everyone knew Laten. He just wanted to speak. To hear you speak to him. "Y/N." You replied, quiet, yet blunt, and he smiles. You noticed his smile, sweet. Cute. Innocent.

You could almost understand why girls easily got so used by him. He was beautiful. His sparkly eyes watched you, the smile lingered on his pretty lips, and you almost felt your heart beat faster than usual.

Nothing compared to him, though. He was enchanted by you.

From then on, you noticed him look at you a lot on campus, each party you both attended. He began to show up in places you hadn't seen him in before, and he'd smile that smile, and each time, you'd momentarily forget his reputation.

Little did you know, he didn't go to these places by chance, oh no. He followed. Since the day he saw you, he'd watch you. Forever. Watching. Admiring. Observing.

#darling reader #darlingcore #yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n #yandere oc x you #yandere x darling #yandere x reader #yandere x you

[xtreklx]

Bumpin' ~ Raphael x reader

One-shot: bayverse Raphael x reader

Word count: 1k

Warnings: SFW, fluff, slightly mature themes (rated 17+, see my masterlist for disclaimer)

A/N: a self-indulging one-shot I thought up for Raphie boy. thanks for reading!

__________

"Y/N, I'm boooooooored."

Michelangelo let out a long, drawn-out sigh and turned to look at you. You were both strewn about the living room of the lair, him on the floor and you on the couch. This time was normally used for your weekly Mortal Kombat sesh, but Donatello had shut off the lair's power to make a repair, so the two of you were forced to find an alternative activity. Which sounded like a simple task, but had since proven the opposite.

You mimicked your friend's long-drawn out sigh with a smirk on your face. "Yeah, I bet Don decided on purpose to do this right now," you replied. "Not that I blame him, we do get pretty loud when we game." You were laying on the couch as you spoke, scrolling absentmindedly through your phone's home screen and hoping that an app or notification would give you some sort of inspiration.

You thought for a moment as Mikey continued his mock sighs, which were rising in both volume and drama, before turning to him with an idea. "Hey Mikey, do you use Spotify to listen to music?" He looked to you again before pulling out his phone. "Yeah, team Spotify all the way! Why?"

You sat up with a new invigoration. "We should create a blended playlist!" You exclaimed, opening the app on your phone. "We can compare our music tastes and see what we have in common, it'll be fun!" Mikey sat up from his spot on the floor and handed you his phone with the Spotify app open. "Hell yeah, girl! I'm always in the mood to bump some tunes! Lemme go get my speaker." And with that, he took off to his room.

You got to work with both of your phones in your hand. When he returned, you hit shuffle on your blended playlist and the music started flowing from the speaker. You moved to sit next to him on the floor.

"When I look at the playlist story, it says we have a 56% music match." "Okaaaaaaay, that's not too bad," Mikey replied. "Where do we match up, dudette?" You tapped the screen again, showing him. "Our number one match is Tyler the Creator. That makes sense, I listen to him a lot!" "No way, me too!" Mikey exclaimed. "He's definitely one of my fave artists."

The two of you began chatting away and singing along to songs as they came up, while unknowingly summoning a third party.

"Poor Don'll never get the quiet time he wants," Raphael spoke, shaking his head as he walked into the living room from the dojo. His gruff voice startled you from behind and your heart rate increased, as it often did around the short-tempered brother. You had had a crush on him for a few months now, but were far too intimidated and nervous to make a move, so it went unaddressed. The turtle in question strolled over and plopped down on the couch, looking down at you both on the floor. "What're you two idiots doing, anyway?"

"We're just bumpin' some tunes, bro!" Mikey called, shaking his head to the beat of the song playing. "We're comparing our music tastes!" You excitedly said. "And actually, we're using a very technical algorithm, so this is in the name of science! Donnie couldn't argue with that," you grinned up to the turtle in red. Raph rolled his eyes but let a small smirk grace his features in return. Dork.

"Alright dollface. Since it's so impressive, show me how it works."

You explained the process to him as Mikey continued to jam to the music playing from his speaker. Raph listened and examined the blended playlist you had created. "Hmm... Y/N, see what ours would look like," he pondered, reaching for his phone. Again, your heart sped up, but you breathed out an "O-okay" and took his phone from him. As you tapped the screen, you ignored Mikey wiggling his brows at you in your peripheral vision, knowing about your feelings toward his brother.

When you finished, you gasped slightly, and turned the screen to Raph. "We're at 84%!!!" you squealed, showing him where your favorite artists intertwined. You scrolled through the playlist to see a mix of heavy metal, grunge, classic rock, R&B and rap. Tyler the Creator was also listed as one of your top matching artists.

"No way," the brute scoffed, leaning towards you so that he could look over your shoulder at your blended playlist. You both pointed out which songs were your favorite and why, and also chatted about the favorite artists you had in common. Your nerves eased as you connected with him, your heart thrumming at the realization that he was being... kind of vulnerable with you. You were getting to see a part of Raph that he had never shown you before.

All of the sudden, the song changed to 'Dogtooth' by Tyler the Creator, and Mikey jumped up, hollering. You gasped with joy, and you both looked to each other with excitement. "I love this song!!!" You both yelled, and then: "JINX!" You laughed hard as Mikey ran from the living room, yelling the lyrics at the top of his lungs, 100% looking to annoy his other older brothers.

As your laughing ceased and you turned back to Raph, you took in a quick breath as you realized how close you two were leaning in before the outburst. You were still on the floor, but had scooted towards his spot on the couch until you were practically leaning on his lap. You could feel his warm breath brush your face, and he got an amused look on his face as he gazed at you.

Your eyes widened naturally with the proximity, and after a moment of silence and staring at each other, you opened your mouth you speak. But before you could, Raph began rapping along to the song playing from Mikey's speaker, a growing smirk on his face and a unique glint in his hazel eyes as he watched you.

"She could ride my face, I don't want nothin' in return. Except for some her time and all her love, that's my concern. I'm tryna buy my neighbor's house..."

The eye contact he was giving you in this moment could only be described one way: heavy. And your face turned beet red. The closeness, his gaze, his smirk, the words- it was all too much for your poor heart to take.

"R-raph, w-what are you doing?"

"I'm just bumpin' some tunes, dollface."

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