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byers-bowlcut · 1 year

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I've seen people say El likes the IDEA of having a boyfriend more than she actually likes her own boyfriend, and jfc it's so true 😭 Like it's all over the show:

Season 1

She's initially attached to Mike because he's the first person to give her shelter, food, genuine human care and just,, not calling CPS immediately. Her feelings for him was born from trauma and dependency in season 1. And throughout the rest of the 3 seasons, we don't see it grow past that.

Also I think it's noticeable in S1 that:

She was uninterested when Mike tried to share his hobbies with her

She also did not seem to mind AT ALL when she questioned if Mike could be her brother. He voice is neutral and curious here, not the least bit repulsed by the thought of being siblings with Mike, like girl does not care 😭

Season 2

This season has zero onscreen moments of Mike and El actually getting to know each other further. They were separated nearly the whole season.

What we DO see:

El's attachment and dependency on Mike that was developed from S1

We also find out how El spent a year of her life watching melodramatic romance films. Many other middle schoolers might identify that relationships in real life don't work like those films. But El is fresh out of lab life, she's literally learning the world through this TV, and has now become obsessed with the IDEA of having a boyfriend/relationship just like that.

Season 3

Again, no onscreen moments of El showing interest in who Mike is as a person.

The very first scene we see of them, she's trying to get him to stop singing along to the song they're listening to. She seems to like kissing Mike. But isn't shown enjoying anything actually characteristic about him, like sharing interests with him such as music.

Hopper indicates that they don't do anything meaningful together either. We see here that before hanging out with Max, El had little sense of her own style, her hobbies, her interests- meaning spending time with Mike for months probably didn't involve many talking points did it?

Also in season 3, El dumps Mike with ZERO hesitation. Then she has the time of her life with Max. The most acknowledgment we get that she's oh so heartbroken is a small frown to Max that her and Mike aren't on best terms. And even that doesn't seem so paramount cause 1 episode later she totally dismisses Mike after he explains how Hopper threatened him. She just tells him maybe Hopper was right 😭😭

It's literally ONLY once she starts becoming in danger that she starts clinging onto him again. I feel like we've seen this film before hm.

Like where are any signs that she likes Mike as an individual, and is falling for who he really is, rather than simply being attached due to trauma, and liking the concept of doing romantic things (ie: kissing, dancing at the ball, etc.)

Season 4

This is the season it becomes the MOST OBVIOUS: El loves the concept of a happy relationship and being loved, but not really loving Mike for who he is. And bringing in Will's feelings just emphasizes this point.

To start, El continues doing all these relationship-y things that she did in the start of S3. She has Mike's name and pictures plastered all over her room. She makes a "Mike box" with his pictures decorated all over it. But the thing is: this is all sort of a façade at this point. We know she's BEEN unhappy with him for months ("From Mike! From Mike! From Mike!"). But with all these items, she's basically trying to convince herself that she's in this happy, fantasy, movie-like relationship, like she probably watched in hopper's cabin in season 2.

And then, there's the sheer difference between her and WILL in their feelings for Mike. We see it right off the bat when Mike comes to the airport: Will and El both have plans to give Mike something.

Will plans to give him a painting he worked extremely hard on. The painting is a connection of what they BOTH love: DnD, and it includes their friends who also play the game. It's very personal and immediately touches Mike. What's more is, the painting illustrates the exact qualities about Mike that Will loves: his leadership, his bravery, his guidance. This painting literally spells out to us that Will truly loves Mike for WHO HE IS.

Meanwhile, El plans on giving Mike a fun reunion date. She has the whole day planned out. And immediately: we see that what she wants to do doesn't actually takes Mike's interests and personality into consideration. You can see and hear the strain in his voice when he talks about "burritos for breakfast" ��

You can see how he's not that relaxed at rinkomania, and nervous about skating, saying he's clumsy. He probably would've much preferred movies and playing a board game, over skating. But El has her own ideas. When she brings Mike to rinkomania, she tries to act really cool about it. She wants to impress him, wants to seem like she fits in and belongs.

Her present was never actually ABOUT Mike, and about loving Mike that she would plan this huge date for him. Her present was about her desperately wanting to have this cool date like every other normal teen girl might, with a normal boyfriend, and make it seem like they have a happy perfect relationship.

And then finally we reach their S4 fight. I find it extremely interesting how Hopper's cabin is framed in the background during their whole fight. It's almost like an indication that her desperate need to be loved by Mike stems from her trying to cope with losing Hopper and the hole left by him, that clearly did not exist when she happily dumped Mike in S3.

In their fight, when the topic of bullying comes up, Mike says he understands her, but El is quick to say he doesn't. She thinks Mike doesn't understand her, but this is just as much her not understanding HIM as well.

She doesn't get the extent of Mike's insecurities (definitely partially a result of bullying), something that Mike later divulges to WILL and not her. If the writers wanted to show us how much El understands Mike and loves him for who he is, her and Mike would work through his insecurities in their rs together, NOT through a middle man.

Overall it's pretty striking that we've never once heard El actually compliment Mike, or articulate, or even show what exactly she loves about him through four whole seasons. I mean...

Attachment to him due to trauma or grief =/= loving him for who he is.

Wanting to BE loved =/= loving him for who he is.

So really in terms of a relationship, what El ACTUALLY wants is the concept/idea of a regular boyfriend, and a happy easy relationship, all in an attempt to feel normal. And that's why we see them fall apart the way they do in season 4, and why Will is currently so involved. Because Will DOES see and love Mike for exactly who he is.

#eleven hopper #mike wheeler #will byers #byler #analysis on el's character and her feelings for mike #anti mileven #stranger things

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webslingingslasher · 10 months

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You mentioned once or twice that frat!peter isnt as affectionate when his brothers are around so I was wonder if we could get a little something something about reader just stop being affectionate towards him in general because she didn’t mind initially since some people are just like that when it comes to pda but it’s just starting to feel to make her feel like he’s just repulsed by her ☹️

i imagine this is when they first start entering the situationship era. cause i think they were hooking up for a minute and then the lines started to blur and thats when this starts happening.

so let's say,

one night you're sitting next to him on the couch and peter's got his hand rubbing from your knee to inner thigh and back down while he's talking to you.

and when two of his frat brothers come around from the back of the couch, and one chooses to sit on the arm rest, the other on the coffee table across from him. peter's hand stops and he drops it back on his own leg. so, you try to reach out your hand to hold his but he brings his up to move his hat, obviously dodging your hold, so you got up for a drink and stayed away.

----------

the next time this happens was a morning after you spent the night, the house had gone out for breakfast and peter had made you and him breakfast, which was the first time he's ever done something like that.

you're on counter and he's got his waist slotted between your thighs with his hands up his your shirt while making out. peter pulls at the back of your knees and pulls you flush to him, subtly pulling your underwear down when the front door opens and you hear loud chatter and laughs.

peter flies backwards and turns his back completely, grabbing cups from the cabinet and pulling orange and apple juice from the fridge. he nods his head in a greeting when ethan walks in, "look who stayed the night," he gave you a fist bump.

peter holds up the juices and you point for the one in his left hand, "yup, couldn't get her to leave if i tried."

that makes you feel shitty, "no, you absolutely could. you could've said 'hey, you should go,' instead of 'let me make you breakfast and fuck you on the kitchen island.'"

tarrent's next in the kitchen, "bro, your chicks got buttcheeks on the counter."

peter places a hand on your lower back, "let's stop looking at my girls ass and let her get upstairs." he holds your arm as you jump down, tugging his shirt down to cover your bottom completely.

you speed up the steps, then call out, "i like my toast dark!" before you could hit the landing you heard ethan, "you so like her."

"gross, shut up, keznek."

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

the final time you arrived to a party late and searched around until you found him talking in a small huddle of his friends so you walked up with a happy grin and pushed yourself up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"hi, handsome." the most subtle shift away, "hey," you watched him look around the room, "got any friends here?" that must mean he doesn't see himself as one, how rude.

if he doesn't want you acting like you know him outside of fucking that's fine with you. but he doesn't get to act one way around you and another around his friends, it's confusing and unfair.

"you know what, peter? you suck."

you hear his friends scoff and softly 'oo' when you walk off, peter calls out behind you, "what does that mean?" you wanted to turn around and tell him off, but you think giving him a taste of his own medicine is better.

so, you go straight to the kitchen to down three shots and grab a cup of whatever so you could jumpstart the peter hate train. it took a while, but you finally made him break away from his friend group when you'd been in an unbroken conversation with a random guy for ten minutes.

"hey, where you been?" a territorial arm is thrown around your waist, you brush his hand off and step to the side. "hey, i'll catch up with you in a minute."

and that makes peter want to explode. you're blowing him off for some random guy? some guy that's mostly no threat?"

"well-"

you gesture to the side with your head, "see you later, parker." and to stab him a little harder when he turns his back you shake your head and beam a smile, "sorry, he's kinda weird. what were you saying?"

but when you don't even find him after and wonder into the kitchen he's almost seething. peter walks up behind you and tugs at your arm, "hey, what the fuck was that?"

innocently, "what are you talking about?"

"well, let's see, trouble." he starts counting with his fingers, "you threw my arm off you, you blew me off, you cut me off, um, parker? then you said i was weird and you apologized on my behalf when i all was trying to do was talk to you."

you pout sarcastically, "oh, did i? i'm sorry, i just know how you are with me hanging all over you around your friends." peter dares look confused, "what do you mean?"

"oh!" you blink fast, "you hate it! so, i refuse to do it. and going forward, we'll keep the same energy, so no more hanging around after sex."

"no, what? why do you think i hate it? i mean, where's this coming from?" is... peter panicking a little?

"peter, you pull away and act like you don't know me everytime your friends come around. you act one way when we're alone and another when someone from the house comes around, it's unfair."

"it's not personal, trouble! if they figure out how much i like you i'll never hear the end of it."

"so... you're emotionally manipulating me because you don't want to be teased?"

when you put it like that it makes him feel terrible.

"no! yes? but not purposely. and hey, from now on, no more pulling away. even if i get roasted by every one. you have my word."

"i don't believe you."

that means prove it.

peter grabs your hips and lifts you to plop you on the counter next to the sink, he moved with such accuracy you yelp and rest your hand over his. before you could say anything ethan glides into the kitchen, unfazed by the sight.

"yo, parker, will you grab... and nevermind," just to prove a point, he kissed you while his best friend was mid question and watching.

#peter parker blurb #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm! peter parker x reader #peter parker angst #peter parker fluff #my writing #frat!peter

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alastors-antlers · 3 months

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Being someone who sees a lot of talk about shipping Alastor (sexually, romantically) in fanworks, I just want to take some time to talk about both sides of the issue. It's long, I know - please, please bear with me until the end, and I hope you'll understand what I mean in a bit.

I hope this helps someone, but as an aroace person who understands the frustration and hurt, this is often how it feels to me:

Alastor, being one of the limited cases of aspec rep that I've seen and one of even fewer which I actually enjoyed, means a lot to me.

That being said, his canon rep establishes that he's aroace but not much about how this factors into his life or relationships at all -- and when there's a gap in canon, I turn to fanfiction, which tends to spotlight characters' queerness even when the source material doesn't or can't. Don't we all want to see ourselves in the media we engage with?

When I pull up AO3, there are already a good number of fics about him. Great! Some of them are definitely incredible; but as I read on, it starts to seem like a lot of fics I see acknowledge that he's asexual or aromantic in some way but don't really factor that into the story. It reads like you could have written the story without keeping his queer identity in mind, and it would've come out the same.

Even when representation that does resonate with me exists, it starts to be exhausting to pick through the slash tags to see which ones are written in an aspec-coded way, so I wonder if it would be easier to not read anything with slash at all. On the other hand, when you filter ships out completely, only a tiny fraction of the fanworks are left.

People often respond that aspec people can have relationships, and I think we tend to know that. They can have sex, some can experience sexual attraction in select situations, they can romance others beyond romantic attraction -- any combination of things. But some aroace people don't want either, and sometimes we're struggling to see ourselves in how Alastor is typically portrayed.

Out of all of the fics, sex-repulsed, totally aromantic Alastor isn't seen much. And when Alastor's limited canon seems to be pretty supportive of a reading where he is those things...

Sometimes, you start to feel lost. If fics were evenly distributed along the aroace spectrum of experiences, wouldn't you expect more fics of him being the "totally uninterested" brand of aroace? But there aren't. People seem to have a preference toward seeing him in relationships. Even if they mean well, it can make you think: what does that say about how we view asexuality/aromanticism as a whole?

Is there something less interesting about Alastor, when romance is taken out of the picture? Do others find him less appealing as a character if they can't see him dating, or in love, or having sex or wanting it? Why do we need romance, when romance is already everywhere else, when it doesn't even feel like he was originally really interested? It brings to mind a struggle to be societally accepted, even today.

Even when it's not technically wrong to write Alastor as you see him, being told that we should all be able to ship him however we want can feel like this:

It brings to mind people who try to swing in with misinformed good intentions, telling us "oh, you're aromantic? but you can still have romantic relationships, right? so you can still be normal." when all we want is to be okay outside of the normal.

Or trying to find a partner who can be with us, out of everyone who tells us "I know you don't enjoy sex, and that's okay, but I can't have a romantic relationship with you without it." and being so tired of hoping for someone who gets it.

Or talking with peers, and hearing them all commiserate and fawn over their experiences with love, then telling them about someone you like non-romantically and getting "aww, it sounds like somebody's got a crush!" but not being believed when you tell them it's not like that at all.

Alastor is not a big deal, not really, not in the grand scheme of things. But in an allonormative world, it can feel like a sudden splash of cold water when we were expecting a warm fire to sit around. Even within this ecosystem, we squint to see ourselves reflected.

Society isn't built for us. It can be exhausting to be reminded of that.

~~~

I hope to support people writing Alastor as any variation of aspec, or not even aspec at all. At the end of the day, I think that fanon is really whatever you want it to be, and everyone has their own reasons for writing what they find enjoyable. They should be allowed to do so, and I want to believe that people do what they do with good intentions.

They want to imagine scenarios with the templates of characters they love, and that's okay; even beyond sexuality/queer identities/etc., fan interpretations of characters can be incredibly, wildly different from who they really are in the story anyway, and that's what I try to remind myself. But still, I also can't help feeling disappointed about the aroace representation we could have seen.

(Is Alastor canonically sex-repulsed? Uhh, maybe. If I had to guess, that'd be my top guess, but this might be a hot take: I wouldn't really say there's enough to go off of considering that this view is supported by Angel propositioning him both times, and it's not like Alastor is a particularly big fan of Angel at those points anyway lol)

To my fellow aroaces struggling with Alastor's fandom rep: if you need a break from it all; if you need to block the tags that you hate; if you need to talk to someone about how you're feeling; that's okay. It makes sense that you'd want more representation in a way that helps you feel seen and validated and less alone. I can't speak for everyone, but I think I get it.

I don't have any solutions for how you're feeling, because sometimes I'm feeling the same way. I understand that you want others to get your position and you have the right to express your feelings, but even if you're correct, often being angry or frustrated won't help change others' minds, so let's try to save our energy and take care of ourselves.

Something that helps me to think about is that even now, asexuality is gaining more visibility. We're gaining support. Real change is happening in the world that's helping incredible amounts of aspec people feel freer to be themselves. And maybe one day, we won't be reaching to protect our scraps of representation.

Let's fight until that day together <3

#seriously I appreciate everyone who's out here posting about alastor I love being in the radio demon fanclub lol #just some thoughts that's all and maybe it'll resonate with others #please let's be patient with each other though it's rough out there already #alastor #hazbin #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel #asexual #aromantic #asexual alastor #aromantic alastor #aroace alastor #alastor hazbin #ace #aro

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cherieiu · 26 days

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; SAY YES TO ME,

sypn. whether he likes it or not, insecurity chased him — you're too much for him, too loving, too caring — he doesn't (does) deserve you. pairing. aventurine x gn!reader notepad. super super short omg i tried my best D:, its vv icky and kinda ooc, for @toorurs (EWW THE BIGGEST ICK OUT THERE VIOLENTLY THROWS UP MAJOR ICKKK) this is so icky ick i'll write more aven as an apology!! reblogs are super duper appreciated!!!

they say, 'to be loved is to be changed', yet the mellow bitterness rests still in his heart, immotile and repulsive. the warm feeling you induce in him nauseates him. your honeyed voice sings him sweet nothings, your fingertips lovingly worship his skin — he doesn't deserve this heaven, he doesn't deserve you. he only taints with every fleeting touch, his opalescent gaze alone filthies you. aventurine sickens himself, you're forced to carry the burden of him (undeserving and of little worth) on your shoulders.

"isn't it tiring?" his voice is hushed, vulnerability seeping through every word. the hem of his shirt is tightly crumpled between the crevices of his hand, the sweet taste of insecurity melted onto his tongue. his shoulder tense with tangible anxiety— a dangerous gamble he's willing to lay his heart vulnerable for.

"aren't i tiring?"

the dim iridescent moonlight blankets your frame and his - you look ethereal, he swallows the words down.

"no! of course not," how the words slip past your candied lips with such ease. the scent of lilac gloss lays heavily in the air and on his lips — the sticky kisses that smear onto his skin, the constant reminder of you.

"you're not lying, are you?" uncertainty laces his voice, "do you promise?"

you nod, pressing candy-like kisses on his pillowy lips with a determination to convince him. "you'd be able to tell if i was," you breathe out, blonde strands tickling your nose.

"it's hard to tell when it's you," his voice painfully aches of longing, for your comfort — the cup he held never overflowed — , satiates his thirst for repeated words with lost meanings. "it's like i can't see through you- just makes it hard to tell," (as if you're a clouded mirror, only with his warmth can he see past the fog) the confession slips past his lips, silently hanging in the air.

you glance up at him with curiousity, "is it? then, can you tell if i love you?"

his breath tenses - do you truly love him? the line between truth and lie blurs, he can't discern the two; if he were a shameless man with nothing left to give, he allows the words to swallow him. with so little left, it wouldn't hurt, would it? — regardless of truth or lie, he's a starved man who'll indulge in this.

"yes, you do," serenity's a sea, it never stills yet he only wishes for this moment to last — may it be a memory he'll run back to in his dreams.

cherieiu 2024 © plagiarism, use of ai, reposting and translation is not permitted.

#xue:fics!#hsr x reader #honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x you #EWW I HATE THUS THROWING UP VIOLENTLY?!

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ystrike1 · 4 months

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Dark Castle - By faun_me (8.5/10)

This one is a rich and heavy story. Slow burn. Alot of lore. The love interest is an 8 foot tall half human rat man. Memory loss. You've seen some of these tropes before, but they're done well. The art improves steadily as well, and the creature design is well above average. No generic dragons here

Our nameless heroine has no memories. She knows so little that her common sense is gone. She isn't afraid of demons. She has been dragged into the demon realm for unknown reasons. She's being stalked by a friend that looks human, and his demon master desires her. Luckily, she is captured by another influential demon.

At first he seems very nice. He doesn't welcome the stranger warmly, but he doesn't throw her to the wolves. She would die for sure out in the open. The ruler of this castle, Nemalla, doesn't know she's someone else's prey. He really becomes her protector by accident. He even investigates the cloud in her memories, out of pity. It's....a refreshingly normal reaction. Our confused heroine doesn't get special treatment right away, BUT the male leads personality gets established. He's not unreasonable, for a demon.

His kindness is not too good to be true. We see his life outside of his conversations with our protagonist. He's a feared and fearsome leader that doles out capital, cannibalistic punishment with his own hands. He is weighed down by loneliness, because he never expected to rise so high. He was trying to survive, but success left him alone with many enemies.

He is never overtly awful to her, even though his daily life demands a manly/harsh attitude.

The lore is a ton of fun.

Our heroine is ugly. Her features are hideous. She has no tail. No soft fur. Her white skin is gross and unseemly. She does not elegantly blend into the dark, the way a sultry demoness would.

We get hints.

Nemalla is attracted to her, even though her looks are repulsive to any demon.

It starts out very innocently. Nemalla likes her company. He's used to fear and hate, but having a friend is a precious new experience. It soothes his mind. When he shoos our protagonist away to focus on work he regrets it. He muses over how to invite her back over for...him.

He doesn't just want her to regain her memories.

He wants to hang out.

Our protagonist must regain her memories on her own. Nemalla can only help her so much. That's the rule binding her amnesia curse together.

She remembers her name when he takes her to his gorgeous personal garden, to impress her.

Simona.

He tells her to stop.

Names are power in the demon realm, but she gives it to him.

He does the unthinkable.

He shares his name with her too.

He explains the gravity of their exchange.

Knowing a name means you can influence that being, in this particular realm.

Nemalla knows many names, because he is powerful.

Simona has nothing, and she has foolishly given her name away.

He considers...showing her. Punishing her to give her a reason to think. To be less innocent, but he doesn't do it because of his perverse attraction and his loneliness.

Nemalla was imprisoned before. He was at the bottom, with less than nothing. There's an extremely creepy scene. It kind of comes out of nowhere, and it's a red flag. It is why I'm reviewing this series.

Nemalla sees himself covered in blood, back in his chains.

Simona appears, glowing with ethereal light.

He looks at her like she is his only savior, and the illusion snaps away.

Nemalla isn't dreaming.

He had that visceral vision as soon as she touched his hand.

Simona has a friend named Alter.

He kisses her while she's asleep.

He grabs her while he's wearing a mask, and he torments her. He tells her nothing. He lusts over her in the shadows, and his master wants her too. I don't care if he's hot he made a terrible first impression, and the way he treats Simona screams "annoying yandere". You know what I mean. The kind of persistent guy that exists to be slapped around by the real male love interest. He's not that intimidating.

Hopefully his master will be better.

Boom.

Lore drop.

Nemalla was born a prince. The son of a queen. That queen...became lovers with a demon outside of her marriage. The bastard prince was eventually thrown in the dungeon, with his mother.

She died there next to him.

It's implied that she loved her half demon son, and he loved her, and that makes their story even sadder.

It also explains why Nemalla is attracted to Simona neatly. (He likes demons too)

It's nice that it's clear he likes HER, not just her body.

The master who wants her has not revealed himself yet, but I have no doubt. I have total faith in Nemalla. He is absolutely going to tear the other men after her into shredded demon beef.

(Important note: Nemalla can probably change shape. His real body most likely is the rat demon body, but I do think he'll try to seduce Simona with a hot humanoid form at some point. He's already done for. He thinks about her whenever they're apart.)

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #yandere boy #recommendations #recs #rec #recommended #webtoon #Dark Castle

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thesherrinfordfacility · 5 months

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oh my god but crowley didn't fully believe that whatever he was idly toying with confessing at the ritz was gonna work, did he? he impatiently looked at his watch, flumped into the chair after stress-tidying the shop - not because the metatron had dragged aziraphale away, but because when aziraphale eventually comes back, and crowley manages to ferry him off to the ritz, crowley wasn't yet sure whether he should say the unspoken thing. he was still weighing up the idea, was debating whether or not he should. because here's the thing - crowley hadn't cottoned on.

he hadn't worked out what the dance meant. the lingering touches. the longing glances that he thought he might have caught in the corner of his eye, but couldnt be sure. maggie and nina came to talk to him, and he was nonchalant and dismissive and brushed off what they were saying because crowley doesn't want his vulnerability seen. he wasn't even sure that a confession would actually work - so don't encourage him, because what if aziraphale doesn't feel the same way? what if giving voice to it is still too fast?

but they seem to think that aziraphale feels some kind of way about him... so maybe, actually, he should? he should say something, he should tell aziraphale how he feels, oh god he should take this spark of bravery and fan it into an inferno... because that glimmer of hope, buried within, that aziraphale won't reject him is burning a little brighter.

so he decided to take the leap, to confess then and there, because that little flicker of courage is so delicate, and it has to be coaxed into a flame, and if he doesnt do it now, he won't ever feel he can. "if i don't start talking now, i won't ever start talking". he wasn't set on confessing at the ritz, only considering that if anything was going to be said it should happen there. he went out to the bentley, after handing maggie and nina back to their reality, to put Their Song on the deck - it might help! - and then came back nervous and excited and impatient and terrified. but the girls said that they never say what they're really thinking, and what crowley's thinking is that he ought to say something, but doesn't know if he should.

but crowley took the leap, decided to just do it whilst he's still got a grasp on that conviction and bravery. and is smacked back with the shock and repulsion of being offered restoration, the heartbreak that aziraphale does reciprocate what he does, but only if he's an angel again. only if he goes back. only if only if only if. he doesn't hear what aziraphale actually means, doesnt think about what aziraphale is actually trying to say to him - that aziraphale does want him, does love him, does want to be with him, just as he is, but it can only happen if they're safe, working from the inside to change things so they can be safe - because all he can think is that maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all. took the leap, and found out all over again what it is to fall.

#good omens #idk is this anything #idk why the full scope of crowley's behaviour in the lead up to the feral domestic suddenly just hit me but it did #crowley meta #feral domestic/final fifteen meta

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ginnsbaker · 8 months

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Bulletproof (4/?)

Part Summary: There's a new recruit who seems to have taken a liking to you. If things were normal between you and Wanda, maybe she wouldn’t feel so…threatened.

Chapter word count: 2.6k+ | Tags: Light Angst, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Enemies to Lovers to Enemies, Gay disasters

Ship: Wanda Maximoff x Gender Neutral Reader

Part Five | Series Masterlist

The newest recruit, Daisy Johnson, seems to have taken a liking to you.

At least, that's what Wanda Maximoff has observed since Daisy's inclusion earlier this week.

From the corner of her eye, Wanda constantly catches the newbie stealing glances at you during training, meals, and even debriefing sessions. It's not that she keeps tabs on you or anything, but she can't help but notice when you catch someone’s attention, especially when that someone seems to be nearly everywhere you are.

In every training session, Wanda notes Daisy choosing to partner up with you or standing close by during briefings. Even in the more relaxed moments within the compound, Daisy seems irresistibly drawn to you. Wanda doesn't miss how Daisy occasionally throws prolonged glances your way, or how she laughs a tad too enthusiastically at something you say.

And it doesn't help that you and she walk on eggshells around each other since your confession in your old cell.

Neither of you has made any attempts to talk to the other again. Not even a glance, as if pretending the other doesn't exist will make that fateful night disappear. But for Wanda, the more she tries to push it out of her mind, the more sharply it edges back in, refusing to be forgotten.

She can't help but wonder: Was it wrong of her to move like that in her sleep? And were you out of line for not waking her up right away?

And more importantly: Were you so repulsed by it that you chose a prison cell over sharing her bed?

All these questions keep swimming in her mind, to the point where she has considered going to whoever handles this sort of stuff at the compound—kind of like an HR Department, but for Avengers. Perhaps a course on understanding boundaries might help you both move past this and start anew.

But then again, addressing it means dealing with it, and right now, just avoiding the whole mess seems so much easier.

As Wanda turns a corner in one of the compound's sprawling hallways, her eyes catch sight of you and Daisy. You’re both laughing, heads thrown back, not a care in the world. Wanda's eyes involuntarily narrow at the sight, taking note of the negligible distance between you two. Daisy's hand is resting lightly on your arm, fingers dancing along the fabric of your shirt as she emphasizes a point in her story.

Wanda tries to walk past nonchalantly, yet can't seem to dispel the feelings that bubble up each time she sees you with Daisy.

It's maddening. If things were normal between you and Wanda, maybe she wouldn’t feel so…threatened.

But they aren't.

And she does.

Wanda's patience is tested to its limits one Saturday afternoon.

Tasked with joining Sam to whip up dinner for the team's weekly movie night, she's diligently chopping vegetables in the expansive kitchen when Daisy sidles up to her.

“Hey, uh, Wanda, right?” Daisy begins, a casual tone to her voice.

Wanda doesn’t even look up as she answers, “Yes?”

“Can I ask you something about Y/N?”

Wanda's grip on the knife tightens just a fraction, her posture stiffening. “I think it’s better if you ask Vision–he monitors all of us even more closely than the cameras we have everywhere.”

As the words leave Wanda's mouth, Vision, who’s been quietly tinkering with a device on the other side of the kitchen, looks up suddenly, his usually stoic face showing a hint of surprise.

“I assure you, I do no such thing,” he starts, his tone a touch defensive. “Monitoring everyone is not part of my programming or my personal interests.”

Daisy raises an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “Sure, Vis. Everyone needs a hobby, right?”

Vision clears his throat, looking somewhat flustered, “It is not a 'hobby' of mine.”

Wanda can't help but smirk slightly at Vision's discomfort, her attention briefly diverted from the awkwardness with Daisy. “It's just a joke, Vision. Relax.”

He gives a curt nod, turning his attention back to the device in his hand, though he remains noticeably quiet.

Daisy chuckles lightly, but her curiosity remains unsated. “Anyway, back to Y/N?” She prompts, looking expectantly at Wanda. “Steve mentioned that if anyone on the team knows Y/N best, it'd be you, considering you two shared a room.”

Fucking Steve.

Wanda takes a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. She finally glances up to meet Daisy's eyes, her expression guarded. “What do you want to know?”

“Is Y/N... you know, single? And what do you think of them?”

Wanda's eyebrows shoot up, her eyes sharpening immediately. She places the knife down on the countertop with more force than necessary. “Why do you ask?”

Sam whistles softly, making it obvious he's eavesdropping. “Damn, getting intense over here,” he comments with a grin, making no effort to hide his amusement.

Daisy shoots him an exasperated look, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Trying to have a conversation here, Wilson.”

Ignoring Sam's teasing, Wanda presses, “I just want to know why you're asking.”

Daisy sighs, rubbing the back of her neck. “We've been talking a lot, and I was just... curious.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chimes in, “Curious or interested?"

Daisy rolls her eyes. "Nosy much?"

Wanda reaches for the shredder and starts grating all the remaining vegetables rather aggressively.

Sam laughs before lifting the spatula to his lips to sample the soup he’s making. “Just trying to get the lay of the land.”

“Why don't you focus on your soup, Sam?” Wanda retorts, though her eyes never leave her task.

Sam smirks, catching the hint of jealousy in Wanda's tone, and decides to push just a little further. “You know, Wanda, if you have something to say about Y/N, now's the time.”

Wanda's eyes flash red for a brief moment. Sam holds his hands up in mock surrender, but the smirk doesn’t leave his face.

Daisy looks between them in confusion.

Taking a moment, Wanda sets the shredder aside and faces Daisy squarely. “Y/N almost risked their life to save mine. If you're looking for a testament to their character, well, actions like that are rare to come by.”

“And as for Y/N’s relationship status,” she continues, a bit reluctantly, “I believe they're single.”

Daisy's gaze becomes gentle, a dreamy quality entering her eyes. “That's... truly heroic,” she whispers, almost to herself. Wanda feels a sudden urge to throw up.

She then flashes a grateful smile at Wanda. “Thanks, Wanda. That means a lot coming from you.”

Wanda merely nods before clearing her throat. “Well, now that that's settled, could someone pass the salt?”

It’s Sam who hands it over, but not before saying, “Try not to add too much. We wouldn't want dinner to be as salty as some people's moods.”

Tony is, unsurprisingly, first in line, eagerly eyeing the roasted vegetables. “If the taste is half as good as the smell, we’re in for a treat tonight.”

Steve chuckles, replying, “I think we can trust Wanda and Sam's culinary skills by now.”

Natasha and Clint are engrossed in a deep conversation about an upcoming mission, while Bruce discusses some new upgrades with Tony. Vision, for his part, is explaining to Peter the intricacies of using Wanda's food processor.

As the chatter continues, Wanda moves to retrieve the centerpiece of the dinner: a golden-brown roasted chicken. She feels everyone's eyes on her, awaiting the moment the chicken will land on the table. However, her gaze is involuntarily drawn to the table where she sees you and Daisy sitting next to each other, laughing about something.

In that split second of distraction, her fingers graze the scalding metal rack of the oven. A sharp hiss escapes her lips, the sudden pain evident on her face. Dropping the oven mitts, she mutters a quick “Excuse me” and dashes off to the nearest bathroom, intending to run the burnt area under cold water.

You notice her quick exit and, after a brief moment of hesitation, quietly follow her. As you near the bathroom, the sound of running water reaches your ears.

Without knocking, you enter. Wanda is cradling her hand, trying to soothe the burn.

Your voice is soft with concern when you speak, “Wanda? Let me help.”

Wanda quickly pulls her hand away from the water, her eyes widening as she registers your arrival. “I’m fine,” she snaps, her posture tensing further. Water drips from her fingers onto the porcelain sink.

You take a hesitant step forward, your intent clear. “I can heal it. Just let me—”

“I said I'm fine,” she interrupts, her voice sharp. “Sometimes it's good to feel pain, you know, heal the natural way. Not everything needs a... quick fix.” She glances pointedly at you, an obvious jab at your abilities.

Your eyes narrow slightly at her comment, but you keep your emotions in check. “It's not about the quick fix, Wanda. It's about helping someone in pain, even if that someone is stubbornly pushing everyone away.”

She sighs, her defenses visibly waning. “Why are you even here? Shouldn't you be out there with Daisy?”

“What’s Daisy got to do with any of this?”

Wanda bites the inside of her cheek, averting her gaze. Even if she has an answer ready, she's not sure she'd want to voice it.

With a sharp exhale, your frustration bubbles over.

“Fine,” you say tersely, pointing at her burned hand. “Let it scar then. See if I care.”

Moving swiftly, you leave the bathroom without waiting for her response.

Wanda stays there for a few minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to steady herself. When she finally decides to rejoin the team for dinner, she notices the empty spot beside Daisy. You're gone, probably to your room.

Regret coils in her stomach. She didn’t mean for things to escalate like that, especially when all you were trying to do was help.

She hasn't felt this anxious in a long time.

It reminds her of the days after she lost everything that truly mattered.

Checking that everyone is probably asleep, Wanda takes a deep breath and heads towards your room. Her mind races, trying to figure out what to say, how to apologize.

She stops in front of your room and then gently raps on the door, listening intently for any sign of movement inside. “Y/N?” she calls out hesitantly. She doesn't expect the door to open immediately, and when it does, it's not you who answers.

Instead, Daisy stands there, looking a little startled too.

“You…” Wanda hisses slowly before she can catch herself.

Daisy quickly registers Wanda's reaction and raises her hands in a placating manner. “Oh, right. Sorry, this must be weird. My apartment had a plumbing issue, a flood actually. Since I'm joining the team permanently, I made a request for a new room. But until that's sorted, Y/N offered me theirs.”

Wanda's insides churn with a jealousy she can't quite place, but she masks it swiftly, painting on a polite smile. “And where's Y/N now?” she asks, her voice deceptively calm.

Daisy bites her lip, appearing somewhat embarrassed. “They're asleep,” she admits. Stepping aside, she reveals you, nestled in a makeshift bed on the floor, blankets arranged around you for some semblance of comfort.

Wanda's eyes soften at the sight of you, but her heart also tightens in anger. You've given up your bed, your comfort, for Daisy. You’re doing for someone else what she’s done for you. It feels like an invasion of something she thought she exclusively shared with you.

Daisy shifts, catching Wanda's stare. “They wouldn’t listen to me,” she explains, a bit embarrassed. “Kept saying it's fine and that I should take the bed.”

Wanda just nods, a tightness in her voice. “Sounds like them, alright.”

Trying to ease the tension, Daisy adds, “Y/N always talks about you, you know. In a good way. Maybe you two should just... chat.”

Wanda raises an eyebrow, a little surprised. “They do?”

Daisy chuckles. "Yeah. Anyway, I'll leave you to it. Night."

“Night,” Wanda murmurs, still looking at you.

Once Daisy’s gone, Wanda hesitates. Part of her wants to barge in, shake you awake, and have that long overdue talk. Instead, she absentmindedly touches the burn on her hand, its sting a reminder of how you tried to help her earlier. It's jarring to think that you, even after avoiding each other for days, were ready to heal her.

And damn, it hurts. Not the burn, but the realization of how much she misses you.

Wanda doesn’t get any chances to talk to you for the next several days because you–along with Natasha, Daisy and Vision are called away to a mission.

Each day you’re away, Wanda feels the weight of anxiety pressing down on her chest. She can’t help but worry, replaying every worst-case scenario in her mind. She catches herself multiple times pacing by the control room, asking for updates, or staring out at the landing pad, waiting for the quinjet to return.

When word finally arrives that the quinjet is en route back to the compound, Wanda finds herself in the hangar before she’s even consciously made the decision to be there. Steve stands next to her, his face betraying his own relief. A few other team members have gathered too, all awaiting the return of their comrades.

The roar of the quinjet’s engines fills the air as it makes its descent. As the ramp lowers, Wanda's eyes scan the disembarking figures, and they lock onto yours. You look a little worn, a fresh bruise marring your cheek—oddly enough, one you've chosen not to heal. But beyond that, you seem okay.

Her heart swells with relief.

You seem to pause for a second, looking genuinely shocked to see Wanda amongst those waiting. For a moment, your eyes lock. She offers a tentative smile, full of hope, and it seems you're about to approach her. But then, as you step further out of the quinjet, Daisy appears at your side. The way she comfortably intertwines her fingers with yours sends a sharp pang through Wanda's heart and her smile falters.

Steve claps his hands together, attempting to reign in the team's focus. “Alright, debrief. How did it go?”

Natasha, with a deadpan expression, shoots back, “Could’ve gone smoother if you’d packed me a flask, Rogers.”

Steve smirks, shaking his head. “Alright, Romanoff. Just don’t make us wait too long.”

As you approach Wanda, your expression gives away nothing. “Hey,” you murmur, voice neutral. But Wanda’s eyes have darted down to where your hand is connected with Daisy's. Her eyes harden, and when she meets your gaze, they’ve become unreceptive.

Misreading the tightening of Wanda's features as coldness, your frown deepens. You'd thought some time apart might've helped ease the strain between you two, but guess not.

Just as you're about to say something to her–maybe an explanation as to why you’re holding Daisy’s hand–Daisy gives a playful tug on your hand, breaking the moment. “Come on,” she chirps. “Let's head in. I heard there's pizza, and I intend to eat more slices than you.”

You allow Daisy to pull you along, throwing one last glance at Wanda over your shoulder, wishing she'd say something–anything.

But Wanda's back is already turned to you. Her posture rigid, fists clenched at her sides, the knuckles going white. In that moment, Wanda is making a silent vow to herself, one of emotional self-preservation.

She walks away, her heels clicking against the ground with each firm and decisive step. Deep down, the walls she'd slowly been dismantling brick by brick in the face of a potential future with you were being hastily reconstructed.

She’s survived worse things.

Of course, she’ll survive you.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x you #wanda maximoff #unbetad #my writing #my fic #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff fanfiction #natasha romanoff #captain america civil war #the avengers #oneshots #steve rogers #daisy johnson #vision #sam wilson

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macabr3-barbi3 · 29 days

Text

Nothing I Can't Handle- Chapter 2 [Alastor/Reader]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54337009/chapters/139143145

Chapter 1!

Tags: Reader-Insert, Alastor in Rut, Non Sex-Repulsed Alastor, Rough Sex, Possessive Sex, blood kink? maybe if you squint, Biting

Round 2! Who doesn't love a nice chase through the bayou?

Comments and feedback fuel my lifeforce- let me know what you think! 💕

Chapter 1 🦌 Chapter 3

When Alastor’s rut comes around the second time, you’re ready.

The first one had been… an experience. Not a bad one by any means- while sore you were thoroughly sated, Alastor having been very particular about making sure that you came just as many times as he did, if not more. By the end of the three day period you had been holed up in his room you were covered in a thin layer of sweat and various bodily fluids, the last day having been the most exhaustive. Your throat was sore from the constant noises coming from you; a headache from the dehydration of not getting enough water between rounds, though Alastor had done his best to remember to conjure a glass here and there; a variety of cuts and bruises littering your skin, a collage of delicious depravity. When Alastor had finally allowed you to leave your room, the rut having passed, you pressed on the bruises occasionally to give yourself a reminder of the time you had shared.

He acted like nothing had changed- he wasn’t actively avoiding you like he had been in the days leading up to the rut, but he just… treated you like everyone else. Which was fine. Good, even! There was no reason for anyone to suspect anything between the two of you when he did the same things to do that he did to Charlie or Vaggie. Popping up when you least expected him to, leaning into your personal space, resting an elbow on your shoulder or head when he had the angle to do so.

You weren’t foolish enough to expect that he would want to date you or anything like that- it was just a transaction to him, a way to get what he needed by giving you something that you wanted, even if you hadn’t figured out what that was yet. A physical need that had to be fulfilled or he would go back to that snarling tower of a demon that stalked the hotel and made everyone cower.

Still, when he approached you one day months after the first one to inform you that the rut would be coming again soon, you prepared yourself.

You chug water whenever you can, and make sure to eat regular meals in the days leading up to it, squirreling away whatever little snacks you could stash in your room without luring out the bugs that Nifty liked to chase- Alastor’s powers seemed to draw the line at conjuring food, so when he could tear himself from your side he would journey to the kitchen and bring you small samplings of leftovers.

You spend your evenings trying to convince Alastor to have more meat when he joins the group at dinner, to make sure he could keep his strength up as well. He raises an eyebrow at you but does as requested.

When the night comes around, Alastor finds you in the lobby and asks you in a hushed tone to meet him at his room when you retire for the evening, and your heart rate spikes in your chest when you agree. When he vanishes you sprint to your room, collecting the assortment of nuts and snack cakes and pretzels and candy that you had amassed into a bag before you make your way to his room. At this you were nervous- you’d never been inside before, the last time having been sequestered into your own bedroom. You hoped he wouldn’t mind your bringing something to eat along.

When the door swung open Alastor raised an eyebrow at the bag on your shoulder. “I hope that’s not a change of clothes,” he says as he guides you into the room with a sweep of his arm. “Because you won’t be needing them.” His tone is not salacious or flirty- a statement of fact rather than a come-on.

You place it on the table by the door as you start pulling items from it. “It’s not. I noticed, last time, that you don’t seem to be able to conjure food- I thought this might make things a little easier on both of us. If I have something to snack on I won’t drop dead of hunger and you don’t have to leave so often.”

His eye twitches as he watches you, and you second guess yourself. “I can- I can get rid of them if you want, take them back to my room-“

“Not necessary,” he says, and waves a hand; the assortment of snacks reappears on the stand next to the bed across the room. “I apologize for the pause. The part of my brain currently being overtaken by the rut did not appreciate the idea that there was something I could not successfully obtain for my… partner.”

“Oh,” you say, and realize with a blush that that sounds stupid. “Well, either way, we should be set for this time! I’ve been making sure to drink lots of water so I won’t get dehydrated, there’s some bottles in the bag as well…” You run through the various things that you had been doing to prepare for this week, and over the course of your tirade Alastor’s smile seems more and more strained. You finally stop your mouth from moving and just watch him as he watches you. “I… guess I maybe did too much, huh?”

“Not at all, dear,” he says like he’s on autopilot, and he lifts your hand to his lips to place a kiss to the back of it. “I am just… shocked, I suppose, that you’ve done so much to prepare and make this easier for the both of us when you’ve still not decided what you want for your end of the bargain.”

“Right,” you say, face flaming as you make your way past him and to the bed. You perch yourself on the edge of it. “I’ve been thinking about it, I promise!”

You totally haven’t been thinking about it. You were perfectly content to just continue helping Alastor with his ruts- to be so close to him regularly was enough for the time being. The orgasms were a huuuge plus.

He watches you with his eyes narrowed before he sighs. “If you say so, dear- do let me know when you’ve decided. In the meantime, I do have some final tasks to complete before I’m prepared to be incapacitated with you. I hadn’t expected you to meet me so soon.” He eyes you sitting on the edge of his bed and hums. “Though I must say I’m rather pleased to have you in my own territory this time, as it were. You’re free to use my space as you please while you wait for my return.” With a faint buzz of static he’s gone, and you’re left in the comfortable warmth of Alastor’s room.

You lean back into the pillows, relishing in the soft sheets beneath your skin. They were red- of course- and you let yourself spread your hands across them. They smelled of Alastor, like the woods and spices and rain on the streets when you were alive.

Speaking of Alastor’s scent, he said he was glad to have you in his area this time, and you think about when he made the initial proposition and said that he could smell other things on you- maybe it was the deer part of him wanting to make sure that you smelled like him this time, made him feel like you were properly… ‘mated.’ The thought makes you blush, but you don’t think you’re wrong.

You catch sight of the bathroom door across the room. He had said you had free reign while he was out- while you waited you could take a shower, rid yourself of the scents of the hotel, and perhaps that would put Alastor more at ease when he came back. You make your way into the generously sized room, turn the water as hot as you can get it, and wash the day off yourself.

When you come back into the main room Alastor is waiting there, and his eyes widen at the sight of you in what you assumed to be his bathrobe that you had found on the back of the door. “You’ve certainly made yourself at home, darling,” he comments, but his eyes are roving over your form from head to toe, pausing at the black A emblazoned now over your heart.

“I, uh. I thought maybe you would prefer it if I didn’t stink of the hotel when you got back,” you say. “You mentioned that last time, and with the comment about being in your territory this time I just figured, you know. A clean slate was best.” You shrug your shoulders, the silk of the robe sliding off on one side from how oversized it was on you. “Fuck-”

“Allow me.” Alastor is in front of you then, and despite the split-second thought that he would simply slide the robe off your entirely- he had said that you wouldn’t be needing clothing- he simply rights it on your frame, taking a moment to admire the A. He leans down and buries his nose in the space between your chin and shoulder, inhaling deeply. “The robe, while perhaps unintended, is a nice touch. Not only do you not smell of the hotel or its inhabitants, but you smell like me. Like mine.” He runs a hand down your arm and allows a clawed finger to drag the silk up your wrist.

“Yours,” you agree, and at his sharp intake of breath against your neck you add, “for the week! Whatever you need me to be, I will. Um. Be that. For the week.”

“Perfect,” he says, and your brain oozes with the warmth of the praise. “I actually do have a request of you this time beyond just allowing me to… have you.”

“Sure, what is it?”

You’re once again struck by your possible stupidity when it comes to this demon- blindly agreeing to the things he proposes before you really understand what comes with it. He could ask to tie you down, or if he could use his magic in some way to be involved in the proceedings. He could ask to bite you, to really chomp down like he had last time but tear flesh away instead of simply releasing you- though you do think you might draw the line there.

He eyes you through lowered lids for a moment before he steps to the side of you and gestures to the swamp that he’s got materialized in his room- it had been there since he moved in, if you went by what Vaggie said. “If you are not opposed, I would like you to run,” he says simply, reaching out to tighten the sash of the robe around your waist.

You glance into the darkness of the night that awaits at the border between there and here- where Hotel meets bayou, where reality meets… whatever that was. It had to be some kind of deer thing. “Got it. Is there a point to that? I’ll do it,” you assure him, hands raised to show that you weren’t trying to argue the point. “I’m just curious.”

He hums a bit. “Yes, I’d think so. As satisfying as it is that you so easily submit to me, the restless buck in me wishes for more of a courting, so to speak. In nature a doe will dance around the buck, out of reach for several days before allowing herself to be mated.” He flashes you a tense smile. “I think a refreshing chase through the bayou will satisfy that craving quite nicely.”

“I see.” You look back into the swamp- it’s dark, but the stars are providing a decent amount of light and there seems to be a clear path through the trees to some extent, plenty of space for you to make some distance if he gave you a head start. Were you supposed to circle back here, to the bedroom? You could tell he was a little nervous about the request, but it didn’t seem all that bad. “So that’s it- I run and you chase me?”

“Haha! What little faith you have in me, dear- you run, and I will catch you.”

His tone makes you shiver. “R-right.” You swallow hard and hold your hands into tight fists at your side. “And- what happens when you catch me?”

Alastor pats you on the head like you’ve seen him to do Charlie. “You’re a smart gal,” he says with a chuckle. “I’m sure you can figure it out during your head start- we may as well start now since you’re agreeable to the idea.” He glances at his watch before starting to remove his overcoat and roll his sleeves up to the elbow. “It’s not a terribly large area, so I believe ten seconds should be sufficient!”

“W- now? Ten seconds?”

His smile is almost bored despite the burning intent in his eyes. “Well, it’s only nine now.”

You know better than to stall any longer, and you bolt- perhaps some small blessing of magic he’s concocted, but there are no sharp sticks or rocks under your bare feet as you take off into the night, straight down the path you had noticed in the trees earlier. You stay mindful of any roots that may trip you as you run, your legs aching, heart beating faster than it ever has before, living or dead.

And yet- the thrill is exhilarating. You don’t think Alastor would actually harm you in any real way, bruises and scrapes from the last rut aside that you’re sure you’ll get a repeat of. But you could see why part of him wanted this. Craved it. A reward is better when you’ve earned it, when you’ve really worked for it.

And by the sounds of crashing trees and snapping branches that followed in your wake a few seconds later, he was certainly working for it.

You reach a clearing in the trees and turn to make a sharp right, sure that he was thinking you would continue straight on. As you do though you catch sight of the sky between the treetops- thousands of blinking stars with wisps of clouds shot throughout the deep, endless blue. It’s almost enough to make you stop and stare, take a moment to really appreciate what Alastor was capable of with this creation alone. It was breathtaking.

A whisper of movement reminds you that you aren’t alone in this astonishing dimension, and you sidestep just in time to avoid the grasp of Alastor’s claws as he reaches for you.

He looks feral - antlers extended and catching on the low hanging branches of the trees nearby, his eyes dark and crazed as he watches you take a couple steps back. “Come now, darling,” he says, and there’s red dripping from either side of his mouth. “There’s no use in that. I’ve found you.”

“Thought you said you wanted to catch me,” you snark before you can implement your brain-to-mouth filter. The adrenaline is coursing in your veins, keeping you light on your feet. “Not play hide and seek.”

Alastor laughs at you, the sound echoing through the wilderness. “How cheeky!” He stalks towards you, a pace forward for every one of yours backwards. “Rest assured, I will catch you, dear.”

You offer him your own smile, dancing backwards with every lurch. You know he could catch you easily, knew that he was just taunting you, toying with you. But God, if it wasn’t fun, even as dangerous as it was to mess with someone as powerful as Alastor. “That’s big talk for someone who still doesn’t have his hands on me yet.” You turn, to book it back into the trees in the opposite direction, knowing that you won’t get far.

You stumble. The cliche of it isn’t lost on you as you go down to your knees, and notice one of Alastor’s shadow tentacles slipping away from roughly ankle level.

You still try to escape, to draw it out just that little bit longer, twisting to one side as Alastor rushes you. All that does is get you facing upwards, the robe falling off your shoulders to drape across your collarbones before he has you pinned with a hand to each wrist.

“Well well, what do we have here?” He asks with his eyes lowered, pupils dilated as he takes you in. “It would seem that I’ve caught you.”

“You cheated,” you say breathlessly, as he slots himself between your legs, bringing your thighs up to rest on either side of his hips. “I could have kept going if you played fair.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he agrees, and then he’s trailing his lips down your neck, kissing at your shoulders and throat before he pulls the robe off of you to pool beneath your body. “You gave quite the effort- I was surprised to see you get so far with your head start. I have no doubt you could have kept the chase going a while longer.” He sighs, like the idea of not having that now was disappointing. “Another time, perhaps.” With that he releases your hands and digs his claws into your hips and grinds against you, the drag of his clothed erection against your bare sex sending sparks up your spine.

His eyes are closed, head thrown back as he groans in pleasure. His antlers, like last time, are extended to the sides, unrestrained with the openness of the space. He doesn’t seem to be as lost in it this time, perhaps because you were with him at the beginning of the rut and keeping the worst of it at bay before he had the chance to get animalistic and frustrated.

It's almost better, in a way. The last time had been fun- so much fun, you had zero complaints that you hadn’t already addressed with the supply of snacks and water sitting by the bed currently- but Alastor seems calmer in his need this time. Still at the mercy of his biology but less frantic with it, even with the chase that had led to the two of you here on the forest floor, sky full of stars above you. You would agree to nearly anything he asked of you to make things easier on him if needed.

He leans down over you, still grinding his hips while running his teeth along whatever he can reach of your body. He’s perfectly positioned for you to grab hold of his antlers again so you do so, relishing in the full body shiver that courses through him at the sensation. Using one hand to keep your lower halves pinned together, the other slides deliciously along your back to twist into your hair, pulling your mouth to his with a groan that vibrates through your being.

It would almost be unfair how aroused you were if you didn’t know that Alastor was in the same state, the drag of his length against you combined with the adrenaline of the chase leaving you slick and needy. “Mine, mine, mine,” he’s mumbling against your lips, tongue darting out with every repetition to brush along yours.

You let one of your hands slide down between your bodies like it had last time, let your trembling fingers circle the base of him and moan into his mouth at the feeling of him, hard and hot under your touch. He jerks back from you, his eyes frantic and panting through his slack jaw. “Darling, please, I can’t- can’t think if you-”

“Please,” you whine, and he flexes in your hand. “Please, Alastor, fuck-” You release your grip and roll your hips into his. “Don’t think- whatever you need, take it.”

He clenches his eyes shut, bringing his knees forward so he can rest your lower body on his thighs so he can free up the hand holding you to him. He pulls his hips back far enough to slide a finger through your wetness and into the tight clench of your body, the evidence of your arousal and how ready you are for him tearing a harsh moan from his throat. “You astonish me,” he says, and the praise winds itself around the synapses firing off in your brain as he brings his fingers to his mouth, long tongue twisting around the digits to taste you. “Delicious- you’re so lovely, I want everything .” The visual of it- this powerful demon, on his knees in the dirt with you, licking your arousal off his fingers like some delectable treat as he fights to maintain his composure, his manners- sends a pulse of want through your entire being, and not having him inside of you is no longer an option.

When he lines himself up to thrust into you you beat him to the punch, pushing your hips forward to meet him halfway, and then all the way as the move allows him to slide in to the hilt. A choked off whimper escapes you, body shivering with the force of his rutting into you. He’s hitting that sweet spot inside of you, the head of his cock slamming it with every thrust, and you want to cry from the pleasure of it.

“Perfect,” he whispers, his lips still close enough to your ear that you can hear the sweet nothings that tumble from his tongue. “My mate, so sweet, so- fuck -” He falters for a moment, his hips stuttering hard into you before he comes back to himself and resumes his steady rhythm, the push and pull of his body into yours driving you to insanity. When his eyes open they are black, the little red dials of his pupils ticking steadily in time with his thrusts. His antlers are growing still, their size staggering, the dark jagged lines of them breaking up your view of the stars when you can manage to tear your eyes away from Alastor’s face. “ Mine . Say it. Tell me.” His smile is desperate, expression dazed and full of need. “You take me so well; fucking say it, I need to hear you-”

“Yours,” you cry out, your thighs tensing with the force of your rising orgasm. “Fuck, Alastor, please, yours-”

Arms wrapped possessively around you he leans back, pulling you with him to an upright position. He's still sat on his knees in the dirt, the sounds coming from where you’re joined loud and lewd in the relative silence of the bayou. He keeps you clutched to his frame, claws digging delicious lines into the canvas of your back. “Fuck,” he’s gasping into the space between you, railing harder into your body as he loses his pace, hands coming down to hold your hips stationary and fuck into you from below. “Fuck, darling, mine - ” A wrecked groan of your name is the only warning you have before he stills as far inside your warmth as he can get himself, the move dragging him against that spot inside that sends you right over the edge with him.

He doesn’t bite down as hard this time but he still sinks his teeth into your shoulder, the sharp pain of it giving an edge to your release as you shake in Alastor’s arms, a sound like a wounded animal coming from you and seeming almost at home in the darkness of the trees.

Like last time, when he removes his teeth from your skin he laps at the blood that spills from the wound. You release your grip on his antlers at last and your arms drape over his shoulders, letting your head drop forward to rest on them. He sighs contentedly into your skin, the air making your new bitemark sting. The buzzing and rustling of creatures in the trees has resumed now that you and Alastor have finished, and stands slowly to place you on your feet, pulling out of the heat of your body in the same move. Your legs are shaky but stay underneath you at least, and he watches you with narrowed eyes after tucking himself back into his slacks.

Something about his gaze on you makes you nervous, now that his mind is temporarily clear of the frantic need from his rut. You crouch down to grab the discarded silk robe, now smeared with dirt and littered with leaves and sticks from the ground. “This m-might be ruined now,” you say quietly, still a little off kilter from the force of your orgasm. You hold it out to him, and while his jaw tightens a bit he still gives you a smile.

“Not an issue, my dear,” he assures you as he plucks it from your fingers. With a wave of his hand it’s as good as new, and he gestures to you to turn so he can place it back on your shoulders, helping to ease it over your arms and tightening the sash around your waist like he had before the chase. “I rather think it suits you- for the duration of my rut, at the very least.”

You blush. “I’ll make sure to throw it on every time,” you say with a chuckle, testing the strength of your legs with a couple steps. “I think I can manage to walk this time, but I might need a little-”

“Of course.” He holds his arm out for you to grasp, the picture of a gentlemen despite the chase and rough fucking he had just given you. “I would transport us back but I’m afraid I’ve expended much of my energy in chasing you out here.” He watches you from the corner of his eyes, and part of you thinks that he just finds it satisfying to see your knees weak because of him.

You glance back at the clearing as you walk away, and you can see the glow of the stars and moon where it cuts through the trees. “That was a really pretty spot,” you tell him, and his eyebrows raise. “Seriously- that whole area is just gorgeous. Is it a deer thing? Or something from, you know. Up there?” You point skyward, hoping he’ll understand that you mean from when he was alive without having to explicitly state it.

His smile turns wistful. “A bit of both, I suppose,” he admits. “I’ve always found myself a bit more at peace among nature than anywhere else. The cacophony of living creatures, the cover of darkness for more illicit activities. It’s always brought me comfort.”

“Gives you some space for the more cervine activities too, huh? Like a nice chase through the trees.” You nudge him with your hip as the normal side of his room comes into view. “I really did make some good distance!”

Alastor smirks down at you. “You seem like you had a grand time running from me, darling. Perhaps we repeat the experiment- see how long you can evade me next time before I catch you.”

“If you can catch me without cheating I’m game,” you say, and yelp in surprise when he swipes an arm under your legs to carry you the way he had last time, depositing you onto the bed. You’re enveloped in his scent again he he lowers himself down to you, tongue trailing between the folds of the robe and descending, and before Alastor ensures that you’re so mindless with pleasure that you can’t sass him, you have the faint thought that you really should start thinking about what you want out of this deal before he asks again.

You can’t have him knowing that you’re content to keep going just like this, splayed in his bed with a sky full of stars just out of reach.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #alastor #alastor x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor smut #x reader #my stuff <3

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adventuringblind · 2 months

Text

Monsters in my Mind

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Summary: Sometimes those thoughts won't leave, the ones you don't want... The ones that can be dangerous. All it takes is one person to help make them go away.

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, referenced/implied self-harm, violent thoughts, impulsive behaviors, panic attacks, non-sexual dominance as a form of coping, dom/sub undertones

Notes: My thoughts are self stabby as of late. Pardon me as I write this for myself to keep my head and hands busy.

Side Note: Consider feeding my praise kink maybe...?

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

The head is a strange place. One's conscious is usually meant to help them make the right decisions and not engage in acts that could hurt them or others. Her head, however, is the opposite of that.

It's a dark twisted place where thoughts that aren't her own find refuge. They want to bathe her in the ecstasy of things that shouldn't feel good. daydreams about things that could repulse any typical human being.

Sometimes they are so strong and her bodies reactions are so out of control, that she has to find relief somewhere. The knife against her skin takes the edge off. Is it normal to moan at the sting and feel satisfied looking at her red stained thighs? She does, until the realization settles in and the guilt won't let her think.

The thoughts laugh at her for giving in so easily. They scrutinize the fact she gets off on the pain.

She walks around in fear of herself. The anxiety and exhaustion from constantly fighting herself are visible on her body. She's tired, and everyone knows it. It's why they don't come near her. Always to caught up in her own head to realize people are trying converse.

It's not like her job requires to much discussion with people. Puzzles keep her brain busy and Ferrari keeps her busy with all the strategy mishaps they throw at her. They throw her a problem, she solves it, plans for next time, and they fuck it up again by not using the solution.

Sometimes she thinks about throwing herself in front of an F1 car going full speed. That voice in her head screams at her anytime she's close to the live track.

Then there is Max. His voice sends the thoughts running and it makes her want to cling to him. She wants him to never stop talking about anything and everything.

Today had been particularly difficult with the of the driver switch coming at the end of the season. Carlos and Charles are the first drivers she's worked with and they all got along great. She doesn't want it to change. That means more unknowns.

The wind graces her cheeks and kisses her finger tips as she sits on the balcony of their apartment. Everything is to much right now and her thoughts won't quiet.

She was in Maranello when the news came out. Her head became so loud with the fear of change and worry for her friend. Enough to be sent home for the day - alone, and nothing to help her head aside from the burning desire to just end it all.

Max had made arraignments for her to spend some time with him in the Milton-Keynes. She was still alone for periods of time. Enough to have to settle herself somehow.

The color red makes something in her relax. Specifically when it's flowing out of her own body.

Now Max is with her and she's stuck in her own head. The never ending maze of twisted thoughts keeps her from moving. The fear of giving in has been looming over her head for longer then normal. It feels like she's losing something, always has been with this team, but change feels far worse then staying with them.

Max hasn't pushed her to do much aside from at least stay in his presence. Occasionally attempting to get her out of her own head with movies and games. He's even spent hours at a time just talking to her about anything and everything.

He opens the door to the balcony, but she doesn't look at him. Not until he holds his hand out for her to take. An action she does without hesitation. No thoughts are needed for this, just following Max's lead.

He leads her over to the couch and arranges them so she can sit tucked into his lap. A grounding hand runs up and down the lenght of her spine. "I've been doing some research about how we might be able to get your head to quiet down."

"I'll do anything, jus' want it to stop." Her voice sounds dry and cracked from how hard she's screamed and cried through the last few days.

"Do you trust me?"

"More then I trust anyone."

She finds herself slipping off the couch and onto her knees, in-between Max's legs with her head resting against his thigh. His touch doesn't leave her skin. "You're doing so good for me. Listen to my voice and focus on taking big breathes for me. Can you do that for me?"

She hums in response. The continual stroke of Max's fingers against her face and sound of his voice already helping immensely.

"That's it, just breathe for me. I've got you; you don't have to fight the thoughts alone. I'm right here with you, keeping them away, never leaving your side." Max grabs one of her hands with his free one. her fingers lay between his. Her favorite puzzle with how easy the pieces fit together.

"You're here with me; I've got you. Those scary thoughts aren't your own. The are unwanted and uninvited, but most importantly, they don't define you. You are brave, loved, beautiful without gaping wounds. You're not crazy or psychotic. You are yourself, with your highs and your lows."

Her body has never felt like this. Her entire being wants to give itself over to Max. His breathes guiding her own, his gentle yet firm hold on her keeping her where he wants.

She lets herself fall under his spell. If Max can take the control away from her, make her complaint and relaxed like this, then he can have her thoughts too.

"That's it, such a good girl, let me think for you. I won't leave you to fight or flounder on your own."

She follows Max's directions, lets him guide her in this place of trust and letting go of things. He's turning her brain off and letting her float without any kind of worries except what Max is telling her to do.

Until all she can think of is him. The calm the comes with his presence and the way his voice falls over her like a soft blanket. Max is all she knows, occupying every crevice of her mind and leaving no room for anything else to creep in.

"How're you feeling, geliefd?" There is a lightness to his tone that makes her swoon.

She hums against his leg. "Warm, fuzzy, head empty."

"Then you stay here as long as you need, okay? I'll keep you safe."

And she does.

She falls into the warm embrace of Max's words. She lets him protect her and keep the dark ugly thoughts away.

With Max, her head is quiet. The voices can't come though. When they do, he's there to fight them back.

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