#his one eye is brown because he is still human somewhere in there. somewhere

[sherlockggrian]

to know me, is to hate me, is to hate what I’ve become.

#his one eye is brown because he is still human somewhere in there. somewhere #grian #goodtimeswithscar #gtws #hermitcraft #scarian #desert duo #trafficblr #life smp #double life #3rd life #not necessarily from any series just. them #spark draws #watcher grian #hermitcraft art #Spotify

[sentientcave]

Retirement Party

Price has retired from Military life, and he's not handling the change well. But on the one year anniversary of him hanging it up, his boys bring him something special to help keep him busy. You.

Chapter Two - An Understanding

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Contains: No Y/N, Kidnapping, Forcible relocation, Generally creepy behaviour, Alcohol mention, Smoking mention (Tobacco), I guess this might count as human trafficking?, Dubcon everything because Reader is terrified (non-sexual), plus-sized reader, fem/afab reader, There is something fucking wrong with these guys for real, More reader details given, but we're still pretty vague about it. Even though it is hard for me. No promises for future chapters though.

~3.8k - MDNI - Dark fic! Please mind the content warning above

The captain looks at you for a long moment, dark blue eyes wide with surprise as he takes you in. You have to admit that he’s handsome, dark brown hair and well-groomed facial hair (muttonchops, no less) flecked with silver, and a nice nose that skews to the large side. It gives him a friendly, approachable demeanour, despite the weight of his stare. His heavy attention shifts from you to the other three, and his expression turns serious. “Lads,” he says, his voice a rumble that you can feel through your own body. “Please tell me this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Weeeel. It might be,” Johnny says apprehensively. “But I did my research, sir. She’ll be perfect for ye, ye’ll see.”

“She’s a good girl,” Ghost adds. “Sweet as can be. Won’t be any trouble for you.”

“Already moved her in and everything.” Gaz gestures around the room, looking rather too proud of their work.

The captain nods slowly, taking in the new additions to the space. “So you did. And did this pretty little thing agree to having her life upended, or did you lads just decide for her?” His arms shift around you, and you feel almost protected, oddly enough, even though by the size of him, he’s just as dangerous as the others. Probably even more dangerous, the way they defer to him, standing in a line like cadets, eager for his approval.

“Not… Not exactly,” Gaz admits. “I mean, we didn’t ask. But this’ll be better for her. She was living in a real rat hole before. Tiny little apartment in a shite neighbourhood. Was only a matter of time before something bad happened. We’re just looking out for her.”

Johnny shuffles his feet. “Dealt with a few neds while I was doin’ reconnaissance, even. Poor lass coulda been in real trouble if I hadna been there. Bawbag employers would ask her to stay past the last bus to watch the bairns an’ no’ even offer her a ride or ta pay fer a cab.”

“It wasn’t that far a walk,” you protest, glaring at Johnny. As if it’s any of his business. “And they did offer to drive me, I just wasn’t— It doesn’t matter! You had no right—”

The captain shushes you, and your words wither on your tongue, your cheeks turning hot under his stern blue gaze. He cups your jaw and turns your head to face him again, the rough pad of his thumb stroking your cheek gently. “Sweetheart, you and I will talk in a moment. Soap’s right about that not bein’ safe, and you know it.”

Your stomach flutters nervously. He gives you a little smile, and his crow’s feet deepen, the lines fanning out further. There’s a moment where you’re tempted to smile back, but his legs shift under you, and you wince sympathetically instead. “Sorry, I should get off of you,” you say quickly. “I’m heavy.”

“I won’t stop you if you’d like to sit somewhere else,” he says, that cheeky smile deepening more. "But you’re not heavy, and I'd like it if you stayed put."

"Told ye he'd like her," Johnny whispers, loud enough that it shatters the isolated pocket of reality that, for a moment, housed only you and the captain. "Hasna even introduced himself an' he's flirtin' like mad."

"Soap!" Gaz hisses back. "Shut up."

Ghost scruffs them both. "Let's finish getting dinner on. Give 'em a minute to talk."

Johnny grins at you and gives you two thumbs up as he circles around to the kitchen, as if you’d actually been a willing participant in all of this.

"I'm John, by the way," the captain says, calling your attention back to him. He drops his hand and settles it on your knee, his fingers curling around the joint. "You alright, doll?"

A loaded question. "Well. Not really."

"You're keepin' it together real nicely, all considered. Wouldn't blame you if you were hissin' and scratching."

"I'm not much of a fighter," you admit. "And even if I was, I don't think it would do me much good."

John chuckles, squeezing your knee lightly. He's gentle, but there's power in those hands, the kind that comes from years of hard work. There's scars all over it, from his the tips of his calloused fingers up to the leather band of his watch, etched in evidence of violence. If there are scars further up his arms, their hidden by the buffalo plaid flannel. "No, it probably wouldn't."

"Are you going to let me go home?" you ask.

He sighs. "The thing is, doll, the boys have put me in an awkward spot here. If I let you go on home, you're going to get them in trouble, and I don't want to see that happen."

"I promise, I won't say anything, I just--"

He shushes you again, and you shut your mouth, biting your lip. "Let me finish, sweetheart. You're being so good right now because you're scared. But that's not gonna last, is it? And worse, it sounds like you don't really have much to go back to."

"I'll find a new job. I always do."

"With another family who doesn't appreciate the work you put in? That doesn't make you feel safe?" His fingertips toy with the edge of your skirt absently, but his eyes are on your face, studying your reaction with rapt attention. This is how a rabbit must feel, pinned under the stare of a grizzly bear, frozen in place and hoping that no claws come down on top of it. "I can read between the lines, doll. That man you were workin' for made you feel so uncomfortable that you'd rather walk through a bad neighbourhood at night than get into a car with him alone."

You can't dispute it, although you're surprised he can glean so much information from half an outburst. "It wasn't like that-- He wasn't that bad."

John hums. "You're tellin' me you've had worse?"

A dozen jobs with a dozen managers or coworkers that took your silence as permission to stand too close, or put their hands on you flash across your mind. Mr. Kinsey was just the latest of many. You know that the thought is displayed on your face, from the way his eyebrows pinch together just slightly, not angrily, but concerned. You try to deflect with a little laugh. "Oh, well. I suppose I have. But hasn't everyone?"

"Soap had a bad lieutenant once and locked the man in his own car when he was just a private. Just because you have a bad boss doesn't mean you have to take it." He looks at you so seriously as he speaks, his fingers dancing distracting circles against the top of your knee, rough fingertips catching on the nylons just slightly. The heat from the arm curled around your waist bleeds through the fabric of your dress, his hand twitching slightly, like all he wants to do is take a handful of soft flesh. “You should speak up when you’re not comfortable, doll. You just need some practice standin’ up for yourself, don’t you?”

If a statement could have teeth, this one would, and you’re not sure if agreeing or disagreeing will have him closing his jaws around you. He’s probably right, you do need to do a better job of standing up for yourself. But you’re certain that he doesn’t want you to start by standing up to him, or his three attack dogs either. “I’ll work on it,” you say meekly. You test his commitment to the statement by gently picking his hand off of your knee, although there’s nowhere to really put it either.

“We’ll work on it,” he agrees, lacing your fingers together. When he rests your now-entwined hands, it’s a little further up your thigh. “You want a drink, darlin’?”

“Oh, um, no thank you.” You wouldn’t mind another tea, but you don’t think that’s what you’re being offered.

The scrutiny he puts you under is intense, like he’s determined to figure out what every microscopic shift in your expression might mean. “You sure, doll? You gotta ask if you want somethin’, or you won’t get it.”

“I would like a tea. But I can make it, I don’t want to be trouble.”

“Nonsense. Lads?” he tips his head back slightly.

“On it, sir,” Gaz replies cheerfully.

Ghost leans over the back of the couch to hand John a tumbler. Whiskey or scotch, by the sharp smell that hits you. John pulls his hand away from yours to accept the glass. “Thank you, Simon,” he says pleasantly. "Good lad."

“S’your party, sir. An’ you’re busy, ain’t you?” Ghost rests his hands on the back of the couch and studies the pair of you, dark eyes gleaming with pride. The man has the demeanour of a cat that’s brought in a helpless little bunny to his master, while it’s still alive and struggling.

“Gettin’ to know our pretty guest.” John smiles at you over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. “She’s a sweet girl.”

“Isn’t she just?”

“Could I, um, sit over there?” you ask, glancing at the chair. Somehow John had managed to distract you from the idea of moving for a while, but you were still eager to get a little space from him, especially with Ghost looming over both of you.

“Of course, sweetheart,” John’s arm loosens, and you quickly get up and move to the chair.

You almost feel cold, without the heat that radiates off of his body. His attention feels weightier now too, or maybe it’s just that his body isn’t shielding the stares from Johnny, Gaz and Ghost, and you’re subjected to all four of them watching you, like you’re either fascinating or delicious (or both). You cross your arms over your chest and shrink into yourself as much as possible, eyes wide.

"Here's yer tea, hen. And may I just say, ye've go' a fantastic rack from this angle." Johnny hands you the mug and sits on the arm of the chair, leaning over you. "Weel. Ye've go' a nice rack from any angle. Nice arse too. Captain's lucky I like him so much, or I'd've gone for you myself."

You breathe in steam, wrinkling your nose slightly. It doesn't smell quite right. "Did you put something in this?"

"Aye. Finger of whiskey. Ye look all stiff and peaky still. Need a pick me up, don't ya?"

You look at him reproachfully. He sighs and plucks the tea from your hands and takes a big sip. "There's nothin' else in there, if that's what yer askin', ye suspicious wee daftie. A little whiskey ne'er hurt no one." He hands the mug back to you, smile crooked, doing his best to be charming, but he's too intense, too fervent, to be anything but unsettling.

“Got Johnny checkin’ everythin’ for poison, do you?” Ghost asks, chuckling. “Can’t say I blame you.” He nudges John with the back of his hand. “She’s smart, worth keepin’ an eye on that. Know’s ‘ow to ‘old ‘er tongue, but she’s listenin’ and payin’ attention.”

“Of course she is! Wouldna choose a lass withoot a brain in her head. Wouldna be worth the captain’s time. Weel, maybe worth a wee bit of time.” He winks down at you. “But no’ wife material, ye ken. Chose her because she’s delightful, no’ just ‘cause she’s bonnie.”

The few times you’d spoken to Johnny before you’d thought that he was so nice. Laughing and joking with you in the pick up line while you waited for the children you were respectively responsible, greeting his niece and nephew with big smiles. And Finn and Rory were always so excited to see him, you’d chalked him up as harmless. Clearly you hadn’t been paying enough attention then, too focused on the Kinsey kids and your job, maybe. You hadn’t noticed that he was appraising you like a piece of livestock, judging your value like you’d been put up to auction.

The whisky-fortified tea is a bit on the strong side, but you take a few sips anyway. Getting drunk would be unwise, but you’re so tense that your whole body is starting to ache, and that’s not doing you any good either.

“Dinner’s ready,” Gaz announces, untying his kiss the cook apron and setting it on the counter. “Hope you’re hungry. Soap made a cake earlier too.”

John raises an eyebrow. “You can bake?” he asks, surprised.

“Aye, picked it up while I was gettin’ rehabbed for the big fuck-off hole in my head,” he replies airily. “Was goin’ mental putterin’ around Kirsty’s waitin’ for the bairns to get out of school, so Ah picked it up. Isnae so hard. Just chemistry, aye?”

“He did make a big mess,” Gaz says. “Had to wash about fifty dishes before I could get started on dinner.”

“Everyone’s a fuckin’ critic,” Johnny complains. “See if I bake ye a cake for yer birthday, Garrick. Ye’ll be sorry then.”

“Oh no, how will I survive?” Gaz clutches his chest like he’s deeply wounded by the statement, laughing. “I have two mums, I’m still pretty much guaranteed a cake.”

“Always braggin’ abou’ that. Thinks he’s more evolved than the rest of us just because his da’s a woman.” He hovers next to you as you get up, and sticks close as you walk over to the table. You don’t choose a seat, in case there’s an order to things you’re not aware of.

“Pretty sure the whole point is that he dun’t ‘ave a dad,” Ghost says. “Now sit down, mutt. Yer not sittin’ next to the bird. You’re botherin’ ‘er.” He points at a chair, and Johnny sighs and slinks into it.

“Here, sweetheart,” John says, putting his big hand on your back to guide you the last few steps and directing you to a seat. He slides the chair in for you too, masquerading as a gentleman, and sits next to you.

Gaz settles in on your other side, all smiles. “Feeling better?”

They keep asking you how you are, as if the answer is going to change. Like all you need to adjust to the reality of being kidnapped and relocated to some stranger’s house in the country is a little time. Like you’re going to be just fine, if you just get a few more minutes to adjust. “Not really.”

"Ah, don't worry, doll. Captain's gonna be real good to you. You'll get there soon enough. Probably'll feel better once you've had a proper meal."

At least they don't try to make you talk much at the table. They fall into easy conversation between them, and let you eat roasted chicken and potatoes and carrots with some kind of sweet and mildly spicy glaze. Ghost pulls the mask down to eat, so you're able to watch when he goes slightly pink from what barely qualifies as spice. Gaz gives you a little side-long glance, and you almost laugh. There's some solidarity to be had, even in a situation like this one, something funny about how a little more spice could probably straight up kill the other three men at the table. Maybe that would be the key to you freedom: Murdering John by feeding him something full of chilies.

Admittedly, you do feel begrudgingly more charitable towards them after eating. You could maybe blame it on the tea too, which, against your better judgment, you do end up finishing.

John stops you from helping clean up when you stand automatically and try to stack Gaz's empty plate with your own. "No, sweetheart. C’mere." He guides you to the door and out into the chilly evening air. You wish that Ghost had let you put on a sweater over your summery dress, but he had been so keen to show you off, and you’d been too scared to insist. You curl your arms around yourself for warmth, and keep quiet, watching as John trims and lights a cigar, looking out into the darkness beyond the porch.

Fear has morphed from pressing terror to something that gnaws at you from the pit of your stomach. You could try to run for it, but you’d probably roll your ankle wearing the stupid red heels, and you have no real idea where you are, or how far you are from someone who could help you. Outrunning John would be a feat anyway. He’s older than you, but he’s in better shape, nearly perfect shape, broad and strong, that long military career not yet forgotten.

There’s a bench by the door, so you sit down to take the heels off. You’re not used to wearing them, it’s so rare that you have anywhere to go that calls for spicier footwear than your comfortable, worn in trainers.

“Here.” John slides his flannel shirt off and drapes it over your shoulders, and kneels down in front of you, cigar clamped in his mouth, pulling your heels off for you. Smoke curls around you for a moment, thin and blue in the scant light, before a breeze carries it away. He leans on his one leg and studies you, but he doesn’t stand. “You’re beautiful, you know that?”

You put your arms through the sleeves of the flannel, humming noncommittally. You know you’re pretty enough, by most standards, but you feel like his interest— And the interest of the other three— is disproportionate, too intense.

“I’d like you to stay a while, doll,” he continues. “I won’t force you, I’m not that kind of man, but I’d have a hard time letting you go back to living paycheck to paycheck in a bad nieghbourhood, workin’ for creeps that don’t know how to keep their hands to themselves. You deserve better than that.” It’s as though he doesn’t even hear his own words though, or imagines himself better, because he absently runs his hands over your calf, squeezing the tense muscle gently.

“I have to work,” you protest, biting back a moan. You didn’t need to encourage him, even if you weren’t quite brave enough (or willing) to stop him. “I have student loans, and I send money to my lola in Vigan. I can’t afford to just disappear off the face of the earth.”

He nods thoughtfully. “How much?”

"Three hundred pounds a month to Lola. I know it might not seem like a lot, but it goes a lot further there."

"And the student loans?"

"Sixteen thousand. Not that much, I worked through my degree, and I inherited a bit of money from my parents. But I still have to--"

"I'll pay for both. You'll stay until you find a good job, and a safer apartment." He says it like it's a final edict, no room for argument.

You pull your leg out of his grip, tucking both further back under the bench. "No, John, I don't want to owe you either--"

"You won't. My boys kidnapped you and disrupted your whole life. I'd pay a lot more if it keeps you from going to the police over it. Least I can do is make sure you're better off when you do leave here, hm?"

You bite your lip. Starting over with a clean slate is tempting, but you're not sure you can trust John. He seems so earnest, blue eyes clear and guileless, but he can't be much better than the other three. Unless he was just holding their leashes tight as their captain, and had to let them loose when he retired.

"Can I think about it?" you ask.

"Of course." He puts his hand on your knee to steady himself as he leans across to ash the cigar in the ashtray that sits on a little table next to the bench. "But I think you'll say yes. You're a smart girl, hm?"

You're tempted to say no, just to test weather or not he's being honest about not forcing you to stay, but there's a niggling worry in the back of your mind that the veneer of civility will evaporate if you push him on it. He's nice enough now. And maybe that niceness isn't a show, maybe he has no darker side, maybe it's all just paranoia on your part. Perhaps the worst thing about him is his predilection to protect his "boys", even though all three are clearly insane.

Military is like that, isn’t it? The whole brotherhood thing? Maybe fighting for your life beside someone changes how you see them forever.

“How long did you all serve together?” you ask. “Johnny mentioned that he was SAS before— I asked about the scar once.” You tap the side of your head, the same spot where Johnny has a nasty bullet scar.

“Long time. Hand-picked Gaz and Soap for my taskforce about ten years back. Simon and I served together longer. He’s a captain now, even if the lads still call him LT. They’re both lieutenants, and Gaz’ll be a captain himself before long. Probably would’ve been already if he’d transferred out of the 141.” He gets up with a grunt and settles onto the bench beside you. “Don’t think Simon’s long for it. He’s only still in because he wants to keep an eye on Soap. Man’s a bloody romantic. Live together or die together.”

“I didn’t realize that they were together at all.”

“The way Soap’s been droolin’ all over you, I’m not surprised.” He puffs on his cigar thoughtfully. “But Simon’s just like that, as far as I can tell. The world’s divided into three categories. Enemies, his people, and everyone else. Enemies ‘n’ everyone else can’t touch what’s his, but he’s never given a damn about Soap sleepin’ with Gaz, or me.”

“I’m not his people.”

John looks at you and shakes his head. “Course you are, doll. You’re one of our people now. They might’ve gotten a bit overzealous, bringing you here the way they did, but those lads would do anything you asked of ‘em now.”

A bit overzealous. You laugh, but the sound comes out bitter.

"Relax, doll. I know you're determined to hate them, but they're good lads. Their hearts are in the right place." He pets a big hand over your head and rests it on the back of your neck, warmth seeping into your bones, relieving some of the ache from all the tension of the day. John has a way of soothing that terrified little animal in your chest that would otherwise threaten to kick it’s way free from your ribs and flee into the dark trees. “Lookin’ out for me, in their own way. Lookin’ out for you too. If your situation was a better one, they wouldn’t’ve plucked you out of it like that.”

There’s hope in his eyes when you look up at him, hope that you’ll forgive and forget, that you’ll come around to some kind of understanding in time. His thumb brushes a sensitive spot behind your ear, sending an awful, irrefutable thrill through you.

You’re worried that he might be right.

My favourite John Price to write is the sneakiest, most charming, manipulative bastard on the planet. I definitely take a lot of inspiration from 391780 's portrayal of him. The Rear Window and Neighborly have been forefront in my mind while working on this (Largely because I think my John would have taken a similar approach if the lads hadn't jumped the gun. The Rear Window is dark, so be warned! Early writes delicious dark fics, but that may not be everyone's cup of tea, so mind the tags.)

Image Credits: Banner

Dividers: 1 - 2 - 3 by @/Cafekitsune

#Retirement Party #Chapter 2 baybeee #Doll is coming to terms with the weirdest situation she's ever been in #cod mw fanfiction #John Price x Reader #x reader #Some hints of Poly 141 (I think it'll crop up properly later on) #Gaz wearing his kiss the cook apron wondering why Doll's not kissing him ): (It's because you kidnapped her) #Johnny never change baby boy you're a dog and we love that about you

[teencopandthesourwolf]

“Why did you ask me that?”

“Huh? What's that, big guy?” Stiles mumbles, answering the query with one of his own without looking away from Derek's laptop screen. The laptop Derek kind of bought for Stiles for when Stiles is at the loft.

Whatever. 

There's a ballpoint pen shoved in the kid's mouth—God, that mouth—and another slid behind an ear, the latter ready and waiting for Stiles to click to death in the In Between Typing Times.

The others dispersed a couple of minutes ago. Apart from Derek and Stiles, only Lydia and Deaton now remain at the loft and they're deep in conversation about the preliminary theory of who or what is killing the humans of Beacon Hills this week and are standing at the opposite side of the open-plan space, making more coffee. Scott and Malia left to rally the other ʼwolves (not answering their phones as they're at a cinema screening) plus find and talk to Argent to arrange a pack meeting proper about the situation, so they can all work on devising a plan. Granted, there is Peter to consider—who's probably still lurking somewhere, what with lurking being one of his favourite pastimes—who can obviously hear any and all conversations that are, or could be, happening inside of the building. Sadly though, Derek has never been able to hide much of anything from his uncle.

So. 

He thinks about elaborating on the question he asked Stiles, but can't.

He tries not to stare at Stiles, and fails.

Stiles is squinting at the screen with intent and looking like he has forgotten that Derek said anything at all. Or that Derek is still hovering close by. Or that Derek, you know, exists.

Derek is just standing there, all difficult and awkward in his own fucking home and his own fucking body, looming over Stiles like a creeper as Stiles taps away furiously at the keyboard and violently zig-zags a fingertip across the mousepad like an actual lunatic.

Derek almost laughs at that.

The Boy Who Runs With Wolves.

“Why wouldn't I?” Stiles now asks, still mumbling around the chewed ballpoint Derek is trying not to be jealous of. 

“I—what?” Derek's caught off guard; always and only by Stiles. 

Stiles doesn't skip a beat, unlike Derek's heart. “Why wouldn't I ask?” he adds.

Oh, right.

“I, uh, I don't... ” Derek trails off pathetically, swallowing any confidence he had previously mustered and looking away from Stiles, even though those big, brown devastating eyes aren't actually looking at Derek because they are, of course, still zoomed-in on whichever web page is currently yielding the most information.

Dusk is quickly closing in and all around them and the light filtering through the loft's huge window has begun to dim somewhat, so that the glow of the computer screen is now filling Stiles' eyes with bright, dancing sparks and arrhythmic shapes as they flicker like lightning from one tab to another, then another, then another. And as mesmerising as it is to watch—Stiles looks as though he is brimming with magic—the sight becomes too much for Derek, and looking away feels like his only option.

It doesn't last.

Stiles' long, large-knuckled fingers still their rapid movement just as Derek's eyes find their way back.

Derek watches the kid some more, like a lifeline.

An anchor.

Then, Stiles is taking the pen from those perfect lips as sneaker-toes slowly spin the swivel chair around, so that Stiles is now facing Derek where he stands with arms crossed reactively over his chest.

His heart.

“I asked because I wanted to know if you were okay, man," Stiles divulges, as if that's nothing at all. As if it's something Derek hears often. He tilts his head to catch Derek's eye, which works, of course, because it always works, no matter the nature of the moment they're caught up in. "Like, I was concerned, y`know?” 

Derek feels guilty just for looking. And not only because he wants to touch but because he wants to let Stiles care.

“I care, dude,” Stiles says on cue and Derek tries to self-implode while Stiles waits, probably for Derek to look at him and say don't call me dude and probably hoping not to have his head bitten off or his throat ripped out. 

Derek does look again, just not for long. Barely a glance. He can't afford himself too much Stiles, not when Stiles is looking directly back at him. It's safer that way—self-preservation and all.

“You do know that, right?” Stiles tries again. “That I care.” 

Derek wants to ask Stiles if they can talk, if Derek can tell Stiles things. Derek wants to ask Stiles if he'll stay, and if he'll let Derek spill his secrets, let him tell Stiles everything, like Derek never does with anyone these days, and if Stiles will hold Derek's hand when Derek cries about it, like Derek doesn’t allow himself to anymore. Derek wants to ask Stiles if Derek can touch him and hold him and if Stiles would hold him back, if Stiles would ever want that, if Stiles could ever be his.

“Don't call me dude,” is what he actually says because he can't not. But then he steals himself, head staticky and heart thumping as he dares himself to add (after what is undeniably too-long a pause), “And yeah. Maybe I do.” 

Then they look at each other. They just—look.

They look and look and look.

And they each keep looking at the other for a very long time. Definitely too long for two people supposedly not much more than acquaintances. Allies, maybe. Comrades at tenuous best.

Then they look for longer. Look for more. Look until it starts to feel as if they are the only two people in the room, in the building, in the world.

Whatever happened to self-preservation?

Something is starting to happen, and Derek is pretty sure it's not just happening to him, and he finds he is equally stunned as he is thrilled as he is completely fucking terrified about that. 

Eventually, Stiles says, “Derek, we're friends.” Then he's licking his lips and looking Derek up and down, shameless, adding—with a nonchalant shrug of one shoulder—“Till we're not.”

The latter part is spoken like a ominous secret, but one without the slightest hint of malice, because that's not how he means it. It's more promise than threat, if Derek is remembering correctly what genuine affirmations sound like (it's been a while).

The sparks from Stiles' eyes are then flashing blue in Derek's and Derek could swear he hears every one of his neurons firing inside of himself, all at once, as each of his mutated cells flare into overdrive, nail beds and gums tingling, the short hairs on the back of his neck and arms and hands standing up on end.

He feels utterly alive.

It's honestly a struggle not to keen and whine like a pup, and Derek has truly never been more happy of the fact that Stiles is unable to scent chemo-signals because, oh, yeah, Derek would be so fucked right now.

He has a reply for Stiles but it's caught in his throat, the sentence forming then solidifying, fast as a quick-drying glue.

Derek is just—standing there. Statuesque. Alternating between trying to swallow his words down and attempting to speak them, like a first class dipshit. Just looking and looking and looking at Stiles.

In an entirely mortifying turn of events, it is actually the sound of Peter's low, mocking chuckle from some tucked-away shadowy place in the loft that is the thing that forces Derek unstuck, and it takes all Derek has to not roll his eyes to the back of his skull and growl out I'm going to kill you again now, Uncle. 

He takes a breath, un-clenches his fists and tries for a smile—or at least a hint of one. He doesn't want to freak the kid out.

Derek then manages to repeat Stiles's words back at him, no more than a whisper.

“Till we're not.”

Stiles is just looking and looking and looking at Derek, before he's asking, “Can I stay for the evening? You can talk to me while I research. I always work better with noise. It'll be soothing,” like he's ordering pizza instead of answering all of Derek's prayers.

Derek notes how the kid's usually erratic eye-contact is weirdly as unwavering as his usually erratic heartbeat, which is now weirdly steady as a metronome.

That's a lot of weird. 

Derek fights the urge to bite into his lip with his fangs. He wants to draw blood, and to taste it.

He embarrassingly feels his eye twitch and his breath hitch as he dares himself to do this. 

He sputters, “What do you want me to talk about?”

Stiles slowly swivels back towards the light of the laptop—ethereal milky skin and dark moles once again luminous in its white-blue glow—at the very same time as the evening's first moonshine peeks through clouds and seeps in through the loft's huge skylight.

Derek is memorised. 

Stiles starts annoyingly clicking away at the Clicking Pen, while shoving the other back between those beautiful lips of his, now mumbling his words around the thing once more and speaking them as if they are the most obvious thing in the universe.

“Everything, Der.”

.

for @poebin for asking <3 (unedited, soz)

#with love <3 #sterek #sterek ficlet #sterek fic #derek hale #stiles stilinski #teen wolf #teen wolf fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #eternal sterek #sterek is eternal #everything der #for poe #peter hale #tcats writes #teencopandthesourwolf

[mafiaanomaly]

"Morning Routine"

Pairing: Miguel O' hara x Reader

Tags: Fluff, a bit of flirt in the end

Summary: Reader woke up early in the morning to get ready for work but reader is trap in Miguel's arms, Miguel was pretending that he was still a sleep as he was acting very clingy today...

so here's the thing : Miguel O'hara is a light sleeper. an incredibly light sleeper, which isn't surprising-- what, given the nature of his job being spiderman, protecting the multi verse and everything he's ever had to endure.

oh? accidentally drop your phone on your face at an ungodly hour while he's sleeping next to you? he's awake. roll over in bed with utmost caution? he's awake.

breathe? oh, he's definitely awake.

you blindly reach for your phone on the nightstand, sleep very much still heavy on your eyes. you squint when you glance at the time, suddenly very hateful of your phone's auto brightness adjustment as it blinds you. that's certainly one way to wake up, huh?

the time reads 7:09am. you've got to leave for work in about 30 minutes, which is fine. no rush, no problem. except that--

well, except that Miguel is laying on top of you, head on your chest, lulled to sleep by the sound of your heart. it's become a habit of sorts-- the way he seeks comfort in your existence, the depth of your humanity an anchor & serenity in his life as you weave your fingers through his hair, slowly push him to the edge of slumber in peaceful means. it's reverent, holy, you think, and had you not been working today, you think you would have been able to stay in bed with him all day.

"Miggy?" your voice is quiet, soft-- you wish to gently break his slumber, hand gently patting his back.

he doesn't wake up. you call his name again, pat him a little bit harder. he still doesn't wake. you're insistent on avoiding rude awakenings, so you try this for a few more minutes, no longer groggy and now filled with a slight determination.

7:16am. you need to get ready.

you lean your head back into the pillow, glare at the ceiling.

here's another thing : Miguel O'hara is also a liar.

heavy sleeper, my ass, you think. he tends to be clingier after returning from missions or from HQ after work, which is entirely understandable, and you truly do not mind, but you really, really, don't want to deal with another scolding from your boss. you still entirely, listen to the sound of his breathing.

yeah. he's awake.

"Miguel O' hara. you are awake."

he holds his breath instinctively. you feel it.

"listen, pretty boy. i gotta get ready for work." your fingers run through his messy bed head. "i need you to move."

he doesn't move. doesn't even react. he keeps up the facade.

7:19am. jesus christ, Migg.

you pinch the bridge of your nose, let out a sigh. you try-- keyword being try, to sit up, but suddenly he's so much heavier, and you realize that he becomes dead weight just to make this so much harder-- which says a lot, because he's already incredibly muscular, and god, you think you can win against those arms? think again.

"Miguel, i swear--"

"call in."

when you lie back down, a means of waving the white flag, he finally looks up at you, dark brown eyes gentle and exhausted. there's something so incredibly tender in the way his gaze meets yours, hand reaching for yours as if it's instinct. you're the one holding your breath now, swallowing hard when he smiles that reserved smile that only you have the pleasure of seeing.

"stay with me, please." he squeezes your hand, once, twice, three times, and somewhere in that means an i love you, and you both know this.

you can't win. you can never win against him.

7:27am. oh, whatever, it doesn't matter anymore, you think, so you set your phone aside, focus on Miguel instead.

he notices the conflict in your eyes, then a brief contemplation, and the quiet admittance of defeat. he feels your body relax beneath his as you squeeze his hand four times, the kindest of smiles falling on your lips.

"fine, pretty boy. guess i'm sick, huh?"

"got a cold?"

"hm? sure."

he grins-- that shy little grin that you love so much, and you pinch his cheek, the curl of your lips growing ever so slightly.

"what a shame," he murmurs, "guess i should warm you up."

"i lied. suddenly i feel fine. i'm going to work."

"no, wait--"

#miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara fluff #fluff #miguel o'hara

[undreaming-fanfiction]

My Blessing

Back when Eddie was still human, he used to think it would be incredibly cool to be a vampire. Child of the night, Nosferatu, all that stuff from his beloved books. He would be untouchable and the people who wanted to hurt him just for being different would wither away and die of old age while he'd still be the same. Maybe he'd visit them in their dying hour and sneer at them, taunt them as they were about to see what awaits beyond. All of that used to sound so good.

As he's learned during last 80-ish years, being a vampire sucks (no pun intended).

He sees it all. World wars. AIDS epidemic. Satanic panic. More and more pain, people wasting away before his eyes. The music is cool, but he wonders if he'll grow tired of it all. Eddie is still young, he doesn't want to believe that this is all there is. But each year, each decade makes him more and more hopeless.

And he's so, so lonely. He still has Wayne, his vampire uncle (he categorically denies the term "father" or "maker"), but he sometimes too resigned, too used to all the pain and violence. He doesn't know many other vampires and making any sort of a connection with a human is painful to think about. People are so fragile.

He's always loved turning into a bat and just flying around the city, avoiding the curious eyes of humans and finding lone vantage points, observing the night life on the streets. One of his favorite spots is on top of the Harrington bank, a building from the 1920s with old bronze statues and old, tall windows. He started visiting the ledge in late 1980s, sometimes spending the entire night there. He'd land on the ledge and turn back to his real form, plopping down next to a statue of a young man. It's so human-like, Eddie forgets it's just an object, a piece of art, and talks to it. He tells it about the stuff that has been happening in the world, all that's fucked up but also the good things, how he saw a group of girls chasing away a stalker of a random lady, a homeless guy giving his last few bites to a stray dog. How a kid he used to know in the 80s is now all grown up and has children of his own. He sometimes wonders who made the statue, but there is no signature, no mark, just that pretty face looking down at the street, lost in thought.

It's on a stormy night in 2022 that it happens. Eddie lands in his favorite spot, lights up a cigarette (immortal lungs are a great thing to have) and talks to the statue, as always. Tells it how he actually wrote a novel and got it published, summers are long and the daylight doesn't kill him but it sure hurts, rambles about how he got Wayne his first flannel shirt and it was love at the first sight. The rain is thick, heavy, but Eddie likes it, it makes him feel a bit more alive. He hears thunder, closer and closer, but the lightning is probably somewhere behind him, he doesn't see it.

That is, until it hits the statue, and Eddie panics because sure, it was just an object, but it was like his friend, it was a constant in his life, what is he going to do-

And then the statue straightens its spine and groans.

Eddie's cigarette falls somewhere into the streets and burns a hole in the umbrella of a lady bitching about the undeserved help provided to the poor. Not that he notices. His eyes are glued to the statue that stretches its arms and runs its fingers through the thick hair that suddenly has color, a sun-kissed brown, and then it turns to Eddie and smiles.

"Oh finally, I was waiting for ages to introduce myself. Hi. Thanks for keeping me company all those years. I'm Steve. Steve Harrington."

Eddie shakes the offered hand in daze and mutters "Eddie, Eddie Munson" before promptly turning into a bat and...what? Does he want to run away? Does he want to shriek his little heart out and never come back? Probably not. Not with Steve smiling at him like he's the best thing in the whole world. So he just lands on Steve's outstretched hand and squeaks "Still Eddie Munson, only pocket size."

And Steve, bless his heart - does he have one? Do statues have hearts? - just laughs and tucks Eddie under his old-fashioned jacket to protect him from the rain. "Oh, I know. The first time you landed here and turned back, I thought I'd finally gone crazy."

He opens a window behind them and climbs inside with Eddie, a window that's always been dark, the only dark room in the whole building. And then they talk. Well, Steve does.

That's when Eddie learns the room is Steve's, preserved, stocked and cleaned throughout the decades. That he's the only son of the founder of the bank, Richard Harrington, now fortunately long dead and burning in hell. That even before the Great Depression hit, the bank was facing difficulties and Richard Harrington decided to make a deal with...something. Something ancient and lurking in New York, something feeding off the misery of people living there.

That's when Eddie learns that Richard Harrington offered his only son to preserve his fortune.

He just stares as Steve shrugs, retelling his story as if it was no big deal, finding a change of clothes for both of them in a huge closet full of things both old and new, a strange blend of fashion spanning last century. "It was a deal for one hundred years. One hundred years of prosperity for one hundred years of...that. I guess my father felt a little bit guilty afterwards because he included in his will that I'd always have a place to come back to. This room. And some financial security too, that's what he'd said before he passed away. He used to talk to me through that window sometimes, after my mother drank herself to death."

"Uhhh." Edward Munson, ever the eloquent fantasy book author, has nothing better to say.

He turns back to Eddie, smiling at him and offering a black t-shirt. "I don't think he knew I could hear him, that I heard and saw everything. Still, nice to know he cared...as much as he was humanly able to." The smile doesn't falter as he adds: "I don't want to sound pushy, but maybe you should turn back to change clothes? You're still wet."

And oh, Eddie is still a bat. Yep. With a sound that sounds like a plop, he transforms back and takes the t-shirt. "Thank you. Steve. Uh. That's  fucked up, man," he offers lamely.

"Oh yeah, it sucked. Well, used to," he nudges Eddie, tossing him a towel when he sees his hair dripping on the floor. "But then you started showing up. Talking to me." Now his smile is slightly smaller, sad, and Eddie wants to visit Richard Harrington's grave and punch his remains, build them into a bird feeder, revive the asshole and kill him again. "It was just...so lonely. I had no way of telling you, but when you started visiting and just, kept showing up, almost every day, it felt like a blessing."

Eddie swallows, his throat suddenly dry. "A blessing?"

"Yeah." Steve turns to him and the sincerity in his eyes is so intense Eddie feels like turning into a bat again and flying in circles, shrieking into the night. "You were my blessing, Eddie," he says as he squeezes his hand.

And Eddie just stares, his undead heart breaking for this boy, cursed just as horribly if not worse than he is. "You know I'm not...not human, right?" he whispers but his hand doesn't leave Steve's. "I guess you can probably tell from the bat thing, or that I'm literally the room temperature-"

"-or the fact that you once told me that it's a shame I'm not alive because I look delicious and you're sure my blood would be too," add Steve with a mischievous smirk.

"Uh. Shit, yeah. That too," Eddie stutters, trying to recall all the embarrassing stuff he told Steve during the last thirty or so years. "That...doesn't bother you?"

Steve snorts in laughter and shakes his head. "You literally thought I was a piece of bronze an hour ago, man. Does that bother you? Did you prefer me when I didn't talk?"

Eddie scoffs at that, offended. "Hell no. You were just a pretty face, but now you're a pretty face with a ton of personality. I...you know, you were my blessing too, I think. Even if you couldn't answer, I didn't feel as much alone next to you. Is that weird to say?" 

The squeeze of Steve's fingers gives him the answer he needs, but he still melts inside when he hears "not at all. I just hope you won't get bored of me now that I'm...different," he whispers, staring at their joined fingers. "You'll probably find me boring. I don't know much about what's going on outside. I could watch and you told me a lot, but...uh. The world seems so hectic and fast-paced, it will probably take me a while to catch up."

And Eddie has to laugh because that worry is so strange to hear voiced out loud, as if Steve being alive, breathing and next to him, as if that made him something less. "Oh just you wait, Steve. You spent over thirty years listening to me ramble, now I'm expecting at least thirty years of your monologues so we can be even. You know my dirtiest secrets now and I'm a man with a thirst for knowledge. Really," he adds because the young man next to him is still silent, "you have nothing to worry about. I've kept you company and you have done the same for me...and it works for us. So what's a little confusion about these modern days? Come on pretty boy. I will be your guide."

Steve gives him a smile that is so radiant Eddie thinks it should hurt, it should burn him like a torch, but it's just warm. Kind. "I can work with that."

Steve is the only human Eddie ever turns. He expects to agonize over it for much longer, to feel guilty, but Steve has already lived longer than he has and he still has thirst for life that is infectious, something that drives Eddie to join him, try new things, not mourn what is lost to time but be thankful that he has the chance to see it all. He finally wants to participate, to join the world again, not just observe it.

The first time Steve turns to a bat, he ends up flying in circles in absolute ecstasy, laughing and making the weirdest somersaults and loops. Eddie could watch him forever and the best part is - he can. And he does.

But before all that, Eddie brings Steve to see Wayne, to introduce him to his only family. Wayne shakes his hand and gruffly laughs: "Well, look at that. My boy has finally moved on from that statue."

Without missing a beat, Steve smiles at him and announces "oh not at all, sir. I'm the statue."

Eddie has some explaining to do, but for now, he just laughs.

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #vampire AU #stranger things #stranger things au #stranger things ficlet

[captain039]

Wolf and bear

Halsin x shapeshifter!reader

Warnings: sexual, adult content, eventual smut, light swearing, mentions of dog fighting, first times.

Again! I don’t know Halsins character very well, nor have a played the game still lmao (3rd of the 9th ) well 5th cause that’s when I get paid lol.

Angry little wolf with her future bear husband lol

Kinda questionable xD

I cannot find Halsin smut and I need it

Also need Astarion smut

Challenging a bear probably wasn’t the smartest idea you had, but he was too close to your home. He smelt different though, not like normal wild bears that sometimes roam through. There was a scar down his eyes and his one of his lip. He was bigger than a normal bear also, then again you were a bigger than a normal wolf. Was he a shifter? He didn’t seem fazed by your warning growls and snaps, if a bear could looked amused he looked it. You huffed through your teeth and hoped he’d disappear. You headed back to your cottage, shifting back into your human form with a pained groan.

“Why’re you in pain?” you screamed at the deep voice behind you, body instantly going back into a wolf form due to reflexes. You smacked the ground with a groan before shifting back. Your body extra aching now, of course it bloody hurt your body literally changed into an animal! stupid idiot. You grabbed your robe quickly and covered yourself, you turned seeing an overly naked large man.

“Gods!” you covered your eyes praying he’d just leave.

“Do you have clothes?!” You yelled.

“I rather enjoy changing without them on, more comfortable” he said and you couldn’t argue with logic, but still. Sure if you were skilled enough in magic you’d keep your clothes on and not ruin them, every time you changed though they’d be torn and ruined.

“Why’re you here?” You asked keeping your hand over your eyes.

“It’s been a long time since I met another shifter, I was curious I suppose” he said and you sighed.

“Well I shift, the end, please leave” you probably sounded like a bitch, but you hadn’t had anyone here in years, people weren’t to found on a wolf in their villages, and life with other shifters was weird, constant need to bond with nature and a lot of nudity.

“Why have you not joined others?” He asked and you sighed.

“Because they are too much for me I like my quietness!” You pressed hoping he’d get the hint.

“You are against bonding with nature and being yourself?” He added and you groaned.

“Listen man, I don’t want your company or questions please leave!” You finally moved your hand to look at him, geez he was big. Big broad shoulders and wide torso, strong legs- oh gods. You flushed and looked back to his eyes seeing a small smirk. He had the same three scars over his eyes and the one on his lip, tribal markings down the right side of his face. Pointed ears and long brown hair half tied back.

“You didn’t answer my question” he stated and your mouth hung open slightly, did he not get a word you just said.

“I’m Halsin” he said.

“I don’t care!” You groaned getting up and going inside, slamming the door behind you.

You awoke the next morning ignoring the scenes

of last night, hopefully he’s gone back to his little nature loving pack. You went outside to tend to your garden only to freeze when you sensed someone to your left. You stared at the large man sitting by your table chewing on what looked like dried fruit. Is he serious? You walked back inside surely this was a dream, or an illusion.

“I’m real” he called and you walked back outside.

“What in the hell are you doing here?!” You snapped and he just smiled. He was clothed thankfully as he stood, woah he was much bigger than you.

“You intrigue me” he said.

“I don’t care, get off my property or-“ you stuttered what could you really do to a giant bear man? He smirked head tilted he knew you couldn’t do anything.

You ignored him as you went about your gardening. He didn’t say anything which annoyed you more, what did he want somewhere to hibernate?! Certainly wasn’t going to be in your comfortable bed.

“Excuse us” you frowned at the approaching men. The bear man stood on edge a frown on his face. You walked to them and wiped your hands.

“What is it?” You asked seeing a note in their hands.

“Have you seen or heard any bears around?” He asked and you froze.

“One with a scar on his face!” The man behind him piped up.

“No?” You said questioning.

“We believe it’s a demon” he said and you raised a slight eyebrow.

“Bear shifter” he added, so this man was a shifter hater.

“He caused a rampage in a dog fight arena” your stomach churned at the words, people still did that? Horrible beings.

“Was anyone hurt?” You asked trying to not sound suspicious.

“Just the owners, not dead, but all the dogs were let free” he answered and you felt relief flood you.

“This your husband?” He nodded to the bear man behind you.

“Uh-“ you faltered as he stood and came over with a smile.

“I am” he said and you froze as a hand went around your waist. You wanted to punch that smile off his face.

“Ah, have you heard or seen anything?” The man asked and your supposed husband shook his head.

“Can’t say I have” he said.

“Kinda got scars like you” the one behind said studying.

“Oh these I was attacked by a bear actually, got its head in our living room” he chuckled, but you felt how rigid his body went.

“Awesome!” The man behind said and you sighed.

“Well if you see or hear anything let us know, oh and if you see a dog or dogs let us know, we’re at the village council” the man said and left. The bear man growled and you tensed feeling the anger rolling off him. You rested a hand on his chest feeling his urge to murder those men.

“Killing them won’t solve anything” you said hushed and he stared down at you with big eyes. Now that he was close, you could feel his warmth, feel the muscles beneath your hand, smell his scent.

You closed your eyes for a moment taking him in before you realised what you were doing and stormed away embarrassed.

“What about those dogs?” You asked.

“They’re with good people now, away from that horrible place” he growled the last part and you couldn’t ignore the shivers and unwanted arousal it gave you.

“Good” you whispered as you went back to gardening.

Apparently this was his daily ritual, to greet you in the morning, ask some questions and just be around you. You really couldn’t deny how comforting it was to have his presence, but you also couldn’t ignore how weird it was. After a few days of not shifting your body began to ache, you hated it, hated having to change and run in the forest despite the freedom it gave you. You waited till night, waited till Halsin was gone. You went outside in a robe, shrugged it off and shifted. You took a moment to gather yourself before you took off into the woods. You rested by a lake and looked at the moon reflection rippling in the water. You heard heavy steps and stood, hackles up before you recognised the scent and scar on the big bear. You sat back down listening to him saunter over and sit by you. You enjoyed the cool breeze and took in a breath to smell the forest around you. Halsin bumped you suddenly and you looked to him seeing the bear smile. You huffed at him and looked away feeling him doing it again. You gave him a narrowed look feeling his playfulness. You pushed him back with your body watching him stumble. He roared playfully and you stood up tail wagging slightly. You bowed down slightly in a playful dog stance as he roared softly and began play fighting with you. If someone was to walk by the would be weirded out, but for some reason this felt natural. If you could laugh you would, it just came out a strange grunts and growls as you nipped playfully at Halsins paws. He was stronger though and knocked you into the water. You froze standing up quickly and shivering. You growled charging at him and trying tackle him into the water only to fail. You were pinned under him, paws in the air and you gave a huff. He shifted above you and you tilted your head.

“Shift” he said smiling and you did expecting pain. You frowned though as he waved his hand, yellow light coming from his hand.

“Was that better?” He asked softly and you nodded surprised.

“I’m a Druid” he said.

“Oh” you said glancing at your nakedness and his. You covered your breasts and looked away with cheeks flushed.

“Why do you hide?” He asked and you glanced to him, biting the inside of your cheek.

“This is- intimate” you muttered.

“I’ve never been intimate, nor has anyone seen me like this” you added embarrassed, you glanced to his face seeing his eyes darken slightly but remaining soft.

“May I kiss you?” He asked softly and you froze, but felt yourself nod. He smiled as he leant down, you closed your eyes as you felt him press his lips to yours. You made an embarrassing noise, but he just deepened the kiss. Your arms left covering your breasts and you gripped his forearms instead as he began to kiss down your jaw and to your neck. You felt him press his lower half to you, hips meeting yours, you gasped hand slapping over your mouth. You heard him chuckle lightly, his breath tickling your neck.

“I want to worship you” he said softly and heat ran straight through your body.

“I want to taste you” he pressed a kiss to a sensitive spot on your neck that made you squirm.

“Feel you” he muttered and you sealed your eyes close. You felt his hand rest on your ribs before sliding up your side and over your hip, before gripping your thigh. He gripped the flesh pulling it gently so your knee bent. He stopped kissing your neck and chuckled again as you opened your eyes and flushed, you moved your hand and he kissed you again.

“You’re not so feisty when you’re flustered” he grinned and you glared.

“I was wrong” he chuckled and you hated how you loved the sound. Hated how you loved the feeling of him against you. You were battling with yourself, you didn’t even realise he had slid down your body till lips pressed against your inner thigh. Your eyes went down to his, he smirked pushing your legs further apart before you felt his breath against your folds. Your breath hitched when a tongue darted out and ran through them, a groan leaving his lips as he began to lick. Your body squirmed and you closed your eyes leaning your head back fully. You had one hand on your stomach in a fist, the other at your side, he was skilful, gods you felt like you were in heaven, or hell. You felt his hand snake up your stomach and you opened your hand to hold it, which he gladly accepted. You moaned as he began to suck and prod his tongue against your entrance. You gripped his hand harshly but he didn’t seem to care, too busy working you up with his tongue. You felt fingers though, joining his tongue and sliding in heat. You moaned back arching as he began to slowly thrust his finger in and out. His fingers were much bigger than yours and much more delightful, you kept clenching his hand as you felt your stomach tighten with need and release. You moaned brokenly when he added a second finger, working you open for what was hopefully to come. His mouth paid extra attention to your clit while his fingers scissored and beckoned. You whined lowly muttering a please that you barely managed to get out. You felt him grin and wanted to slap the cockiness off his face, but was too caught in the pressure building. You felt the knot in your stomach come undone as you came with a moan. Your legs shuddered and you panted loudly as he continued riding out your high slowly. He sat back up, and crawled up your body again smiling down at you.

“Beautiful” he whispered and you flushed looking away. You waited for him to move, but he didn’t and you looked back ready to huff at him. He had a playful look and you groaned quietly with a huff, why was he teasing?

“Why’re you teasing?” You asked.

“Because it gets you worked up” he smirked and you glared with a huff, you crossed your arms over your chest too, looking away till he kissed down your neck and you felt his hips shift. You tensed a bit as you felt the tip of his cock resting by your entrance. He grabbed one of your hands and pressed it above your head, clenching it before he thrusted in. You moaned while he groaned in your ear, you held your breath before panting. You clenched his hand, gods you felt full. He let you adjust before slowly skipping out and back in, your eyes slipped shut as you felt the sting.

“Gods” you muttered.

“I’ve got you” he whispered giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You whined in response as he set a slow pace, the sting slowly fading. His hand left yours as he rested on it instead and you wrapped your arms around him. His pace quickened slowly and you were struggling to keep in your moans.

“Only I can hear you” he whispered lifting his head which made you open your eyes. He kissed you gently and you moaned into his mouth as he began to quicken again. He was getting close, his pants became uneven and his hips were moving more desperately. You closed your eyes tightly again, back arching as he sped up to chase his release. You gripped his arms in your hands as his hips stuttered and he came with a groan. His head was in your neck panting harshly as you lifted your hands to run them up and down his back.

“I’m sorry” he suddenly said and you frowned.

“Why?” You asked as he lifted his head.

“I didn’t bring you to your release again” he said looking guilty and you smiled shaking your head pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Another time” you whispered and his eyes widened slightly but smiled as he kissed you once more.

#Halsin #Halsin x reader #x reader #bg3 #shifters

[sopebubbles]

Three

Masterlist

Synopsis: in a world where alphas, betas, and omegas live along side modern humans as second class citizens, you've fallen through the cracks of a society that wants to take everything wonderful from you. Luckily a timely encounter with the boys just might save your life.

Chapter summary: The boys talk to you for the first time, but that doesn't really make anything any better.

Warnings: this chapter contains explicit depictions of child ab*se, including physical violence and abusive language, please take care. The tough parts take place in a flashback in italics. otherwise you should be okay.

wc: ~5k

When you first gained some consciousness, your primary thought was that you felt like shit. Were you sick? Or was this just what heat felt like? You had not let yourself go into heat in so long, not since you came to this city almost two years ago. You didn't remember it feeling like this. Painful? Yes. The ache you felt now was different and worse than pain you usually associated with this event, but at least you knew you hadn't been fucked within an inch of your life. No, your sex ached for something it hadn't received. 

Knot. Knot. Need a knot. Your inner voice chanted, desperate to have your needs met, to feel your body full of something. You groaned and rolled to your stomach. Moving only made the ache worse and drew attention to other problems. You were soaked. Your torso, neck and face felt sticky with tacky sweat. Your thighs even more so with thick, sweet smelling slick that leaked out of you all night long. 

Disgusting. That was the other voice in your head, the one that told you to deny every stupid, foolish need your body had because they only hurt you. Filthy animal. Admittedly, that voice did not sound like your own, but rang with the echo of multitudes. 

You wanted to get up and clean yourself off, but your body was weak and tired. Taking a deep breath to gather your strength, you caught several scents. Citrus and lavender. Leather and cotton. Something else too, maybe pine nuts. And over everything a heady sweetness. The voices in your head argued. 

Alpha. 

Several. Run. Hide. 

Find alpha. 

Not safe. 

You wanted to listen to them both but instead you just took another breath in and fell asleep.

The next time you regained consciousness it was because something cool and wet was licking your body. No not licking, but definitely wet. Your eyes jolted awake and you looked up directly into the eyes of another omega. You could tell by the softness of his cheeks and by the warm brown sugar coming from the scent gland in his wrist, right under your nose. He was wiping the sweat from your skin with a damp cloth. 

"Hello, little pup." His voice was soft but there was no expression on his face to tell you his intentions or if he was a threat. But he was a stranger so you immediately began to squirm away. That was when you realized you were entirely naked, mostly covered with a blanket but still bare underneath. The man sighed and put down the wash cloth picking up a different piece of fabric. "Here, you can put this on," he said, holding out a shirt for you. 

You took it from his hands and used it to cover your chest while you waited for him to move, to leave or at least turn around. When you only stared at him for several seconds he smirked. 

"Honey, you're the one who took your shirt off and begged me to remove your bra last night. Don't get shy now."

You looked around the room, but no one else was there to witness your shame. Still there were so many smells around the bare room. Sweet scents worn into the mattress from the Lykos who slept here, their owners must be around somewhere. The man sighed again while he stood. "I'll give you a few minutes to get yourself together. There are a pair of boxer shorts here. Sorry, there aren't any ladies in this house to borrow from. I'm Hoseok by the way. I'll come back in a few minutes and we'll have a talk about what's going on." He left and closed the door behind him without waiting for your response. 

It took a second to shake off the surprise after he'd gone, but once you did, you picked up the damp cloth he'd left on the bed and continued cleaning yourself. He had not yet cleaned your chest and after taking care of that you wiped up the mess between your legs, shuttering at the sensitivity there. You pulled the shirt over your head and then moved to the edge of the bed to stand and put the shorts on. But your legs trembled weakly and you sank back to the bed. That shot any plan of running out of here. As you tried to think of what to do, a knock came and the door opened before you could answer. 

Hoseok returned with two other men, but he let them pass and remained by the door, which he left ajar. You moved back into the bed to create some distance between you as the taller man sat at the end of the bed. 

"Y/N, my name is Jungkook. I'm a police officer. And this Jimin. We found you on the street last night and we brought you to our home. You're safe here." His voice was smooth and kind in a way that had your inner voice purring, begging to bring his familiar scent closer so you could slip back down into the gooey softness of heat. 

"Am I in trouble?" You asked in a quiet voice. 

"Of course not, pup. We just want to help," the smaller one, Jimin, did with a smile. 

"How do you know my name?"

Jungkook blushed. "Full disclosure: we went through your things last night trying to find your pack."

"I don't have a pack," you informed them quickly. Jungkook nodded with what seemed like regret. He had clearly been able to learn that much on his own. "Where's my bag?"

Jimin bent over behind the foot of the bed to pick up your oversized black purse and handed it to you. You dug inside until you found the clattering bottle of pills and pulled it out. "Those won't do you any good now," he commented as you tried to take the cap off. Even your hands felt weakened. You paused and eventually lowered them to your lap. 

"Just as well. I hate these things. They make me so sick."

Jimin took a subtle step closer and put his hands in his pockets to show he wasn't a threat. "Then why do you take them?"

You're quiet for a second. That was an incredibly personal question to ask a stranger. "Because it's better than feeling like this."

Jimin looked like he wanted to ask more questions in this vein, but he held back in favor of letting Jungkook speak. "Is there anyone you can call who can look after you?" You avoided their eyes as you shook your head. "In that case, our pack alpha and pack omega have agreed to let you stay until you've recovered."

Your eyes snapped up to the omega by the door. He was the only one you'd smelled here. You took a breath in through your nose, and you weren't sure before but you were confident now that there were four alphas living in this house, although only three of them seemed to be outside the door. The citrus one you smelled so close last night was missing. Danger. You brought your knees up and hugged them protectively. 

"I have somewhere to go."

"The True Life Ministry?" Jimin asked. You nodded your head. "They won't take you in like this," he told you, but you already knew that. 

"This could last three or four more days. Minimum," Hoseok reminded you. You closed your eyes and let the misery of that truth wash over you. 

"We can't reasonably let you go out on your own in your condition, Y/N. You might not remember, but Jimin and I found you in a very dangerous situation last night. It would be much safer for you if you stayed here. I will personally ensure your protection." 

You looked up to meet Jungkook's doe eyes and found them full of sincerity, begging you to do the one thing you were never able to: trust him. But you'd already learned yourself that you wouldn't be able to get far on your own, and you knew exactly what kind of awful things could and would happen to you if you stayed out on the street. So trust them or not, you knew you had no other choice. You nodded your agreement. 

"I'm supposed to work the next two nights," you said quietly, not sure why you thought you needed to tell them. 

"Someone can call them and tell them you won't be able to make it," Hoseok offered. 

You sighed. "That's okay. I'm probably fired after not showing up last night anyway."

"Our pack alpha is a lawyer. He can be very persuasive." His eyes focused outside the door, presumably to look at said alpha. 

You tried to swallow around the lump in your throat. "Your alphas. There are…"

"Four of them," he told you. "They won't disturb you. They're forbidden from coming in and you don't have to see them if you don't want to."

You nodded but your mind was at war with itself once again. 

Alpha. Need alpha. Please. 

Too many. Too dangerous. They only want to breed you like an animal. 

But you could be so warm, so full. You need them close. Ask them to come in. Please.

The silence in the room made the air stale the longer you fought with yourself, and when you finally looked up it was clear they had all taken note of your disturbance. 

"Thank you," you managed to say, not because you truly felt grateful but because you wanted desperately for everyone to leave. 

Hoseok cleared his throat. "Okay, well, I'll get you something to eat while you're still lucid." It was difficult to predict the ebb and flow of heat, but this break wouldn't last much longer. Normally, during his heats, the pack would be there to care for him and ply him with food and water to keep his strength up, but it didn't seem like that was going to work for you and by the time the next wave of senselessness hit you, you wouldn't be able to feed yourself.

Jungkook and Jimin backed out of the room and Hoseok followed behind, leaving you alone again. He walked to the kitchen to prepare you a bowl of stew. He'd gotten up early this morning to prepare it so that it would be ready when you came around. Taehyung came to stand beside him at the stove. 

"Do you think that went okay?" He asked, hoping that Hoseok could report something different in what he saw from what Tae had smelled in the tangy apple cider vinegar scent coming from you by the end of the conversation.

"It's hard to tell, Tae," Hoseok hedged. "It seemed like the idea of so many alphas around made her a little nervous." 

Taehyung let out a dejected little 'oh.' 

"It's probably best to keep your distance, baby," the omega warned softly. It had tugged at his heartstrings the night before when his youngest alpha had suggested that maybe a good cuddle would help a little bit, but it seemed clear now that would only freak you out. "I'm sorry."

Taehyung shrugged his shoulders. "It's okay. I don't want her to be uncomfortable. It just seems wrong for her to be alone like that, you know?" He held a hand to his chest as if he really felt the pain of it in his heart. 

Hoseok reached up to pet his messy hair. "What a good alpha I have. I would never be able to resist your cuddles."

Taehyung preened at the praise, musky leather scent enveloping him. 

"I need to do a few things. You eat and when I'm done we can cuddle and watch something, okay?" Tae nodded silently and took the bowl that was offered before Hoseok filled another one. 

This time he didn't knock before entering your room and found you sitting in the same protective position he had left you in. He set the bowl down on the table beside your bed and moved away. You looked between the bowl and him but did not move to grab it until he turned his back to you. He heard you sniff it and hum softly to yourself before the spoon began to clink against the porcelain. You began to take greedy spoonfuls of the hot stew while he walked back into the hallway. From the linen closet in the hallway Hoseok gathered several beloved blankets and fresh sheets. When he returned to the room you were slurping up the thick broth from the bottom of the bowl and set it aside with sheepish eyes, as if he would take such behavior as anything but a compliment. 

"Do you want some more?" He asked, but you shook your head. He had a whole pack to feed and you shouldn't take too much. "If you get up for a minute I'll change the sheets."

"You don't have to do that!" Something in your belly felt deep shame knowing how they smelled of your heat and the mess you had made. 

"Don't be silly. There's no point in staying in messy sheets. And you don't need to feel embarrassed about it. We all do it. That's why I always keep a lot of clean sheets." You lowered your face at how easily he had seen through you, but got off the bed when he waved a hand at you. "And I brought lots of blankets. Unless you're more of a pillows kind of girl. I'm sure I can find a few spare ones."

"Pillows for what?" You stared at him blankly as he began to strip everything from the bed.

"For your nest, pup."

"Oh. That's okay. I don't nest."

"Jimin said you're not allowed at the shelter, but you are here!" Hoseok said cheerfully, the mere thought of building a cozy nest to sink into filling him with joy.

"No, I mean I don't at all," you replied, and he paused to turn to you. 

"Never?" You shook your head. "Why not?" 

You scratched your nails up and down your arm, squirmy under his scrutiny and shaky on your legs. Hoseok dropped the spoiled sheets on the floor and when it seemed like you wouldn't answer while he watched you, he picked up a clean sheet and began to stretch it over the mattress. 

"It's bad for you, isn't it? I mean, they say it's unhygienic. And it makes omegas lazy."

Hoseok scoffed and turned to give you an incredulous look. "Who told you that?"

You shrugged. You'd heard it at home and probably at school more than once. The few times you had tried to nest they had told you they didn't want it or a lazy omega. 

Hoseok was speechless. Who would have told you something so plainly untrue? Nesting was an important part of emotional well being for omegas. It was harder not to do than to do. It was important for the pack, too, making sure that all members had a comfortable place to rest. Making sure that all scents were present was important to maintaining bonds and bringing comfort. How could you deny yourself such a basic need?

Not knowing what to say, he simply finished putting the sheets on the bed. When he was finished he took the old sheets under one arm and grabbed the empty bowl with his free hand. He stopped to look at the pile of blankets and then at you with troubled eyes. 

"I'll just leave these here in case you want to give it a try." Maybe your omega instincts would kick in during your frenzy when you couldn't meet your other needs.

Hoseok left without closing the door and walked briskly to the kitchen, catching Seokjin’s attention from where he sat searching for something to watch on Netflix. He was trying hard to pretend it was just a normal Saturday in an attempt to keep everyone calm. When he heard the bowl clatter carelessly in the sink he moved Namjoon's feet from his lap and got to his feet. Namjoon followed puppishly at his heels since comforting his distressed omega was a better distraction than the book he was trying and failing to read.

"What's wrong?" Jin asked when he found Hoseok in the laundry holding the bundled sheets, staring blankly into the washer. "Sweetheart?" He took the dirty cloth away gently and put them aside so that he could pull his mate close and look him in the eyes.

It took him a moment to find his voice. "She said that nesting is bad."

Jin scrunched his face in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"She said she doesn't nest ever, because someone told her it was bad for her."

Jin shook his head. "That's crazy. Why would anyone say that?"

"I don't know," Hoseok said, shaking his head. "Jin, it's like she's totally broken. Like she doesn't even know how to be an omega."

"Maybe she never had one," Namjoon offered from behind them. "I see it with my students. They're adopted out by saps when they don't have packs who can care for them, or if they don't think the pack is doing things right, and they're told all their instincts are wrong and that they need to fight them."

The omega looked at him with a horrified expression. "Why?"

Namjoon shrugged. "There are saps who think we live on the line between humans and animals, and if they can convince us to give up our 'animal ways' then we can find a way to being human."

"That's sick."

"You have no idea," Namjoon mumbled as he looked down at the sheets that were somehow now in his hands. 

Hoseok forgot his shock for a moment to level a stare at the alpha. "Namjoon, what are you doing?"

"Hm?" The man struggled to tear his eyes away to look at his mate. 

"Go on. Sniff them. I dare you."

Namjoon hesitated. This was a trick and he knew it, but your scent was so goddamn inviting. Slowly he lifted the bundle toward his face.

But Hoseok snatched it from his grasp before he could and threw it in the washer. "You are a fucking animal," he grumbled. 

After he got the washer running he took Seokjin back to the spare room with him. The alphas had agreed to use the scent blockers they found in your bag–Yoongi was the only person who used them regularly at work, but never kept any at home, though he promised to pick some up to replace the ones they were using. It wasn't perfect, but it did enough to keep them sane around you. 

Once again, Hoseok entered the doorway of your room but didn't come much closer. You had taken precisely one of the soft blankets he had offered you and wrapped it around your shoulders before positioning yourself in the exact center of the mattress. He could see you shake slightly and the expanding of your pupils told him you had mere minutes left before you'd be insensible again. He wanted nothing more than to take every blanket he had given you and build you the coziest nest he'd ever made, just to show you how it's done. But even then, he knew it wouldn't be a great nest if you were in it all alone. His heart sank into his stomach. You blinked at him as he remembered his purpose.

"This is our pack alpha, Seokjin. Would you like him to call your job and see if you can work something out?"

Seokjin gave you a gentle smile and a wave from the hallway. The boundaries had been clearly drawn for him and he would not cross that threshold as long as you were there, except in a life or death situation. 

You shrugged noncommittally. You didn't meet the alpha's eyes. "I don't know where my phone is." 

Hoseok took a few steps closer to hold it out to you. "Taehyung charged it last night. That's why it wasn't in your bag," he admitted.

You took the device to unlock it and quickly choose the correct number before handing it back. Maybe you knew you were close to dropping and wouldn't be able to participate in the call yourself. Hoseok handed the phone off to his alpha and Jin pressed the button before putting the phone on speaker. After several rings, a gruff voice answered. 

“Hello, I am calling on behalf of Y/N,” Jin started tentatively. He hadn’t prepared. 

The person on the other end paused for a long moment before responding, “yeah?”

Jin cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I’m calling to let you know she won’t be able to come to work for the next several days. She is under the weather.”

The man on the phone grumbled something. “Tell her not to worry about coming back. Marissa said something about her going to heat or whatever the hell fucking thing.” Jin’s face went hot as you buried yours in your arms. 

“That’s not grounds for termination. The service industry does not require that employees disclose secondary gender-”

“Yeah, well, they should. Failure to show up for her shift is grounds for termination.”

“The circumstances were unexpected, but you were notified as soon as possible,” Jin tried to reason. 

“Sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. I have to go.” The phone disconnected before Jin could try another legal argument. He looked up at you with regret in his eyes. 

“It’s fine. It was a shitty job anyway,” you mumbled. But he didn’t miss the souring apple cider vinegar of your scent or how the distress showed on your face.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Maybe I can-”

You cut him off with a sharp whine as you fell over to your side. Hoseok knew instantly and shook his head. He pushed the alpha back. “It’s too late, baby,” he told his defeated mate before he closed your door. 

Few people know that when you aren't getting fucked through your heat, it's like a fever dream. Like detoxing. Time isn't real anymore. It was hard for you to separate this time from all the other times you've been lost in this haze of instinct and need. You've been avoiding your heat for over a year just so you wouldn't have to relive these particular nightmares. In your daily life, it's all so much easier to ignore. If you talk to saps and they talk to you like you're one of them, it's easy to pretend that this isn't you, that your body isn't yours, that you've never been betrayed by yourself. And when you're alone, it's even easier to dissociate, to leave yourself until you're a little easier to be around. But here in this frenzy where you're hyper aware of who and what you are and what that takes from you, it's fucking hell. Your body feels twice its size and every nerve is screaming at you, begging to be touched in ways you don't want but can't stop wanting.

You wouldn't call what you did with what Hoseok gave you nesting per se. You were grateful for the clean sheets he had given you. These ones didn't smell as strongly of his pack, but hints were still there. At least for a little while they didn't smell quite so much like you. You allowed yourself to choose one blanket from the pile he'd left on the dresser. One cloud soft blanket wasn't too self-indulgent, right? You needed one blanket. That blanket was now twisted and tangled between your legs, providing little comfort from your tortured dreams.

Your first heat wasn't all that different from this one, if you're being honest. It came on fast and hard with no warning. Or maybe you just didn't know the warning signs. You had been in the room with the sap girls when they were told about their periods and about abstinence in the 6th grade. They were told they would bleed for several days every month for most of their lives. It would hurt, but that was normal. There were products they could buy to help. You weren't the only lykos girl in that room, but you all sat and nodded at the irrelevant information. None of you raised our hand to ask what heats or ruts would be like. None of the sap teachers would have been able to tell you. And you were all secretly hoping you wouldn't ever have to find out anyway.

You were sixteen when your first heat came. Every day you had just been hoping that you were a beta. That would be okay. If you were a beta then no one would ever have to know. They wouldn't be able to smell you. It would be so easy to pretend. But when it came, your adopted mom found you before you even knew what was happening to you. 

You weren't up for your morning chores, which would be bad enough on a normal day. When she came in, she found you had pulled the winter blankets out of your closet and made a cozy little nest. Incensed, she began to pull the blankets from around and beneath you, one hard yank sending you tumbling to the floor, landing in a heap. You whined as she screamed at you. 

"You know you're not allowed to do that. Filthy habits." When she came to pick you up by your arms, her hands slipped right off your sweat soaked skin, and she made a sound of disgust before wiping her hands on her apron. "What the hell is the matter with you?"

"Alpha," you moaned and got to your knees to try to crawl back to bed. 

Her anger flared white hot, and she grabbed you by the back of your shirt. She dragged you out of your bedroom and down the stairs, deaf to your cries of pain, and dumped you at the feet of her husband.

"Look at her. Look what she's done," the woman accused, as if you had chosen this on purpose.

"What's wrong with her?" The man asked gruffly.

"She's turning into one of those animals."

The man looked down at her over his glasses. "We should call the pastor over, just to be sure."

The woman shook her head. "No we can't. I don't want the whole town to know we were raising one of those things all these years." She looked down and wrinkled her nose at you. "Eli turned out normal. I thought she might, too."

The man sighed. "Then what do you suggest we do, Ellen?"

The woman thought for a second. "We'll drop her in the woods off the property and let her fend for herself. Maybe the coyotes will get her come nightfall."

The man sighed again before he bent to pick you up in his arms. He carried you outside and set you in the bed of the beat up pickup truck. The old couple got in up front and the engine roared to life. The rumble it sent through the whole truck was almost like a purr. It was almost a comfort until he put the truck in drive and set off, taking bumpy dirt roads to the most remote edge of the property and sending you rolling and thumping along the cold metal ridges, leaving you bruised like a peach on top of it all.

You couldn't hear what they said, if they said anything, when they set you on the ground by a tall oak tree in a spot that she had deemed far enough away. The blood in your veins rushed too hard and fast to hear anything for several minutes, and by then they were gone, and all was quiet. 

When you were lucid again, it was pitch black outside and the house was quiet. Even though your mind was momentarily clear, you felt disoriented to be in a dark and unfamiliar room. You were in a warm, soft bed that smelled slightly of warm brown sugar and apples. You felt out for the edge of the bed, finding it to be much wider than you expected, and pulled yourself to the side. Tentatively, you put your feet down one at a time, afraid to put your weight down and make a floorboard creak. When you quietly padded to the door on the balls of your feet, you couldn't find the light switch and began to panic in the engulfing darkness. You gave up and wrenched the door open instead. A soft orange glow from the living room was just enough to calm your nerves. Heavy, steady breathing came from that direction, so once again you tried to move as quietly as possible toward the front door.

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#bts a/b/o #bts omegaverse au #bts ot7 #bts poly au #bts series #bts fic #bts fan fiction #bts yoongi #bts jungkook #bts hobi #bts namjoon #bts jimin #bts jin #bts taehyung #bts x reader #bts angst #lone wolf #sopebubbles 🧼 #bts ot7 x reader

[gay-dorito-dust]

Maybe some fluff with Hobie when the main trop is that they are soulmates?

I honestly had no idea where I was going with this, it’s all over the place.

What’s a soulmate?

It’s a…it’s like a best friend but more.

It’s the one person who knows you better then anyone else, it’s someone who makes you a better person. Actually they don’t make you a better person, you do that yourself, because they inspire you.

A soulmate Is someone who you can carry with you forever. It’s the one person who knew you and accepted you, believed in you before anybody else did. Or when no one else would, and no matter what happens you will always love them; Nothing can ever change that. - Dawson’s Creek (never watched it but have heard the ‘what’s a soulmate?’ Clip more times then I can count.’

The term soulmates had been so firmly interchangeable with romantic connotations that many often forget that being soulmates with someone doesn’t necessarily mean that it was remotely romantic in the first place.

You can be soulmates with that one friend who’s stood by you through thick and thin, a family member, or a co-worker that you get along with very well, so much so that you might as well be the same person.

With that out of the way, let’s move onto yours and Hobie’s relationship.

To begin with, you and Hobie both thought that the idea of soulmates wasn’t something you’d fully put your faith into as to believe that you and someone else were tethered to one another, expected to love one another against your better judgment.

What if your soulmate was a twat? A down right godawful human being? What then? Are you still expected to love them even though everything they’ve ever done was morally and ethically wrong?

Fanfics, romance books and movies never bother to divulge into these topics, which is why you never truly trusted the so called ‘fairy tale ending.’

Soulmates didn’t exist, and even if they did, in what right mind would you have in ever wanting one?

‘What would you do if you found out you had a soulmate?’ You remember telling Hobie one day as you were both hanging out on a rooftop somewhere just a little ways of the pub you always relegated to at the weekends, or whenever Hobie and his band had a gig there.

‘I’d tell them that they’re full of shit and shouldn’t be believing in fairy tales, for they’ll always lie to you.’ Hobie replied, looking over at you from over his beloved guitar that he was previously tuning before laying it carefully down by his side. His actions made you chuckle as you sat up to stretch your arms over your head, grunting. ‘yeah, if you ever had a soulmate it’d be your damn guitar with how careful you are with it.’

Hobie gives you a good shove in the arm, ‘oh fuck off, what about you then?’

‘Hmm?’ You hummed.

‘What would you do if you found your soulmate?’ He echoed your question and for the first time, you didn’t know how to respond because if you had it your way, you’d would’ve wanted Hobie as your soulmate because in your eyes there was no one better then Hobie Brown. For Hobie was the best friend that always believed in you when you and seemingly everybody else you have ever met in your life have long since given up on you. But not Hobie, never Hobie.

Even during the times where you wanted him to leave you alone, he would always come back a good hour or two after with your favourite snacks in tow before he sits himself down next to you and offer to listen to what’s been eating away at you. When asked why, Hobie would look at you as though you grew a second head -even though you were quite certain in your friendship that Hobie wouldn’t give two shits if you were to grow a second head- before responding with; ‘you’re my mate and I need to be on the look out for you, even if you don’t want me to, I will, because there ain’t no way I’m letting you sit this one out on your own; we’re sitting out problems out together from now on.’ Hobie then proceeds to tuck you tightly into his side. ‘So don’t go hiding shit form me from now on, yeah?’

From then on you never once hide anything from Hobie; until one morning you found a tattoo or a marking of sorts in the shape of a electric guitar just on the inside of your wrist; Now this wasn’t just any old guitar, you knew the shape and model of the guitar like the back of your hand and from that morning onwards, you had been keeping your soulmate tattoo/mark covered by wearing long sleeved shirts or hoodies because you know if you were to conceal it in any other way and Hobie caught wind. You’d be fucked on a multitude of levels.

What you didn’t know what that Hobie was in the same predicament as you in regards of having a random tattoo/mark he doesn’t remember getting suddenly appearing on his body. He knew what it meant the moment he saw it, and ever since he’s been trying to find a seamless way to integrate it into a conversation with you that wouldn’t seem too out of left field. Hobie knows he’s a confident bloke but to drop this type of thing on you unexpectedly as though it was nothing, wasn’t the way he wanted to go about things you both adamantly shitted on previously.

Hobie also has a sneaking suspicion that this was why you had brought up the topic of soulmates when you did; because you also had a mark of your own. Ever since you’ve both been tucked away on the rooftop, he’s noticed how every so often you would subconsciously pull down the fabric of your hoodie/long sleeved shirt as though you were trying to hide something. but even with all your attempts of hiding your Mark, Hobie could often sometimes see glimpses of the neck of the guitar practically wink at him knowingly.

‘I dunno,’ you shrugged, ‘what can I do in that situation? I can’t say that I love them because I’m fated to them-‘

‘Why not?’ Hobie interjected.

You shrug again, ‘I want to at least get to know the person outside of the whole being my soulmate before I start saying anything in regards to liking them, never mind loving them.’ Once again Hobie caught you pulling down the fabric of your sleeve out of the corner of his eye before casting his eyes back to you.

‘What if your soulmate is closer then you thought?’ He asked as you furrowed your brows as you looked at him as a weird feeling befell you. It felt as though Hobie knew something you didn’t and your hand immediately went to your covered wrist, feeling over exposed all of a sudden as a flurry of thoughts rushed to the forefront of your mind all at once, overwhelming you to the point where it became hard to not only swallow but breath as well.

Hobie knew

He knew

Were the only thoughts that stuck out to you in that moment and in that moment, you honestly didn’t know what to do now that you were caught. You cursed yourself for not knowing any better as Hobie was as smart as they came but before you could start running your mouth with excuses, Hobie lifted one of his spiked cuffs slightly up his arm to show you his tattoo/mark.

However a question still remained unanswered; where do you go from here now that you found out that your best friend was your soulmate?

#spiderman atsv imagines #spiderman atsv x you #spiderman atsv fic #spiderman: atsv #spiderman atsv imagine #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #spiderverse imagines #spiderverse x you #spiderverse x reader #spiderverse imagine #hobie brown imagines #hobie brown x you #hobie brown atsv #hobie x reader #hobie brown fluff #hobie brown imagine #hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #spiderpunk x reader #spiderpunk x you

[braxiatel]

An assortment of Grian appearance headcanons I’ve had on my mind lately!

(Obligatory mention that I’m talking about Grian the character and not Grian the youtuber, here’s your confirmation that this is not about real life guy Grian minecraft whose appearance is well documented, but rather it is about his minecraft roleplay character who is made out of pixels and blocks and whose appearance is very much up for discussion)

His eyes are that shade of brown that’s so dark it looks black

He wears glasses, and through experience he has learned that unless he wants to be replacing them about once a month he needs them to have a thick and sturdy frame

Grian has a whopping case of adhd and is extremely good at misplacing his belongings. His glasses are not exempt from this just because they help him see, and he has managed to lose every single pair he owns several times. At some point one of his friends (I'm leaning Pearl or Jimmy) got tired of hearing him complain about it, and got him a golden chain to keep them on. Grian pretends he’s just using it because it appeals to his love for shiny things, but in reality it actually helps him a lot and he would be very sad were he to lose it

Speaking of his adhd. This guy moves. He does not sit still, does not like to be doing nothing. He builds, he helps other hermits with stuff they don’t have time to do, and he is well known to do Grindy tasks. And you know what that means? Grian is strong. In fact, Grian is buff

This is related to some hybrid stuff I’ll get more into in a sec, but very specifically, Grian is a flyer and those natural wings need a lot of muscle around them to work. That means a lot of upper body strength, especially in the pectoral region. Yes, I said gritty rights.

I wish I could remember what artist originally drew Grian’s waffle as an undercut with a pattern because I love that headcanon so much. He varies what the rest of his hair looks like (he has a manbun in season 9) but the undercut stays no matter what

Tangentially, the reason Mumbo now has a waffle as well is that his hair just grows in that shape now. He has extremely specific alopecia, and it is unclear whether or not Grian is the same or if he just prefers to keep his hair that way.

Grian has clear and visible bald patches in his eyebrows. This is a product of him having had TNT blow up in his face one too many times, resulting in the follicles having been damaged

Along a similar vein, he is also missing somewhere in the realm of 1-3 fingers total on his hands

I don’t think of Grian as someone who is very particular with his hair or with stuff like makeup. Most days he’ll do the bare minimum of combing his hair to look presentable and that’s it

That said, he loooooooves shiny jewellery, and his wardrobe is by far the largest on the server. Due to aforementioned constant moving he need things that are practical to move in, but other than that he has no rules on what goes in there. You’ve got sequinned mini skirts next to permanently dirt-stained overalls next to rainbow bucket hats. This guy has it all.

He does sometimes wear a red sweater, but I am going to say something controversial here, guys. Look at that man's shirt. Look at that cleavage view. He’s wearing a v-neck

Okay so hybrid headcanons. I have several, mutually exclusive ideas here, but I will go with one I think is, frankly, very underutilised: gryphon hybrid Grian!

Want avian Grian for all of the historically present bird coding? Also want to acknowledge the fact that he has so much mischievous cat energy? Gryphon Grian! He’s half bird, half cat, half human, and all menace.

There are a couple of different bird species I think he could be.

House sparrow, for the noise levels, the tendency to travel in a pack, and the sheer gremlin energy these little bastards exhibit outside of my kitchen window on a daily basis.

I think he could definitely be some kind of corvid too. Maybe a magpie? Beautiful plumage (fight me), incredibly intelligent and likely to make that your problem, and with a call that lends itself very well to Grian’s screech-laughter

You all know my opinions on potoo Grian. It works, okay? Look into his horrible, haunted eyes, you know it to be true.

For a season 10 fisherman arc Grian I am very much leaning towards an oriental darter. There’s just something about the idea of Grian spearfishing for mending books, and sulking in the sun to dry his wings when he only catches fish that I enjoy very much

Owl for his cursed head movements

Okay so wings talk time! I headcanon that naturally avians simply do not have wings strong enough to fly with. They’re too short, and even for someone like Grian who flies A Lot the musculature to support a humanoid frame just isn’t there. That said, elytra are easily modified to function as a sort of wing extension/prosthetic, that allows them to gain much more power for less energy expended.

You would think, with me being the owner of three cats, that I would have some kind of idea for a specific breed of cat he might be. The thing is, my family have historically always kept the same breed (Norwegian forest cat mix c: ), so I know very much about those and no other cat breeds. He is simply cat :)

Biiiiig naughty tortie vibes. My sources for this is I have one of the latter and she is the same level of Problems a Grian

This is the little madam caught in the act of doing something dastardly. She commits one hundred crimes every single day and we love her. Tell me that is not big Grian vibes right there. You can't, right? he is a naughty tortie

Other Grian hybrid options I also like: avian, watcher, robot!!, cod, enchanted armour stand come to life!, and fey!Grian

#i swear this isn't just an excuse to post pictures of my cat #this is however an excuse to present buff no eyebrows grian to y'all #if just one person accepts any of these headcanons into their lives i will be happy #grian #mcyt #hermitcraft #life series #traffic smp #life smp #hermitblr #trafficblr #the void collection

[beastofburdenxo]

Close Encounter

MINORS DNI

Emmett finds a woman alone in the woods, he proceeds to watch her.

tags: Masturbation, dirty talk, nudity, daddy kink, exhibitionism. Emmett is a very bad boy! 2.1k words

~possible part 2 if enough interest~

It was a nice day out, not too hot not too cold. Emmett made his way out of the dilapidated factory he now lived in to hunt for food and supplies. With the end of the world, or the apocalypse, or whatever in the hell you wanted to call these days, living was not easy for anyone. Emmett lost everything, his family, his job, his way of living that he always thought he would have. The creatures came, and everything came to a halt, even communication was deemed difficult. Noise attracted the creatures because they were blind and relied on their hearing. So, no more everyday conversations, whispering only. Preferably sign language if you were lucky enough to have learned it before shit hit the fan. He knew very little sign language, not that it mattered, he hadn’t seen another human being in 6 months or more. The very few survivors that were smart enough to learn being quiet was the way of life now, kept to themselves, if there were any more survivors that is.  

Emmett made his way through the city without a hitch to the outskirts of town to the woods. He must go further and further each time to find anything useful. Eventually, he thinks he’ll have to find somewhere else to live in another city. He stays because this city is his home and it's all that he has left of his old life. Leaving his city would be the final thing he could lose besides his life, and he tries not to think that way much. Gotta keep going until you can’t anymore, right? The woods get thicker and thicker. Emmett knows his way like the back of his hand, plotting every step to not make much noise if at all. He hunts with a crossbow but has a gun on his hip just in case. Sometimes the people you come across are just as evil as the creatures and you need to be prepared. His gun was there for him when no one else was. He never thought he would have to kill another human, but these days its dog eat dog. He's come across cannibals on more than one occasion. That's what tends to happen when hunting goes bad, and people get desperate to eat. He was not about to be on someone’s plate. So, his gun goes where he does.   

Through the forest he goes, crossbow in hand. So far nothing catches his eyes or ears. What animals that haven’t been killed by the creatures or surviving humans have moved on. Emmett isn’t the type to lose hope though. He makes his way to the stream, thinking maybe he could fish, when he does finally hear something. A soft humming sound reaches his ears. No animal makes that type of noise, and the creatures are silent to his knowledge. Against better judgement he decides to go investigate. It could be another survivor possibly needing help. Closer to the stream he gets, staying almost silent so as not to scare away whatever it is. On top of the humming there is a slight splashing, something or someone is in the water. Emmett crouches behind a clump of bushes to stay hidden while he sees what it is. He sees a woman in the water, naked. All that is visible is her bare back and her long brown hair. Her clothes and weapon aren’t far away from the bank, just in case. She's humming to herself as she bathes, thinking she’s alone. That is what Emmett was hearing.  

He doesn’t want to be a peeping tom and just watch her, but at the same time she’s naked and probably wouldn’t appreciate being walked in on. Besides, what would he say? “Oh, hello there, taking a bath, are you? Nice weather we’re having.” He decides to wait until her clothes are on to approach her. “So, I'm just going to sit here and wait like a weirdo until she’s done?” he thinks to himself. “It’s not like you have anything else going on at the moment. Where do you need to be suddenly?” he rolls his eyes at his inner monologue. She's still in the water, probably with the same thoughts, I have nothing but time. He couldn’t help but watch her, suddenly fascinated. She's the first living human he’s seen in ages. Where did she come from? Is she local? Is she part of a group? Is she another cannibal? The man in him is also fascinated because she’s naked, not that he’d admit it of course. She turns to the side, more tan skin in his view. Long legs toned stomach and arms, and the nicest firm breasts he’s probably ever seen. A soft sigh escapes his lips. “I’m such a damn pervert.” he tells himself not taking his eyes off her. “You can’t leave her, what if something bad happens? You need to be here to protect her just in case.” the angel on his shoulder tells him. “She’s awfully vulnerable right now.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Great, now I'm talking to myself.” The splashing continues, as she gets closer to where Emmett is hiding. She's beautiful, and not just because she’s the first woman he has seen in a long time. She turns her back to him again, with the water not as deep as before he can see just a few slivers of her ass. He bites his bottom lip. He can feel his temperature rising as his heart beats faster. “Good lord Emmett, acting like a horny teenager.” goes his inner voice as the front of his dirty jeans gets just a little bit tighter.  

“Stop this,” as his hand goes to his front to palm himself. Another sigh leaves his mouth as he watches her. Being on survival mode, there’s not much time for sex. It’s not like there’s anyone around to indulge with him even if he did have the time. So, it’s safe to say it’s been a while. He’s tried to go into his memory and bring up something sexy to think about while he’s lying on the floor at night, but then he just gets sad. All his dirtiest experiences have been with his wife, who is now dead, so that just ruins the moment. A release is desperately needed. He squeezes himself harder, trying to stay silent. “Just what you need Emmett, get caught grabbing your dick by possibly the only other woman alive!” he chastises himself still squeezing. It's starting to hurt now; a decision needs to be made here. “Walk away and keep her in your mind for later or do what you need to do here and now quietly.” The decision has been made for him by his own hand as it makes its way to the button of his jeans to undo them. He’s so turned on he can’t tell if he’s just sweating or already starting to leak precum. The hardest part to keep quiet is the zipper, but he manages to moving at a snail’s pace keeping an eye on her to see if she notices. Luckily for him she doesn’t notice him as he pulls his jeans down past his hips.  

His achingly hard dick springs free, biting his lip to keep silent as the fresh air hits his skin. His pretty eyes close as he finally grabs onto it. She's still in the water, taking her sweet time. More of her heavenly body is visible to him now, just in time. He decides to get out of his crouching position and sit on the forest floor for comfort, grimacing as a leaf crunches underneath him. She's still oblivious god bless her, as he starts to move his hand. With his dick rock hard he begins to wonder what she would feel like underneath him, her legs wrapped around him. His hand moves faster as he imagines her looking up at him, mouth slightly open as he fucks her. Her pretty little moans as he moves just right inside her. How warm and wet she would be for him. Emmett pulls his shirt up to bite on to keep from making noise, rough hand still stroking. “She probably has soft little hands,” he thinks to himself, “Soft lips too, just right for taking me in her mouth like a good little girl.” he softly groans at that thought, trying to control his breathing. “God, I bet she sounds so good. Ready to take whatever I give her. Begging to come on my dick. Such a good girl.” his eyes roll back; it won’t be much longer now as he is oozing precum all over his boots.  

He’s so worked up and wet he’s afraid his movements are making too much noise. His fear goes out the window as he watches her bend over, ass on full display for him. His hand goes into overdrive, as his other reaches down and squeezes his balls gently. “Maybe she’s a bad girl, needs daddy to spank her. Naughty girl bent over for me, so I can grab her hips and bury myself deep in her. Pull her by the hair and turn her around so I can watch those pretty lips say, ‘Please daddy’.” Emmett’s eyes roll back as his breaths come out in spurts oblivious to the fact that she is now facing him, hands covering herself. He has been spotted, but there’s no going back now. “Such a pretty baby, arch that back for me,” his inner dialogue purrs, “Let me see you come for me sweetheart, you can do it. Yes, baby that’s it be a good girl and squeeze me. You take all of me so well.” he pictures her coming apart on his dick, coating him with all she has to give. Crying out his name as he takes her through her orgasm. Legs shaking as she whimpers to him ‘Thank you daddy’” That’s all it takes for him to finally lose it. Thigh muscles clenching as he finally comes. His eyes water at the release, thick ropes making a mess of the forest floor and his hand. A loud groan makes its way through his clenched teeth on his shirt. She watches the scene unfold before her, wondering how long he’s been there. Slightly aroused by the sight in front of her, not expecting to see another human, much less a masturbating one.  

Emmett’s whole body relaxes as his orgasm subsides. He lays flat out on the ground, muscles turned to mush. He really needed that; he just hoped he wasn’t too loud. His brain takes him back to survival mode. “Get your ass up, you are in a weak position right now. Get going, you still have to find supplies to take back.” Agreeing with himself with a sigh he puts his pants back on and sits up. Eye contact is officially made with her. She's watching you, but for how long? Did she see everything? Does she know what dirty thing you did? A slight flush hit his face at her being full frontal in front of him and at the thought of being caught literally with his pants down. “Poor baby got caught playing with himself,” she thought to herself with a chuckle. “At least he’s handsome. Those eyes are just plain beautiful.”  

Nothing is said, awkward silence filling the air. What should he say? What do you say in a time like this? He gulps audibly, afraid that she’ll pull her weapon and kill him. “At least I’ll die satisfied and happy.” the sick thought crossed him. A slight flush reaches her whole body as her thighs clench together. She hasn’t seen a man in ages, she thought she might have been the last one alive. She doesn’t know why she doesn’t have the urge to put her clothes back on, I guess because he’s been there awhile. He's seen all she has for the most part, why bother being modest now? She bows her head as she wonders what to do now, she’s ready to get out of the water, but will he attack her if she does? Rob her? Kidnap her? Why is she so turned on right now?  

Getting her courage up she steps out of the water and towards Emmett, slowly like she’s the predator and he’s the prey. Time stands still as she’s directly in front of him now, close enough to touch. He decides to be a man and stand. What happened next almost made him fall back down again as that familiar tight feeling came back. 

She smiled

#fanfic #a quiet place #a quiet place x emmett #emmett a quiet place #cillian murphy #emmett x reader #emmett x fem reader

[miwaqrsp]

Okay soo these are going to be some headcanons of our favorite Ghost <3 also I changed the colour of the text to a dark purple cause the normal colour would turn it black for some reason 🤷🏻‍♀️

♡- It would take this man years to open up but when he does, he’s like a clingy teddy bear.

♡- PDA is not really his thing in public but like I said in the previous sentence, he’s your personal teddy bear.

♡- he likes it when he’s a lil spoon, not all the time but especially when he has nightmares then him laying his head on your chest and hearing your heart beat as you gently pet his head is a must!!

♡- If you also worked in the military and lets say at the same base or in his team. He would get super protective of you. Basically if anyone looked at you the wrong way he would glare at them or if sumn were to happen to you he would send them to an infirmary.

♡- So Ik that in the original comic abt Ghost shows him with dark brown hair and now the new version of the MW2 shows him with blond hair. I feel like he’s insecure still about his past and dyes his hair blond in order to look like his mum (he still misses her a lot sometimes) because when he has his brown hair I feel like it would remind him a lil too much about his father and how shitty he use to be to both his mum and him.

♡- As much as he would deny this and say its bullshit. He wants a family of his own, a big one. He wants to be the father that he never had to his children because his was absolute shite. If you yourself have a large family and he caught you once holding your baby niece/nephew he would picture in his head of how would your kid look like. Would it have his hair or yours? Will they have your or his personality? Eyes? Smile? Anything. He would just picture himself holding a small being that both of you created and cherish it like a little drop of sacred water in his palms.

♡- When you catch his ass staring at you while holding said family members child he would just say “Your shirts a little dirty” or something like that. While trying to hide his embarrassment.

♡- Speaking of embarrassment. His cheeks don’t blush, like at all. Unless its freezing cold and he’s out with a thin balaclava on. But when he gets embarrassed the tips of his ears will get extremely red. Johnny would tease him about it.

♡- Privacy. On. Point. 100%. All the time.

♡- Will only disclose information about where you two live only to Price. Even your family has the wrong address of where you two live. Since he doesn’t want anything happening to his new family that would send him through a spiral like the last time it happened.

♡- Depending on how long you two know each other. Lets say that you two know each other for a long time now. He will keep his mask off at home. At all time. But outside in public he would still wear a balaclava or a surgical mask with a hood on.

♡- He likes it when you hold his hand when you’re outside. He just loves having your little hand in his and just holding it.

♡- HUMAN HEATERRRRRRR!!!!!! NEED DO I SAY MORE FELLOW READER????

♡- He’s not big when it comes to emotions but he will be there for you when you need him. If you want to just cry and for him to be there. He will. He would sit by your side focusing his gaze on somewhere else while the sounds you make are breaking his heart. Slowly chipping away at him. Until you two cuddle.

♡- If you want to talk about why you’re crying, he would sit there just listening to you while rubbing your back slowly and gently.

♡- After crying session cuddles are mandatory. Either if you or him cried to the point of finally letting go of everything, cuddles are a must.

♡- Loves it when you’re laying your head on his chest while the rains pouring on the outside. Something about it calms him so much its unbelievable.

A/N: I’m gonna make another part of these hcs but nsfw edition but if you would want me to add another one please say so or if you have any hc suggestions don’t be shy drop ‘em in the comments. Love ya 💗

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #headcanon #cod headcanons #x reader #simon riley headcanons #cod #ghost cod #gaz cod #soap cod #headcanons #cute headcanons #ghost x reader

[ataraxiaspainting]

Animal Cannibal.

Yan Dottore x F Reader.

Synopsis: Violent individuals were frequently drawn to you, including your dear friend Willow, who shares your affinity for this destructive behavior. Your stalker, too, possesses a similar infatuation with you. The bond between the three of you lies in the intertwined emotions of violence and love.

Warnings: Yandere themes, violence/gore, stalking, cannibalism, minor character death, implied future kidnapping, manipulation, mentions of not SFW, and non-consensual human experimentation. 

Word Count: 2.2k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Goo Goo Muck by The Cramps

Killer Queen by Queen

Psycho Killer - 2005 Remaster by Talking Heads

I Want To Break Free by Queen

Tip Toe Thru’ the Tulips with Me by Tiny Tim

Exploration by Bruno Coulais 

Take on Me by a-ha

You Are My Sunshine by Charles McDonald

Everybody Loves Somebody by Dean Martin

Dream A Little Dream Of Me - Single Version by Ella Fitgerald (feat. Louis Armstrong)

“But love shouldn’t cost an arm and a leg!” – Possibly in Michigan (1983)

*~*~*~*

i. “My own experiments have given me a deep understanding of the true nature of suffering… and I’m keen to share it with a willing guinea pig, hm?”

You found a strange man outside of your house.

He was taller than you–with hair the color of mint that covered his eyes, his beard long and poorly taken care of with split ends and some leaves and small sticks stuck to the thicker parts of it.

He waved at you when he saw you approaching. He did not scare you, not one bit.

He did not blend into his surroundings well because of how unique his appearance was. He wore an open black waistcoat with some of its buttons hanging on by a loose thread and nothing underneath. His pants were torn from the knee down. Grossly, you smelled him before you even saw him.

“Hello, sir,” You say, stepping a bit closer carefully, skillfully, being sure to not make a sound to startle or agitate him. You have become well-acquainted with unfamiliar gentlemen lurking around your residence as daylight fades, after all. “It’s getting late, isn’t it? Do you have a place to stay? There is an inn nearby I think if you don’t.” For better or for worse, stealth is something you are quite intimate with. “Sir? Are you alright? Sir?” The man did not respond, simply looking past you like you were not there.

He looked on into the brightwood trees, the wild, overgrown bushes dotted with purple Sumeru roses, and the rising, circular moon. You have a sudden flash of inspiration; since you have no weapon on you, you could bite him and claw at him if he tried anything. Your eyes go downcast, to his tattered, dirty leather shoes, as you dismiss the idea. 

“Excuse me? Do you need something? Sir?”

“I don't,” The man finally said, his voice raspy. “What about you? Do you live somewhere?”

“Here, I live here.” You could not hear what he mumbled as a response because of how quiet he was. “I live here. This is my home. You are outside my door and I can’t get in. Please, if you don’t need assistance, take a few steps back from it.”

Instead of looking at him, you look at your door. That is when you saw it; a hairpin lodged into your lock.

The man took it out and ran into the forest.

Despite the slight dents on your front door's lock, your house remained in good condition. Its aged appearance stood in stark contrast to the lush greenery that thrived just a few meters away. The wood showed signs of decay, with splits and a distinct scent of dampness and decomposing fish. Attached to the house was a collection of neglected Sumeru rose bushes, stunted and infested with flies. A rockery filled the space with an abundance of rocks, while a fairy ring composed of squishy brown toadstools emitted a dreadful odor when mistakenly stepped upon.

ii. “There is a sickness inside of me. I feel it eating away at me, eroding my mind and body. But I do not care. If I have to suffer for knowledge, I gladly will.”

The well outside your house was, for lack of a better word, still decrepit. But still, it seems like the man did not do anything to it. On the first day you moved in, all alone, the old couple that lived a hundred or so meters away made a point of telling you how dangerous the well was, and they warned you to be sure you kept away from it. 

You found it as soon as you stepped onto the property, it was in front of your house after all, smelling strongly of damp, dirty water, behind a clump of trees—a low brick circle almost hidden in the high grass. There were nests of drain flies that from afar looked like crushed pebbles. It made you step back a bit in complete disgust before you turned in the opposite direction to put your things down.

Like most Sumeru forests, there were plenty of types of animals. There were crystalflies that were sometimes the only light source you had, frogs that sometimes crept up your legs as you walked in tall, wet blades of grass and nearly made you scream every time and lizards that always somehow found a way inside and slithered across your floors.

There was also an orange cat, who sat on walls and tree stumps and watched you while meowing loudly but slipped away hissing if ever you went over to scare it off.

You spent the first two weeks after you moved in making adjustments to the rather old house. You hardly ate or slept, you just worked. There were days when you did not change clothes or drink water even, being so focused on your work that you hardly noticed anything else around you.

“This is my favorite!” exclaimed Willow, pointing at the Padisarah Pudding that was blocked off by a wall of glass.

“How much mora is it?” You asked, taking out your wallet. “I'll buy it for you. I am buying some Samosas here anyway, so it is no trouble. If you want, I can buy you some too, I recommend getting the potato and pea one.”

“No,” Willow answered, shaking her head while chuckling. “I'm fine. I have to use up some old vegetables and meat anyway at home before they go bad or my parents are going to kill me for real.” 

“Alright, be sure to check the ingredients beforehand for any dirt or mold,” you said. “‘I do not want you getting sick.”

You stood by one of the bakery’s windows, observing the rain pouring down. This rain wasn't the type you could venture out into; it was the other kind, cascading from the sky and creating splashes upon impact. This rain was serious, and its current agenda was transforming the streets into a murky, soggy mixture.

There was nothing to do here other than talk to Willow and wait for your food. Not that that was a bad thing in your book.

You had met through a mutual stalker, to put it simply, and now are inseparable. Even though that man is currently rotting in a prison cell, the past still influenced both of your actions. You just thank Lesser Lord Kusanali for granting you good fortune. With every new stalker, Willow seemed to be connected to them somehow, making you two even closer than before. You bond over your shared reverence of violence and love.

So, you start talking.

You start talking with a tone akin to someone making small talk over the weather, but instead of dark clouds or how bright the sun is, you talk about the man you saw yesterday. Willow listens, nodding a bit from time to time while still looking both outside the window and to the glass wall where the desserts were placed for the viewership of the customers. From the way she smiles with every word you say, you know you have piqued her interest yet again.

“Interesting.” She finally says, her back turned to you as she looks out to the rainstorm.

iii. “I wondered, why does a man who has done nothing think he deserves everything? That is what this experiment is about.”

“Hello?” You say, opening your door. “You're back.”

“Yes,” The man answered, playing with the buttons on his torn clothing. “Only for you, beloved.”

“Should I be honored?” You asked. “Who are you? What are you?”

“Your prince, what else?”

“Who or what else are you?”

“Someone utterly in love with you, someone you love too.”

“How do you know that?”

"My mouth,” The man answers, leaning in closer to you with his tongue out. “Look—look at it. The better to eat you with, my dear. It hungers for you. I just know you are the one to finally satisfy it. It is in a wolf's nature to feed, after all.”

“I see.” You look down as he kisses you, showing no resistance. He has holes in his shoes. His big toes are sticking out like sore thumbs. You suppose that they are, in a way.

“You have two choices. One, I will eat you now; or two, I will cut your arms and legs off one by one and eat them in front of you slowly as you cry on the floor covered in filth.”

You considered this carefully as you thought of an answer, preparing to ask him why.

So, you do, because he does not stop you and you want to know, don't you? He does not stop you.

He says for love.

You ask again.

He once again says it is for love. You say that love isn’t something given as part of an exchange or contract, that what he is asking for is bitter and dry.

He simply laughs. “For love.”

“But do you love me?"

“You smell so good, like the finest rose in all of Sumeru, all of Teyvat, even all of Celestia.”

Struggling would be useless. “Have there been others?” You ask.

"You must be the seventh," he remarked, leaving you to grapple with this realization. Escape became an impossible feat as he denied you any chance to flee. 

As if responding to his words, the door creaked open, followed by a gunshot.

iv. “I could have simply sliced her apart the moment I saw her and threw her to my patients, but I could not waste someone as fascinating as her. She is a treasure trove of knowledge, and it is rather rare to find someone as interesting as her, my assistant.”

The man fell to the floor grasping his shot through chest. Willow helped you up. Life quickly faded from the man's once concealed eyes, his red eyes.

“The plan worked,” Willow said. “Good job. He won't see you anymore. We make a good team I think.”

You agree.

“You should boil some water.” She said.

You then shrugged. “I'm getting tired of soup.” You responded. “I want sauce or something to go with the Samosas.”

Willow did not say anything for a moment.

It was dark outside now, with the rain still falling from the sky and making tiny splatters on the soil, making it hard to see out the window.

Perhaps making soup for dinner was not a bad idea after all. Days like this called for comfort. “Fine,” You say, and Willow smiles. “I’ll start prepping ingredients.”

“I’ll run to my home and get the leftovers I talked about.” She is already putting back on her coat before you can rebut.

You sighed as you heard the door close. It was time to get to work, you suppose.

“Come out, my friend.” You take the meat cleaver out from the kitchen drawer where you put the rest of your knives, the said cleaver still stained with blood from the month before. “You are unsightly if I am being perfectly honest with you.” You mutter, shaking your head.

…

Dinner went off without any problems. It was a lovely feast. However, heating the Samosas without breaking them was kind of difficult for you because you only had one small pan and one large pot.

Something creaks in the distance.

Creeeeeeeeak. The floorboards. You and Willow are too busy talking to notice. The sound came from your bedroom. A man with a mustache the color of rotting mint that covered his mouth and chin, his filthy brown hair long and dirty, and even some animal fur being laid about everywhere on his scalp.

He sneaks out your bedroom window.

His shadow was hardly seen by either of you because of how fast he ran.

He was like a spider. The comparison was sort of funny because he knew how much you hated them.

He has to eventually make his way to Port Ormos to catch his boat back to Snezhnaya. 

But that can wait for later. You are so much better than business and any other projects he is currently doing or has discarded. 

All he can think about is you. He thinks of what to tell the current him, of how many stalkers you and your friend have murdered in retribution for their harassment.

Would he be delighted?

Would he be angered?

There is no way to know for sure. After all, whenever someone tries to talk to him they have to tread the line between being too nice and being too rude unless they want to find themselves on the other side of the operations.

There is just one more thing he needs to check before he goes. Just one. It will only take a minute. It will be quick.

He steps on the old well’s edge and looks down into the murky water.

He sees one of the clones’ skulls floating on the surface, its disintegrating bone covered in flies fighting each other for the tiniest scraps of fat. 

They buzzed and buzzed until he could not take it anymore and threw a large rock, breaking the cranium and scaring away the flying insects, though there is no doubt that maggots are being born where the eyes and tongue used to be.

You and Willow throw the bones down the well. Just what he thought.

Good.

v. “My work is the purest form of art there is. It requires painstaking detail and absolute perfection, all in the spirit of scientific advancement and understanding. As an example, the first part of this experiment in particular is a success.”

#yandere #author aya #yandere x reader #yandere dottore #dottore #fatui harbingers #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere dottore x reader #yandere fatui harbingers #yandere fatui #yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere il dottore #yandere il dottore x reader

[fariesoiree]

Absolutely feral for the aphrodisiac chocolate drabble! what would have happened if you extended it into an entire fic? 👀👀 *wink wink*

hmmm should i? i usually don’t really plan on extending any of my drabbles n i actually don’t go back n reread them bc they’re vastly different from how i write now ( 2 me ) but that one gets a lot of love

that being saiddddd idk if i’d actually ever extend it but here’s a little something of what would happen later that day broken down into two liddol moments bc bc bc idk if i would write it and if i dooo i don’t wanna spoil it c: mdni black fem coded reader unedited

the car ride back to your university apartment. that had to be one of the most tense moments hobie has even been in, even when he compares it to all the times he’s spent flying through the air with multiple near misses from the amount of concrete rubble thrown at him from half human-half animal villains hellbent on ruining new york.

he is ultimately forced to next to you, breathing in the smell of your sweet perfume. today, he watched you spritz the yellow sol de janero —brazilian crush cheirosa 62 —bottle over your body, naked and highlighted in a dewy sheen from the baby oil you applied to your damp skin, fresh out the shower.

the thought makes his dick absolutely throb in his jeans, baggy but somehow still tight. he’s abandoned the mass of silvery and studded belts, throwing them across the backseat of your sedan. occasionally, when you slow for a red light or make a less than smooth turn around the corner, the buckles jingle and clank against each other.

his brain is muddied with images of your body, basking golden in the sunlight. he remembers lazing about, strewn across your bed and watching in adoration as you get ready for the outing. he’s mad at himself for not taking advantage of the opportunity and sweeping you off your feet, never mind that the aphrodisiac hadn’t had an effect.

“you sure you can’t pull over and give me head?”

your eyes are blown wide, truly in shock that after just fucking your face in the mall dressing room, he wants to go again. not even ten minutes ago, you were swallowing his cum and being dragged towards the exit promptly after. “what? hobie, i drive a fishbowl. that’s literally illegal.”

“so then pull somewhere empty. i’ll give you head, first. consider it a reward.” hobie thumbs at the bottom of your sweater, reaching over the middle console and hooking his fingers under the buttery smooth material. the pads of his appendages rubs against your skin and for a moment, your heart begins to race.

“hobart larry brown.” you have to force your voice to remain still and firm despite the turmoil building inside you. he’s too convincing with his sly words and suggestive touches. he’s the one under the influence and here he is, influencing you.

he clicks his tongue and disappointment and pulls his hand away. much like how you would, he huffs out a breath of air and crosses his arms over his chest. out the corner of your eye, you can see his legs wide open in a manspread. “fine. be a boring conformist.”

it’s comical how fast hobie pushed you through the entryway door to your apartment. you suppose you would have laughed when you stumbled over the long laces of your air forces if the context hadn’t been so provocative. you would have giggled when hobie circles his arms around your waist and lift you in the air. instead, you consider yourself lucky that your roommates aren’t in the common space to witness this, and possibly not here at all.

regardless, hobie would have done the same. he would have paraded into your room and slammed the door shut if they were here or not. he does it now, setting you down as gently as he can manage against your bed, softened by the mattress topper and flushed sheets.

he’s impatient and you can tell because he nearly forgets to lock the door behind him. had you not reminded him, pointing to the brass doorknob, it would have escaped him entirely.

it’s in record time that he’s got your legs spread and one pushed into the comforter, knee bent and trembling in the air. he slurps and suckles your cunt, dripping in runny arousal. hobie’s is relentless, stuck in an infinite cycle of trying to milk your cunt dry despite the never ending arousal that gushes out.

you can sob and cry all you want but he isn’t deterred. if anything, it’s encouragement. it’s like positive reinforcement to taste you like this, indulging in the subtle taste of sour acidity — completely natural and hobie’s favorite drug.

back arching of the sage green bedsheets, you’re body is already spent. hobie hasn’t put a single thing inside your throbbing pussy. not his dick, not his fingers, just the wet, warm muscle of his tongue wriggling and toying with your cunt. you’re delirious after cumming three times in the last few minutes, each weaker than the last.

“icanticanticant —!” your palm comes in contact with hobie’s coarse wicks, and not for the first time either. his forehead feels warm beneath it, clammy with a thin layer of sweat from exerting such physical activity.

pop! hobie’s hand falls hot against your skin. from between your legs, he lifts his head with a scowl. his face reflects an expression you’ve never seen on him before, as if you’re stepped between him and his greatest desire. “try that shit again, bug. see what i do to you.”

you’re hesitant to move, knowing that once you do, the onslaught of his tongue would proceed again. it just barely borders a dull sensation of pain and has you convinced there’s no more you can give him so quickly and back-to-back. still, your body has been manipulated into craving him. you need more; your nerves are certain of it.

you don’t move fast enough for hobie’s liking. his stare hardens and he raises a thick brow. you’re still restricting his access when he sits up a little more. “i’m not playing with your lil’ ass. move your fuckin’ hand or i’m tying them back.”

he’s never spoken to you this way, not once. not even in your most intimate and heated moments under the privacy of the night and locked away in one of your rooms. his tone invokes a carnal desire and you comply, slowly pulling your hand away.

you sort of expect praise, some form of acknowledgment that you did something right. yet, nothing like that comes. the only that happens is the resuming of hobie’s mouth against your cunt.

#⋆౨ৎ˚⟡ 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓵𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 . . . 𝓯𝓻𝓸𝓶 . . . 𝜗𝜚⋆ #hobie x black!reader #hobie smut #hobie brown #x black fem reader #x black reader #astv hobie #x reader #hobie x reader #hobie x y/n

[shalotttower]

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

*

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

*

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

*

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #the collector #the collector (2009) #asa emory #asa emory x reader #slasher fanfiction #slashers

[undercoverpan]

Aonung was the chief's son. This meant he was strong, a leader, quick on his feet, destined to be the next Olo'eyktan. Nothing could shake this sense of self.

Until the Sullies and their demon blood. Their war, their loyalty, their strength, their way of being them. So unshakeable, despite his efforts to prove otherwise. But he grew, he matured, he adapted to them.

And then, his world was flipped on its axis, like getting caught in a wave that was stronger than expected. This time, he couldn't find his way to the surface. This time, there was no adapting, merely an acceptance of the fate given to him. This time, he could not struggle against what is, or what will be.

He is in love with Spider Socorro.

He is in love with the little human boy, and there's nothing he can do about it.

__

Walking away from the Sullys marui, he couldn't help but feel like his soul had been crushed. Torn out and stomped on. His proposal had faced such a complete and outright rejection almost the second the words left his mouth. Shuddering, he recalled the way that the Sullies looked at him, so protectively. Did they think he would hurt Spider? Had he--had he really come across that way? He sped walked to the quietest part of the beach, calling an ilu, ignoring the hot tear that's running down his face.

Of course they'd say no. He left their son outside the reef, he called their sister a freak, he got into a fight with their oldest. He should've expected this, really, he was being stupid. And--and even if they had said yes, what then? His family, they'd never let him court, much less mate a human. He couldn't stomach the thought of his parents knowing about his desire, but doing this in secret was making him sick.

This is referring to him and Spider. The gifts, the fruits and meats they'd shared, the jokes, the feel of his skin giving way beneath his touch. He couldn't keep doing this because it is killing him to deny himself like this. Denying the truth from his family, denying the hurt from rejection, denying the peace he feels with him. It's like only part of him could exist at one single moment, because if he was whole he'd die.

"Aonung!" And his death comes running to him. He doesn't flee from him, merely sits atop his ilu and basks in his sight. Golden locs bounce with each step, the sun catching just right across his glistening chest. His death arrives with a glowing smile and eyes like the sun, and reaches out to him with small and gentle hands. His warm touch runs up his arm, and his heart and breath still, and for a moment he truly believes this is it, death has arrived and he is here for him. 

"I found you! Are you okay? Nete' seemed pretty mad and he–" he broke off, looking angry for just a moment before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He opened them and his face seemed to soften. "It doesn't matter. Are you okay?"

Aonung nodded, but Spider only frowned. He hopped onto the front of the ilu, stretching towards him, his hand on his jaw. "Please, 'Nung." He says softly, his brown eyes glittering among the waters, his voice laced with worry. The larger sighs, how could he try to fool him?

"Come, we'll talk somewhere else."

And that's how they ended up behind one of the rocks in the ocean. It's surrounded by sand, like a smaller version of a very small island. It's perfect for when you want to be alone, which is what they needed right now. The ride there is short, and Aonung keeps a steady arm around Spider's middle, keeping him pressed right up to his chest. The ride was nice and quiet, not much else to say but that.

"What's bothering you?" Is the first thing that leaves Spiders mouth when he's sat opposite of Aonung. He hesitates with speaking, but eventually he does. "I asked your family to court you," he says, looking away shamefully, "they've rejected me." 

He couldn't look at Spider's face. The other must've been horrified, being proposed to without him even knowing. He wanted to take things slower, ease into it, take the time to really build something with him. But here he is, sitting with teary eyes, his head turned, refusing to meet his gaze like a child. Upset at being rejected, like a child. He is–, he is the Olo'eyktan's son. He cannot be this pathetic.

"They have?" He says weakly, "is this why you're upset?" He asks; shifting closer to Aonung. He merely nods at him. The other sighs.

Aonung is quickly startled by his hand grabbing his chin, turning his head to him; feeling lips crashing against his.

The kiss is…passionate. It feels like Spider is trying to melt into him via his mouth. It leaves him breathless. There's too much teeth and with the size difference, he worries about putting too much pressure or weight on the other. He is startled once again, this time by small hands behind his head, pulling him in closer. 

By the time they're done, he feels truly breathless. He can go without air for a while, so the feeling is so very foreign.

"I don't care what they say." Spider says, mask already in place as he breathes heavily. "I want you."

Aonung stares in shock. Yes he wants Spider, and the reciprocation is freeing in a way he can't describe, but to go against the wishes of his family? Even his own? Could he really do that?

"Spider, we can't! Think about our families!" He insists, but Spider has his hands along his jaw and this determined look in his eyes and he thinks that maybe they can do this. "Our families should think of us. I love you, I see you. You see me in a way that no one else does. Demon, that's all everyone ever sees. To them, I'm just as bad as Quaritch, but you've never made me feel that way," he explains, "You've never made me feel like I need to hide who I am, or need to deny a part of myself that I can't. With you, I can be me without any shame." He speaks with such sincerity in his voice that Aonung feels stupid for even thinking that he needed anyone's permission to have Spider.

"I didn't know you felt that way.." he says softly, pulling Spider closer and resting his chin on his head. "I don't care what they tell you, or what they we can and can't do. Love like this can only come from Eywa's will." He feels something small and round pressed into his hand. He held it open, revealing a hair bead. It's wooden, with the most intricate carvings he's ever seen. Curtesy of having small hands, he supposed.

"You've been giving me so many gifts," he says as he shifts his body so his ear is pressed to his chest and his arms wrap around his middle, legs strewn across the warm sand casually, "I feel like I should start returning the favour." They smile at each other.

They sat there until the sky started turning dark. The ride back feels shorter than before, cold air and even colder water whipping past them as they make their way to yhe village. Once they're at the beach, they seperate, saying their goodbyes with lingering touches.

His father greets him with a suspicious look, his mother right by his side. "You are late." She says simply, and Aonung winces, shuffling his feet as he makes his best attempt at casual eye contact. "Sorry, mom, dad. I was busy–" he looked away, unaware of the light blush on his cheeks as he stammered out his excuse, "--repairing the nets, some of them got tangled and torn during the hunt." He says nonchalantly, walking past his parents. He was unlucky, or perhaps lucky, because he didn't see the knowing look between his parents. 

"Yes, I suppose Toruk Makto's son helped you, no? I saw you with him this morning." 

His heart stopped. With a mouth that was suddenly too dry, he swiped his tongue over his lips. "Yes….he only helped, we didn't talk much." He says as he sits down, eating the food that was cooked. Tsireya currently was watching them from her mat, a teasing smile on her face. "Really? He seemed very eager to talk to you. Dragged you off and everything."

"There's nothing wrong with simply speaking to him, son." Tonowari says, and Aonung turns around to see this knowing smile on his face. His cheeks flare and he rushes off to his mat. "Let's all get to bed, rest is very important!" He says loudly, turning his body away from his family.

And there he was, thinking everyone was asleep. Holding that little bead, running a finger over his lips like he could still feel Spider against him. A quiet moment to reminisce.

Or so he thought.

"Jake Suli's son will be a fine mate, don't you think, ma Tonowari?" Says Ronal softly to her mate, but Aonung catches her voice over the wind. He stills. They--they like Spider? They'd approve of him? Oh, thank you, Great Mother! Thank you–

"Yes, Neteyam will be excellent, once they begin to formally court each other." His voice rumbles in his chest as he chuckles, "I almost don't want them to start with courting. It has been endlessly entertaining, watching those two come together."

Neteyam. Neteyam? He scrunched his nose. Neteyam? Ne--Neteyam. No. Oh nonono, you can't be serious! You can't--Neteyam?! The boy hates him! He has a right to, but stil! He resists letting out a sigh. How is he going to go about this?

_____

Fellow aocorro fans, feast on my creation. The great mother has finally provided. Well not rlly mother, nor great. Uhhh, its me, the gay cousin, and I have provided. Feast, children, feast

#spider socorro #avatar twow #miles spider socorro #avatar spider #miles socorro #aonung

[mothmanssweetsucculentass]

Lmao what’s this? I’m back with more Creepypasta headcanons, this time for Eyeless Jack.

TW for the following: graphic descriptions of cannibalism/murder/gore, depictions of drug abuse, lacing food with sharp objects, body horror, and generally anything you’d expect from horror.

THERE ARE NO CENSORS BEYOND THIS POINT, READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR ANY DISTRESS CAUSED BY MY WRITING.

Eyeless Jack Headcanons

He/they

Obviously no longer human

Still has a humanoid-ish body

“Died” around 2011, physically 22

Dark gray skin with a faint blue-ish tint

His blood is black. Like it’s basically oil or tar now. Moves much slower and is thicker than normal blood. He hasn’t checked but he’s pretty sure all his organs share the same color and viscosity now. Like that one breed of chicken with black organs y’know?

Long ears

Lots of sharp teeth. Practically a shark mouth

3+ long black tongues depending on his mood and how well fed they are

Because of the multiple mouth appendages he has a soft lisp and often accidentally bites his tongues since they move involuntarily

Eyes are constantly leaking the black sludge. Clothing/face/belongings are always sticky

Constantly salivating the same substance, just thinner/more liquidy

Wears a surgical mask under his regular mask to combat it

Very good sense of smell

Seriously he could smell a specific blood type in the middle of a massacre of a shit ton of bodies

Can’t swim

Reddish-brown wavy hair, forgets to cut it sometimes so he sometimes has a fluffy mullet

Claws that can’t retract

Wears a black trench coat and dark gray turtleneck when actually going out and doing shit, the black hoodie is lounge clothes

Has a tail!!!! Closest resemblance to a lion tail, but larger

Lots of catlike/animal like behaviors unconsciously. Will sit on any elevated surface

Purrs like holy fuck the first time someone hears him do it they freak out

Can also growl and hiss

Despite the animalistic behaviors and feral demeanor he isn’t above being civilized

Mostly calm. Gets the zoomies after eating tho

And by zoomies I mean he’s more excitable and extroverted for a little while

Has probably ran around the woods like a maniac at least once tho

Besides Nurse Ann, he’s the most medically competent of the pastas. People usually go to him for more major injuries or sicknesses

Despite his constant orifice leakage he tries to be as clean as possible

His lab is SPOTLESS

somehow figured out a way to dilute his face goop to clean it better. No one knows how he does it tho

Is still very much a nerd. Loves reading any kind of book he can get his hands on

Starts going blind if he doesn’t satiate his hunger for flesh and organs

If he goes blind before getting food, he’s able to use echolocation pretty damn well

Can also see thermal outlines of stuff if his vision starts going

Eyes aren’t reflective so it’s pretty funny when he’s gargoyling somewhere in the manor in pitch black and someone walks in and gets startled by him sitting there staring into the void

HOW are his footsteps so silent

Dude you’re 5”8 and have a stockier build how do you not make floorboards creek

Can eat normal food, but poses no nutritional value to him

Can halfway survive off raw animal meat in emergencies, but doesn’t give him enough energy for long

Only fully kills someone about once a month, the rest of the time he’s able to meticulously and stealthily steal a kidney from unsuspecting victims without incident

Not that he hates killing or anything like that, he’s just as violent as the rest of the freaks

But he HATES the feeling of losing control he often gets when he indulges the violent urges. So he holds himself back most of the time

Besides murder and organ harvesting he often goes out to steal medical supplies from houses and smaller town clinics

Remember him being a nerd? Likes to impress people with gross biology trivia. Most are about the human body but he knows a ton of animal facts too

“Did you know flies and roaches can still live without their heads” type shit

Can’t cook for shit. He’s not allowed in the kitchen period after one of his organ jars exploded in the fridge due to air pressure bs. Ruined all the food in there

Stores his organs in four different mini fridges in his room and lab

Kidneys give him the most energy but he enjoys flesh more than organs when it comes to taste

His favorite is cheek meat and anything involving the neck

Loves to burst the carotid artery and mess around with the blood like a sprinkler toy

Gives the bones of any corpse he fully consumes to Slender. Has no idea what he needs the bones for but never cares to ask

Friends/close with Ben, Helen, Liu, Ann, Masky, and Hoody

Has a tolerable relationship with Jeff, Kagekao, Slenderman, the Puppeteer, Jane, and Clockwork

Doesn’t get along with/hates LJ and Nina

Sally is TERRIFIED of him. Y’know cause little kids are scared of the doctor and whatnot. He tries his best to be as unintimidating as possible when around her but she still prefers Ann over him

HATES being called EJ. It’s a horrible nickname. What if he walked up to you and called you legless Larry after cutting off your legs?

Abrosexual

Loves loves loves LOVES doing dissections/vivisections. Has somehow been able to convince or bribe the other undead and non human mansion inhabitants to let him do a vivisection on them at least once.

Ben enjoyed it the most because he’s a freak like that

“And this is your heart” “gross……. can I poke it” “yeah ok”

Is unfortunately able to understand the corrupt scripts of [REDACTED] thanks to the ritual that took his eyes and life. Tries his best to ignore it.

Nightmare haver! Is too stubborn to go to someone like Ben or Slender to get them less frequently even though both could easily help him

Kind of an insomniac anyways but since his face is almost always covered no one notices the eye bags

Usually takes the top layer mask off around his friends, or if the other masked pastas take theirs off around them as a sign of mutual trust

Surgical mask on their face stays on constantly unless eating or doing anything privately

Has to keep the meds locked up because Ben, Masky, and Jeff have drug problems

“STOP trying to get high off Benadryl it’s not even allergy season anymore you don’t need it”

Not a “dad” character he just doesn’t like wasting resources like that

Doesn’t care about the actual habits JUST STOP STEALING HIS MEDS

LJ for some reason keeps stealing any of his used needles and scalpels. Jack’s best bet is he puts the sharp objects in candy. Gross.

He’s befriended Seedeater the same way a zookeeper befriends a large dangerous animal

Both have a mutual understanding Seed is NOT a pet

It hasn’t even let them pet or touch it

Does follow him closely like a dog whenever he walks through the forest for any reason

Jack has witnessed it take down and decapitate a bear with a single bite before

If he ever has leftovers or parts of corpses about to go bad that they can’t eat himself, they feed it to Seed

Has a small collection of the black fur and feathers that naturally shed from Seed’s body

Also collects other odd things like animal bones or human teeth

His favorite weird thing they’ve collected is a taxidermied axolotl stolen from a victim’s home

Is also super blunt

Not out of malice, he just has a very technical straightforward way of thinking

Always asks anyone for consent when doing anything physical like medical procedures or even just nudging someone out of the way if he’s trying to get somewhere

HATES being touched without their permission or knowledge

Will bite if provoked. Will bite as a warning too

#in my top 3 #blorbo #eyeless jack #eyeless Jack headcanons #eyeless Jack HC #creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #horror #headcanons #ej #eyeless jack creepypasta #creepypasta hcs