#the plot kind of ran away with itself

[metalhoops]

Inspired by this post

Steve had watched the world end a hundred different ways. He’d lived the same day more times than he could count, watching the people he loved die or feeling himself die. There were things worse than death. There were memories he didn’t dredge up for fear of calling them into the waking world.

He'd held onto hope for the first twenty recurrent days, which had dwindled to a sense of steely determination until he’d lost count of the days. Then all that was left was the comfort of repetition. He was Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the hill, day in and day out. Steve kept trying and failing to save Eddie until it was all he knew.

Maybe he was Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and spent his life paying for it, tied to a rock while birds picked at his liver, only for it to grow back with each morning. Prometheus whose name, by definition, means forethought; one’s ability to consider possible futures. Steve had spent a small lifetime considering futures. It wasn’t a comparison he would’ve made on his own. That was Eddie, who’d spent his childhood with his head in thick tomes of fantasy and mythology.

Eddie Munson came to him like cheap furniture, in crudely disassembled pieces that Steve had been working tirelessly to put together. Each new loop brought him another piece of Eddie. His favourite colour was blue. He only woke up early on weekends to watch cartoons. He liked too much cream in his coffee.

The Eddie that existed in a world where Steve stayed with him and Dustin during the swarm of bats had told Steve his biggest dream was to make enough money to buy Uncle Wayne a proper home. His biggest fear was that when he died, no one would remember him.

Days or months later, with Steve repeating the same damn day, he’d finally learnt why Eddie’s love for his uncle ran so deep. Wayne had taken him in before his dad went to jail when the man caught Eddie holding another boy’s hand. In that world, Steve had stayed with Eddie in the RV as the rest of the group searched War Zone.  

Eddie’s mother died when he was six. He’d told Steve that later, or earlier. Steve had and has lost his sense of past and present. Eddie loved his mother deeply, though was unsure if that love had been misplaced. He recalled two mothers, one who read him bedtime stories and threw herself around the kitchen each morning with her wild theatrics and another mother who was distant and whose temper could turn on a dime. Eddie wasn’t sure which of those mothers was his and which was the mother of memory. All good storytellers know the story shapes itself in the retelling. Eddie’s mother was Janus, god of duality.

Steve understood. He loved and hated his parents. These feelings weren’t mutually exclusive. Steve loved Eddie because he’d spent the last hundred-odd days getting to know him, but Steve hated Eddie because he kept dying. Until he didn’t.

The boys lay side by side in the red-blue soil of The Upside Down, their bleeding sides caked with mud and demonic bat viscera. In the end, Steve wasn’t sure what’d done it. It’d been so long since he’d lived Eddie’s original death that it’d been smeared by the haze of memory and conjecture. All he knew was that a sea of bats lay dead around them and that it was over. Finally, over.

Steve removed his hand from where it was pressed into his side and extended it to ensnare Eddie’s. He felt muscles tug and tear from the walls of his ribs with the effort. Blood flowed freely from the cavity, but Steve didn’t care. He wanted to hold Eddie’s hand. Holy shit, they’d done it.

Somewhere along the way, Steve had fallen in love. It’d taken him ten more iterations to reconcile with the fact he could not only like a man but love him.  That was months ago, in Steve’s time. It was old news. “Steve, you still with me?” Eddie asked, his voice horse.

He was hurt, though not as badly as Steve. All his wounds were superficial. He’d be okay. Steve had been so sick of watching Eddie die, he’d been willing to put his body on the line to make sure it didn’t happen again.

In this loop, he was still ‘Steve’, not ‘Stevie’. They hadn’t grown close enough yet. Eddie only called him ‘sweetheart’ in the iterations where they kissed. Steve wanted to kiss him, but there was the taste of iron in his mouth.

“I’m okay,” Steve insisted, squeezing Eddie’s hand. He felt a sharp pain shoot through his side as Eddie pressed his hand into Steve’s wound.

“Christ, there’s a lot of blood,” Eddie muttered to himself. 

He was bad with blood. He’d scraped his knee down to the bone when he was seven and ever since, the sight of gore made him queasy. Steve wasn’t meant to know that yet. In this iteration, he hadn’t told Eddie about the loop. He’d tried before, but it never helped.

Pain and blood loss drag Steve down into a familiar oblivion. He expected to wake at the beginning of the loop, emerging in The Upside Down from Lover’s Lake, but instead, he found himself in a hospital room with Eddie in a bed by his side. It was late, too late for visitors, but Eddie wasn’t sleeping. His eyes were trained on Steve, equal parts concerned and curious.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Eddie confessed, as Steve’s eyes met his. 

Steve wanted to cry or scream. He wanted to untangle himself from the knot of cords and tubes to crawl beside Eddie in bed as they had curled up together in the back of the RV dozens of times before. He needed to hold Eddie to know he was alive, to understand he wasn’t going anywhere. Steve blinked away tears, balling his hands into fists. He didn’t want to scare Eddie.

“I scared you?” Steve choked out a mixture between a laugh and a sob.

Eddie didn’t know what to do. He never knew what to do when people cried. Steve learned that in the iteration where they’d lost Dustin. He didn’t want to think about it.  

“You almost died, man,” Eddie explained.

He somehow understood Steve wanted him closer. Eddie got out of bed, clutching his I.V. drip as he flopped into the chair by Steve’s bedside. He wanted to hold Eddie’s hand again, but he was out of excuses. He could tell him the truth, but he didn’t know what good it would do.

Steve was still used to thinking of possible futures. He was Prometheus who, unlike Sisyphus, escaped his torment. Steve wondered what happened to Prometheus after he was rescued. Did he return to a normal life? Does anyone bother to ask? Prometheus’ story is always about punishment. Afterwards, he was a footnote in the story of Hercules, but once the heroes leave the story, what’s left?

Eddie would know the answer, but it wasn’t a conversation he’d had with this Eddie. That Eddie was dead. This Eddie was and wasn’t him. This Eddie was Janus, god of abstract duality, god of beginnings and ends, god of life and death.

“Sorry my lame-ass face is the first one you had to see. Robin and the kids were in here all day. Wheeler left flowers,” Eddie tacked on awkwardly.

This Eddie didn’t know Steve. They were strangers. Of course, things were awkward. He couldn’t know he was the one person Steve wanted to see more than anything.

“No, Ed’s—.” Slip of the tongue.

“Eddie. I’m really glad you’re here, man.”

They were back to square one, but Steve could work with that. He’d been working with that for months. This time, Eddie would remember. This time, they had the luxury of taking things slow.

“One thing’s been bugging me all day,” Steve began.

After hundreds of days of getting to know Eddie, Steve had learnt a few shortcuts, a few ways to jump-start his way into Eddie’s heart.

“Can you explain what the hell Mordor is?”

It was a tried-and-true method. By that point, Steve knew Eddie’s response off by heart, but he wanted to hear him say it. Eddie gave him the same perplexed look he always did when Steve asked. It was as though Eddie thought he knew too much like there was some secret he wasn’t letting him in on, but he didn’t challenge Steve on it. He never did.

“Harrington, have you heard of Lord of the Rings?” Yes.

“No.” A million times.

“Tell me about it.”

Read Part 2 Here

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #drabble #ficlet #Metalhoops writes #I read the post yesterday #and I've been thinking about it ever since #the plot kind of ran away with itself #but I like how it turned out #I'm considering a part 2 #from Eddie's point of few in the weeks/ months that follow #depending on if people are interested #shoutout to #@theamazingbard #for the idea

[peachedtvs]

TIL' DEATH DON’T WE PART ft. Yandere!Alastor

⃝𖤐 VALENTINES DAY 2024 SPECIAL…

⃝𖤐 SUMMARY: After fleeing from your fiancé, it isn’t long before the two of you reunite, against your will or with it—on Earth or not.

⃝𖤐 CONTENT WARNINGS: afab, fem!reader, yandere!ex-fiancé!alastor x reader, alastor being a serial killer, moderate description of gore, NONCON/DUBCON, fingering, oral (fem receiving), big dick alastor—not great prep, p in v sex, rough sex, biting/marking kink, fear play, predator/prey dynamics, size kink, alastor uses his shadows,

⃝𖤐 WORD COUNT: 3.9k | 2k plot, 1.9k smut

⃝𖤐 STREAM NOTE: SMUT BELOW THE SECOND NSFW BANNER !😋i am IN LOVE WITH THIS MAN GUYS

⃝𖤐 MASTERLIST. Main blog @peachedtv

Alastor felt you were quite silly, even from when the two of you were small.

So silly, in so many ways.

You were silly in the way you spoke. Expressive, lively, words filled with kindness and rhythm. Words Alastor wanted to lock away for only him to hear. Your voice always melted into his mind like honey. Soothing, calming, just like the radio he’d hum to silently during his auditory carnages. Screams of pain, terror, and torment vastly contrasting a smooth swing of jazz muffled through a radio’s buzz.

Your smile was silly too. Loud, boisterous laughs pairing with it each time as you’d close your eyes tightly, breaths jagged as you’d brace your stomach from the joy. Your smile so mesmerizing Alastor wanted nothing more to lock it away behind a key. To melt away in the melody of your laughter, to spread it across his lips and adorn the smile as sweetly as you do.

He’s adapted that wish somewhat.

What was even sillier was how silly you made him feel. On the surface, the twist in his stomach was sweet. An admiration, an appreciation of something so pure. Although,

Alastor always fell apart.

Even in the room of his own heart.

Every silly thing had something inside of him twist. A strange twist, a bubbling feeling that had his gut wrench around itself—curling around and laying discomfort deep into his heart, where it stood mockingly. Unable to be buried beneath other thoughts, placed behind distractions, or replaced with another. And this bothered him.

Alastor was always in control.

Control of his subordinates, control of his manipulation, his chaos around him. So why couldn’t he control this?

What were you doing to him?

He thought it was uncomfortable at first. But that strange feeling was quite addicting, stacking tenfolds in intensity ever since the first time he felt it with you.

“Are you okay?”

By now, this memory had occurred over a century ago, on the Earth he no longer lived in.

The first day you two had met, Alastor was a clumsy boy. His two feet carrying him slower than the beat of his heart, tumbling him down onto his knee into the unforgiving concrete. It hurt. A sting and burn that tugged the corner of his lips into a frown, holding back tears as other children ran past him without any acknowledgement.

He never wanted mother to worry, and so, he always sucked it up. Tugging his knee into his chest, he blew onto the wound and hugged his leg—his lips wobbling.

And suddenly, there you were.

A small, petite child then. Clumsy and expressive as you stared down to him with empathy, your hand extended to him as the other rested on your knee. Alastor was surprised. Enough so that for a split second, he had forgotten of his wounds, of the pain. Cautiously, he took your hand.

Your hand felt right in his.

Soft, smooth, and warm against his cold skin. Soon, your fingers were almost always intertwined with his. Alastor’s mother would coo at the two of you each time Alastor brought you over to dance, smiling happily as you stumbled over his feet in the living room—his favorite radio buzzing soft melodies in the background. Alastor moved gracefully, having danced with his mother in preparation. You were not the same. You couldn’t help but have your eyes stuck on the floor, eyebrows raised in concentration as you followed his steps.

One step,

two step,

three step,

four.

You weren’t a great dancer. And after a long afternoon of clumsily tapping your feet around, the sun began to retract past the skyline, and Alastor had offered to walk you home. It was bright, really bright. Your eyebrows furrowing at the light from Earth’s warming star, a small hand raised to your forehead to soothe your eyes from the bright light.

“Al, look!” You pointed to the sun. Orange hues trailing red as the two colors bleed together, warm tones mesmerizing your childish heart and sparking wonder into your eyes.

Meanwhile, Alastor was looking at a different star. His star.

“I want to make a deal.” Alastor spoke softly. And slowly, you turned to him, curiousity tilting your head as you met Alastor’s timid expression with a hum of acknowledgment. Alastor raised his pinky finger.

“I want to be with you forever.” Alastor tucked away into his body. For the first time, his eyes looked away from you—the warmth from the sky traveling down to blush his cheeks, a pale red hue over his soft features. To his surprise, your pinky hooked onto his in an instant.

“Forever.”

And there was Alastor’s first deal of souls. A deal that tied your essence to his until the end of time—for a promise between two whom are pure surpasses the strength of any other.

And forever meant forever.

Years together flew by, and Alastor became your fiancé, set to tie your love together by law in a couple months. You both had your own jobs, despite his insistence for you to stay at home and allow him to care for you. Although, you wanted to work. You wanted to experience the world. But what you didn’t want were the unreasonable hours of overtime your boss had subjected to you. Much to Alastor’s dismay, many late afternoons he would return to an empty home. Full of furniture, light, decoration, but never with the person he truly wished the presence of. Every evening, you would trail home hours after him. Enervated, dragging your feet along the floorboards as you slumped into his open arms.

“I missed you, Cher.”

Your voice was like honey.

“I missed you more, my Dear.” Alastor greeted you softly. There it was again. Something twisted. Alastor looked down to your visage. Dark eyebags staining your soft skin, a pout dragging your lips, your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you sighed from exhaustion. His gut was twisting stranger than usual. A mix of annoyance for those who have exploited you, an annoyance that made his stomach curl inside.

Alastor did not want you to continue working.

Your boss had gone missing for a couple days now.

The company was in disarry, having strangely lost empolyee after empolyee ever since you were recruited. The once bustling, lively atmosphere became quiet, dull, and empty. And with the new loss of your empolyer, there wasn’t an office cubicle you could return to. For the first time in months, you returned home before Alastor.

Although, something felt off.

With Alastor home, it was always lively. The ambience of radio would hum an electronic swing of jazz, a low vibrato of your home’s ventilation system, and the comfort of your fiancé’s presence. He was such a soothing soul. Without him, the home felt strange. You felt presences of another, many, an overbearing amount. As though invisible strings clumped together to weigh you heavier into the floor boards, creacking the dark oak louder than usual.

Without Alastor, it felt as though something was calling for you—and curiously, you began to explore. Exploring as the home you resided in, as this home empty of your lover didn’t feel like a home anymore. And that lead you to the door that stood at the far end of the first floor. Tucked beside the laundry room, you stood still and seemed confused.

Was there always a lock?

A sturdy lock it was. Heavy metal weighing it flush against the wood, holding the door firmly shut to keep everything in out. There was a strange smell, too. A scent that leaked from beneath the dark oak doorway, filling the air with a musk of cooper and spoiled eggs. Your hand reached for the lock, flinching when built up static pricked your skin. A warning. But you held firm. Giving a cautious, downward tug as the lock went slack. It was open. You pushed the door back slowly, a low creak humming your presence, a flood of a strange meat stinging the view in your eyes.

Firmly, a familiar hand held your shoulder.

The hand of your fiancé.

You were terrified.

“Dear, what are you doing?”

You couldn’t think.

Not with the view of mangled flesh, the smell of copper and iron so strong your head began to haze strangely. No, you couldn’t think. Even moreso with scattered limbs decorating the floor—being the remainder of the morbidly intact heads of your former colleges and empolyer, of your missing boss. Pieces of them did not fit like a puzzle. Limbs, skin, so much of their bodies were missing.

What was that dinner Alastor served these passing evenings?

And it seemed as though fate enjoyed sparking your memory.

This time around, nearly a century later, it was not scatttered corpses, blood, or flies that greeted you. You stood before the door of a new, Hazbin Hotel. Advertised as a place for refemption, a gateway of return to Heaven—the place you swore you should have ended up in. And yet, nostaglia always played its role.

Just as a century ago, nails dug into your shoulder, holding you in place. A voice staticy, strange, and terrifyingly familisr beneath it’s vintaged filter. The grip dug into your flesh this time, keeping you from running—just as you did in 1933. With a door you shouldn’t have opened, and a hand on your shoulder that felt larger than usual.

Your fiancé’s hand.

“I missed you, my Dear.”

You didn't know what was happening.

You scrambled fruitlessly, trying to shove Alastor's hand off your shoulder when sharp, black tendrils gripped your wrists in an instant. By the next, it seemed you were melting into the floor, the world around you sputtering and glitching as your vision faded out and back in as you fell back onto a large bed.

You couldn't recognize the monster that was before you.

You didn't want to recognize the monster that was before you. Although, a sharp, large hand gripped the lower half of your face, covering your mouth and pinning you down into the plush duvet to muffle horrified screams, forcing you to look deep into a being empty of a soul.

Even back then, you always felt Alastor’s deep eyes lacked light. They seemed dull, strange, and detached from any wonder or interest. All until his gaze would flit upon you. A spark of light dashing his iris, a soft smile spreading his lips. He only looked human when he looked at you.

Alastor still kept that smile. A smile that had morphed after his descent into Hell. Sharp teeth, discolored skin, bloodshot eyes that contrasted against dark red sclera. He looked terrifying. His body was misshapen, large, his face framed with blood-colored hair and root-like antlers protruding from his head. His size dwarfed you, a wolf to rabbit. Predator to prey.

“Al—“

"You recall the time when you'd say it back, don't you, my Dear?" He leaned down by your neck, breathing in shakily as though he couldn't believe you were finally here. With him. All to himself. "When you would say you missed me too." His voice was disfigured. A static like radio and dark undertone to his speech making your head spin and eyes well with tears. Your entire body was trembling, the skin on your back burning as every nerve in your brain set off sirens that resonated throughout your head. You felt too fearful to even choke out a pathetic sob, wanting to blend into the sheets below you.

Meanwhile, Alastor felt himself going crazy. He couldn't help the way his mind ran a mile a minute as he stared down at your dicheviled form. You were always so pretty, absurdly so. Even as the strands of your hair fell misplaced over your face, even as you looked up to him with so much fear, hatred, and terror, his stomach twisted just as it did nearly a century ago. That strange feeling laying addiction down into the lining of his stomach, soothing his body that felt run dry of how you made him feel.

He needed you. Now.

Alastor brought a hand to his lips, hastily removing his right glove as he bit the fabric covering the tip of his middle finger, tugging his glove off by his teeth. His free hand pinned you pliantly down into the mattress by the lower half of your face, the other sliding beneath your shirt to tear the fabric off your body. You thrashed, muffled sobs and tears running down your cheeks, wetting the palm of his hand.

Your terror only fueled him further.

His hands groped and fondled every inch of your skin that one could imagine, a long tongue pairing with his touch as Alastor licked a long stripe up your neck—sucking deep blotches and bruises of dark blue and purple hues across your neck and chest. Alastor marked you as his, bit your flesh like a meal, and ruined your soft skin for his pleasure.

The mattress beneath you was in shambles. Inch deep tears lay by your head as Alastor held back the urge to squeeze you blue, from ripping into your flesh, the torn mattress a goreish display of holding back the brutal cuteness aggression Alastor got from the sight of you.

His hand slid from your mouth, gripping your neck tightly to restrict precious air from flooding your throat. He wanted you ditzy anyway. Nothing but a lifeless shell of who you were once he was done.

Pilant.

Obidient.

And what better way than halfway choking you out?

Your hands held his wrist desparately, nails scratching into his skin as he only smiled wider in response, stitches appearing on the corners of his mouth to prevent his face from ripping in two from his pure display of euphoria.

You hadn't stopped crying this entire time. Desparate pleas falling on deaf ears as you begged Alastor that this was enough, that you'd listen, that you'd stay. And as convincing as it seemed, Alastor was not giving you another chance to escape him. Not again.

His hand trailed down until it cupped your clothed cunt. Nothing on your body remaining besides your panties. A gift, perhaps—the best for last. Alastor pushed your panties to the side, experimentally swirling the pad of his thumb onto your clit, causing you to wretch out a struggled moan.

"A-Alastor—!" He only smiled in response.

"Quite sensitive, hmm? It seems you haven't changed at all." His thumb pressed harder onto your cunt, rubbing your clit side to side as the palm of his hand pressed firmly down upon your womb. He watched you fall apart with glee, sliding his other hands between your thighs and gently nudging a finger inside of you. You threw your headback into the sheets, grabbing the duvet desperately, your hips trembling as you felt your sanity waste away to the pleasure wracked into your body.

You always fell apart so prettily.

Your hand shakily reached out to Alastor, your lips quivering as a second finger curled into your cunt—the heel of his hand hitting the underside of your puffy clit as he kept toying with the bud. It burned, terribly so. Considering how much larger his stature was to yours, how much larger his finger would be to your own, it was a miracle you weren’t ripped in half yet. Although, it sure felt as though you were.

Alastor stretched you out relentlessly, scissoring inside of you before curling the pads of his fingers plush against your g-spot. You arched your back desperately, crying out as your hips stuttered in response. And Alastor kept prying there. His fingers pounding into your cunt, hitting your g-spot over and over and over until you felt as though you'd die from the overstimulation. As you reached out to Alastor, the black tendrils appeared once more. Grabbing your wrists before tying your hands together and in front of your chest as through you were praying—and perhaps you were. Praying to Alastor to slow down, to be more gentle.

A third finger was nudged deep inside of you, pairing with the speed of his thumb on your clit increasing. His fingers pounded into you feverishly, sounds of your arousal soaking your inner thighs and his forearm—dirtying the sleeve of his pinstriped coat. You couldn't concentrate, no longer resisting against the firm hold his shadows had upon your wrists. No longer holding back your sweet moans.

A burning desire began to pool in your gut.

"Alastor, p-please—"

A hand gripped your throat.

"What was that?"

"A-Al, please— I'm gonna cu—m!" He smiled to you. You always were a quick learner.

"Cum then, dear." His fingers sped up their speed inside your cunt, recklessly pounding and curling into you, brusing your g-spot painfully as you sobbed out, clenching your pussy around his cock as you squirt onto him. Alastor smiled, leaning down to suck your clit and swirl his tongue around the bud as your mouth opened silently. Your hips struggled away, and yet his shoulders spread your knees firmly, the underside of your thighs thrown over them. Alastor continued to bully your pussy past your orgasm, sucking and licking your clit as his fingers continued to curl and pound into you to ride out your high. You were crying endlessly. Begging him to stop, that it was enough. And yet, he didn't pull out his hand until you were merely twitched and whimpering in his bed. Broken.

"Have you lost yourself in the pleasure, Cher?" Alastor was manic. Your pleasure felt like a high he couldn't describe. The way your fingers clencthed around him, he felt as though it was a sign. A sign that all your struggling was only to encourage him to fight against you, a sign that you were only pretending to be scared.

"You wanted this, didn't you?" Your eyes widened open when you felt the tip of his cock slide between your folds, Alastor having removed his clothing now too. You struggled, trying to sit up when his hand once again held your throat warningly, choking you lightly against the mattress—gently enough that you could take slow, shallow breaths.

"Al, it's not gonna fi—!" Your mouth fell open silently as Alastor suddenly shoved the head of his cock inside of you. Your pool of arousal allowing him to slide in with just a minor amount of resistance—minor to his strength at least.

Meanwhile, your eyes blew wide as you whimpered out desperately, struggling against the binds on your wrists as your cunt stretched around him. He was big, painfully so. And you were thankful he decided to slide the remaining of his length in slowly, inch by inch. And yet, even when he was just halfway, you felt as though he was already plush against your cervix.

"Is she resisting, hmm? I guess a little force would be needed in the end." Before you could understand what Alastor meant, he slammed the remaining half of his length deep inside of you as you screamed out, your hands curling tight fists as your nails dug deep crescents into your palms.

Before you knew it, Alastor pulled out to the tip, and slammed right back into you. His pace was unwavering. A hand gripped on your neck, the other pressing you into the mattress by a palm against your womb as he split you on his cock. Alastor pounded into you, skin against skin as you soaked his cock, splashing your arousal onto his pelvis and lower stomach. He was big, too big. Tears streamed down your face, and Alastor only wiped them with his thumb before licking it into his mouth. He wanted to taste your fear.

He wanted to rip you apart.

Your chest heaved as his thumb came down to your clit once more, roughly pressing onto you before swirling it harshly. You arched your back, clawing at the wrist on your throat as you moaned, crying around his cock when the underside of it would press into your g-spot, when the head of it would slam so deep against your cervix you felt he might fuck himself into your womb. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, a hand gripping the torn sheets below you as you cried out when your pussy clentched around him.

"Please, please, can I c-cum—" You sobbed, looking down to where you and Alastor where connected, seeing your cunt stretched impossibly wide for your ex-fiancé's cock.

"Don't you dare."

"Please, Cher."

Fuck.

You drove him fucking crazy.

Alastor swore he could’ve cum on the spot from hearing you finally call him Cher once more, the name you neglected from him. The only name you should be calling him. Alastor laughed.

"You truly know me so well, my Dear." Alastor's pace increased. His cock pounding into you hard enough to have your tits bouncing and the frame of the bed on the verge of giving out—your cunt clentching onto his fat cock even more.

"You can cum in three seconds." You nodded stupidly, too desparate to think.

Alastor pulled back to the tip, slamming back inside.

"Three," His palm pressed into your womb, feeling the buldge of his dick against his hand, his cock dragging against your velvety walls. You swore you were going to die if you couldn't cum soon, Alastor's counting teasingly slow as he fucked into you like a fleshlight. Like a pet.

"Two." Your pussy fluttered against him, Alastor's shadow taking his place on your clit as it swrled the bud ruthlessly—his now free hand grabbing your face to squish your cheeks.

"One," You whined, sliding your hands to his upper back as you raked down his skin.

"Please, please, please, let me cum." You were going crazy.

"Cum." You threw your head back, near screaming his name like a mantra as you clencthed around him, squirting for the second time that night as his cock continued to pound deep inside of you. Alastor let go of your throat, his hands sliding beneath the underside of your thighs to push your knees into your chest—fucking you meanly in a harsh mating press as he refused to slow down. You felt like your soul was going to fall out your body, your pussy spasming as Alastor continued to pound into you without any concern to your fresh orgasm and painful overstimulation that burned your walls.

"C-Cher, Al—please, I can'—"

And for the first time since 1933, and for the first time together, in the new realm of Hell—Alastor kissed you.

His kiss was soft, gentle, loving. His hips never stilled, continuing to rip orgasm after orgasm out of your poor little pussy. Although, his mouth was soft against yours, eyes closed and hand holding your neck lightly as the tips of his fingers graced your bruised skin. Bruised with the marks of his love, his obsession.

He held your face as kindly, as though you may be gone if he didn't keep you in his arms forever. Alastor's tongue slid into your mouth slowly, and you moaned around him—letting him in. Your body missed him so much.

Maybe you still love him, even after it all.

Alastor's pace became staggered, his hips slowing until he kept his cock deep inside and came directly into your womb. His load gushed out from the sides of your hole that stretched around him, stuffing you full. Alastor allowed your thighs to rest by his hips, laying you back against the mattress as he continued to kiss you. His hands massaged your body, comforting the bites, hickeys, and bruises.

"I love you, my Dear."

Alastor spoke softly, pulling away from you. Admiring your fucked out state.

"So don't leave me ever again."

You're watching...

© Peached TVs 2024

#PeachedTVs #ft. Alastor #alastor smut #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #alastor #radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel x y/n #alastor x y/n #hazbin #the radio demon #hazbin imagine #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction

[freebreadmoon]

Percy Jackson

The Monster’s Gone

warnings: little violence? fluff, percy being bf material, no use of y/n, implied female child of athena reader, based heavily off the plot of CotG

requests are open!!

Percy hated quests.

Percy hated it even more when you were involved.

You’d been walking around mindlessly the whole day, through Times Square to the Flatiron District, having no idea where Iris, the rainbow goddess, could be.

“Why would a god willing even live here? The city is a hell in itself, but tourist areas?” Percy sighed, dodging a passing man while simultaneously trying to keep you in eyeshot, which proved to be very hard. Looking around the area, his sea-green eyes landed on a small Gift Loft shop. He grabbed your hand and pulled you in, holding your shoulders to steady you.

“What?” You furrowed your eyebrows at him, surprised at his sudden choice to make a detour. “Quieter. Too many people in the streets,” he ran a hand through his hair, pausing, “and easier to focus on…crafting a plan, or whatever that brain of yours does.” He smiled, letting go of you and settling on crossing his arms. “Plan. Right. Except you literally have no information for me to ‘craft’ anything out of.” You mimicked his movements, tilting your head as you look up at him. “I promise we won’t be in here longer than we need to, but it’s harder to…” Percy’s rambling was cut off by you putting your hand of his mouth, staring behind him at the old woman that seemed to stare right back. He stared at you, waiting for you to clarify what was wrong. “Dracaena, I think. Can’t see her fully through the mist.” You breathed, reaching instinctively for your weapon, separating yourself from Percy. He did the same, uncapping Riptide. “never a dull moment…” He muttered, putting himself in front of you. The Dracaena approached, the mist pulling away to show her slithering body. “Perseus Jackson, what a fun surprise this is.” She looked at you, lizard-like eyes narrowing “And an appetizer. How thoughtful.” She lunged, and Percy dodged, trying to pull you with him as she clawed a shallow cut into the skin of your stomach, earning a yelp from you as the pain set in. Percy immediately noticed, clenching his teeth. He ripped a ‘I Love NY’ shirt off a rack, tying it to you like a makeshift bandage. “Sit tight. Gotta go kill a monster for you.”

And the way he looked at you, love filled and kind, contrasted to the way he looked at the Dracaena, he could’ve been two different people. He swung effortlessly at her, and you watched with wide eyes as she erupted into gold dust, as if it were the first time you saw him all over again. He rushed over to you, smiling apologetically and pushing a small bottle of ambrosia into your hands. “M’sorry.” He sits back on his knees, watching you heal. “Not your fault, Perce.” You wrapped your pinky around his, squeezing subtly, smiling when he returns the movement. “A little my fault.” He laughed, helping you up, letting you lean against him, smoothing your hair through his fingers. “I hate seeing you hurt.” Percy looked away, his attention turned back to the sidewalk as you two returned to the sidewalk, no plan crafted.

“I love you too, Percy.” You said, kissing his cheek, watching the smile and blush creep up his face. “Enough to stop getting hurt?” He raised an eyebrow sarcastically. “Oh, never that.” You nudged him, grinning back.

Percy hated going on quests, yes.

Percy hated it even more when you were involved.

But oh, was he head over heels.

#x reader #annabeth chase #grover underwood #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #connor stoll #rick riordan

[cannellee]

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE (mythological au!) ☆

୨୧ demigod! alpha! tokyo revengers x omega! reader (pairing : kazutora, mitsuya, baji, mikey, takemichi, shinichiro, izana, ran, draken, taiju, kokonoi, kakucho)

— a mix of what cabins they would be in and how they would be like with their omega (cabin = which god/goddess would they be the son of)

my masterlist : ☆

(I just finished watching the serie 'percy jackson' on disney+ and I just thought it would be an interesting idea to explore! of course it's purely my opinion and it might not be really representative. it's also fine if you don't know anything about percy jackson! I didn't add any details about the plot/storyline)

(+ if you've read my other headcanons, some of them might be similar to what I've already posted.. I hope none of you will mind!)

(+ I'm thinking about making it a serie : about a huge harem probably? or separated stories about omega!reader's life inside the half blood camp pls tell me what you think!!)

ALPHA! KAZUTORA (aphrodite)

he's a hard one, like all the others, but I remember seeing a post in which kazutora was described as fairly attractive and that he was quite popular with the girls. seeing just how deceiving he can be with a charming smile on, convinced me to put him under the banner of aphrodite.

with the omega he wants to court, kazutora has no shame making use of his powers to woo her. he'll manipulate her emotions so she can only find comfort in his arms. despite being an alpha, kazutora has a pretty delicate scent which makes you want to trust him. he's aware of his charm and makes a good use of it whenever he considers necessary.

he's hopelessly devoted and indulges in his passionate love a 100%, so he often comes off as intense and overwhelming. he doesn't care though, he loves his omega with a burning passion and you need to know it. people also need to stay put, as he's pretty jealous. he's not the son of love itself for nothing, if an opponent arises, he's quick to get rid of him.

as I said, kazutora is willing to manipulate you in order to get you under his watch. he wants to supervise his lover. as an alpha, he's even more protective and possessive, he's terrified of losing you to someone else. he'll shower you with compliments and affection, inevitably forcing you to let your guard down because he's just so kind. this will make it easy for him to keep you under his influence, whether you know it or not.

as a child of aphrodite, kazutora wants to make you fall in love with him, it doesn't matter if it's with a false image of him or if he had to manipulate you. he just wants his pretty omega by his side, the only one worthy of his love and worship.

kazutora still is a toxic person, he'll exploit your vulnerabilities and the trust you place in him, for his own gain. he could use guilt-tripping, gaslighting or emotional blackmail ; he has no morals. he wants you for himself and he'll use any ways he sees fit to achieve his dream of being the only one you think about. you're the only one on his mind, it should go both ways, otherwise kazutora will feel betrayed.

you often get confused at his behaviour. how can someone be so kind, soft and attentive to you, just to end up messing with your mind like that. you don't know what to think anymore and you're just left with kazutora as your compass, as he successfully got rid of anything susceptible to drive you away from him. you didn't even realise – with how sweetly overbearing his presence is – that he managed to make your cute little brain forget about everything else. your feelings, all over the place because of his sickly gentle smiles and words, made you solely focus on him to the point that you just couldn't find happiness in anyone else but him.

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ALPHA! MITSUYA (hera)

I think he could be a child of hera ; he's a great cook, responsible and reliable, independent and has his priorities straight. it's also confirmed that he's one of the best boyfriends of toman and I know alpha!mitsuya's dream is to build a family. the way he looks after his little sisters, despite his exhaustion, is a sign of how family oriented he is.

mitsuya is just so kind with his omega, reassuring, and a strong power you can count on. you don't fear anything when he's here, he's a protector and a provider. he has a deep sense of duty which compels him to keep you healthy and happy.

his omega is his joy, he's happy if you are. mitsuya is committed and view your relationship as something extremely serious he would never let go of. he expects the same devotion from his omega, as he values loyalty above anything else.

he wishes for you both to marry each other as he thrives in your presence. you can expect a merry domestic life with him, he takes care of you and keeps the relationship going with cute and funny date ideas. he has everything planned along for you, he wants to secure your future and make sure everything goes smoothly.

he also provides a stable environment for you, he approaches conflicts calmly and rationally, so you never stressed out whenever you have one of those rare arguments. your couple is healthy and lovely, mitsuya cuddles you each day, calls you whenever he has time and he's away ; he wants nothing more than to keep you safe, showering you with tender affection.

you'll never feel unloved or unsafe. hera is fierce and protective, she's also a jealous deity who sees her couple as almost sacred. mitsuya will eradicate any threats that might come your way. he'll go feral should his omega ever feel scared and distressed. it would mean that he failed as your alpha and mitsuya would feel more than defeated, crushed and will be desperate to make it up to you, to show you you can still rely on him. please give him a chance.

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ALPHA! BAJI (zeus)

baji is a son of zeus. he might not be the leader of toman, but he does have that central position with a ton lot of leadership qualities in him. he kind of is a mediator in a way, and cares for the people around him a lot, and they also look up to him, which gives him a lot of authority.

he's controlling and will absolutely get mad in the right situations. baji doesn't let just anyone near his omega, but he tries to take your opinions into consideration. he might be an alpha and therefore know better than you about whether something or someone is dangerous, but he'll let you do your own thing as long as he's there to watch and protect.

he wants a bit of control over you as well. as I said, his protective instincts are strong and very sensitive, he isn't delusional the way kazutora could be, but he's weary and suspicious. one wrong move and that man you were talking to is done for.

it might come out as small bursts of aggressiveness and anger, throwing earth shaking thunders whenever his omega's well being and honour are threatened. this behaviour of his truly is a shocking contrast to how soft and enamored he is with you. people are cautious around him, scared even, like they are walking around a volcano ready to burst. but you just have that privileged relationship with him, which allows you to let your guard down and jokingly mess with him. he lets you do about anything you want and accepts everything you do with a straight face and a satisfied scent.

baji wants to claim you. not just for everyone to see but to feel a connection with the one he devoted himself to. you're his whole world, you offer him stability and a place he can finally let go of all his worries and responsibilities. he wants nothing more than to solidify that strong link between the two of you.

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ALPHA! TAKEMICHI (hermes)

without any surprise, takemichi definitely is a son of hermes. be it the way he time travels, his smart personality (yes) ; he can think quickly and make the actual best decisions even if he doesn't realise it. despite being awkward, he communicates well and makes friends everywhere he goes, he's a people magnet and charms them unknowingly.

takemichi was able to court you with his naturally funny personality and playful banter. he's awkward ; and that's a good change you love to see in an alpha. he's not overwhelming and gives you your own space. he's respectful and values your opinions so much to the point that you might as well be his moral compass.

he has great principles and you would never abuse his kindness and dedication to you. but you can't help but notice how tamed he becomes whenever you're talking to him. if you tell or ask him something, he complies without a word.

in his eyes, you're glowing and smell so divinely good. are you sure you're not a goddess yourself ? because takemichi just can't get enough of you, as if he's hypnotized.

despite being surrounded by so many people, takemichi's eyes are solely set on you. he lives to make you laugh and is very sensitive about your emotions ; whenever you're down and feeling stressed, he quickly becomes a huge support. he calms you, reassures you by drowning you in his scent and praises. he knows exactly what to say.

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ALPHA! MIKEY (ares)

I don't think it surprises anyone as well, but I see him as a child of ares. although with his complex personality it's hard to rank him under a god for sure, but he shares the most traits with him, especially with his "dark impulse". he likes to fight, get into trouble and doesn't actively respect hierarchies. and not only does he love throwing hands, but he's particularly good at it, to the point of sparking fear and respect to his comrades and enemies alike.

mikey's personality as the son of ares isn't exactly that far from the reality. he's often violent, and for no particular reasons. but he's even more reckless whenever it involves his omega. along with provoking such violent urges, it also gives him another reason to beat someone up and he would never dodge that chance.

still, he's charismatic and despite everything, you find yourself drawn to him like a moth to a flame. he's so confident, jumping into any battles without an ounce of fear that your instincts can't help but feel at ease with him. you know you have nothing to fear ; mikey will protect you at the cost of his life. and his reputation also works like a charm to keep danger at bay.

mikey is jealous, and will become enraged if you were to show interest or affection for other men. instead of confronting you, he'll just erase them directly. that way, you have no other choice than to turn to him. if mikey keeps eliminating all of his concurrency, you'll soon come to realise that no other alphas can compare to him. you'll look at him with just as much love and desperation as he does. he doesn't care if he has to use his power and influence to keep you by his side, he'll do it with little to no regard for consequences. so what if you're mad or devastated, it was the right thing to do : a good alpha can't let bugs crawl around his omega.

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ALPHA! SHINICHIRO (apollo)

I hesitated between apollo and hephaestus, but I figured the only think he really shares with him is his ability to create, his love for machines and his technical skills. so I settled for apollo! shinichiro is a peaceful mediator, kind and compassionate, he sees the good in everyone and doesn't tolerate people without any sense of morality. he might not play any instrument and doesn't have a particular taste for music, but he has that healing and positive aura that draws people to him, kind of like takemichi.

in shinichiro's eyes, you're a joy to be around and he wants to keep that merry personality of yours by his side for as much as you'll let him.

I like to imagine alpha!shinichiro similar to who he was during the first timeline : a fierce and great fighter, with an abundant love for his family.

shinichiro nurtures an ardent affection for you, unwavering and he borderline worships you. he won't let anyone harm you, he'll fight for you, threatens anyone for you and do so much more. he has a sense of responsibility now that you're his, he can't let you down nor disappoint you. you'll see just how much of an infatuated man he is.

apollo is cruel and vengeful ; shinichiro doesn't tolerate any negative intentions towards his omega. he's observant and doesn't let second chances : if you disrespect his lover, you'll pay, end of story.

just remember apollo's love life, he's passionate and romantic. it goes beyond death and he's loyal to a fault. shinichiro knows you're the one, you make him believe in love at first sight.

just as any other god, apollo is jealous. this trait of his passed down to shinichiro, who actually acts out on this feeling secretly. he won't ever let you see such a bad side of him ; he's supposed to be your unshakable partner, calm and collected. he'll just claim you, scent you, appears more often with you during social outings. and if that still doesn't work, he'll have no choice but to be more violent. but you'll know none of this ; he'll remain confident and positive, with soft smiles and tender kisses.

he provides such a comforting space for his omega, soothing any of your worry with a radiant smile. you know he has everything under control, so you can abandon yourself completely to your alpha.

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ALPHA! IZANA (hades)

izana could be associated with so many deities but I'll settle for hades. his deranged thoughts and past actually make up most of his personality and explain his whole behaviour; he can't let go of any of his burdens and remains absolutely crushed and tortured by them. he feels lonely, betrayed and has so many negative emotions circling around him. he has trouble connecting with other people the way any normal person would, he's rude and direct, and you can even think he doesn't actually care about his comrades because of his aggressive actions.

contrary to hades, izana does let out his emotions a lot. he actually can't quite control them and is often a slave to his own feelings. he's crazily jealous and possessive, his instincts are all over the place, forcing him to keep you locked away somewhere he considers safe enough.

he hates those lusty eyes people have whenever you come by, he wants to just tear their faces apart. still, he does nothing, too preoccupied by the image you might have of him.

he's violent and pitiless, but there are times when he's self conscious and would hate himself if you were to tremble and cry from fear of him. sure it does help to keep you in check ; his omega should listen well, stay put and pretty, ready to obey him. but there's a limit he's not mentally ready to cross. don't hate him the way others do, don't look at him with a consuming fear he's so familiar to see in other's eyes.

you're one of the few people, if not the only, he lets himself be vulnerable around. he expects a devotion and willingness on your side to just do anything he asks. he won't hesitate to force you into submission, coating you with sweet words contrasting of his actions ; he doesn't know how to love and it will feel suffocating at times. but you manage.

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ALPHA! RAN (dionysus)

an easy one. dionysus is the god of wine and parties and likes to be the center of attention, although this could be more accurate for bonten!ran era. ran just loves to indulge in pleasures, participate in what one would consider as immoral and unholy. he actually couldn't care less about other people's opinions and simply enjoys what life has in store (brothels, alcohol, murder... you get it). ran is a red flag and he just enjoys chaos, he doesn't care about stability and just want to have fun. he's intense and often hard to decipher, making him a complex person.

ran is absolutely infatuated with you, he finds you intriguing, ridiculously pretty and your scent is intoxicating. how can he not desire your presence ?

being with you feels like a drug, you just can't leave his mind and that's why he can't let go of you either. he indulges fully into the pleasures of life and you just so happen to be the perfect embodiment of all the joys he seems to crave so openly.

he is sociable and there always seems to be a flock of people around him. he loves the attention, but yours particularly, to your surprise. you don't know what about you charmed him, why you of all people considering how popular he is. but here you are, glued to him and not exactly out of your own will.

ran wants you by his side, so you'll stay. simple as that. he's constantly burying his nose in the crook of your neck. you just smell so nice and every part of you is to die for. he extends predatory hands out to you, exploring your body shamelessly without any concerns for how you feel. he just wants to touch you, feel you and own you.

he's a great talker, he knows exactly what to tell you to make you behave the way he wants. if he doesn't like you around someone, he won't tell you directly, although he could, considering the power he has over you. but he'd rather make it fun : not letting you have any control over the situation and making you act a certain way all because he decided of it. like a puppet, you'll be under the good will of ran, you don't have a word to say.

despite this complex personality, he doesn't like when things get too complicated. yes he might enjoy tricking you and messing with your head, but he's all too open to fun and pleasure. so he's someone who'll spend his time having fun with you, never letting anything get boring.

as I said, he's possessive. he's an alpha and a demigod. you're both his plaything and partner, and he absolutely despises whenever someone tries to turn you away from him. just like how he looks for you first in a crowd, his omega can't have wandering eyes. he gets annoyed quickly when his fun is ruined by a stupid alpha, so he'll also get rid of the problem just as fast as it appeared. no time for gloomy and uncomfortable feelings !

he doesn't know any limits and doesn't seem to understand why you might have any. he'll let you do about anything to him, use him to satisfy any urge you might have, relieve your anger and envy however you like. just use him, just like he does with you. that's his definition of love and he can't help but levitate around you like a magnet. it's stronger than him.

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ALPHA! DRAKEN (poseidon)

I'm not satisfied with this pick, but draken works well as a son of poseidon. he's big and tall, imposing, but never goes too far, he knows how to regulate his strength as to not abuse it. he's protective and loyal, calm at times and especially when it's needed. he's a pillar to his team, toman, and people know they can count on him. he's stoic and you would never guess what's going on inside his head, although it doesn't mean he's aloof ; as I said, he's attentive and caring, he's both a shield and sword to his friends.

draken here is a bit similar to what I already wrote about him on my blog so I'll be quick.

it's painfully obvious you're his omega and you're not to be messed with. he's stable like the sea and you can't help but wish he'll let you stick with him. luckily, draken has heart eyes for you only, so he lets you have your own privileges.

it's sometimes so subtle you might not notice it. but draken does have a soft spot for you ; constantly checking up on you, asking you where you've been, what you did and with whom.

I know poseidon has a bad temper, he is proud and competitive. draken is all of the above but in a reasonable way, he doesn't go overboard. when he's in a stable condition, he knows he has the situation under control and doesn't even feel the need to keep you away. you're an omega sure, but he trusts himself enough that you don't need to be hidden.

as I said, he appears calm, but whenever he does get angry, albeit not that rare, it's always shocking and terrifying. he's so intimidating, he has that dark look which makes you want to lower your gaze, and his scent forces anyone to recognize his power.

he's so protective, gently cradling you in his arms if you're feeling scared. even if he knows you have nothing to be scared of – since he's there – he won't allow any negative emotions to crawl their way up to you. he's your shield to this particularly cruel world.

he will never judge you for how you feel : he's aware that omegas are more sensitive than alphas. he will therefore make sure you're never exposed to too much at once. he'll just assert dominance, both to keep you safe and to inform others that he's what they'll be confronted with if they ever approach you.

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ALPHA! TAIJU (ares)

another son of ares! I can't see him as anything else than that, taiju literally is the embodiment of war and violence. he has a quick temper, he easily gets annoyed and wants things to go his way. his solution to problems is to use his fists carelessly and he's not that reassuring, no matter who you are to him (friend, family, comrade or enemy). and I just know this man has a massive breeding kink, which would totally fit with ares, as he's a symbol of virility and masculine potency. this guy wants a lineage and to exert control over his omega.

same for him, I already described him pretty well in other posts so it will probably be repetitive.

taiju is unsurprisingly aggressive and thrives whenever he's surrounded by violence. he wants nothing more than to taste blood and feel the adrenaline a good fight gives him.

he wants you to look at him, to see just how strong your alpha is. be proud and feel safe. taiju is sending you painfully obvious messages of what will happen if he was to catch you cheating. you can be sure he'll never let it slide, he'll beat the hell out of anyone who looks at you and anyone you look at. by now, you learnt to never cross the eyes of anyone else for their own sake.

he's suffocating, his love is mean and jealous. you're his precious possession, don't leave his sight. he likes to see you look so small, he towers over you like he could crush your frail form if he didn't pay attention to how much pressure he was hugging you with.

this difference makes him feel in charge in the best way possible, he knows you can't resist him anyways. he loves that vulnerability of yours, how naive and dumb you can be. let taiju be the master of your decisions. as an alpha, he's way better suited to guide you than you are. please stay quiet and cute, just like always. he can't have his adorable omega tainted by unholy thoughts and disgusting people. you're so pure, you need to stay that way.

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ALPHA! KOKONOI (athena)

I was tempted to associate him to dionysus, but he doesn't have that extravagant personality and tendency of falling into the excesses. so athena is a pretty good pick I think. he's calm and collected, deeply loyal and ready to sacrifice himself for his loved ones, even going as far as giving up his morals. he's extremely smart and understands how everything works easily, he never strays from his goal once he has his mind set on it and his role as a money maker in his gang proves just how much his members trust him and recognize his reliability. moreover, he's not just brains, but knows how to fight pretty well, making him a great opponent.

he's cool headed most of the times. you're automatically attracted to him by his honesty and steadfast love for you. he wants the best for you and he'll give it to you in a heartbeat.

yes he does care about good and evil, what is right and wrong, but with his doe-eyed omega right in front of him, it's easy for him to just forget what morality is. he tries his best to add you into his virtuous life, but he often strays off from his righteous path if your safety is involved.

he's oftentimes composed and keeps his emotions his check, he doesn't get easily affected by the sorrows of others. but you're his weakness, and he hates your crying face despite everything. it bothers him so much to be this affected by you, but he slowly came to embrace his love for you, and life has never been easier.

he's so faithful. there's something about the both of you being so committed to one another that drives his mind crazy. he recognises you as one of his own, you're his omega and therefore, all of the people he interacts with need to show you the same respect he harbours for you.

just like athena is a defensive force, kokonoi has a strong sense of duty : he protects you without any fear. if he can't do that correctly then he has nothing to be proud of. it's a life rule at this point ; no harm should come across your silk-like skin.

he's possessive and does scent you a lot, but he doesn't want to come off as suffocating and too overpowering. he gives you your own time and space, letting you go away to cool off if you ever get mad at him. it does kill him to have you so far away from him and to know he's the reason of your annoyance, but he also knows what's best for your relationship and he doesn't want to risk anything he carefully built with you for so long.

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ALPHA! KAKUCHO (demeter)

I know this one will make a few brows furrow, but I just think it fits. demeter is kind and compassionate, just like kakucho. he has that protective role in the gang, especially towards izana and he's ready to ignore justice, morals and virtue in favour of his loved ones. he's similar in this way, to how protective demeter is with her daughter persephone. kakucho loves deeply and his fierce nature serves others, not his ideals or own goals.

kakucho is a kind alpha! he has no dirty thoughts and bad intentions towards you. he simply loves you and wish you would reciprocate his feelings.

he won't force anything on you, while being deeply involved in your relationship. he admires you and your generous personality. he thinks you're out of his league but still, he'll try to win your heart by exceeding every of your expectations.

just like demeter who's overly protective of her daughter, kakucho's main concern is his omega. it's getting repetitive but you need to know that an alpha mixed with a god can be nothing else if not possessive and protective.

kakucho reminds you of a warm home and you're always more than happy to jump into his arms, excited for his comforting hugs. he kisses your temple softly, whispers praises words of how pretty you look and caresses your knuckles with his thumb whenever he holds your hand.

it's literally written on his face that he loves you more than he values his life. he gets shy when you mention it but never denies it. contrary to some alphas, he isn't embarrassed to affirm that he indeed listens very well to his omega. he, who is supposed to be all big and intimidating, melts into a puddle whenever you call him over with a baby voice. god, he loves when you treat him so sweetly.

demeter also has a temper of her own and could become very fierce when angry. kakucho has that vibe as well, the feeling of a sleeping storm, awaiting the moment when someone will mess something up to burst.

he usually doesn't let his emotions control him, but when someone threatens him to steal you from him because he supposedly can't take care of you, he just explodes. kakucho will give anything he has and doesn't have for you, what right does a stranger have to quality him as competent enough or not ? although when his wrath has passed, he'll feel a bit self conscious and scared that some truth was hidden in his words. but if you do a great job at reassuring him and telling him how safe and giddy kakucho makes you feel, then he'll be fine as well.

#cannelle★ #omegaverse tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers a/b/o #a/b/o tokyo revengers #alpha tokyo revengers #hybrid tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers headcanons #tokyo revengers hybrid #tokyo revengers omegaverse #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyo revengers headcanon #tokyo rev x reader #yandere tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers angst #mikey imagines #draken imagine #kokonoi x reader #taiju x reader #alpha kakucho #izana imagines #anime omegaverse #omega!reader #omegaverse anime #baji imagines #kazutora headcanons #shinichiro headcanons #haitani ran headcanons #takemichi x reader

[sugarwithtea]

bounty (m) | myg [teaser]

bounty (noun) : a sum paid for killing or capturing a person. if there was one person who annoyed you the most, it was min yoongi. but what happens when he calls you after escaping someone hired to end him? a dance, which ends in a surprising way.

pairing ; gang leader!yoongi x thug!reader (f)

rating/genre ; m (18+)//smut, angst (minor), enemies to ???

wc ; for the teaser - 470 // for the fic - 4k+

warnings for the teaser ; guns, swearing. for the fic ; explicit smut in public, knives, mentions of death, gore, murder (main characters) and many more!

note ; tread with caution ⚠️ the teaser is mild but the fic won't be (it will be very dark!) also, happy d-day dropping everyone hehe!! thanks to @cowboylikeyoongi for helping me with smth very major!!!! please let me know if you wanna join the taglist for this!

masterlist | taglist

You stand straighter, putting your hands on your waist and chewing the end of the cigarette in your mouth. You survey the area with squinted eyes, pushing your thin jacket behind to reveal your black tee and the gun, with which your finger toys.

You had heard of this place, and how there was a big bounty on the leader of the gang who ran the place. They were dogs, fiercer than wolves, but still fucking cowards. Your boss had asked you to stay clear of the massacre, something about leaving the lowly on his own. And you obeyed, for Min Yoongi was a man who riled you up so much, that anger always lived on your nose – and the tip of your tongue.

The way you were called into the yard, you assume whoever tried to get the meaningless bounty had failed. You shake your shoulders in amusement, and take another drag from your cigarette, kicking the dust at your feet. One more minute, and if he doesn't show up you are getting the fuck out of here.

It's as if the universe heard your thought and plotted against you returning because as soon as you turn back towards the raging fire, a hand wraps itself around your neck and pulls you behind. You let out a loud snort of amusement around the cigarette as you are pulled into a hard chest, his arm around your neck and breath on top of your ear. You quickly pull your cigarette out with one of your hands and exhale, letting the smoke fog you.

As soon as you register his breath, a hard thing pokes you on the base of your throat, and you look down to see the muzzle of his gun at your throat, pressing into your skin. His arm is right above it, and you see the way his fingers wrap around the trigger guard, away from the actual trigger. You scoff at it – still a coward.

He pushes the muzzle deeper into your skin, and you feel his chest going up and down, as his hand around your neck brings you so near him, that you feel him mold against you. You arch an eyebrow and tilt your head, a laugh leaving your lips.

"Hello to you too, Yoongi.'' He hated it when you, or anyone called him Yoongi, so you did just that. He doesn't want to be related to his family, or have a semblance of their relationship with him. And there was one thing that could erase it – his name. So he changed it to Agust D.

"You came?" His voice is gruff against your ear, and you don't miss how deep it is, just like the ocean. You take a deep breath and exhale, before speaking again with a delayed snort.

"You called?"

if you wanna join the taglist for this specific fic then lmk via comments :)) (permanent taglist peeps will be tagged in the reblogs for this one hehe 😉)

feedback of any kind is greatly appreciated! so please lmk your thoughts :))

© sugarwithtea. do not repost.

#yoongi #yoongi smut #suga smut #yoongi angst #suga angst #min yoongi #bts smut #bts angst #myg #agust d #btswritersclub #btshoneyhive #bangtantheatrenet #micdropnet #bangtanbathhouse #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x reader #yoongi mafia

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: thor au, mingyu has superhuman strength (he's literally a god so), mingyu's kinda a dick, re-imagined plot of the first thor movie for fanfic purposes, mentions of movie characters, afab reader, smut, penetrative sex, etc.

wc: 2203

a/n: thor was my favorite marvel movie growing up so i loved doing this!!! tysm to the person who requested this and im soooo sorry it took me so long T-T also i havent watched the movies in forever so im so sorry for inaccuracies </3

masterlist

mingyu wasnt too sure where he was.

just moments ago he had been fighting with his younger brother, loki, scolding him over yet another mischievous act, but now he was in the middle of nowhere. well, at least that was going off of his surroundings. in the distance, he could see various signs detailing the foreign words 'new mexico'.

he had just been wandering aimlessly around the desert, not paying too much attention to his surroundings as he tried to make sense of where he was. that was until his entire body was pushed forward by a massive object, making him lose most of his ability to process what just had happened. he was only slightly lucid as he laid limp on the ground, barely processing the girl looking down on him, completely freaked out at having just ran over a man in the middle of nowhere. without putting much of a fight, he allowed you and your friend to struggle your way as you dragged him into the back of your van, probably not wanting to leave any evidence that you'd almost committed homicide.

unfortunately for you both, he passed out quickly after that, not allowing you to confirm any information about him, nor giving you a chance to stumble your way through an apology for almost killing him.

seeing as you almost cost him his life, you decided to bring him to your laboratory, where you would let him rest until he was conscious enough for you to find a way to make it up to him. your friend darcy left you on your own, claiming it wasn't much of her problem since you had been the one driving when you crashed into him.

as you waited for him to wake up, you wondered how and why he had survived your van crashing into him. i mean, he didn't sustain any injuries, simply passing out from the impact. he had even left damage on the van itself upon the crash. looking at him, you realized he was very fit, with muscles bulging from the strange armor he had on. you hadn't questioned any of this until now, being mostly freaked out by almost killing him, but it was all now making you wonder the logistics of the situation.

you didn't have too much time to think, as he began to stir, groaning a bit before actually waking up. he jumped in place upon realizing he was in unfamiliar surroundings, staring at you with wide eyes as he backed away a bit.

"hey-"

"you! who are you? where am i?"

"listen, you might be a bit disoriented after the accident, you're in-"

"new mexico? right? i saw a sign earlier today."

"yeah, it's-"

"okay, but where is new mexico? i need to get back to asgard. how can i manage that?"

"asgard? listen, you must be going through a psychic episode, just let me-"

"stay away! i demand you tell me where i am!"

jesus christ, this man was stubborn. not once sentence could leave your lips before he was making demands. he didn't even give you a chance to apologize either. you weren't sure what he meant by his blabbering, which was still going on by now. asgard? was he hallucinating about norse mythology? had you rendered this man insane?

"we're in new mexico! right by texas? are you okay? you seem kind of disoriented. i'm so sorry about what happened, i-"

"my armor! you damaged it with your machine!", he finally looked down at the scratches and missing bits of his armor, eyes widening once more.

he got up from his spot, marching around your laboratory and grabbing at things with curiosity. he eventually came across your globe, reading out the label before gasping loudly.

"earth?! loki told me of this place. that means you're a human," he was mostly speaking to himself before turning to finally direct himself at you, "human. i am mingyu, the god of thunder. you must help me get back to asgard. can you do that?"

you were speechless throughout his entire ransacking of your lab, but even more so now. was this an insane man you were with in the middle of the desert? you had brought him to your secluded lab out of remorse for what you'd done, but now you were alone in the middle of the night with a maniac. a very strong one at that.

"don't look at me like that," he interrupted your thoughts, "i know im not the god your people typically serve, but i still demand your help. you did hit me, after all."

that broke you out of your spell, your niceness peaking out again, "i'm sorry! i-"

"great! so now you're indebted to me," he clapped his hands together, "how shall we begin?"

okay, there was no way you were helping this maniac with his senseless plan, but you needed to think of a sensible way to tell him to fuck off.

"you're mingyu? the god of thunder? why are you reciting norse mythology to me? i cant get you back to asgard. it doesnt exist," okay, not subtle, but it was a start.

"listen, human. your kind would not understand the depth behind my people. you don't believe me? i'll show you."

and with that, he raised his arm, erected and facing to his side as he stared at you directly into your eyes. he stayed like this for a minute before you chose to question him, only to be shushed by him once more, "just give it a minute, human."

it was about three minutes when suddenly a hammer came crashing through the wall, destroying everything in its way in order to arrive to mingyu's hand.

next thing you knew, you were hiding under your table, utterly terrified at whatever the fuck was happening. was he really the mingyu? but those were all a child's tale, were they not? did you truly have a god standing before you, trying to convince you to come out from hiding?

"human, i- im sorry. i shouldve warned you. come out, please? i'll even forgive you for crashing into me. i just need some help," he sounded so defeated, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him, deciding to come out from hiding as long as he put his hammer down, something to which he agreed to with no hesitation.

"o-okay, mingyu. are you- you're real? shit, okay, never mind. you clearly are. but how can i help you? i'm not a god, h-how am i supposed to help you go back home?"

"there's always a way, human. we just need to find an opening. you see ..." he proceeded to explain his entire plan to you, sounding way more intelligent than he had shown himself to be throughout every interaction you'd had with him so far. he was also standing. very. close. it was hard to pay attention when the damage of his suit allowed you such a perfect view at his gigantic muscles. but you needed to focus! you owed it to him to at least try to help him.

the plan had been settled soon after that, agreeing that tomorrow you'd use your 'machine' (re: car) to drive him to a specific spot in which he'd be able to gather enough energy to summon lightning from the sky, which would render him powerful enough to communicate with gandall, who would take him back to asgard. it was too much for the regular person to process, but luckily for him, the person who almost ran him over was a scientist who was very well read on norse mythology.

after that, you had told him he could hit a shower, located in the habitable part of the lab in which you'd stay at sometimes. you let him know you two should also catch some sleep before tomorrow. you offered up your bed, claiming you'd take the couch since you'd caused him all this trouble anyway. he agreed with no argument, making you frown a little at his lack of gallantry.

he came out of the shower soon after, all while you sat on the couch occupied by a book. you heard his arrival, but didn't pay him much mind until doing a double take on him, realizing he was stark naked, with every glorious inch of skin in full display.

"jesus christ! what the hell are you doing?!", you covered your face with your book, extremely flustered at the sight. how was he so bi-

"what? is there no nudity on earth?", he sat on the couch, way too close to you.

"yes! but not like this! you're supposed to warn me beforehand. i-"

"why won't you look at me, human? uncover your face at once."

you weren't sure why, but you followed his direction, removing the book from your face but keeping your eyes closed.

"eyes open too."

you opened them, looking up as to avoid staring at his nether area. although you weren't looking at him, you could tell he had moved to sit even closer, making you anxious about what he'd do next.

"look at me."

you looked down to find him staring directly at you, face at only a few inches from yours. you couldn't help it when your eyes lowered to his lips, noticing him mirror your actions.

"this?" he whispered, "this is what you want?"

it was an ominous and unclear statement, but you still found yourself nodding, too full of a sudden surge of lust to think properly.

he attacked you with his lips, using full force immediately upon kissing you. he was very intense with his movements, almost immediately pinning you down on the couch, an easy feat for a god with his superhuman strength.

you couldn't help how wet you grew almost immediately, having taken a peak at his massive length when he had first approached you on the couch. was he going to put that in you? you were kinda terrified, but also giddy to feel the insane stretch he was about to give you.

you kept keening against him, softly moaning into his lips as he ground his hips against your own, making him groan in return.

"gods, human. you're so fragile ... so delicate. i'm gonna- gonna break you," it sounded like dirty talk, but there was some genuine concert laced in his tone.

"do it! please ... please fuck me," all dignity had left you the moment you saw him in all his naked glory, so any begging was fair game to you by now.

he chuckled, "yeah? pretty princess wants me to fuck her? think you can take it?", he was quite literally dangling his dick in front of your eyes, hands ripping your shorts out of the way as you gasped at the act.

"sorry, princess," he coo'd condescendingly, "they were getting in my way."

he didnt bother to check whether you were wet enough or not before plunging into you, but you had fortunately been dripping for him by then. still, his massive size had you writhing under him, screaming his name to anyone who could hear you from your secluded location.

"oh? now you pray my name? fuck, beautiful human. didn't know humans could be so pretty ..." he was growing delirious at the tightness of your cunt, combined with your much smaller frame. all women in asgard were as big and built as him. this was his first time experiencing anything like this, and it had him rethinking his return to asgard.

'g-gyu ... shit. i'm gonna cum, please!'

he folded you like a pretzel, not caring to conceal his inhuman strength as he pounded madly into you, feeding off your gasps and squeals. you were making him see valhalla.

"pretty princess ... cum for me. let me have yours and i'll give you mine- shit! gonna breed you. gonna come back here and take care of you every time im lonely. g-gonna keep you all to myself. my pretty secret on earth."

the idea of mingyu popping by to fuck you whenever the literal heaven that was asgard became too boring for him had you keening, now grateful you had ran him over as your orgasm attacked you unexpectedly.

you had never felt such a high, almost feeling like you had astral-projected into heaven. mingyu seemed to be in a similar situation, groaning against your mouth as he filled you up with his endless seed. seemed like he was well-endowed in all areas, being a god and all.

"fuck ... thank you for that, human," he thanked you as he got up, at least having the courtesy of helping you clean up, "now i feel kinda bad about leaving."

"then dont," you werent sure why you said that. maybe the high of your orgasm.

"yeah?", he smirked, nearing you once again, "convince me," you noticed his hardness was already back, at a literally inhuman speed.

you weren't sure how you were meant to take him again with no rest in between, but you were willing to take the challenge. you'd worry about how to get the god back to his home tomorrow. for now, you were going to enjoy him while you had him.

a/n: before anyone comes for me, I KNOW this isnt very inaccurate for thor (ive watched the movies too many times) but i wanted to write a short smutty blurb and not go off with too many words so this is what we ended up with

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen x reader #svt fanfic #seventeen #svt #svt x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen oneshot #seventeen smut #svt smut #mingyu scenario #mingyu imagines #mingyu fanfic #mingyu smut #mingyu oneshot #mingyu x reader

[mackjlee9]

Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Male!Reader [Angst&Fluff]

Warning; typical cod violence, mentions of death, reader speaks Spanish, my cod theory for og mw2, code name is night because I'm too dumb to think of something better, reader is kind of a medic for tf-141, medical inaccuracies, kinda messy narrative/plot.

Masterlist.

Hopefully, this is good enough 😬

Ever since (M/n) joined the Task Force 141 team and met the masked man named Ghost, this recurrent nightmare has plagued his dreams, leaving him shaking, crying, and restless for the rest of the night until he felt reassured that no one was hurt.

For months, the same nightmare repeated itself.

They arrive at the site, get ambushed by the enemy, secure the data from the safe house, and get betrayed by Shepherd when the extraction team arrives.

At first, (M/n) would also be killed, along with Roach and Ghost, the bullet wound feeling like a grace when their bodies were set on fire, leaving them there while he hears Price's voice through the communication device in his ear.

But with time, as the same pattern kept repeating itself, corrupting (M/n)'s sleep, he began being able to take control of his actions and rewrite history.

For days- weeks, (M/n) failed to save them both at the same time, and inevitably, he would also end up dying due to the enemy fire, but not this time. He refused to fail again. He was tired of being unable to sleep- of being afraid because of a nightmare.

Waking up from it was painful, and because of it, (M/n) started growing attached to Ghost, always following him around and making sure he was out of lethal danger when out on missions.

Of course, Ghost found that annoying at first, constantly looking like a lost puppy while trailing behind him, but whenever he was having a hard time, be it during a mission or at the base, he knew (M/n) would always be with him, silently taking care of him. He grew used to it even though he knew he shouldn't blindly trust someone so easily.

That night, after getting the intel from El Sin Nombre about the missile, they regrouped and slept for a few hours before starting the mission. Through the whole time Graves was in their team back at Las Almas, he was wary, knowing Shadow Company was under Shepherd's command.

It was dumb really, not trusting his teammates because of something that didn't even happen in the first place. But something about that nightmare told (M/n) to believe it. How? It may have been some parallel universe, his past self telling him to save himself, save Roach... To save Simon Riley from Shepherd's betrayal.

And with that, (M/n) has never trusted Shepherd again, and he didn't trust Shadow Company as they were an added asset to their small team.

And right as he fell asleep, it happened.

Stumbling his way on the grass while holding tightly onto the lone of one of the enemy trucks, watching with blurry eyes how the executions occurred again, hearing Price's voice, telling them to not trust Shepher, hearing the desperation in his voice made tears fill (M/n)'s eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.

(M/n) watched with hatred how Graves poured gasoline on them and as if in slow motion, he saw Shepherd throw his cigar on their weak, wounded bodies. He crawled as fast yet quietly as he could, watching them retreat to their helicopter, and soon as they were out of range, (M/n) ran to them and placed the lone on them, mitigating the flames to prevent lethal burns.

He took off his tactical gear, rid with bullets, and dropped it on top of them, keeping the lone in place with the heavy bulletproof vest, and he grabbed their vests, dragging them to the woods, hiding in the tall grass, being covered by the trees.

Keeping himself low and steady, (M/n) saw and heard enemies approaching before leaving, reaching for his radio, (M/n) tried to put pressure on Ghost's wound, "Captain," he said quietly, helping Roach stay awake, his hand pressing under his vest where the bullet was. He was trying so hard to keep them alive.

"Sergeant! Are you okay?" (M/n) took a deep breath and tried to fight back the tears, he still didn't know if Ghost will make it out of this one alive.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, (M/n) responded back. "I'm okay, but Roach and Ghost need medical attention immediately," with those words, Price called for an extraction helicopter with medics to (M/n)'s position, reassuring the Sergeant that help was on the way.

Roach had managed to stay unconscious and was keeping as much pressure on the wound as he could, resting against the nearest tree and signaling (M/n) to help their Lieutenant instead.

He focused on trying to wake up Ghost, occasionally glancing at Roach to make sure he wouldn't pass out. Hurriedly, he took off Ghost's sunglasses and balaclava, leaning close to his face, hearing and feeling his slow, short breathing, and something in (M/n) seems to have found peace, such a great peace that made him cry.

"Simon... wake up, please, for the love of God, wake up," he mumbled to himself, trying to shake him away, gently tapping his face while leaving his blood-covered hand on his bleeding wound, and somehow, by some kind of miracle, he opened his eyes.

"(M/n)...?" He smiled at Ghost and gently stroked his face, "W-what-? Sh-Shepherd-!"

"Is okay, is okay, he's gone," he softly said, preventing him from sitting up, "Try to stay with me, Simon, c'mon," after that, the incoming pilot needed to know the exact location, so groaning, (M/n) took a smoke flare for his vest and threw it far enough for the pilot to spot, and soon, help arrived.

Two medics rushed out and scouted the area until they spotted the three men hiding in the shadows of the trees. They ran toward them and helped Roach up, taking him to the helicopter while another group of two came out with a stretcher, soon carrying Ghost to the helicopter, and (M/n) followed close behind them, his vest in his hand as they take off.

(M/n) watches how the medics stabilize and clean Roach and Ghost's wounds. Now, he finally relaxes, knowing he changed history...

Even if it only was the history of a dumb, meaningless nightmare that put him through so much pain and guilt.

No one commented on how tired yet relieved (M/n) looked when he woke up, they just got ready to carry on with the mission and stop the missile.

//////

Well, (M/n) kinda wished he wasn't right.

He got off of the back of the jeep as they arrived at Alejandro's base, and he immediately knew something was off.

"I'm calling Shepherd," Soap said turning around and heading back to the jeep, but Graves' words stopped him.

"General Shepherd sends his regards, he told me y'all wouldn't take this well," keeping an eye out for any Shadow soldiers, (M/n) reached his hand to grab his SMG that he left on one of the empty seats, and pretty soon, things got nasty.

With gritted teeth, (M/n) shot a few Shadows coming his way while running to cover. He kept an eye on Ghost and Soap as much as he could, earning him a shot on his left thigh, making him wince and grip tightly on his gun. The bastard that shot him got close to him, trying to finish him, but (M/n) was quick to grip his knife, knocking the weapon off his hands and piercing the skin of his throat with the sharp blade.

He used the man's dead body as a shield and with scary accuracy, he threw the knife at the man that had knocked Alejandro unconscious.

But even if he wanted to help the rest of the team, the enemies were closing in on them, quickly outnumbering them, and they were only left to retreat and regroup somewhere safe.

Ghost, Soap, and he got separated, and left to deal with Shadows by themselves, but it was okay, they were more than capable of that.

//////

Finding a place to rest for a moment, (M/n) took the empty utility belt from his right thigh and used it to put pressure above the gushing bullet wound on his left thigh, ripping the long sleeve of his shirt and using it to stop the bleeding, holding in a hiss at the pain that had begun to numb his leg.

His hearing picked up the sound of static and he realized it came from his radio, and when he looked at it, he realized it was pretty much busted, but somehow was still alive, letting him hear Soap's voice followed by Ghost's, well, at least he knew they were alive.

Groaning, (M/n) stood up from the wet ground and gripped onto his gun tightly, reaching for the suppressor in the pocket of his vest, attaching it to his SMG, and feeling around the pockets, realizing he only had a spare magazine, so he had to make his shots count.

"-A church... RV there-" Ghost's voice was cut off, but at least, (M/n) now knew where to head.

Well, kind of.

He sneaked around as quickly and swiftly as he could, taking out Shadows easier thanks to the suppressor on his gun, sneaking in a few knives kills and staying in the shadows, letting them pass when they were too many or were distracted shooting civilians. 

Every now and then, the static of his radio would get his attention, relaxing him as he knew his two closest friends were still kicking ass. And he heard the smallest bit of a conversation that got his attention.

"Show-... face?" Ghost said, followed by Soap.

"Are-... ugly?" Well, he didn't have to be a genius to know what Soap had asked their Lieutenant.

"Quite- opposite," was all Ghost responded.

And that brought back the memory of seeing his face in his dream, but there was no way, that was just his imagination giving someone he cared for so dearly a face. He has never seen Ghost's face. Not that he cared either way.

But soon after, Shadows started running in the same direction, pulling away injured soldiers, and well, (M/n) put them out of their misery, but he also headed toward the same direction, because the only reason they would attack so aggressively would be because they found Ghost and Soap.

And hearing Shadows yelling 'it's them!' was a dead giveaway.

Limping, (M/n) moved through the houses, finding the quickest, safest way to both of them, seeing as he couldn't exactly run for long, and eventually, he found both of them right as Ghost climbed over the fence of the church.

They saw him before he got a chance to call for them.

"(M/n)!" Soap called him and stood by his side, helping him steady himself.

"I'm okay, Soap..." Ghost looked at them, but they heard Shadows approaching, so they really couldn't stay still for long.

"We need a vehicle, on me!" Running ahead, (M/n) reassured Soap that he could move by himself, and with no need to be quiet anymore, (M/n) grabbed an enemy's weapon and fired back, following both males close behind, "Pick up truck, ahead!"

"I see it!" Soap and he yelled, and while Ghost got on the driver seat and Soap took shotgun, (M/n) got on the back of the truck, keeping every Shadow soldier that got close to them at bay.

Of course, that didn't prevent Ghost from running them over, and that kinda made (M/n) chuckle.

"Get back!" (M/n) heard Soap yell, looking to his right where he saw an enemy falling to the ground, a few more behind him, and (M/n) shot them down since they were shooting at them, and soon Ghost drove off.

The whole ride was quiet, and (M/n) loosened the belt over his wound a little, feeling the lack of circulation affecting his leg, and he still had to take the bullet out, clean, and disinfect it... hopefully whenever they're going will have what he needs for it.

Thanks to the busted glass of the truck, (M/n) heard Ghost and Soap talking about Graves' betrayal, and how Shepherd was in on it right before the truck stopped, the light of dawn slowly illuminating their surroundings.

They got off the truck, and (M/n) winced when he put more weight than intended on his legs, walking past them as they grabbed their weapons and closed the truck doors.

"You can't be betrayed if you never trusted them," he said while walking ahead, soon stopping in front of the structure. (M/n) heard Ghost telling them that this was Alejandro's safehouse, and (M/n) looked at the ground, noticing the pressure plates by the entrance.

Spotting the window as a viable entrance, they made their way inside.

(M/n) stayed outside, keeping guard while waiting for Ghost, just in case.

"Don't move!" The Lieutenant's voice caught his attention, glancing up at him and soon hearing Rodolfo's voice.

(M/n) quickly climbed in with Ghost's help, carefully landing on his right foot.

"Night, que bueno verte," he nodded.

"Lo mismo digo, Rudy."

//////

After coming up with a plan to save Alejandro, everyone was getting stuff ready, and while that happened, (M/n) had found medical supplies and was tending to his wound.

He ripped his pant open just enough to have a better view of what he was working with. He got the bullet out and stitched the wound after cleaning and disinfecting it. He has never clenched his jaw as hard as he did just then, but the skin around the hole in his legs was pretty much numb, so sewing it was easier than expected.

While he was wrapping a clean bandage around it, Ghost came by, observing how he took care of his wound.

"Did you know? About Graves," (M/n) wasn't startled because he heard him walk up to him, so he just looked up at him, trying to maintain a stoic expression.

He couldn't tell Ghost he didn't trust Graves and Shepherd just because of a nightmare of him being shot by Shepherd, he would seem crazy and he needed to have a cool, leveled head at all times in the military, so he just shrugged at Ghost's question.

"No, but it felt... off, no puedo explicarlo, Ghost," he simply looked at (M/n) and nodded.

"Alright, I trust you, Sergeant."

He couldn't help the smile on his face at his superior's words, "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Ghost helped him stand up and (M/n) took the necessary stuff to help patch up Soap's wound, despite having the Scotsman refuse over and over again, saying he was fine.

//////

"I'm out. Watch for me," Ghost left the security room while Soap kept an eye on the CCTV feed, and (M/n) kept an eye out near the door, occasionally hearing Ghost's voice through the communicator followed by Soap's instructions.

A short while after, Rodolfo found Alejandro in solitary, and they followed Ghost's orders of meeting outside the cellblock.

On the way to Alejandro's cell, they were swarmed with Shadows trying to stop them, but to no avail, and they soon got to Alejandro, who almost broke Soap's face if it wasn't for Rudy stopping him.

The way back out wasn't easy either, with gunfire back and forth, they struggled against so many Shadow soldiers, but the sound of a helicopter got everyone's attention.

However, the enemy helicopter was soon shot down by an RPG, followed by Ghost saying Price was there.

They all ran to the wall where Price and Gaz were covering them from the enemy fire. They stood guard and downed Shadows, exploding their vehicles while the ropes were placed on the other side of the wall, and right after hearing Price's order, all of them got down.

In the sheep, Price told everyone what happened with Shepherd, Shadow Company, and the missiles, it was quick and direct, and without realizing it, (M/n)'s fatigue caught up to him, and he fell asleep on the sheep on the ride back to base.

That time, the nightmare was gone, but now, he was with Ghost in the base's infirmary instead of on the battlefield. He was watching over the unconscious male, his wound slowly but surely, healing. (M/n) saw Ghost waking up, and before he could realize what his body was doing, he leaned down to place a soft kiss on his lips, observing his eyes flutter open.

"You just kissed an unconscious person, Sergeant," (M/n) chuckled at his playful words, and he gently pushed his hair away from his face.

"I'm just happy you're alive, Simon."

Damn, he has never woken up as flustered as he was just now, right when the sheep stopped too, realizing he had fallen asleep on none other than Simon himself.

The masked male had been watching over (M/n), gently drying the tears that fell down his face, something (M/n) hadn't realized until Ghost pointed it out.

"The same nightmare?" He said in a soft voice, kinda weird coming from him, but his words made (M/n) remember the first few times he had to deal with that nightmare.

He would always wake up crying and he had to take a breather, walking out of his quarters to take some fresh air, and Ghost found him one time, asking him what was bothering him.

"A nightmare," was all he said, and Ghost hummed, standing next to him under the soft yellow glow of the lamp, feeling the cool breeze touching their exposed skin.

They stayed quiet for a few seconds, until Ghost broke it, "You wanna talk about it?" He asked gently, having a lot of experience when it came to having nightmares. Sometimes, forgetting them was easier than talking about them, but there was the rare occasion when talking about it was better than ignoring those ever happened.

(M/n) looked at him, chuckling when he saw him wearing a plain balaclava.

"No, I'm good, sir," after that, both of them said a quiet good night and went back to their respective rooms.

This kept happening a few more times, especially when he would wake up crying and covered in sweat. He would leave his room and quietly cry while the chill air messed with his clothes and hair, drying the tears that had fallen down his face. Ghost noticed how often this nightmare would make (M/n) up, and the Sergeant only said it was always the same one. The exact same one. So he didn't ask more, he just... stood there until they would leave back to bed.

(M/n) never told him mainly because he was embarrassed, and he thought it was just a bad dream, nothing else. And that brings him back to reality

"Not exactly, it was... a nice dream," he muttered while drying his tears himself, "I'm happy to have you as my Lieutenant, sir."

Ghost looked at him, seeing (M/n)'s eyes shining with something that made his heart race.

//////

This wasn't the first time...

It really wasn't.

(M/n) couldn't help but stare at Ghost with wide eyes when he saw him take his balaclava off.

He looked exactly like the Ghost in his dream, despite having never seen his face before. There's no way...

Maybe... it wasn't just a bad dream after all...

#ghost x male reader #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x male reader #cod x male reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod mw2 x reader #male reader #reader insert #x reader #angst #fluff #.mackjlee9 writes

[darling-i-read-it]

Concussion

Bo Sinclair x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings: the reader is in on the whole killing people thing and she helps them, the reader is caught in a fight, the whole plot is kinda based around bo and the reader going to see potential people to kill rip 

Author’s Note: HELLO BELLA QUEEN I hope you enjoy this, it is unedited and I wrote it all while watching the movie. So there are fo sure some grammatical errors <3 I took our conversation and ran with it fr 

Requested: by @blonde-bombshell-wannabe, MAYA !! (This is Bella on a diff acc) may I request for my babygirl Bo Sinclair! thank you ily queen 

Summary: The reader lives in Ambrose with the brothers. She goes with Bo one night to scare off some campers/frighten them towards Ambrose and she gets hurt. 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

The town of Ambrose was dead. The lonely streets were desolate and smelled of pine trees. The windows, even when they robotically moved, were vacant of any kind of life. The wax museum at the top of the hill was filled with lifeless eyes but they were the closest you had to any kind of human interaction. 

Outside of the Sinclair's. The Sinclair's had enough life in them to fill up the entire town, to drown it with their actions and etch their own marking onto the world. The rest of the continent may be filled with towns that created economy’s but not Ambrose. Ambrose was a secret in itself. It made living there all the more entertaining. There was always something to discover, always something to unearth. 

Bo liked to pretend the whole place was condensed down to the gas station and its immediate surroundings. He was standing behind the counter, finicking with a bolt and screwdriver. He had the wrench between his teeth as he looked down at it, eyebrows knitted in frustration and determination. 

“You see those guys down the road? Twenty miles up south?” Bo looked up to meet the eyes of his brother Lester. Following close behind him was you, causing the door to jingle above your head. Bo took the wrench out of his mouth and shook his head. 

“No I haven’t been out,” he grumbled. “Why? You guys been goin that far?” His southern drawl dipped into a bit of jealousy. 

“Not like that. Just perusing,” Lester explained. “They got a campsite. Like them kids from last summer, the ones trying to go to the football game?” Bo nodded. He remembered. Nearly gave him a run for his money too. Soon after that you came along, running away from life and looking for a new place to set down roots. You stumbled into a town that wasn’t even on the map, knocking on hotels that didn’t have any living owners. Bo found you there, showed you around, decided not to kill you. 

It took you a moment to get used to the way the brothers did things but you had never felt like you belonged somewhere more. 

“Never made it to the football game,” Lester laughed. You scoffed and walked up to the counter Bo was standing behind. You hoisted yourself up. 

“Only one car. We couldn’t make out how many people there was but they didn't even notice that we were there,” you explained. Bo nodded once, looking forward. He met your eyes and you shrugged, gently letting him know that you thought it was safe. He hummed under his breath for a second and then cleared his throat. 

“Sounds interesting. We’ll keep an eye on it.”

“We haven’t done anything in weeks Bo. It’s been a drought out here,” you complained. He kept his eyes on you, looking up through his lashes. He was daring you to push it. You wanted to. Lester let out a dramatic sigh. 

“She knows where it is. Just past the dump site.”

“Yeah yeah.” Bo gave him a nod as a ‘thank you’. Lester raised his hands in a small defensive plea and walked back out the gas station. The bell rang above his head to indicate his departure. Even though there were only four of you in the town it always felt like you all took up so much space. You were used to just being by yourself, walking by yourself, driving by yourself. Vincent had made sure you had defense against anyone that you could run into. You could defend yourself. 

Lester leaving left a large space. 

“Don’t be antsy,” he mumbled. He had gone back to whatever he was working on at the desk. You turned around, craning your neck to watch him. His fingers were dirty with grease, his fingernails permanently black. 

“I’m not being antsy.” 

“You are. I can feel it,” he muttered. He glanced up at you, annoyed, and then backed down. You rolled your eyes and reached forward into his shirt pocket to pull out his pack of cigarettes. 

“You’re tense. Have a smoke,” you joked. He scoffed but you got a smile out of him. You nimbly pulled out one from the pack. He was low. He kept a drawer of them by his bedside until someone made it far out enough to buy more. They were a variety of brands. He had never been picky. 

You offered it to him. He took it, continuing his mock annoyance, and put it between his teeth. 

“You gonna light it too sweetheart?” he questioned, muffled by the cigarette. You rolled your eyes and grabbed the lighter sitting on the desk. You tried it twice and it finally lit. He moved forward to the flame and the end of it smoked. 

“Think on it. I think they’ll be gone by tomorrow though so don’t think too long,” you said. He nodded, putting the smoke between his fingers. You pushed yourself off the desk and walked forward to the door. “I can go without you.” 

He gave you a warning look. 

“What, flash some lights intimidatingly? That’s not a very hard job Bo.” 

“Watch it.” You backed off. You opened the door and stepped out. 

“Yes sir.” 

The bell dinged as you left. 

-

You twirled your car keys on your finger. The sky had just turned into a cloudy overcast as you walked out of the House of Wax. You liked to watch Vince sculpt and he let you sit there, drinking a soda, leaned back in a comfy chair. You walked down the hill towards the church when Bo appeared, wearing his jumpsuit. He tilted his baseball hat down as a hello. 

“What’re you doin up here?”

“Hanging with Vince. What are you doin up here?” 

“Lookin for you,” he explained. “Suns going down. Don’t exactly wanna go with Lester out to that campsite.” Your eyes went wide in excitement. You really thought you were gonna have to go by yourself tonight and that was sure to create an argument in the morning. You were pleased that he had changed his mind or at least, gotten more used to the idea of you tagging along. 

You smiled but other than that, didn’t mention it. 

“We taking my car or yours?” 

“Which one of mine?” You rolled your eyes and followed in stride with him down the hill.

“You say they’re yours as though you didn’t steal them.” “They dropped the car keys on the ground,” he suggested. He gestured to the ground. “Middle of the road. Abandoned.” He shook his head as he walked up to one of his trucks. He had finally gotten around to fixing the front headlight of it and could drive it out again. Not that he was against breaking the rules, he just didn’t like driving a car that wasn’t up to code. Old life habits you imagined. 

You got into the passenger seat. 

“You got a knife?” You gave your combat boots a slap. 

“Always.” 

“Serrated?” 

“Whatever Lester gave me,” you said. “He tried to tell me which one was better but I tuned him out.” 

“It’s good he has hobbies.” He turned on the car and it grumbled beneath you. It sputtered and then came to life. Bo turned the gear forward and then started to drive down the road until it hit the dirt. You watched out of the window as the sun started to fall. You were due a twenty minute drive, more or less, and by the time you arrived at the campsite it would be completely gone.

The trees passed you by in a blur. Ambrose was so far out from everything that you barely could recognize the difference between south and north. If it weren’t all you now knew, you’d never be able to find yourself. 

“You fix that dodge?” you asked, leaning your head against the cool window. 

“Just about. Have to get a couple things from the city,” he admitted. 

“Well it’s a good thing we aren’t paying rent,” you joked. He gave you a half smile, for your benefit. 

“How was Vincent?” he questioned, almost begrudgingly. You shrugged. 

‘He’s good. Working on a new figure.”

“Always,” he muttered. 

“It keeps him sane. We all have our vices.”

“Yeah, what’s yours?” 

“You,” you said, smugly. He glanced over at you, taking his eyes clean off the road. “How about you Bo? What’s your vice?”

“Cars and beer.” 

“Oh a typical southern man.” You pointed up the road. “Take a right up here.” The trees were now casting a dark shadow over the road. The sun was almost completely gone. “Are you armed?” 

“Yeah,” he said. He reached into the glove box in front of you without a warning. You moved your knees, making an annoyed groan that had no heart in it. 

“What’re you looking for?”

“Knife.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Let me help.” 

“No.” He moved his hands over your knees. You were wearing shorts, courtesy of the heat. Though you weren’t sure how long it would last. Had you thought longer, you would have changed before night fell. But that required doing laundry and you wanted to avoid that as much as you could. Your bare knees brushed against his hand. Still greased, rough from the constant manhandling. 

“Bo.” 

“Here.” He grabbed the hilt of a covered knife. “Better for slashing tires than yours.” 

“You don’t even know what Lester got me.” 

“I know this one is better.” 

You drove in comfortable silence for a while more. The music played quietly, some trashy dad rock. He turned it down as you approached, listening for your directions. Finally you came to a rocky stop. He left the lights on. You could hear laughter from your window that was cracked open. The faint crackling of a fire. Fun was being had in front of you. 

“This is my favorite part,” you whispered. Bo turned on the high beams and the laughter came to a slow stuttering stop. You sat up to see their faces. Two girls and two boys. Double dates. Camping trip gone wrong. You could imagine the headlines. 

“Hey! Can you turn off your lights? You’re blinding us!” a voice called, a males. You sat up straighter to see but Bo put his hand in front of you. He gave you a warning look and you stopped moving. You settled into your seat. 

“Hey man!” 

There were more cries of protest. You watched Bo, watched as his face stayed steady. Calm. Focused. 

Then he backed away. He pulled out of the dirt road and back down the street to wait for them to fall into deep sleep. They never followed the truck. You thought about that everytime you sat in it, wondering why they didn’t just walk down the road to see it sitting there in wait. Moments like those made you feel better about what eventually happened to them. Silly humans, making silly decisions. 

Bo parked in the shrouded part of the streets. 

“We really should put some blankets in the bed of the truck,” you suggested. You had taken off your seatbelt and put your feet up on the chair. You should’ve brought a book or something. “We sit here forever. We could take a nap.”

“Bring an alarm clock?”

“Yeah. Now you’re getting it.” He rolled his eyes. He had put his hat over his head to take a nap but you weren’t letting him. He had finally just put it back to its rightful position and continued the conversation. 

“You know what else we could do in the bed?” You rolled your eyes. 

“Alright alright.” You sat up. “How long is this gonna take?” 

“This is why you never come.”

“Because I get bored of sitting here without a blanket, a book or a movie.”

“Stop being childish,” he mumbled. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it easily, blowing the smoke out the window. He started the car. 

“Time?” 

He didn’t answer but he drove out of the spot, indicating that it was in fact, time. 

-

He let you lead. He didn’t usually like to. He wanted to be in control with his smug shit eating grin as you watched him walk around. The adrenaline would kick in when he got back into the car with you and the urge to kiss you was never higher. 

Today he let you do it. He let you do the count, walk around the campsite like a grim reaper with all the cards in her hand. He watched, leaning against the car, as you stalked. 

Bo was clear in his expectations. Check quickly for weapons and then make sure there was no one hiding in the tents when you had driven by earlier. He would grab the part of the car needed to get them to stay.

Your footsteps were light on the dewy grass. The only indication you were there was the moon, highlighting your outline. 

You could feel Bo’s eyes on you as you approached the first of two tents. It had a sheer roof. You could hear the even breathing of two sleeping people. One man, one girl. You were right on the dot, as you had been earlier. 

You walked to the other tent. You wondered briefly what all the fuss was about as you saw the next one also had a sheer top. You glanced at Bo’s outline. The only real indication he was there was the red cigarette butt between his fingers. 

When you looked back at the tent you came face to face with an unfamiliar man. 

You gasped.

It was the loudest thing in the night as you saw a face you had never seen before, tall, broad, scary. You had thought Bo was scary when you first met him but he was nothing compared to this man now. 

He wasted no time and no questions. He threw a punch. 

You hadn’t been prepared for the confrontation and you had no time to retaliate. There was no knife in your hand when there should have been. 

You stumbled back. There was a momentary blindness as you reached forward, throwing a punch that didn’t have a location. You grabbed your nose, which was already bleeding. The man had moved forward for more but you could see something had stopped in. 

A fight in the dead of night was so confusing. It was dangerous and it was blinding. Your eyes weren’t caught up to the movement of the darkness. You were always going to be a step behind fast movement. 

“Come on.” It was Bo’s voice, his hand grabbing your arm and dragging you away. You cursed, hand still over your face. You hit the truck and he let you go to get in your passenger seat. Bo pulled away, tires grumbling under the rock road. He drove quickly out of the scene. For once you were glad they didn’t think to follow. 

“They didn’t see your face. It was too dark.” 

You passed a street light. There was blood all over your hands. 

Darkness. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t hear…” Another street light. Dimmer one this time, like it was about to go out. You saw the blood on Bo’s knuckles as they gripped the steering wheel. 

Bo pulled over when he thought it was safe enough. He didn’t tell you that but you could tell that he had been itching to pull over for miles. He turned on the overhead light and got out of the car. You stayed put as he walked around the front, opening up the passenger door. 

“What’s hurtin?” he questioned lowly. He removed your hand forcefully. The blood trickled down your fingers and onto your lips. 

“My nose,” you whispered. He shook his head, reopening the dashboard. He had napkins shoved in there. 

“Don’t move.” He gently put his hand over your nose. “It’s gonna bruise. It ain’t broken.” You nodded slowly. You felt the natural tears well up in your eyes from the pain and the adrenaline wearing off. You pushed them aside, from fear of being weak in front of Bo. “Fucking hell,” he muttered. “That’s why you aren’t allowed to come along.”

“I can fight them when they’re in Ambrose,” you argued. “I thought they were all asleep. I saw two of them knocked o-”

“Not asleep enough. We should’ve waited, if you hadn’t been fuckin pestering me then we-”

“Don’t blame this on me! I was the one who got punched!”

“And I was the one who had to save your ass!” He backed up, shaking his head. He looked younger in the dim lighting of the dome bulbs. “I’m takin you back.” Before you could protest he walked to the other side of the car. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna go kill the fucker.” 

“Bo-”

“It’s gonna happen eventually, I’m gonna make it sooner. Ain’t no one allowed to hit you and get away with that.” You were still holding the napkins to your nose. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.” His voice was harsh. You would think he was angry at you if his words weren’t so genuine. “Don’t fuckin lie to me.” 

“I’m not lying.” 

“Sweetheart c’mon.” He glanced at you. He took a turn sharply. You were going way faster now than you had been on the way over. You guessed it would only take another five minutes to get back to town. “I’ll leave you with Vincent and you stay there alright?” 

You nodded. You didn’t wanna argue. 

-

Bo came back when dawn came. You were in between consciousness, still feeling the effects of your eventual concussion. You heard him come into the house. The screen door was loose and made noise when it shut. You sat up, hair strayed from tossing and turning. 

You could hear Bo take off his boots. As he walked his steps became more labored. You met his eyes as he entered your bedroom. You waited. 

“He’s dead.” 

“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. 

“You okay?” You nodded. He sat down beside you, swinging his knee up so he could get closer. He put his hand on your cheek, brushing your nose with his thumb as he examined your face. “Bruised.” 

“You said that last night.”

“I wasn’t sure. I’m sure now.” You nodded. He kept his hand on your cheek, making sure there was no other damage. 

“Thanks Bo,” you whispered. He nodded. 

“Don’t fuckin do that again ‘lright?” You nodded back. 

“Scouts honor.” He smiled smugly. He was loopy and tired. He could fall asleep sitting up. He took off his hat, removing his hand from your face. He ran his fingers through your hair. “Sleep,” you whispered. 

“Here?”

“Why not? You saved my life tonight Bo.” 

“You think I deserve a kiss for that?” The smug smile returned. You rolled your eyes and sat forward, putting your hand on his shoulder. 

“I think I could arrange that.” 

He turned his head and kissed you. The morning light seeped through the light curtains of your window. The sunrise promised a new day. You just wanted to go back to sleep. You cupped his cheek, leaning into his lips. You had always known Bo would be a good kisser but feeling it in action was a different story. You pulled away for air and put your forehead against his. 

“Sleep. I think I’m concussed.” He scoffed, giving you a low chuckle.

“Alright sweetheart, scoot over.” 

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair imagines #bo sinclair x fem!reader #house of wax imagines #slasher imagines #black balloons tag

[eisforeidolon]

Sure, the premise of the poll itself is hilarious enough, thinking that after everything they'd been through, Sam accidentally (let alone on purpose) offing Castiel would have any lasting, substantive effect on the Winchesters' relationship [X]. But it's some of the comments that really got me as a fascinating window into just how skewed all the bizarre projective meta desperately trying to create a storyline that doesn't exist has left heller memories of the show.

Times Dean legit offered to kill Sam just for Cass: 0 vs. Times Dean offered he and Sam would try to kill each other for the resurrection of the entire rest of the world which included Cass: 1

Times Dean committed/tried to commit suicide over Cass: 0 vs. Times Dean threw his life away/gave up on life/committed suicide/threatened to commit suicide over Sam: at least 3 vs. Times Dean put himself directly in unnecessary mortal danger/committed temporary suicide for VoTW: at least 2

Times Dean killed someone Sam cared about or got someone Sam cared about killed and it didn't fundamentally change their relationship after the plot arc ran its couse: 2

Times Dean killed someone he cared about for Sam: 1

Times Sam was blamed for getting someone Dean cared about killed while Dean had the KILLYOURBROTHER murder mark of rage and it didn't "heavily damage" their relationship: 1

Like, writing six thousand tons of meta does not actually make Dean's lip service "best friendship" with Castiel his first priority in canon, let alone make him in lurve with Castiel, and certainly not to the point of wanting to die without him. It does not make temporarily killing himself explicitly to talk to ghosts with the stated intention of being right back about Castiel. It does not make the recklessness inherent in that decision magically unrelated to Mary being sucked into an alternate universe and probably killed by Lucifer, Jack's unpredictability and powers, as well as Crowley's sacrificial death for them. Seriously, the amount of scenes angsting about all the other things in that stretch to pretend it's some kind of ~*widower arc*~ about Castiel's death alone is fucking hilariously massive. It does not make his getting killed by monsters suicide, any more than literally every hunt they ever went on was an attempted suicide. Dean is depressed and reckless when the whole world is gone to shit and there's another looming apocalyptic event and Castiel is also dead ... wow, he must lurve Castiel! No, don't you dare remind me of the interlude in the finale where literally nothing else is wrong and he's clearly happy despite Castiel being dead, lalalala can't hear you! Or how much fun he was clearly having at that wrestling match immediately after finding out Castiel was possessed! Or or or. I'm not even going to touch the assertion Dean's relationships to Sam and Jack are fundamentally similar, because ... I can't.

TLDR; no amount of credulous, blinkered meta and reinterpretation alters that the canon directly shows over and over again ...

Times Dean chose Castiel over Sam: 0

#destihellers #shipping goggles of inanity

[ornii]

Can I ask for a Wednesday Addams x Male Reader where he's a normie at the school but when Wednesday finds out Thornhill sent the Hyde after him, she finds him standing over a thoroughly ass-whooped Tyler? Just absolutely thrashed him and his only explanation is 'He found out.'

This Definitely sounds like if a Young Bruce Wayne grew up in Nevermore. Cause prep time of course, but he definitely sounds like a Young Dark Knight.

Her Dark Knight

If there is one thing Normies despise, Is their own fraternizing with a Nevermore student, that is unfortunately how this dreadful tale began. It was at around one year to the date that the death of Mother and Father weighted heavy on (Y/n), as their murder was still fresh in his kind, but unbeknownst to many he began a plot of revenge to take back his life against the one to deal the fatal blow against his family, as there will be hell to pay.

(Y/n) Wayne entered the robust coffee shop at the rain, using a black umbrella he covered himself from said rain, entering the establishment he placed it away and walked calmly towards the counter, avoiding any contact with anyone who would even eye him, he stopped at the counter to Tyler, who was still there, oblivious to his presence; it was until he turns around and gets scared by the sudden appearance.

“Holy!— uh, Hey.” He says sheepishly and (Y/n) keeps a oddly calmly demeanor.

“Hello Tyler, the usual.” He said and hands him a platinum black card.

“Black, two sugars.” Tyler says taking the card and swiping, as he hands it back, (Y/n) notices something from the corner of his eye, a shadowy figure sitting at a table, rather indulge in whatever Nevermore has to offer he takes his coffee and leaves, as he exits back into the rain, his eyes turn to the window and he gets to finally spot the figure, a girl who seems so out of place, Wednesday Addams. His eyes meet with hers for a moment but it was only temporary before he walks off. That was the first time he met Wednesday Addams unofficially. The next time was much more, intimate.

During the Celebration of Nevermore, a statue erected in brass was shown, and funded by the Wayne family. You were unfortunately forced to attend from your butler’s request and the town. Standing there was more than boring it was agonizing. But something really livened up the celebration as Nevermore students gather, an explosion! The Statue itself, the water supply was changed with gasoline and the explosion ignited the statue ablaze, students ran and city officials were beside themselves. You stood there, watching the flames, until your ears catch the sound of a cello playing “Paint it black” so beautifully, turning around you notice who it was once more, Wednesday playing so vigorously. Her attention turns to You, as she sees your body perfectly backdropped by the flames dancing in the background. You knew that she had something to do with it, and you weren’t the only one.

“This is a…very Sensitive situation.” Weems said to you, as you stood in her office arms folded.

“A.. sensitive situation? Someone blew up a statue.. any idea who?” You ask, and Weems tries to save face.

“Well.. unfortunately there is, one person—“

“Wednesday Addams.” You say and Weems stops, coming to a quick realization you already knew.

“I’d like to speak with her.”

“I’m afraid I cannot—“

“You’ve allowed more… unless you want the school itself to pay for the statue.” You respond, Weems was in a deadlock.

“…You get ten minutes.”

“That’s all I need.”

Wednesday enters the room via the Authority of Weems, and to spot (Y/n), waiting.

“Took you long enough to show up.” He says, and Weems leaves, annoyed.

“What do you want?” She said and (Y/n) looks around the room.

“Did you know that my Ancestors, and my father, Thomas Wayne helped fund Nevermore and it’s activities? It’s a well known idea that the Wayne’s are an ally to Nevermore and all it’s Body. So, when one student decides to blow up the statue we’re erecting, an issue arises.. I think you know where I’m going with this.”

“I haven’t the faintest clue of your implications, my hands are clean. I suggest you turn your attention to your own, Normies aren’t always as accepting and vomit inducingly open as you seem to be.”

“You see, I had considered that, Nevermores never been as liked as I wish It was… but you, you stand out as much as you don’t want to, it’s obvious you’re hiding something.”

“And what would give you that impression?”

“I am the worlds greatest detective.”

“You’re a Teenager.”

“.. I’m Nevermores Greatest detective..So.. Ready to tell the truth?” He said, Wednesday stares daggers at him for what seems to be forever. Until she finally speaks up.

“Do you know a man named Rowan who went to Nevermore?”

“I cannot say that I do, why?”

“He was murdered two weeks ago and everyone seems to be under the impression he’s alive, but I have evidence to prove he’s dead and it’s all a cover up, his broken glasses were still there when I returned to where he died. He has no visible injures when I encountered him the next day.. doesn’t that seems suspicious?” Wednesday elaborates the tale to (Y/n) who rubs his chin.

“It’s… Hm.. I See, let’s say I believe this, but why cover this up?”

“To avoid a Scandal, the police and Nevermore are both complacent in the coverup.” Wednesday says and (Y/n) calmly walks up to her.

“Okay, you’ve convinced me, I know Jericho isn’t the best place and unfortunately, I believe they’d do something like this, so I’ll assist you, partners?” He says offering a handshake. Wednesday reluctantly shakes his hand.

“Partners.” She responds, with the deal made, the two depart and the investigation began. (Y/n) assists Wednesday in discovering the truth of Nevermore of Craackstone and most importantly, Tyler and Thornhill, and more importantly just what Tyler was.

(Y/n) awaits in the forest after messaging Tyler to meet him, which he arrives, a bit late.

“(Y/n)” Tyler said and he turns to face him, dawned by the moonlight and forest.

“Good, You’re here…”

“Yeah you Uh, Never really call and I was surprised you had my number.”

“I don’t, I just needed to ask around, and someone had it, thankfully it didn’t take long for you after almost killing Eugene.”

“Yeah I… what?”

“Don’t Play dumb, it was you, it was always you, the Hyde… the same hide that killed Thomas and Martha Wayne..” he says coldly, his voice growing in anger, Tyler’s fear slowly changed to annoyance.

“And you thought that, bringing me out to the forest in the middle of the night was going to help you?” Tyler said and (Y/n) faces him.

“Why? Scared vengeance is going to come and haunt you?”

“No… I get a chance to put the Wayne family in the dirt finally, it was your dad that cut Hyde’s out of Nevermores class, and how my mother ended up.. how she was, I see this is revenge.” Tyler said and (Y/n) watches as he transforms into the Hyde, the towering monsters Lanky and malformed body lurches towards (Y/n).

“Luckily, I had time to prep.” He reached into his pocket and hurls small black pellets, it hits the chest of the Hyde and do nothing, they suddenly bursts and explode into black dust clouds, blinding the Hyde for a moment, he swings the gas away and steps out, and sees (Y/n) running, he gives chase after the young man who’s set traps all around the first, he leaps over one and the Hyde runs straight into a snare, wrapping his leg and hanging him upset down, Tyler swings around trying to figure out where he is, suddenly a punch comes from behind, hitting him in the back of the head, he spins to swing to see nothing there. (Y/n) pelts him with punches and kicks that Tyler can’t predict anymore, one good punch to the throat catches him off guard, he was able to grab (Y/n) and toss him into a wall. Tyler claws the rope to get himself down and sees (Y/n) stand up and run again. He gives chase again to another trap. (Y/n) crawls into a log and Tyler does as well, using his claws to attempt to tear into the log, but what he saw was a small black device, which opens up to a painful high pitch sound. The ringing hits his ears and he reels back, holding his head. The ringing in his ears makes it impossible for him to hear.

(Y/n) crawls on top of a branch and leaps off, he lands on the shoulders of Tyler and jams something into his neck, the Hyde howls and grabs him, and slams him into the ground, he stumbles back as he begins to revert back to a more human form. (Y/n) sits up, and walks over to Tyler.

“An agent to nullify your transformation was hard to make. But it was worth it.” (Y/n) cocks back and rocks Tyler with a punch, slumping him down, he picks him up and begins to Ruthlessly beat Tyler to a pulp, he hurls him into a tree and kicks him while he’s down. Tyler throws measly punches that (Y/n) dodges, and continues his own assault.

“You attack Innocent students… murder innocent people… kill my mother and father, and you plan on executing Wednesday as well! You and Thornhill may be Normies, but your variations on the same egotistical cult are the same, monstrous power hungry monsters who wish to see people die for your own grotesque image… but in the end, all men like you eventually die.” (Y/n) drops Tyler down and grabs a heavy stone, and lifts it above him to crush his skull. Tyler can only laugh.

“Yeah… kill me, prove that you’re just as bad as everyone thinks the Wayne’s are…” he said though a bloody smile, deep angry breaths escape from (Y/n), and he just tosses the rock to the side and knocks him out cold, and hogtied him.

“You’re right, im not the Monster everyone thinks I am… you’re going to spend the rest of your life in prison.” He says, his attention was cut off suddenly by Wednesday approach.

“(Y/n)! I need to speak with you, Tyler—…” Wednesday stopped talking as she saw Tyler on the ground, a look of confusion and, pleasure was on her face.

“I found out and took care of it.” He responds and walks over to her, and hugs her.

“I’m… glad you’re safe.” He said, and for the moment Wednesday was taken aback, and slowly wrapped her arms around his lower back into her own, awkward hug.

“I.. I’m glad too..”

#netflix #male reader #reader insert #wednesday #wednesday addams x male reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #wedensday x you #batman #the batman

[larkspyrr]

chapter viii — deeper than the truth (wc. 4.1k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

NOTE: i made some changes to the last chapter bc im fickle and didn't like it lmfao. you can either reread for the new context or check the tldr i posted on ao3

You had been right about one thing — Wriothesley was not a stupid man.

He was not unaware of himself. It was this self-awareness that had been key to Wriothesley's ascent from the very bottom to the slightly-less-so — to making the most of his station, regardless of whatever Celestia-forsaken obstacles had been thrown into his path. That, and his dogged determination to get there, at any cost, even if he had to fight tooth and nail.

And, by the Archons, he was going to fight now.

He understood precisely what it was that propelled him forward as he rose to the overworld the morning after you left, fast enough that one might think the Abyss itself nipped at his ankles like an angry hound, snarling, snapping. He’d known for a while the name of the beast that curled around his ribs and squeezed , even if he hadn’t been brave enough to yet speak it aloud. He was afraid that to utter it would be to invite it in closer, ever closer, leaving no room in his chest even for breath, for the frantic thundering of his heart. No room for the inevitable break once your arrangement came to its conclusion and you went on toward your future and Wriothesley stayed exactly where he had been all along, fractured but trying to mend.

Maybe he should have named it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have walked away.

He’d known there was nothing more for him to do when you left; that to follow you out would only push you away further. So he had stayed, and plotted out the next course of action he would take, so long as he was able to bide his time until the morning—if what he'd gathered from vague correspondences in Paquette's office was correct.

Paquette was clever, that much could be said. He'd covered his tracks with an almost masterful finesse and it had been a challenge to glean so much as a date from what seemed like mostly mundane communications with Thibeault.

He was good, sure. But Wriothesley was better.

After you’d left, Wriothesley had waited, sleepless, and then allowed himself no more than the time required to dress and make the Fortress’ arrangements for the day before he fled his quarters, not even sparing the bronze doors to his office a passing thought as he blew by.

Wriothesley had never been one to stand down from a challenge, not even those who crash-landed into his life bedecked in pearls and lace and more spirit than he knew what to do with; witty, and kind, and dutiful to a fault; a fallen meteorite from somewhere else, somewhere more.

And Wriothesley would sooner dive into the Primordial Sea and become no more than a ripple in cold waters than let you march to your death. Before he allowed you to throw away your life for the sake of the people you cared about.

Before he let you go.

So he ran, and the hounds howled in his wake.

When he arrived at the stables, half-wild, muscles screaming, his heart nearly stopped its thrumming at the same moment his purposeful strides came to a halt. The sun hadn't even fully risen.

Lucy’s stall was already empty, neither the mare nor her rider anywhere to be seen.

“So she’s accepted the job?” asked Thibeault, bony fingers curling delicately around the handle of the fine china teacup he held — an imported piece from Liyue, hand-painted, and worth more than most of the working class in the Court of Fontaine would see in a year. Thibeault’s mouth was as straight a line as it ever was, but his eyes glittered with something that looked dangerously akin to delight.

As close to delight as a miserable bastard like Thibeault could achieve, as it were.

Paquette, by contrast, smiled; a luxury he didn’t often allow himself, as frugal and dignified a man as he was, but he postulated he could spare himself a moment of frivolity on the eve of his triumph without too great an impact on the perception of his unblemished decorum. A smile would not be remiss, not amidst the host of more secular pleasures he wreathed his lifestyle in; though if you asked Paquette, and you should, they were simply par for the course for a man of his rank, so long as his taste remained staunchly on the side of ‘classy’ and gave a wide berth to the realm of ‘gaudy’, a feat he was loathe to say still escaped some of the peerage—present company very much withstanding, he noted, observing the garish hue of magenta in the tie his companion donned, not an ounce of shame in sight.

Dreadful.

Paquette tutted quietly, sipping his own tea. A custom blend, catered to his very specific needs and preferences. He swallowed thickly. He’d send this one back, as he had the others.

They still hadn’t gotten it right. Clearly, they hadn’t heeded his generous advice that the best mint was grown on Kannazuka Island.

“But of course she did,” Paquette said, placing his cup down on the tea table between the gentlemen. “As I told you she would, my friend.”

Paquette fought back a sneer at the word on his mouth; a cheap lie, but one he had to maintain if he wanted to remain on good terms with the sniveling man across him. They didn’t need to like each other, per se, in order to work together toward a common goal, but he supposed their machinations were easier to architect if there was some degree of civility between them. It would make it much easier to coexist while they awaited their vision coming to fruition.

A vision so very in reach now. Paquette looked quite forward to the privilege of dispensing with the pleasantries and he imagined Thibeault felt much the same.

While Paquette had certainly become adept at maneuvering around the other members of the court over the decades, he certainly hadn’t grown to like it any more than he had at the start. Especially that old bat Vellerot, a man (loosely called) made of little more than wealth and rot.

All in good time.

Thibeault leaned back in his chair, folding two withered hands in front of his stomach, a self-satisfied gesture that might have been reminiscent of a well-fed house cat if he weren’t so serpentine. His lips curled, teeth bared, and Paquette started; it was a gesture far too vicious to ever be considered a proper smile, though it was an effort nonetheless, even if it was as tasteless as the rest of him. “Once she’s little more than a smear in the woods, the rest will become much simpler,” he mused, drumming his fingers against his abdomen, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that made Paquette wonder if it was an unconscious gesture. An appalling lack of composure. “The old man hasn’t paid attention to the world beyond his cups in nigh on a decade, and the two younger ones haven’t got the intelligence nor the fortitude to accomplish anything at all. She would be the problem. One terrible accident and she’s gone. Then the old man drowns in his cups from ‘grief', at least as far as anyone is concerned.”

Paquette hummed. “It also takes that delinquent whelp out of the equation, what with all the sniffing around he’s been doing. He will be utterly shattered at the loss of his love, I’m sure. Might do something reckless.”

“I still can’t believe our luck on that front,” said Thibeault. “Two birds, one stone, as the commoners are known to say.”

“Tale as old as time,” agreed Paquette.

Thibeault grimaced again in that way which was so unlike a smile. Paquette fought against his every instinct telling him to pull back from the frankly upsetting expression.

“The Viscountcy has been wasted on him for far too long,” said Thibeault, and he sipped his tea.

Neuvillette stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands folded primly behind his back, chin tilted towards the rolling sea.

Wriothesley heaved a breath as he approached and the man turned his face towards him.

“Neuvillette.”

“Wriothesley,” said the other man, eyebrows rising ever-so-faintly in surprise and interest. “I wasn’t expecting you. You look flushed.”

“Went for a run,” Wriothesley panted. “Can I have a word?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but Neuvillette merely gestured his chin towards the Opera without a moment’s hesitation and made his way towards the structure. Wriothesley fell into step behind him easily, fighting every cell of his being that was telling him to rush the other man, to urge him to walk faster, Archons damn it all.

He bit his tongue, yet it seemed Neuvillette sensed Wriothesley’s urgency and picked up his pace nonetheless.

Finally, after an eternity and then some, they settled into Neuvillette’s office at the Epiclese; a smaller rendition of his office at the Palais, though no less elegant and organized. It was a bright space, walled in books and ornate masonry, bathed in the light that sparkled off the water just beyond the stained glass windows. It smelled like the sea and romaritimes; a light fragrance that Wriothesley had come to associate with the Iudex over many years of knowing him.

Neuvillette looked over at him from behind his desk, his face kind but eerily calm, a direct juxtaposition to Wriothesley’s own storming, blazing heart.

Wriothesley inhaled. Exhaled. “I’m sorry to impose but this is an emergency.”

“It’s no imposition,” Neuvillette said. “I am at your disposal.”

Wriothesley held the other man’s gaze. “Which Melusine Marechaussee Phantoms are off-duty today?”

You clicked your tongue and pulled, bringing Lucy to a halt just before the clearing Paquette had described came into view. You dismounted her, quickly hitching her to a nearby tree, tucked safely behind a dense thicket. She looked at you, ears pitched forward, eyes restless. You moved to pat her gently on the nose, but she tossed her head away from your touch. You frowned, letting your hand drop back to your side.

The last time she had rebuffed you like that, there had been a hilichurl hiding in a nearby tree.

You would be on your guard. This time, you had the element of surprise on your side.

You tried again, satisfied when Lucy allowed your pat this time, and moved onward alone. The sun was high in the sky, casting the upcoming smattering of tents a warm golden hue as they slowly came into view, a collection of brightly-colored headstones in an otherwise silent graveyard.

Immediately, you missed the rhythmic beat of Lucy’s hooves on the dirt as you entered the soundless clearing. Even the wind, forever a comfort at your back, seemed to hold its breath.

It was empty.

You surveyed the camp with careful eyes. Five tents, hastily constructed, flaps lowered to conceal the interiors of all but one — large, royal purple, dead-center. A table sat in view from within. A fire pit, lush with kindling and several freshly cut logs, though it appeared to never have been lit. A hitching post, though there wasn't a horse in sight. A weapons rack, battered but vacant.

You continued to inspect the area with growing unease.

But then, you saw it. In the purple tent, on the wide table. A folder.

The documents.

Emboldened by the silence of the deserted camp, you moved in.

You did not make it far.

You heard a twig snap from somewhere to your right, and you whirled, your heart leaping into your throat. Leaves rustled from all around, every corner of the clearing, and you heard the sharp crack of a slap, followed by hooves — Lucy’s hooves — barreling away into the wilderness, away and away, until you couldn’t hear her at all anymore.

Slowly, one by one, as though they were visions from a nightmare, men emerged from within the dense brush, cloaked in shadow, smiles jagged and cutting on the faces whose mouths weren’t clothed.

Your thoughts came to you rapid-fire, like bullets firing from a pistol.

An ambush.

They had known you were coming.

This was a trap.

Wriothesley had been right.

Your limbs shook. Your mind went foggy. Your fear was streaked with shafts of other emotions—regret, shame, resentment. Longing.

You shook your head to clear the haze, clenching your jaw, flexing your fists.

You didn’t have time to regret; you didn’t have time to wish.

You would get out of here. You had no other choice.

You had to get back to him.

But you were alone. They had known you were coming. Lucy had been scared off. No one was coming.

You were alone.

They began advancing.

Blades with wicked edges glinted in the afternoon sun as they emerged from the shade of the trees. You clutched at the hilt of your sword, savoring the tiny fraction of power you reclaimed at the feeling of the warm leather against your shaking fingers. Fingers that you found were getting increasingly difficult to control.

You fought to master your breath.

One man stepped ahead of the others, brandishing a razor-sharp rapier in your direction, your eyes following the way it swayed in his loose, unworried grip, light and free as wild barley. His eyes gleamed with profane delight from over the cloth secured around the lower half of his face. You didn’t need to see his mouth to know he was smiling.

“Right on time, my lady,” he sneered, voice reedy and meandering. You had never hated the honorific more. Several of the others snickered. “We’ve been expecting you.”

You met his gaze, willing yourself to maintain your composure as you assessed the situation—two, three, four Treasure Hoarders stood in the clearing with you. They didn’t appear to have any horses themselves; at least, not any that were nearby, so hijacking one to make a swift escape was not an option. It seemed all four men carried various swords; not a bow nor arrow in sight, but that could only help you, as you wouldn’t need to concern yourself with avoiding or deflecting ranged attacks while focusing on the close-quarters combat. On defending yourself from their blows. Looking for an opening to make an exit.

You unsheathed your sword, the metal hissing against the scabbard. You widened your stance, rolling your shoulders, willing your breathing to a slow, controlled pace.

Dozens of lessons swam through your mind and you fought to sort through your learning.

So many lessons. So little to show for it.

Wriothesley’s voice floated to the forefront, a memory as sharp and piercing as ice.

Don’t overthink it, he’d told you, over and over, lesson after lesson.

Muscle memory and instinct are your greatest ally.

Trust yourself.

You tensed, ready to trust yourself, to trust him , even if it was too late, to at least try —

Something slammed into your arm and side and you gasped, your sword clattering away across the rocks and into the thicket. Gone.

“Ah, ah, ah. I don’t think so,” sing-songed a new voice.

A low, feminine laugh warbled from over your shoulder and the four men echoed, reveled in the cruel mockery of it. You felt as though all the blood drained from your body. The edges of your vision darkened in panic, further blurring the tangle where your sword now lay, hidden. Out of reach.

Five. There had been five tents.

The woman slowly made her way around you, inching into your line of sight excruciatingly slowly, playfully, circling around you like a vulture circles its prey before it dives. Her eyes glittered, impish and hostile. She held an enormous claymore in her hands.

She opened her mouth to speak.

Don’t overthink. Trust yourself.

You lunged before she could utter a word.

Wriothesley hurried, urging the mare forward, faster, faster.

The Melusine in front of him froze, going stock still in her place on the saddle. Her shaggy, dusty rose hair whipped in the wind and she placed a tiny hand on Wriothesley’s wrist, drawing his attention to her.

There was another horse barreling through the woods, not far ahead. Chestnut, with an auburn coat. A familiar leather saddle.

A saddle which was empty.

Wriothesley wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. He pressed into the stirrups, signaling his mare to stop.

Lucy, in the distance, slowed her gallop, noticing the new arrivals; darted directly to them.

Trow frowned as the chestnut mare came to a sliding stop a mere few feet away, tossing her head and stomping, hoof to hoof, more agitated than Wriothesley had ever seen her. He hopped off the mare and went to her, checking her over for injuries or any sign of her rider. She seemed fine, if stressed. Nothing on her to indicate what might have happened to cause her separation from you.

“Your Grace,” Trow said abruptly, blue nose wrinkling. Her eyes flicked away from Lucy and towards the denser forest ahead, narrowing in concentration. “I smell something… just over there. Sweet, but bad. Like gasoline.”

Wriothesley’s stomach flipped. He looked ahead at the thicket, but beyond it was utterly silent. Unmoving. He could vaguely make out the trampled shrubbery from where Lucy had emerged. His hand felt heavier than stone against the side of Lucy’s quivering neck.

He flexed his fingers against her, scratching lightly. For her, for him.

“Wanna help me save our friend, Luce?” he asked softly.

Lucy, of course, said not a word; but whether or not she understood what Wriothesley was asking, her gentle brown eyes seemed to agree with the sentiment.

Wriothesley turned his gaze back to Trow.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

She hesitated before nodding shallowly. “I can get by, sir.”

“Go back,” Wriothesley said. “Notify Neuvillette of what’s happened and where we are. I will take it from here.”

Trow's look was long and searching and for a moment Wriothesley wondered whether she would protest his order. But then her worried lilac eyes softened and she nodded once more. Her tail flicked behind her. “Be safe, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley took the reins in-hand and quickly mounted Lucy. He gave the Melusine a small smile. “Thank you. You too.”

He didn't even have to signal for Lucy to go before she was off, hurtling back towards the trees.

Back to you.

Falling back on your months of training in the Pankration Ring was easier than breathing; particularly at the moment, when it seemed breathing had suddenly become very difficult.

You acted without thinking.

You shot forward, swiftly sweeping a leg out from beneath the prowling woman, sending her hurtling onto her ass before she could register you had even moved. She made an undignified squawk, throwing her arms out to try and save her fall, the claymore slamming into the ground, fanning dirt out around it.

The others burst into action, trying to ascertain the best way to subdue you, kill you, you didn’t know, it didn’t matter — you didn’t allow them even a second. You dove for the woman’s claymore, unclaimed at her side, your fingers closing soundly around the hilt before spinning to face your attackers, the new weight unfamiliar and unwieldy in your palm. You would adjust. You had no other choice.

The woman had clambered back to her feet, yanking a dagger from her boot with a vicious snarl that raised the hair on the back of your neck. A lock of dark hair had shaken loose from beneath her hood. Her eyes no longer held any trace of the violent glee they’d had a moment ago; searing rage was all that was reflected in them now.

The masked man dove, rapier swinging in a wide arc towards your side; you deflected it with ease, the clang of metal on metal ringing in your ears as the heft of the claymore easily intercepted the strike.

You adjusted your grip, the shift in weight causing your fingers to slide on the hilt.

Another lunged, sword pointed for your gut. You narrowly avoided impact, sidestepping on already unsteady feet and directly into the range of the woman, who was ready to pounce on your moment of imbalance.

Clearly, subduing you wasn’t part of their plans. And you were sorely outmatched.

You weren’t quick enough.

Swift as a viper, she lashed out, bronze dagger flashing in the sun the only warning you received before you felt its bite. She nicked your dominant wrist, loosening your grip on her claymore—your only weapon—

You dropped it, your hand disobeying your order to hold on as blood dripped down your trembling fingers from the wound on your wrist.

You wouldn’t walk away from this, you realized then, as the claymore fell. No level of skill would allow you to overcome this.

Fool. You were a fool. And you were about to die for it.

You scrambled for the claymore once more—

One of the men sent his boot hurtling into your side, throwing you off course and forcing all the air from your body.

You slammed down onto the rocks and curled in on yourself instinctively, defensively, tucking your legs into your chest before pushing yourself away, away from them; from the threat. You fought to catch your breath, but your lungs and throat burned like ice.

Your back hit the base of a wide tree and you could go no farther.

The woman gestured angrily at one of the men, who then yanked the claymore off the ground. She stalked over to your hunched form, eyebrows lowered.

She flipped the dagger in her hand and squatted before you.

“That’s enough,” she cooed, flicking the tip of the blade across the curve of your neck, softer than a kiss. You felt a sting followed by the feeling of—something warm collecting at the base of your throat. “This is pathetic. It's getting hard to watch.”

She swung her unarmed fist then, and the resulting impact on your head set your ears ringing and your vision blurry. You vaguely made out the sensation of...of being tied, restrained, bound at your wrists and ankles.

You thrashed, but you were too late. You could barely move. Your wrists burned as you pulled. Your head pounded. Your legs would not—could not—obey.

“Get the canister,” one of the men ordered, the words hitting your ears as though delayed—you felt like you couldn't keep up with the pounding in your skull. Another man disappeared into one of the tents, reemerging after a moment with an opaque container in hand.

Your nostrils flared at the familiar smell.

Gasoline.

The woman clicked her tongue, looking down on you. She wiped her dagger on a pant leg, smearing your blood onto the fabric. “Disposing of evidence. Those pesky Melusines. You understand.” Her voice was as casual as if she were discussing the weather or the latest play at the Epiclese. “You know, I had planned on killing you first ,” she explained evenly as the man sloshed the liquid from within the dark canister onto you. You gasped and recoiled, the liquid colder than you would have anticipated, overwhelming your senses as it sank into your clothing, onto your skin. The woman leaned forward, gently taking your chin in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. She stared at you hard for a few long seconds. “But then you went ahead and pissed me off ,” she hissed, pushing your face away roughly and stepping back, out of the spreading pool of accelerant.

You couldn't suppress the coughs that wracked your body as you continued to inhale the fumes, as you continued to fight. One of the men approached you slowly as all the others retreated, a torch lit and flickering in his hands. The sun was still high in the sky; this flame was not meant to offer warmth or illumination.

It was meant to ignite.

Something in you cracked and fell away as you realized... this was it.

There truly was no way out. There had never been a way out.

You couldn't do any more against them now than when you were a child, quivering and confused and helpless. The faces before you were different, yet you had not changed at all.

Powerless.

You had failed. You’d failed your family. You’d failed yourself. And there would be nothing left to show for all your efforts, for everything that you were or could have been but ash and regret.

You wished you had been able to protect them.

You wished you'd been braver when it truly mattered.

You wished you'd been a little more selfish.

You wished… You wished—

Everything went white and chills wracked your body at the sudden onslaught of freezing air against your wet clothes.

The world erupted into chaos—hail and snow and shards of savage, unforgiving ice. Shouting rose from somewhere in the camp, but you couldn't make out who they had belonged to or what was said.

The blizzard glittered beneath the morning sun. You fought not to squint, to try keep your eyes open in the face of the storm to see—to see—

There he was. Wreathed in the torrent of rime and burning frost.

And finally, you breathed.

a/n: title from 'war of hearts' by ruelle

it goes without saying that the ‘updates on saturday’ plan is no longer going to happen lol. im a STEM girlie and my job is very mentally taxing so i don’t always have the energy leftover to write, no matter how much i want to. and tbh then i end up rushing to get something out on time that i’m just not happy with lol

on that note: like i mentioned above, i was still not satisfied with the last chapter so i made some changes and it shifts the context quite a bit

essentially i had 2 paths in my mind for how this could go angst-wise, chose one, heard a loud WRONG buzzer, and then changed it so it is instead the other lmao

aaanyways my b one of these days i will actually have a work finished before i start publishing it (no i will not)

hope you enjoyed xo

#wriothesley #wrio #wriothesley x reader #wrio x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader insert #reader inserts #lark.writes #🌊

[yanderecrazysie]

i love ur yan kokichi omg i need more... plot can be whatever u want go crazy babe

I hope this turned out okay- I decided to mess around a little and came up with this plot. A bit cheesy and short, but my brain isn’t working well.

Title: Frayed Edges of Sanity

Pairings: Kokichi Ouma x Reader

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, Kokichi is a ghost, murder

Summary: Are you losing your mind, or is someone behind all of the hallucinations after all?

“Fighting the fear of fear

Growing conspiracy, myself is after me

Frayed ends of sanity

Hear them calling”

-From “Frayed Edges of Sanity” by Metallica

“So this is the place,” you wrinkled your nose a little as you looked at the decaying house.

A patchwork roof riddled with holes, peeling paint, a generally displeasing aura… that about summed up the manor you were met with.

But it was a house. And it was free. What kind of person would turn that down?

Apparently your great uncle, who you had never met, had entrusted this house to you for some reason. The whole thing seemed like a scam but here it was- an actual place to live. No strings attached.

There was no path to the front door, so you walked through the yard, grass crunching under your boots. The yard is choked with weeds and the grass is turning brown. The entire property is one big mess.

“This is going to take a ton of work,” you groaned. You should’ve known this would be a little too good to be true.

But still, it was a house. Not your tiny, musky, thin-walled apartment or an extra room at your parents’ place. 

You unlocked the door and pulled it open, ignoring the ear-splitting creak it gave you in reply. There was a mirror in the entryway and you nearly walked by it, when something in your peripheral vision flashed in the glass. You took a step back, but the mirror didn’t show what you thought you’d seen.

No dark-haired boy in sight.

You shook your head, banishing the thought from your mind. It had simply been a trick of the light, that’s all.

Your therapist had suggested you keep a journal to document your mental state. Since you were starting over your life in a new home, you might as well start a new habit.

January 8th

Got a new house! Finally out of that awful apartment.

Looking forward to a brand new start.

—-----------------------------------

January 26th

I feel like someone’s watching me. And all night, I hear giggling.

I think I’m going insane.

You put the pen down and buried your face in your hands. Every day, you felt like you were slowly going crazier.

Your furniture kept rearranging itself, your possessions kept disappearing, you kept hearing a voice whispering in your ear, telling you to turn around, only for you to find nothing there. 

You climbed into your bed and pulled the covers up to your ears. You closed your eyes but the feeling that someone was watching you was overwhelming.

You opened your eyes and were met with a pair of purple ones.

“Good moooorning, sleepyhead!” A playful voice met your ears. Your blood ran cold- that voice was the same one whispering and giggling in your ears since the day you walked in.

The dark-haired boy was floating upside down, arms behind his head as he regarded you with amusement. 

“Who… What are you?” You demanded, scooting back on your bed until your back hit the headboard.

“I’m Kokichi Oma,” the boy replied. He puffed out his chest and added, “I’m a ghost.”

“Why am I only seeing you now?” You asked suspiciously.

“Get up,” Kokichi’s grin grew, “Get up and you’ll see.”

He held out a hand to you, but you waved it away from you, anger bubbling up inside of you. He’d been bothering you for weeks, making you think you were insane. 

You slowly stood up, watching Kokichi carefully. He merely gave you a closed-eyed smile and pointed behind you, “Now turn around.”

You obeyed him and, as soon as you did, your entire body froze. 

There, on the bed, lay your body. 

Your eyes were open, unseeing, glazed over with death. Your skin was several shades lighter than it usually was and a dribble of blood had dried on your lips. A knife was driven through your chest, blood soaking through the shirt in the area around the blade.

“I’m… dead…” You stared at your body, realizing only now that you were just a spirit, “Kokichi… what happened?”

“I killed you,” Kokichi supplied cheerfully.

“What?!” You shrieked, “Why?”

“So you could finally be with me,” Kokichi pouted, “You couldn’t even see me while you were alive. But I hung out with you for a while and decided that we should be together!”

“What is wrong with you?” You screamed, “You killed me because you wanted me to be able to see you?”

“That’s not the only reason,” Kokichi said, “Now, I have you all to myself.” Kokichi let out a loud giggle, “If you don’t believe me, try talking to anyone else. They can’t hear or see you.” 

“I’m all you’ve got left.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere one shot #one shot #yandere danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 #yandere kokichi #kokichi ouma

[vacantgodling]

oc kiss week day 3: sunrise

WIP: the chronicles of lathsbury (tcol)

SHIP: clear brightendale (he/him, medic) x forte symphonia (he/him, ranger aka an archer)

SUMMARY: on a quiet morning, forte finally replies to the feelings clear shared with him 4 months ago.

worldbuilding notes: technically this is a spoiler scene, as it happens after the main plot events of tcol's book 1. aside from the kissing, no spoilers are really prevalent though.

It happened on a quiet sort of morning.

It rained the night before, there was fresh dew on the ground in patches of wet earth and grass, and the land smelled of a certain kind of freshness that could only be found in nature. Forte breathed the smell in deep, sitting silently on the small patch of dry roofing that his childhood home had to offer.

It was good to be back, better even than he imagined. Forte was never suited for city life. People were constantly bustling, hustling; there was always an unyielding sense of urgency that was lost on him— an urgency that he couldn’t understand. With so little time with the grass beneath their feet and the wind in their hair; it was as though people were eager to do as much as possible to leave some kind of legacy behind. Piper was like that: brash, fierce, bold, unwavering. Last he heard from her she was almost at the top of her class at the knight academy. The mark she wanted to leave on this world was bright, and it radiated the same intensity. But quite her opposite, Forte preferred these quiet moments, and he was craving them by the time he finally was able to cash in some vacation time with Cameron to come see how everyone was doing back home.

Bass Landing was a quiet sort of place. People knew each other well, and there was never any need for formalities. The community had been supporting itself on the backbone of the arts for centuries, and the familial ties that everyone felt there were too rich, and rooted in history to be broken. Forte grew up amongst his neighbor’s gardens; tall leafy plants teaching him his first lessons in utilizing visage. The river that ran behind the furthest outskirts of the settlement was a tumultuous teacher of the treachery life could bring: almost every year, the River Cadenza brought forth her waves and flooded the landscape. Every year as Forte watched, he began to learn how to predict her near unpredictable nature. It was when he told his findings to his mother that he received his first bow; for he had proven the intuition of a Ranger. It was a test he was never informed he would be taking, but one he was glad he did all the same. It felt too easy to reminisce when he was on the roof like this.

“Up so early already?”

Clear’s voice wasn’t an unwelcome one. He’d shown the medic the way up here when they arrived together two evenings ago, and each morning he would sleepily crawl up the rickety ladder to join him in watching the sunrise. It hadn’t been a whim that Forte asked him home either. After they finally talked 4 months ago, and Clear divulged the true meaning behind his avoidance, they’d been becoming closer than ever.

It was also not unwelcome.

As per usual, Clear drowsily rubbed his eyes and yawned, hoisting himself up the rest of the way of the ladder with relative ease. It was easy to forget the strength hidden underneath his covered arms— a strength that was misleading. Almost embarrassed to admit to it, his mind recalled the moment he realized just how strong the medic was when Clear hoisted him clean over his shoulder like a deadweight that meant nothing to him. He’d called Clear in for a demonstration in one of his classes for the best methods to carry injured teammates away from the Labyrinth or battle, and the class was positively delighted to see it happen. It was also the first time they’d touched each other casually since that night Clear told him and Forte pretended not to notice Clear’s hand flexing in the aftermath, as he was too busy trying to calm his heart’s own shivers.

“It feels like you keep waking up earlier and earlier to test my devotion.”

Forte quirked a small smirk. “Maybe I am.”

The medic laughed, quietly but brightly, and the sound was personified sunlight. The first few rays of the sun were beginning to peak out over the horizon, and Forte looked over to Clear as he got settled in, scooting over slightly so they could somewhat share the small patch of dry roof. They were close enough their shoulders touched.

“You won’t get rid of me that easily, Fort.” Clear sighed, a happy sound, then he dropped his head unceremoniously onto his shoulder, leaning into him instinctively. And just as instinctually, Forte found his arm sliding out and snaking around Clear’s trim waist to support him.

They said nothing for a long while; the silence was comfortable, both more than willing to bask in the sunrise and the other’s presence than fill the silence with unnecessary chatter. It was one of the many things Forte came to appreciate about Clear. Though when he got worked up his mouth ran a mile a minute, he was truly a man who appreciated silence. Often, he’d seen him in various places around the Guild, meditating, humming softly to himself as he did. It was a few weeks ago that Forte had been invited to join him, and what he thought was humming before seemed to be some sort of invocation or a prayer:

♪ Blessed be those who follow Her Blessed be those whom She guides My soul worn and weary from life Has followed Her to great divide ♪

“And when my time has come, O She,” He heard Clear whispering to himself, as if on cue with his memory. “Comforter of those benign Will take me home to Cerullis And my heart Hers to hide.”

“Where did you learn that song?” Clear hummed again, this time noncommittal. He didn’t answer right away and Forte didn’t push him— with Clear, facing his demons and uncovering his past was something that took time, energy, and patience. Forte had time.

“We used to—” Clear cut himself off, thought, then started again. “It’s a song sung before hunts to remind those participating to be unafraid. Death is not here to hurt, but to guide away to the promised land.” Clear finally looked at Forte, his eyes surprisingly calm. “I still sing it because it reminds me to be unafraid.”

“Is there something you’re afraid of right now?” Forte asked, and Clear chuckled, softly. “No. Not at all. It just brings me comfort.” Clear nestled back into his chest without another word, and Forte let his hold tighten around the medic.

When the sun’s rays were fully visible, the sky turned a brilliant shade of blue, and Forte looked over at Clear again. He was nodding off again, and the sun’s light was perfectly positioned just right so that he could admire him. His lashes were long and dark, fluttering like butterfly wings over his half visible purple eyes. His hair dropped in front of his face like, casting delicate shadows over his cheeks and nose. His lips were plush, slightly parted, enough to see the beginnings of his teeth. Forte was overcome with the overwhelming desire to kiss him. It was becoming harder not to these days.

But in this quiet moment, in this sleepy town, with a gentle breeze blowing across the expanse of the trees, up his roof and through the hair of his companion, Forte felt his heart swell— in a way he hadn’t felt in ages.

“Clear.” The medic sleepily opened his eyes, rubbing them on the back of his knuckle. “Oh! Sorry, did I fall asleep on you?” He began to sit up but Forte’s grip on his waist tightened, giving the other man pause. He looked at him questioningly. Somewhere in those bright, searching violet eyes, Forte saw poorly disguised hope.

“I love you.”

The wind blew Forte’s dark hair back from his face, and he watched the myriad of emotions morph on his companion’s face. He stayed perfectly still, letting him process it. His heart was a painful drumbeat against his ribs.

“You…. Mean that?” Clear finally settled on. He looked nervous—hopeful, but nervous. Afraid it was too soon. Never that it was a joke. He knew Forte would never joke with him like this. Not after what he said before.

Forte’s smile was soft, his eyes crinkling at their corners and genuine and something like a tidal wave crashed into Clear’s body that made it very hard to breathe. He didn’t say anything else, afraid of breaking whatever spell the two of them were under, with Forte looking at him like some immeasurably precious thing, and Clear too stunned to believe it was him he was looking at. But Forte broke the moment; he leaned in, and pressed soft, if chapped, lips against Clear’s own.

Kissing Forte was overwhelming, in the best way. Clear slowly let himself reply, pressing back gently, letting his eyes slowly fall closed and his arms slid up his firm chest to pull Forte closer. He went. His other arm came around to rest on Clear’s waist, and he tilted his head, letting the kiss fall deeper.

Clear smelled of lavender and fresh linen, and Forte felt intoxicated by the way lithe hands slowly climbed into his hair, tugging gently, but purposefully. Forte licked gently at the lip pressed against his, and Clear easily opened his mouth, and their tongues slid languidly against one another— enough to hint at an underlying desire that they would perhaps explore later. Much later. For now, it was enough to prod, to acknowledge, to taste, to slowly savor.

Forte slowly pulled back but didn’t stray far, and watched reverently as Clear’s eyes fluttered open. Their foreheads touched together gently, and the sun climbed higher in the sky, illuminating them.

“I love you too.” Clear said softly back and Forte smiled again, rubbing a thumb against his cheek and letting the warmth of the new morning envelope them in its embrace.

It felt like a new beginning

#ockiss24 #s: tcol #ren writing #this is a cheat cuz i wrote this 2 years ago but it just so perfectly matches sunrise and i don’t think ive ever posted it SOOO #it’s only fitting that this gets posted valentine’s day tbh

[nilsavatar]

PHOENIX

Status: PROLOGUE (0/?)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Parings: Neteyam x Fem!UnknownOriginsNa’vi!Reader

Genre/Warnings: ANGST, sorrow, mentions of nearly death, romance, adventure, soulmate love, destined lovers, possible suggestive content NSFW/MDNI later on, no use of Y/N, clans never seen in films yet. All characters are AGED-UP.

Summary: During the battle with the SeaDragon, gunfire struck Neteyam’s heart. A mortal wound that heals itself under the astonished eyes of his brother, as if the Great Mother still did not want him with her. She has other plans for Toruk Makto's eldest son. 

Nevertheless, his body is weak, and he falls into a slumber from which he can no longer wake up. His vital signs are stable, yet Neteyam is slowly slipping away.

He is waiting.

Waiting for the girl who has been appearing in his dreams since he went into a coma.

Sneakpick on the fem protagonist: Mi'niri is a Na’vi of unknown origins and singular appearance: very fair skin in shades of gray with desaturated stripes, auburn hair, and pearly irises with pale magenta highlights. She is raised within the Tawkami Clan by a couple who have never been blessed with a child. Her parents are held in high regard by the entire clan as skilled scholars and chemists. It is suspected that Mi'niri is originally from the Kekunan Clan, although she doesn’t share their somatic features, as she was found as an infant in the border area between the two clans and wore a bracelet on her wrist made of the typical garish colors of the Kekunan. She also had a toy ikran in her cradle, usually used by the clan as an educational tool. Mi'niri is sharp and intelligent, very curious about the ecosystem and an animals lover, but she never fully integrated among the Tawkami despite the peaceful nature of the clan.

Author's note: The idea of writing something related to Avatar TWOW has been floating around for a while now.

Like so many of you, Neteyam's death left a bitter taste in my mouth, so I started fantasizing about an alternative ending where the Prince of the Omatikaya overcomes death.

And, again, like so many of you, the anticipations about the Ash People gave rise to so many ideas that, alas, I can no longer ignore.

The story in question, although it has a plot already outlined, is still in the early stages of writing, to the extent that it doesn’t have a definitive title yet. And for this, I ask for your kind help.

Even if this is my first post in a very long - too long - time I hope you'll like it.

If you want to be tagged in the next posts, just write it in the comments. I’ll gladly add y'all💕

Masterlist - Request a fic

PS: I'm not a native speaker. Therefore, at times, my choice of style and vocabulary may be odd. Nevertheless, chapters will always undergo proofreading before being posted.

Let's cut to the chase and enjoy your reading! 

PROLOGUE

The thunderous rumble of rain pelting the ground. The violent howl of the wind shaking the trees.  The desperate cry of a woman blended with the growl of a wounded animal.

Then nothing more.

Only the quietude of the eclipse and the reverberation of that roar fading into a wail.

Acala awoke with a start. She rarely dreamed, but never was there a dream that was so full of sorrow that it kept her from getting any rest. It was so vivid, so authentic. So vibrantly real. A choked sob betrayed her, causing an abrupt jerk by her side.

“Are you okay?" firm fingers held her wrists in the faint dimness of the night. She turned, her sight lost in keeping track of the glowing freckles that speckled that much-loved face. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but she could surmise the look on his face. His weary voice left no doubt; full of concerned, yet reassuring.

Minute shudders ran through her body, prepping her lungs to vent air in muted whimpers, before they descended into weeping.

“Hey, hey,” strong arms cocooned her, tenderly stroking her back with one hand, while smoothing her unbraided hair with the other. “Shhh, it’s alright. You are alright. It was just a nightmare.” “No!” she gasped against his chest, “We have to go. We have to go now!” “... Go where?” "With conviction, she affirmed “Into the forest!” as she fiddled with something. “Acala, you’re upset. Go back to sleep, it’s the wee hours,” he asserted, not in the least bit fazed by his mate’s irrational behaviour. She was all too familiar with such happenings after -- “Hurry up,” she insisted with more fervor. 

Now that the woman had lit a torch, he could watch her closely. Slender fingers on the shoulder strap, her expression showed a seriousness and confidence about the terrible thing to come.

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” “They will die if we wait until tomorrow.” “Who--?” “Trust me,” she stoned, staring him straight in the eye in that peculiar way only she had, “Please.”

He couldn’t win against those eyes.

As they reached Greenhouse entrance, a voice called Acala. A gaunt figure emerged from the darkness; finely woven beads veiling her abdomen tinkled with each step. “Tsahìk,” she winced, “Oel ngati kameie (I see you),” she greeted, bringing two fingers to her forehead, right in the middle of her eyes. Her torso bent in reverence as those two fingers drew an arc in front of her. The old woman flashed her a smile, her gaze was affectionate and sympathetic, but bothered by the evident wrinkles. “Go, child,” she granted simply, releasing some of the tension that stiffened Acala’s posture.

Approval. The proof that what she was doing was the right thing. That what was occurring was actual and not a fabrication of her mind. For Eywa had also whispered to the one who interpreted the Great Mother’s decree.

“Fulfill your destiny.” “I don’t know in which direction.” “Nawna Sa’nok (Great Mother) will show you the way. Listen to her voice.” Her eyes, of a bright yellow with green around the pupil, met Sílron’zem’s, “Stand by her and be prepared”. “Prepared for what?” the frustration now impossible to control, despite being before the elder. “Providence can appear in enigmatic guises and its gifts may be found in the oddest of places. Yet a blessing must welcomed with an open spirit in spite of the fear.” “Blessing? What blessing might be concealed for us in the heart of the forest, when predators are at their most active?”

In stark contrast to expectation, Sílron’zem was unafraid of the forest. He ventured into the lush greenery of Eywa’eveng (Pandora), eager to absorb her absolute magnificence. He had undertaken such a journey as his calling, to which he had dedicated himself with every fiber of his being, regardless of the risks. But something in him changed upon meeting his mate. A compassionate and talented woman with a vocation for looking after children. However, it never attained her greatest longing. 

The desire for motherhood.

A sense of incompleteness devoured her. What was once an exuberant girl, thrill-seeking and inquisitive, has dwindled into a mere shadow of her former self.  The whole village provided her with aid in confronting the unfathomable sadness that overwhelmed her. A sort of inexplicable melancholy. The nostalgic and poignant suffering of a mother whose child had been torn from her arms. How could you miss something you never had? It was something Sílron’zem couldn’t get, not entirely. He couldn’t grasp the feeling of being denied the purpose of a lifetime, the path you had mapped out for yourself. And surely, he could not estimate the magnitude of the damage caused by an anomaly no one else had undergone before. It’d never happened a couple united by tsaheylu didn’t beget offspring, their own palpable evidence for the continuity of the clan. The Tawkami were shaken to its core when this impossibility had befallen on the very person who most deeply wished for a family of her own.

Amidst the grief, rage was also present.

Why?

Why did Eywa mould Acala to be a mother if she had no intention in making her one? Why did Sílron’zem have to stand there still, witnessing the love of his life turn into an empty shell?

Finally, one last thought crept into his heart. If she ached so immensely over the loss of a baby she never had, what would happen if she also lost her mate?

Frightened, the man resorted to a drastic shift in his scientific pursuit. Explorations no longer held the same intrepidness they once did; he stopped staying away from Greenhouse for several days. He wouldn’t expose himself to danger anymore, so he would take better care of Acala.

He was willing to sacrifice everything for her, to make her beam with joy once more, to bring back the sweet smile he was so fond of. And now all his efforts were about to be in vain. Not only did his wife have a sudden urge to plunge into the forest, at night, under the threat of predators, Tsahìk was encouraging her. No matter his high regard for her, she had to give him a valid reason to go along with this madness.

“To become a father.”

Heavy raindrops pelted the leaves that sheltered them. The soft purring of a guarding animal. The distressed gasp of a terrified woman. The rustle of a bow ready to shoot.

The txumre' (slinth) snorted irritably, as if to rebuke them for their tardiness, before leaving.

@cinetrix

#neteyam x reader #neteyam #avatar the way of water #no use of y/n #reader insert #aged up characters #angst #ash people #metkayina #metkayina clan #neteyam x oc #sully family #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar twow #avatar fanfiction #avatar fic #sully x reader #neteyam fanfiction #neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan #neteyam x na'vi!reader #neteyam x you #loak sully #lo'ak fluff #kiri avatar #kiri x you #jake sully #neytiri #atwow #soulmates

[starlightsearches]

As soon as I saw your Cherry Pie/Eddie tags I RAN over here to beg you to PLEASE write something for it 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Pour Some Sugar On Me

hey bestie!! can't find the original post that inspired this because tumblr's search feature is literally evil. I think the original post was about pour some sugar on me, but I kept it ambiguous. this got very carried away from me, and i'm sorry for the wait. i hope you enjoy!!

✨ requests open for my 2k celebration ✨

Eddie Munson x Stripper! Reader

Warnings: NSFW-ish, language, smoking and drinking, no mentions of s4 plot, Eddie is inexperienced and awkward, stripping, lap dance kind of (it's mostly just grinding), i do not know how 80s strip clubs worked, and i think that's it! let me know if I missed anything 💖 comments and reblogs are always appreciated 🥰

Eddie snaps his fingers against his driver's license, letting the plastic thwack it makes fill the deserted parking lot. He's looking at the birth date printed right below his goofy-ass picture, the numbers 1967 dark on the front.

Unlike most of the IDs he's had in the past, this one is real. And his.

An honest-to-god twenty one year old, although he's never felt more like a kid. Eddie smiles humorlessly, slipping the card inside his wallet.

Happy birthday to me.

He leans his shoulders back against the rough brick with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, watching the neon sign at the edge of the parking lot flash blue, then yellow, then white against the cracked pavement and the weeds that grow there. The building itself isn't that special—just a brick box without windows—but the sign caught his eye, driving around the back roads of whatever fucking town he's in.

He was hoping to find a bar, maybe drink his first legal beer before crashing on the mattress in the back of his van. Then he saw the sign.

Heaven's Door. Gentleman's club.

No gentleman have gone inside, as far as Eddie can tell—just drunk truckers with deeply lined faces stumbling in and out every hour or so, and some locals who must visit often enough that the bouncer doesn't even ask for an ID.

Fucking stupid. He rolls his eyes at nothing, taking the keys from his back pocket with shaking hands.

His grips not good enough, fingers all clumsy with anticipation and fear. Eddie flushes red, embarrassed like he's got an audience as the keys hit the concrete with a metal jangle, cursing himself under his breath. Before he can reach for them, they're swallowed up in a triangle of yellow light.

There's a crack in the door beside him when he turns to look, the one he had assumed was an emergency exit. There's no sign of an emergency inside—no screaming or gunshots or thick, roiling flames. Just a pretty girl with wide eyes and a jacket about a million times too big hanging all the way down to her thighs.

It's been a while since Eddie's seen a girl, besides the nice old ladies at the diners he goes to for every meal. He could charm any of them without breaking a sweat, have them fawning over his easy manners and cheeky smiles. Sometimes he even got free dessert out of it.

He wishes he could find some of that fucking charm now.

"Oh."

Eddie's got nothing to say in response, making heavy and prolonged eye contact with your bare knees through the lines of your criss-crossy tights.

He snatches his keys from the pavement and stands, running a hand through his hair, but his fingers get caught in the tangles. Maybe Eddie should just cut his loses and run, but his feet won't carry him anywhere.

"Oh,"—his hands aim for his pockets and miss, leaving him arms hanging at his sides all lanky and awkward— "Uh, hi."

There's this journey you're going through—Eddie can see every mile of it on your face. You look at him with hesitant eyes, taking in the sneakers and the jeans and the frizzy hair and, he's sure, his deer-in-the-headlights stare.

The outcome to your mental math must work out in his favor, because you smile at him.

"Hi,"—your smile doesn't go anywhere, just bleeds into your voice until your words are all tinged honey-sweet—"are you waiting for someone?"

Eddie knows he's kind of dumb, but he gets what you mean. You gotta be able to tell that he's not that kind of guy—the kind that girls tease and flirt with and, you know, wanna fuck. Especially not girls like you. He wonders if you can see it written on his face, if the freak label followed him all these miles from Hawkins just to hover over his head, blinking like that fucking neon sign.

Eddie's also wondering if you came out here looking for a guy who was supposed to be waiting for you. And then he swallows down his jealousy like bile.

"What? Oh. No, I just—"

You let the door fall shut behind you, cutting off the light like you've cut off the end of his sentence. You just look up at him through your lashes, reading all his thoughts like they're printed across his skin.

It's been a long time since Eddie's seen a girl. It's got him feeling all kinds of strange.

He watches your steady fingers as they reach inside one of the jacket pockets and pull out a pack of Marlboro Reds, and you watch him. Eyes a little sharp and curious, traveling his features as you slip one of the cigarettes from inside, placing it between your lips. He takes another from the pack when you offer it, hoping you won't notice he's trembling.

“So," you mumble the word around the end of your cigarette, holding the end over your lighter's flame. You let your shoulder blades fall back against the brick, stripping him naked with that same stare, "if you’re not a perv, and you’re not waiting for somebody, what’re you doing back here?”

Your fingers brush against his palm when you pass him the lighter. It's just skin against skin, but that's not the way it feels traveling across his palm and up his wrist, giving him some kind of jittery contact high.

The first words that come to mind are the ones that tumble from his mouth.

"Who says I'm not a perv?"

He lets his head fall back against the brick, just hard enough to set in an ache. Jesus, Munson, get better jokes.

You roll your eyes at him, unphased. "Please. I can spot a perv—occupational hazard."

You wave a hand at the building behind you, and then give him this look. A look that says you can't hide from me, so why even try?

Maybe that's what has him reaching for his wallet, sliding his license from the little clear pocket. Feeling like you've already seen past any front he could put up, so he might as well show you the rest of him.

Or maybe he's just really, really lonely.

You take the ID when Eddie holds it out for you. He lets the little plastic square fall out of his line of sight, staring down the gravel by his shoes, digging the toe against the asphalt.

It's quiet in the parking lot, just chirping crickets occasionally interrupted by a muffled beat whenever the main door opens around the corner, and your soft breathing when you nudge his shoulder with your own.

"No shit. Is this real?"

Eddie nods, letting some smoke out of his nose. The cigarette's relaxed him, or maybe it's just that he's given you something else to look at, something to take the heat of your eyes off him.

Your thumb pets over his picture, gentle, like you're afraid it might smudge. "Edward, huh?"

He flushes. "Eddie."

"Eddie," you repeat. He hopes you'll say it again. He's starting to feel the night air through his jacket, but he thinks he could stay out here all night if you just kept saying his name.

He's still soaking in the glow of it when you gasp.

"Wait a second,"—you put your hand on his arm, denting the leather with your grip—"oh my god is it-?"

Fuck. He didn't think you'd notice. "Oh, yeah. I guess it is."

Eddie's gonna tell you that it's not a big deal. Tell you he's gotta get up early and so it's time he heads home—without mentioning that his home is the back of a van and the only thing he has to wake up for is another day of driving until his tank runs out.

But you're already tugging him around the corner.

"Oh my god, you have to have a drink with me!"

"Uh, I don't think-" but Eddie follows you anyways, even though he protests, taking little stuttering steps all the to the door.

"Hey Sal," —you're talking to the bouncer, passing his license over with your free hand—"my friend Eddie's looking for a drink."

Sal's bigger and burlier than he ever looked from Eddie's vantage point around the corner, but he smiles at you sweetly from behind his big, bushy beard.

"Having a good night, honey?"

Eddie swears you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "I think I'm about to."

Sal glances at Eddie's ID and passes it back without any comment, just an amused look on his face. Eddie feels like telling him I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know what I could have done to end up here.

The more he looks at the bouncer, the more he feels familiar, just a little. He kind of looks like Uncle Wayne, with the little lines at the corners of his eyes.

He can almost hear his uncle's voice, saying who cares how you got here, son? Enjoy what you can while it lasts.

And he never really thought he'd live to see his twenty first birthday.

You've still got his hand in yours when you brush past the beaded curtain hanging in the doorway, rattling pleasantly behind him when you drag him through.

It's not as bad as it could be. You'd think a small-town strip club would be sleazy, or run down, but Eddie doesn't feel any of that. It's intimate with the lights low and the thump of the music from the speakers. Men sit around at circular tables, watching the girls dance and drinking beers, the glass bottles shining with condensation.

Eddie barely notices the girls though. Your hand is soft against his own, warm, and he's afraid you might notice how sweaty his palm is.

You deposit him at one of the stools in front of the high bar, letting the bartender know to treat him right until you're back. He's already sipping from his second beer when you're back at his side.

"Hey there, birthday boy."

He's feeling the drink already, and the atmosphere, and the anticipation of you and your smiles, so he'd like to say something funny—finally feeling like he could get you back for all the teasing you'd done back in the parking lot. Then he gets a good look at you.

"Je-sus Christ."

He almost chokes, hand pressed to his chest like you're gonna give him a heart attack, because that's how he feels. Looking the way you do—tits barely covered by thin, barely-there fabric, and those little criss-crossy stockings stop mid-thigh, topped with little bows.

And everything else—besides the little triangle between your hips that he doesn't even dare look at—is bare skin.

"You okay?"

You're laughing at him again, but he doesn't mind as much this time because your tits are jiggling, and he's staring and you don't say a word about it.

"I'm fine," he manages, "you just surprised me, sweetheart."

That's gotta be the alcohol talking. He wishes it would shut up.

Until you slide in closer, arm brushing against his now that he's slipped out of his jacket, trailing goose bumps over his skin when you fiddle with the chains at his wrist.

"So, birthday boy,"—you glance at him through your lashes—"you wanna dance?"

Fuck yeah, he does. But Eddie's trying to play it cool, trying not to ruin something he shouldn't even had a chance at. The words to unlock that door aren't coming to him, though.

You're more worried about rejection than you've let on. You drop his gaze, sliding your fingers from his skin.

"Or I could get one of my friends to do it, if that's what you're looking for."

You're talking about the girls on stage, gyrating to the music while they're showered with dollar bills. He's hardly looked at them. Too busy waiting for you to come back.

"No," he's shouting a little bit, before he manages to get a hold of himself, "no, definitely not. I—uh—yeah. Let's- let's go."

You take his hand, guiding him over to a more private area and pushing him into a seat.

Eddie lands with a little huff. It's too bad he let all his air out just then, because there's no way for him to breathe when you pet your hands over his shoulders, hovering just out of range of his lap.

"Any requests for a song?"

You slip in the tape he asks for. He's met with gritty vocals and a flood of guitar, the blood rushing through him laced with adrenaline. He'd heard the song on the radio a few months ago, at a second-hand store somewhere in Kansas. It had taken him a few days and a handful if miles before he found a copy of the album for himself.

And there were a lot of songs he liked, but this was the one he'd worn the tape down for. This was the one he played when he was feeling a different kind of lonely, the kind he'd never get used to. He'd lay on the mattress in the back just right to avoid the squeaky springs, the rough scrape of denim over his thighs.

All those nights, he realizes, he was picturing somebody who looked a lot like you.

He feels your weight in his lap, your arms wrapping around his shoulders. So solid against him because you're not a dream this time around.

You cut right to the chase, grinding down against his crotch and his whole body jolts at the contact. It's not like Eddie's masturbation habits were that healthy before, but all the alone time he has now definitely didn't fix that. Plus, he doesn't have to worry anybody hearing him parked on the side of some highway.

So he lets out a noise at the feeling, and it's louder than it should be—a guttural grunt he can't catch behind his teeth.

"Sensitive?" you whisper, right up against his ear. You've collected his stringy curls in one hand, lifting them up off his neck and tugging just a little. His breaths are coming out sharp, but he manages an answer.

"Yeah," he mumbles, cheeks flushed, his chest hot and tingling where he can feel the press of your tits, "guess I am."

You lean back, just enough he can see you smiling at him. "Don't worry, honey. I like that."

Your hips move sinuously against him in time with the music, just watching him with wide eyes and wet, parted lips.

"F-fuck, that feels good."

Eddie's eyes roll back, his neck barely able to support his head with the way the rest of him has tensed, thighs and core tight because he really doesn't wanna cum in his fucking jeans right now.

"Yeah?" you ask, leaning in close to his taut neck, hot breath caught in the little drips of sweat on his skin.

You scratch your hand down his shoulder, take hold of his middle finger before dropping it against your bare thigh.

"You can touch me, Eddie."

He's pretty sure that's not allowed, at least from what he's heard. But nobody's rushing to stop him when he grips your thighs hard enough to dent them. Eddie's starting to think that this isn't an average lap dance.

You flip around quick enough he can't miss the feel of you too much, your ass pillowy against his cock, stiff in his jeans. But the real excitement is in your hands, guiding his up over your torso, collecting body shimmer as he goes, rings snagging on the fabric. You stop him right over your perfect tits.

"Holy shit."

He tries to whisper to himself, but you're right there, laying your head back on his shoulder, biting at your lip while he massages at your breasts.

He wonders if he's doing this right, until he can hear your soft, little moans in his ear. And that's better than any fucking song in his collection.

The music is gone. He's not sure how long ago you noticed, but you haven't pulled away from him yet—still bumping your hips against his just to feel him twitch.

Eddie clears his throat before he speaks. He feels like his voice is gonna break.

"I don't- I've got cash in my car," he says. It's not enough for what he got, but he'd give it to you anyway.

"Don't worry about it. It's on me."

His hands slip down from your tits, resting at your waist instead. Eddie doesn't want to stop touching you, but he's gotta take care of the situation in his jeans ASAP.

You've gotta feel his urgency, because you're still moving against him, long, slow strokes of your hips that would barely be noticeable if he weren't ten seconds away from bursting.

"You know, my shift ends in like, twenty minutes."

Eddie's not sure what to do with that information. He can't imagine you mean what he thinks you mean.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you whisper, leaning back so you can look him in the eyes. "I was just thinking, maybe when I'm done, we could go back to mine? Your birthday's not over yet."

You pet a finger over his zipper, tongue peeking out from between your lips. Even the way you blink is sexy.

Eddie's practically tripping over his words he's so eager.

"I'll wait for you out back."

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson #my writing #requests #late night posting is the only way i get things done apparently

[draconia2004]

Moon Au!

Ok, we all know that pecharunt and the 3 disloyal ones are based on the old story of Momotaro, right?

Well, I propose a scenario, what would happen if pecharunt wasn't so bad at the beginning?

I'm mostly basing it on the fact that Momotaro in the story is a boy, he's young. In this scenario, Pecharunt gave his chains in good faith to the 3 disloyal ones, he was naughty but not evil, he was the only one of his kind but he had the loyal ones, he was happy.

Until one day he met someone, a young floette with a white flower, who upon seeing pecharunt (assuming it was a pure poison type) got scared and ran, pecharunt was enthralled with the little fairy, coming to look for her after their first encounter, bringing her berries and gifts in hopes of winning her affections.

Floette was reluctant at first, but over time, she grew fond of the poison pokemon, becoming an unlikely pairing.

One of Pecharunt's gifts was a Day Stone, thus helping Floette evolve into a Florges.

Everything was peace and harmony, until some humans from the town of Kitakami saw the white flower Florges and attacked it, knowing how rare florgues are, thinking that they could sell it and become rich.

Pecharunt and the 3 disloyal, enraged, did everything they could to protect Florgues, but received wounds too serious to continue fighting.

The humans took advantage of this and attacked using shadow slash.

Florgues in her desperation to save her friends and loved one, used her own body to protect them.

Seeing Florgues on the verge of death, Pecharunt went crazy, grabbing his beloved's body tightly, between sobs he released all his toxin around the chains on the loyalists, making them even stronger, with this, they managed to scare away the humans, but It was too late.

Florgues with her last strength, declared her love for Pecharunt, wishing she had been braver, to have been able to say it sooner, she finally met her end in a kiss with Pecharunt.

The agony and sadness were many, the loyal trio took Pecharunt and Florgues to the crystal lagoon, where they deposited the fairy in the waters for a last goodbye.

From that day on, only memories of the sweet nymph and a bitter hatred towards humans remained in the Pokémons.

Pecharunt fell silent in a long sleep, unable to wake up, not aging, until centuries later the loyals woke him up with the news of the arrival of a Pokémon with masks of great power to the town of Kitakami, thus developing the main plot.

During the Teal Mask DLC, Kieran's punch on the grave of the three loyalists was what awakened Pecharunt, giving him the opportunity to possess him.

They both share an incessant desire to become stronger because of someone (Florgues for Pecharunt and Tsukiko [my MC] for Kieran).

Despite his compatibility, Pecharunt still harbors resentment towards the Humans, who took his mate away from him. Pecharunt's possession of Kieran is more like a second personality than possession itself.

But he is more rooted in the concept of two souls in one body. Kieran desperately wants to beat Tsukiko (MC) to prove that he is worthy of her, Pecharunt can relate to that, so while he possesses him, he tries to keep him alive to see him achieve his goal.

Now, here's the plotwist, Tsukiko is a reincarnation, she played Pokémon for years, but she didn't get to the Pokémon Scarlet dlc, so she was slogging through Teal Mask and now Indigo Disk, but she's also the incarnation of, drum rolls please,

🥁🥁🥁

Florges!!

Florges' desire to see Pecharunt again pitied Giratina, who helped with Tsukiko's reincarnation, but they needed something to link this new soul to the Pokémon world, which is where Florges comes in.

Aware of the deal, she offered herself with the intention of helping this strange soul, even though her death was caused by humans, she does not resent or fear them.

Florges is not strong enough to present himself as a second personality (yet), but she can present herself to Tsukiko in dreams, telling her their story, helping her figure out how to help Kieran without hurting Pecharunt.

……….,……….,………,………..

-I don't have a title for this work at the moment, can I ask for ideas?

-All characters are aged up

-Mature themes will be discussed (blood, mu3rt3, etc.)

-This is more than anything an outline of a story I'm creating

-I'm a sucker for destined lovers, so I'll include that concept in the story.

-Paldea's group, the 4 disasters and carmine will play an important role in this story

-English is not my first language

-I will use references to Latin culture and witchcraft

#pokemon kieran #kieran x juliana pokemon #juliana x kieran pokemon #dipplinshipping headcanons