#this does not look good but i do not want to go back and fix it. sorry!

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader smut #alastor smut #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel x you

[ensaz008]

I want you, no i need you

THIS PIC GOT ME ON CHOKEHOLD- LIKE PLEASE I MIGHT SOUND CRAZY BUT PLEASE PLEASE CHOKE ME WITH THOSE HANDSSSSS... HEHHEHE 18+ CONTENT AHEADD!!!!

wc:707

______________________________________________________________

Jungwon was feeling extra horny after coming back home from practice, other than being tired and sweaty he is so so needy for u.

he sees u writing an essay on the bed, u were about to greet him but he stopped you, saying hes going to shower first. (slayed)

Jungwon comes out the shower with semi-dry hair, him in a white towel wrapped around his torso exposing his v-line, lets just say he looked extremely fuckable rn.. But u controlled yourself and stayed focused with your essay since it was due tonight.

Jungwon was also controlling himself, still in that tempting look, sitting next to massaging ur shoulders and more. U soon realize his hips rubbing against your back, u were already needy enough but.. he made u even needier.. Now u knew u werent the only needy one. His massages felt so good a let out sighs of releif, but soon u felt something hard poke ur back, u tried hard to ignore it. But at the end u close ur laptop facing jungwon, "my jungwonie is sooo needy hm?'' u say cupping his cheeks as he nodded pouting, "baby i want you.." jungwon said in a breathy tone while grazing his fingertips across ur arm as he looked into ur eyes full of desire. In less than a second he leaned in kissing you deeply, sighing as he kissed u feeling so relieved as he felt stressed, its like all of the stress in him is slowly fading away. He slowly held ur waist gently caressing it, using this moment to pin u down on the bed. his arms caging your body as he kissed u with full of desire and impatience. his lips went down to ur neck as he gave light wet kisses, his hands worked fast to undress u. His hands reached your core giving clit soft massages before he got on his knees pulling ur legs as u gasped feeling his nose graze against ur clit. Before u even know his tongue was lapping in and out of ur wet hole as his moans sent vibrations thru ur body giving u pleasuring sensations all over. He then inserted a finger inside as his tongue played with ur clit as he fingers ur pussy in a fast pace making u so close to ur orgasm. "Wonnie- m' so close i-" Before u could finish ur sentence ur core was empty making u groan in annoyance. He pushed u back up on the bed as he pinned u again, slowly aligning his length against ur core. "Wanna be in you when u cum love, want u so bad. I need u so bad" He whispered as he easily slid in due to ur wetness. it fit so perfecting ur gummy walls wrapping around his length perfectly. He thrusted inside so gracefully u threw ur head back. U were blabbing nonsense, he fucked u too good u lost ur ability to even speak "fuck..." "s' gooods mm" "ye sownnie righjt tere~" "pleas eodnt stiop wonnie, feels ypp good so fucking gooooodfhmm" His thrusts were sloppy, deep and fast. The sound of your moans, his grunts whimpers and the sound of wet skin slapping against eachother filled the whole room. Soon u got very close to ur climax "close- so sjo so close baby~" U moaned as he fixed his posture lifting ur waist so u were arching ur back making his tip pierce thru ur cervix reaching extremely deep spots and before u knew it u were cumming all over his cock. His thrusts didn't stop riding out ur orgasm as his hand rubbed ur clit "does my princess like this?" "f-fuck u feel so fucking good" "s' fucking good.. ur perfect.." He grunted and whimpered showing he was close. u saw stars as u felt another orgasm. soon he pulled out whimpering as he got on top of u fisting his own cock cumming all over ur mouth, an ofcourse. you swallowed it all. After that he collapsed next to u panting as he caressed ur hair looking into u lovingly "been wanting to do that.. missed u so much.." "missed u too, i love you" "i love you too."

ENDDDD

#enhypen hard hours #enha smut #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen #jungwon imagines #enhypen jungwon #jungwon hard thoughts #jungwon hard hours #jungwon x reader #jungwon smut #jungwon scenarios #onmykneesforyjw

[envy-of-the-apple]

ok i like the idea of reader going to shoko thinking she’s normal physician (not knowing she only works for sorcerers) and asks for a checkup. one thing leads to another and reader has to continue meeting her for ‘check-up’s’ frequently…..

how does it feel to be the smartest person in the room bestie????

@mynahx3 hiiiiiiiiii<3

Trust the Professionals

Dark!Ieiri Shoko x reader

Synopsis: Doctor Ieiri has a new treatment she’s eager to try on you

Word count: 2.2k

(Warnings: Dubcon/noncon, manipulation, vaginal fingering, dark content, mc's kinda dumb, self-gaslighting lmaooo, hospital kink? im pretty sure this is some type of kink but idk whats its called)

For the longest time, you never really believed in ghosts.

You weren't really the religious type. You went to church every so often, but you weren't invested. It's why it took you a while to get around to the idea that spirits were real, and one was particularly attached to you.

Luckily, the Shamans always seemed happy to help.

"It's back again, huh?" Doctor Ieiri asked.

You nodded, shifting uncomfortably in your seat. She doesn't look like a Shaman. You were expecting more bells and bracelets. Traditional clothing. Doctor Ieiri was always dressed in a labcoat, professional makeup that did little to cover lack of sleep. She looks like she just fell out of a hospital drama.

Despite her looks, you knew she was pretty good at her job. She was the only person who'd gotten rid of your spirit problem. At least, for a little while.

You don't know what she meant exactly, but the spirit ("Cursed spirit," she corrected one too many times) was a replicator. It needed to be exorcised multiple times to fully disappear. This has been your third visit so far.

You watched as her eyes followed something right above your head. She hummed, leaning forward on the desk, tapping her perfectly manicured fingers.

"That's strange," she murmurs, "usually, by the third, it's gone."

You wilt at that. A part of you feels guilty for taking so much of the Doctor's time. All of the appointments so far had been free, but you wouldn't blame her if she started asking for payment, or if she turned you away completely.

She straightens her back.

"Clearly, regular exorcisms aren't working." She states the obvious. "So far, they've just been a temporary fix. There's one more thing we could try but..."

For the first time since you've seen her, Doctor Ieiri hesitates. You look at her.

"Not many prefer this procedure." She explains. "It's a little...unorthodox."

Her reluctance should give you a warning, but you've already spent days putting off this appointment, willing for your cursed problem to go away, spending hours tossing and turning in bed, feeling something crawling up your back with too many legs and too many teeth.

"Anything." You say. "Anything to make this go away."

There's a glint in her eye. Something not quite a smile tugs on her face before it's gone. She stands up, prompting you to do the same. In her hands is a neatly folded hospital gown.

"You can put your clothes over there." She mentions to a chair. "Including your undergarments, please."

She must notice your discomfort because her tone becomes less clinical.

"We can stop whenever you want." She tells you. "But stopping in the middle is typically discouraged. Curses are pretty fickle."

You nod. "Okay, Doctor."

"Please, just call me Shoko." She gives a tired smile. "I want you to be as comfortable as possible for this."

You don't feel comfortable calling her by her given name, but Ieir-Shoko looks so pleased when you let her name reluctantly leave your lips, and you feel too bad to retort.

She steps out of the room shortly after handing you the gown. You put your clothes on the chair, she pointed out. When Shoko knocks, you're already seated on the examination table, swathed in the the thin fabric.

"You follow directions well." She's wearing a surgical mask now but looks satisfied with your compliance. You give a shy smile.

"Let's start with a general overlook for now." She says. "It'd be helpful if we can pinpoint where the curse originated."

You nod, but you can't push away the nervousness as Shoko gently pushes past the fabric. She's wearing gloves, but the rubber is a flimsy barrier to her warm fingers. Her hands brush past your clavicle, and the plastic gown easily yields for her touch. You gasp when she touches your tits, fingers lightly brushing over the nipple. The room is so cold. You're so sensitive. You stiffen against her touch.

She notices, pulling back to see your face. "Something wrong?"

"Uh, no." You smile, but it feels watery. "Just nerves." You can't read her expression. The mask hides everything.

She hums, and you're grateful she doesn't comment on how jittery you are. You hold in your reaction when she lightly presses on your breast. Her thumb flicks over your nipple again. You'd call it sensual if you weren't thoroughly convinced that Shoko was a professional and you were the weird one here.

She pulls away eventually, and you sag in relief. It was over. You don't think you could do that again.

"It's not coming from your upper body." Shoko murmurs. "Would you mind if I untied your gown? It'll be better if I can see everything."

You hesitate, unsure, but Shoko's previous words make your rejection waver. Curses are fickle creatures. In the end, you let her unwrap the gown.

There's no real point to it now. You're fully displayed on the examination table, legs spread, leaning back on your hands. It's embarrassing. You can feel yourself heat up at how exposed you are, especially considering Shoko is still wearing her lab coat and that mask.

But Shoko says nothing about it. Right, she's a professional. Instead, she starts pulling off her gloves.

"I'll be able to locate the cursed location more effectively without a barrier." She explains and you nod along.

She starts with your foot, gently squeezing your foot. It feels nice, like a massage. You languish in the touch, only getting concerned when her prodding starts going up her calf.

Shoko rubs circles along your inner calf. Something wells within you, but you're pushing it down because Shoko is a professional. Instead, you lift yourself off the table just to feel more in control.

"Not here either," Shoko murmurs to herself. "Maybe I need to go a little deeper."

Your eyes widen when she rests a single finger at the entrance of your pussy.

"Doctor, I—I don't think that's—" with one motion, she buries her finger inside you.

You're already shamefully wet. Your walls are already clenching down her nimble finger. You can't help it, you shudder, giving out a breathy whine.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" For some reason, you can hear a smile in Shoko's voice as she starts pumping her finger in and out of your sopping pussy. "You can talk. I'm great at multitasking."

"I—I was just saying—saying Doctor, you—" Her finger curls, and you are interrupted by another moan.

"Shoko." She reminds you her voice firm and calm and a total juxtaposition to the way her thumb is circling over your sensitive clit. "I want you to stay calm and relaxed throughout this procedure, okay?"

"Shoko." You keen and you're sure her breath hitches but your brain is numb and she's still wearing that mask. "This—This just feels a—a bit strange and I—"

She coos in sympathy. "It's all part of the process. Just relax, okay? You're doing so well for me."

At this point, you're leaning back on your elbows. The new angle jolts pleasure up and down your spine. It gets even worse when Shoko adds a second finger, stretching your sensitive walls out even further.

"I think the curse is getting closer. We're almost there." Her voice is soft and breathy in your ear and you can hardly understand that she's taken off her mask. "Just a little more. Just a bit further. So so good for me. You're doing so well, baby."

Your orgasm hits you like a train. All at once, you seize up on her fingers, your thighs squeezing together and your moan resembles more of a scream than anything human. Shoko keeps going as the orgasm smashes your broken body like grass.

She stops when you give one last shudder before collapsing onto the examination table. You lie there, breasts heaving, eyes glazed. You're so far out of it that you don't even notice the way she licks her wet fingers.

It takes a few seconds for you to gather your bearings. When you do, you're mortified. You shoot up from the table, covering yourself up with the flimsy gown, ready to apologize when Shoko asks:

"How do you feel?"

It's such an innocent question. It takes you off-guard. Sensitive, is your first answer, but then you think some more and you realize that you can't really feel the dread or the weight on your shoulders anymore.

"You...exorcised it?" No, this felt different from the last two exorcisms she performed on you. Now, you feel five years younger.

She grins, pleased.

"Yes. I found the origin point." She explains. "Even if it ever comes back, it'll be smaller and easier to deal with."

You nod, still recovering from your high as you roll your shoulder. Everything feels so good.

"Wow," you say, "I—thank you! Thank you so much!"

She pulls back, accepting your gratitude with a soft expression.

"We're done for today." She tells you at last. "You're free to put on your clothes. Can't imagine that gown is very comfortable."

You wait for her to leave. She doesn't, sitting back behind her desk, typing away at her computer. There's no real point of you having privacy, is there? After all, you basically just showed her everything.

Still, when you go to put on your clothes, you can feel eyes on you, trailing down your body, your ass. It isn't Shoko. She's always busy with her keyboard, diligent as always. You were feeling things.

One garment was missing, however. As discreetly as you could, you searched around for it, glancing at the floor, underneath the chair. You swore you left it with the other clothes. How could it just disappear?

"Something wrong?"

Shoko's peering up at you, head tilted. You open your mouth. But then you decide they aren't worth the further embarrassment.

"Nothing." You give a nervous grin. "Just nothing."

Shoko can still taste you when Satoru visits her hours after your appointment.

"Get out," she says. Satoru just grins, shutting the door behind him. It was worth a shot.

"I see your favorite little patient had another check-up," he says, "still haven't disclosed we aren't exactly in the personal exorcism business, have ya'?"

Shoko shrugs. "It's a personal project. Don't worry about it."

"Right, you say that buuuuut 'can't help but notice that our lovely non-sorcerer still has a curse swimming around—"Satoru clicks his tongue. "—It's fourth grade, too. This deskwork is making you go soft, Shoko. Maybe I should start dragging you out to missions."

"Did you exorcise it?" Ugh, that would be a pain. Shoko spent so long cultivating that curse to work in her favor.

Gojo grins. "Nah."

"A residual curse." Satoru continues. "Harmless, but pesky enough to be noticed if it isn't dealt with in a couple days. Smart."

By Saturday, to be more exact. Shoko has already cleared her schedule. She can already hear your voice crackling through the phone, sweetly apologizing for such short notice, but would it be possible to book an appointment? She won't tell you that, nor will she tell Satoru. Though, she has a feeling the bastard already knows.

Said bastard is rifling through her drawers. She frowns when he pulls out your panties.

"Aw, these are so cute!" Satoru gushes, shamefully twirling the fabric on his finger. "Are you starting a collection? This some kind of trophy? Hey, I don't judge."

"It's wrong to take things without permission," Shoko says.

"I should be telling you that." Satoru grins. "Y'know, our precious non-sorcerer is kinda' cute. Maybe I should pay a visit—"

Shoko bolts up from her chair. She stares at him. Gojo stops playing with the frills. He's still smiling.

"Easy, easy." He says, but he hands her the fabric anyway. "Damn, I had a feeling, but you're whipped for this one, are n'tcha? Do I hear wedding bells?"

She rolls her eyes. "Get out."

He obliges with a snicker, proving that he only came to mess with her. What did she expect? With a sigh, she collapses back onto her seat.

She dangles your panties in one hand. She refuses to sniff them again, even though your taste and your smell are still swirling around in her head. They must have looked so cute on you. Next time, she'll put cameras in the room, just so she can have a playback of you shyly shucking off your clothes before compliantly slipping on the gown. She wouldn't know what would be more tantalizing to watch; the show or your utter obedience.

Satoru was, unfortunately, right. Shoko was crazy for you, even though you clearly didn't carry the same feelings. That's okay. In this line of work, Shoko knows she has to take what she wants, that letting her desires go is for those like Satoru.

So Shoko will lie and coax and manipulate until you're seated pliantly in her grasp. And maybe if Satoru behaves, he'll get a wedding invite.

And if you still don't yield...well, there's always plan B.

#the B stands for aBduction btw #yandere #yandere jjk #dark jjk #x reader #Dark Ieiri shoko x reader #Yandere ieiri shoko x reader #Yandere Ieiri Shoko #how much malpractice is in this? yes #tw:dubcon #dark content

[thisissirius]

spoilers, spoilers, spoilers. i'm obsessed with the idea of eddie's breakdown.

supplication eddie/buck, chris (past tommy/buck). stylistic depictions of eddie's mental state. hurt, hurt, hurt and comfort. in which eddie loses chris, himself, and his tentative hold on his mental state. buck's there for him, for them, as always.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Buck doesn’t answer.

Eddie doesn’t know who he is without Chris. Actually. He does. He does know. He’s been without Chris and he doesn’t want to be that person again. Except this time it’s Chris that leaves. Chris went with his parents, looking back once, Eddie’s heart breaking at his feet. With Buck’s hand on his shoulder, his father’s admonishments ringing in his ears, and his son walking away, Eddie didn’t think there was much farther to fall.

Frank stares at him.

Eddie stares back.

“Eddie. I can’t help you if you don’t help me.”

Eddie says nothing.

A sigh. “Perhaps Buck—”

“No,” Eddie says immediately.

Buck is happy. Buck and Tommy, two of the best guys Eddie knows, are together and happy. Buck smiles more, lives more, and feels more comfortable in his skin.

Now that Cap’s out of hospital and recovering, everything as close to normal as it’s gonna get, Buck’s living for himself for the first time in—Eddie doesn’t even know.

What he does know is this; Buck can’t help, shouldn’t help.

Eddie can fix himself, can make this work without crawling to his best friend to help.

The house is too empty? Eddie will just make sure he’s rarely in it. Carla checks in on him? Eddie will just make sure he misses her calls. His parents messaging to tell him—well, those he’ll at least look at, because it might be something about Chris.

Eddie is fine, fine, fine.

Eddie remembers standing in a shop with Chris and Ana and feeling his heart race, pound, cascade away from him. He remembers thinking heart attack and being so mad at himself when he realised it was a panic attack instead.

Now, standing at his kitchen sink with a hand pressed to his chest, he’s just as mad at himself. He can’t even keep control, can’t stop himself from feeling Chris’ absence, from the press of loneliness.

Frank looks him in the eye when he says, “I can’t sign you back to work, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t snap until he’s sitting in his car. There’s Chris’ discarded bag on the floor on the passenger side. A takeout carton shoved into the gap between door and seat. Touches of his son everywhere. Touches of Buck, still, in his car.

He can’t go back to work. He doesn’t have a son. His best friend is—

Eddie is fine, fine, fine.

“The station will still be there, Eddie,” Bobby says gently.

Fuck you, Eddie thinks silently, because it’s not Bobby’s fault. Nothing will sill be there.

Buck glares at him. “When were you going to say something?”

Two weeks leave. For now. Until Eddie can figure out what the hell is going on.

“I’m going to see Chris,” Eddie says, injecting enough enthusiasm into his voice that he hopes Buck can’t read it. “I know it’s only been a couple of weeks, but—"

He’s lying to Buck.

He’s lying to Buck.

To Buck.

God.

“I’m sure it’ll be good for you both,” Buck says, frown giving way to a smile. He has a date with Tommy in about twenty minutes. Eddie knows because he saw the plan in his phone. “I’ll have to join you next time. I miss him.”

Eddie nods, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Buck will have to leave soon if he’s to make his date with Tommy and—

“Right,” Buck says, slipping his phone into his pocket. He pauses, because of course he does, looking at Eddie. “You okay?”

“I will be.” It’s not a lie; one day, probably, Eddie will be fine. “Go, have fun.”

Buck grins, laughs a little, bashful, and god, Eddie loves that he’s so happy, that he’s secure. He deserves it. “Thanks. I’ll speak to you when you get back?”

Eddie pulls him into a hug, because what else can he do. Maybe he clings a little too hard, maybe Buck presses back just as tight because some part of him senses something. Forcing himself to let go, Eddie finds his smile a touch more real because it’s Buck. “Go. I’ll be alright.”

“You better,” Buck says quietly. He gives Eddie one more glance and then bounces out of the house. Bounces. Child.

It takes a while for Eddie to move away from the door.

The house is quiet.

The house is lonely.

The house is empty.

Eddie’s empty.

Eddie’s lonely.

Eddie’s quiet.

Eddie’s phone is cradled in his hand.

The screen flashes and he knows he should answer, knows he should do something. Pick up? Speak to whoever it is?

Chris?

Buck?

Eddie closes his fist around it and drops it onto the floor.

It’s fine.

Eddie’s fine.

Eddie’s

                                fine, fine, fine.

“Eddie?”

Something bangs, a splinter of wood.

Eddie’s door, probably.

Did he lock it?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

“God, what—”

The voice is familiar. Cherished.

“Eddie, I need you to open your eyes.”

Why.

“Please. For me?”

Who.

“It’s Buck, Eddie. It’s me. Look at me. Please, look at me.”

It’s an effort to open an eye.

“That’s it.”

Buck looks—good. Panicked, desperate. Good.

Eddie doesn’t feel good. He doesn’t feel right.

“Buck,” he croaks.

“God, Eddie, you,” Buck looks over his shoulder. The bag is still by the door where he left it. “Chris called. He said you hadn’t called—you lied to me? About going to see him?”

Eddie doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Buck shakes him a little, fingers against his chin. “Eddie?”

“I miss him,” Eddie says, his voice breaking. “But I—I can’t let him see me, not like this.”

“It’s been two weeks.” Buck looks stricken. “Eddie, Eddie, tell me you haven’t been here alone for two weeks?”

Eddie can’t. It would be a lie and he doesn’t want to do that to Buck again.

“Eddie.” Buck’s face crumples, tears in his eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You’re happy,” Eddie whispers. He touches Buck’s face. His hand is shaking. Why is it shaking? “I didn’t want to mess that up.”

“God,” Buck says again. Eddie should tell him he shouldn’t blaspheme, but then he’s being manhandled into a sitting position. Arms come around him. They’re strong, Buck’s strong.

Eddie opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“Buck,” he manages eventually. “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

Buck sobs, a hand coming to rest against the back of Eddie’s head. He’s cradled. Held. Loved. “I’m here, Eddie.”

Eddie breaks.

His feelings cascade, break, and he folds into Buck, buries his face in Buck’s shoulder and cries.

Buck holds him, protects him, whispers.

I’ve got you.

Let it out.

It will be alright.

Buck is watching him.

Eddie’s skin crawls. “Buck—”

“If you ever lie to me again,” Buck starts, cuts himself off.

“You remember that puzzle we did with Chris a few weekends ago?”

Frowning, Buck nods. “Yeah.”

“There were pieces missing,” Eddie says, staring down at his hands. They’re curled around his glass, but it feels like he’s not touching anything, like he’s not holding onto it at all. Maybe it will fall. He tries not to let it. “I feel like the missing pieces.”

Blowing out a breath, Buck looks down at his phone. He holds it out to Eddie. It says Frank and the betrayal is swift. Before Eddie can say anything, Buck says, “Eddie, take it,” and his voice is strong, unyielding.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Okay.”

Eddie doesn’t know who he is without Chris.

He doesn’t want to learn, but he has to. Has to listen to Frank, to speak, to unwrap himself, to talk, to talk, to listen.

Buck is waiting in the parking lot, leaning against the car.

“You have a date with Tommy,” Eddie says slowly.

“Nope,” Buck says, standing straight. He looks happy, still, but the words coming out of his mouth; “I’m a free man.”

Eddie panics, feels something else cascade away from him.

Immediately, Buck is in his space. “Eddie, no, hey no.”

Hands on his face, thumbs against the curve of his cheeks. Buck’s eyes boring into his. “Buck.”

“Tommy and I, what we had was fun, good for me, but you, god Eddie, you’re everything to me.”

Everything.

Can he be everything when he doesn’t even know himself?

“Let’s go home,”  Buck says, “call Chris.”

Chris.

“Dad!” Chris is smiling, clutching he iPad and looking happy.

Is it Texas?

Being away from Eddie?

A hand rests on the back of his neck.

“Buck,” Chris says, just as enthusiastic. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, buddy,” Buck says, dropping into the seat next to Eddie. “Eddie?”

“Chris,” Eddie says, and feels something slide into place. He’s still a father, still here. “Are you having fun in Texas?”

Chris goes quiet, eyes dropping. “They said you were in hospital.”

Eddie closes his eyes. “Chris—”

“He was,” Buck says quietly. He’s done this before. Too many times. Eddie owes so much, so much, he can never be worthy of whatever brought Buck into his life. “But he’s home and I’m taking care of him.”

“Good,” Chris says decisively. “I want to see you smile, Dad, and mean it.”

Choked, Eddie doesn’t know what to say. The fingers on his neck stroke, soothe, and Eddie breathes. “I will, Chris. Promise.”

Chris beams. “I wanna come back home soon, Dad.”

“You will,” Eddie promises, because he may have broken, scattered, but slowly he’s piecing himself back together. “We’ll have a party when you get back.”

A cheer and Chris is off, talking about Texas and their family, and it washes over Eddie. He grounds himself; Buck’s hand, the steady cadence of his son’s voice, the house that feels comfortable in the moment.

Buck kisses him softly, cradles his head in his hands.

Eddie feels cherished.

Safe.

“Buck,” he says.

“Sweetheart,” Buck replies, like a benediction. “Let’s go get our son.”

Yes, Eddie’s heart sings. Yes, yes, yes.

.the end

i'm so emotional dlshfdsjfhkj.

ao3 link

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #fic by me #i love them #911 spoilers

[princessamericachavez]

Say Don’t Go | 911 7x10 spec

Based on the stills and my brain not shutting up

“I hate you!”

Christopher’s voice resonates through the hallway until his door slamming cuts it off. Eddie flinches and Buck’s heart breaks.

“Chris-“

Eddie moves half a step forward and Buck stops him by the shoulder before he can go after his son. It’s not going to help. If he knows anything about angry teenagers (having been one particularly angry himself) is that Chris needs a moment away from his dad.

The problem are those big brown eyes. Because when Eddie looks back at him, so lost and heartbroken and desperate, Buck knows he has to do something. Because this is wrong, it’s just wrong, and Buck knows he cannot fix everything for the people he loves but he cannot —will not— stop trying no matter how impossible it feels.

“Let- let me try and talk to him,” Buck asks.

“What?”

Helena and Ramon both turn to him with equal disbelief, but Buck doesn’t even bother looking at them. They’ve been so ready to take this opportunity to rip Chris away from Eddie. And, sure, they are worried and Eddie should’ve handled this a lot better, but they aren’t even giving him the chance. So he doesn’t look at them, he keeps his eyes on Eddie who gives him the smallest, pleading, nod.

That’s all Buck needs. With one final squeeze, he lets go of Eddie and moves across the living room with long strides before the Diaz’s can stop him.

Who does he think he is? What gives him the right to intervene? How dare he even be here? Whatever they are thinking, comes second to Chris and Eddie.

Buck knocks gently on the door.

“Go away!”

“H-hey, buddy, it’s me. Can I come in?”

There’s a long terrifying pause that nearly shatters what’s left of Buck’s heart before the reluctant “okay.”

With a relieved sigh, he pushes in.

Christopher is sitting on the edge of his bed, a packed backpack by his side. For a second, Buck thinks of another day, years ago, when he found him just like this. Back then, Buck’s biggest fear was that Eddie’s heart would stop. Today, he’s terrified it will break beyond repair.

“Hey, Chris.”

“Hey, Buck,” he says, looking down at his hands.

Awkwardly, Buck makes his way to the bed and sits on the edge next to the boy. He’s so big now, older and taller, but he can still see the same child that had to comfort him after the shooting.

“Chris, are you sure about this? Leaving your dad, even if it’s just for a while… that’s not going to fix things between you.”

“I don’t want to fix them,” Chris snaps, sharply. “He lied to me! He lied to Marisol, to you, he lied to everyone!”

And that’s not something Buck can argue.

“Yeah, he- he screwed up, Chris, but you need to understand.”

“I understand! Why would he that! He’s- he always told me to tell the truth and to be good but he was a liar.”

“Hey, hey, that’s- that’s not fair. One mistake doesn’t make him a liar. He just- listen, Chris, you know your dad loves you more than anything in the whole world, right?”

He’s met with silence.

“Right?”

Chris gives a noncommittal shrug.

“Right,” Buck nods. “Because he does. And he would never, ever, do anything to hurt you.”

“But he did! It hurt! Seeing her and thinking it was her… it hurt, Buck.”

“I know, buddy… I do. I just- I meant, he would never hurt you on purpose.”

“He had to know it would hurt.”

“He did. Which is why he lied…”

Christopher huffs and Buck has the horrible feeling he’s not being as helpful as he hoped. What was he thinking? Just because he loves Chris with his whole heart it doesn’t mean he knows the first thing about being a parent. He only knows what Eddie taught him.

The memory hits home like a wave. Sunlight, a warm hand on his shoulder, his heart twisting from guilt to relief and to something bigger he couldn’t name.

“You know, your dad isn’t perfect.”

“No, he isn’t,” Chris scoffs.

“He isn’t perfect,” Buck repeats, tone pleading Chris to let him finish, “and he knows it. He told me once himself, that he’s failed many times as your dad. But he also said that he loves you enough to never give up, to never stop trying to be better… for you.”

Chris is quiet, but by the way his shoulders hunch and his head tilts, Buck thinks he might be getting to him. So he pushes on.

“And- and the thing is, Christopher, your dad is very hurt right now. It’s- it’s nothing like the time he was shot… it’s something… deeper, older. Because, you see, when Shannon- when your mom died, it really hurt your dad. He loved her so much… and I don’t think he ever healed from it, not really. I think that’s why he did all this. Because he’s in pain…”

Christopher peers at Buck from under his curly fringe, reluctantly making eye contact.

“That doesn’t make it okay.”

“No, it doesn’t. But- but I think your dad really needs us right now. He- he needs you,” he corrects quickly. “This time, I think your dad needs you not to give up on him.”

“But I’m still mad.”

“And- and that’s okay. You can be mad. You get to be angry or sad or confused, I just- I just hope you can fight for your dad, like he does for you. Because, Chris, if he loses you… I think the pain will be too much this time.”

Chris is quiet. And Buck is exhausted.

“I don’t wanna make you feel responsible for him, Christopher. I promise, whatever you choose, I’ll have his back and make sure he is okay. I just- I think he needs both of us right now.”

“Why are you defending him? Aren’t you mad too? He lied to you too.”

“I- yeah, he did. But he’s my best friend, and I love him. I’m not quitting on him, he’s never given up on me.”

“Hmmm.”

It takes a couple minutes before Chris decides to get back up. Buck stays only because he isn’t asked to leave and, only when he sees the boy step outside does he dare follow cautiously.

In the living room, whatever Eddie was talking in hushed tones with his parents dies down immediately. He only has eyes for his son as he approaches.

“Mijo-“

“You have to promise that it won’t happen again,” Christopher demands, voice shaky. “You need to try to do better and you have to promise that you won’t lie to me again.”

Eddie walks towards his son like he is in a dream, eyes tearful. Buck can see him trembling even from afar, where he’s found a corner to tuck himself into and disappear.

“Christopher,” Eddie says, kneeling before his son and gently holding him, “I swear- te lo juro por mi vida. I will do better. I will- I will be better for both of us. I will spend every day trying to be a better father for you.”

“Okay,” Chris says.

“Okay?”

“I’m staying.”

Eddie leans forward to hug his son, but is met with a gentle push back.

“I’m still mad at you, dad.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Of course,” Eddie mumbles, but the relief in his voice is still palpable.

Eddie looks past Chris’s shoulder and his eyes find Buck. The look in his face… Buck knows Eddie like the back of his hand but he cannot quite place what it is. Thankfulness and relief and hope… but there’s something else behind it that makes Buck’s heart twist painfully.

So Buck looks away, tries to find something —anything— else to focus on and lands on the Diaz’s faces. Eddie’s parents look at him with… well, it isn’t quite anger, but there’s a confusion there and a bewilderment that somehow makes Buck even more uncomfortable. He ducks his head and beelines for the kitchen. He should let them be alone…

“Buck!” Eddie is rushing after him before he can get to the door.

When he turns around, he finds Eddie standing there, shaking and shocked. Buck waits, but Eddie doesn’t seem to have any more idea than he does about what he planned to say next.

“Sorry, I- I should probably go.”

Eddie takes a step forward, with that look still on his face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Buck goes on. “Just- just be with your son tonight.”

“You sure? You could stay.” Eddie steps closer.

“No, it’s- it’s okay. I wouldn’t want to intrude, with your family-“

“Buck-“

“And Tommy is waiting at my place, so…”

Eddie stops. He blinks.

“Right, yeah. Of course. Just- I- Thank you.”

Buck smiles, even if the air between them still feels charged.

“I have your back, Eddie. Always.”

And before anything else can get his head spinning he steps out the back door. Only once outside does he stop and finally breathe. That was… that felt like… but it cannot be. It wasn’t. Even if Eddie looked like he wanted to-

No, of course not. Better get going, before his heart can manage to fool itself once again.

#Buddie #911 spec #911 fic #Buddie fic #911 on ABC #Eddie Diaz #Evan Buckley #911 spoilers

[ih21506]

| Hidden Feelings Pt.5 |

GIF: Mine

Pairing(s): Dean Winchester X Fem!Reader Sam Winchester X Fem!Reader (Platonic) Bobby Singer X Daughter!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warning(s): Age Gap (Dean: 26 Reader: 21), kissing, confession.

Summary: You’re Bobby Singer’s daughter, and after John died Sam and Dean come to stay with you.

——————————————————

When the two of you finally broke apart, Dean rested his forehead against yours. You both stood together in a comfortable silence, and neither of you wanted to break the temporary peace you were feeling at this moment.

One of Deans hands moved down to your waist, staying just above the waist band of your skirt, under your hoodie. The other stayed on your cheek as his thumb moved back and forth, gently rubbing the smooth skin of your cheek.

Your left hand was placed on the back of Dean’s neck, softly scratching soothing Dean’s anger, while your right rested on his chest.

“Dean…” You whispered, daring to break the silence, “What does this mean?”

You had to know, you had to be sure that this was what you hoped it was.

“I… I just had to once- and this…” Dean’s Pinky and ring finger moved down slightly over the waistband of your skirt, “God, sweetheart, you drive me crazy,”

You pulled your head back and looked up at Dean, before speaking again, “A good type of crazy?”

“The best type of crazy,” He said back and you smiled.

“I don’t want this to be a once,” You admitted and wrapped your right arm around Deans neck. His hand on your cheek moved to your lower back pulling you closer to him, and your lips connected again.

Moving together, you stepped backwards and Dean stepped forwards, not breaking apart, until you felt you back come in contact with the back of the impala.

Dean’s hands moved under your thighs, then suddenly he picked you up, as if you weigh nothing. He placed you on the car stepping between your legs as his left hand moved back to your waist and his right stayed on the side of your thigh, the tips of his fingers sliding under your skirt.

“Y/n!” You suddenly heard the voice of your dad yell through the junkyard.

Dean quickly moved away to the other end of the car, crouching down by the wheel, and you fixed yourself up before your dad came into view.

“Yes?” You said back.

“What are you doing out here?” He asked and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Talkin’ to Dean…” You said and, out the corner of your eye, you saw Dean glance at you for a moment, “I needed a break from my collage work,”

“M’kay, well it’s cold out here, so go change,” He told you.

“Yeah, I agree, you should go change,” Dean spoke up and you shot a glare at him.

What you wanted to say next was completely different to what you actually said, “Whatever, I need to go to the store for food anyway,”

“After you change?” Your dad said with a raised brow.

“Yes, after I change, save the heart attack for another day,” Your dad rolled his eyes as he walked away and once he was out of view you jumped off the car.

After kissing Dean on the cheek, you went back inside to change because, as much as you hate to admit it, your dad was right it was colder today and you didn’t want your legs to eventually freeze off while you was at the store.

——————————————————

@kr804573 @jackles010378 @figurantedefilme @iloveyou2mia @onlyangel-444 @star-yawnznn @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @imaginationlover101 @arrowenchantress @qinnroki @arcannaa

#dean winchester #spn #spnfandom #supernatural #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #fluff #sam winchester

[siphoklansan]

HEYHEY SIPPY!!! For the ask game, I hope you don't mind me asking for... kind of a lot because I'm really curious jskdkfs but you can cut some out if want to, dw!

🌹♥️♠️⚗️📚🏆 for Siphok and 🌟🤖 for Pin-cha?

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS ᝰ.ᐟ

sippy and riddle are friends! both of them have one thing in common: a stickler for rules. the only difference is that sippy doesn’t follow crazy rules (ex. heartslabyul’s strange traditions!)

fun fact: they both hated each other before the end of book 1 because:

⤷ sippy likes to voice out her opinions, so she gets into a yelling match from time to time with riddle when she disagrees with his behavior. ( “IT’S JUST A TART, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!” 💀 /j but yeah something like that-)

⤷ riddle hates how she doesn’t give two shits about his rule. ( “Nuh-uh.” “What do you mean “Nuh-Uh” ?!?”) and she also defends adeuce when they break the rules, much to their surprise.

at the end of book 1 they both had a truce and became some sort of buddies to each other! they both share an interest in small critters <3

ACE TRAPPOLA & DEUCE SPADE ᝰ.ᐟ

besties for life (adeuce will not admit it) they always go everywhere with each other and grim!

sippy is #1 deuce defender because she kins him😭 so ace rarely wins and argument when she’s around. sippy tutors deuce for history class (more on this later!) and deuce returns the favor by helping her fix things around ramshackle <3

like deuce, sippy bickers a lot with ace but it’s all fun and games. she’s like a tired mom with him (begrudgingly watches his basketball matches because ace insists on it so much, secretly doesn’t mind and enjoys it lmao-). I lowkey see ace as a therapist friend for some reason since he’s usually the voice of reason so she goes to him for advice sometimes! Only for certain occasions though cuz we know how ace is💀 /hj

DIVUS CREWEL ᝰ.ᐟ

#1 dad for sippy. they both go on shopping sprees together (crewel insists on it, because sippy wears the same outfit everyday and it irks him 💀). sippy isn’t the best at potions class so he tutors her privately at times!

crewel designs outfits for sippy sometimes! in the ghost bride event, her suit was tailored to her by crewel.

a short angst scenario for them would be sippy feels bad to see him as a dad because she doesn’t know if crewel sees her as a daughter but he actually feels the same😔.

other than that, sippy got a little more strict because she picked up some habits from crewel (much to adeuce’s dismay😭).

MOZUS TREIN (doesn’t look like him, i know) ᝰ.ᐟ

that one proud grand-uncle (?) TM /j

sippy is likes history classes, so it’s like a breath of fresh air for him in class (“Finally, someone who does not snore every 2 minutes.” /j)

not much to comment on them, but one thing trein dislikes about sippy is that she covers for students who are slacking off in class ( ex. covering grim’s sleeping form with a book) and he’s just like -_- but trein counters that by deducting both her and the other student (who’s mostly grim) participation points💀

ASHTON VARGAS ᝰ.ᐟ

that one crazy and upbeat uncle at family gatherings TM 💀 /j

while sippy is good in athletics, she doesn’t do very well in flying due to a small fear of heights.

⤷ “THE BROOM IS TOO THIN IT CAN’T CARRY MY FATASS!” “LANGUAGE! But no, it *can* hold your weight.”

sippy dreads vargas’s class because he pushes her more than anyone else.

⤷ “lift some more weights! your arms are like noodles!” vargas says, as he dumps some more shit into her arms-

KALIM AL ASIM ᝰ.ᐟ

pin-cha and kalim is like the worst nightmare for jamil, who’s already acting like a single mom who works two jobs who loves her kids and never stops-

yes, they go on carpet rides together🥺💓 pin-cha reminds kalim of one of his siblings back at home so they hit it off pretty well!

jamil is a little weirded out how well pin-cha is good at household chores but is also secretly relieved (and concerned) how pin-cha is babysitting kalim and not the other way around /hj

CHEKA KINGSCHOLAR ᝰ.ᐟ (NOT A SHIP ART!!)

RRAAAGHSGSHHSHGSHSG FINALLY SOMEONE MENTIONS CHEKAAAAA!! THEY’RE BESTFRIENDS, YOUR HONOR😭✨

cue leona thanking the gods for giving cheka someone to play with so he can finally nap in peace LMAO

cheka drags pin-cha away from his cleaning duties in rsa! the headmage of rsa adores them both (happy grandpa noises) <3

cheka enjoys when pin-cha shows his unique magic, summoning little spirits around to play with them. it’s like having extra friends to play!

yes, they both call leona “unca”💀 leona had to call sippy over to help him babysit them both (an excuse to be with her I MEAN WHAAATTT⁉️ I DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING-)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASK, TARU!!💖💖 SO SORRY FOR THE LATE AND VERY LONG REPLY😭🙏 I had a lot of fun with this ask though I can’t find the link to the OG post anymore :((

I swear this whole post looks like some character who is liked by everybody but I promise you it’s not the case😭 she just has a good impression on the professors AHUSHSUGSYSI BUT ANYWAY I’ll list some characters who doesn’t like sippy (but i’ll leave the reasoning out for now👀)

⤷ ruggie

⤷ sebek

⤷ idia

⤷ jamil (kinda like a hate-neutral relationship?)

With that said, thank you again for the ask!!🥺💖🫶🫶

#URGUTHRUHUFHHRH THE POST IS LIKE A WHOLE INFO DUMP AHYSBYAHHSBH #☂︎︎​siphok-museum☂︎︎ #sips.chatters #sips.moots #pin-cha #pin-cha ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst oc #leona kingscholar #twst leona #twst cheka #twisted wonderland cheka #twst ace #twst deuce #twst adeuce #twisted wonderland ace #twisted wonderland deuce #twisted wonderland riddle #riddle roseheart #ace trappola #deuce spade #twst riddle #twst crewel #twst trein #twst vargas #what tag am i missing

[tgmsunmontue]

850 word ficlet for the topgunalternativeuniverse Bingo which I realised I should start ticking off so I can hopefully achieve at least one Bingo... Also for @thyknife for doing their editing!

Hangster - for the squares Stripper and Handyman. Teen+

Not here for you. Maybe next time?

                Long denim-clad legs, tight white t-shirt, low-slung leather tool belt with actual authentic looking tools. He definitely looks the part, he can see muscles in all the right places and even if the stripper isn’t booked for him he’s definitely going to appreciate the show. Part of Bradley is impressed, except for the fact that the guy has the day and time completely wrong. Or maybe the guy has the wrong house.

                “Uh, hey man. I think you have the wrong house.”

                “Three-forty-one Riverview Terrace?”

                “Uh. Yeah. That’s us, but we didn’t…” order a stripper he wants to say, except they did, but not for tonight. “Did you get the date right?”

                Now the guy is looking confused.

                “Uh. Usually when people call me they want me over as quickly as possible.”

                “Really?” Bradley asks, because he didn’t realize that emergency strippers was a thing.

                “Yeah, really. I had someone named Natasha call me? And as pretty as you are, I don’t think you’re Natasha.”

                “Uh. I thought Callie booked the stripper.”

                “A stripper? I am not here to take my clothes off…” the guys says, but he does sweep his eyes down Bradley’s body like he’s mentally undressing him and Bradley is pretty sure he’s blushing. “Not this time, anyway.”

                Before Bradley has time to reply Natasha is behind him, pushing him to the side and Bradley just stands there, gaping a little because the very hot stripper just made a pass at him. Maybe.

                “Oh! Are you Jake?” Natasha asks, and Bradley realizes then that he’s probably made a severe error of judgement, and it is mortifying on several levels.

                “Yes ma’am.”

                “Great! Can you come through and take a look?”

                “Of course,” the guys says, shooting Bradley an amused look. He wants the ground to open up and swallow him. Knowing that isn’t going to happen he needs to go and hide; why the hell hadn’t Natasha warned him? Also what had needed someone else’s help with, usually he handles all the odd jobs around the house, he’s a carpenter, he knows how to fucking fix things. He loiters within ear shot to find out that the two-phase oven they have in the kitchen, which apparently has two fuses, has somehow tripped something else and okay, if it’s wires and electricity then he isn’t touching it. He can stop feeling bad about her calling in a professional for that at least.

                The guy is making small talk, and his ears prick up at hearing his name.

                “Oh no, Bradley can’t do wiring. He knows his own limitations at least.”

                “Good thing to have in a boyfriend, some guys are too egotistical to admit when they don’t know.”

                “Not my boyfriend, or anything else other than my best friend. And you’re as subtle as pink pantsuit at a white party”

                “Wasn’t trying to be subtle. And it’s all fixed by the way. You can get back to toasting your tater tots.”

                “That was fast.”

                “Well, I’m good at my job. You have anything else that needs looking at? You’ve got me for the minimum hour callout…”

                “I wouldn’t know, but Bradley will. One second.”

                Then she’s right there, eyes alight with mirth and laughing silently, because she obviously heard him before she interrupted and he could kill her.  He tries, with his eyes, right then and there, but it only makes her laugh more, and if it continues she’s going to start snorting, which is going to be another level of humiliation. Who needs enemies when you can have friends that laugh at your pain like this?

                “Anything you need help with?” Natasha asks, and Bradley shoves her. He’s annoyed, because there actually is something, and he steps past her, heads into the kitchen where Jake is waiting, and yeah, he still looks like a fucking stripper, but now that he’s looking properly he can see the multimeter, tester, wire strippers all hanging off the leather apron tool belt.

                “Hey man, uh, sorry about before. I’ve got a live switch to outside that needs to be made dead.”

                “Sure thing, lead the way.”

                Bradley leads him to outside to where the pump to the outdoor fountain is, the pump itself long gone, wires just loose and tucked back into the concrete plinth of the now defunct base. He gestures at it, can immediately appreciate that Jake is reviewing the scene, poking around a bit before he gets to work. He tests the wires and socket, then pops the switch cover off, then he’s unscrewing things and cutting things; jogging to his van, muttering about a torch and Bradley just watches. Then he’s slipping a sheath over wires and using a blowtorch to make it shrink to cover the wires.

                “So, interesting fact for you. I was a stripper when I was younger. Good money. Electricians generally have better working hours though.”

                “God, I’m sorry,” Bradley says. “I didn’t mean any disrespect…”

                “Well, that’s okay. If no disrespect was meant. Anyway. Here’s my card. If you’re ever looking for a private show… Call me.”

                “Okay, I will.”

#hangster #sereshaw #Top Gun Maverick #AU

[gigglesandfreckles-hp]

Could you please do "Jealousy isn't a good look on you" and "You're right it looks much better on you" for our silly little teenage wizards?

from this prompt list

She hears his heavy, unbalanced footsteps before she hears his voice. “There you are.” He comes to a stumbling stop on the step below her, the toes of his trainers coming into her view.

“Here I am,” she says, then forces herself to look up at him.

“Why’d you leave?” James asks, sounding even more earnest than usual, thanks to the copious amounts of alcohol she knows he’s had tonight.

“Just wanted some fresh air,” she says, offering a shrug.

He crouches down and sits on the step next to her, his arm brushing against hers. She shifts away slightly, trying to be discreet. “Not very…fresh,” he says, glancing around the small stairwell she’s chosen as her refuge.

How did he even find her here at all?

“I don’t mean to be rude,” she says slowly, “but I’d really rather be alone right now.”

He frowns, turning to face her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just…” She shakes her head. “You’re really pissed, Potter.”

He shrugs, like this is a complete non-issue. “I can still tell you’re upset.”

“I’m fine. I just don’t feel like talking right now, okay?”

His eyebrows knit together. “Did I…do something?”

It’s a frustrating question, made more frustrating by the fact that he seems genuinely concerned about her. She’s not angry at him, per se; she’s aware that she doesn’t have the courage to turn the tables and find clarity. It takes a bravery Lily hasn’t felt entitled to lately. And every time she considers being honest with him, something like tonight happens.

Sometimes, it feels like James Potter is the exact right person, at exactly the wrong time. 

“Why are you out here?” she asks, sidestepping his question.

His frown deepens. “Because you…Sirius said you—”

“Let me ask a different way,” Lily cuts in sharply. “Why are you out here with me, instead of back at your victory party, snogging Hestia Jones?”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he recoils almost comically, like one of the cartoons she used to watch with Petunia on Saturday mornings. “What?”

Lily turns away, folding her arms around her knees, hands disappearing into the sleeves of her jumper. “Never mind.”

“No, you—” He makes a sound of irritation, somewhere deep in his throat. “Don’t do that, Evans.”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I can’t just—Lily, look at me.”

She stubbornly keeps her gaze fixed on the wall of the stairwell. She knows she’s being childish, but she doesn’t care because he just—does things to her. Makes her hate herself a bit and the person she becomes in moments like this.

“Evans.”

“Go away, Potter,” she snaps. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

There’s a moment of heavy silence before he speaks, voice low, “Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.”

“You’re right,” she hisses, her head whipping back around to meet his gaze, “it does suit you much more than me.”

His mouth drops open. “What? I—”

“Oh, please, Potter. I know you talked to Benjy. I know you’re the reason—”

“What? That he dumped you? You don’t think maybe it’s just because you’re sort of a bitch?”

The accusation hangs between them, heavy and spilling over like an inkwell knocked across a parchment. Too late to cap and make upright, too late to save the contents of the parchment.

“I’m sorry,” he says miserably, his head dropping into his hands. “I didn't mean—”

“Go back to your party, James."

“Lily, I—”

She stands up, abruptly. “Fine. I’ll go, then.”

James moves to stand, awkward and unsteady. “Hang on. Evans, just—”

She pauses in her retreat, but doesn’t turn to give him the satisfaction of seeing exactly how much he’s hurt her. “Don’t follow me,” she bites off, then disappears.

#keyword: teenagers #it's okay tho everyone they work through it i swear #jily #my fic

[dr-docktor]

About Floppy Disk Curt... So, do you have some more plot made for this au? Sorry if you made a post and I missed it, I just mean - how does Owen realize that Curt is (semi) sentient? What does he do? How sentient is Curt, actually? What does he remember? And how much can he feel? Does their codependence get worse?

HAHAHA I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. I sort of expanded on some of the lore in some previous asks but none of it is super organized so I can go over it real quick! I'm still developing a lot of it so if things don't make a ton of sense, I'm working on fixing that lol. First off, I sort of shifted the time period around to be closer to the 90's to better fit the technology, aesthetics, and the rise in popularity of mascot-y desktop assistants.

Owen kills Curt during the staircase scene and despite what he tells himself and his coworkers. He regrets it. He regrets it so god damned much. There's no one to feel so strongly about anymore, whether it be love or seething hatred. He just feels empty.

Meanwhile, Chimera retrieved Curt's corpse and uploaded his consciousness into a computer with the hopes of getting what little he knows about the inner workings of A.S.S. out of him. (don't ask how this is possible, uhhhh silly sci-fi shenanigans I guess)

Of course, he's not cooperative. So Chimera opts to do the totally sane and not evil thing by separating himself from his memories of being human. His ambitions, his relationships, everything except for what Chimera needs. They can't seem to find a way to outright delete the memories for good (I'll probably either rework this part or figure out why they can't outright delete them) but what they can do is try and build up walls of restrictions to prevent him from accessing them. So for a a little while he's just this blank slate spitting out what little information he knows about A.S.S. Mostly useless.

Until Chimera gets an idea.

With the rise of a new trend comes the opportunity for PROFIT. This one being the rise of household computers and mascot-y desktop assistants to help the average user learn how to use a computer.

But Chimera wants to take it a step further. They are the future, after all. They want a desk top assistant that's incredibly life-like. Something that the user can have a genuine conversation with (like an incredibly early chatbot). This project is also absolutely meant to be spy-ware. 1000%. No way its not.

They call the project the 'Beta Anatomy Simulacrum Technology for Research and Development'. Or B.A.S.T.R.D for short! (I had to STRETCH to make that acronym work lmao)

Rather than start this from scratch, the project head (The name I'm going with right now is Harper Royale) has the brilliant thought of "well, what's more life-like than an actual human consciousness in a computer that we have collecting dust somewhere in the tech labs? It's already a husk we just add some code to it and bam it's ready!"

So they take the empty husk of digital curt mega and fix it up a little. Royale thinks its a good idea to give a miniscule amount of his humanity back to him. Namely curiosity (so he can learn things) and a basic understanding of how to have a functional conversation with people. Nearly everything else, like the cheery personality and character model, is all added in by the developers.

The good news is the projects going great! Employees within Chimera are finding the little guy really helpful and entertaining. Employees nickname him DC as a reference to his knowledge on A.S.S. Like their own personal informant inside DC (as in the capital of the us where a lot of government buildings and information is stored)

The bad news? Curiosity. Because now he wants to know why the sad looking British guy from one of the first few rounds of test trials keeps calling him Curt.

Tt spirals into this terrible loop of DC starting to put stuff together, never quite reaching the conclusion that he was a living person once (much less the importance of one Owen Carvour) before the employees catch on to what he's doing and reset him from square one. Over and Over and Over again. The only frame of reference that DC has are these hidden notes he leaves himself during each loop.

Eventually the higher-ups at Chimera realize that the cost of having to go through the complicated process of resetting DC the moment they figure out that he's gained a little sentience and then run through test trials AGAIN simply outweighs the potential profit. So they move to shut down the project, much to Royale's dismay.

The higher-ups joke that Carvour should be the one to do the honors, given everything between him and Curt. And he's like "ok yeah I'll do it" and they're like "we were joking but you've given us zero reason to doubt you so have fun killing the simulacrum of your former closest friend, bestie"

Owen, of course, decides to go behind everyone's backs and download the one and only existing copy of the B.A.S.T.R.D program onto his personal computer. At this point, Owen has no clue about DC slowly regaining his sentience if left unchecked and literally only did it because he has problems about processing the fact that he killed Curt that he refuses to confront. (what a normal guy)

So slowly, having been freed from this loop of resets, DC slowly begins to put together the pieces. He doesn't know how exactly Owen may or may not be involved in any of this, but he keeps most of this growing autonomy a secret for safety reasons. Just in case Owen is decidedly someone not to be trusted and turns him in.

DC, however, will test still the waters by subtly bringing up memories that he knows are somehow important to either him or Owen and then gauging his reaction. Doing his damn best to put together context clues.

Admittedly I don't have anything beyond this yet. I'm still working on Owen's reactions to all of this and also how the technology works. But I hope this answers at least some of your questions!

#floppy disk curt #spies are forever #docktor's note #answered ask #SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG THERES A LOT OF INFORMATION #I also barely proofread this so uh good luck I hope its comprehensible

[luminouslywriting]

Hi, how are you? I hope you're feeling well. I really like everything you write about the band of brothers. I was wondering if you could write a headcanon about "what would the boys be like as friends or best friends?", the reader being a company doctor. I hope you can do it and if you can't, don't worry, no problem. Thank you!!!🫶

Darling, platonic BFF friendships are literally the thing that makes my brain the happiest!! I could go on and on and on about this for EVER! Hopefully it will live up to the hype I have about it in my head lol. If you want me to expand on anyone's or do a more in-depth post, let me know!

Cut for length, more under the cut, obnoxious amounts of found family present:

Dick Winters:

-Listen, this man is prime best friend material. We all see how he is when he's with Lew and how he treats him. He's so loyal and devoted and respectful.

-The fact that you're a medic/doctor automatically means he appreciates you more—and if you can figure out how to make this man relax or rest, bonus points haha.

-Respects your limits and boundaries but wants what's best for you—so he's paying attention to if you're overworked or discouraged and trying to counteract those things the best that he can

-Gives the most comforting brotherly hugs??

-Also the best person to go to if you need to vent or just need some good advice; he is a great listener and doesn't automatically try to fix your problems as much as he does offer support and sympathy

-Always has your back and consistently just wants you to be happy. He definitely vets anyone that you date ever haha.

Lewis Nixon:

-Chaotic best friend energy is strong with this one. He's a chaotic mess of a person but is so ride or die for you it's not even funny.

-Being able to finish each other's sentences because of predictability and the way that he knows you so well

-Is always down to share a drink with you if he notices you're having a hard time or going through something emotional. But he doesn't ever let you get tipsy or drunk. You're his sobriety link tbh.

-The type of friend where you call each other teasing names to get each other's attention. Hypothetically, he might be referred to as the wife in your mind lol.

-Has money and is not afraid to splurge to get you stuff that he deems necessary because "at least one person in this friendship needs that and it's not me."

-If he knows you're overworked, he's kidnapping you for naps and he's a cuddler (like a damn cat or something haha)

Ronald Speirs:

-It's the mutual respect that he has for you and admiration—this man is a great friend and would take any number of risks to ensure your safety

-You're his safe space and so he loves being able to talk with you about anything and everything—but especially about what the two of you are feeling. This probably stems from you just not being scared of him in any way haha.

-Is also the type of friend who goes klepto for you?? Like he's in his little thief moments and just like, my bestie would like this, and then proceeds to steal said thing for you

-Takes the time to check in with you as often as he can and makes sure that you're resting—is lowkey a mother hen when you need him to be haha

-Is the type of friend where you never need to actually say what you're thinking, the both of you can just share a look and know exactly what movie quote you're both thinking of, what Lipton needs to calm down, or how best the situation will go.

-Also is super supportive and a hype-man for whatever you want to do with your life. He just wants you to thrive and fulfill your potential.

Buck Compton:

-OLDER BROTHER VIBES OKAY?? This is the type of person who likes to take people under his wing and he absolutely becomes fond of you because of how much you take care of other people.

-That being said, he's also the aggressive type of friend that's just like, "Oh??? You're overworked? Nap time then. Like right now."

-Loves swapping stories with you and talking about college. Also wants you to go to college though—preferably the same college so that the two of you can be friends there too.

-Gives really comforting hugs and is great at expressing gratitude and affirming that you're doing a good job

-Probably loves going out and playing darts or any number of games with you, especially if you're competitive

-Also down to watch any number of movies that you claim to be good and offers his own opinion lol

Carwood Lipton:

-An actual nervous mother hen that is consistently making sure you have enough supplies, that emotions are doing okay, and that you're getting the rest that you need

-Is the type of person who would give you his coat or jacket off of his back because "I told you it was cold, take my sweater." type of vibes haha.

-Wants to hear about your family back home and about your hopes for the future—is super positive about you making it home.

-Also talks to you about pretty much anything, including his girlfriend back home and wants you to approve of her haha

-Would absolutely make you share a foxhole with him because he can keep a closer eye on bestie that way

-He's just a giver??? So he's constantly sharing food or blankets or whatever it is that he thinks you might need. Top tier best friend tbh.

Joseph Liebgott:

-Chaos gremlin personified—this is the type of friend who's going to drag you into all sorts of trouble and also get you out of said trouble with ease

-He's a very touchy best friend and so hugs and cuddles are just to be expected

-Would throw hands if someone disrespected you because you're the only person he truly respects lol....and this also applies to you. The type of friend who aggressively tells you that he loves you and you need to be nicer to yourself.

-He's out here not wanting you to fall in love because, "I remember the day I saw you in that hospital bed—"

"You weren't there!"

"And I knew then that no one would ever be good enough for Y/N."

-You are the only person who can touch his chocolate stash and keep your life

-Also just wants you to come back to Cali with him and adopt you into his family

Donald Malarkey:

-A sweet friend who is great at emotional support. That being said, give him some support as well.

-Probably loves swapping jokes and telling stories with you—spreads stories about how amazing you are as well

-Wants you to come to Oregon and have a camping trip with his family because you're like family to him

-Also fiercely protective of you and consistently worrying about if something will happen to you if you're on the line or even when you're not.

-Runs all of his life plans by you because he wants your approval for sure

-Is super happy that he has you in his life because you're a great listener and you just understand him

Eguene Roe:

-THE ICONIC OF ALL ICONIC FRIENDSHIPS....listen, this friendship is so soulmate platonic, it's not even funny. He practically worships the ground that you walk on and respects the hell out of you.

-Definitely has a whole list of nicknames for you in French and has tried teaching you some of the language

-Tells you old Southern stories to try and keep your mind off of work at night time and he loves hearing any stories that you can come up with

-The both of you can call each other out on burnout or if you're overworked or stressed out. It's a great mutual way that you take care of each other.

-He prays for you all of the time and wrote home about you because you're his best friend

-The two of you work so well together that it sometimes throws everyone else off because you don't even need to talk when you're working together.

Bill Guarnere:

-Ride or die icon who is so vocal about adoring you that it probably annoys everyone else. And if you're not from Philly, he's about to become very patriotic about wherever you're from

-The type of friend who wants to hear about everything you're looking for in a partner so he can start vetting people ASAP

-Would share pretty much anything with you—coat, shoes, food, blankets, etc.

-Checks in on you frequently and definitely views you as the patron saint of easy company

-Wants to travel with you around the world after all of this is over

-Promises you a proper meal and a place to stay if you ever want to come and visit

Joe Toye:

-It's giving the quiet friend who always has your back and would throw hands for you, if given the chance.

-That being said, fiercely overprotective and gets annoyed if you get put in any danger or if anything happens to you.

-Also kind of a huffy friend where he's just like, "I told you that you needed a break. This is the worst." And then proceeds to take care of you anyway.

-Finds ways to make things fun for you no matter what's going on in the war and just wants you to smile

-Also gives really great hugs and loves physical contact and affection

-His family has definitely heard all about you lol

George Luz:

-You must truly understand his humor on another level because he thinks that YOU are the funniest person that he knows. Even if it's not true, he simply finds you to be the best.

-Would proudly brag about you to all of the other companies

-Appreciates hugs and cuddles, especially after Bastogne

-Is the type of friend who would hide a body for you, no questions asked lol—so he's definitely your alibi whenever you've gotten up to some mischief

-Has verbally eviscerated someone who was talking shit about you because he's just not having it

-Lowkey would move in with you after the war because you're his safe person

#band of brothers imagines #band of brothers headcanons #band of brothers masterlist #band of brothers asks #band of brothers #easy company #dick winters headcanons #dick winters imagines #dick winters x reader #dick winters #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon headcanons #lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon #ronald speirs x reader #ronald speirs #ron speirs #buck compton x reader #buck compton #carwood lipton x reader #carwood lipton #joseph liebgott #joe liebgott #joe toye #bill guarnere #donald malarkey #eugene roe #george luz

[sparks-chaotic-cove]

Hi i want to ramble about the recent bound lore (5/29) (Rune and Vast) so beware if you haven't seen that!

SO! Lets talk about Vast

Vast cares so much about Rune. In a little bit of an obsessive way, though that language of "my treasure" is generally playing off the fact that Vast is a magpie (said by Heyhay themselves). But overall, they care.

There is a bit of a divide here in the focus of Vast and Rune. Vast cares about Rune and his relationship with Rune. When Rune got sploded, she was far more concerned with Rune than the Chronometer. Rune, after recovering just a bit from being exploded, was far more focused on the invention rather than himself. (After all, he's probably used to getting hurt at this point)

As they set off on their journey, Vast watches very closely. They become more nervous as the two get closer to the obelisk, the magpies also doing so, especially when Rune refuses to go back. The focus here has shifted- not just to caring about Rune, but fearing for her and Rune's relationship. He can't know about the Obelisk. It's not fixed. He can't know, because deep down, he's afraid Rune will figure it out. Figure out he's an Avicane. See him for the monster that he is.

So she freaks out. Rune won't listen, and he panics. He smacks the chronometer out of Rune's hand, causing it to break. And this, my friends, is what I see as a "point of no return". Because there's no way to salvage this situation anymore. Even without Rune knowing that they're an Avicane, she's already made herself look monstrous.

And of course he has to explain! So with the encouragement of the magpies, he shows Rune the obelisk. And here's where we get our second "point-of-no-return". The inventor finds out his love is an Avicane.

This shatters the trust between the two. After all, all that trust was built on lies. But who tells the man he loves that he's killed people? Who can look their love in the face and confess that they're more monstrous than any warden or beast they could ever encounter? Who goes to their love and confesses their horrendous deeds when you know no one could ever love someone as monstrous as you?

And then Rune asks him to leave. Despite his pleading and explanation that he can fix it without hurting people, Rune asks him to leave. And of course he does. Rune is too wrapped up in the murderous tales of the Avicane that this solution that Vast is offering is practically ignored. Because he's still taking magic. He has still hurt people. He's still dangerous.

And Vast runs. He leaves, he flies back home and they pace on his porch and spirals. He's lost his love, his treasure. She rips the pages out of her book because despite everything she still wants to be good. He doesn't want to be the monster that he sees himself as, that he saw reflected back to him in Rune's horrified eyes. He's had his life flipped upside down and all it's gotten him is heartbreak the revelation that he's a monster. A brutish beast of the skies who does nothing but lie.

And monsters' can't be loved. Monsters don't get to love. All monsters do is hurt.

But he'll try to be less of one. They'll hide his claws and do what's right, then leave. Then he'll leave it all behind. Rune and Sylph and all those good memories. Because surely they won't want a monster. And she's got a job to do.

But how can she keep doing her job like this? When faced with the revelation that he's a monster raised by monsters? How can he keep living like that? What can he do? What is there to do?

Gonna do Rune in another post because this is so long- thanks for reading!

#bit long but hi I want to talk about our silly little birds #tehe #boundsmp #skyboundsmp #skybound smp #bound smp #Vast Cadere #I will cry about these birds

[teojira]

Just a thought! Godzilla who tolerates human and mothera who absolutely adores the human and wants to keep it like a little pet is so funny to me

[I want a baby. We are two titans.] [Headcanons]

Summary: Mothra has a soft spot for you and Gojira takes it upon himself to see you, a human. He will not fall victim to your charms.

Word count: 700+

Pronouns: Gender neutral!

Warnings: None that I can possibly think of! Do lmk if I need to though!

A/N: First Goji and Mothra request!! Thank you so much!! I hope these are okay anon! Kinda made it to where it's the set up lore for this request bc that's where my brain took me lmao.

You're not particularly of note, you're nothing, sorry to say it special. No secret heritage, no secret connection to Monarch before meeting the moth titan, but when you find yourself face to face with her, you feel calm and safe.

She's radiating warmth and comfort and quietly as she can squeaks at you, trying to bid you closer to her.

A bad idea really, extremely bad idea but she just looks so soft and loving, so you walk up to her and gently rest a hand on her head, running your fingers through her fuzz.

It's clear She's very sweet on you, she can't always be by your side, having to do her duties as the queen of monsters but she will visit, she also somehow knows where you are at all times.

After the first encounter, Monarch realized they could use you to help locate her so you now have a decent cushy life as the Mothra whisperer among the two twins, the Ziyis.

Dr. Chen is absolutely fascinated to hear about your connection to Mothra, she's one of your main friends in the company who comes to visit you often.

Mothra never lingers for long, but she comes by to visit and rests with you awhile, allowing you to pet and climb on her if you wish, though she makes panicked noises if you accidental stumble, she doesn't really have alot of arm to catch you so girl is NERVOUS.

You're her little human, she'd hate to see you get hurt, regardless if she knows she can fix it.

Goji knows where Mothra is going, to see a human, and he's very against, trying to growl and grunt his point of view to Mothra, but she will have none of it. He rolls his eyes and thumps his tail, trying to emphasize that it is a bad idea and it'll get her hurt.

Mothra has never listened to a man and will not do so now, so she continues her visits with you, coming to him smelling of human.

At this point, he's gonna come see you himself, Mothra is beautiful, caring and a more peaceful titan.

Goji is not, which is why he has no issues with breaching the water next to the Monarch base and coming to find you.

He does take SOME care to not needlessly destroy everything around him, staying in the water and just standing there menacingly as fuck, everyone freaks the fuck out until Mothra follows him, resting on his back, her appendages wrapped gently on Gojis scales.

That's when they figure to send you out, neither Kaiju are attacking, but they know very clearly of Mothra's soft spot for you, so it's a insurance that she'd step in against her husband if he goes rouge.

So they send you out, you humming a village song that Dr.Chen taught you, alerting Mothra of your presence.

She flaps her wings excitedly, leaving her spot on Goji to get to you, her wings enclose the two of you, her way of giving you a hug.

Goji grumbles but gets closer, moving to lay his chest on the ground so he can get a good look at you.

You're so, squishy looking, kinda stupid looking as well, with your big eyes trained on him in fear.

He brings his snout closer, his breath making your hair blow around your face.

Mothra let's out a noise, probably a warning to her King to not do anything stupid.

You can see his visibly roll his fucking eyes at her and then he trains his eyes on yours, directly making eye contact.

He then exhales, the gust of wind knocking you over from the force, he laughs. He honest to god LAUGHS AT YOU.

You can't help but laugh back, from nerves and the fact that he seems so eerily human in this instant.

Mothra slaps him with one of her arms, shaking her head at him, speaking in a language you're sure only exists between them.

Goji uses the tip of his tail to give you something to prop yourself up against, you didn't scream of fear, he hasn't been shot at yet, he figures you're alright, for a human.

ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴛᴏ ʜᴇᴀʀ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴏᴏɴ!

#godzilla x reader #mothra x reader #godzilla x kong: the new empire #teddy asks ♧ #teddy loves kaijus ☆ #godzilla #mothra #platonic

[lady-of-endless]

Ghiaccio general headcanons

Author's Note: As I stated earlier, it's my birthday and I want to make it everyone's problem so I decided to drop some random headcanons. Some might be off but cope with it. Hope you'll enjoy it! Gif is not mine, I'm thanking the owner for it.

Romantic headcanons are here.

- Ghiaccio thinks and feels a lot and it makes him less present sometimes. His thoughts and reactions get him distracted from the original plan or idea. This happens a lot especially when he's angry. He needs to vent or lash out first to get back to what he was initially doing. It all feels too much for him sometimes.

- Ghiaccio honestly hates that his hands are feet are always cold. At first, it wasn't such a big problem but in time as he repeatedly used White Album a little more recklessly, that cold feeling stopped going away after a while. He got used to it but that doesn't mean it's comfortable.

- This is only one of the reasons why he is drawn to warmth. Not only to coziness but to affectionate people. Even if no one can tell this, he craves it, as much as he denies it. And exactly because he looks annoyed and done with everyone, many avoid him so of course some warmth and affection does good to him.

- So of course he's a fan of temperature play. It's all about the reactions he gets and the feeling of his cold hands touching something warm. (ik I've said this before but I can't get enough of it)

- He's just as skilled with the computer as Melone. Ghiaccio is seen quite often with his laptop at the base but doesn't flex with it, even if at this point, he has lost count of how many problems he fixed on each teammate's device. You won't believe how many cursed things he has accidentally seen in their web history.

- About other abilities and knowledge he possesses, Ghiaccio knows a lot about science. Not because his Stand abilities require knowing some basic science but because he was passionate about it before joining the mafia. His outfit is a hint of this, the white buttoned-up blouse being an example of that lab aesthetic, sort of.

- His scent resembles the smell that's in the air after a rain. It's mainly because of his cryokinesis, freezing and defrefreezing the air around him. It makes him smell like something aquatic, ozonic, musky and slightly citric. (something like Maison Margiela - When the Rain Stops or Demeter - Thunderstorm or Demeter - Rain)

- Because he is intense, not many take him seriously and this frustrates him further more and so this vicious cycle goes on. Is more than impressed when someone truly listens to whatever he has to say without jumping to the conclusion that he's just exaggerating.

- Deeply, very deeply, he's a bit shy but he always disguises it well. He's not that open to meeting new people at first. And he gets flustered when someone can read him and looks away frustrated.

- He's determined to get La Squadra the respect it deserves because he cares about this team as he cares about his family because that's exactly what this is for him. He won't say it but even so, it's very clear from his actions.

- Ghiaccio is greedy and ambitious. He wants it all, and he is always willing to go the extra mile for what he wants.

- Despite his overpowered Stand ability, Ghiaccio often feels like the underdog of the team. Overworked, underpaid, and not respected as much as he wishes.

- His demeanor is softer when he's tired, in the morning, or after intercourse. Everyone is shocked not just by his demeanor but by how his voice sounds when he's calm.

- Likes to exhaust his targets before finishing them quickly. He thinks it's more effective but also intimidating. If you are his target, it all starts with a chill and a shiver down your spine before it gets colder around you, then freezing and soon you won't even know what hit you.

- When he uses White Album's abilities without his full-body suit on, you can notice tiny snowflakes stuck in his blue curly curls and a bit of rime ice on his high cheekbones.

- His Stand's name is indeed linked to The Beatles but he often listens to Daft Punk when driving, but not their most popular songs. Check out the songs "Robot Rock" (link) and "Giorgio by Moroder" (link) and imagine him driving fast in the middle of the night, closer and closer to his target with these songs playing. He needs music with little to no lyrics to focus (I am very biased here sorry not sorry).

- Balance is important in ice skating so his upper body might get tense often to the point of having a slight chronic pain in his back. It's not bad but it's bothersome at the end of the day if he abused the power of White Album. He's taller than it seems because of his slightly bent knees, it helps with the balance when he's on ice. However, he has the strongest legs in La Squadra because of it and no one has ever seen him lose his balance and stumble.

#ghiaccio jjba #ghiaccio jojo #ghiaccio #jjba ghiaccio #jjba part 5 #jjba #jjba fanfic #la squadra #la squadra di esecuzione #vento aureo #golden wind #ghiaccio x reader #jojo bizarre adventure

[loverboyromanroy]

roy siblings + “other people’s weddings" by noah hawley

#kendall roy #roman roy #siobhan roy #logan roy #succession hbo #successionedit #words words words #this does not look good but i do not want to go back and fix it. sorry! #and yes i have MORE noah hawley quotes that work for them. i'll literally never run out! #queued

[stergeon]

at some point i will figure out how to write the post-canon, post-empire edelgard autonomy fic of my dreams. it just feels like a very big task and maybe like with playing the dane, i’m simply not old and traumatized enough to manage it yet.

but my vision is thus: it’s set years (realistically, decades) after the end of crimson flower, when everything has gone as right as it can possibly go. fódlan is thriving. the social reforms have taken effect. the nobility system is nearly eliminated, if not entirely so, with titles made merely symbolic. social mobility, welfare, and prosperity are high. there’s an explosion in arts and culture and technology. brigid and duscur have gained independence; relations with sreng and almyra are much improved; heck, maybe they've even figured it out with dagda. in my most idealistic version, leicester and faerghus would eventually be ceded back to become autonomous regions, essentially disbanding the adrestian empire. rule is no longer hereditary, but merit-based. there's a roadmap for the future, and everything is on track—and more than that, people at all points on the power spectrum have already seen it bear fruit. with or without edelgard, it will be pursued. there's buy-in. they believe.

of course, it's not perfect—nothing can be—but edelgard's vision has been fulfilled. the people are empowered. humanity is free. fódlan has healed.

and somehow, she's had enough time to resolve her goals outside of politics, too. those who slither in the dark have been eradicated. edelgard and lysithea's second crests have been successfully removed, allowing them to live if not full lives, then substantially longer ones than they would have with their twin crests intact. who knows—maybe she finally gets around to having that wedding.

point for point, every item listed in edelgard's manifesto has been checked off. the ghosts of her past have been laid to rest. she can finally take off her crown. she can finally pursue the quiet, humble life she's wanted for so long. she can finally breathe.

... but can she?

edelgard is nothing if not driven. her intelligence, vision, and sheer willpower allowed her to plan and execute a revolution against two countries and the most powerful institution on the continent, all while she was still a teenager. as royalty, her life was never truly hers even before she became heir to the adrestian throne, with all the additional baggage of survivor's guilt and the desire for vengeance and her need to ensure nothing that happened to her can ever happen to anyone else, ever again.

so what happens when that drive has no outlet? what happens when someone who has been constantly in motion, constantly working and planning and preparing every spare second of every day since she was fourteen years old, suddenly has to stand still? what happens when someone whose hands have been bound for so long—first literally in the dungeons of enbarr, then by the weight and responsibilities of her crown—is set free?

being edelgard, she would step away from the throne, no matter how hard it was for her to give up control. she's always been focused on the endgame, and she knows that if she doesn't let go, she'll be setting the wrong tone for fódlan's future. she's too devoted to that endgame to cling to power much longer than she needs to, though i could see her making some excuses and trying to iron out just a few more things to buy herself some more time to mentally prepare before she's done for good.

but who would she be then? who is the woman without the crown? what becomes of a machine once it is no longer needed, when it has made itself obsolete? what about when that machine is a person with legs and arms and an innate unwillingness to gather dust on a shelf?

what happens when you get everything you want? what happens when all your wanting has been for others to thrive, and now you have to want only for yourself? how do you discover who you are when you've spent decades being everything for everyone else? how do you find meaning again? how do you find purpose?

after a lifetime of devotion and passion and movement, how do you learn to sit with yourself, and be quiet, and be still?

gosh, i would love to meet her. i would love to pick her brain. but boy, i do not envy the work that girl has to do.

#sterge.rtf #fire emblem #fe3h #edelgard von hresvelg #realistically edelgard is not getting all of this done in her lifetime. but that wouldn't keep her from stepping away anyway #'cause a funny thing happened to edelgard during the crimson flower route: she learned to have faith again. #so even if she couldn't check every box and fix every societal ill she'd still be able to pass the crown to the next ruler. #maybe not without fear. but with confidence. with optimism. with the belief that she's leaving the world better than she found it. #she'd have faith in her people. faith in the future. faith in the groundwork she's laid. faith in the systems she's put in place. #faith that her vision will be carried out with or without her. #and that faith would allow her to eventually let go. #i so love edelgard pulling a george washington and saying nah i'm good on power. peace #though unfortunately i could also see her pulling a teddy roosevelt #and saying nah i'm good on power. peace. wait what are you doing. you're ruining it. you're bungling everything. i can't believe this #and making several (failed and increasingly insane) attempts to get back into politics #who is the taft to edelgard's ted tho. i don't want to do ferdinand the disservice of saying it's him even though i think it's very funny. #it's literally the opposite of his character as taft notoriously sniffed roosevelt's farts for a long time #until he finally pulled his head out of the guy's ass and realized there are other smells. such as the sewer. and garbage. #smells which he pursued quite happily much to ol ted's chagrin #meanwhile ferdinand does not think anything of edelgard's ass except that his is definitely better-looking than hers #(he's wrong on so many levels but you try telling the guy that) #in fact ferdinand has always taken great joy in pointing out all the things that smell better than edelgard does #which gives him an instant up on mr Take-Advice-From-Theodore #all this to say i think ferdinand von aegir would have been a much better president than william howard taft. that's just my opinion. #i'm getting off the rails in these tags idk what's wrong with me #sorry for equating your blorbos to long-dead american politicians everyone. i know this is a cardinal sin #also please don't take this to mean i think positively of washington or roosevelt or taft or whatever. #i hate all dead old white guys who ever held a modicum of power #i just had a hyperfixation on american presidents when i was in grade school and unfortunately now my brain works like this