#* A dog runs up and steals the tag before you can read it.

[thornrings]

imagine, if you will, a chapter of deltarune that takes place in ICE-E's P"E"ZZA. the dark fountain and such is there, burgerpants may or may not be the knight, whatever it doesn't matter. kris and susie and noelle were going to meet and get pizza, perhaps to explain dark worlds to her. this is a plan they had before the fountain appeared. kris and susie were, of course, late, because they were fucking around in hometown and susie was nervous and whatnot. they get there and noelle was early and they're late and the fountain is there. they go in. they go in and it's FNAF.

it's FNAF dark world. confirming their suspicions, they can hear noelle screaming!! there's no time to wait for ralsei, they cannot AFFORD to delay, at least in susie's mind. they have to save noelle as SOON AS POSSIBLE. they spawn in at parts & service, and since at this point they've gleaned that there is Animatronic Fuckery about, they come to the conclusion that their best course of action is to play dress up and sneak around. susie gets an ambiguous legally distinct purple dinosaur costume, and kris gets the legally distinct--but still recognizable--marionette. unfortunately, the animatronics aren't their only obstacle. the doors keep closing in front of them for some reason! weird!

eventually, once they start closing in on noelle's location, they hear a music box, and... kris climbs into a box, much to susie's dismay! "KRIS," she scream whispers, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" they do not answer, and exit the box after some time has passed.

they spend the next six hours or so roleplaying five nights at freddy's i mean five nights at ice-e's with noelle, and eventually kris gets in and jumpscares her and it's over. the point is, noelle is like REALLY good at fnaf. if it wasn't for kris and susie's unique high-jinks she probably would have never lost. she really did not need saving in this situation.

they proceed to the fountain and ralsei appears behind them, unseen prior to this point. he explains that two animatronics (the ones kris and susie relieved of their duty) had essentially kidnapped him, at which point he used his signature MERCY on them, they accepted him as one of their own, and they had a fun party where ralsei made them cake and sang songs and was generally a nice boy. he got out as soon as he could, he swears!! they go and seal the fountain and it's all in good fun. what a nice dark world adventure.

then three other lightners and burgerpants show up and they start making fountains all over the place and kris turns to the camera and says

"wow... this really was, five knights at ICE-E'S..."

[moonriseoverkyoto]

Wearing your brother’s dog tags brings a lot of questions, which meant problems. Especially from men, especially at a bar where said men try to pick you up. Or strike a conversation about the mysterious dog tags. Lucky for you a certain Scot lovingly doesn’t think to ask too many questions. Not until Johnny “Soap” Mactavish’s tongue is down your throat in the back of his car on holiday do the gears begin to turn. But only, yes only after, a few odd weekends of small dates and letters when he can write, he finally decides to ask who your tags belong to between deep kisses and pants. You frown as you pull away to respond, the mood dampened.

“Oh I really shouldn’t say..” you sigh not wanting to explain the long story typically because it ruins the mood “my brother gave me these so I wouldn’t worry about him when he leaves on missions. His call sign is Ghost and…” Shit. Johnny’s whole body seizes up as his heart makes a pitfall down his body. His hearing stops as his brain repeats your joined last name over and over and over; Riley, Riley Riley Riley. Fuck why didn’t he connect the dots. Ghost always was secretive and protective about his younger sister, everyone knew he always declined to bring you as his plus one or even show photos to the rest of the 141. Damnit he knows somewhere down the line if Gaz or even worse Price hears about this that he’ll never live it down. If Ghost hears about this - shit he’ll never live. He finally zones back in to hear you say

“…but that doesn’t matter because you guys don’t run in the same circles, right?” Soap’s nervous smile gives you all the time for your heart to join his in dropping down below. But as your phone rings both of you are sure your hearts have dropped down to hell as the caller id reads: Simon Riley.

Drabble Drabble, I’m tired and I wanted to put this on paper before it slipped my mind. I’ll expand upon this later but this is mostly an idea for @glossysoap to enjoy because Glossy loves Soap as much as I do. So I hope you enjoy btw not proofread so toodles xoxo - Moon

©️moonriseoverkyoto 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, or translate any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

Reposts are 100000% appreciated. Also my inbox is open for requests!

[lokinks]

“Ours, Somehow”

(drabble/fluff)

Between Sight and Silence 💎Alternate timeline

pairing: Logan Howlett x mutant fem!reader summary: Domestic life with Logan at the Xavier mansion—shared spaces, quiet routines, subtle intimacy behind closed doors, and soft chaos in a house full of mutants. word counts: 570 warnings/tags: butterflies, fluff, implied relationship, xmen team, imagines, soft logan a/n: an apology for the cliffhanger in my series.... does this counts?? huhuhu

Logan's masterlist★,°*:.☆。

Mornings with Logan are a process.

He’s not a big fan of alarms, noises, or the overly enthusiastic teens who stomp down the hallway before 7 a.m. He growls at the sound of clattering boots, pulls the pillow over his face, and drags you back into bed if you even think about moving out of the sheets.

You’ve learned to keep a coffee thermos on the nightstand. He doesn’t say thank you when he takes it. He just grunts, takes a sip, and rests his chin on your shoulder like that’s his new version of affection.

Still half-asleep, he always murmurs, “Stay a little longer.”

He never says please. He doesn’t have to.

You live out of each other’s rooms.

Your drawers have become a mix of your clothes and his flannel. His belt hangs from your closet door. One of his old dog tags rests in the bowl beside your earrings. No official move-in ever happened. He just started showing up with an extra shirt and never stopped.

Sometimes, you find a claw mark in the doorframe where he lost his temper after a mission. He apologizes without words—patches it up, paints over it, replaces the knob. You don’t bring it up.

You both understand grief lives in small, quiet outbursts.

In the kitchen, it’s controlled chaos.

He makes the best scrambled eggs in the house, and the students have caught on. They all pile in when they smell bacon, swarming like flies.

“Mr. Howlett, can I—”

“No.”

“But can you—”

“No.”

He pretends he’s annoyed, but he always makes enough for extras. He shovels an extra serving onto your plate without looking and threatens anyone who tries to steal it.

You’ve learned to sit at the edge of the kitchen counter with your legs swinging while he cooks. He always tosses you a bite to taste before the pan’s off the heat.

You once kissed his cheek mid-sentence. He dropped the spatula.

Didn’t speak for ten whole seconds.

Then said, “You’re trouble,” and kissed you back before he swept you off the counter, ushering you to eat while he refills his coffee.

Showers are a shared ritual now.

Not always sexual. Sometimes it’s just him behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, forehead pressed to your shoulder as water steams the mirror.

“Rough day?” You asked.

He nods against your skin.

You run your fingers through his soaked hair until he exhales. Stays quiet. Stays soft.

He doesn’t talk much when he’s vulnerable—but he always seeks your touch. It grounds him. Reminds him he’s still here.

Still wanted. Still safe.

Nights at the mansion are your favorite.

Logan reads on the couch now, occasionally out loud if you ask nicely. His voice is low and gravelly, and he stumbles over flowery prose like it offends him. You kept throwing tiny spark from your glowing hands, he snuffing it out with his fingers- then taking your hand enterwined with his.

You fall asleep with your feet in his lap. He won’t admit he likes it, but he always rests a hand there. Just to know you’re real.

The TV plays quietly. The halls hum with teenage footsteps, snickers, slammed doors.

And he stays.

That’s the miracle of it all.

Not that he loves you.

But that he lets himself be loved. Every day. In this place. This school. This strange little family that adopted both of you before either of you asked for it.

It’s not perfect. It’s not peaceful. But it’s yours.

And when you fall asleep wrapped in his flannel, with his scent clinging to the sheets and his claws tucked safely away beside you…

You don’t need perfect.

Just him.

[leighsartworks216]

Fallen Angel

Sylus x gn!Reader (more fem-coded)

I literally didn't do work yesterday when I told myself I would bc of this fic. I was so in it that I had to keep working on it or else. And I'm so glad I did cuz I love writing in the Raven universe I've created

Warnings: torture, blood, injury, gun violence, mind control, swearing, (wanting to) vomit, slight invasion of privacy, pet names, sleep deprivation, alcohol + drinking, possessive behavior, kissing, some religious imagery, selectively mute reader, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4,887

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Fill this out to be tagged in future works!)

“Look at you. Sylus’s prized pup.”

Electricity tears through your body. It steals the air from your lungs. Your bloodied fingernails dig into the wood of the chair. Your legs shake against their will. You grit your teeth so hard they hurt. You taste copper.

When it stops, your body sags forward, chest heaving desperately for air through the aftershocks of pain. You refuse to scream for them. Refuse to let them hear your voice when it is reserved for one man only.

“Give it up already, pup.” The man supervising your torture grabs your chin in deceptively soft hands, contradicting the tight hold he has on your jaw. He brushes his thumb against your lower lip. It comes away red. “He would have found you by now if he actually cared. You know that.”

You glare at him. Silent.

“Besides, be honest with yourself, pup,” he leans in close, too close, “why would a man like him need a bodyguard?” He tilts your head to one side, then the other. “You’re just a mangy stray he took in out of pity. A fighting dog. Good at ripping out throats, and nothin’ else. Ain’t that right?”

He shoves your face away sharply. Your world spins from that small action alone, forcing you to squeeze your eyes shut until you see spots in the darkness. Boots scrape along the floor behind you. You take in one last gasp of air before the metal touches your skin.

-

Sylus checks his messages again. Nothing.

No texts, no calls, no mysterious notes before you left.

Shouldn’t we set the rules for hide-and-seek before the game starts?

It isn’t necessarily unusual for you to disappear, but it is unusual for you to ignore his messages. Even if you didn’t answer right away, you still read them. Now, the patronizing notice of Delivered stares back at him.

He snaps his fingers and Mephisto is there in a flash, perched on his finger and rapt with attention. The poor bird is missing you, too. His hoard of trinkets to give you is stagnant - nothing coming in and nothing going out. He’s too nervous to even go collect more.

“Search Linkon City. Any sign of them, you report it.”

The mechanical crow leaps off his finger and out the window in a flash.

In the next instant, the twins are standing before him, summoned by a quick message. They stand at attention, too. No banter passes between them. “Search the N109 Zone for any sign of Raven. By any means necessary.”

“On it, Boss.”

“Sure thing, Boss!”

He stares at the messages again as their footsteps recede into the hall. He scans your last message, searching for any miniscule clue as to where you’ve run off to.

One of my old “colleagues” is bugging me again :/

Want me to take care of them for you?

I can do it myself

I know you can, sweetheart

It was too vague to go off of. You were very tight-lipped about your past, only making off-handed comments about it here and there: You don’t sing anymore (implying you did once, which came as a minor shock to him), your apparent wealth is stolen (but no hints to where from), and you’re more familiar with the streets of Linkon than the N109 Zone. Never any mentions of past dealings you had before, or anything close to a partnership that could have involved “colleagues”.

The longer he sits here, straining for any glimpse of a past you never involved him in, the more he wishes he’d asked more. It wasn’t for lack of interest, but you weren’t very vocal at the best of times. It felt more appropriate to leave it alone and wait for you to offer up tidbits on your own.

-

Two prominent marks marr your skin, presenting where the alligator clips had pressed into your back over and over and over again. Charred flesh, bubbling with blisters. Something sharp pops one of them. You draw blood from your cheek to avoid screaming.

The man sighs. “You’re a stubborn one.” He pushes off of the wall and leans down to be face-to-face with you. “What’s it gonna take to get you to sing for us?”

Your body trembles with exertion as you raise your head. You haven’t been allowed to sleep. Every time your eyes droop, you get shocked. You fight not to collapse. You can’t let the torture break you. You can’t.

He smirks as he sees the blood dribbling from your mouth, mixing with saliva and snot as it trails down your chin. His satisfaction sickens you. For as much as you understand the thrill, understand the rush of bringing someone to their knees before you, you never looked at them like this. This is revolting.

You spit in his face.

“Ah, fuck!” He almost falls on his ass as he jerks away. His nice sleeve is ruined as he wipes his face.

Lightning sears through your nerves. It burns you up inside. Your muscles clench harshly, spasming uncontrollably. All air rushes out of you. It feels like drowning. Your eyes stare at the bright white light on the ceiling, unable to cry out, unable to look away. Unable to breathe.

For the first time since this whole thing began, tears form in your eyes.

The clips are removed from your skin. Colored and black spots obscure the blurry light. You think you might pass out. You think you’ve reached the end of your resolve.

And then you can breathe again.

The breaths come in wheezy and ragged. Your body lurches forward as you cough. Your throat spasms, stomach twisting with the need to throw up. But nothing comes out. You dry heave into your lap, blood landing in wet droplets on your pants.

The man pulls your head up by your hair. You can’t see him. Can’t see the ugly grimace on his face. Your eyes won’t open. You cough, desperate to vomit in the false hope that it would make you feel better. Hot tears slip down your cheeks.

“You-!” He growls in frustration as he drops your head again. You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his shoes as he paces back and forth in front of you. “Okay. Okay! Fine! You can rest now, pup. How’s that sound? You can take a nice, long nap. Sounds good, right?”

You don’t answer him. Don’t show any signs you even heard him.

“Keep an eye on them. I’m gonna go fucking change.”

-

Sylus hasn’t been idle. Fully aware of the breach to your privacy, he taps away at your laptop. The password wasn’t guessed, merely bypassed. He didn’t trust that he’d be able to guess it before being locked out.

He pulls up the same messenger app you use on your phone. Bypassing the password again, he watches the spinning buffer as it syncs up with your phone. It takes far too long. He busies himself with going through your search history with no luck. You know how to play this game, how to meander in and out of danger without leaving any traces. It’s a remarkable talent that frustrates him to no end right now.

No messages from Luke, Kieran, or Mephisto.

A quiet jingle comes from your laptop speakers as the sync completes. He searches the most recent messages, ignoring his own despite the red dot next to his avatar. One chat exchange in particular catches his eye:

Hello, angel~ When u gonna come sing for me again?

Never.

So ur still alive then? Thats good to hear

Ive missed u <3

Stop sending your men after me. Our business is done.

U know damn well it isnt. U reneged our agreement AND stole from me

U owe me bigger than ever, angel

You’ve made more since I left. You’re not hurting for funds.

Its the principle of the matter

U still flaked

- Read 9:38pm, Thursday -

Okay, don’t respond

But if u want this stain off ur back, u gotta finish ur deal

Same stakes as before

Ill even shorten ur sentence to one week

Now doesnt that sound fair?

- Read 12:02am, Friday -

Second Circle

David will pick u up

No thanks.

Fine. See u in hell, angel~

By the end, Sylus’s face is set in a sour sneer. The way whoever this was spoke to you was demeaning, controlling, disgusting. They acted like they owned you. You’re a bird that can’t be caged; Sylus knows this well.

But, it’s the best lead he’s got. Nothing else is as recent as this, except for your text to him complaining about your old “colleague”.

He messages Mephisto, telling him to scope out the Second Circle, a nightclub on the outskirts of Linkon. He starts digging into the place, its owner, and what he can do to have a meeting with them.

-

You fight sleep for as long as you can. You try everything to avoid letting the exhaustion sink in. You rub your wrists raw with the rope holding you down, hoping the pain will distract you, but the person overlooking you stops you immediately. You try to put together and take apart a gun in your mind, imagining the heft of it in your hand, the recoil that shoots up your arm, the satisfaction shooting these fuckers in the face would bring. You even try running through your last escape from this place, mentally following the corridors and steps it took to secure your freedom.

None of it works. Against your will, your body gives in. You slip into dreamless sleep.

You don’t know how long it is when you’re awoken.

The chair tips, snapping your consciousness back to the present as gravity shifts. It falls backwards, the ceiling light bearing down on you like the desert sun. Your head hits the cold floor. Hard. Before your mind can catch up, a cry is torn from your throat.

The cry is cut short.

A haze of disconnection washes over your body. You can’t feel your pain, can’t feel your body. It’s like your mind is trapped in a prison. You’re forced to watch through wide eyes as the man leans over you.

“Finally…” His voice floats in like a distant echo. “Take them to the boss. He’s got his angel back.”

No. No, no, no, no, no.

You try to fight against them as they untie your hands and ankles, as they lift you up, as your legs start walking without your input. You try to scream. To lash out. To do anything.

And you can’t.

The man must notice your struggle. Must feel it through his Evol. “Relax, pup. The worst of it is over. Now you just gotta complete your end of the bargain.”

Your body walks down a long, familiar hallway. The doors at the end are wide open. A poker table sits in the middle of the room, surrounded by faces you wish you didn’t recognize. Some of them bear the scars of your last escape.

In a gilded throne, sitting across from the dealer with a tall stack of poker chips, is the man you’ve been running from.

The Devil.

-

The neon lights of the night club shine like a warning sign through the tinted windows of the car. The electronic red curves and twists of a script font. The outline of a devil girl lounging on top of the name, cleavage out and winking. Her tail ends in a sharp point, underlining the name.

The Second Circle.

The air in the vehicle is suffocating. Rage boils under the surface of Sylus’s skin, barely contained. His Evol burns his hands, aching to be released.

Luke opens his door as Kieran stands guard next to it.

You’re in there.

It’s been almost a week since you disappeared. Two days since Mephisto spotted you through the door of the club. One day since he requested an audience with its owner.

Sylus gets out of the car. Luke closes the door behind him. The twins flank his sides as he walks to the entrance. A long line of patrons waits to be let in by the bouncer, a man as tall as he was and twice as wide. He barely glances at Sylus before letting him in. The customers closest to the door fall eerily silent as he passes, oppressed by the energy surrounding him.

Purple, blue and red lights break up the darkness. Poles occupied by dancers are interspersed through the room, with girls dressed up in skimpy red devil costumes or sinfully revealing nun attire. One of the poles stands on a prominent stage, gauzy red curtains drawn to a close behind it. All three of them scan the room for signs of you with no luck.

Drunken dancers and tipsy customers pass by in a blur as he crosses the dance floor to a door hidden in the shadows. Two men in suits guard it, shoulder to shoulder.

“I have a meeting with the Devil,” he announces over the music. Despite the heat raging within him, his words are cold.

One of the men nods his head. “Mr. Sylus,” he greets, too warmly given the circumstances. “The Devil has asked that you please wait until after the main show. It will be starting soon.” He gestures over to the stage.

Sylus stares through them, searching for any reason why he really should wait and not release his Evol right now and tear his way through the building.

The lights shift from bright neons to sultry reds and oranges as the music fades out. The anticipation in the room is palpable as all eyes turn to the stage. A silhouette with feathery wings stands behind the curtain.

None of this was interesting to Sylus. What stopped him in his tracks was a voice. Your voice.

His eyes shoot to the stage, face hardening as he watches the curtains part.

You, dressed up in a white angel costume, altered from something pure and holy to be lustful. Wings stick from your back, short but no less enticing. He can’t hear the slow jazz music over the siren sound of your voice. Can’t feel the burning of his Evol as his eyes follow your movements to the pole.

“You must like this song,” he points out with a grin. “You keep humming along to it.”

You smirk as you meet his eye, not pausing as you copy the melody note for note. It’s much better than his singing.

“Do you know the words?”

You nod. You push yourself up from the sofa where you lounged to lay yourself across his lap. Your arms wrap around his neck, lips brushing against his ear as your humming fades away. “I don’t sing anymore.”

His hand trails along your spine before resting on your waist and pulling you closer. “Shall I sing them, then?”

You pinch his shoulder. He chuckles.

All at once, the music turns sour within him.

“Boss, is that…?” Luke pipes up.

Kieran shakes his head. “No, it can’t be. Right?”

His hand clenches into a fist by his side. It’s minutes of torture. His eyes can’t seem to look away as you move fluidly around the pole, smiling too softly at the patrons who stand at the edge of the stage. At one point, you kneel down, knees spread apart, right in front of one of them. She gulps as you grab her by the chin, gently guiding her while you sing until her face is so close. If she’d been a little bolder, she could have met your lips. But your fingers trail along her jaw until you let go, slowly standing up while maintaining eye contact with her.

As soon as the final notes leave your lips, Sylus is at the door. He doesn’t stay to watch the curtains close. Luke and Kieran rush after him as he speeds off down a hallway.

Once the door closes, the cheering is silenced, unable to reach through the thick material. What takes its place is the laughter down the hall.

Each step feels too long. It seems to stretch on forever. Door after door, all leading up to the open double doors at the end of the hall. He only stops once he’s crossed the threshold, standing just inside the doorway as the players turn to acknowledge his presence.

The man in the throne doesn’t bother to pull his face out of your neck.

The sneer on Sylus’s face deepens. This isn’t you. You would never perch on another man’s lap like this. You would never giggle as his mouth drags over your skin, whispering sinful things in your ear. You would never turn to look at him like that, like he’s a stranger you’re passing in the street.

“We have business.”

The Devil sighs boredly, finally drawing away from the angel in his lap to look at Sylus. He smirks easily. He’s completely relaxed. The players set their cards down slowly.

“Well, well, well. Mr. Sylus. How nice to finally make your acquaintance.”

“What did you do to them?”

“Who, me?” He chuckles. He reaches for a glass on the edge of the table and brings it calmly to his lips, drinking the expensive scotch long and slow. “I didn’t do anything.”

Sylus sighs sharply, bored of this game. “Fine. What did your men do to them?”

The Devil cocks his head to the side, smirking wider. It looks too big for his face. “Nothin’ they couldn’t handle.”

Luke and Kieran keep a close eye on the poker players as their hands reach beneath the table. Their own hands come to rest at the weapons on their hips.

“Didja wanna make a deal, or are you just gonna stand there all night?”

There is no deal that could be made that would be fair. The Devil already had what he wanted - you. Under his control, on his lap, answering to his every whim. If he can’t deal with the Devil…

“Whose Evol is it, sweetie?”

You tilt your head. It’s familiar, and it’s horrifically not you. “What do you mean, mister?”

His right eye glows as he levels his stare on you. He’s never used this on you before. It feels like a betrayal of your autonomy. Somehow, he knows you forgive him.

A face flickers across his vision. Blood stains a nasty grimace. You desire the owner of that face to die. You don’t care how. Your rage almost makes him dizzy.

He pulls a gun from his waistband. The owner of the face stands first, aiming for the Onychinus leader. Sylus shoots first.

Blood splatters on the cards.

All hell breaks loose.

Your eyes seem to come into focus in a flash. Luke and Kieran are too quiet as they shoot down the other players at the table. Sylus’s own Evol reaches throughout the room, evaporating bullets before they can hit either of the twins, himself, or you. He doesn’t stop watching you.

Your face is contorted with fury. The usual calm neutrality that hides your emotions when you fight is gone. You shatter the glass of scotch on the wooden rim of the poker table. The shard you grab digs into your hand as you aim for the Devil’s jugular. He grabs your wrist with one hand, the other gripping your throat in a vice grip. Even as you lose oxygen, you fight back. You will never stop fighting back. You shake with effort as you push against his hand, but you’re gaining ground.

A black and red tendril of smoke grabs the Devil’s wrist, wrenching his hand away. The shard of glass goes clean through his skin, through his artery, until the pointed tip is caressing his spine.

He sputters up at you with wide eyes, choking on blood. It stains the white of your costume. Stains your skin. Stains the table. His hold on your neck loosens.

You lean down to his ear. “Our deal is over.”

Blood gurgles in his throat as he tries to protest, to argue, to get the last word in.

His hand falls from your throat, hanging limply off the side of the throne. The life drains from his eyes.

The room is still. Bodies lay across the floor. Some lean over the table. Chips and cards are scattered everywhere.

Luke and Kieran disappear down the hall, taking care of the rest of the security that would prevent your escape. Sylus steps over the carnage as he rounds the table. You slowly let go of the glass, not bothering to hide your wince as tiny fragments imbed themselves in your flesh. He wordlessly helps you stand from the dead man’s lap, hands becoming stained with the same blood that covers you.

You finally meet his eyes. And it’s you. The pain and anger and hatred in your eyes is too real, too genuine, to be faked by a puppet master. He brushes the blood splatter off your face with the back of his fingers. You lean into the touch without hesitation.

“Are you alright?” he asks, voice soft.

You take a deep breath in and release it through your nose. You slowly nod.

“The car’s waiting outside.”

You take a step forward. Your knees give out underneath you. Sylus catches you before you can hit the ground. You hiss in pain as you grab onto him with your injured hand by pure instinct. Your body is still trying to recover from the torture, from the sleep deprivation, from being under someone else’s relentless control for so long. He effortlessly lifts you into his arms.

“You can rest now,” he whispers against your hair. You can feel the rumble of each word deep within his chest. It calls to you, encouraging you to let go. You give in willingly this time, holding onto his shirt even as your blood seeps into the expensive fabric, and close your eyes with your ear pressed to his heart.

You look so small and fragile in his arms. He glances at the miserable man in his gilded throne. If you hadn’t already killed him, he would have delighted in torturing him the same way they’d done to you.

The hallway feels shorter as he carries you out of the building. His Evol lashes out at anybody that tries to stop him that the twins missed; footmen who flood in from the side doors. The club is devoid of patrons by the time he passes through the door at the end of the hall. Dancers panic as they hold each other, free from the same power that controlled you minutes prior. Luke holds open the front door. Kieran holds open the rear passenger side door. The car pulls away from the curb minutes before police arrive.

-

You wake up in agony.

Your shoulder blades are the worst. Excruciating pain pulses into your muscles from the injuries left behind from the alligator clamps that pumped electricity into your body. You’re laying on your stomach to avoid making it worse. It doesn’t feel like it can get worse.

You force yourself up onto your hands and knees, your body screaming at you to get away. You can’t see where you are through silent tears that plop on the pillow you were just using.

“Kitten,” Sylus quietly calls out. You recognize his hands on your sides as he gently lowers you back down to your stomach. You sob into the pillow. “Stay still. I’ll be back in a minute.”

You clutch at the covers and pillows until your knuckles are white. A bandage is wrapped around your hand. Blood begins to seep through it.

The bed dips beside you when he gets back. Cool cloths are draped over your back, tamping down the burning temporarily. You sigh with relief. As your fingers relax, Sylus takes your damaged hand and begins unwrapping the stained bandage. His touch is tender, careful not to hurt you further.

“Tell me the next time you intend to settle a debt.” Despite how careful he is to make his voice sound neutral and unbothered, it’s edged with genuine worry and care.

You nod slightly.

With the bandage removed, you can see through your blurry vision the telltale sign of stitches pulling your skin closed along the width of your palm. A couple of them are snapped, but there are still enough in place that fixing it now would bring more pain than necessary. His hands don’t falter as he wraps fresh gauze around the agitated wound.

“I’m sorry…” You don’t need to look to know his red eyes are trained on your face. You can tell in the way he pauses, freezing for just a moment right before he starts wrapping your hand in a new bandage. “He wasn’t this… powerful before. Back then, it was my own desperation that caused me to stay, not some fucked up Evol.”

He huffs, remembering the messages that led him to you. “How much did you steal from him?”

You shoot him a disapproving look, knowing immediately just how he got that info, but the quirk of your lips betrays your amusement. “I almost emptied the whole account.”

He chuckles as he tapes the bandage in place. You lay your hand back down on the bed. He brushes some tears from your cheek. For you to let your guard down around him so freely, especially after what you went through… “Where else are you hurt?”

“Bumped my head, but it’s not so bad anymore,” you assure him. It wouldn’t be good business to have your prized dancer covered in bruises and welts. The wings of your costume had hid the damage to your back pretty well. Besides, nobody was looking at your back when you sang anyway. Your neck had some bruising from the final confrontation. It would fade with time.

The bed shifts again as he stands up. You can see him disappear into the bathroom out of the corner of your eye. From a window right nearby, a familiar black shape swoops in. Mephisto wastes no time in cuddling up to your cheek, tucking his body by your neck. His beak nips gently at your ear and cheeks while he makes a strange cooing noise.

You smile, closing your eyes and basking in his affections. “Hello, Mephie. I missed you, too.” He clicks his beak and bites the corner of your lips. “I’ll tell you where I go next time, too, okay?” Seeming to approve your promise, he starts preening your hair.

“You’re going to wear your voice out if you keep talking so much,” Sylus teases. He sets a glass of water on the nightstand and sets two pills beside it. They’re not regular over the counter pain meds; these are definitely heavier duty.

You look up at him sadly. He catches your meaning in an instant. You want your voice to run raw, until speaking hurts too much. You’ve spoken so much the last few days against your will, you need to remember how to shut up again, need to remember the pain of talking.

Mephisto complains as Sylus slowly helps you into a sitting position, fluffing up against the pillow as he watches on impatiently. The cloths fall from your back. He sets them aside once he’s sure you won’t fall over. You hold the pills in your mouth as you take a sip of the water, closing your eyes and focusing on swallowing everything without gagging. You drain half of the glass after with a sigh.

He takes the glass and helps you lay back down. The cloths are replaced on your burns.

“You should get some more rest,” he says. Mephisto picks at the fine hairs on the back of your neck, continuing his preening. “It’ll be easier to sleep this off.”

You pat the bed next to you with your good hand, giving him a pointed, questioning look. He leans down and places a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“How could I say no to you?”

You watch as he undresses and puts on something more comfortable to sleep in. You flip your head over when he crawls in beside you. He lays on his side, hand gently tracing your cheek and jaw. He watched the movement. Your hand glides up his arm to put a stop to his restlessness. Crimson eyes meet yours.

You smile. The motion captures his attention. You drag your fingers lightly along his arm, up his shoulder, and to his cheek. His skin prickles everywhere you touch. A red-hot possessiveness wells inside him, desperate for him to be the only person to experience you like this, mixing with fear that he may never know exactly what they used you for before his arrival. And… something softer, full of longing. A desire to keep you safe, to ensure you never have to be afraid with him.

He leans forward with very little coaxing, capturing your mouth like it will redeem him of every sin he’s ever committed. It’s reverent, full of silent worship. Your lips tremble. He cups your cheek as he kisses you again and again and again.

This will never happen again.

You sigh into his mouth, pure relief stealing the tension from your body.

I know.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44

[berryispunk]

How to Fall in Love - Your Guide to The Perfect Meet-Cute 

summary: What does this guy do in your bookstore in this shitty weather? Guess you'll find out.

notes: This was a spontaneous idea that came to me while walking the dog. For all the Frankie stans, hope you love this as much as I do. <3 Frankie deserves better!

tags: fluff, fluff and more fluff, no further physical description of reader, F/M pairing, meet-cute, first meeting, falling in love, soft!Frankie, Frankie being babygirl, brief mention of addiction, if you squint Frankie is insecure, no mention of y/n, no smut (i'm sorry)

word count: 2,1 k

It’s a rainy Wednesday afternoon in autumn. The streets outside of the tiny bookstore you’re working in are relatively empty. If there are people exposing themselves to the elements they are ushering into the surrounding stores not to get wet because it’s literally pouring. You turn your gaze back to your book, a poetry book you just grabbed from the “New In” sales table in front of the bookstore. You haven’t checked out this book yet, but you had mentally put it on your TBR list, already.

You sit down at the cash register and can’t help yourself but open the first page. Poetry is something you find yourself drawn to the most. It fascinates you that people are able to put such complex feelings into beautiful words that sound nothing like the horrors being transported by them. You’re just about to turn over another page as the ringing sound of the little doorbell tells you someone entered the store. You don’t even bother looking up from your book and just tell the person your usual greeting. “Hello and welcome. Make yourself comfortable, if there’s anything I can do for you I am here.” And you couldn’t sound anymore effortless.

It’s silent, only the soft guitar acoustic sounds playing over the stereo creating some background noise until you hear a squeaking noise. Wet shoes. The person must have paused to look around before entering the store. They wear some really squeaky, wet shoes and it makes your toes curl. It’s a really nasty, high-pitched noise and you frown for a moment, trying your hardest to concentrate back on the last sentence you read for the fifth time in a row now.

You give up, sigh heavily and put your bookmark -  a slip of something you bought for lunch - between the pages and close the book. You decide to put it under the cash register counter and finally look up, only catching a flash of a dark navy baseball cap disappearing behind a bookshelf.

If you hadn’t just heard the squeaking noise and saw the cap behind the bookshelf you could’ve sworn you’re still alone in the store because the person you just greeted minutes ago made no other audible noise.

You rise from your stool behind the cash register and start wandering the store, just to make sure the person isn’t stealing something because your boss will literally kill you if that happens. You head straight to the shelf you saw the person disappearing behind and you are greeted by a tall, broad-looking guy with a mustard colored jacket that is clearly soaking wet.

The guy with the dark navy cap studies the shelf in front of him closely, his big hand running over the book covers and moving his lips, but from the distance you’re standing at you can’t hear him. The cap is worn deep, almost covering his eyes, creating a dark shadow in the dimly-lit room but what it doesn’t cover is his aquiline nose. Dark curls peeking out from under the cap, one lock stuck to his temple, clearly wet too.

His side profile catches you off guard for a moment. The strong, slightly crooked nose, the plush lips, with the slightly bigger bottom lip creating a really unique facial silhouette and you can’t help but stare at him for a moment longer than would be considered decent.

After a bit you find your bearings and clear your throat softly, announcing your presence but it seems he’s too lost in thought to notice your company. You decide to take a step closer to him, making it obvious you’re next to him and start to rearrange some slightly out of place spines on the shelf.

Finally the stranger looks up, finding your eyes directly and you feel like your knees are about to give in. His dark brown eyes light up slightly as he gives you a polite smile, creating some minor wrinkles around his eyes making it obvious he’s at least ten years older than you. You do your hardest not to blush and look away, but damn the way he stares directly into your soul makes your heart skip a beat.

“Oh, hey. Sorry, have you been standing there for long? I didn’t…,” he trails off, his voice as beautiful and warm as his eyes are. His deep bass is shining through with every syllable.

You shake your head.

“Not for long, don’t worry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. You looked so focused.” Your admission is honest, giving him a soft smile back and his own widens in return. You notice the heat in your cheeks growing.

Thanking every cosmic creature that the store isn’t that perfectly lit and the stranger hopefully doesn’t notice your blushing cheeks.

“Yeah, I...um… I’m searching for something specific. Either way I’m too oblivious to see it or it’s simply the wrong aisle.” He furrows his brows slightly as he simultaneously adjusts his cap, rearranging his dark, curly mess under it before he puts it back on. Is he nervous?, you wonder.

“Tell me what you’re looking for and maybe I can help you,” you answer immediately, the professional smile never leaving your face.

He studies your face for a moment, as if he’s contemplating if you’re honest or not so you nod reassuringly.

He clears his throat.

“Self help books. I’m looking for self help books,” he says, his voice possibly not sounding as confident as it did in the beginning of the conversation.

“Yep, wrong aisle it is. We’re in the DIY section. Follow me, I’ll show you the right one,” you say in a friendly tone and tilt your head to follow you so he does.

“Here,” you announce to him. You have barely moved from the aisle you found him in.

He smiles grateful at you and nods. “I am at the cash register if you need anything else.” You turn around and walk towards the place you were sitting at just minutes ago.

No way in hell you’re able to go back reading that poetry book if this mysterious, good-looking man is wandering around your bookstore but you try anyway, trying to mask the excitement his presence alone is giving you.

He’s really handsome and looks way out of place in this tiny old bookstore. Such a guy isn’t an everyday occurrence after all. Sure, there are plenty of customers everyday. Maybe even some halfway decent ones, but you never felt this heat in your cheeks before while they’re smiling at you and you silently curse yourself and start to question everything.

The way you’re dressed today, with this old basic-as-fuck flannel shirt, an oversized band tee under it and some black leggings. You’re the epitome of “basic bitch” today. This fit does absolutely nothing for your figure but how the hell should you have known that this attractive stranger would enter your store when there were hardly any people coming in at all. You find yourself tucking a bit on your shirt and even smelling at the flannel to check if there’s any strong smells to it but all you notice is the perfume you’re wearing.

You’re catapulted back into the present immediately as the stranger places two books on the counter. One being Addiction Recovery - Skills to Rewire the Brain and the other being The Addiction Recovery Book Workbook - Powerful Skills for Preventing Relapse and you look up from the counter, your eyes meeting his but he immediately looks away. You want to say something, anything, but you sense his discomfort so you decide to stick to professionalism. You scan the books with practiced ease and say “That makes $32, please.”

“Sure,” he mumbles as he presents his credit card and you push the payment device wordlessly closer to him. As he places his card on the display you catch the name on it. Francisco Morales, you smile to yourself.

“Francisco, huh?” you interrupt the awkward silence and he looks at you with a mix of confusion and astonishment.

“Your card. Sorry, I just….” you apologize but he chuckles and all of a sudden the atmosphere is way lighter as he searches for your face again and smiles sheepishly.

“Frankie. Just… Frankie, please,” he snickers, the corners of his mouth still up and you nod.

“Okay, Just Frankie,” you reply. You place the books in a small paper bag and hand them to him, your own smile not faltering. “Have a nice day.”

He nods, lifting his cap once again and bows playfully. “For you too, ma’am.” His smile is even wider and you can’t help but giggle as he heads toward the entrance.

You watch him going down the paved road of the pedestrian zone, the pouring rain finally ceasing. Your gaze follows him until he’s completely out of sight and you feel a twinge of regret.

This was your chance and you missed it. You really thought there was a little spark, but obviously you're mistaken because he didn’t even ask for your name. You sigh, slump back on your stool, burying your face back into the book as the doorbell rings again.

“Hello and welcome. Make yourself comfortable. If there’s anything I can do for you I am here,” you repeat your usual sentence.

“You already said that earlier,” a familiar voice ringing in your ear and you look up immediately this time. Looking into these beautiful dark brown eyes, this time with a tint of hazel in them. As the sun breaks through the clouds it’s creating a soft, golden glow through the shop windows, illuminating his features perfectly. This would be the perfect movie scene, you think to yourself.

You lay down your book and give him your full attention. “Yeah, it’s automatic, you know.” You giggle and this time you don’t care about the slight blush on your cheeks.

“Sorry I was a dumb-ass earlier. I didn’t even ask for your name in return. I was…,” he pauses, “caught off guard,” he admits and it only causes your cheeks to get hotter.

He felt it too. The spark.

“It’s alright,” you appease him and tell him your name.

His smile widens. “A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.” he says cheeky and you laugh, an honest laugh.

“Watch out, don’t trip over your own slime trail.”

He laughs back, a deep rumbling laugh and you know in this moment you’re absolutely smitten.

"Anyway. You think you want to grab a coffee sometime?” he asks, a smirk on his face.

You nod. “I’d love to. My shift is over in an hour. If that’s not too spontaneous for you?”

He shakes his head. “Sounds perfect. I come pick you up then.” he replies, the wide grin still on his face and you giggle again.

You don’t remember the last time you went out with a total stranger to be honest. And a customer on top of that.

“See you around then, Just Frankie,” you remark on his comment from earlier and he laughs again as he heads towards the door and winks at you one last time before he’s out of sight once more.

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

It is raining again when the two of you sit in a café near the store. Frankie sits really close to you, the chair legs of his chair intermingling with yours. He couldn’t be any closer as he puts his arm around your shoulder. You move easily into the embrace, your head leaning closer to him.

“You know… I’m glad you never asked me about the titles of the books I bought.”

“Which books? You have bought so many since I met you but read none of them.”

There is a rumble in his chest and he’s clearly amused by your statement.

“No, the ones I bought when we first met. I guess you still remember that?” Of course you remember your meeting, because it feels almost like destiny now. There’s a short silence, and you can almost hear him thinking.

“Thank you for never judging people like me for their addiction,” his tone is sincere.

“You know I only ever cared about your looks and your skills in the sack, don’t you?” You both laugh. You grab for the hand that is not around your shoulder and hold it tight. In return, you receive a peck on your head.

“I’ve never really cared much for books, but I’m so glad I went into the bookstore that day. In the end I didn’t read them but they were worth every penny.”

He turns your hands over and plays with the ring on your left ring finger.

[doktorblitz]

Ambessa Medarda were-shifter/cursed into an animal form Head canons

Hello all, this idea came from talking with a friend of mine, @joalacandra initially and then also with lots of encouragement from @moodient so lots of thanks to both.

I have this curiosity about what a person would be like without the filtered/masked BS us humans do, so I always kinda wonder what my fav characters would be like as animals.

I feel like there's so much potential for what would be emphasized of their traits, versus what would be the same and what would be completely different.

Side note: written as gender neutral reader format for my Saphic girlies's enjoyment, but in my heart of hearts it's Miguel/Local cuisine cuddling big ol beast Bessa who's nuzzling him and being very protective.

Head canons only because I have not nearly enough energy for an actual fic at the moment.

So that's where the idea came from as to how it happens read on.

Also on AO3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65856343

I could see it happening one of 2 ways, one would be a failed Hextech experiment, seeing as Viktor got straight up turned into an Eldritch abomination it isn't that weird.

But the more likely that I'm seeing would be the 2nd, let's say Black rose decides instead of killing her outright, to fuck with Ambessa and make her life miserable a bit longer.

So maybe during that meeting with Amara the merchant guild representative, instead of just death gurgling threats, she said an incantation instead before she died.

Something something revealing your true self something, basically the old "cursed to be your spirit animal self until x thing happens" trope.

Or she could be a were shifter, bitten by another shifter so she ended up turning every full moon/under strong emotional strain.

Whatever the case, that's the how, and as to what she would be, I can think of 2 things.

-One would be the literal translation of her name, which is lion/lioness, and oh boy, the brown/gold eyes and the protective nature definitely would serve that. Not to mention the predatory hunter instincts she has, pinpointing her enemy's weakness in the blink of an eye.

-the other just as likely would be a wolf/wolf dog hybrid, the more wolf content the better. again the protective nature of the Pack, but also the hunting instincts and the possessive nature over family/mates.

So with that world building out of the way, animal Ambessa is very much like human Ambessa but with no fucks given for social norms and no filter as to how she feels about the world:

-how do you clock it's her? she has marks in her fur, on her arms/shoulders/back, just like her scars, probably in some shade of red.

-she's very protective of reader, to the point of tagging along everywhere. you wanna take a shower? she's gonna be guarding yo ass, not so much to perv, but because she is worried another alpha or predator will come to steal you away or threaten you.

-she's like the dog that thinks any stranger approaching it wants to steal its bone, with anyone but reader she's a bit aggressive/defensive. taking her for a walk is a task and a half, but on the plus side she likes or at least tolerates baths lol.

-she's very cuddly to the point that you don't need a pillow and/or a blanket, she's gonna be your (not so) human radiator. she runs pretty hot as an animal and is very clingy, so she's gonna be your blanket from now on.

-she's very big on scent marking, funnily enough both lions and wolves use that, wolves even use it so each Pack member can find their way back to the Pack. so lots of rubbing up on you and or nuzzling your legs/chest/hair, or staying tightly wrapped up to you when you sleep to keep her scent on you. and vice versa of course, don't be surprised if you find her lounging on one of your old shirts/blankets.

-she likes or tolerates baths and has specific scents she likes, she'll even point her snout to the one she wants. she can't bathe with just any ol soap, even animal Bessa has standards, you heathen.

-I'd imagine it makes it easier for her to comfort you in some cases, I always head-canon that her love language is acts of service and also physical touch. she's not so much the talking it out type, more so she listens and hums and strokes your hair etc, so being in animal form means no need to talk and the best form to snuggle and comfort you. she'll huff out a breath or chuff or growl in a low, more purring tone to say she's listening, but let you talk otherwise.

-I'd imagine in a genuinely dangerous situation one of the best weapons to have is a big fuck off lioness or wolfdog, already snarling and promising lots of pain to anyone wanting to harm you, even more so when someone actually does want to harm you, she's gonna bite and pounce and growl and look very fierce. not to mention anyone who continues despite seeing her big bad teeth and claws and muscles clearly has a death wish.

-contrast that with how she then goes to you, to make sure you're ok, and nuzzles at you to check for injuries and sniffs you to check you aren't bleeding etc.

-she'd probably be glued to you after a dangerous situation, you're not escaping her gaze for a moment, mostly because having already lost one cub (Kino) she's not looking to lose another.

-in that sense it's kinda funny, she sees you as a combination of cub, in how small and weak you are compared to her, and her Mate that she will do anything to impress and keep happy, she absolutely would bring you gifts like a cat taking care of it's human.

-another aspect of this is that, if it is for example a case that she got bitten and she's turning frequently and already comfortable with herself as an animal, she'll probably spend a third of her time in animal form and get very familiar with your routine. don't be surprised if you see a big ol wolf guarding you while you walk from home or jog through the woods. maybe even scaring away any dangerous critters in your path ahead of time.

-if you're injured or feeling unwell, expect her to dote, she's gonna be right there watching you like a hawk, and god forbid any friends want to hug you longer than a second, shes gonna butt in and sit you back down on the bed and keep you there with her snout on your chest/lap.

-in that vein I think she's very aware how she behaves in animal form after, she recalls exactly what you did and what she did, and you can't embarrass her with any of it, because she has no fucks to give. far as she's concerned she's protecting her Mate and providing for you, any and all instinctive behaviors as an animal are justified.

-I also think she'd be more quick to apologize in animal form, she immediately scents that you're hurt or annoyed or scared or whatever and is quick to nuzzle and whine and endear herself to you again. way harder to get her to admit she did anything wrong as a human.

Bonus scene, imagine poor surprised reader, who knows their lover in human form only, is walking past the woods outside town and suddenly sees this big fuck off wolf watching with amber eyes shiny in the dark. it's not attacking but it's definitely eyeing you up. you run, you think you're doomed when you hear it catching up......but then when you're on the ground, it just bumps your hand/chest curiously, smells you for a good minute, then goes all kitty/puppy mode and starts to nuzzle and whine and grumble.

PS - Fun fact, wolves grumble cause they can't bark, so she's grumbling and rumbling like a big grumpy puppy, and being adorable. Go watch the channel Liondad_1987 aka james on youtube, so many cute wolves vids!

Anyway, hope you enjoy, this is more a way to unwind after a hella long week I've had and I hope y'all got your daily dose of sugar from my lil post.

[borkunlimited]

Luke & Kieran's Bakery Attack(s) - 2

Running around the N109 zone takes energy and what is the best way to deal with that? Buying pastries and paying for them later, of course! (They are not stealing if you plan to pay.) Yet, that is only half the fun because what they really come for in that little bakery is that cute sheep hybrid who holds a grudge on them till kingdom come. A Sheep Hybrid! Reader x Wolf Hybrid! Luke & Kieran Tags: Luke x Reader, Kieran x Reader, Fluff, Banter, Predator/Prey Chapter Summary: In which Luke and Kieran brings you to school. Author's Note: Yeah, I decided to write more. I also decided to just put these all together in one work in AO3. AO3 Attack Count: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 If you want to read the main series: Take Your Time, Miss Deer

Attack # 2: With 3 Minutes to Spare

You ran all the way to the only train station located at the edge of the N109 zone that goes to the city only to see the last morning train leave.

Right in front of you.

If hopes and dreams can flash in the blink of an eye, then this is the physical manifestation of it.

Your feet hurt, your bike was stolen and you won’t admit it but Luke and Kieran were right. You should have ‘uglified’ that thing and now some sucker has it. 

Just because someone’s bike is left in the rack doesn’t mean it is public property. What’s wrong with people here in the N109 zone? Sure, the ratio of predator hybrid to prey hybrid is at 5 to 1 but they really are not even trying to dispel the ‘predator hybrids are bad’ allegation of the century.

Or maybe it is another prey hybrid who stole it? It doesn’t matter. You will find that motherfucker and make them pay for the bike you bought with six months worth of allowance from the internet.

The day has barely started and you find yourself slumping against one of the benches, your bag beside you and you fiddled with the keychain alarm hanging in it.

Not like anyone here would jump on you, not when there is this young deer hybrid running around (Why do they call him again? Rui? Lou?) who is ensuring the safety of all prey hybrids and it looks like Mr. Sylus doesn’t mind because if he does, that deer guy should be in the bottom of the ocean right now.

“Oh, skipping class, cream puff? How irresponsible.”

You didn’t turn around, fully aware the twins are here to hold this misfortune over your head so you just raised a middle finger to them then slumped further.

“So sad, feels bad,” Luke said, sitting on your left while Kieran took his place on your right, moving your bag in his lap.

They were just passing by, really, not like they put in their morning weekday routine to follow you covertly every time you make your way here in the train station.

“Where can I petition for more trains here?”, you groaned.

“You can leave another polite voicemail to the boss’ office,” Kieran suggested, poking your cheek, “You know, like how you did before when you ratted us out.”

“I reported you, not ratted you out. There’s a difference,” you corrected him, throwing him a glare and you glanced at the train station’s clock.

30 minutes till class starts. There is no way you will get there on time even if you call a taxi.

It was rather unusual to see you frown so hard. Sure, it is your default face around them but your heavy sighs point at the fact you are not too happy missing school and they know it is partially their fault having woke you up in the middle of the night to ask for leftover pastries.

They can sneak in the kitchen but choose not to, not when your brother is literally in the middle of the floor waiting for them with a rolling pin.

That dumb dog has a ridiculously good nose too. 

“You know, the boss has motorbikes that can run fast,” Luke started slowly, and you just shot him a glare, wondering what will you do with that fun fact when everyone here is already aware that if you put all of the cars and motorbikes Mr. Sylus owns, it would fill a 10 story condominium and maybe it wouldn’t even be enough.

The guy’s loaded.

“So fast that it will only take us 10 minutes from here to your school,” Kieran mused, tapping his finger on his chin.

Oh.

Are these two for real?

“Don’t tell me you guys are going to steal-”

“Not steal, borrow. There’s a difference,” Luke corrected you, and they both stood up, Kieran carrying your bag while Luke held your hand, leading the way out of the train station.

“He’s going to kill you. Don’t drag me to this!”, you exclaimed, trying to pull away but the twins looked at each other, grinning beneath their masks.

“Nah,” they said in unison.

“What do you mean ‘nah’?!”

“Nah.”

“When will I have a decent conversation with you two- Hey!”

Luke heaved you on his shoulders, sprinting through the streets back at the mansion with his brother right behind, the buildings a blur and their tails wagging in excitement.

It was almost fun, the closest semblance they can have to your life. They only saw these on shows they watch during their spare time and with you when they barge in your bedroom during your Friday night binge.

School sounds fun or maybe, it just sounds fun if you are in it.

Every night, Luke and Kieran talked about the what-ifs.

If the humans did not pull them out of the orphanage to be their lab puppies or if that hybrid couple chose them instead.

Will they still be able to meet you? They both agree they would. They’ll be your cool classmates who walk with you to school and back to your house.

Maybe, the dumb dog you call brother would also be a tad bit nicer to them too.

But right now, they are in the present and they still have 20 minutes to get you to class.

“They weren't kidding when they said Mr. Sylus is rich,” you commented, Luke passing you a helmet while you scanned the garage of the base.

They both snickered, pulling out two of the few motorbikes that Sylus usually lets them have a spin.

Apparently, this is just one of the many garages he has.

“You should see his room of antiques.”

“Or building of antiques,” Kieran piped in, correcting his brother.

“So, who’s your favorite twin, sheepie?”, Luke asked, grinning and making sure the strap under your chin is secure.

Their tails wagged when they looked back at you, already onboard their motorbikes and waiting for your answer. Will they fight over this later if you choose the other? There is chance but it doesn’t matter if the twin who wasn’t chosen for today can hear your bickering over the intercoms and-

-The warmth of your arms around the twin luckily picked by you today.

“My shoe! It fell off-”

“No chance of getting that back! Lose the other too, cream puff!”

Your left shoe went flying far away from you while the three of you breeze through the side of the bridge and when you thought you could probably pick it up after school, a gust of wind carried it and off it went, doing a quick somersault and diving towards the river.

You may have attended school that day with just your black socks on, 3 minutes before the class and while you started the day on the wrong foot (or maybe, feet?), your day ended with a surprise on your shoe locker.

Not the comic book borrowed to you by a friend already overdue by 3 months.

Not a glitter bomb.

Not a love letter.

In the supposed to be empty space are brand new school shoes.

────────────────────

Author's Note: Perhaps my purpose is to write fics for these two LMAO (and yea I am making references in the main fic.) AO3 Attack Count: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

[peppermintmagicianlynn]

TimBer Week 2024: Class Reunion

TimBer Week 2024 Day #5: Class Reunion

“Nice Lion-Guard statues at the opening gate. The lack of gargoyles helps you pretend you’re nowhere near Gotham proper.”

“Those were changed since I went here. I wonder if someone broke the front them again.”

“Can I ask what broke them before?”

“Cop car crashed into them while trying to chase after some rollerblading gang members.”

“Classic Bristol.”

—

Brentwood Academy was a school Bernard had heard of many times, even before befriending someone who’d actually went there. His parent had asked his previously if he might want to go there, willing to scrap together the money for enrollment, but he’d declined. His excuse at the time was along the lines of “how can I grow as a well-rounded person with no girls around?” Looking back, it might have been his repressed fear that being around nothing but males would make it harder to hide the part of him that let his eyes linger a little too long.

Tim had been confused when the invite for his previous class’s 10-year reunion showed up in their mail. “I didn’t graduate with them. “You didn’t graduate at all, hon.” “Exactly!”

His guess was that the dean talked them into inviting him because it would look good if he turned up to the reunion and hobnobbed with their potential donors. The only reason Tim agreed to go at all was that he had a few friends he hoped to see there. Tim RSVP’d himself and one guest, that of course being Bernard.

For his part, Bernard was more interesting in seeing how many students at this school were in love with Tim – he’d clocked maybe half the Greive’s population and ad taken great pride in rubbing his relationship status in all of their faces. He’d gone to elementary school with some of them; they’d pulled his clothes or stolen his juice boxes. So it was just fair game to steal the heart of their high school idol. Bernard was ready to flaunt his claim over any other men who’d gotten their awakening from the marvelous Tim Drake as well.

They parked the car and were following the directions of one of the senior boys - their little blazers were so charming - when the bark of a dog made pause. It broke through the manicured bushes that separated the parking lot from the main grounds, revealed to be a tan-colored pug running at full tilt. Everyone in the area froze to watch the dog as it cut through the cars but only one person made a move towards it.

“No way,” Tim breathed at Bernard’s side, putting out a hand with a face liked he’d seen a ghost. “Cardigan?!”

The dog slowed, looked back to Tim, then changed direction to come his way.

With a mystified look, Tim crouched down as the little creature reached him, putting tiny paws on the knees of his expensive slacks, tail wagging with glee. “You’re still…oh, wait.” Tim hooked a finger into the dog’s collar, pulling it up so he could read the name tag. “Cardigan III. I guess that makes more sense.”

There was a sadness in those words and Bernard instinctively gripped the other man’s shoulder in comfort, despite not understanding its source. Experience told him that the answers would unveil in time anyway, even in the next thirty—

“Cardy! There you are. I’m so sorry, sirs.” A student cut around the bushes, holding a leash in his hands and panting. “He got away from me.”

“No problem, sport,” Tim said as he rose to his feet. One hand slipped into his pocket, giving him a look of perfectly amicable suburban dad. He was channeling serious Brucie Wayne energy without even knowing it. “I can’t think this is the same Cardy I used to play fetch with when I was a student here.”

“Oh, no, sir,” the boy answered, attaching the leash to Cardy’s collar. “Cardigan Sr. and Jr. passed away a long time ago. This is Cardy the Third.”

Tim sighed, absorbing that information with downturned eyes. The boy picked up Cardy the Third and carried the dog back to the side of the building, promising treats if he would just be more agreeable.

“Cardy Sr. and I were really close,” Tim said to Bernard as they linked hands, following the people who were heading to the building's front entrance. “We had a lot of adventures together, even if I didn’t want him chasing me around.”

“Maybe we should get a dog?”

“We have enough animals to feed as it is. And I’m not just talking about the cats.”

Bernard just laughed and squeezed his hand tighter.

—-

The opening presentation was unimpressive, taken up mostly by a PowerPoint that described Brentwood’s prestigious history. They also learned about the various alumni of Brentwood who went on to create successful careers. Bernard could imagine the school board grinding their teeth that they couldn’t add one Timothy Drake-Wayne to that list. But hey, no school could.

Though one man that was bragged in the slides was a friend Tim sought out after they were allowed to mingle.

“Kip!” Tim pulled the equally short, though quite a bit thicker, male into a tight hug. Kip Kettering looked surprised by Tim’s enthusiasm.

“It’s great to see you too, Tim! Well, to see you in person and not in another Elites of Gotham magazine cover.”

Tim groaned, though that could remove his smile at the ribbing.

“No really, who would have thought our Tim Drake, wrangler of explosive dorm fights and hero to nerds everywhere would grow up to be a CEO? I bet your board meetings look like the war room scenes from the best action movies.”

“Being honest with you, they feel like that sometimes though usually I’m going to war against the rest of them.” Bernard and Kip both laughed. “I swear, they'll get maybe five more years out of me, then I’m quitting and becoming a househusband!”

That statement reminded Kip that they had skipped an important introduction. “Oh, you must be Bernard!” The two shook hands. “I saw the wedding announcement on LiveWire. Congrats to you both!”

“Thank,” Tim said, his smile like sunshine which told of how relieved he was by the positive response. “I’d wondered if I should invite you guys but…”

“But you weren’t sure about how supportive we would be,” Kip cut to the chase, nodding his head in understanding. “I get it, man. Events like this, you never know if the people you were friends with have grown with the times, or cartwheeled backwards. You have to be careful!”

“But you weren’t sure about how supportive we would be,” Kip cut to the chase, nodding his head in understanding. “I get it, man. Events like this, you never know if the people you were friends with have grown with the times or cartwheeled backwards. You have to be careful!”

“What about you, though?” Tim asked, wrapping an arm around Bernard’s waist. “I never thought you’d end up a movie producer, but then again, it does track. You were always more critical of your movies than your taste in books.

Kip shrugged, not denying that. “Well, I graduated school with a tidy bit of money in my pockets so I thought, why not apply myself into something that interest me instead of a mindless computing degree. I guess you can’t really relate to that, can you?”

“Damn Kip, when did you get so brutal?”

“Since I moved out to Hollywood.”

“Hey, Timbo!” A boisterous baritone voice cut through the ruckus of the room, turning the attention of their group specifically. A very tall man shouldered his way through various bodies, his skin-tight clothing showing the cut of bulky muscles as he charged their way.

“Buzz Cohen,” Tim said, smirking at the approaching man where Kip grinned through an exasperated sigh. Tim put out a hand to shake but Buzz captured it and pulled the raven-haired man into a hug. "You sure look calm for a professional football player in a room of soccer-school alums."

“And you sure look respectable for a high school dropout!” Buzz clapped Tim on the shoulder, hard enough to bruise. A hit like that wasn’t anything Tim could take but he still faked like he was ready to fold in the knees. “You got adopted by a millionaire, took over his company, and you even got married all before we got to see you again!”

Tim elbowed Buzz in the ribs, trying to be gentle with it, but the other man still winced. Now free, Tim straightened himself out and went about the proper introduction. “Kip Ketterling, Buzz Cohen, this is my husband, Bernard. Bern, this is Kip and Buzz, some of my best friends while I went to Brentwood.”

“It’s nice to meet you to. And also, thank you. Now I know why Tim never mocked my name in school.”

“God damn it, Bernard.”

Bernard listened to Tim and his friends recount their adventures in Brentwood. He had already hear these stories from Tim but it was nice to hear the parts he had intentionally left out. Like his failed attempt at soccer tryout (likely on purpose) or his various run ins with their former housemother. They shared a mutual disappointment that a few of their group - Ali, Danny, or Wesley – hadn’t shown up to the party but that changed to making plans for their own friend reunion. Bernard was interest to see how they would get the leader of a former-terrorist sect and the leader of a country to come all the way to Bristol for pizza. Moreover, he wondered what Bruce would do if he found out.

The group eventually split up with talk about other classmates to check on. They swapped contact info and promises to actually stay in touch this time.

Tim had patrol that evening, so they made a quick pass through the crowd to check for anyone else he knew well enough, then took Bernard back outside through a different way. There was a part of the campus Bernard had been dying to see ever since Tim had told him the unabridged version of his time in all-boys school.

“So that’s the legendary bell-tower, huh?” He’d seen it from a distance when they were driving up but now that the sun was starting to set, it gave the neglected structure a creepy vibe. A perfect hiding spot for a family of Man-Bats looking to raise their daughter and new baby son.”

“Yeah, this is the place. I snuck up with Cardigan Sr. and after we scared the Man-Bats out, I had to save the pooch from himself. And save my skin by doing so.”

They ventured closer but stopped when they noticed a collection of boys hanging around the entrance. Tim made a noise and when Bernard looked his way, his husband was looking at the kids intensely. “The boy with the blond hair; I think I know him.” He was the smallest of the group, light blonde hair and a sunny smile. “I think that’s Aaron Langstrom.”

“You mean the-” someone was approaching them “the science couple’s kid?”

“Yeah, the Langstroms worked with WayneTech for a bit, so I got to know him.”

“Good evening to you, Mr. Drake.”

Even Bernard had heard the old man coming up behind them, but he could see where it might freak you out if you were one of his students. He moved like a ghost.

Dean Nederland was perhaps some kind of immortal because Tim had showed him pictures of the Brentwood headmaster and he looked exactly the same, not an extra wrinkle to be seen even after ten years. Cardy the Third was at his side, pawing at his owner’s ankle. Bernard wondered idyll why the dean was walking his dog now when he had an entire group of alumni to be schmoozing for donations.

“Hello, sir. I hope you’ve been well.”

“I have Mr. Drake. Or is it Drake-Wayne, now?”

“Drake-Dowd, Sir,” Tim smiled, clasping his ex-headmaster’s hand firmly. “This is my husband, Bernard.”

“Hello,” Bernard greeted, given a handshake as well. The man’s grip was surprisingly firm for someone of his years. He was putting ‘vampire’ at the top of his theory list.

“I am pleased to meet you, young man. I hope you have found our Brentwood Academy lives up to its reputation. Perhaps you might consider sending your own son here someday.”

“I’m truly impressed by the place, sir. It’s a magnificent facility and Tim has told me of his many fond memories as a student.” This got a smile from the dean who nodded at Tim in something that could be pleasure or gratitude.

But Tim turned the discussion back to the previous point. “So that is Aaron Langstrom? I hadn’t realized he was old enough to attend here.”

“Yes, he began his first year with us this fall and has been a delightful child.” The dean sighed with an aged kind of happiness. “He was here for the tour and in the first five minutes, declared he felt very at home in our Brentwood. Hearing that was a great joy for me, I don’t mind telling you.”

Given that the meta-human had once spent his nesting years in that very belltower, Bernard could imagine why he found it “homey”. He wasn’t about to mention that to the dean, though. Let him have his happiness.

Dean Nederland spoke with them for a few minutes more before bidding them good night and continue to walk his peppy dog who did let Tim and Bernard pet him one last time. The moment they disappeared, though, the couple was approached by an entirely new group.

“Excuse me?” Aaron and his friends had made their way over, wearing expressions of hesitation but also curiosity. “Are you Tim Wayne? I’d seen you in one of the old school photos.”

“Yes, that’d be me.”

“Oh cool,” said another boy. “Then, you were the guy that saved that guy who was kidnapped by that casino guy, right?”

“Uh, yes I was.”

“So you were also the guy that had a demon explode in his dorm room and cut up a dude who was protecting that Arabian prince?”

“Well, yes, but he was actually --”

“And you were here for when the original Sk8Bratz crashed through the campus gates and broke the front door?” “Idiot, we told you, it was the side gate and they broke the lions.” “Nuh uh.”

Bernard grinned at his husband. “Seems your reputation as a center of chao didn’t start in Grieves, hon.”

“No, it started when I was born,” Tim replied with a sly grin. And after quieting the bickering boys, set to work untangling their many stories of his Brentwood years and laying out the various cover stories he’d crafted for such situations.

The sun was fully set by the time they left the Brentwood Academy grounds, though they still had one more stop to make in Bristol Commons before heading to Wayne Manor.

“I’d see this place all the time when I was doing patrols around school,” Tim said as they took their orders and settled into an empty booth in the SunDollar coffee shop. “I was too busy to check it out when I’d just started classes and towards the end, I was under house arrest, so I never did get the chance.”

Bernard took a sip. “Sorry to break it to you, honey, but if it was just like this back when you were a student, you weren’t missing out on much.”

Tim took a sip, agreed to his point, then kept drinking it anyway.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, holding hands over the tabletop. Until Tim said, “I keep thinking about when the dean said.”

“About us having a son someday? Because I’m pretty sure I put into the prenup that I wanted a girl as my first child, so don’t go buying any blazers or ugly ties in the near future.”

Tim waved that away, not even interacting with Bernard’s joke. “Specifically, about sending my own child to Brentwood.”

Bernard frowned. “You’d want to send them to boarding school? After how miserable that always made you?”

“I wasn’t thinking they’d have to live there like I did. They could just be day students and live at home. It’s just…that made me think about if I really liked or really hated my Brentwood experience as a whole. Even now, after all these years, I have mixed feelings about that time in my life. There was a lot of dangerous things I faced there, a lot of drama from outside the walls and inside of them. But there were also some really joyful moments. Experiences that I might not have bothered with until I was forced to act like a teenager and grew to kind of like it.” He sipped his coffee again, gazing out the window towards the silhouette of the belltower. “The guys there were all so different from my Gotham Heights friends, or my teammates, but they still made me feel like one of them. They taught me to feel like ‘one of the guys’ and I really did love that.”

Bernard grinned at his adorable husband. But a tiny, territorial part of his heart made him ask “Did you like going to Brentwood more than Grieves?”

“Hell no.” Tim turned to smirk at his husband. “Not just the fact that I met the love of my life at Grieves, but I got to actually be a kid there; no secrets, no Robin, no double life to get in the way. The Brentwood guys helped me learn what it meant to be a kid. But you and Darla…you made me see what it meant to be Tim Drake. You still do that for me, every day.”

Bernard grinned, knowing it was all kinds of mushy but not caring enough to stop. He let himself be pulled into a searing kiss, much hotter than this lukewarm coffee. He laced his other hand into Tim’s, delighted by the cut of the wedding band that he’d put there not long ago.

He hadn’t gotten to brag on any of Tim’s ex-suitors but that was okay.

They still had the Gotham High reunion two months from now.

---

This feels kind of more like a Brentwood Boys fic then TimBer but I love that stretch of Tim's comics. I couldn't NOT overdo it. Sorry if anyone else wanted to see Ali, Danny, or Wesley. Maybe someday in the future they can have Brentwood Boys reunion part 2.

And no, I don't know if Aaron Langstrom ever appeared in the comic universe again. But he should! And he should have a good life and become a student at the school that he grew up in.

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by the lovely @hircines-hunter <3 and last week by @orfeoarte (I already posted by then so counting it now!)

Tagging:

@theoneandonlysemla @dirty-bosmer @lucien-lachance @umbracirrus @changelingsandothernonsense @firefly-factory

@bougainvillea-and-saltwater @pocket-vvardvark @captain-of-silvenar @ladytanithia @thequeenofthewinter

Hello it's another Wednesday and I bring to you *gasps* a wip not about Theodora and Ondolemar??? 😲😲😲

They have graciously let me write about someone else, I briefly wrote about Aicantar in a fic recently and that got me thinking more about him. Reworked an old oc that I did barely anything with and as I much prefer to read slow burn then write it, they are gonna smash immediately 🤭 Background before this is he catches Vevora (Breton/Dunmer artist) trying to steal a Centurion Dynamo Core, decides not to call the guards. They get talking and she spots a particular ✨romance✨ novel because I've made him a virgin smut reader 🤪 MDNI under the cut because it's me

Oh no. So caught up being charmed by a beautiful woman, he distinctly forgot he very well did have something to hide.

“And is this part of living like the Dwemer as well?” The title is partially covered by her fingertips, gently grasping it by the spine. 

“Um, I, well, you see-” Any and all ability to be coherent has left. Heat rising to his face, Aicantar is sure she notices the flush of embarrassment he now wears. In an attempt to save dignity he turns away, mouth covering the little of his face not covered by his hood. 

“Did I interrupt your evening plans, pretty boy?” He screams internally, why did she have to pick up the book? Why didn’t he put it away? Whole body warm now, he decides to fixate on not passing out. Remain present rather than degrade himself further by going unconscious But he is shamefully curious, did she think he was attractive? Pretty to use her own words? Pushing aside hopes that he too, could be like the Dwemer and disappear to some unidentifiable plane, he asks innocently. 

“You think I’m pretty?” Eyes meet hers for a moment before he returns to sharing at the wall. She chuckles lowly. 

“I do. Well, at least from what I can see.” Oh no she’s coming closer. Running would be even more humiliating but he is sorely tempted too. Even more so when she pulls back the hood of his robes, going so far as to grab his chin and make him face her. “Oh yeah, definitely a pretty boy.” Red eyes half-lidded with a teasing smirk on her face. Vevora was enjoying watching him squirm, words failing him as the feel of her hands is too nice to even think. “Hmm, now what part have you marked here? Your favourite, maybe?” Please no. It was overwhelming enough, her hands touching his face, how close she stood, how his mind wandered as he wondered what her hair felt like. The red tresses a different hue than her eyes, eyes that were now opening the book to the marked section he had spent far too much time reading. 

Opening to the beginning of the chapter, she smirks. 

“Oh this one, I remember this part well.” Another gulp. “But dog-eared pages? Tsk tsk.” 

“Are, are you, familiar with this, this story?” 

“Oh I’m very familiar, I know this novel very, very well.” He doesn’t have time to respond before she is recounting the chapter summary while flipping leisurely through the pages. “Princess Brittgerd sucks Akvid off for the first time, the poor lad was not expecting her to have such an appetite.” There’s something about hearing it from someone else that drives him crazy, a few moments ago he was way too afraid to even notice he was hard, now the ache was much greater than could be ignored. Thin trousers yet, not thin enough as they feel incredibly constricting against his length. The sound of the book closing causes him to jump, nearly grateful for it as a whimper was on the tip of his tongue. “The unsuspecting boys are always the most fun.” The Dunmer looks at him and he’s too inexperienced to recognize her own look of hunger; instead confused as to where she was going with this. “Why are you reading this? You’re awfully cute, I can’t imagine you having a hard time with the ladies, or whoever else you prefer.” Oh. Gently, she places her hand on his chest before slightly gripping his robes. The pull is too much and he whines, wanting so badly for her to keep touching him, staying like this for a bit would be more than enough. So in a daze, he asks nearly the same question again. 

“You think I’m cute?” She laughs and by Auri-El is is lovely. Light, authentic, and most importantly;  directed his way, at the young mer she made melt before her.  

“I do.” She humours his repetition. “You seem like a very sweet boy, is that right?” The hand moves lower, dangerously lower as toys with the thin rope of his belt. A sharp inhale is his response. “What do you think of me?” 

For a fleeting moment, Aicantar believes he can spew something resembling the suave men of his books, something about how even in the harsh Dwemer lighting she looks radiant, completely and utterly captivating him. Yet, any opportunity to redeem his reputation and prove he is more than a flustered mess is lost as her fingers run along his waistband, dipping in along his side. What comes out is a far cry from what he wanted. 

“I, um, um, Miss, um, Miss Raviro, um, you’re-” Thankfully she cuts off his stammering. 

“No need to be so formal, call me Vevora.” 

“Miss Vevora, I mean, um, Vevora.” A bit of strength goes a long way. “You’re very beautiful.” 

“Thanks, you’re too sweet.” She moves her hand for one moment, turning to place the novel on the bedside table. Turning back to him, both hands grasp the collar of his hood, pulling him to her lips. Not absolutely clueless, he had done this several times drunk, liquid courage helping him bridge the gap in his own difficulties, but he was more than content to let her lead. Initially, the scholar is grateful she goes easy on him. Slow pecks on his lips, hands about to move to her waist, he freezes when her tongue swipes across; mouth opening immediately for the other to dive in. The moans and whimpers emitting from him nearly drown out the one from her. She breaks the kiss, allowing an obscene moan to echo off the walls. Another, regrettably louder one escapes him as she traces the outline of his cock, providing delicate ministrations over the agonizingly tight fabric. “Do you have that chapter marked because it’s your favourite?”

“Well it’s, um, quite, um, well-written.” 

“That it is, that it is.” Each word of the iteration is enunciated carefully, slowly drawing it out. “Want to recreate it with me, pretty boy?” 

[thepunkranger]

Carlos Oliveira K!nk Headcanons

(Obviously 18+ only. Written by an active member of the k!nk community. Character is written bisexual w/ gender neutral reader. TW for brief, ambiguous mention of character’s negative past experiences)

Carlos is a switch with a sub lean. He didn’t get to explore his submissive side until his late teens-early 20s, but once he did he fell for it hard. Boy had a full-on sub frenzy phase. He’s definitely gone cruising more than a couple of times, and unfortunately did not have a great starting point for ethical BDSM, though he came out of it mostly unscathed and with some very strong opinions about his personal aftercare needs.

As a sub, Carlos is first and foremost a service sub. Whatever his partner wants or needs, that’s what he’s doing. In full subspace it’s basically his life’s goal. He’ll wait on them hand and foot and love every minute of it. He surprised himself by having a crossdressing kink. He doesn’t like sissification, and definitely isn’t about to shave his body or be caged 24/7, but women’s clothing? It’s a rush, to put it simply. Maid dresses with cat ears, long flowy skirts, and silky panties are some of his personal favorites. He also fucking loves bottoming. Please plow this man. Dick, strap-on, fingers, he doesn’t care. Loves the experience of being fucked in every goddamn position. He will, however, be a fucking brat to get himself punished and/or fucked harder. Steals your shit and puts it on a high shelf where you can’t reach, sticks out his tongue during meaningless arguments, and loves to very literally push your buttons with tickling and doing dumb shit like pretending to steal your nose or poking you in the stomach.

Carlos is both a puppy sub, and little, though the two don’t crossover much. As a pup Carlos is very much a guard dog type. Sticks close to his handler and likes to make sure they’re taken care of before he gets up to any puppy shenanigans, throws his weight around at moshes, and likes to generally just be on and around his handler at all times. He’s a good boy as a dog though, and will go out of his way to follow any commands he’s given. Likes eating out of his dog bowl on the floor and wearing his leather full-body harness. Has a thick-ass tail plug (think the MSL Woofy tails) for play at home and a faux fur show tail for moshes, along with a strappy leather hood and a spiked collar with a bone-shaped tag. Likes being called “dog” and “doggy” more than “puppy.”

Carlos is a fucking handful as a little. Big, loud, bratty little boy energy 100%. Loves making a mess of both himself and the space around him, and absolutely will not sit still long enough for you to wrestle him into the bath. Make sure to give him a booster for his diaper, because you’ll have to catch him if you want to give him a change, and he can run fast. Good news is, when he finally runs out of steam he’s the sweetest little boy ever. Curls up in his Caregiver’s lap and just wants to snuggle forever while getting read to or sung lullabies. Has a comfort stuffie that he clings to for dear life and takes everywhere with him, and you’d best believe he’s making you treat it like a living person with kisses goodnight and a place setting at the table.

Carlos pretty much lives for verbal aftercare. Got used as a fuck toy by too many bad doms early on and now gets bad sub drop if he isn’t well taken care of in the aftermath. Make sure you tell him you aren’t mad about his bratting (or have a constructive conversation about it after he’s out of headspace) and love him as a person and not just a plaything. Warm drinks are great, especially warm milk or hot chocolate (make sure to add cinnamon for best results), and lots of cuddles in your arms with his comfort stuffie.

As a dom, Carlos is a Daddy Dom through and through. It’s doesn’t have to specifically be in the context of ageplay, but damn if that man doesn’t love spoiling his sub. The kind of Daddy to fall for puppy dog eyes and a “pleeeeeaaasse?” every goddamn time. Yes he’ll buy you the plushie, yes you can have an extra cookie, yes you can watch one more episode of Bluey, he’s a pushover for his baby. Speaking of Bluey, Carlos gets big Bandit Heeler energy when in Dom mode. Literal playing with his sub is almost always gonna be a little rough, because this man grew up with six brothers, what do you expect? He’s big and strong enough for picking you up and tossing you in the air, or holding you down for tickles until you can’t breathe, but will also use his powers for good and carry his baby around the house, or even when you get tired out and about.

He’ll happily go rough during sex - manhandle his sub, spout dirty talk that would make a booktoker blush, and leave you with bruises that last for days. Speaking of bruises, Carlos loves getting to see his handiwork on his sub’s body. Prefers using his hand for impact just to see the prints he leaves behind. He goes hard on impact too - anywhere that can safely be hit and isn’t a limit is getting smacked until a yellow is called. Especially loves the jiggly places like his sub’s ass and thighs and/or tits. Grabs them hard just to see the skin press out around his fingers. He also isn’t afraid to use toys to his advantage. Vibrators, dildos, clamps, sleeves, spreader bars, he’ll use them all just to try and see how squirmy and whiny he can make his sub. As soon as you’re done he’s right back into soft and doting mode though, carrying his baby to a hot bath or shower, showering you with kisses and making sure to give you a massage with arnica to take care of any places he went too rough. He’ll cuddle for hours and just talk and decompress for as long as you need. He’ll also take care of anything that comes up afterwards as well like walking the dog or getting dinner.

[forlornmelody]

Thank you, @bronzieinthedas for the tag!

Sorry for the shitty screenshot. just figured out how to take them the old fashioned day after the in-game one stopped working this playthrough.

LAYER ONE: THE OUTSIDE

Name:  Anathea Lavellan.

Eye Color: Golden brown

Hair Style/Color: Red, usually kept up out of her face in a pony tail. (The last thing you want is the wind blowing hair into your eyes when spellcasting.)

Height: 5'

Clothing Style: For casual wear--Anathea prefers silk brocades, nothing too formal for most occasions, though she wears a fantastic whispy gown to the Winter Palace. Screw uniforms. In battle, she wears leather, with some sort of billowy cloak. (Half of battle is intimidation.) She favors jewel tones at all times.

Best Physical Feature(s): She has a really intense stare, yet a beautiful laugh.

LAYER TWO: THE INSIDE

Fears: spiders, dying alone.

Guilty Pleasure: Flirting, relentlessly. Using magic for absolutely frivolous purposes.

Biggest Pet Peeve: Magesplaining, especially around elven magic.

Ambition for the Future: Justice for the Dalish, by whatever means necessary.

LAYER THREE: THOUGHTS

First Thoughts Waking Up: Where the fuck is the breeze?

What They Think About the Most: How can I use this?

What They Think About Before Bed: Trying to solve the world's problem before she falls asleep. As if it's possible.

What They Think Their Best Quality Is: Perceptiveness.

LAYER FOUR: WHAT’S BETTER?

Single or Group Dates: Definitely single. Large groups are distracting, and feel too much like work. Whereas when she's alone, Anathea can be more herself around her partner.

To be Loved or Respected: By friends/loved ones/lovers? Loved. By strangers? Fucking respected. None of that Knife Ear bullshit

Beauty or Brains: Brains, mostly. Though Anathea has learned to cultivate her appearance and mannerisms to glamour those she's trying to spy on, or deceive.

Dogs or Cats: Anathea isn't accustomed to either, but has taken to feeding the castle cats at Skyhold. (You can't tell me Skyhold doesn't have a bunch of feral cats running around to keep the mice population under control.)

LAYER FIVE: DO YOU?

Lie:  Often. Can she hold play the Game like an Orlesian noble? She's sure going to try. But she prefers to lie by omission whenever possible. Let people around her believe what they want to believe until she needs to persuade them otherwise.

Believe in Yourself: She doesn't have much choice. But she is unnerved by the faith everyone seems to put in her as the Herald.

Believe in Love: Absolutely. But she believes it's something that happens to other people, not her.

Want Someone: Desperately. To the point of self-sabotage.

LAYER SIX: HAVE YOU EVER?

Been on Stage: Not since leaving her clan. She would join in on their market day plays when trading with other clans. But she prefers not to draw attention to herself when among strangers.

Done Drugs: Among the safety of her clan? Absolutely. Now? She wouldn't dare.

Changed Who You Were to Fit In: Constanty.

LAYER SEVEN: WHAT’S THEIR…

Favourite colours: Anathea loves the color of the leaves as the sun shines through them.

Favourite animal: She has an affinity for the Halla, but also dragons. She loathes killing such fantastic beasts, and will do what she can to avoid them to avoid having to fight one.

Favourite book: She hadn't read much until arriving at Skyhold. Books are heavy. But she has made a habit of stealing Cassandra's books so she can quote passages and fluster her.

Favourite game: She is not the best Wicked Grace player, but she does enjoy watching others lose more than her.

LAYER EIGHT: AGE

DOB: Born in the mid spring of the year 8400 FA, somewhere in the valley near Wycombe.

How Old Will You Be: At the Exalted Council, around 30.

Does Age Matter: Anathea knows she's an adult. She doesn't keep much track of it other than that.

LAYER NINE: FINISH THE SENTENCE

I love: sleeping in a real bed, watching stars fall, peeling a person's motives like layers of an onion, cookies that Sera makes, and Sera, but not necessarily in that order.

I feel: like I'm stuck in a nightmare, most of the time.

I hide: who I really am.

I miss: my clan.

I wish: fate would have chosen someone else.

Tagging: @swaps55, @himluv, and @sorchacahill, if you would like to join in.

[drkroots]

fill in the below categories with three to five things that your character can be identified by.

aesthetics: night times at the garage / workshop / magic store / lab dimly lit by weak lights and candles, desk chaotically covered in papers and books, white boards and chalk boards completely covered in complicated equations and formulas, the dead calm of the forest ( at any time of the day / night ), the open and endless skies and also thermals ( i had to ).

colors: the bright blue of a summer sky, the dark blue of denim jeans with splotches of black oil and grease, shades of dark greens for the foliage he lives in, tan-brown for the trees he calls home. Outside of black, all his colours are super muted and while he's not aware of it, it's a super subtle thing he does to blend into the world around him from the trauma of having all eyes on him as a child.

clothing: His uncle's Air-Force jacket that was too big for him as a teenager so it fits him comfortably now ( and same uncle's dog-tags hang loosely around neck ), a well worn pair of steel-capped boats for safety, a Green Day band tee and a red or green plaid pat shirt to go over it.

objects: He's not him without his cigarettes and lighter, an a5 notebook that's thick as fuck, those pages full as is but with heaps of paperclips and other stuff to pin stuff to pages and the like, a flask of vodka ( which he desperately tries to keep out of vision of tiny child hands ) and his literally from the 90s Nokia mobile bc he can't use any tech with touch screens while the sun is up.

body language: If looks could kill with the insane 'glare' he naturally gives... but in the same breath needs to squint when reading things as a human because of the 'crappy' human eye sight. He's avoids crowds and waits for people to interact with him instead of being the one to engage in conversations, he likes to simply watch in the background and if he's comfortable enough in human form, he will perch and continue to observe, paying no mind as to how strange it may look to those who don't know him. No matter the form he takes, he is always very birdlike in mannerisms... this going as far as he is absolutely capable of biting if touched without consent, again, bird or man.

vices / bad habits: Smoking, drinking, had a history of self-harm as a teenager both before and after Addie's death, said death making it worse when he had those really bad days and he was desperate to actually feel something, swearing like an absolute sailor and because he's the smartest person in the room 99.99% of the time, he will correct people when they're super wrong about things he's well informed about.

traits: He cares a lot, too much even, but he sees that as a vulnerability that can be exploited and while its true to an extent, it leans into his deep-seated, trauma twisted paranoia. When he opens himself up to people, he can be incredibly selfless, but to parallel that, he can come off as selfish as hell for being a survivalist and getting himself out of danger, for example.

scents: Tobacco smoke, smoke in general from candles and incense, petrol, nature, wood from carpentry, hands probably even smelling like metal from dealing with nails and screws and all his various tools of his trades.

songs: you can't take me - bryan adams, breakdown - seether, rescue me - kerrie roberts, keep running - unrated, scars - papa roach, fly away - poe, shatter me - lindsey stirling feat. lzzy hale, set me free - counting crowns. glycerine - rush, how you remind me - nickelback, one last breath - creed

tagged by: @resisteence, thank you so much for tagging me in this but i need you to know that putting limits on what i list for this boy was torture lmfao.

tagging: @diviningtime, @demonstigma, @pierprincess, @badassxbirdy, @coastercruushed, @marchandmodeste, @malka-lisitsa and whoever else wants to do it. steal it from me lmfao.

[theshadowandhislight]

[ @silver---linings ]

((Hope you don't mind a Christmas one-off separate from the roleplay. If you do mind, you can ignore this. This is directed at both of them gay boys.))

Two small presents pop into existence from nowhere. One present was colored blue, and the other was colored black wrapped with a red ribbon, making it obvious which present belongs to who. The tags on the gifts say these are from Silver.

In Sonic's present, there were five chili dogs.

In Shadow's present, there was a bag of chocolate coated coffee beans.

Both of their gifts contained a note from Silver. His handwriting... wasn't exactly the best, but it's still readable.

Sonic's note read: "Some chili dogs from the future! One of them is a "chilly" dog, a specialty chili dog from Holoska! Merry Christmas, Sonic! - Silver"

Shadow's note read: "I thought you could sweeten up your bitter palette a little bit. Merry Christmas, Shadow! - Silver"

// Of course I dont mind! I was kinda hoping for something like this too! the lore thing with my s/o takes place before christmas day/eve anyway so this is perfect :D // The day was a cold winter day. one of those kinds of cold winter snowy days that kept Sonic from being allowed to run in the snow. even if he could just pile drive through the snow, that'd require having to be able to exactly leave.. which uh.. wasn't the case with eight feet of snow covering the door. so Sonic and Shadow were spending their christmas together, even if Shadow didn't seem the most enthusiastic about the season.

The two Hedgehogs were cuddled up on the couch, mainly just talking between theirselves with Sonic cuddled up against Shadow's chest fur and overall not seeming as worried about being stuck at home as you'd think. Both of the hedgehogs however seem to immediately notice the Presents that suddenly appear, especially since the two landed with polite little thuds on the coffee table infront of the couch. Shadow seemed Skeptical, but his Expression relaxed when Sonic sat up and pulled the Presents closer for them to see.

Shadow only sits upwards, making sure the blanket they shared was still wrapped over both of their backs, when Sonic begins to atleast read the note on the present marked for him while gently pushing the other one closer to Shadow.

' ' Oh Sick! Chili dogs from the FUTURE! They could only get better! ' '

' ' Who are they from? ' '

' ' Silver of course! I'm- actually surprised he can send stuff from the future.. but hey! I'm not gonna complain. ' '

' ' Are you sure this wont affect anything--? ' '

' ' Noooooo.. but I'm sure he tested that out somewhere else first before he uh- risked that. I atleast hope so. ' '

Shadow merely gives a low grumble at that, furrowing his brows in natural suspicion as Sonic seems to take a double take at the writing before chuckles while pulling the Present into his lap.

' ' What's funny, Hedgehog? ' '

' ' Silver says these are make from the Holoska in his future! a specialty chilidog of his. I remember him actually, he gave me something similar when I helped him out with a couple problems. during my werehog year I think? it's been awhile ago, but to know he's still making these even in the future is great! I'm gonna find a way to give Silver some presents, one way or another. ' '

' ' I'll help. ' '

Sonic gave a confused sound at that, though as he turns his head to look towards the dark hedgehog, he sees that he too had taken the other present when realizing it was directed to him. Sonic softly grins as he watches Shadow open up the present and pull out the chocolate coated coffee beans, already taking a handful.

' ' Is that a smileee? ' '

Shadow's smile drops and he immediately narrows his eyes, turning his back to the hedgehog as if he was defending the sweets for his life. lightheartedly, of course.

' ' Relax! I'm not gonna steal your snack! not this time.. what are they? chocolate? ' '

' ' Chocolate covered coffee beans and no, you may not have one. ' '

' ' love ya too shads. ' '

Sonic chuckles. he properly opens up his present and takes one of the chilly dogs out, leaning against Shadow's back as he enjoyed the lovely snowy evening with the gifts they were given By Silver.

[themarvelhorse]

Oversharing with 15 answers to 15 questions! Tagged by @paeonia-horse, thanks!

You know, some of these questions seem familiar. Maybe I answered this a while back? Maybe my answers will be different this time around.

Are you named after anyone? Yeah, I'm named after my great grandfather.

When was the last time you cried? Oooh jeez uh, I think there were probably a few moments here and there before the one I'm about to give where I teared up but I definitely cried at my best friend's brother's funeral just before Christmas.

Do you have kids? I don't but people ask me this often. Do I want kids? Not if it means having them with the life I'm currently living lmao.

What sports do you play/have you played? Willingly? Ah, I never really got in any particular sport. I've enjoyed casual running, and played squash with friends.

Do you use sarcasm? Not as much as I used to. It's started to feel mean, and also ineffective when sarcasm can't be read by certain people.

What is the first thing you notice about people? Face and friendliness?

What is your eye color? The colour of dry dirt.

Scary movies or happy endings? Are you trying to ask me if I prefer tragedy or comedy? The more optimistic one I suppose.

Any talents? I'm very good at flipping coins. Round and round it goes, how it lands? Nobody knows!

Where were you born? What are you? A security question? Anyway, I was born in the land of Mordor in the fires of Mount Doom, where the dark lord Sauron forged me in secret. And into me he poured his cruelty, his malice, and his will to dominate all life.

What are your hobbies? Analyzing stuff as the brain goblins take over. Activism, I guess. Fantasizing about the creative projects I could do if I had the time or resources (Damn I even stopped playing video games in the past year). Also repairing whatever I can repair around the house. I spent two afternoons hyperfixating on getting my dad's espresso machine to work. And it did!

Do you have any pets? Dad's got a dog I've been taking care of.

How tall are you? What are you, a cop? Or one of those height measuring things in Shoppers to record the heights of shoplifters? Somewhere between 5'6 and 5'10.

Favorite subject in school? Geography and environment. Lo' and behold I kept going with that lol.

Dream job? Hard to answer this one. If I were to think about it in terms of "What invigorates me", I'd come up short. Got perpetual burnout, so it's probably a symptom of other things that have to be addressed somehow.

Maybe in a system that doesn't push you to exhaustion as much as possible, I think I'd like to be a repairperson, partly cause of the aforementioned hyperfixations that occur when wanting to figure out how to fix stuff. Either that or barista, again, in an idyllic world that with few terrible customers and sufficient resources and staff.

Tagging @jameshoppy, @allyooops, @acryweaver, @marvelandponder, and @jade-mod!

As Paeonia said, if you do chose to do this, take care not to make yourself vulnerable to password stealing

[exorcqism]

﹆₊ 窃盗 ‧₊˚ TAKIN WHATS NOT YOURS, KAMO CHOSO

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 ﹆₊ 概要 ‧₊˚ it doesn’t matter what it is. whenever he wants something, he’s gonna get it—that includes you too. wc, 4.12K. dark mode recommended.

␥ note. i’m back guysss. this story is based off ‘taking what’s not yours’ by tv girl. there’s also a fanart of choso that inspired this. me and @5kstxrz was cookin again so i had to get on 🤭

(edit: me writing rn is a coping mechanism for what i heard about chp 259..) hope ya enjoyyy. reblog to support meee (also play the song while you read so you can immerse)

␥ tags. 90s AU, female anatomy, reader already has a boyfriend, delinquent!choso, smut, creampies, mentions choso stealing, choso with his hair down, lmk if i missed anything

␥ misc. masterlist AO3

as the classes ended for the day, the hallways of the school were filled with numerous students, who were all visibly exhausted from their long day of hard work. amidst the chaos, one could spot a well-known delinquent of the school, choso, leaning against the wall with a cigarette between his lips. he was a muscular guy, carrying his wooden staff, which he always kept close to him, ready to use force if needed. his attire comprised all black, as usual, from head to toe.

he wore a leather jacket with a jet black wife-beater tucked beneath his black cargo pants, which had a belt looped around his waist. his black combat boots were rugged and sturdy, and he had a dog tag necklace, which completed his look. despite being a delinquent, he had a charming aura around him, which made him stand out from the rest.

“she ain’t gettin’ this back,” the silver chain glinted in the sunlight, swaying back and forth in choso's hand before he hooked it around his neck with a satisfied smirk. the delicate charm dangled against his chest, catching the light and reflecting it in all directions as it accompanied his other necklace. with one hand running through his thick, dark locks, choso's intense gaze locked onto you.

he had been eyeing you for a while now - drawn to your quiet demeanor and shy smile. but you were not without a reputation at school - known as a strong-willed and independent girl. unfortunately for choso, you already had a boyfriend. the thought of this obstacle made his nostrils flare in frustration and determination.

choso was lost in thought, daydreaming about being with you, when suddenly another student bumped into him, jolting him back to reality. as they both turned to face each other, choso's expression darkened. his deep voice rumbled, similar to the sound of thunder just before a storm, as he growled, "watch where ya goin’, punk." the other student flinched at his menacing tone and quickly apologized before scurrying away, leaving choso to chuckle to himself in amusement.

“that was a real dick move, you know that?” a sharp voice pierced through the air, directed at him. choso rolled his eyes in annoyance, ready to start a heated argument once again, but he paused when he saw you standing there. his stoic features suddenly transformed into a mischievous grin, with a hint of malice and flirtatiousness shining through. his dark eyes gleamed with amusement as he locked gazes with you.

he knelt down, bringing himself to eye level with you. a mischievous grin played across his face as he spoke, "aw, 'm sorry princess. do you want me to go apologize to the poor kid?" his deep chuckle rumbled through his chest. "they’re the one that ran into me, so i just kindly reminded ‘em to watch their ass." as he stood back up, his leather jacket creaked, and his scent of cologne mixed with cigarettes in the air. you couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach as his piercing gaze met yours again.

choso's piercing gaze roamed over your body, imagining undressing you with his mind. his hand tightened around his wooden staff as he lifted it towards your chest, where your delicate necklace rested. "you got a real nice piece there," he commented, his voice low and smooth like honey. “where’d you get it?”

the contrast between the cold wood of his staff and the warmth of your skin sent a shiver down your spine. but what really caught you off guard were his words, unexpected and oddly charming. you couldn't help but tense up at the closeness of his weapon.

you shifted on your feet, the words tumbling out of your mouth in a hasty, practiced manner. "i dunno," you lied smoothly, avoiding eye contact. "i found it one night in my jewelry box and just started wearing it." your hands fidgeted with the delicate chain, its weight, and warmth a constant reminder of your deceit.

the silver pendant glinted in the light of the sun, casting shadows across your face as guilt prickled at the edges of your conscience. but you couldn't bear to part with it, to give up the comfort it provided in an uncertain world. so you wore it like a mask, hiding behind its simple beauty and intricate design.

choso simply hummed, indicating that he didn’t entirely buy what you were selling. “yeah? you just found that necklace lying around, huh? i’m not buying it. but i’m intrigued…why don’t you tell me the real story, and maybe i’ll spare you the trouble of having to keep track of that lil beauty.”

a surge of electricity courses through your body as choso removes his staff, only to replace it with his fingers, lightly grazing your collarbone. your heart races as you try to come up with a plausible response to his accusations.

"i don’t know what you’re talking about," you stammer, your voice barely audible above a whisper. but your mind is already spinning, trying to find a way out of this situation.

"don't play coy with me," choso purrs, his warm breath tickling your skin. "i know there's more to this story. tell me the truth and maybe i'll let you keep that precious necklace… for now." he leans in closer, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. "who knows, i might even surprise you with something else you'd like to wear." his words send shivers down your spine as he runs his fingers along the curve of your neck.

your voice quivers with uncertainty as you try to hold the male's gaze. you can feel your heart beating rapidly, a mix of fear and defiance bubbling up inside you. "i don't know what you're getting at," you say, your words laced with frustration and confusion. "the necklace is mine, plain and simple. i don’t know what else you want from me."

your hands grip tightly at the fabric of your shirt, trying to ground yourself in the moment and push away any doubts or accusations. but the tension in the air is palpable, and you can't shake off the feeling that something is amiss.

despite your attempt to remain composed, your body betrays you as you lean into choso's touch. your cheeks burn with a mix of exhilaration and trepidation, the heat spreading from your core to your extremities. your heart races like a wild animal, caught between the fear of the unknown and the thrill of potential ecstasy. every nerve in your body tingles with anticipation, craving more of choso's intoxicating presence.

the tone of choso’s voice was smooth and confident, a playful smirk curling at the edges of his lips as he tightened his grip on your necklace. his gaze burned with determination as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting against your skin.

"oh, i want a lot from you," he murmured, his words laced with desire. "and i’m not going anywhere until i get what i came for." you could feel the intensity of his gaze and the weight of his words, like a physical force pressing against you. the air crackled with tension as he held onto your necklace, a symbol of the power he held over you.

with a sly smile and a low, suggestive tone, choso suggests, "let's go somewhere private, yeah?" his eyes glint with a dangerous intensity as he takes a deliberate step closer to you. "we have a lot to…discuss." the air around you suddenly feels charged with tension, like the calm before the storm.

you can feel the weight of his words hanging in the air, and you can't help but wonder what exactly he wants to discuss. as his gaze locks onto yours, you can sense something primal stirring within him, and you can't deny the unexpected rush of excitement that courses through your body.

you pause, feeling the powerful magnetic pull of choso's alluring charm. however, your wariness of his unpredictable nature holds you back. "i don’t know," you say slowly, scanning your surroundings with a skeptical eye. the air is thick with tension and the scent of danger lingers on every breath. you can't shake off the uneasy feeling in the pit of your stomach as you try to weigh the consequences of giving in to choso's allure.

"come on, love," choso says, his voice a playful yet menacing lilt. he leans in closer, a mischievous glint in his eye as he speaks. "what's the worst that could happen? you ain't gonna die." his words drip with confidence and bravado, as if tempting fate itself.

a gust of wind blows through the air, carrying with it the scent of garbage and decay. the dim glow of streetlights casts eerie shadows on the walls around them. despite the unsettling surroundings, choso's smirk remains firmly in place, taunting and alluring simultaneously.

you felt your resolve wavering under the intense pressure of choso's gaze. you knew better than to trust someone who seemed so charmingly dangerous, but the thrill of doing something reckless was too hard to resist.

finally, you give in to temptation and nods, a keeping your skeptical expression. "okay...lead the way then ," you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

"good girl," choso purred, releasing the necklace from his grasp as he stepped back. he gave you a once-over, his dark purple eyes filled with undisguised desire. "follow me."

he turned abruptly, his tall figure disappearing into the shadows. you had no choice but to follow him, your heart pounding against her chest like a war drum. the male lead you into a dimly lit classroom. it was silent and eerily still as choso closes the door behind them, sealing you inside with him. the air seems to thicken with tension as he turns to face them, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

"so," you began, your voice low and nervous, "what did you wanna talk about?"

"ya really are a curious one, aren't ya?" choso chuckled softly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "but since you asked so nicely..." he moved closer to you, his tall frame casting a shadow over yours. "i just want to get to know you better.” he says your name. “understand things about you that nobody else does."

his hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "things that only i will know," he added, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

you instinctively took a step back, the sudden intensity in his gaze causing your heart to race. his words hung heavily in the air, swirling around you like smoke from a fire. "why do you wanna know more about me?" you asked, trying to control the trembling in your voice.

"because you intrigue me, darlin'," choso replied simply, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine. his eyes never left yours, and you could see a hunger and curiosity burning behind them. "you're different from anyone i've met before. there's a fire within you that draws me in…fascinates me."

he moved even closer, his warm breath caressing your skin as he spoke. "and i like playing with fire," he added with a sly grin, his fingertips lightly tracing along your jawline. the air crackled with electricity between the two of you, and you couldn't deny the pull that choso had over you.

"and how do you plan on getting to know me?" to hide the apprehension in your voice, you cleared your throat and raised an eyebrow.

"well now, ain't that the million dollar question?" choso drawled, the corners of his mouth turning up mischievously. his dark purple eyes sparkled with a tantalizing mix of curiosity and amusement. "i suppose we'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

he took another step towards you, closing the gap between you both entirely. the heat of his body radiated towards you, making your skin tingle. "but let me tell ya this much," he whispered, leaning in close enough for your noses to nearly touch. "it involves a lot of getting to know each other intimately."

"intimately?" you repeated, your cheeks flushing pink at his forwardness. "isn't that a bit…invasive? i mean, you hardly even know me."

"that's the fun part, love," choso murmured, his fingers tracing a path down your arm. "getting to know someone intimately is all about peeling back layers, seeing what's underneath. finding out who they truly are."

he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just barely above yours. "and i can't wait to start peeling those layers off you," he whispered, saying your name again.

you swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest as you looked up at him. "that sounds nice but…" you paused briefly, your voice barely above a whisper now. "you do realize i have a boyfriend, right?"

choso's fingers trailed lower, dangerously close to your waist, as he spoke nonchalantly. his words hung in the air like a challenge, his wicked grin flashing at you. "oh, i know," he said nonchalantly, his fingers trailing lower until they were dangerously close to your waist.

"but remember what i said earlier about playing with fire, love?" he flashed you a wicked grin before pressing himself even closer against you. "i live for that shit," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper.

your breath caught as his hand descended further, finally reaching your waist. "i thought you wanted to get to know me," you asserted, trying to maintain control of the situation. "not just sleep with me because you find me 'different' or 'fascinating'."

choso raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. "who said anything about sleeping together, love?" he drawled, his grip on your waist tightening ever so slightly. "i told you, i wanna know you intimately."

the male leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your earlobe as he spoke. "and believe me when i say that intimacy doesn't always involve sex," he whispered seductively. a shiver ran down your spine as choso's warm breath ghosted over your ear. despite your words, your body betrayed you, leaning into him involuntarily.

"but that's what you want, isn't it?" you asked, trying to resist the pull towards him.

"maybe," choso admitted with a sly grin. he pulled back slightly, locking eyes with you. "sometimes the most thrilling thing is not knowing what comes next," he murmured in a sultry voice.

you sighed in defeat, feeling yourself giving in to him. "fine," you conceded, your voice barely audible. "but don't expect me to just roll over for you."

"wouldn't dream of it, love," choso murmured, his fingers dancing in slow circles on your waist. his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but lean into him. "i do love a challenge, it's what keeps things interesting."

he leaned in closer, pressing his body against yours in a deliciously tantalizing way. "now," he purred, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "let's start with something simple."

choso’s lips brushed against yours in a teasing caress, his tongue darting out to trace the delicate seam of your lips. the sensation was electrifying, and you couldn't help but let out a small gasp of pleasure.

you gasped as his lips met hers, your hands instinctively moving to push him away. instead, you found yourself pulling him closer, kissing him back with equal passion.

your mind screamed at you to stop, to pull away before things went too far. but your body had other ideas, responding eagerly to his touch as you melted into his embrace.

choso groaned into the kiss, his body reacting instantly to the feel of you in his arms. his hands moved lower, slipping beneath your shirt to rest on your hips.

he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the depths of your mouth as his hands tightened on you. he could feel your body squirming against his own, and he couldn't help but press himself closer, grinding his hardness against you.

breaking the kiss, he trailed hot kisses down your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin there. "God, you taste good," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

you whimpered as he kissed down your neck, your head falling back to give him better access. your hands gripped his shirt tightly, pulling him even closer. "choso..." you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "we shouldn't..."

"shhh, love," choso hushed you, his lips continuing their downward trek. "no one needs to know," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your skin.

his hands moved to unbutton your jeans, sliding the zipper down with practiced ease. he slipped his hand inside, fingers curling around the hem of your panties as he began to pull them down.

you moaned softly as he undid your jeans, her body betraying her despite her protests. you didn't resist as he pulled your pants down, stepping out of them once they reached her ankles.

"are you sure no one will find out?" you asked, your voice low.

" ‘m positive, darlin’," choso assured you, his voice a low murmur against her skin. "and if anyone does happen to find out," he added, his fingers tracing teasing circles on your thigh. "we'll just have to come up with a good lie."

his hand moved higher, slipping between your legs to tease at your wet folds. "now," he continued, his voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "why don't we let our bodies do the talking?"

you couldn't help but bite your lip as his touch sent shivers down your spine. despite your reservations, your body arched into his caress, betraying your desires. "okay…" you said softly, feeling a mix of nervousness and anticipation. choso smirked, his fingers tracing teasingly along your inner thigh before dipping lower to tease at your entrance.

a shiver ran through you as his husky voice purred "good girl," the sound dripping with desire and commanding you to submit to him. the air around you seemed to thicken with tension as he leaned in closer, his growl sending waves of pleasure through your body.

choso’s free hand moved to the waistband of his pants, pulling them down over his hips and freeing his hardened length. his fingers traced along the length, feeling its familiar weight and girth. a bead of pre-cum had already formed at the tip, glistening in the dim light of the room. "are you ready, love?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

you nodded, biting your lip as you watched him stroke himself. the sight sent a shiver of anticipation through your body. "yeah," you said quietly, your heart pounding with a mix of nerves and excitement.

"that's my girl," choso murmured, his hand stilling on his throbbing cock. he moved forward, positioning himself between your legs, the heat of your bodies radiating toward each other. "just relax, okay? i promise i'll take care of you." with those words, he’d thrust inside you, a low groan escaping his lips as he bottomed out within the velvety walls of your tight heat.

you couldn't help but arch your back and moan in pleasure as he began to move, each deep thrust igniting a fire within you. the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, accompanied by your combined gasps and moans.

you cried out as he entered you, your nails digging into his shoulders. you had been expecting pain, but all you felt was pleasure. you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you. "oh god... choso..." you moaned, your head rolling back as waves of pleasure washed over you.

choso groaned at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him, his hips beginning to move in a slow, steady rhythm. "fuck," he groaned out, his voice strained with pleasure.

his hands moved to grip your ass, lifting you off the desk as he’d thrust into you harder and faster. "god, you feel amazing," he muttered, his breathing ragged as he pounded into you.

choso groaned at the feeling of your pussy squeezing him, his hips beginning to move in a slow, steady rhythm. "fuck," he groaned out, his voice strained with pleasure.

his hands moved to grip your ass, lifting you off the desk as he’d thrust into you harder and faster. "god, you feel amazing," he muttered, his breathing ragged as he pounded into you.

you moaned loudly as he fucked you, your nails digging into his shoulders. "more... please... choso..." you begged, your hips meeting his consistent thrusts.

you were lost in the pleasure, unable to think about anything else. all you knew was that you wanted more, needed more of choso.

choso grunted in response, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his release. "fuck, i'm close," he warned, his pace not slowing despite his warning. his hand moved to cup her face, thumb brushing over her bottom lip. "you gonna cum for me, love?" he asked, his voice husky with lust.

your body trembled and arched against his as he relentlessly thrust into you, each movement sending jolts of pleasure through your entire being. you whimpered and moaned, unable to form coherent words as you surrendered completely to the sensations. "mhm…" you hummed in response to his unspoken question, your voice barely audible over the sounds of your entangled bodies.

as the intensity built within you, your grip on choso tightened and your movements became more erratic. your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, overwhelming every nerve ending and leaving you gasping for air. his cock continued to fill you with blissful waves of ecstasy, your pussy clenching and milking him uncontrollably as he filled you with his seed.

finally, as the last shudders of pleasure subsided, you collapsed against choso's chest, panting and spent. the scent of sweat and sex filled the air around you, a physical manifestation of the passionate release you had just experienced together.

his breath hitched as he came down from his high, panting heavily as he tried to regain control of his senses. "that was... fucking incredible," he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction.

you sat there panting, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. you could feel choso's cum starting to leak out of you, staining the floor beneath them.

"i never thought it would be like that," you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper.

choso chuckled, his arm tightening around you as he pulled you closer. "it gets better every time," he promised, his voice a low purr against your ear. "but right now," he added, his hand moving to stroke your hair. "we should probably clean up before someone sees us."

you nodded, though you made no move to actually get up. you were content to stay there in his arms, even if you both were covered in sweat.

"i guess you're right," you finally agreed, your voice soft.

as you walked through the threshold of your home a few days later, a sudden urge to declutter and organize took over. your room, once cluttered with knick-knacks and forgotten items, was now being tidied up in a frenzy.

you discarded things that no longer held meaning or were not even yours to begin with - like the half-filled box of lentils or the dusty laura nyro record that had been sitting untouched for years. as you sorted through the chaos, a sense of renewal filled the air, as if shedding unnecessary possessions would bring clarity and order to your life.

and just like the various items you threw away to declutter your living space, you also threw away your three year relationship to be with that little devil that crept into your life, a cigarette in hand and a blood red harley to take him wherever he wanted to go.

© vmpiires | like, reblog & follow.

[samwinchesterism]

lol you guys are all so stupid god bless. "he thinks going to college makes you smarter and better and having an apple pie life is more Worthy and so therefore the chronically homeless scholarship college dropout serial killer who's lived the majority of his life except for two years on the fringes of society is the epitome of the bourgeoisie" is nonsensical enough as is but the funniest part is that he DOESN'T hold any of those attitudes lmao the only problematic (but not even strictly classist) thing is the prison one i will give you that (one offhand comment at age 23) the rest is all just your weird projections with no basis in the text.

sam's entire thing w/ college and the apple pie life has been (1) wanting to be safe after a traumatizing childhood, and (2) textually, subconsciously trying to escape a pre-ordained destiny of evil that he could detect in himself before he even know how to read. literally from episode ONE of the whole sorry affair like you cant even be trying at this point:

DEAN: So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?

SAM: No. Not normal. Safe.

it's also evident at multiple points in the show that he never actually fully bought in to the idea of it. very very early on actually:

1.06: DEAN: I really wish things could be different, you know? I wish you could just be….Joe College. SAM: No, that’s okay. You know, the truth is, even at Stanford, deep down, I never really fit in.

also e.g. in s2 and s4 he literally says the opposite of what people think his whole thing is on this post lol

2.02: MR. COOPER. You see, this place, it's a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don't fit in nowhere else. But you two? You should go to school. Find a couple of girls. Have two point five kids. Live regular. SAM: Sir? We don't want to go to school. And we don't want regular. We want this.

4.19: SAM. So we didn't have a dog and a white picket fence. So what? Dad did right by us. He taught us how to protect ourselves. Adam deserves the same.

it's explicitly revealed that sam also had very little agency in general, due to supernatural forces pulling at his life. lucifer in 5.22 suggested that even sam's desire to run away from his family was related to his destiny as lucifer's vessel, and more concretely, he was surrounded by "Azazel's gang – watching you since you were a rugrat, jerking you around like a dog on a leash. " to ignore the MASSIVE theme of agency and more importantly lack thereof in sam's life - leading to desperate grabs at agency and making his own choices being a consistent motivation for him throughout all of it - will mean always, always, always spectacularly failing at understanding his character or analyzing it in any meaningful way, leading to whatever the fuck is going on here

there are different points in the story where he's obviously less certain about it (e.g. s8) but the idea that he consistently thinks that the bourgeois upper middle class life is the ideal and everything else is lesser than is something you made up in your heads. it's a deeply personal issue for him that he often wrestles with - safety vs. duty vs. destiny vs family vs. fulfillment etc. it's never indicated meaningfully in the text that sam is concerned with gaining wealth or status or social capital through education or through his other desires for his life

there's also no evidence for what someone said in the tags about him looking down on stealing for money because it's just not true lol like the MOST negative thing he ever said was "It's not the most honest thing in the world, Dean" (1.08) lmao. he was just like maybe we could get jobs for a bit (he literally says "once in a while" lol). "maybe we could get jobs instead of stealing ALL the time, but sometimes is fine" = "classist" is rocks for brains analysis. like it's just very very very dumb. also like it's not necessarily classist to try to avoid stealing from other people when you think you can make a living without doing that. which is what sam's thing was. textually:

5.22: CHUCK. They'd pass the time lining their pockets. Sam used to insist on honest work, but now he hustles pool, like his brother.

in swan song when he asks dean to live a "normal, apple-pie life", it's very clear in the text that he's trying to make sure dean finds some semblance of non-hunting contentment after he dies, so that he doesn't try to bring sam back to life which in sam's mind at the time would re-start the apocalypse like you guys have to keep these things in their proper context lmao you can't just lift random lines of dialogue and be like SEEEEE he's homophobic and classist

in a similar vein him teasing dean about reading or whatever is literally just him being a little shit. there is not a single textual example of him sincerely thinking dean is less intelligent than him because he's not as into the book learning. the funny thing is that the most realistic interpretation is that it's just a reaction from dean making fun of him for being a geek/nerd/etc. lol like oh you're gonna make fun of me for being a nerd well do you even know how to read like lol. because siblings. when push comes to shove he sits dean down and monologues at him about how he is a genius (8.14)

also wanting to go to college doesn't make him a classist. it's not once indicated that he wanted to go to be rich and because higher education makes you better than others like that doesn't even have a nexus to his motivations. he has only ever said he wanted to go to school to go to school, and to do something he wanted with his life while escaping his traumatic and abusive childhood (see AGENCY point above). it's simply not classism unless you decide to filter it through seven layers of pseudo-intellectual fake analysis which doesn't make it right. in 1.08 when he encourages a kid to go to college, note what his reasoning is and feel ashamed for ever saying a bad word about him:

SAM. Well, don't sweat it, because in two years, something great's gonna happen. [...] College. You'll be able to get out of that house and away from your dad.

like TEXTUAL EXAMPLES or shut up which with this group always means shut up because there are never textual examples that aren't divorced so completely from their context as to be meaningless

Please don't fight with each other in the tags.