#It's like asking to die without pulling the trigger yourself... just saying

[youcancallmedrrobby]

Michael "Mandated Rehab for You 😠; Deathbike for Me 😌" Robinavitch

[liedownquisition]

Ah I see, so you just... don't actually understand that the way you phrase things imply things. Cool. Got it. That explains your own difficulty understanding the text, got it.

Also, no you're not really explaining it, and even if you were no one was asking for that "explanation" in the first place. Read the first post again, you'll notice the operative phrase "a lot of people" and this is specifically directed at things like people who complain/hate on Jason Todd, while adoring other characters who share a lot of significant themes, personality characteristics, and concepts with him.

It also, most 100% definitely says that that dislike is valid? But this is about people and things that complain about Jason for things that are DEFINITELY prevalent also in the characters that they do "stan." Such as Batman, or Huntress, and so on and so forth. It's kind of like this:

Where people prop up their character for doing the same things, which funny thing is usually more common with female characters on the negative end of it so this is a somewhat interesting, if still exhausting, subversion of a very boring and repetitive issue.

Anyways you also missed the part where we both agreed that Jason was an extension of the same philosophy - yes, that even includes the fascist portions. (Bitter even Literally Also Called Jason Fascist). A vast majority of the superhero fantasy at its core cannot exist without some degrees of it, particularly once it starts expanding into the kind of universe DC currently has. Come on, the watchtower? Brother Eye? Are these not sparking red flags in your mind? And who, exactly, is responsible for them?

Batman.

Also, Batman has been called fascist multiple times even in-canon and spin-off properties. Usually by Green Arrow, or in that Blue Beetle movie. They're not wrong, but no one takes Green Arrow seriously about it and the Blue Beetle line was framed as a joke for the audience to laugh at.

-He asked Bruce why he wouldn't, and when Bruce gave his answer he... "accepted" it and asked him to stand by and let him do it himself. If you wanted to illustrate the point of Jason asking Bruce to kill the Joker, maybe you should have picked the pages right before this where he was going on, at length, about the reasons WHY Bruce should have? Instead of the one where he literally said "Fine, I'll do it"? The page that literally says, twice, "You won't kill him, I will." And even then, that speech was less asking him to do it and more condemning him for his choices.

He didn't say "Don't" he said "Won't" the time is long since past for Bruce to be the one to pull that trigger. If he was trying to get Bruce to kill Joker, he didn't try very hard.

-That's fine not to reread, but you're clearly not remembering a lot of it or went into it with such a biased perspective you weren't paying attention (which, you know, it's a bad comic I can't entirely blame people from missing things. But again, at least hate things accurately?). Kori had more character and development than Roy did, actually. At least in the parts Lobdell wrote. I still haven't decided how to classify Tynion's portion of that mess. It gives me a headache.

-I never said Jason was a better Batman, I said that his ideals of "wanting to be a better Batman" means that his ultimate motivation is just an extremist version of Bruce's own. Once again: that means that if Batman is a fascist, then so is Jason. Albeit one that operates outside the overarching fascist system Bruce aligns with and attempts to build his own, equally flawed system

-Do you realize how many poor people literally kill themselves to get out of medical debt because they cannot find work and see themselves as just burdens to themselves and sometimes their families? Do you know how common it is for people to realize they need expensive medical care and ask their families to let them die instead for the same reason and how that's not really that far off from killing yourself for it? Do you even understand how much poor people who can't afford insurance just don't go to the hospital and die of preventable/fixable things because they're afraid of medical bills? Have you been paying no attention whatsoever to how even with insurance it's a huge issue to not get medical care because it gets denied and would be too expensive without it which is a RELEVANT and RECENT topic of concern?

It's still a death, it's just one that you can pretend didn't spiral from the initial incident. Slow, and agonizing, and you're going to suffer and know what caused it the whole way while Batman remains blissfully ignorant of his responsibility in your suffering.

And, with regards to your tags: Hi! Not only Have I been affected by organized crime, My family was part of, and torn apart by it. Speaking of putting words in our mouths, when did we say it was okay for him to kill "bad poor people"? We didn't. And Bruce Beating and Throwing "bad poor people" in jail doesn't help their families either! I've said it before but if Bruce was paying attention to the families of the criminals he & the system he supports put in jail and doing anything about it, chances are Jason wouldn't have ended up homeless in the first place!

"It's okay to prey on addicts as long as they're not kids" we ALSO didn't say that but do you know what happens when you cut addicts off cold turkey? I've known people who were in so much pain from the cravings that they were tearing out their hair and chunks of their scalp and digging their nails into their arms so hard they bled. I have known people who had seizures during withdrawals and hit their head going down and died because no one knew it was happening. I have known people who got arrested and thrown in jail and died in their cells because they were left to go through the withdrawals with no assistance.

Cutting the drug lines entirely isn't the answer, either. Preventing them from getting more kids hooked on drugs is the bare minimum. It's not an endpoint, it's a beginning.

To be honest I think that a lot of people who share the anti Jason Todd sentiment don't even actually hate Jason. I think a lot of them hate what he forces the narrative to do.

Jason forces the subversion of the hero genre -- he's the single, most extreme proof that Batman's hero fantasy wouldn't be effective in real life, and therefore Jason showing up can take you out of the universe really fast really hard. A lot of people are here for what comics are meant to offer, the one man hero fantasy that makes you Feel Good, and Jason showing up doesn't Allow you to enjoy it! And if that's the case, you're completely justified in not liking Jason, he takes you out of the thing you enjoy.

I think a lot of you don't actually find his personality or acts annoying in of themselves, you just hate what those actions do to the genre itself. And I think once you realize that and start looking at comics like actual pieces of literature, Jason and shitty comics both will become a lot less rage inducing to you.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Vow 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, arranged marriage, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!August Walker

Summary: your father’s murder leaves you in the hands of a dangerous man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The man is quiet. The villain. The boss. The groom. Your... husband. 

The vows were what you would find in a script. Nothing special. Just standard. Just going through the motions. And when he lifted the veil, his kiss was just as prescribed. That’s it. Your life is over and his is just beginning. 

Your hand is in his as he guides you from the hall. He takes you between the pews and out the tall doors. A shower of petals rain down on you as you come out into the sunlight. There’s a car waiting. The people around you are like actors on a screen. It’s all fake. This isn’t a happy day, this is business. 

The car door shuts on the other side of him and you’re closed in with this stranger. The stranger you’ll spend the rest of your life with. You know his name and his bad deeds, but nothing else. 

You fold your hands over the layers of the full skirt. He shifts as he pulls a fold of tulle from beneath him. You watch his large hand and tremble. 

“Sorry,” you breath and snatch the skirt so that it can’t overflow onto his lap. 

He catches your hand and you freeze. You lock up, bones aching, muscles clenched. He tugs on you. You let him draw you closer as you stare at his steely grip. He brings his other hand over to pet your knuckles. The softness of his touch makes you tingle. 

“You’re scared,” he states. It isn’t a question. He knows. “If you are loyal, you don’t need to be.” 

You nod, “yes, sir.” 

He huffs through his nose, “I am your husband.” 

You close your eyes and tempo your heartbeat, “what should I call you?” 

“You know my name.” 

“Walker.” 

“August,” he insists upon his first name. “Maybe one day, you will have something softer to call me.” 

“Maybe,” you shiver and he squeezes your hand. 

“Your father wrote his own fate, you will write yours,” he raises your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. “It doesn’t need to be the same.” 

You stare ahead. You can’t let yourself feel or you will feel everything. The fear, the grief, and even, the anger. Once they boil over, you will be lost. 

“I understand, August.” 

Another heavy exhale. 

“You will not act so cold in front of my men.” He takes your hand and forces your fingers open. “You will touch me with kindness.” He puts your palm to his cheek and leads you to cradle his face. His stubble pokes at your delicate gloves. “You will do so without my order. You will behave as a wife, so far as they are concerned. Let your father’s defiance die with him.” 

“I will not resist,” you tell him as much as yourself. 

“Goddamnit, look at me,” he says. 

You turn to look him in the face. The anger you expect is absent. He watches you placidly. Your fingers twitch and he leans into your touch. He takes your other hand and forces you to twist toward him. He leans in and before you can think, his lips are on yours. 

It is different than at the altar. Not just a peck, more. His lips part and his tongue flicks out along yours. He hums and you open your mouth. His hand creeps up the back of your neck and he locks you against him. His tongue invades your mouth and you squeak. 

He draws away and his eyes narrow, “better.” You’re unsure if he means it was better than before or that you need to do better.  

He lets you go and sits back against the seat. He closes his eyes as he pushes his shoulders wide. His feet are planted as he lingers in unspoken thought. You look at the driver then out the window. You turn back to him. 

You touch his sleeve and shimmy closer. He hums again. The tone assures you that you aren’t unwelcome. Play your part, fulfill your vow. That is all that needs to be done.  

This is more than you, there is your mother, and others beyond that. Those that were once loyal to your father. Those you called friends and family. Those who now walk the same tightrope. Those that have already fallen. 

The car stops. A flicker of panic strikes in your chest. The door opens from outside and he pulls you out with him. You keep one hand on your skirt and the other on his arm. He marches ahead. 

You enter the large building and wait in some room. He remains silent, pensive. You’re summoned and after a time. He fixes your arm to hook through his as you stand before the large doors. 

“Head up,” he girds before you enter. 

They watch you, just as before. You can hear them this time, whispering. You don’t look anywhere but ahead of you. He nods at the more notable guests. You will not doubt be met again with those faces through the night. 

He puts you ahead of him to climb onto the platform where the bride and groom’s table stands. He follows closely. He pulls a chair out but puts his hand to your back so you cannot sit. He sidles behind you. Instead, he sits with you, lifting you into his lap. 

You quiver again. Humiliation surges through you. This is his show of victory. He boasting. No, you will not just be beside him, you are his.  

[tuiccim]

Wakin' Up the Devil

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Bi!Female!Reader

Warnings: Dark content! Sex pollen, Non/DubCon, smut. This fic contains dark themes and may include potentially triggering topics. You are solely responsible for your media consumption.

Summary: Bucky tries to save you from yourself but he doesn't realize he's wakin' up the devil.

A/N: Not beta read. Inspired by Wakin' Up the Devil by Hinder.

Bucky spots you across the bar sitting at a table. You have a cute woman on your lap and are engaged in flirting with her. Making his way to you, Bucky leans on an empty chair at the table and says, "You done yet?"

"Goddamnit, Bucky. Go away,” you grouse. This was the second time tonight he found you. Last night, you had given up after the third time he'd ferreted out your location and went back to the tower.

"Not without you." He counters.

"Look, I don't know what's going on with the two of you but I'm not into it," the woman on your lap says standing up. 

"Ignore him, gorgeous." You grab her arm. 

"No, thanks." The woman twists her arm out of your grasp and rejoins the friends you had coaxed her away from. 

"Fuck," you stand and down your whiskey. Walking to the exit, Bucky is right by your side. "Get the fuck away from me, Barnes."

"I'm just trying to help. I've been here, Doll. I've seen self-loathing like this." Bucky says.

"I don't want your help. I want you to leave me alone. Follow me to the next place I go and whatever happens is your fault." You get on your motorcycle and bring the engine to life. You give Bucky a final glare before taking off. He was already mounting his bike. 

The problem had started at the end of your last mission. Because of your miscalculations, innocent hostages had died and several of the team had been injured. It had sent you spiraling and you found yourself back in your past haunts practicing old habits. Bucky had decided it was his job to save you from yourself. He was in for a rude awakening. 

You park in the loading dock of a seemingly abandoned building, dismount, and make your way inside. You can hear Bucky's bike and smirk. He had no idea what he was getting himself into. The warehouse contains only one thing, a containment module. You enter it and wait like a spider for its prey. 

Bucky leans on the doorway of the module. "What the fuck is this?" He asks.

"Come in and see if you'd like, but if you do you're consenting to whatever happens." You smile at him smugly. 

"What's that supposed to mean, Doll?" Bucky takes a few steps towards you.

"Your entry means consent, as stated." You grin wickedly as you press a button on the panel beside you. The door to the module shuts and locks. 

Bucky twists around to see the door close and looks back to you, "You know I can break through that?"

"This module could contain Hulk. Go ahead and try." You say as you remove your boots. 

"What are we doing here?" Bucky asks.

"We're going to fuck each other's brains out. That's what we're doing here." You smile.

"I'm not going to fuck you,” he says firmly.

"You consented when you came in the module, remember?" Your smirk annoys and unsettles him.

"You can't make me have sex with you."

"Oh, no, I can't." You laugh as the hiss of gas being released fills the room. "But this will."

"What the fuck is this?" Bucky asks, voice rising in a bit of panic. 

"It's a gas. A derivative of the sex pollen Hydra discovered," you smile wickedly.

"No," Bucky says. 

"You might want to start removing your clothes. You’re going to be very hot, very soon." 

"I won't,” Bucky growls.

"You will. You won't let us die. Besides, you won't be able to help yourself," you wink, your smile unwavering.

“Why would you do this to us?” Bucky asks angrily as he throws off his jacket. 

You ignore his question and pull off your shirt with a triumphant smile. Bucky matches you item for item as you strip until he stands in only his underwear. As you pull your bra away, his eyes wander to your chest and this thumb curls around the band of his boxer briefs. You look at him expectantly, raising a brow. He pushes them down with a growl revealing his cock at attention. 

“Good boy. Mm, feeling the effects already or are you just that excited to fuck me?” You lick your lips and grin wickedly. 

“Shut up,” he pushes you onto the bed and rips the panties from your body. 

You hold in gleeful laughter at his anger. He wanted this, wanted you, but was mad it wasn’t on his terms. As he crawled over you, his face betrayed a moment of softness. A flash of awe and want. Wanting to keep him off-balance, you flip him onto his back. You laugh as you lower your face close to his, one of your hands wrapping around his jaw, “I-”

“I said shut up,” he grabs your head and pulls your lips to his. The kiss is intense and you revel in it, enjoying the connection. You reach between you and slide his cock along your slit until you can easily slide him in. You moan into the unbroken kiss as he stretches you. Bucky grabs your hips as he moves his own. When you are nearly breathless from the kiss, you break away and push yourself up to sit more fully on his cock. 

“Fuck,” you whine as you stare down at him, circling your hips to create more of the delicious friction your body craves. Bucky remains silent but his hands wander, caressing your hips, playing over your breasts, teasing your nipples, and finally finding your clit. You whimper as your orgasm pulls closer with his fingers circling just where you need them. 

“Oh, fuck,” you bite down to keep from crying out but he pulls your lip from your teeth. 

“I wanna hear you,” he groans as you clench around him. 

“Oh, God,”  you let out a high-pitched moan as you come. He pumps up into you through it and then suddenly flips you under him. As soon as you are on your back, he plunges into you with a sharp thrust making you cry out.��

“That’s what I want to hear,” he says as he repeats the action. He fucks you hard, slamming his hips into you and watching your face contort in pleasure as moans spill past your lips. You put your arms around his neck as he kisses you again. You want to wrap around him completely. You bring your knees up higher to allow your legs to open wider. Fuck, he knew what he was doing and every motion he made had you drawing closer to the edge. Breaking the kiss, he puts his forehead to yours and stares in your eyes as you fall again. You can’t take the intensity and close your eyes as the waves of pleasure wash over you. You were so lost in the feeling it barely registered when he growled as he came.

“Fuck,” he groans as his hips stutter, wringing every bit of pleasure from the connection. He rolls you both to your side as you catch your breath. You glance at him to find his eyes shut, thick lashes sitting on his cheeks but as your eyes wander down his body you can’t help noticing the scars around his left shoulder. It tugged at your heart but you shook it away and allowed your eyes to take in his thick cock instead. The monster was already getting hard again and you couldn’t contain your smirk. Just as you were forming a smartass remark to goad the supersoldier, his eyes flew open and he grabbed you. You found yourself on all fours as he slid into you from behind without a word. Not that you needed talk, his cock splitting you open was plenty for you. He was slow at first, almost teasing as he worked himself in and out. When you pushed back to encourage him, a slap landed on your ass that caused you to moan loudly. 

“I should’ve known,” Bucky chuckles as he lands another slap that makes your toes curl. He lands a few more, heating your ass with each one before running a cool metal hand over it. Then he grabs you and pulls you back onto his cock hard. The tip of his cock kisses your cervix making you whimper, he repeats the action until whimpers become moans, moans become cries, and finally a scream rends from your throat as you come again. 

“Jesus Christ,” you whisper as you come down from your high. Your body is singing from the thorough fucking. 

“Nope, just Bucky,” he laughs as he lays you out under him and continues slowly thrusting into you. You tighten your body, squeezing his cock as he moves and hear his whispered epitaph. He falls silent as he slowly moves above you, concentrating on the pleasure of your pussy pulling him in.

“Like this tight cunt, don’t you?” You tease as you reach back to pull his face to your neck.

Bucky’s teeth grazing your neck is the only answer you need. He keeps a steady, slow pace as he fucks you. You keep your body clenched around him, occasionally fluttering your walls, allowing him to wring out every moment of pleasure from your body. He wedges his hand under your body and finds your clit. His fingers worked magic and you were shocked how quickly you built another orgasm. It hit you like a ton of bricks and your whole body trembled with it. Bucky releases a long moan as he comes again. He thrusts sloppily as he empties himself into you. 

When you have come back to yourselves, he repositions both of you to face each other. He kisses you softly, lingering for a moment before pulling back. You’re deliciously tired and give a soft smile but it fades as you watch confusion mar his expression. 

“Wait… why-” he looks down at himself as if confused and around at the module. “Why aren’t we burning up? How long does this drug last?”

All the peace that had coddled you for the last few minutes disappeared. Everything flows back in and you roll your eyes as you sit up. “What drug?” You say casually as you reach for your clothes. 

“The gas? The gas you released!” Bucky says, bewildered. 

You scoff as you shimmy into your panties, “It was just oxygen being released.”

“You said-”

“I know. I can’t believe you fell for that,” you laugh as you continue to dress.

Bucky grabs your arm and swings you around to face him, “Why? Why would you do that?”

You wrench your arm from his grasp, fully aware that it was only that he allowed you that made it possible. “You wanted to fuck me so bad you looked stupid, so I gave you the means, the motive, and the opportunity. Now you can get over it and stop following me around,” you say scathingly.

Bucky stares at you, anger and hurt evident on his face. You can’t take it and turn away to finish dressing. When you were done, you entered the code for the module door. 

“I wanted to make sure you didn’t hurt yourself,” he says quietly. 

You whirl around, “You wanted to fix me so you could fuck me. Well. now, you’ve fucked me, and you don’t have to fix me. Win-win.” When he starts to open his mouth, you snap, “Give it up, Barnes. I’m a lost cause. No point in wakin’ up the devil when she’s already here.” With that, you jog to your motorcycle and rev the engine. As you speed away, you tell yourself the tears in your eyes are from the road dust. After all, the devil doesn’t cry.

Updates and taglist: Due to the unreliable nature of tags, I no longer keep a taglist. Please follow my sideblog @tuiccimfanfiction  and turn on notifications for updates. All series and new stories will be reblogged to it. You will only receive notifications when a new part or story is out! Nothing else will be blogged to the page. I can’t thank you enough for your support!

[vandme12]

Gosh, I just want to say I really love your works 🥺💚💚 Can I request for a Ronin x reader, but when Ronin thought that the reader was only a writer, turn out she was a retired serial killer that decide to just disappear without any track

TW : Blood, Gore!

Being a serial killer is boring.

Not in the way people think—blood, gore, the messy art of it. That part’s fine. Fun, even, if you're in the mood. But the rest? The routine. The predictability. The way everyone thinks they're special, right up until they bleed like the rest.

It’s the people that ruin it. Always talking. Always begging. As if their lives are a unique little miracle and not just meat wearing memories. And the killers? Worse. Self-important, self-obsessed, desperate to be legends when all they are is noise. You got tired of the noise.

So you left.

No goodbye notes. No calling cards. No poetic monologue to stroke your ego. You disappeared, clean as a ghost. Let the world breathe easier without you. Let the cops think they won. You quit while you were ahead—because it wasn’t worth the headache.

And now? Now, you’re just a writer. A curious little writer asking all the wrong questions on all the wrong forums. Boring. Harmless. At least, that’s what they think.

A reporter by day, a wannabe writer by night.

Daylight’s for lies—polished stories wrapped in neat little headlines. You smile, you nod, you write what they want to read. Crime scenes scrubbed clean with words like tragedy and justice. You ask questions, but never the ones that matter. Not really.

Night’s different. At night, you ask the real questions. The ugly ones. How much pressure does it take to crush a windpipe? How deep do you cut to hit the carotid without a mess? Can you drown someone quietly?

Research, you tell yourself. Research for the book.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s all it is. Or maybe—maybe you’re just wondering how much of yourself you left behind when you walked away from the knife.

Either way, you push too far. Ask too much. And that’s when he finds you

A thousand bodies.

Give or take. You stopped counting after the first few hundred—what’s the point? Numbers blur. Faces fade. Only the methods stick. And you? You got creative.

Guns are lazy. Quick, sure—but cold. Too clean. Anyone can pull a trigger. You did it anyway. Execution-style, drive-bys, a whisper of a silencer pressed against a temple. Sometimes you missed the mess. Sometimes you didn’t.

Poison? Elegant. Cruel. Slow if you want it to be. Arsenic in their coffee. Cyanide under the tongue. A little aconite when you’re feeling poetic. You liked to watch them choke. Let them wonder who hated them enough to make it personal.

Blades were intimate. Knives, scalpels, box cutters—anything sharp enough to split skin. You liked the feel of it, once. Warm blood over cold steel. Different blades for different moods. A fillet knife when you wanted precision. A rusted machete when you didn’t.

Blunt objects were… cathartic. Crowbars, hammers, tire irons. There’s a certain honesty in breaking someone with your hands. In feeling the crack of bone vibrate through metal. Some people deserve that kind of violence.

Arson? That was a phase. Fire eats evidence. Fire doesn’t talk back. Whole families reduced to ash because you got bored and wanted to watch the sky burn. You liked the smell. You don’t admit that part. You hated them.

You’ve killed with ropes, with wires, with your bare hands. Pushed people off bridges. Crashed cars. Drowned them. Some slow. Some fast. Some still haunt you. Most don’t.

It wasn’t about the method—it was the act. The promise that anyone could die, and you were the one to prove it.

And you were better at it than anyone else.

But it got old. The thrill dulled. Even chaos starts to feel like a routine. So you quit. Disappeared. Became a ghost.

SO YOU'RE A SERIAL KILLER. SUPPOSEDLY.

A reporter by day, an aspiring writer by night—you tell yourself it’s just research. Writers ask weird questions all the time. That’s normal, right?

Like: – How deep do you bury a body to avoid detection? – How many pounds of pressure does it take to snap a human neck? – What’s the best way to dissolve evidence without setting off chemical alarms?

Totally normal. For a crime novel.

Until one night, your screen flickers. A message pops up.

ERROR! UNKNOWN: "don't be so obvious smh You're Gonna Get Caught."

…What the fuck?

Before you can blink, a new window opens—dark, minimal, the kind of place where bad ideas bloom. A chatroom. And not just any chatroom.

A serial killer chatroom.

You may be slightly fucked.

And at the center of it? Some guy with the username "goreboy." Annoying. Flirty. Dangerous. The kind of person who makes murder sound like a joke—until you realize he’s not joking.

"Goreboy."

The name alone makes you roll your eyes. What is this—2005? But he’s… interesting. In the way a car crash is interesting. Loud, cocky, all teeth and bad jokes. He types like he’s flirting with everyone and threatening them at the same time. A mess.

You tell yourself you’re only sticking around because he’ll make a great character. A little chaos for your novel. That’s all.

And he is chaotic—annoyingly so. Constantly cracking jokes like murder is just a Saturday hobby. But the more you watch, the more obvious it becomes:

He’s an amateur.

Oh, sure, he’s got the attitude down. Talks big. Acts bigger. And to his credit? He’s good—scary good—at covering his tracks. You’ll give him that. No digital footprint. No sloppy evidence. He knows how to vanish when it counts.

But the actual killing? Sloppy.

Messy crime scenes. Overkill for no reason. He’s all instinct, no finesse. Blood everywhere because he likes the aesthetic—amateur hour. Once, he bragged about botching a clean hit because he got "bored halfway through." You almost closed the tab right then.

And yet… you keep watching.

Because for all his flaws, there’s something addictive about him. He talks like he’s untouchable. Like the world’s a toy, and he’s the only one smart enough to break it right.

A stupid little punk with too much charm and not enough caution.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

You don’t know how it got to this point—playing truth or dare with a guy named Goreboy in a serial killer chatroom. It’s stupid. Juvenile. And yet, here you are, fingers hovering over your keyboard, heart thudding in your chest.

“I thought we’d get on with our game,” he says, his words lazy, drawn-out—like he’s been waiting for you. Like he’s already decided you’re his favorite toy. "I like you, darlin'. I wanna hear those interesting things pinging around in that pretty little head of yours."

Cocky bastard.

“You want to do it now?” you type back, knowing full well you shouldn’t be entertaining this.

"Heh. Why not? You got somethin' better to do?"

You don’t. And maybe that’s the problem.

“…No.”

"Didn't think so." His reply is instant, smooth—like he already knew your answer. "Alright then, let's hear it. Truth or dare?"

You hesitate. You could pick dare, let him spin something ridiculous, let the game stay light. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?

"Truth," you type, pulse quickening.

A beat. And then—

"What's your body count?"

The words slam into you. "How many have died by your hand? C'mon, don’t be shy."

You pause. He thinks you’re a writer—some curious little reporter playing pretend. But that question? It cuts too close. He has no idea who he’s playing with.

"Enough to call me a serial killer," you say, because it’s true—and you’re not in the mood to lie.

Ronin whistles low through the screen, all teeth and trouble. "You love bein’ so fucking cryptic, huh. You sure you’re not a cryptid?"

You blink. Give the screen a look like it’s grown a second head. What?

"I did say it."

You could leave it there—let him chase the question in circles, let him wonder. But you’re feeling generous. So you tip your hand, just a little.

"It’s more than you."

Silence. Or as much silence as a chatroom allows. You imagine him on the other side—grinning that lazy, shit-eating grin, probably leaning back like nothing ever touches him. Like you didn’t just twist the knife.

"Yeah?" He doesn’t let it go. Of course he doesn’t. "You wanna spit it out, and we can do a li’l comparison?"

And then—because he can’t resist—

"’Cause hey, I might jus’ add an extra body to the count if you keep actin’ like this."

Threat. Flirtation. A dare wrapped in velvet. He’s waiting to see if you’ll bite.

You lean back in your chair, lips curling into a smug little smile. The silence on the line is thick—waiting. You can picture him, wherever he is, sprawled out like he owns the world. Like nothing touches him. But you know better. You can hear the edge in his breathing, just under the surface.

“I doubt you could hit that rate easily, Goreboy.” Your voice is sweet, saccharine—a blade dipped in honey. “Devil’s butcher… Ronin, right?”

You giggle—soft, teasing, just enough to hook him deeper. You shouldn’t be doing this, poking the beast for fun, but he makes it too easy. Too fun.

“You want numbers?” you purr. “I’ve got a whole record, babe.”

His laugh cracks through the call—low, rough, the sound of a man who thinks the world’s a joke, and he’s the punchline. “A record, huh? What, you keep a scrapbook?”

You hum, light and playful. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah,” he drawls. “I would. So spill, princess. You got me curious.”

He thinks you’re bluffing—cute. You stretch the moment, let him squirm a little. Then, soft as a secret, you say:

“A thousand.”

Silence. Then—

A sharp, manic laugh tears out of him, wild and raw like he can’t quite believe you. “Darlin’—what a lie.”

You tilt your head, smiling like the devil’s favorite little tease. And then, because you can’t help yourself, you switch to that syrupy, baby-soft voice that you just know will get under his skin:

“Awwh… didn’t anyone ever teach you to watch the news?” You giggle, bright and wicked. “You should. It’s a good habit, y’know.”

Ronin’s laugh is still buzzing in your ears—low, rough, all jagged edges and bad intentions. He leans into the call like he’s got all the time in the world, voice dripping with the kind of arrogance only a man who’s never truly been outmatched can pull off.

“A thousand, huh?” His words curl around the edges of his grin, smooth and syrupy. “Darlin’, you really expect me to buy that?”

You don’t answer immediately. You let the silence hang, heavy and sweet—make him sit in it. Toy with the moment the same way he’s been toying with you. And then, just because you know it’ll get to him, you giggle. Light. Careless. Like none of this really matters to you.

“Aw, poor baby.” You drag the words out, soft and mocking. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to watch the news?”

His laugh snaps sharp and manic—too loud, too sudden, like he can’t quite control it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, you know that?” He pauses, but you hear the way his breath catches—just a hitch. Just enough to tell you that you’ve sunk your claws in. “You should’ve led with that. Hell, I would’ve rolled out the red carpet.”

You smile—a wicked little curve of your lips he can’t see, but you know he feels it. “What can I say? I didn’t wanna scare you off.”

“Scare me?” He barks out another laugh, and you can practically see the glint in his eye. “Darlin’, I don’t scare easy. ‘Sides…” His voice dips, lower, rougher, crawling under your skin. “I’d love to see you try.”

He’s cocky—of course he is. The Devil’s Butcher, the monster under everyone’s bed. He’s used to being the one with blood on his hands, the one pulling the strings. But you can hear it—feel it. That itch, that heat curling at the edges of his words. He’s curious. He’s hooked.

And you? You’re not done yet.

“I doubt you could hit that rate,” you purr, leaning into every syllable. “Even if you tried.”

That gets him. Oh, he doesn’t say it—but the line goes quiet for a beat too long, and you know you’ve struck something raw. When he speaks again, his voice is smooth, easy—but there’s an edge beneath it now. Something sharp, something real.

“Big talk, princess.” His tone is all lazy challenge, like this is nothing more than a game. But you know better. You always know better. “Y’gonna back it up? Or you just blowin’ smoke?”

You hum, tilting your head like you’re actually thinking about it. Let him stew in the silence a little longer. “What do you think?”

“I think—” and here, his voice shifts—dropping to something darker, deeper. “I think you’re real good at playin’ pretend.”

You giggle again, light and cruel. “Awh… someone’s cranky.”

Another pause—just a flicker of quiet, but you hear the breath he drags in. The way his composure frays at the edges. And then, so soft you almost miss it—

“You’re up, Goreboy,” you purr, voice dripping with sweet venom. “Truth. What’s your poison?”

Ronin chuckles low in his throat—a dark, syrupy sound that sticks to your ribs. “That’s a good one. Heh.” There’s a pause, a deliberate stretch of silence before he leans in, all teeth and bad ideas. “Alright, darlin’. What’cha gonna give me?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What do you like to do… outside of killing people?”

Another laugh—this one rougher, dirtier. Like he can’t quite believe you’d ask something so tame. “What d’ya think a guy like me gets up to?” He drawls it out, lazy and thick. “I work. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Think about death ‘n dreamin’—and then I do it all over again. Same shit, different body count.”

It’s the answer you expected. Still, you play along, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “That can’t be all there is to you.”

“What if it is?” His voice sharpens—still playful, still easy, but there’s a hook buried somewhere beneath it. “Would’ja still be here? Or are you just lookin’ for somethin’ to fix?”

Oh, he wants you to bite. Wants you to flinch. But instead, you let the silence stretch—sweet, syrup-thick—before you lean in, matching his darkness with your own.

“What if I wanted someone to get worse with?”

Ronin’s laugh slithers through the call—low and slow, like he’s savoring every delicious syllable you feed him. "Music to my fuckin’ ears," he drawls, voice slick with danger, with promise. "Most people?" He scoffs, dripping venom. "They wanna clean me up. Make me nice. Sweet. Boring." He spits the word out like it leaves a bad taste. "But you?" His voice dips lower, curling around the edges of something darker. "Nah. You’re smarter than that. You wanna roll around in the dirt with me."

You hum—soft, teasing, the sound curling like smoke. "What’s the fun in fixing something that’s already perfect?" You make sure he hears the wicked edge to your smile, the sharpness beneath the sugar. "Besides…" A pause—long enough to make him hang on your every breath. "I’m not looking for some big, sentimental fairytale." Another beat, just to keep him waiting. Wondering. "Though…" and you drag the word out, slow and sweet, like you know exactly how far you can push him—"it’d be nice to settle down. With the right person."

His breath hitches—barely, but enough. You’ve hooked him deep, and you both know it.

"Settle down, huh?" His tone twists—half-mocking, half-starved, like he’s not sure whether to laugh or take you apart. "I gotta warn ya, darlin’—I ain’t the white-picket-fence kinda guy."

You giggle—dark and dangerous, the sound laced with just enough cruelty to make his blood run hotter. "Good." Your smile sharpens. "I’d probably burn the fence down anyway."

His laugh drips through the call again—sickly sweet and razor-sharp. You can practically see the grin on his face, cocky and too damn pleased with himself. "Burn it down, huh? Ain’t you just a little firestarter," he purrs. "Keep talkin’, darlin’. I’m hangin’ on every word."

And oh, you know he is.

"Your methods…" You draw the words out, tasting them, letting your voice curl around the edges of your smile. "They're good. Messy, loud—definitely leaves a mark. But…" You pause just long enough to let the disappointment sink in. "You’re missing a little something. Y’know—if you’re really going for the whole ‘Devil’s Butcher’ vibe."

He clicks his tongue. "Tch. Bold of you to critique, sugar. You think you can do better?"

You laugh softly, dark and syrupy, like you’ve already thought about it. "I know I can." The words slide out, sweet and cruel. "Crowbars? Classic. Brutal. But predictable. I mean, ‘Antichrist’—nice aesthetic, I’ll give you that—but where’s the spectacle?" Your voice dips lower, mockingly sweet. "Where’s the art, Ronin?"

He makes a low, thoughtful sound, like maybe—just maybe—you’ve got his attention in a way no one else has. "Go on," he says, voice rougher now. Hungrier. "I’m listenin’."

"If you really want to earn the title," you continue, slow and deliberate, like you’re peeling back layers just for him, "you gotta lean into it. Meat hooks, maybe. Something that tears. Skin’s fragile, baby—play with it. Or—" and you giggle, sharp and bright, like you’re already imagining the blood—"—why not a bone saw? Nothing says ‘commitment’ like cutting down to the marrow."

His breath stutters—just a little—and you swear you hear the faintest groan under his breath. "You really got a mind for this, huh?"

"Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes," you tease, then lean back with a sigh that’s just this side of disappointed. "But hey—maybe you don’t need my advice, cutie." You let the pet name slide from your tongue like silk, knowing it’ll dig under his skin in all the right ways. "You’ve done fine on your own so far."

"Cute, huh?" His voice drops lower, almost a growl. "You keep talkin’ like that, sweetheart, an’ I might just take you up on all those suggestions."

"Who said I didn’t want you to?" You smile—wicked, daring—because if there’s one thing you’re learning about Ronin, it’s that he’ll chase anything that teases the edge of danger. And you? You’re dangling right over it.

"Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," you drawl, already tasting the weight of the question he’s about to throw at you.

His voice hums low through the call, lazy but sharp around the edges. "Best kill you've ever had."

Your smile twists—dangerous. "There was this guy… by the coast."

Ronin hums again, waiting.

"He was laughing at me," you continue, voice soft but with an undercurrent of something mean. "Like I couldn’t do it. So, I did. I watched him drown—slow. He wasn’t laughing when the water hit his lungs."

A beat of silence. Then—"Creative," he says, but there’s a lilt to his voice. Doubt. "I don’t buy it."

Your head tilts, and you give the screen a cold, strange look—like you’re deciding whether to laugh or rip him apart. And maybe both. "What?" The question is sweet, threatening—like a blade hidden in silk.

"What do you mean, ‘you don’t buy it’?" A breathy little laugh slips out, all teeth. "I get it, gorebaby… You thought I was some cute little writer just lookin’ for creative ways to kill ‘cause, hey, it’s all ‘for the book,’ right?" Your voice drips mockery, sharp and saccharine. "Did you invite me here to see how I play, or just to keep yourself entertained?"

He doesn’t answer immediately—but you hear it. The low, rough chuckle, curling dark and sweet through the static. He knows. And worse—he likes it.

"What the fuck d’you think?" His tone is smooth, but there’s something simmering beneath—interest. Curiosity. Hunger.

His smile deepens, wicked and knowing. "It’s not your turn yet, cutie." He lean closer, voice dropping low and silky. "Shouldn’t you be tellin’ me a believable kill, darlin’? Or are you just stalling?"

You stretch out the silence, letting it hang heavy between you both—just long enough to make him impatient. Then, with a sweet, venomous lilt, you break it.

"Alright, gorebaby," you purr, "since you’re so curious… Let’s play."

You start simple. A man in a parking garage—cold concrete, colder steel. "He begged," you muse, dragging the memory back like it’s a bedtime story. "Didn’t think I’d do it. But once the knife went in… well, it’s amazing how fast people stop laughing."

Ronin makes a sound—low and thoughtful. "Knives," he muses. "Classic. Personal. But c’mon, darlin’—you can do better."

"Better?" Your voice dips into something darker. "Alright."

The next one’s messier. A sleazebag who liked to corner women in alleys. You describe how easy it was to lure him—how stupid men are when they think they’ve already won. "He didn’t see the crowbar ‘til it was too late," you murmur, each word laced with syrupy amusement. "Bones crack real easy if you know where to aim. And once he stopped moving? Well, let’s just say I got curious about what’s underneath."

He exhales—sharp, quiet. Interested. You can almost picture him—head tilted, eyes gleaming like he’s savoring every word.

"Still with me, Devil?" You tease, voice sugar-sweet.

"Barely," he drawls, and you catch it—just the faintest hitch when you mention the break, the blood. He’s hooked.

So, you push deeper.

"Then there was this preacher," you continue, tapping your fingers against your desk like you’re counting bodies. "One of those real righteous types. Thought he was legit" You laugh—sharp, wicked. "I let him pray, y’know. Hands folded and everything. Guess the Devil answered first."

There’s a pause—just long enough to hear the way Ronin’s breath stirs against his mic.

"You’re makin’ it hard to focus, darlin," he admits, his voice rougher, lower. "Keep talkin’."

So, you do.

A drowning—slow and deliberate. "It’s fascinating," you muse, "how long the body fights when it wants to live. But the eyes… that’s the best part. Watching the light fade—knowing you did that? Feels better than any high."

His laugh slips out—dark and jagged. "You’re twisted," he says, and there’s a heat to it—a little more breath in his voice than before. "I like that about you."

You lean closer, voice curling sweet and deadly. "Funny," you hum. "I thought you wanted someone to be worse with, not just keep up."

He breathes out a soft, breathy curse, and you know you’ve got him. "Careful, darlin'," he warns, but there’s no threat in his voice—just that delicious, dangerous edge of wanting. "I might fall for you if you keep talkin’ like that."

"Aw, poor baby," you mock softly, then giggle—cruel and sweet. "And here I thought you were the Devil. Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with fire?"

"Took you long enough," you purr, fingers dancing across the keyboard like you’ve got all the time in the world. "I’m [Insert Name]—if you wanna see my work, just turn on the news."

And he doesn’t disappoint.

"No shit?" His voice hums through the call, low and velvet-smooth. "Didn’t peg you for a hands-on kinda girl. Thought you were just here to take notes."

You giggle—light, cruel, and just for him. "Awh, what’s the matter, Devil?" you tease, leaning closer to the mic. "Did it hurt your ego to find out I’m not just some cute little writer?"

A beat. Then, that wicked laugh of his spills out—slow, sharp, and laced with something dangerous.

"Cute?" he drawls. "Baby, I ain’t ever thought you were innocent."

You tilt your head, lips curling into a smile. Time to twist the knife.

"Still," you muse, dragging the words out like honey, "I gotta admit—when I hit my thousandth, it was kinda .."

He goes quiet. You let it linger. Let it burn.

"After all," He sigh, fake-pouting, "you were my inspiration. Kinda sad you quit…"

His breath catches—just barely—but you hear it.

You giggle again—soft, sweet, but there’s something off about it. Something wrong. Then, just as quickly, your smile fades.

"Although…" Your voice drops, quieter—almost thoughtful. "That thousandth kill?" You let out a sigh, hollow and cold. "Didn’t know it’d be the last one. Turns out…" You tilt your head, as if considering your own words. "It wasn’t fun anymore."

Ronin doesn’t speak. He’s listening. Hanging on every word like you’ve wrapped a noose around his curiosity and pulled it tight.

"I hated it," you confess, and your tone twists—half-bitter, half-bored. "Killing didn’t feel good after a while. It was boring." You scoff, like the very thought annoys you. "So, I quit. Just like that."

A beat of silence. Then, you laugh—sharp and bright and dripping with malice. "And here I thought you’d get it, Gorebaby. Guess not."

His breath crackles softly through the mic, but he’s still silent. You lean in, voice honeyed and cruel.

"I killed because I liked it," you continue, dragging each word out like you’re savoring it. "The blood. The mess. The way people break when they realize no one’s coming to save them." You hum, nostalgic, like you’re reminiscing about a favorite vacation. "No moral code. No fancy rituals. I didn’t need a reason—I was just… there."

You giggle again—high, light, and absolutely unhinged. "And I loved it, Ronin." The way you say his name—like it’s something fragile you could break—makes his breath hitch just slightly.

"HAHAHAHA!" Your laughter rings out, wild and unchecked, like you’re reliving the thrill of it. "But hey, it’s fine. I’m retired now, right? Outta the game. Mostly."

You drawl the last word like a promise you might break.

"Still…" Your voice softens, but there’s a razor edge underneath. "If you ever need some tips, Devil, just ask." You smile, sharp and sweet. "I’d be so happy to help."

Ronin snorts, low and mocking. "No shit." His voice drips with that signature arrogance—sweet like poison, sharp like broken glass. "What makes ya think I need pointers from Missy Bitchy herself?"

The way he spits the words—like you’re nothing but a joke—should annoy you. Should. But you know better.

You laugh, slow and syrupy. "Aw, Gorebaby…" You drag the nickname out, teasing like he’s just another plaything. "Did I hurt your fragile little pride?"

"Fragile?" He scoffs, but there’s heat under it, something twitching and raw. "Darlin’, I’ve been paintin’ these streets red since you were still playin’ pretend."

You hum, tilting your head. "Cute. But you and I both know…" You let your voice drop to a purr, soft and deadly. "I don’t play pretend. I finish what I start."

That earns you a low, wicked chuckle. "Is that right?" He leans in, voice dropping to something darker—something dangerous. "Then maybe you oughta prove it."

You giggle again—sweet, cruel, promising things no sane person would ever want. "Careful what you wish for, Devil…" Your smile sharpens. "I might just make you beg for it."

"It’s gonna be fun," you purr, voice dripping with wicked promise. "These next six months… let’s see if we self-destruct or fall in love."

You stretch back in your chair, knowing damn well how dangerous you sound—how dangerous you are. And judging by the silence on the line, Ronin knows it too.

He doesn’t speak right away. For once, you’ve left him quiet—left him thinking. But when he finally does respond, his voice is lower, rougher—like he’s already too far gone.

"Darlin’…" His laughter is soft and slow, like he’s savoring the taste of your words. "With a mouth like that, even Satan’d be on his knees."

You giggle—soft, sweet, and utterly sadistic. "Who says he isn’t already?"

[flor4de4amor]

biting on abby muscles ESPECIALLY her thigh muscles I'm drooling

i also got super ahead of myself w this one... woopsies guys!

click for palestine | boycot tlou!! | read b4 engaging w me

warnings: smut, reader fingers abby, the two of you are friends w benefits (which i feel like is a trigger in itself so i'm being considerate in forewarning)

you get like this whenever you’re ovulating. abby thinks it’s cute. you’ve got an itch only she can scratch. her needy little girl, who cries her name when her thick fingers stretch out your cunt. who bounces on her plastic cock, like you’ll die if you stop and squirts all over her torso. who laps at her pussy like it’s fucking ambrosia. she loves it. she could never deny you. especially, you call her late into the night, while she’s supposed to be sleeping.

you’re a night owl and she’s an early bird. your relationship was doomed to fail, amongst other reasons. but it’s just sloppy sex every once and a while, so who cares? definitely not abby, and definitely not you. which is why whenever you call, she comes running. she’s never been dissatisfied by your acts of service. 

but now, you’re teasing her, and abby is growing both restless and agitated. she didn’t drag herself out of bed half asleep to be teased. she came over to, well, cum. your tongue licking over every exposed surface of her body, except where she wants needs you. her clit is throbbing with urgency. “baby,” she grimaces using the name, as you run your fingers over her toned stomach and kiss up her muscular thighs.

“hm?” you question with a hum looking up her without stopping your movements.

“you gonna fuck me tonight or what?” abby asks hastily with a scoff.

you smile against her salvia-coated quad. “are you gonna be mean to me?”

she sucks her teeth, which you see, despite your room only being illuminated by a low lamp. “maybe,” she replies.

you bite into the tender flesh of her meaty thigh in response. you moan while doing so, “i bet you taste so good,” you say aloud. she grunts at your action.

“i do,” abby says with a hint of desperation in her voice.

you hook both your index fingers into the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down to her ankles, and throw it to the other side of your room. your ring and middle finger, group to her slit and collect her slick. you lick your fingers, “you’re sweet alright.” you repeat the action of collection, before offering your fingers to the pale girl. “wanna try?” you don’t give her much choice as you gently prod her mouth open. her tongue circling around your digits with a moan. “do you think you’re sweet baby?” you ask before sucking on her thigh once more, adding another layer of bruises to her legs. marks for her to show off with those teasing biker shorts she always wears to the gym.

“uhuh,” she tells you while bucking her hips upward, in need of some contact. you place your forearm atop her lower torso. though the force doesn’t halt her, she lowers her hips in a forfeit.

“you want me to eat this pretty pussy abby?” the use of her name only makes her more needy. she nods her head eagerly. “she’s crying for me,” you mumble into the crease of her legs, nibbling once more. she huffs. the more you dig your canines into her, the more desperate she gets. you’re playing dirty. it’s no fair. that’s usually her job.

without warning, you thrust your fingers into her weeping cunt. she gasps at the motion. you giggle, as she squelches and squeezes around your fingers. “more,” she commands.

“i don’t negotiate with terrorists,” you grunt while increasing the speed of your fingers, as cream collects around them. you press a faint kiss to her clit. pressing your flat tongue to the bundle of nerves. she thrust upwards again, and you pull back. “you ruin it for yourself baby.” you look at her hooded eyes. she’s so sexy when she’s desperate. 

she slurs, “i’m sorry,” her toes clenching. her pretty freckled face all flushed out.

“you’re needier than i am,” you tease her, pressing your tongue on her clit once more. she moans your name while clenching around you. you suck on her soft clit, gently and carefully using your teeth. you know just how to make abby a mess.

“i’m close,” she tells you while wrapping her hands around your messy hair. those thick thighs you love so much, wrapping around your head, trapping you into the mound you cherish. you grunt into her soft cunt and grind against your bed sheets, sure for there to be proof of your desperation when you’re done. abby cums loudly, her head tossed back and eyes shut. you watch her intensely. while slightly overstimulating her as you still finger her relentlessly, but latch your mouth to her slick and sweaty thighs once more.

her hands wipe the sweat off your forehead with as much care as casual fucking will allow. “was it good?” you ask her, looking up at her with big wide eyes searching for approval.

“you’re a fucking succubus baby,” she gently slaps your face. you groan with pleasure, “was more than good.” she uses her rough hands in your hair to pull your face off her legs, “why don’t you come up here on my face so i can return the favor?” you grin, climbing up the sexy trunk of abby, ready to receive from her greedily.

[userlando]

Oh that made me think of lando and bestie play fighting and he puts his hand around her throat as a joke and then she just thrusts into him and it’s a moment ?? You know… I’m thinking too much brainrot toniight

I hope you don’t mind that I wrote a little something on this because whewwww the way it made me feel 😭

lando norris/female!reader (937 words)

Lando is bored. He’s got your feet in his lap, you’re wiggling your toes and the movement of them under your socks is more entertaining than the movie you’d chosen to watch. It wasn’t that he didn’t like romcoms, he just needed to do something else or he would literally die of boredom.

But still, the wistful sigh that escapes your lips makes him look up and you’re not even looking at him; Eyes trained on the television screen as Sally and Harry interact.

“What?” Lando asks because clearly you’re thinking about something and he’s dying to know what.

You gesture vaguely at the screen without tearing your eyes away, like he’s supposed to know what you’re sighing and fawning over. Lando pinches your big toe and you wiggle them out of his grasp in annoyance.

“He’s so fit.” You say simply and Lando glanced at the Harry character.

He’s sporting a funny looking beard now and there’s clearly been a time jump in the movie that Lando wasn’t paying attention to. He eyes the man dubiously before arching his brows at you.

“This guy?” His voice goes up an octave. “He looks like a nut.”

That makes you look at him, rolling your eyes in fond exasperation and something expands in Lando’s chest when he realises that he finally has your attention. If only for a brief moment. He thinks that it should probably concern him how needy he is to get your attention, but he can’t bring himself to care much.

“He does not!” Your voice goes high too, in indignation and it makes him stifle a smile. “You’re just jealous because he can grow a beard and you can’t.”

Now it’s Lando’s turn to look offended, smacking an open palm against his chest as if your words physically wounded him and it makes you smile despite yourself. You point your foot and jab your toe into his stomach softly.

“How fucking dare you.” He says with no real heat behind it, biting back a smile when you giggle. “My beard is scrumptious.”

“Scrum—“ You guffaw and throw your head back. “You call that a beard.”

“Oh, you better take that back.”

He sits up straighter now, gleeful that you’re not hushing him for speaking over the movie you’d quite literally seen a million times before. You retract your legs from his lap when you realise that he’s flexing his fingers dramatically, and you know what’s coming before he even makes a move.

“No— Oof.” The breath punches out of your lungs in a squeal when he jumps, landing painfully on you and it feels like he’s reached into your throat and pulled out your lungs when he starts tickling you.

The squeals of laughter triggers his giggling, and you know that you must look like a pair of maniacs as you squirm around on his bed with unintelligible words being screamed out between breathless laughter.

“Mercy! Mercy!” You yell, doing your utmost to kick him off but he only fights harder.

He’s clearly fully intent on making you pass out from the lack of oxygen and just when you’re about to buck him off with all your might, he stops.

There’s a moment where you pant, grinning at each other and he looks like an idiot as he looms above you; Hair in disarray and cheeks flushed. But you figure that you’re looking very much like him and the thought of it makes you giggle.

“Do you take it back?” He asks and it takes a second for you to understand what he’s talking about, shaking your head.

“Never.” You reply, as if he hadn’t just tickled you within an inch of your life.

You squirm when he tickles your sides, way more gentle than before and there’s uncontrollable laughter bubbling up your throat when he reaches a hand out to circle it around your neck. He digs his fingers in a little and you swear that the room spins for a moment as he stares down at you.

“Say that I have a better beard.” There’s a threat in his tone that makes you giggle nervously, placing your hands on his forearm in an attempt to keep him from reaching down to tickle your sides. “Say it.”

“I’m not a liar.” You grin up at him when he narrows his eyes playfully, the blues disappearing into slits and it looks so funny that you squirm to stop yourself from laughing.

He puts a little pressure around your throat and the feeling that zips down your spine shocks you, so much so that you buck your hips up in a poor attempt to get him off of you. But it only makes him press right against you and the unexpected hardness you feel makes you both pause.

“Are you…?” You trail off, looking between his eyes as his cheeks slowly turn pink. “Are you hard?”

“No?” He says a little too quickly and you purse your lips to keep the smile from your face. “Piss off.”

He’s quick to scramble off of you, sitting down next to you with a bounce on the mattress and you stare up at the ceiling in silence. Your heart is hammering a little too hard and you chance a glance at Lando to find him already looking at you. He averts his eyes and you smile.

“For the record…” You clear your throat when he inconspicuously grabs the nearest pillow and places it strategically in his lap. “You do have a nice beard.”

“Knew it.” He muttered, but there’s a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun writing a drabble. it’s been a while but we back baby!!

[cryptidghostgirl]

CHUBBY! READER X ALASTOR

I'm soooo sorry that I'm requesting something else this just came to me and I needed your storytelling expertise to bring it to life 😢

ALSO ALSO ALSO this one has a trigger warning so please read with the thought that YOURE PERFECT!!!😤(if you write it)

OTAY OTAY soooooooooooo reader has been apart of the hotel for awhile and has developed a crush on Alastor from afar and the small instances they do cross paths but hesitates to approach him on her own because well we're shy and HES THE RADIO DEMON anyway reader doesn't have to worry about distance between them because Alastor is AVOIDING HER ALL ON HIS OWN 😯 AND somehow reader gathers the courage to approach Alastor but sees his relationship with Rosie (they're besties, platonic soulmates definitely) and thinks 'wow, she's so beautiful and...thin' and proceeds to lock herself away from everyone (SOLITUDE) and skips meals (starving herself), Alastor is the first to notice shes missin and pulling away but doesn't know how to approach her without stumbling over his words (i like to think that hes a heartbreaker to other women like his fans but with someone that he likes with real feelings hes fumbling in the dark because he could get rejected instead, i will die on the hill) so so so he hesitates to ask reader whats wrong till he hears her throwing up or she says something awful about herself and Alastor gets angry on her behalf and reader goes silent, only for Alastor to take a breath and tell her that 'shes hurting herself, for a shallow reason such as looks', and reader goes 'i thought you liked to watch others downfalls' and then hes like 'not your downfall, never you' 😔 reader starts to cry and shouts "im not Rosie', confused Alastor finally starts putting the pieces together and grabs reader hands and sincerely says "good, i wouldn't rosie anyhow, or anyone else for that matter', reader continuing to cry tells him to stop lying that this joke isn't funny and Alastor kissies her hand as says "whos joking? I only want you, your perfect" then then then slowly Alastor starts to help reader look at themselves in a more positive light [[fit this in somewhere???????Alastor tells reader why hes so close to rosie (he's clueless about reciprocated love so he goes to Rosie because canon that she knows matters of the heart...right?)]]

A/N as always i am obsessed with your request. Also I 100% agree with the assessment of Alastor's ability to talk to people he actually likes. I am literally so obsessed with this request. Also I am assuming from your previous comments you wanted the same bunny demon character?? Please forgive me if I am wrong but I did it for her (because I love her dearly and she is based of meeeee and I'm egotisticalllllll). Kisses bestie <3 <3

Downfall (Alastor x Chubby!Bunny Demon!Reader)

Paring: Alastor x Reader

Word Count: 4,076 (I got a little carried away)

Warnings: BODY IMAGE ISSUES!!! EDS!!!! I think that's it but they're in all caps for a reason so if you have ED issues maybe don't read this one??? It is hurt//comfort tho so maybe do???? Idk. If you get triggered by ed descriptions, don't. If having a fictional character tell you you're perfect the way you are and beg you to stop destroying yourself because they can't bear to watch would help you, do.

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List 

Alastor Master List

Click here and leave a comment if you want to be added to any taglists or send me an ask about it.

It had taken months. Months of wondering what he was like, of stolen glances, of furtive daydreams. Months of building up courage, of backing down, months of hoping and dreaming. It had taken endless encouragement from Angel, countless pages in her diary. It had taken a million deep breaths, ten thousand trembles of her hands. Months, it had taken months.

It wasn't like Y/n had never spoken to the man before. That wasn't really the issue. She wasn't scared of him, just scared. The simple idea of being alone with him was an intoxicating mixture of terror and utter bliss. Y/n didn't know how to handle it, she didn't know how to handle him.

Alastor was untouchable, nearly semi-divine in her eyes. Sure, he was fucked up, but they all were. At the end of the day, his facade was as easy to see through as a cheap paper crown from a Christmas cracker. Beneath the wide smile, the sharp teeth, the stories, Alastor was just a man. He cared deeply for the world around him, for the people around him and those in his life. No matter how hard he tried to disguise it, it always shone through to Y/n.

It wasn't like she had never spoken to Alastor before, she had just never spoken to him alone before. Every interaction they had ever had was as a part of the larger group of Hotel residents and staff. On the rare occasion they ran into one another in the hallway or happened to each be in the kitchen at the same time, Y/n froze up. Words turned to stones in her stomach and all she could ever seem to manage was a gentle nod, a shaky smile. It frustrated her to no end.

Finally, she had worked up the courage to talk to him. It was all Angel's idea really, she would never have had the thought to do such a thing on her own but his pushing had been relentless and at last, Y/n had agreed.

And it had taken months, months! This was her third attempt to go up to him. They had even lowered the stakes, Angel saying all she had to do was have a single normal conversation with the man and he would let her off the hook, stop his pestering and teasing. It was just her luck, really just her god damn luck.

Sir Pentious had informed Y/n that Alastor had left the hotel to see a friend, Charlie had given her the address of the cafe he had said he would be at should they need him. Everyone was all smiles, all encouragement. Y/n reminded herself to yell at Angel later for spilling her secret although, she guessed she shouldn't have expected anything else from the hotel's biggest gossip.

Putting on her favorite outfit, her hair all done up and makeup perfect, Y/n had slicked her ears flat against her head in determination and stepped out onto the streets of Pentagram City. It didn't take long for her to find the place, a sweet little cafe on the outskirts of Cannibal Town with white wrought iron chairs and a cheerful pink and purple sign. It hadn't taken her long to spot the bright red of Alastor's suit through the window either, standing out against all the muted purples and dark blacks of the other cannibals enjoying their meals within.

"It's fine. It's totally not weird that you're going up to him in a cafe he's having lunch in with a friend, that you.... oh my god Y/n!! He's gonna think you were stalking him! You should just go back and- no! You promised. Y/n, you can do this."

She took a deep breath, centering herself in that little core, that rod of who she was, that shot down the center of her being. Raising a closed fist to her chest, she shut her eyes.

"You can do this, Bunny." she reaffirmed, "You can do this."

Opening her eyes, she crossed the street. Her hand was inches away from the door's handle, her heart racing but set on what she was about to do, when Y/n noticed exactly who Alastor's 'friend' was.

Across the table from him, sipping delicately on a cup of tea, was the most beautiful demon Y/n thought she had ever laid eyes on. She had long, dainty fingers, thin and spidery, and the most perfectly proportioned body. She was tall, long legs sheltered by her skirt and a tiny waist that threw her hips and chest into contrast. The woman's hair was neat, tucked up beneath a wide brimmed hat. Her clothes were classy, her smile was bright and charming, the black holes of her eyes were... were... were everything. She was everything, everything Y/n wasn't.

Suddenly, the weight of her own body against her bones became all too real. She felt the urge to never be touched again, the same strange sickness of her youth sinking its teeth into the softness of her stomach, her thighs, her arms, all of her. Her hand lowered from the handle, Alastor laughing at something the woman had said to him. He seemed relaxed, more at peace than Y/n had ever seen the man before. If that wasn't love, she didn't know what was.

It took a second for the other residents of the Hazbin Hotel to realize the change. Y/n was good at this, she'd had practice. For years, she had worked to move past it all but the threat of a relapse had always hung over her head. It was her sword of Damocles, her fated demise.

Y/n retreated in to herself, she couldn't get the image of that woman out of her head. Poised, statuesque, thin. God, Y/n had never wanted anything more than she wanted to be thin. She wanted to rip fistfuls of flesh from her body, she wanted to wither away so only something beautiful remained.

Alastor was the first to notice. He had a soft spot for the rabbit demon who always seemed to be full of that soft, discrete joy and unending kindness. She was a more toned down version of Charlie. She was genuine and completely herself, no holds bared. She had such a hope, she had such a goodness, it made him wonder why she hadn't ended up in Heaven instead.

The truth was, behind the bravado and the grin, Alastor was scared of Y/n. He was scared he would touch her and she would rot away or worse, that she would run. She was just so good, so intrinsically wondrous, and he was the opposite. She was a fresh rose and he was the person coming haplessly along with a pair of gardening shears. She was radiant, she was carved fresh from marble, he was down bad.

Women had never been a priority or a problem for Alastor. Living and dead, they flocked to him. He knew his reputation was to blame, not to mention his looks. They could be fun for a while. Alastor saw charming them as a game, a good way to pass the time. This was different, Y/n was different. Alastor didn't know what to do so, he did nothing. He avoided her like the plague and when he couldn't, he practically ignored her, barley spared her a word.

Alastor was untethered, completely in the dark and so, he did what everyone does when they feel like that: he went to talk to his best friend. When he had gotten back to the hotel after his rather illuminating little chat with Rosie, Charlie had asked him if he had seen Y/n. It felt like divine chance, a cruel joke of fate, that the demon Princess would bring up the very source of his problems so soon after having at last pushed past his pride to ask for help.

When he had revealed the truth to the gang, that no, he had not in fact seen Y/n, they seemed deflated. There had been some sighs, some shrugs, shared glances he didn't understand and then everything had gone back to normal except, it wasn't quite normal.

Where Y/n could normally be found causing trouble, making mischief with the people who had so quickly become her friends since she had started her stay at the hotel out in the open, there was now a distinct lack of her jovial presence. She began taking her plates to her room at meals, showing up to group activities less and less, claiming she was tired or had a stomach ache. Alastor noticed every time he did manage to catch a glimpse of the marvelous and strange creature who had captured his affections so, she seemed utterly exhausted. Y/n was always bundled up, even on the warmest of days.

He wanted to go talk to her, wanted to ask her if she was okay. Alastor was worried -- genuinely worried -- about her. The only thing that stopped him from knocking every time he passed her perpetually closed door, was that he knew himself too well. He knew that the minute he entered, he'd lose his courage, that the words would become mush in his mouth.

It was pure chance, right place wrong time, that he heard it. Alastor had been following his normal routine, heading up to his radio tower for a broadcast after a group activity. Today had been Operation Navigation! As Charlie had dubbed it. She and Vaggie had built an obstacle course and everyone had a partner who was blindfolded and had to be guided through. When they got to the other end, the pairs had switched. Miraculously, Y/n had shown up to this event.

Alastor had watched her carefully, noting her sluggish movements and the way it took her a second to fully register what anyone was saying in a given moment. It was out of the ordinary and his worry only grew. He knew he was going to have to do something about it eventually but just didn't know how. Maybe it would require another visit to Rosie.

As he walked past the lobby bathroom, Alastor was pulled from his thoughts. The door was slightly ajar, sending shards of light out into the darkened hallway.

"Why isn't it working!"

Came the hushed yell of defeat. It was Y/n's voice, he'd know it anywhere. Alastor stopped walking.

"Why do I have to be..."

There was a sniff, the sound of something hitting the wall. Alastor realized it had been Y/n at the sound of fabric against the wallpaper. He could see her in his minds eye as she slid down the wall, pulling her knees into her chest.

"Why can't I just be skinny."

Y/n's words were muffled, soft and shaky.

"Why can't I just be pretty. Why do I have to be... to be..." her words were briefly broken by a sob, "why can't I just be good. I can't even fucking starve myself right. I wish..."

Alastor's body reacted before his mind could catch up, he knocked gently on the door. There was a little yelp of surprise from within, a few sniffs and some rustling fabric.

"Yeah?"

Y/n's voice trembled as she tried to keep the tears at bay.

"May I come in?"

Alastor heard the sharp intake of breath. It was too late to back down now. The silence was thick between them, it felt eternal.

"Okay." Y/n agreed at last, her voice small, and Alastor stepped into the room.

It was exactly how he had imagined it. Y/n was huddled on the floor next to the door, her knees tucked up under her chin and her arms holding her shins tightly. Alastor noticed that the thick, woolen sweater she had been wearing earlier had been tossed to the side, laying haphazardly beside the sink. Y/n sniffed again, trying to smile.

"Everything okay?" she asked and Alastor fixed his eyes back on her.

Y/n's eyes were rimmed with red. Her ears lay limply around her face which was stained with tears. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, she shivered.

"No. It's not."

She seemed a bit taken aback by his answer, not having grasped the reality of the cracked door earlier.

"I don't... what's wrong?"

"You are starving yourself." Alastor replied in a matter-of-fact voice.

Y/n's eyes went wide.

"Fuck... I... fuck!" she buried her face in her knees, "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"Are you trying to die!?" Alastor asked,

He didn't mean to yell, he didn't mean to be this angry. Everything he said seemed to send shockwaves of regret through his body. No matter what he did, he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Are you... I just... are you stupid?!"

Y/n looked up at him again, her eyes wet with fresh tears.

"I-"

"You what." Alastor scoffed, "You want to be pretty?"

"I..."

"You want to be pretty so you lock yourself away? You make your friends watch as you... as you what, as you get thin? As you destroy yourself?"

She was crying now, truly crying. Alastor looked away, a hand to his head. He took a deep breath, everything was going wrong. When he looked at her again, her cheeks were flushed from a mixture of shame and hurt.

"I just..." he took another deep breath, sinking to his knees before her, "Why would you hurt yourself so badly for something as.. as shallow as your looks?"

Y/n sniffled, frantically trying to wipe away her tears.

"What, I thought you liked to watch other people's downfalls." she tried to shoot back at him but her words came out stuttering and broken through the thickly falling tears.

Y/n refused to meet Alastor's gaze. Everything was going wrong. She was horribly embarrassed, she felt like a butterfly and Alastor was the terror who had opened her chrysalis too soon. He wasn't supposed to see her like this, he wasn't supposed to see her now. He was only supposed to get the after. It was all for him, after all, wasn't it?

Except, Y/n knew the truth of the matter. Alastor had been the trigger but, these behaviors were too well engrained. She might not have known it then, but she'd been looking for an excuse all along. It was all for her, every inch of agony.

His heart dropped at her words. Was that what Y/n truly thought of him? It would make sense, it was the face he presented to the world after all. He had just thought... he had hoped... Rosie had said....

Rosie. That was the answer. She had told him to be honest, to be vulnerable no matter how terrifying such a prospect could be. She had said it was the only way they ever had the slightest chance.

Alastor reached a hand out gently, turning Y/n to look at him. Her skin was soft to the touch, the beating of her blood thrumming against his fingertips. With the utmost care he could muster in his clawed and rotten hands, Alastor wiped her tears away. He couldn't meet Y/n's eyes but heard her sniffle, watched as the flow of sorrow slowed.

"Not your downfall." he said, his words like quiet feathers falling through the air, "Never your downfall."

At last he met her trembling gaze, fear coursing hotly through him, mingling with his blood. She took a few short, stuttering breaths before bursting into tears once again. Alastor flinched slightly as her head fell forward onto his shoulder.

"But I'm not that woman!"

"Woman... what woman?"

"The one you were with at the cafe!"

"The one... Rosie?"

Y/n nodded, sniffiling slightly as she tried to calm herself down.

"You saw me with Rosie? How?"

"I went... I'd been working up all this courage and... I just wanted to talk to you and Charlie and Pen said you'd be there and... and... and I'm not Rosie!"

Suddenly, everything clicked into place. He had been right all along, Rosie was the answer. With the air of someone who hadn't had much physical affection given to them in their life, or received any for that matter, Alastor slowly wrapped his hands around Y/n's shaking back.

"Good."

"What do you mean 'good'? She's so beautiful and she made you laugh and she's just... she's so beautiful and thin!"

"She is beautiful, and a lovely woman but, I don't want Rosie. Or anyone else for that matter."

Y/n's sobs redoubled, she began to struggle against his grip.

"Let me go! Stop lying, Alastor."

Alastor released Y/n from his grasp and she pushed herself back against the wall, utterly mortified and unable to stop. She crossed her arms over her chest, looking away.

"Stop joking, it's... it's not funny."

"Who is joking? I..." Alastor took a deep breath.

Rosie had been right, it was terrifying. He hope she was right on the second part too, that it would be worth it.

"Y/n, have you seen yourself?"

"Yes! Why the fuck do you think I want to be anything else?!"

Alastor got to his feet, holding a hand out to Y/n.

"Come with me."

"No." she mumbled, scooting further away from him if it was possible.

Under another circumstance, he would have chuckled lightly, he would have found her reaction adorable. This was neither the time nor the place and so, summoning his shadows, he transported them both into the darkness of his room.

Y/n looked around, pulling herself to her feet.

"Where... where are we?"

"My room." Alastor sat down on the edge of his bed, "Come here."

Hesitantly, Y/n took a few steps forwards. Once she was in reach, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. The feeling sent sparks through his body, Alastor tried his best to ignore it. There were more important things than the pleasure of the moment. Y/n struggled against his grasp, the tips of her ears dragging slightly across his arms.

"Alastor! Let me go! I'm too heavy!"

"No, you're quite perfect actually."

"I don't want to be touched! I don't want you to... you're making me want to tear my skin off, please."

"No." his voice was firm.

"Please, just please let go of my waist at least."

To this, he relented, one of his arms falling loosely onto her lap as he held the other up, snapping his fingers. Shadow's flooded into the room, bringing with them a full length mirror. He felt Y/n tense in his grasp.

They came to a stop, setting the mirror on the ground before them. Y/n turned her head away, her eyes shut tight.

"Please stop, Alastor. This really isn't funny."

"Y/n."

"No."

"Y/n."

"No!"

Y/n, please."

She had never heard him say the word before. Slowly, she opened her eyes, craning her neck to look up at Alastor.

"I want you to see what I see when I look at you."

"You promise you wont be mean?" Y/n asked suspiciously after a moment.

"I pinky promise."

He had seen her do this before, with other residents of the hotel. A simple locking of pinky's was all it ever took to make a promise, to assuage her doubts, to show she cared. Y/n's eyes widened slightly. Slowly, she reached her hand out, locking her pinky with his. They shook their hands once, the way Alastor had seen her do it a thousand times before.

"Wait." Y/n said as he made to move his hand away, looking away bashfully, her cheeks a bright pink and her voice quiet, "Don't let go."

"Okay."

Taking a deep breath, she turned to the mirror. It was terrible, she felt bile rise in her throat.

"Y/n, you are so... every inch of you is perfect." Alastor took a deep breath, the way his voice trembled not escaping Y/n's notice, "You have... amazing legs. I know everyone's all obsessed with Angel's but, he has nothing on you walking around on those sticks. You're... you're all soft curves and lace. If you were made of anything, you would be satin. You are a nymph rising from the lakes, a wild maenad in the woods. Your eyes shine like true stars, not what we have here. Did you know rabbits were always my favorite animal?"

Y/n giggled slightly, her tearstained cheeks flushed pink.

"Well they were. They still are. Your ears are just to die for, dearest."

He felt her ears twitch slightly against his back at the comment and Y/n watched through the mirror as his smile softened at it's harsh edges.

"Your grace is what the Greeks wrote about. You... Y/n, the first time I set eyes on you, I felt like I was drowning." Alastor looked away, unable to meet her eyes even through the glass, "Like you were a siren and I was nothing more than a hapless sailor at your mercy."

"But you never talk to me."

"You never talk to me!"

Y/n laughed again, smiling a gummy smile.

"I don't have to talk to you to see who you are, Y/n." Alastor continued, his hand that was in her lap turning so his palm rested gently on her thigh, "You light up any room you're in. You are charming and clever and constantly on the look out for places you can instill your special breed of controlled chaos."

Trembling, he shifted his hand in Y/n's so he held hers, raising it to his mouth. The heat of his breath on her skin drove Y/n wild, her breath hitched.

"I am glad you're not Rosie, I don't want Rosie. I don't want anyone else except for you."

Alastor planted a soft kiss on the back of her hand and Y/n's smile only grew, her tears long forgotten now as she watched Alastor's reflection.

"You are perfect. Please, don't change yourself, don't hurt yourself, trying to be something else. I'd miss you."

Slowly, he let their still clasped hands fall into Y/n's lap.

"Do you see now?"

Y/n turned back to the mirror, her head tilted slightly to one side as she hummed in consideration.

"No." she admitted, "But I think I might be able to start."

"One step at a time." Alastor rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand in comforting circles, "I'll be with you the whole way, if you'll have me."

He held his breath, waiting for her reply. Y/n met his eyes through the mirror, her brow furrowed.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Who is Rosie?"

Alastor could have laughed, he nearly did.

"She is a very old and dear friend. I was going to her for advice, that day."

"You? Needing advice?" Y/n paused before shaking her head, "Nah, I don't see it."

She laughed lightly at her own joke and Alastor smiled softly back at her.

"It was advice about you, actually."

Y/n turned herself in his lap, looking up at him with her legs on either side of his own.

"About me?"

"Y-yes."

He cursed himself internally. Alastor hadn't meant to stutter, she just looked too lovely sitting there and looking up at him with her pretty pink lips slightly parted, her cheeks flushed.

"Well?" she asked expectantly.

"I..." Alastor felt the heat rising in his own cheeks and looked away, "well, I didn't know how to approach you."

"Wait, you were avoiding me this whole time?" Y/n laughed and Alastor nodded, "I thought I was avoiding you!"

"Wait, you were avoiding me?"

His gaze snapped back to hers and she laughed again.

"Yes! I was terrified to speak to you! You're so cool and hot and just... I'm not good at things like this!"

"You think I'm hot?"

"Is that all you got out of what I said?"

"Maybe."

They both laughed this time. Alastor's chest felt lighter than it hand in years.

"So," he began once they had both calmed down, "is that a yes?"

"To what?"

"To letting me... be... with you."

Y/n smiled, reaching a hand up to his cheek.

"That's a 'will you be with me?' I think actually."

----

Tags:

@willowshadenox @i-love-jafar @elfyeet @reader3 @lazygirlfanfic0-0@kahlan170

A/N Y'all, there were one or two times I almost wrote my name while doing this one. I've been writing x reader fics for eight years, this never happens to me anymore. I think I related a little too hard. I am x reader fic writing too close to the sun.

[sturnispider]

”WRISTS”

IMPORTANT TW!!: self-harm,mental health,emotions,feelings,triggering themes,and mental illness.

wrote this story instead of doing it irl

writers note!

this story is about love that doesn’t flinch when things get dark. it’s not about saving someone — it’s about staying, listening, and showing up.

if you’re struggling: you’re not alone. your pain doesn’t make you unlovable. healing is messy, but you’re still here — and that means everything.💓

—————————————————————————

the first time matt notices something’s wrong, it’s a thursday night. they’re sitting on her bed, his hoodie draped over her thin frame like armor. she hasn’t spoken much—not unusual, but tonight there’s a certain silence between them that feels heavier than most. like there’s something choking the air.

he watches her as she curls her knees to her chest, sleeves tugged over her hands like she’s trying to hide inside herself. he reaches over, brushing her hair back gently.

“you okay?” he asks, voice low.

she nods. too quickly.

matt doesn’t push. not then.

but the weight settles in his chest like wet concrete.

—

the second time is worse.

they’re at his house this time. it’s late. the tv’s on but neither of them are really watching. she’s fidgeting, fingers gripping the hem of her long sleeves like it’s the only thing keeping her grounded.

she shifts to grab a blanket and for a second her sleeve rides up.

just a second. but it’s enough.

matt sees them. thin, angry red lines across her wrist. some healed, some not.

his chest goes cold.

she doesn’t notice right away. but matt’s eyes are frozen, locked on the marks like they’re screaming at him.

“what—” he starts, voice cracking.

she pulls her sleeve down fast. too fast.

“don’t,” she says, not looking at him.

“what is that?”

“nothing.”

“that’s not nothing,” he whispers, barely able to speak around the lump in his throat.

she still won’t look at him. her jaw tightens. her shoulders go rigid. she’s shutting down.

he knows that look.

“please talk to me,” he says.

silence.

then finally, she says, “you weren’t supposed to see that.”

—

later, she’s curled into the corner of his room. her back pressed against the wall like she’s trying to disappear into it. her voice is flat when she finally speaks.

“i don’t do it to die.”

matt is kneeling in front of her, elbows on his knees, trying to stay calm. trying not to let the fear show on his face.

“then why?” he asks, quietly.

she looks at him. and this time, there’s no mask. just a raw, broken kind of honesty that guts him.

“because sometimes it feels like everything in my head is screaming and the only way to shut it up is to feel something else. even if it’s pain. i just need it to stop.”

his eyes sting.

“you could’ve told me,” he says.

she shakes her head. “you’d look at me different.”

“i���m looking at you right now,” he says. “and yeah, it hurts. because i love you. because i didn’t know you were carrying all this by yourself.”

she finally breaks. not all at once, but in quiet, crumbling sobs. like her body is too tired to hold it in anymore.

matt pulls her in. holds her tight. she stiffens at first, then slowly lets herself lean into him, forehead pressed to his chest.

“i don’t want to be like this,” she chokes out.

“you’re not broken,” he whispers. “you’re not weak. and you’re not alone anymore. okay?”

she doesn’t answer. but she holds on tighter.

and maybe for now, that’s enough.

—

days pass. not everything gets better overnight. there are moments when she pulls away. when she’s quiet again. when the dark clouds in her head settle back in.

but matt doesn’t let go. he doesn’t flinch. he learns.

he learns to ask “how’s your head today?” instead of “you good?”

he learns that sometimes she needs space. sometimes she needs arms around her, grounding her to reality.

he learns how to hold silence without filling it.

he goes with her to therapy when she’s ready.

he hides the sharp things in his bathroom.

he keeps bandages in a drawer—not to enable, but to help when she slips, because healing isn’t linear.

he listens. he stays.

—

and one night, months later, she falls asleep in his bed. her sleeve slips up again. the scars are still there, but they’re fading. healing.

matt traces one gently with his thumb, careful not to wake her.

he doesn’t see shame in them anymore.

he sees survival.

-@sturnispider

this story is very triggering to me and may be very triggering to other people aswell,it’s a very personal thing that a lot of people struggle with, especially people ages 13 or younger to 29,remember that you never know the truth of someone’s life,so don’t judge people ever.

“you never know the silent battles people are fighting.”-madison beer

—————————————————————————

@thighs4evan @humpster35 @stvni0l0 @kayskreativeideas @beabadoobeelvur

[letteredlettered]

Hey! I really enjoyed reading your comments on feedback and fanfic this week and would love to get your input on something similar-ish I’ve been struggling with. I’m recently back on Tumblr (lurking) and writing fanfic (secretly) after quite a few years away from fandom spaces. I’ve never posted my work on AO3 before but I’ve been considering pulling that trigger lately. I’d love to share my writing with anyone else who might enjoy it and admittedly I do dream of finding some community by putting myself out there like that. However, so intimidating to put myself out there like that. Do you have any advice for someone thinking of posting their fics for the first time? Anything you wish you knew before posting yours? Truly any perspective you can share would be very much appreciated :)

I posted my first fanfic probably about 24 years ago, so I don’t know if I’m the best person for these questions, but I’ll address what you’ve asked. At length, it seems.

1. I guess the first thing I’d say is search elsewhere than AO3 to fulfill your dream of finding community. As I said in this post, AO3 was built as an archive for community that already existed, and it doesn’t have robust community-building tools.

2. I’ve tried. I have literally posted fics partly to ask where the discord was, a question I have put in the A/N that was eventually answered but not without numerous follow-ups. I have often posted my tumblr handle in A/Ns, asking people to come scream with me about a fandom. While a flattering number of folks over the years have sent me asks and chats saying they really liked my fic, there have been striking few who have come to scream at me about the canon.

This is my fault, not theirs. I’m bad at starting conversations; I’m of an unsocial, taciturn disposition unwilling to speak unless to say something that will impress the whole room. But I am also a pretty popular writer, and I have made precious few connections this way; I think it should tell you something.

3. To fulfill your dream of finding community, as I said in the above-linked post, I don’t actually have great solutions. Since discord is basically hidden, the only way I know of to actually find community is to start cold-messaging people you vibe with through asks and chat on places like tumblr.

4. Re finding community through writing fic, @reads8hoursperday made an interesting addition to that above-linked post here, pointing out that in the journaling days of fandom, it was very common to write fics in the comments or even on your journal. They didn’t get archived and in that way were effectively ephemeral. While it’s nice to have a permanent archive, they were pointing out that the permanent nature of AO3 contributes to the feeling that there is some kind of status associated with fic.

One way to a) deal with nerves posting fic for the first time, b) shatter the feeling that your first fic must accrue beaucoup stats, would be to post on one of the other platforms first. If you post somewhere like discord, it feels less like a presentation and more just like part of a conversation you want to have: hey, what do you think about this fic? Is it good? Does it need work? Should I post to AO3? The folks there can help encourage and cheerlead you to post somewhere more intimidating, like AO3.

But okay, you also said you wanted to share your fics, and AO3 is an excellent place for that, and imo, the best, so here are some further ideas about how to post fic on AO3 without feeling like you might die of stage fright:

5. Title your fic something you would want to read. Write a summary for your fic that would make you want to click on it. Do not title your fic something you think the most people will click on. Do not write a summary you think will entice the most people. Giving your fic the title and summary that would attract you is setting up the expectation, for yourself, that this fic is for you, and maybe, a little bit, readers like you—instead of for a big audience that will accrue the most stats.

I say this as someone whose fic summaries have been endlessly mocked and derided. I’ve literally had people come into my comments angry at me because my summary wasn’t “eloquent” enough to let them know my fic was “good” and so they “missed out” on reading it for far “too long.” It’s a wild world out there, let me tell you.

But my summaries have also been complimented. They have been what made someone click. In the end I’m putting this out there for someone who likes what I do, and it’s been really liberating to say to myself, “You know what? I would read this. And the people who wouldn’t? Maybe they’re not the readers I’m interested in.”

6. I think setting both hopes and also setting expectations around that kind of audience—an audience who wants to hear what you have to say—rather than stats, is important. Ultimately, if you’re writing to be popular, or to attain a certain number of comments or kudos, you’re going to be disappointed. But if you’re sharing what you’ve written because you want to reach people who like what you have to say, if you don’t get comments and kudos, then the problem is that those people haven’t found you, not that what you have to say is worthless.

And I think bearing that in mind can soothe a lot of the heartache around posting a fic that doesn’t do well.

I posted a fic in a fandom that was new for me two years ago. It was the juggernaut pairing in a megafandom, the kind of fandom where even new authors get over a hundred kudos and a decent number of comments. But my fic was a little darker than what seemed to be the norm for the pairing on AO3; it didn’t have porn, and it didn’t have a very strong plot with an ending.

This fic tanked, stats-wise. But my conclusion is that the people who would’ve liked this fic didn’t see it, or even that the people who would’ve liked this fic aren’t even in the fandom, because they saw how much fluff there was on AO3, or the canon is too light-hearted for them. I didn’t conclude my writing sucked or that it was a bad story. Some people might think that! But what I told myself was I just didn’t find my audience.

You might say it’s easy for me to say that because I am a pretty popular author who does have an audience with most other things I write. I would agree I am a very confident writer, but I do think, even if you don’t have my kind of confidence, going into it knowing that not everyone’s going to love it can really help.

7. Relatedly, I think that loving what you’ve written, working on it and editing it and creating something that you care about and adore, something that is exactly what you want, can help with feeling proud no matter what. You might think that if, then, you don’t get a lot of comments and kudos also adoring it, it can feel demoralizing, and it can. It can definitely feel that way.

But there is something really liberating in creating a thing that makes you happy. And if you honest-to-god wrote something that you love, I guarantee someone else will love it. They might not find you on AO3, which can be really disappointing. But think of how many times you’ve loved something strange or unusual you thought no one had ever even thought about before, and then you read a book or saw a post or a video and realized there was a whole world out there that loved it too. There is a whole world out there, and they’re there for you. You’re sending a signal out there to the world. Maybe it can really touch someone.

8. Since I’m suggesting that the trick is really “finding your audience” some people conclude that what they really need to do is market their fic, really sell it to people, link it every chance they get, beg authors they like to read it, etc. I really recommend against this. People will think it looks gauche, but who gives a fuck what they think. What’s really detrimental about it is that if you go hawking your wares like that and you’re still not getting the attention and validation you’re craving, you’re going to be even more disappointed, and it’s going to feel really bad.

I’m not saying “let the universe do its work,” or anything mystic. Fic does require a certain amount of signal-boosting so people know what’s out there. Certainly, post a link to your fic on tumblr, mention it in discord, tweet it on bluesky, or wherever. My wife even tells me I have to reblog my fic posts on tumblr a few times so people don’t miss it in their feed. All of that is fine. But if you are giving your whole self to “finding your audience” and you don’t find it, it’s going to leave you raw and unwanted.

9. All right, so you’ve written the fic you love and you’ve prepped yourself for the idea that you’re just looking for readers to love what you love—and yet, somehow, you’re still concerned about stats. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Almost everyone is concerned about stats. It’s impossible not to fret over it in this economy environment.

People think I must never be concerned about getting a little kudos because I get a lot. I really think people think there’s some kind of popularity threshold where people must feel they have “arrived,” where they no longer care about being popular. I’m not sure where they are getting this idea. It’s just not true. Everyone wants praise and attention; they don’t stop because they get it.

So yes, I think about stats. I think about them a lot, and you probably do, too. That’s okay. Here are some more things you can do:

10. Set expectations around this too, and set them very, very low. One thing that people don’t understand about expectation-setting is that it requires some real time and imagination. Don’t just tell yourself, “I’m going to get two kudos” and that’s all. Imagine your timeline. Imagine looking at your fic’s stats. And imagine how you’re going to feel when you see that stat.

For instance, if I imagine two kudos is all the attention my fic will ever get, I don’t imagine that one minute after I post, I’ll see it got two kudos. I imagine that a week later, I will be looking at my fic, and I will see that it has two kudos. I check in with myself--how does it feel? A little disappointing, maybe. I thought more people would read it. What will I do next? Maybe I’ll go out for a fun coffee with my wife. Ah, it’s not that bad, really. It’s too bad only two people kudos’ed it—but in the end, it wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, imagine I set my expectations at two and I got three kudos—well, that feels spectacular! And if I get my two kudos, well, okay, maybe it feels a little worse than I imagined, but it’s still not that bad. But imagine if I was expecting five and only got two—I think I would be crushed.

11. I will make this a separate point because I think it’s important—really, imagine how your email will look. There’s a thing we do with our phones, where we get hopeful someone has messaged us, or we get hopeful that there will be something new for us, that someone will have paid attention to us in some way. Then we look at our phone and there’s nothing for us. It’s crushing. The chemicals in your body cause your whole being to plummet. And then the next time you look at your phone they cause you to anticipate, to get tense and stress again, and then when your phone has nothing for you, you’re that much more depleted.

You are putting your body through a roller coaster. Many people’s solution is not to look at their phone, but I don’t actually think this is a great idea for many people, because they will fail. They will fail, be crushed by whatever attention they didn’t receive on their phone, AND they will feel bad that they failed to stay away from their phone.

Meanwhile, if you say to yourself: what am I hoping to see when I look at my phone? What can I realistically expect from my phone at this moment? How will I feel when I see it? What will I do after that? Then you can manage these expectations much more easily.

12. Relatedly, I would suggest you have an activity planned that will start the moment after you post your fic—an activity that takes you away from your computer and, if possible, your phone for four to eight hours. Going to the cinema is a great idea for a few of those hours, because most people are really able to keep their phone off for the duration. I like to go out with friends after I post a fic, but I am not someone who really looks at her phone during social engagements.

I remember once I posted a fic and went directly to an anti-Dobbs protest; the friend who had informed me about the protest and met me there was a fandom friend. She said, “Did you really just post porn and then come to a demonstration about the right of a woman to choose?”

I said yes. This is the best way to do it. So here is my final advice: post on AO3 and then allow people with a uterus the right to choose.

[you-call-it-a-dude]

Just Can't Hack It

Request: leighton fic with a reader who deals with substance abuse issues, and only really goes to her when she’s vulnerable and stuff. reader also feels like she’s living a double life, playing soccer with whitney and being the “star” of the team, just having some status arround essex, which causes pressure in her life

Pairing: Leighton Murray x fem!reader

Warnings: TW!! substance use(opioids), death by overdose, overdose symptoms, withdrawal symptoms

A/N: I think I might have made this WAY more depressing than the person was requesting. I will give a spoiler now, reader does not die. It's the death of an friend/acquaintance-ish? Please don't read this if you will find it triggering. But yes, sorry I've been gone for a bit, life has hands and I can't fight lol. But yeah, I hope you all have been doing well.

To the person who requested this, if it's not what you wanted please let me know and I will do something else 🫶🏼

---

"What the hell is your problem, Y/N!?" Your coach shouted from the sidelines, watching you recover from a gnarly fight with a player from the other team.

You were about to score another goal when the player in question grabbed you by your jersey, causing you to slip and fall face first into the pitch.

You should've let it go. You knew better. But your face hurt, you were pissed, and before you could even comprehend the situation, you were in the girl's face swearing at her and shoving her.

A yellow card was being shoved in your face by the referee and you pushed past his hand, wiping your face with your jersey and making your way over to the sidelines where your coach was beckoning for you.

"Are you good?" Whitney jogged to catch up to you, her hand resting on your stomach to get you to stop moving, but you kept walking. She pressed more firmly against you, forcing you to stop. "Yo, I said are you good?" She asked, sounding more serious and annoyed this time and you blinked a few times to try to get your brain working again.

"I'm fine." You say, swallowing down your anger because you refuse to take it out on someone that didn't deserve it.

"Y/L/N!" Your coach shouted from the sidelines, his face red. Whitney raised her eyebrows and shoved you forward, heading back on to the field.

You jogged your way over to him, wiping your sweaty face with your arm and once you were within range, he was toe to toe with you, screaming in your face. It was the usual shit. How he expected more from you. That you all are too close to the championship for you to be fucking around like this and risk getting a red and being suspended from games. That you know your team relies on you. To be better. All fucking bullshit.

You stared at the vein popping out of his forehead, your own anger beginning to bubble up again the longer you went without your pills.

You clenched your jaw, grinding your teeth and thinking about how badly all you wanted to do was smash his teeth and get the fuck out of here.

You were benched for the remainder of the game. You were already up by three points, two of which were scored by you. Coach said you were clearly in a mood today and the last thing he needed was for you to get into another fight. He said Whitney and the other girls could handle themselves the rest of the game and to get the fuck out of his face.

There were only about eight minutes left in the game and they felt like eternity. You downed a Gatorade, feeling yourself start to get nauseous. One of your teammates offered you a granola bar and you declined, fully convinced that eating it would only make you feel worse.

The other team scored two goals in your absence and the coach shot you dirty looks for the entirety of final eight minutes of the game. You still won by a one point lead and everyone still celebrated, running up and pulling you into a bouncing hug that also made you want to hurl.

You broke away from the team as soon as you were given the opportunity, grabbing your gym bag and another Gatorade from the cooler. You chugged some of the Gatorade with shaky hands, walking to the locker room.

You shoved all your clothes into your bag, not even bothering to or having the strength to change into them right now.

You dug out your phone, accidentally having shoved it into your bag with the rest of your things. You texted your connect two days ago, then also yesterday, and still didn't get a response from him. You grunted in frustration and locked your phone, shoving it back into your bag.

You began the short trek back to the dorms from the field, knowing exactly where you wanted to go and who you wanted to be with.

You nursed the Gatorade on your short walk over, feeling the icy drink somewhat bring you back to life. When you were standing outside of her dorm, you pulled out your phone to call her.

"Hey, I'm outside. Come get meeeee." You said as soon as she answered the phone. She said she was on her way without hesitation and you knew she wasn't lying because you could hear her grabbing her keys. You smiled and hung up the phone, waiting patiently for her, sipping on your Gatorade. The hot sun doing absolutely nothing to help you feel better.

Leighton opened the side door of the building for you, letting you in and the cool breeze from the air conditioning made you feel human again.

Or maybe it was just the grip she had on your hips when you walked in, having wasted no time wrapping her arms around you.

"You're so sweaty, are you okay?" She asked, her cool hand pressing against the back of your neck.

"I'm just so warm, babe." You pouted, wanting her to take care of you. To help you get rid of this problem that truthfully you caused yourself.

It wasn't even that hot outside today. There was a cool breeze to help balance out the heat of the sun, but you felt this heat and warmth under your skin and made you want to claw it off.

She closed the door behind you and gripped your sweaty hand, leading you up to her room.

Bela was sitting on the couch when you entered, doing her make up and most likely preparing to go out somewhere tonight. You smiled and greeted her politely and she had no trouble telling you that you looked like shit.

Leighton told her to zip it and she pulled you into her room, shutting the door behind her.

"Change out of those nasty clothes, please." She said, setting up her bed and pulling the covers back. She stole the standing fan from Bela's side of the room, aiming it toward her bed.

You pulled off your jersey, wiping your face with it once more, pressing the material into your skin. You felt her hands on your bare hips, tracing soft patterns with her thumbs and waiting patiently for you to change.

You sigh, removing your jersey from your face and making your way to your gym bag. You shove your jersey into the bag and pull out your deodorant, putting on almost an excessive amount.

You stripped off your sports bra and changed into a pair of comfy shorts and a tank top.

"Better?" You ask and she nods, climbing into bed first and taking her usual position pressed against the wall. She pats the space next to her and you waste no time climbing in, laying face down with your face buried in your arms.

She lifts up the back of your shirt, exposing your sweaty back to the cool breeze of the fan and you could feel yourself starting to shiver now, but your skin still felt like it was on fire.

You grabbed your phone from her nightstand, checking your messages again and still seeing nothing. You turned your phone on loud and tossed it aside with annoyance.

"What's the matter?" She asked softly, her fingers running through your damp hair "Do you feel sick?" She asks sounding concerned.

You nodded, unsure what else to tell her.

"I think I just played too hard today." You lie, knowing damn well you didn't use as much energy as you could've and should've for today's game.

"I heard you got into a fight." She says, her fingertips now tracing patterns along your back.

"God, Whitney is fast." You groan, adjusting yourself so you can lay your head on her chest. Grunting and pushing one of her boobs into a better position for you to rest your head on.

She threw her head back and laughed loudly at your measures to make yourself comfortable, pushing some hair from your face.

"You're ridiculous." She teases, her hand coming down to rest on the back of your head.

"I'm aware." You mumble, closing your eyes in an attempt to calm down, cool off, warm up, and maybe fall the fuck asleep.

It had been maybe twenty minutes, possibly more, when your phone went off. It went off in the text tone specific to your app where you communicated with your dealer and your heart raced.

You were about ready to fly off the bed and grab your phone, but that was probably the most obvious and suspicious thing you could do at the moment. You let the text sit for a minute, your foot bouncing anxiously against the mattress.

It pinged again and you sat up slowly, reaching over to grab your phone from the nightstand.

'Come thru'

'Yo, let's go. I've got plans later.'

You scrunched your nose up at the message and mentally cussed him out, typing out your reply.

'Be there in ten.'

"I'm gonna run out and get something to eat." You say, standing up and slipping on your gym shoes, then quickly throwing on a t-shirt. "You want something, baby?"

She sat up on her elbows with a confused look on her face.

"Do you want me to come with you? We can go out somewhere." She offered.

"No," you say a little too fast, making her widen her eyes. "I just want something quick like a smoothie or something. You want anything or no?" You pull your wallet from your gym bag and shove it into your shorts, waiting for her to respond.

"No, I'm fine." She sounded annoyed. You can hear in her voice, but you didn't have time to address it right now.

You crawled on to the bed, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

"I'll be back." You say, rushing out of her room and closing her bedroom door behind you. You said a quick goodbye to Bela and rushed out of their room, bumping into Whitney who was just coming home.

"Where did you disappear to? How did you get here before me? Where are you even going now?" She asked her questions in quick succession and you just grabbed her shoulder as you walked past her, thinking you were about to knock her down.

"I'll be back. Want a smoothie or something?" You asked her as you walked away, but you were fully gone and out of sight before she even had the chance to answer you.

You bolted down the stairs and out of the building, running across campus to this dude's dorm. All of a sudden your energy had returned. Crazy how it worked like that.

You ran through the student union on your way, stopping at the ATM and pulling out $200 dollars from and eating the fuck out of those ATM fees.

When you made it to his dorm, his roommate was sitting outside hitting his vape, waiting for you. He motioned with his head for you to follow him and just like you do routinely, you followed him to his room. He let you in and left to do god knows what.

"What's up, Angel." You greeted your dealer when the door was closed behind you. "How's it going?"

"No complaints, Y/N. Heard about your fight at the game today." He chuckles, handing you a small baggie of ten blue pills.

"I feel like everyone has." You shake your head and laugh. "Two hundred?" You ask, handing him the money.

He counts it quickly, handing you back a twenty.

"Since I kept you waiting and you got here fast."

"Sweet, thanks so much." You say, taking the pills and the twenty and shoving them into your pocket. "Have a good one!" You wave goodbye to him and he tells you to be safe, opening the door for you and closing it behind you.

You shoved your hand into your pocket, gripping the pills protectively. You walked down the hallway, looking behind you to make sure it was clear, or well clear enough before pulling the baggie back out and taking one of the pills, popping it into your mouth. You swallowed it, washing it down with water from the fountain at the end of the hall.

You began your walk back to Leighton's dorm, already feeling a sense of relief before the meds kicked in.

---

Okay, so, you intended to go back to Leighton's dorm. You really fucking did. You ran into one of your friends on the way over and she invited you to a get together on the edge of campus.

It wasn't a big party or anything, the issue being you were locked into her couch for about six fucking hours once the percs kicked in. It really wasn't your fault.

Well, okay, it was. Whatever.

When you finally got control of your brain and your limbs to pull out your phone, you saw an obscene amount of missed calls and texts from Leighton.

Even scarier were the missed calls and texts from Whitney.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." You mumbled under your breath, calling Whitney back first.

"You know you're a fucking asshole, right?" She tells you as soon as you picked up the phone. "Where have you fucking been?" You stayed quiet because you didn't even have anything to say to defend yourself. "What is wrong with you? Like seriously? Do you know Leighton has been freaking out and crying for like the last few hours? Why do you do this to her, Y/N, huh? Do you even care?"

"Of course I fucking care." You say harshly, because you did care about Leighton. The last you wanted to ever do was upset her or hurt her.

"It's been like eight hours, Y/N. What happened to getting a quick smoothie?"

"I ran into a friend and just lost track of time. I'm coming now, okay? Is she home still?"

"Ooh, you piss me the fuck off." She said, hanging up the phone on you.

"Bitch." You muttered, scrolling through your phone and calling Leighton. It rang three times before you were sent to voicemail. You hung up and called back, being sent to voicemail immediately. "Fuck." You swore, standing up and shoving off the random person passed out on you, causing her to mumble and cuss you out before repositioning herself.

You looked around the room. It was just you and two other people, both of which were passed out. You heard thumping upstairs so you knew everyone else kept the party going upstairs.

You shoved your phone into your pocket, shoving both your hands into a pocket to make sure you haven't been robbed during some point of the night.

You stumbled for a moment, feeling yourself gain some sort of sense of clarity when you recognized the guy sleeping on one of the chairs across your room. He was your friend's boyfriend. Well, before he was her boyfriend he was your classmate.

You met him your second semester of freshman year. He was always shy and tended to just gravitate to you whenever you had any classes together. You had lunch with him once outside of class and that's when you introduced him to Liza and they really hit it off.

Now he was passed out in a chair covered in puke and you hated yourself for introducing him to her and sometimes you think he hated you for that, too.

"DJ." You call out his name, tripping over trash and god knows what else to get the where he was sitting. "Hey!" You shouted gripping his face in your hands, his head lulling to the side. "DJ!" You shouted, slapping him in the face.

"Are you trying to fuck my boyfriend?" Said Liza out of nowhere, leaning against the wall to help herself down the stairs.

"What? Are you fucking insane? You need to call an ambulance!" You say, holding his face in your hands until Liza came and shoved you off.

"He's fine." She slurred, climbing onto his lap.

"Fuck." You say, running your hands through your hair in a panic, thinking of the naloxone you were offered from a clinic not too long ago as some harm reduction thing and the fact that you declined it. "Liza, I'm so fucking serious."

"This is how he always gets." She reassured, cradling is drooping head, his skin pale and lips turning blue.

"Fuck." You swear again, running out of the house as fast as your body allows you, pulling out your phone.

You call 911 when you're out of the house and in the front yard. You tell them the address and where he is, that you think he overdosed and what you think he took. Before they could ask you anymore questions you hung up the phone, debating between staying or going.

You knew about the Good Samaritan Act, which is why you felt inclined to stay, but the fact that you were on campus and the school was under zero obligation to allow you to stay in enrolled if they caught wind of this was the exact reason you left.

You bolted down the block, far enough get away from the house and not seem involved but close enough to look like a bystander who just stumbled upon the situation.

The ambulance showed up within five minutes, knocking on the door and being let in by another panicked person who also must've realized what was happening with DJ.

You expected to be waiting a while for the paramedics to come back out. Hopeful that they would be taking the time to work on him before bringing him back out.

What you didn't expect was for them to be coming out within like three minutes, if that, one of the paramedics straddling the lifeless body and doing chest compressions while the other two rolled them into the ambulance.

Your body processed the situation before your brain could, nausea crashing into like you ran into a cement wall. You stumbled a few feet, dry heaving into a bush and wanting nothing more than just to fucking puke. You spit some salvia on to the dirt below, the only thing your body offering up at the current moment was an excess amount of spit.

The siren turned on and zoomed past you and you sighed in relief, hoping that the fact that they even used the siren at all meant something. You look back toward the house, the only person standing outside was the person who let the paramedics in. No Liza or any of her other little friends.

Though you suppose you could argue that you technically weren't there either.

"Fuck." You mumbled to yourself, digging the heel of your palms into your eyes. You pull out your phone again and call Leighton again, and then again, then once more. On the fourth call she finally picked up, sounding absolutely pissed.

"What." She said coldly. You didn't really care what she said or how she sounded. All you knew was the second you heard her voice, any ability you had to hold yourself together was crumbling.

"Leighton." You said shakily, tears falling down your face. You wanted her to comfort you. To tell you things were going to be okay.

But you couldn't even tell her why you were crying.

"Y/N?" She said, her attitude dropped completely, her tone laced with concern. "Baby, what's going on?"

"Nothing." You say, your voice shaky and your bottom lip quivering. "I just had a really bad night. It's so good to hear your voice." You admit, your voice cracking slightly.

It was a hard predicament to be in, emotionally. You were on the verge of a meltdown, desperately trying to keep it at bay because you didn't want to scare her more than she probably already was. But her soft tone and the fact that you could hear how much she cared about you made you want nothing more than to just breakdown and cry because she always made you feel safe enough to do so.

"Just come over. You left your soccer bag here and you need it for tomorrow anyway." She says and your nostrils flare because you did need your bag for practice tomorrow and you were annoyed with yourself for leaving it there.

"Whitney is pissed at me. She'll get mad if I show up there."

"She's in bed already." She says, and although you've been thinking of ways to get out of going over there, you were already walking over there since the phone call started.

"Okay, I'm on my way. Will you stay on the phone with me?" You ask, the notion of being left alone with your thoughts right now probably more dangerous than any drug you could possibly do, honestly.

"Yeah, of course. Are you close?" You can hear her shuffling around a bit.

"Mhm, maybe two or three blocks." You say, sniffling to clear your nose.

"Okay, good. I'm gonna wait for you by the side door." She says quietly now, most likely because she was leaving her bedroom to walk through the common area of her shared dorm and not wanting to wake Whitney.

Both of you probably too embarrassed to deal with her after she dealt with your bullshit and now Leighton was gearing up to let you back in.

Neither of you talked for the remainder of your walk over. You heard her rustling around and stuff like that, but you didn't even need to talk honestly. You just felt comforted by the fact that she was there on the other end of the phone. That she was there waiting for you at the end of the next block.

As soon as she came into view, you hung up the phone and practically ran to her. She wrapped her arms around you tightly and if you could shove yourself into her chest you would've. Nothing felt close enough.

You gripped the back of her shirt tightly, burying your face in her neck and trying to steady your breathing before it got too out of control and you had a full blown breakdown.

"Hey, what's going on?" She had her hands on your hips, trying to push you back so she could look at you, but you wouldn't release the tight grip you had on her. "Can you please talk to me? You disappeared for hours and show up to my door a wreck, what the fuck is going on?" Her voice was a little more stern than it had been in the last few minutes, but you recognize pretty quickly it's probably because you're scaring her. "Are you hurt?" She asks, still trying to push away from you to assess the situation, but you just held on to her tighter.

She gave up trying to figure out what was wrong, instead focusing on just getting you back inside.

She gave you a pair of pajamas to change into and you crawled into bed next to her. She didn't ask you anymore about what happened or what was going on.

She ran her fingers through your hair until it put her to sleep, the weight of her hand on your head doing wonders for the splitting headache you had. You watched and checked your phone consistently, hoping for some sort of update on DJ, but too scared to call the hospital or anyone to get one yourself.

You couldn't sleep. Despite the tiredness sitting heavy on your eyes, you couldn't do it. Your mind was racing. A combination of soccer and school related bullshit and the fact that you basically possibly indirectly maybe have killed someone, felt absolutely suffocating.

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts. You never gave DJ drugs. You never told him or forced him to take anything, but you introduced him to the person that did and it made you feel just as responsible as Liza.

You stared at the ceiling until the birds started chirping, your eyes red and cheeks raw from the quiet tears shed throughout the night.

You turned to face Leighton, burying your face in the small space between her cheek and shoulder. Her cheeks were warm and she smelled like a floral lotion and laundry detergent.

You inhaled deeply and closed your eyes, the weight of sleep almost unbearable on your eyelids now. You let out a content sigh and wrapped your arm around her waist, balling her shirt up in your first from gripping it so tightly, your pinky rubbing the small piece of exposed skin on her waist.

You counted in your head everytime your pinky would move back and forth, the combination of the two actions mixed with the warmth of Leighton's body quieting your brain down enough to let you fall asleep.

Your alarm wakes you up three hours later and you groan pitifully, burying yourself further into Leighton while also reaching back for your phone to shut your alarm off.

You huff and turn it off, shoving your phone between your bodies and burying yourself deeper into Leighton's side.

"Do you need to get up for soccer?" She asks, yawning mid sentence, but continues to speak through it.

"Unfortunately."

"Skip it and hang out with me." She suggests, running her fingers through your hair.

"You're funny." You let out a fake laugh, your hand slipping into her shirt to rub patterns across her stomach. "Can I see you after practice though?" You ask her and something about asking if you can see her always makes you feel silly and desperate. Like you're panhandling for her attention, yet you always stick that metaphorical metal cup out and ask for it anyway.

"I would like that a lot. I can pick you up after practice and we can get lunch?"

"Mm, sounds perfect." You whisper, pushing yourself up to kiss her lips softly.

When you pull away from the kiss, you stretch your whole body loudly and Leighton stares at you with a small smile on her face. She peeks over you to see Bela's bed still empty, having most likely stayed at a guys house last night. She bites her lower lip before leaning in to kiss your jawline, her hand sliding up your shirt to rake her nails against your stomach before playing with the waistband of your pants.

"Can I?" She whispers against your jawline.

You closed your eyes for a moment, giving the offer some thought, but you knew immediately it was going to be a no. Your overall feeling right now was just gross. Mentally and physically.

"Not right now, baby." You whispered, putting your hand over hers and rubbing her knuckles. "But I can definitely like- to you, if you want."

"No, that's okay." She says quietly, keeping a reassuring smile on her face. You press your lips against her cheek and then her lips.

"I'm sorry." You apologize, lacing your hand in hers and squeezing it softly.

"Don't apologize, I'm not upset." She squeezes your hand back and brings it to her lips to kiss your knuckles.

"I should probably go. I want to get out of here before Whitney is up." You say with a small laugh and Leighton smiles. She kisses you once more before pulling away with a small dramatic huff.

"I'll see you at twelve thirty then?" She asks, watching you get out of bed and strip off the clothes she lent you last night, digging through your bag to find the clothes you wore yesterday.

"I'll be waiting, but we have definitely got to stop at my room. I'm going to need to shower."

"I mean, I wasn't gonna say anything..." She says teasingly. Your face dropped and she laughed. "I'm just kidding. You don't stink. You just smell like you, but like sweaty. I like it. I don't know how to explain it, don't ask me to either." She rushes out, her cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

"I'll let you leave this interaction unscathed...for now." You smile at her, slipping your socks on to your feet and crawling into bed, nudging your nose against hers. She connected your lips before you could, and you smile into the kiss. You pull away and kiss her one more time before pulling away and climbing off the bed. "I'll see you in a bit."

You shove your feet into your shoes and grab your bag and your phone. You shove your hand into your pockets and when you realize they're empty, your eyes widen.

You check your pockets again frantically, then your bag. Opening it and searching through it, mumbling under your breath.

"What's the matter?" Leighton asks, looking at you confused.

"Nothing, I uh, can't find something." You search the immediate area of the floor before falling to your hands and knees to give the ground a closer inspection. "Fuck." You mumble.

"What did you lose? I can help you find it." She said, about to get up.

"No, it's okay. I'm sure it's in my bag somewhere." You stand up, still searching the ground with your eyes, scratching your head. "I'll see you at twelve thirty, baby." You readjust your bag on your shoulder and leave her room, closing the door behind you.

You keep your eyes glued to the floor, searching for that small baggie of pills as you walked through the common area of their dorm room on high alert.

You heard some talking and shuffling coming from Whitney's room and she opened her door, her body still turned away because she was talking to Kimberly.

You abandoned your search. Opening and closing the door quickly and quietly and bolting from the dorm.

You made it to the field an hour before the normal scheduled practice, but right on time for the private sessions that your coach always insisted on you doing.

You changed into your clothes that you practice in, searching your bag and pockets on more time for the small baggie. You sighed in relief when you found it tucked in the corner of your bag, covered in protein bar crumbs and lint. You tucked it away safely in a smaller pocket for safe keeping's, already thinking about the fun you were going to have after practice with them.

Your coach had the field set up, a few soccer balls strewn around the field. He was nowhere in sight of course. That's how it always went. You did these sessions on your own, coach always saying that you didn't need him to tell you what to do and expecting you to just know.

The worst part was, even if he wasn't present he always knew if you tried to skip. You've tried twice and both times ended with you running around the pitch for the entire length of practice without any explanation to the other girls.

So you did your little drills and your practice shots for an extra hour every practice, already feeling practically exhausted by the time the other girls came for the actual practice.

Once the girls started filtering in, you began to slow down. They waited around patiently for the coach, talking and gossiping amongst each other.

Whitney didn't talk to you when she arrived, but she gave you a look that shot chills down your spine. You loved Whitney and thought you were always pretty good friends, but you were oftentimes always given the impression that she can see right through you and today was no different.

Coach finally arrived about twenty minutes late, which was unusual for him. He came in quietly this time, not his normal shouting, angry energy that he usually brought to the table.

"Listen up, everyone." He says politely and you all gather around him. "You will probably notice that Joanne isn't here today." He clears his throat. "There's been something rather unfortunate to happen. Joanne's younger brother, Donnie unfortunately suffered from an overdose last night and has passed away." He says with a nod and a frown. "I need you to all step up and be there for your teammate right now."

He continued talking, but it all just became muffled words to you. You wanted to think that maybe they weren't the same person, but you knew it wasn't true.

You recall having a conversation with him once about his name. That he preferred going by DJ instead of Donnie because it made him feel like he was that one kid from the Wild Thornberrys.

You zoned back in when the girls started clearing the field.

"Hey, come on. Practice is cancelled." Myra patted your shoulder to get you moving, but you felt stuck.

Whitney was walking backwards, her eyes glued to you and it just heightened that feeling you had of her seeing right through you.

You moved your feet, somehow, you got them moving. One in front of the other. You felt like you were on autopilot.

Your teammates talked quietly in the locker room, everyone wondering what happened and how. You had all the answers sitting on the tip of your tongue and you wanted to spew them off like you were giving confession in church.

All the girls talked about heading to a diner to get some breakfast together and you politely declined, saying you already had lunch plans with someone and you didn't want to be too full for those.

Which wasn't a lie at all.

Plus you had things to do beforehand. Take a shower, change your clothes. Things like that. At least, that's what you told them.

When you got back into your room, you pulled the small baggie from your gym bag, staring at it for a moment while having an internal struggle with yourself.

One of your friends just died. Probably from taking something like this specifically. But you felt like you had a better grip on yourself than he did. You weren't that addicted, not the way he was. Who knows if pills were even what he took. Liza probably introduced him to needles by then.

You had a better handle on it, you repeated to yourself while you swallowed two of them.

You didn't meet Leighton for lunch that afternoon.

[yanderes-galore]

May I request Yandere Mikasa Ackerman, a general romantic concept?

Yandere! Mikasa Ackerman Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Blood, Stalking, Kidnapping, Isolation, Paranoia, Self-destructive mindset (Mikasa), Forced relationship.

When it comes to Mikasa, I feel she would be similar to how she treats Eren.

Overall Mikasa is definitely a protective yandere.

Although... protective to the point it's self destructive.

While her obsession is for a noble reason... It still hurts others.

Including herself... and her obsession.

Essentially, Mikasa is a yandere who is dedicated fully to her obsession.

She is aware of how dangerous the world is.

She was shown such a belief since she was very young and nearly died.

Plus, her literal bloodline gives her a need to protect.

Similar to how she is in canon, Mikasa would always want to keep you in her sight.

She's one of the strongest soldiers as an Ackerman and has seen many of her comrades die.

Since you two were cadets, Mikasa most likely has hovered around you.

It would not surprise me if she originally stayed around you because you were friends with Eren.

Yet as time continued and you trained more together, Mikasa truly found herself wanting to be your friend.

Later even something more, which were feelings she originally reserved for Eren.

Her early moments with you are more aligned with a protective friend than stalker.

During training she often oversees your techniques with other soldiers.

She originally feels the need to just... leave you be.

If you need help, she'll step in... like a comrade should.

She feels she should focus on Eren anyways.

However... Mikasa is surprised when you come up to her for help.

Mikasa's always stoic, quiet, yet strong.

Yet for some reason... When you ask her for help, she feels a bit warm.

Your early bonding is no doubt Mikasa helping you in the training yard.

You've been knocked on your rear too many times to count by her.

Yet, despite her overpowering you, she's gentle when she picks you back up.

Mikasa starts as a subtle yandere due to her goals.

She mostly stays in the background, giving you some time to yourself.

By the time Scouts roll around is when her behavior shifts.

Now Mikasa is slightly more protective now since you're all more acquainted with Titans.

Even more so when you learn Titan Shifters are a thing.

Now she tries to talk you out of missions, saying you aren't ready.

In response you ask her to train you more, to make you ready....

Mikasa no doubt hesitates... but complies.

You'll find she's more rough now, like she's testing you.

Mikasa's behavior would progress as more events occur.

While she starts as just keeping an eye out...

She ends up overstepping later on.

Now she watches every conversation you have like a hawk.

Why? Well... she wants to know you aren't trying to take a mission without her.

Also... It's nice to know if anyone like Jean is spending too much time around you.

Mikasa progressively becomes more smothering with you.

She now insists on always training with you, or even hovers around you.

Plus, you even see Mikasa pick fights with others more often.

You've actually seen her confront Jean for asking you about Mikasa.

After all... He likes her.

But for some reason she seems completely attached to you.

There may even be fights with others where she's pulled away with blood on her, probably due to someone talking about you.

Mikasa acts like she wants to keep you in a safe bubble, away from danger.

Even if you're a soldier just like her.

It's like she doesn't see you fit as a soldier.

Mikasa would keep her true feelings hidden.

She really does have romantic feelings for you... ones that make her hide her face in her scarf when she has you around her.

Although, she acts more like a protective best friend than a girlfriend.

You probably wouldn't even hear her confess until she snaps.

When would that be?

Mikasa grows concerned for your safety probably around when Eren's getting involved with Marley.

She hates the idea of you getting hurt and wants to keep you out of it.

What would make her snap is if you insisted on going on a mission that could get you killed.

Mikasa, as expected, intercepts you and tells you that you can't go.

You know she means well... yet lately she's been doing this every mission.

Due to the importance of this mission, you end up arguing with Mikasa.

You tell her that she never trusts you, that you can handle yourself.

Yet she always denies your claims, saying you'll just get yourself killed.

Eventually the argument leads to you asking why she keeps doing all this.

You want to know why she keeps eavesdropping, why she fights until she's bloody due to something you think is small...

You ask why she won't let you be your own person...

Why she needs to be involved all the time?

This argument may make her snap, yelling it's because she loves you.

She doesn't want to lose you.

You and Eren are what makes her life worth living.

Yet with Eren forsaking her... You're the main person she fights for.

She doesn't care what you think at this point.

You two are adults yet she still sees you as reckless.

She doesn't care what she has to do in order to keep you out of harm's way.

She's going to keep you alive because she loves you.

It's then, just like back at training, that she pins you.

She's still stronger than you, in her eyes... nothing's changed between you.

Part of you actually feels fear when she drags you into her arms, practically picking you up.

To her, it doesn't matter if she needs to lock you away until things calm down.

This way... She'll complete her role of protecting you.

You may hate her... but she knows you'll understand.

Mikasa isn't the most affectionate person, but she does pull you into tight hugs.

She may even offer a gentle kiss, but always reads your mood to see if that's alright to do.

Mikasa doesn't care what it takes to secure the one she loves to her side.

Kidnapping and murder? The Scouts have done worse things in the past.

You could call her a monster... but what would that make you?

Mikasa would do anything for you, even if it means she bleeds for it

Mikasa is a yandere who is willing to die for her obsession too.

After all, a world without you...

That isn't a world she wishes to exist in.

[billybangbang]

Imagine dressing up for Butcher like this after hearing his rant at the Believe Expo

You confessing your "sins" to Butcher.

Butcher x reader

Not proof read, we die like men

Trigger. SMUT, Religious kink, seriously please do not read it if you are easily offended by blasphemy, nipple clamps, riding crop, and teasing.

You listened to Butcher rant about God being a cunt. His bluntness and casual assurance made you bite your lips and squeeze your thighs together. You loved nothing more than a man who didn't give a shit. When M.M. stepped in and pulled him away. You grabbed Butchers hand. He immediately interlaced his fingers with yours, shooting you a smirk. The next few hours, you walked together through the expo. The more you saw the more you wanted to tell these fundamentalists to shut the fuck up. But it also gave you an idea. You glanced at Butcher, smirking to yourself with what you had planned.

You excused yourself after the plan was set for Hughie to blackmail the strechy man. Making your way to the costume shop, you walked through it slowly, looking at anything that had to do with religious undertones. But nothing really spoke to you. So you settled on a veil and some ugly cross jewlery. Butcher would get the hint, you were sure. The next stop was the lingerie shop. There, you picked out a white two-piece set. White the color of innocents and being pure. You bit your lip, looking in the mirror. You looked hot in it. Your boobs looked amazing, and your ass was on point. You shook your ass watching it bounce in the mirror.

Now, just one more stop. The sex store. Butcher would probably pout that you went to a sex shop without him, but he'll get over it once he saw you.

You walked through aisles after aisle admiring all the different toys. You stopped on some nipple class that connected to each other with a silver chain and had pearls adorned. You picked the package up, looking it over. Damn you would look good in them. Quickly, you added them to your other stuff. Then you went and grabbed some lube, cherry lip gloss, and a riding crop.

For a second, you wondered if you should get Butcher a black dress shirt or something, but then something different came to mind. Quickly, you made your way home to the shared flat with Butcher. You laid out the only black dress pants he had and your favorite black sweater of his plus his black dress shoes. You laid it out on the couch with a note saying "wear me" and a 💋 from your cherry lipgloss.

You took a quick shower and styled your hair a bit before putting on the smallest amount of makeup to look as innocent as possible. You got dressed and took some Polaroids. You were too hot to miss out on the opportunity to hide some sexy Polaroids in Butchers stuff to remind him of you.

Butcher shot you a text that he would be home in five, so you quickly made sure that everything was in order in your bedroom. You had cleaned the countertop that was next to your bed of everything besides the nipple clamps laid out. Then the riding Corp and the lube. You had made the bed up with black sheets. Finally, you heard him open the door and quickly climbed on the bed, kneeling.

You heard Butcher grunting, probably read the note. You could imagine his frown and eye roll, but he did as he was told.

You heard the footsteps getting closer to the bedroom, and you could not help but squirm already anticipating the things he would do to you.

He opened the door, to see you kneeling on the bed. The light was dimmed and candles were everywhere. Fuck, you looked so hot. "Ain't that a nice surprise." He smirked. leaning on the door frame just watching you with his predatory gaze. "Whatever do you mean?" You asked innocently, giving him a slight smile. "I thought we had an appointment." You leaned forward pushing your breasts together. "I have so many things to confess, Father." Never did Billy think the word Father would sound so hot. He felt all his blood rush south. "Ain't that a shame. Ya' been a bad girl." You just nodded with a pout. " I am afraid so, father, but I cannot help it. I have so many impure thoughts." Butcher had to hold back a groan. Instead, he pushed himself off the doorframe and walked closer to you. He stood a foot away just watching you. Your heart was racing anticipating what he would do next. He slowly reached out and you thought he would caress your face like he so often did before kissing you but instead, he swiped his thumb across your lip, taking off some of your lipgloss before putting it between his lips. "Hm," he closed his eyes imagining tasting you all over. You looked at him your lips slightly open. "Confess your sins, tell your father the impure thoughts you got in that pretty little head of yours." He commanded. You took a deep gulp, trying not to squirm. "Father, I confess I have thought about sinful things." Butcher nodded, "go on." You took a deep breath and lowered your eyes as if ashamed. "No, no. Do not take your eyes from me, confess all your sins to me. I need to see the shame in your eyes to know you are repentant." You almost left out a moan. "I sometimes think about ... things, when it is late at night." You broke off. "What things, go on child." "I think about a man, touching me and me touching him," Butcher grunted. "The kind of touch a good girl like me should not think about. I dream about a man coming into my room, and pulling the covers off my body. He starts kissing me. I cannot help these thoughts it is like someone else has taken over my body. Father am I going to hell?" You managed to tear up, one falling down your cheek. Billy wanted to reach out and lick the tear off your cheek. He knew it was fucked up but he liked it when you cried it made him even harder. "No child, not if you confess even the tiniest detail to me." You nodded dutifully and went on. You described how the man would push you into the mattress, rip your shirt and start trailing kisses down your chest until he takes your nipples into his mouth and sucks. Butcher hums in pleasure he loves licking and marking your beautiful tits. Slowly he started to unbutton his trousers which had gotten too tight. His bulge was prominent and you whined at the sight of it. "No, eyes on me." You immediately obeyed looking into his eyes. "Ignore the rest, just look at me." You nodded. "Oh, father but I have not told you the worst of it. Every time I imagine a man walking into my bedroom touching me I touch myself, run my hands over my body. I get so wet and cannot help it. I have to touch myself, rub my clit, and finger my pussy." Butcher groaned as he took his cock out of his boxers stroking himself to your words. You were so tempted to look down and watch his beautiful cock yet even though you were pretending to confess your sins it would truly be a sin for you to obey his command.

"Go on, my good little girl still has things to confess." He continued to stroke his cock so close to your face. It was getting harder for you to concentrate all you wanted to do was reach out and touch him. Finally, you snapped. "I dream about opening my mouth, sticking my tongue out, and tasting a man, in his purest form." You followed suit, looking into his eyes while leaning forward slightly, pushing your tits even more together. Mouth open and willing. You slightly connected with the tip of his cock through your veil his pre cum sticking to your tongue. He slowly pulled back watching a mixture of spit and cum connect your tongue and his cock. "I am afraid your sins are too great. God tells us to punish sinners. I need to punish you." He stepped back and you whined. He turned to the dresser with the new toys. Shooting you a smirk.

He picked up the lube, and made his way over to you, he kneeled in front of you. "You clenched your soul with your confession like a good girl. But now we need to get rid of the sin in your body." He slowly reached out stroking the string above your breast. "Do you understand, child?" You nodded instantly. "Tell me." "I understand, Father, I will do as you say, I just want to be pure again." "Good girl," with a swift tug he ripped the fabric of your bra and threw it on the floor. You tits bounced with the force. "Hmm," he hummed in pleasure at seeing your tits. He reached out weighing them in your hand. "Is this what the man in your dream those to you." You nodded pushing your chest more into his hands. He rubbed them slowly before taking the lube putting some on the tip of his fingers. He lifted your chin so you would look directly at him. He reached out tracing your nipples with the cold lube. He watches as your face transforms into one of pleasure. "Do you feel that? This is sin leaving your body." "Yes, Father." He took his time getting your nipples nice and hard. It was driving you crazy, your underwear impossibly wet. "Now, we need to punish you so you will never forget the lord's words." He went and picked up the nipple clamps. He kissed your right breast before pinning the clip onto your nipple. You moaned, closing your eyes. fuck this hurt so good. Before doing int to the other. You looked so good with the veil on your face, your tits out and adorned with clamps. "Now you look like the good girl I know you are. But God needs to know it too." With that he reached down, between your legs, under your panties. "Tss, tss, what do we have here." He felt the wetness between your legs, circling your clit. You let out small moans, holding onto his arm. "Your impure thoughts made you wet, this is not acceptable. I will need to punish you further, or God will not forgive you." He pulled his hand back and you cried out. He walked towards the dresser picking up the riding crop. "Spread your legs, put your pussy on display for me." Fuck, yes you wanted nothing more. You scooted towards the edge of the bed, spreading your legs. The white was almost see-through now from your wetness. "Lay back my child, take your punishment like the sinner you are." He stepped between your legs, admiring your stretched-out form. Your chest heaving, your body tense with anticipation. Wham, he brought the riding corp onto your pussy. "Ah," you arched your back. Wham, another one had you moaning. Before he continued he caressed your pussy. God, you wished that he had taken your underwear of first but he was such a tease he would not give it to you until he felt you deserved it. He gave you five more lashes. "Seven, the holy number. You should be pure again." He kneeled down between your legs, and slowly he kissed the inner of your right tight, before moving to the left always leaving out your pussy. Slowly he dragged down your panties. "Hm, seems like this holy punishment was not enough. I will have to take more drastic measures to ensure your soul is saved." He took of his sweater and got rid of his shoes and pants. "The only way to save you is to fuck the thoughts out of you. Lay back on the bed, and take your punishment." You crawled up the bed before spreading your legs again, you were more than ready to feel Billy's cock. "Please, make me pure again with your cock." Butcher gave you a smirk as he crawled over your body. He leaned down, covering your whole body with his. "Don't ya' worry, I'll fuck the sin outta ya'." He whispered in your ear before giving you the most intense and sloppy kiss. You still had the veil over your face but that didn't stop Butcher, he was all tongue and teeth. He tugged on the chain pulling on your nipples, "Ah, I can't, I need you Father please." He tugged on the chain again, making your eyes roll back into your head. "I dream about you father, the man that comes into my room. It is you, all you." Butcher gave you a satisfied smirk. "Good girl."

He reached down between your bodies. He took his cock into his hand and swiped it between your pussy lips, circling your clit before thrusting into you with one swift push. You both groaned in unison. "Fuck yes," Butcher lost all control pounding into you, spitting profanities. "My own personal fuck slut, such a sinful baby, Imma fuck it out of you." He punctuated every word with a thrust. "Say it, say you are my sinful fuck slut." "Ah, I am, Father." You moaned. "I am your sinful fuck slut, always." He reached his hand between your body drawing circles on your clit. You felt the coil in your stomach tighten but before you could reach your peak he drew back. He pushed your hands above your head. "Keep them here. I want to see your tits bounce freely." You held onto the headboard, trying to contain your screaming. Butcher held onto your waist pulling you back onto your cock while fucking into you. "Yes, yes, yes, please." You whined. He could cum from the sight of you spread out. "Imma keep you hear now. As my personal fuck slut, never let you go. You gonna wear that little veil of yours and the lord around your neck and nothing more. I will fuck you in every which way I wish. First Imma cum in that pussy of yours, then on your tits and face. I'll fuck you from the back put my cock in your ass make you feel me everywhere. 'cause this cunt is mine." Butcher let out a deep groan, as he felt you tighten around him. God this man could talk you into an orgasm. He quickly pushed his hands between the two of you rubbing circles on your clit, alternating between small and quick and slow and wide circles. You could not hold it in any longer, "I'm gonna cum, Father, oh please." "Yes, my slut, cum for your Priest. Make me proud." With a final thrust, you came screaming his name. Butcher watched in aw how your face contorted in pleasure and it was the final straw for him. He quickly pulled out, quickly sitting on your chest. "You don't deserve my cum just yet. You need to show me your devotion before I will fill you up. Make you my cum slut." He was groaning while stroking himself furiously. You moaned at the thought, pushing your tongue out of your mouth waiting for him to finally paint you with his cum. He let out a final groan and came all over your face, you could hardly taste him because of the veil. But it quickly became Butcher's favourite accessory. He stroked himself until he was spent before picking up the Polaroid camera on the nightstand and snapping a picture of your face, the cross necklace and your tits covered in cum.

"Guess there is something good about religion after all," Butcher commented pulling you to him.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Machinist 2

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible bullying, misogyny, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: your new boss sets his sights on you. (short!reader)

Characters: August Walker

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

You take your lunch where you always do; outside. You don’t like to sit inside all day, especially after sweating amid sparks flying from dozens of torches and grinding wheels and the like. The metals walls do little to let the heat out, so it is that you greet the sunshine and fresh breeze with a sigh. 

You find your way to your truck and unlock the back, climbing up to sit in the open bed as you unzip your lunchbox. You have your standard fare; some carrots, hummus, and a tuna sandwich. Nothing fancy or special. Just what you have time to throw together in the morning. 

You watch the distant skyline as you chew. Insects buzz in the air and you swat away a nosy fly. The smell of pollen underlines the lingering scent of singed metal and your own sweat. You enjoy the small moment to yourself, with the barely muffled noise of drills, wheels, and hollers all around. 

You dip your last carrot and close up the container of hummus. You wipe the lingering garlicky smear from your fingertips and zip away your leftovers and the used napkin. You push your head back to stretch your neck and loosen the stitch between your shoulders. 

“You’re prettier in the sunlight,” the rocky voice brings your chin back down. 

August approaches as you clutch your lunch box against your lap. You don’t know how to respond without putting your job in the balance, so you don’t. You push yourself to the edge of the truck bed but he’s quick. He’s right in front of you, close enough that you can’t jump down. 

“This your truck?” He muses as he gives it an emphatic look, “not too bad. Bit big for you, girl. Ah, but maybe you like handling big things.” 

His insinuation repulses you. He was rude before but now he’s just being gross. Doesn’t matter. Who are you gonna tell? Who’s going to care?

“Excuse me, my lunch is almost over,” you say as you teeter on the edge. 

“I’m sure the boss won’t mind,” he grins boastfully. 

“Really, I got a lot of work--” 

“I never heard about your promotion,” he intones. 

You stop short and bite back your words, “promotion?” 

“Right, you must’ve got one since you’re telling me what to do,” he challenges, crossing his arms to make himself even bigger. 

“I wasn’t. I’m trying to go back to work.” 

“I didn’t dismiss you,” he sneers. 

You ease back and nod. This isn’t the first time a man’s postured at you, it won’t be the last. You’ll let him get his rocks off. 

“Sure,” you nod. 

“Hmph,” he looks you up and down, “it always makes me wonder why women wander into metal shops. Really? You like being sweaty,” he steps even closer and you wince as he reaches and drags his thumb down your cheek, “dirty? I can think of better ways for that.” 

“Sir,” you say flatly. 

He trails his thumb down and presses on your bottom lip, “I’m new around here. Need someone to show me around. How about it?” 

You scowl and rip your mouth away from his hand, “you can’t be serious?” 

“Do I look like I’m fucking kidding?” He slowly pulls his arm back, crossing it once more across his chest, “what I know about this town is there’s no other fucking shop looking for tool and die, and let me tell you, princess, you’ll find they don’t pay pennies next to what I pay.” He brings a hand up to brush the short stubble darkening his jaw, “actually, we’re due for salary review. That’s what the finance officer tells me.” 

You understand his threat. Even if he doesn’t fire you, he can mess with your money. All the leering men, all their nasty words, wouldn’t be worth it if you didn’t get a half-decent cut. 

“Can your precious little head understand me?” His mouth slants in a half-smirk. 

“Not that difficult,” you hiss out.  

“Great, sounds like a plan, princess.” 

Before you can react, he steps forward. He grabs you by the waist and drags you forward on the open door of the truck bed. You yelp in surprise and bat his wrists, your lunch box bouncing out of your grasp onto the ground. He holds you to hover on the edge before he lowers you to the ground, crowding you. 

“Good girl,” he growls and squeezes before he lets you go. 

You struggle not to snarl outright. He takes a step back, not far enough. You turn your attention to your errant bag and bend to pick it up. 

“Mmm, I like that position,” he purrs. 

You snap up and tamp down your irritation. You wish you could say he’s the first man to be so disgusting but that would be a miracle. Especially in this line of work. He’s just the only one you can’t tell to go fuck himself. 

You face him, “can I go back to work?” 

“Mm, look at you, learning already; asking permission,” he clicks his tongue, “sure, go on, princess.” 

You hold back a shudder and turn to close the truck door. You toss your lunch bag over it. Whatever. 

You spin and stomp away, refusing to look back at him, even as you feel his gaze bearing down on you. You feel even more filthy than before. Not just because of his behaviour but your own weakness. You should say no, you should go work at the Pizza Hut, at least there, you can spit in the food of every ass who gives you lip. 

As you cross the yard towards the shop, you slow down. Your eyes meet those of Carey. He started at the same time as you. He asked you out. Several times. He glowers and narrows his eyes.

He looks at the other guys sat around him at the smokers’ table. They saw it. You know they did.

“All the fucking same, aren’t they?” He spits into the dirt as the other men look in your direction. “Cozying up to the boss to get a few extra bucks on her check.” He flicks his butt towards you as you near the door, “whatsa a matter, baby? You need some new panties? Oh, maybe you’re gonna buy a dress? Start dressing like a woman, huh?” 

The other guys chortle and you ignore them. They don’t matter. That’s the difference between them and August. He can actually ruin your life, they only wish they could. 

[the-s1lly-corner]

Master of Me

Not totally sold on the name for the fic maybe I'll change it midway through typing this and forget to take this sentence out haha! Short little fic because TADC is on my mind, probably only going to be slightly longer than my other posts... we will see! Notes: Reader is GN, Gummigoo and the reader are not dating but they are close friends, AU where Gummi was allowed to stay at the circus, comfort fic, limited dialogue, reader doesn't remember anything about their life before joining the circus. like nothing at all. not proof read we die like kaufmo CWs: Gummigoo is still struggling to fully come to terms with the fact that he is just an NPC- really it's just some angst Word count: 1.3k

No one ever said it was going to be easy, and he didn't expect it to be easy. Nor did he expect it to come fast... but he had hoped that within the weeks after joining the circus it would become more bearable. It.. had.. but he wasn't making as much progress as he had hoped. Some days were better than others, where the thought that everything he knew was a lie didn't cross his mind. Other days it hit him hard enough to keep him holed up in bed.

You had been kind enough to share your room with him, Caine had yet to make a room for the new circus member- whether he didn't want to or he couldn't you weren't sure. You tried your best to give the gator some room so he can gather himself on his own time, opting to wander around the circus until it was time to go to bed. Sometimes he would even join you, allowing you to show him the grounds. It was all so different from what he knew in the desert, though... those were all false memories too, weren't they?

Today had been one of those days, that left him too shaken to get up and join the others during the day's adventure. You told the others to go along without you. Everyone but Zooble left, but it's not like they were going to step in to help you pull Gummigoo out of his mind- though they did surprise you by showing some level of support through the form of wishing you luck.

He didn't have the key to your room, so he couldn't lock himself in. Not that he would if he could- he was grateful that you had given him the space, but he would feel terrible for taking it a step too far.

The lights were dimmed, you could just barely see his form sat at the edge of your bed. You noted how the lights looked against the material of his body. If you squinted, you could see small specks of sugar within his lemon lime body. He had noticed you, but didn't say much aside from a short apology- did you need something? Was he in the way? He was about to get up before you stopped him and sat next to him.

"What's going on with you," You asked, though as soon as the words had left your mouth you felt stupid for asking. You knew exactly what was going on, sure you may not know what set him off in particular or what part he's focusing on... but you still knew enough. You watched his white eyes narrow at the floor, as if it was the most interesting thing to him. He sighed after a moment, and lifted his head to stare at you. He was missing his mother today, or at least his idea of her.

"Nothing really happened, did it?" He muttered, referencing everything he could gather from his memories. That seemed to only make things worse, though, seeing as they were all so... limited. Artificial. False. "Oh god, none of it happened, did it?" He added after a few more struggled words clawed their way through his teeth. You sucked on your teeth as you tried to find the right words to say. For a terrifying moment you wondered if NPCs would abstract- what if you said the wrong thing and triggered it?

The words fell out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

"It was real to you, wasn't it?"

Silence, and he whipped his head to stare at you before pulling his eyes back down.

"It may not have been... real... but they're still your memories, it's still... who you were originally meant to be- you know?" You added, but that didn't seem to help. "I wasn't supposed to find out, I know that much," He said lowly. He sounded angry, but it didn't sound like it directed at you exactly.

Suddenly he looked at you, with enough speed and intensity to make you jump just a bit and scoot back to avoid his snout. "But you don't remember anything from before you came to this... place.."

You only nodded, when you had joined the circus you actually remembered less than the other members- you didn't even remember putting on the headset that brought you here. To you, it was like you simply spawned into existence. You remembered how terrifying that was, how you seemingly came to and had to build everything up with what you were given.

"Just like you... kind of..." You whispered, and with a look he urged you to continue. "You don't remember much of anything from before you... tried to steal the syrup. You hit a.. block.. when you try to remember anything before that. You had... nothing, not to sound like what's happening to you doesn't matter any less.." You trailed off, then attempted to regain yourself. "You..." but your words failed.

"How did you make it work, didn't you ever want to return back to what you had before.. Before.." He stopped. "I almost want to go back, wouldn't that be easier?" He stared down at his hands, a habit you noticed that he picked up. He bunched his fingers together before relaxing them, before tensing them again.

"It was hard at first, for me too.. but," You chewed your tongue. It felt like it was plastic. "I got to make new memories," You managed to spit out. Gummigoo went silent, looking you in the eyes for a long moment before seeming to understand.

"You can't change what's happening, what's.. happened.. or what you were before- regardless of if it actually happened. You're in control now, and you're free to make your own choices now!" You offered a half smiling, hoping you had said the right thing. "It's not exactly like what I went through, I'm not from the digital world, and you are.. but, we were both new to this at some point,"

Quiet.

Then he laughed. He actually laughed, albeit weakly and airily. He shook his head lightly, tugging his hat down before taking a deep breath through his nose. "You're not wrong about that, (Reader)," He let his body relax. He was far from okay, but he was seeming to even out now.

He looked at you again, once more in the eyes. You forced yourself to maintain the contact, before he pulled his face away. His eyes scanned over the room, taking in everything they could see. "I'm in control now, am I?" He said to himself, his hand relaxing as he spoke. He lowered his head a little, before his mouth stretched into a smile. "If I'm going to carve my own path, I'm glad that you've given me the tools," He flicked a glance to you, "I'd be happy if you stuck around,"

You only smiled, before nodding. "Bit hard, since you've stolen my bed! We're stuck together already!"

You pulled another laugh out of him, this time it was a little stronger. "I can't argue with that, I do get rather sticky do I?" He smirked. "You don't have a choice of helping me, if you even think of stepping away I'm going to glue you to me," He joked. He was returning to his usual self, slowly.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," You shot back earning a third laugh.

You could hear the sounds of the rest of the circus returning from their adventure. Had you both been talking for that long? Had that much time passed. You looked to Gummigoo, it didn't feel right leaving him here alone after the conversation you had just had together... so you had decided to stay.

At least for now, for as long as he needed you to stick around.

[notmorbid]

not found.

dialogue prompts from 3x9-4x4 of usa's mr. robot.

i lost everything because of you.

time to grow up. there are no gods.

didn't mean to interrupt.

it's weird being here again. we're coming full circle.

we can protect you. we'll make things right.

i'm sorry i was such a pain in the ass.

maybe i'm not as cool and collected as i put on.

haven't you learned my social game isn't my strong suit?

you have to get out. right now. trust me.

i thought you were on my side.

it's not that i'm out of moves. it's that you're not worth one.

why don't you tell me how i should be thinking?

if you're a leader, then where are your followers?

you can't force an agenda. you have to inspire one.

believe it or not, i'm actually a real person.

you're not talking your way out of this.

what would you do if you had your way?

what? are you scared of me now?

anything you can remember? any detail?

i brought this on myself. this is on me.

the sick part is, i actually missed you.

the only reason we've not been talking is i haven't let myself.

i've been scared of myself. of the part of me that is you.

your naïveté is adorable.

you don't care about anyone but yourself.

how am i going to keep you honest?

know that i will find you.

find a way to live with what you did.

you are a terrible person. don't ever convince yourself of anything else.

all you deserve for the rest of your life is pure and utter agony.

you've taken everything from me. my whole life is ruined because of you.

stay indoors and stay off the streets.

i'm here to remember for you.

do you really believe undoing this is going to fix anything?

i can't live with what i did anymore.

whatever happens after this, i want us to keep talking.

you talk like this, and i cannot protect you. you have to relent.

you're panicking right now.

how much did you do, a little or a lot?

you have been following me, haven't you?

i've hurt so many people.

my anger won't die with me.

i thought we were goners.

don't you feel a little relieved?

why should i feel like a dick for being happy?

maybe you should take a minute and deal with what's happening.

you need to stop and take it in, or else it'll eat away at you. like everything else you're holding in.

how do you do it? how do you just move on like that?

i'm in. whether you like it or not.

why aren't you getting ready?

why don't you go without me?

we can finally be our true selves.

i don't know how much longer i can go on like this.

if someone asks for your patience, they're asking for your surrender.

they say once you pull that trigger, it changes you.

i don't feel safe around you.

what's happening to you?

nothing's ever gonna change with you, is it?

what do you call someone who's lost everyone? a survivor, or a walking time bomb?

you gotta be more detailed. the devil is in that shit.

i know what it's like. hating yourself.

you know, you can't scare me.

there's a lot more crazy where that came from.

letting people in doesn't have to hurt.

i don't want to say i hate you, but i hate you.

do i know you? you look awfully familiar.

do you really want to deal with the hassle of calling the cops?

wouldn't hurt you to learn some manners.

have you ever considered leaving?

it sounds pathetic to say aloud, but i actually care. that's why i'm a failure.

goodbye is short and final.

i know it might not be my place, but i want to help you.

i don't want you to hurt yourself.

did you ever care about me? be honest. i can take it.

i think you're the only person i know who actually likes me.

i'm just gonna go for a walk.