#LOVE me a good X Reader fanfic

[fawnhunter]

benjicot blackwood aka. mr attitude adjustment.

(a drabble about what benji is like when he reaches his limit with his pretty little wife.)

angry sex with benjicot. idk i just think he's the creator of the attitude adjustment. he married you because you were the love of his life, and also because when ever he showed his true brutish blackwood nature you would look at him with shining stars in your eyes. it also means that bcus he married a woman of fire and blood, he must also expect for her to argue like what she's made of. the argument between you two get hot, almost excitingly so. its almost like whatever you give to him he can give it right back to you ten fold. on some days its like his attitude is truly worse than yours. on the dl he loves the fact that you feel comfortable enough to really argue with him, to not back down submissively as he steps into ur space. He is truly lucky to not have married a "yes woman" who would gladly look him in his face and tell him when he was wrong. but sometimes.. instead of indulging in the arguing, he just wanted to fuck the attitude right out of you. [smutty below the cut]

god you were already so close to his face, on ur tippy toes, looking up and yelling at him like he wasn't as much of a lord like you were a princess. like he couldn't just bend you over the nearest flat surface and take you the way he wanted to. like he couldn't back you into the nearest wall with just his body pushing into you alone, pressing your body into the wall until to get the hint and start to pipe down and hear him out. or maybe he's feeling truly fed up with you, trying to stay calm in the face of his love for as long as he can before he's sweeping you off ur feet and up over his shoulder. continuing to argue while thrown over his shoulder bcus you know it'll just make it that much worse [better] for you.

walking through the halls of his family home, one he now has total control over, with his pretty little wife who just doesn't know when to stop. striding inside of your shared chambers and tossing on top of the bed, staring down at you with low eyes, the kind you see from him when you just know you're in trouble. slowly undoing the ties of his tunic while staring down at you, slapping ur hand away when you reach for ur own laces, as it starts to set in just how much trouble ur in.

now excuse me while i project for a moment but i think angry sex with him would maybe be the best dick of your life. I think any other time he would treat you like the treasure you are, fucking you tenderly but with passion. But now, when all he sees is red, his only goal is to make you fell so much pleasure you forget what upset you in the first place. his body is hot and pressed tight against yours, his warm breath huffing in ur ear and against ur neck. Lowly mummering taunts in ur ear as the tip of his cock slowly reaches places you rarely feel with him.

"where did your fight go my lady? what happened to the ferocious woman who was yelling in my face not but an hour ago? there's no way its the same woman who's under me now, about to be fucked full of my blackwood seed? could it?"

sigh... i need a little bit of hate sex in my life that would fix everything i think

hi!! requests are currently open for HOTD

[revasserium]

promise (to be holy)

rafayel; 1,745 words; fluff, fluff w/out plot, established relationship, kinda?spoilers for raf's lvl 55 affection story, no "y/n", genderless!reader, very suggestive but not actually nsfw

summary: oh, didn't you know? promises are sacred things beneath the ocean...

a/n: @syneilesis thank u for being my lad screaming buddy; this one's for you and for raf the little slut

The ocean has always been a certain kind of poetry, hasn’t it? You smile to yourself as you blink yourself awake and the world is the size of your sunlit bedroom. Rafayel’s breaths are even, his lashes so dark and long they remind you of a certain kind of midnight — the kind that catches starlight in her hair and has magic in her fingertips.

The kind of midnight that inspires wonder.

“If you really are that enamored with me… I can paint you a portrait. It’ll last longer.”

You blush, even as Rafayel’s eyes flicker open to catch yours, his lips pulled into a teasing, sleep-heavy smile.

“I — I wasn’t staring. I just woke up too and you were blocking my sun.”

You try to turn away, but Rafayel is faster, his arm looping around your middle to pin you to him, his breath warm as it kisses the skin of your bare shoulder. He cocks his head, still blinking the sleep from his eyes.

“Oh? Is that so?” he asks, shifting so that your eyes are level. The morning light paints his outline in liquid gold, and from here, the shade of his eyes makes you think of all the secrets the sea might keep from the sky.

“Mhm,” you nod, licking your lips, and watching with some satisfaction, as his eyes flick down to trace the movement. His skin is warm and his fingers soft as they press into the bend of your waist to pull you closer.

“Liar,” he says — whispers, before he dips down to graze his lips against yours.

You sigh against him, grinning as you curl your fingers into his hair and tug. The way he gasps makes a certain, unnamable hunger surge within you, pushing you forward till you’re pressing him back into the bed, your thighs on either side of his hips.

“Y-you — ngh —” Rafayel hisses as he tips his head back, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, his fingers inadvertently into your skin. You cock your head — and perhaps it’s the tantalizing line of his neck as he leans back, straining beneath you, or perhaps it’s just the morning light, falling like a lover’s caress across the smooth of his skin, the soft wave of his hair as it splays across the pillow — dark against light.

“Now… who’re you calling a liar?” you ask, flattening your palm slowly against his chest, reveling in the way his stomach tenses beneath you, how his breaths seem to quicken as you lean down and down and down.

“Y-you —” he almost musters up a glare as he hisses, “bullying the weak…” he murmurs as he tries to turn away. You twist his face back towards you with a finger beneath his chin and watch as his eyes go wide.

“Oh? You think this is bullying? But… I haven’t even gotten started yet…” you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate, the way his entire body goes rigid and then soft.

“I — you — I’m not accustomed to the ways of you humans! T-to a Lemurian like me… this is — this is —” The words die on his lips as you lean down to skim your lips along the bend of his neck, dropping phantom kisses on the long line of his collarbone, your fingers still holding his head in place.

“Hm?” you hum, grinning as he arches up into your touch, his fingers digging crescent-moon grooves into your hips and thighs, “this is… what, exactly?”

Rafayel makes a broken, keening noise at the back of his throat as you pull away, a fox-fire smile twisting your lips. You blink down at him, feigning innocence.

“Didn’t you say you were going to tell me all about Lemurian traditions? Why not start now?”

His eyes narrow as he forces himself to look away from you. You can almost feel the heat radiating off him in waves, burning from the tips of his ears all the way to the roots of his hair.

“I — you —” his lashes flutter and you can’t help your own laughter as it bubbles from you.

“C’mon, let’s get up — didn’t you want to go to the paint shop today — oh!”

You make to pull away, swinging your legs off him, but the world tilts as a pair of hands pull you back, and a moment later, you’re being pressed into an ocean of tangled sheets and pillows, Rafayel’s face hovering above yours, his expression caught between annoyance and ill-concealed desire.

“You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” he cocks his head, lips drawn into a delightful pout as you try to tug your hand away. He huffs as he pins you down harder, the redness in his cheeks deepening even as he leans in.

“Who said I was starting anything?” you ask, batting your lashes up at him even as he scoffs.

“Words aren’t the only way to make promises, y’know,” he says, and you feel his grip on you loosen. But there’s a tantalizing lilt to his voice that holds you in place, a dark, faraway look in his eyes as he leans back slightly, his gaze grazing down the shape of you, splayed out beneath him.

“Yeah? Then… what’s another way of making a promise?” you ask, propping yourself up on your elbows as he shifts back to allow you more space. You shift and the pair of you find yourself sitting face to face, the sheets rumpled around you like a white-sand beach, the remnants of the night before scattered in the folds like footsteps in the sand.

He looks at you before his eyes cast downwards. Your fingertips itch toward him and you reach out, brushing aside a stray strand of hair. Quick as a flicker, he catches your hand, pressing his cheek to your palm, eyes falling shut as he sighs.

“There’s… lots of ways to make a promise…” he says, murmuring it against your skin as he turns his face to press a kiss to the delicate skin of your wrist. You shiver as heat chases up your arm, tingling through your body as you swallow.

You sit there, frozen, as he leans in, slow and slow and slow — till you can feel the heat of his breath on your lips.

“You see… words are a little harder when you’re underwater, so sometimes we make promises by touching palms —” he turns his hand around yours till your fingers lace, “sometimes… we brush cheeks…” he grins as he leans in further, his cheek brushing by yours.

“And sometimes…” he pulls back ever so slightly, till you feel your own breath catch in your chest. His voice is deep and warm and soft and sweet — tugging you in as the moon on the tide, and you can’t help but wonder at the mysterious forces that might’ve pulled you towards one another in the beginning.

Chance, or perhaps something much less nebulous — like gravity.

Your lips meet like magnets clicking into place, and it’s far from the first time you’ve kissed but somehow here, in the morning light, with the windows of the bedroom thrown open to welcome the sea, the salt hanging solid and heavy in the air, it feels like the first time. You can taste the smile on Rafayel’s lips, can feel the eager way he presses in, tongue sweeping across your lips as you gasp open for him. You feel the weight of his body as he pulls you in, pushes you down, and the gentle give and take of it all somehow rings out against the slow shushing of the rising tides.

When he finally pulls away, both of you are breathless. You wonder, briefly, dazedly, if he might’ve been able to go on kissing like that forever. Do Lemurians even need to breathe? What might it be like to kiss like that and never feel the burning ache of oxygen in your lungs? It’s a dizzying thought, and you let yourself linger on it for a second more before Rafayel’s laughter breaks your train of thought.

“What? Was it so good that you’ve gone into shock?”

You blink, shaking your head as you feel heat wash up into your cheeks.

“No! I — I was just wondering… what does a kiss promise, exactly?”

And at this, Rafayel’s cheeks darken again, but he sighs and lowers himself onto the bed next to you, a finger trailing idly along the bend of your ear.

“Well…” he says, “it depends on the kind of kiss.”

You yelp, swatting at him with a pillow as your stomach flips inside you at the implications. His laughter is bright and pure and sweet, but as you both settle down again, he shrugs, pulling you closer to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“But mostly… a kiss just promises that there’ll be another kiss.”

You smile, leaning up to graze your lips against his, “Like that?”

He lets out a soft groan before pulling you in, his lips parting yours, slow and sensuous.

“Yeah… just like that.”

“And so… if you kiss once then…” you press a finger to his lips to stop him from leaning down again, “you’ve gotta keep on kissing? Forever?”

Rafayel grins, tugging away your hand, “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

You purse your lips, humming as you feign contemplation. Rafayel scoffs and makes to move away again, but you pull him back, laughing.

“You can’t leave yet! We’ve got a promise to keep, remember?” and with that, you kiss him, and he softens. As he always does.

“I think…” he says, a little breathless as the pair of you sink back into the sheets, “we’ve got a bit more than one promise… but I think we can start with this one…” and he leans in to capture your lips in his, fingers drifting to the skin of your waist. And as the dawning day watches from beyond the window, the ocean shushes itself against a stretch of forgotten beach, water through sand like tangling lovers’ fingers, reaching and holding, pushing and pulling.

And for lovers like that, there will always be promises to keep, and keep, and keep.

pls come talk to me about love and deepspace oh m ygod

[missviviii]

a/n: zayne my boo <3 im sobbing over the fact that the game killed off mc’s grandma and caleb 😭

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ミ★ Love & Deep Space ミ★

pairing: zayne x fem!reader

warning(s): mentions of death, mentions of the explosion that killed mc’s grandma + childhood best friend (caleb) in game, spoilers(?)

Summary: Ever since that day, you’ve fallen in a deep, dark pit. Why did you have to be the one that they decide to destroy? Why did Caleb and Grandma have to die? Is it your fault they did? Zayne, as your primary care physician and a family friend, is concerned for your well-being.

“Sometimes, a small gesture is all it takes.”

The sound of the news on your TV, the thundering rain outside, the sound of the cars driving by your apartment—it all blurs out as you stared at the TV screen, eyes dead and unfocused on the news of the Wanderers attacking and the explosions. Some 22 casualties, two deaths. Grandma and Caleb. His necklace that you bought him as a goodbye gift when he left for the Aerospace Academy sits beside a picture of you, him, and Grandma on the coffee table, the cheerful smiles making you wished that you could revisit time.

Your apartment, once somewhat organized and clean, is now messy with things being knocked down and dirty dishes long discarded. You stare at the one last thing your Grandma left for you, some..tablet(?) with a final letter on it. You haven’t gotten the energy or the ability to open it. It pains you, seeing that you haven’t visited for so long yet when you do, this was the time her house had to explode right in front of you, flames engulfing the house and the only thing that remained was Caleb’s necklace.

“I miss you, Grandma..” You mumbled to nobody, rubbing the tears threatening to spill out your eyes as you glanced down at the item she left you with. Besides that, a small box of her old recipes of those notecards, and other small things that she had entrusted to you years before.

Around you was your laptop, papers and files on the latest Wanderer attacks around you. Yes, Captain Jenna dismissed you and said that you should take some days off to regain your energy, since you haven’t been getting the sleep or the energy you needed, but you just couldn’t.

Your door opened, yet you didn’t bother to look at who entered. “Still sitting in front of the TV?” A familiar voice spoke out, flipping the light switch on and shutting the door behind him. It was Zayne, a long time family friend and your primary care physician. “You haven’t eaten,” he bluntly says as he sets a bag of food on your table and walked into the kitchen. He bites back a sigh, knowing that you were going through a tough time, and people tended to discard everything and grieve and grieve their hearts out.

“Hello to you too, Zayne,” you replied as you shut off the news and got up off your sofa. You pile up all the papers and files you’ve scattered around and set them on the coffee table before you walk into the kitchen as Zayne is cleaning up your dirty dishes. He checks in on you whenever he’s free or when he’s off his shift. He looks back at you, only making a small hum of acknowledgment before cleaning up your dirty kitchen. You looked terrible—eyes red and puffy from crying, obvious eye bags, and the sparkles from your eyes were gone.

You yawn as you take out a bowl and some utensils for whatever food he brought in for you. You unpacked the bag as he cleaned up the dishes you couldn’t bother doing last week. Potatoes, avocado on the side, tuna salad, salmon and rice you said to yourself as you took out the food that he had carefully backed in those plastic containers for you. Then you took out the last thing. Cookie..dough? He remembered your favorite childhood snack. The kind of cookie dough you liked.

“Your grandma gave me a recipe for the cookie dough. She said that if she couldn’t make it, I should since it lightens your mood,” Zayne says as he puts your clean dishes back into the cabinet. He dries his hand off before walking over to you, watching how you stare at it like a piece of gold. Disbelief and shock were etched on your face.

Zayne puts his hand on your back, soothingly rubbing circles as you opened the container and took a bite. Your eyes almost brimmed with tears again. You could remember how your grandma used to bake in the kitchen and you’d always sneak a bite or two of the cookie dough, no care in the world if you could get salmonella.

“Thank..you, Zayne,” you finally said, turning around tightly hugging him. He was a bit hesitant at first, but he put his hand on your head, massaging your scalp as he looked down at you with a gentle look on his face.

“..You’re welcome. I miss her too.”

Zayne’s eyes looked away at the picture on the counter of your grandma. She didn’t have to go out this way.

[seventh-district]

Midnight Hour

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks.

You awake in the middle of the night to find your lover in tears.

Pairing: Astarion x Reader

Word Count: 3,139

Content Warnings: [crying (obviously)] [non-specific mentions of Astarion's past trauma] [this fic was written by someone who hasn't actually played the game and that might show in the details/the lack thereof]

Blinking your tired eyes open, you squint at the light of the crackling fire in front of you. Closing them again, you let out a soft sigh as you try to guess at the current time. Given that you woke on your own, you’re assuming it’s likely close to, but not quite, time for you to take over tonight’s watch shift.

Your group has fallen into a routine where you pair off into teams of two, and a different team keeps watch each night. Tonight’s turn belongs to you and Astarion, and he’s taken the first half of the shift as usual. You usually, ironically, sleep your best on the nights that he keeps watch, in spite of only getting half the amount of sleep as you do on the nights another team has the job.

You suppose you can credit the fact that, at the end of the day, Astarion is a creature of the night. Something about knowing he has the upper hand when it comes to any unwanted nighttime visitors your group may encounter is… reassuring. To you, as well as to the others in the group, loathe as some of them may be to admit it. That is, once they all felt confident in his promises to not make a surprise midnight snack of them, at least.

Tonight is a bit of an exception, though, and you’re not quite sure what woke you early this time. You typically sleep soundly until he gently coaxes you awake, nails combing through your hair, voice soft and apologetic in your ear. He’s always somewhat reluctant to wake you, but he does so nonetheless, having learned his lesson after the first time he made the executive decision to let you sleep the whole night through. His arguments of “You really looked like you could use the rest.” and “What’s one sleepless night? I can sleep when I’m dead.” didn’t hold much water in the face of the way he dragged ass through the entire next day.

In “the spirit of fairness” and “proving that he can stick to an agreement,” he never tried to take the whole shift by himself again. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with how guilty he felt when he heard the disappointment in your tone when you awoke that first morning and discovered he hadn’t stuck to the plan. Definitely.

Laying there in the quiet, you try and fail to pinpoint what feels different about tonight. You don’t hear any strange noises, nothing feels unusual, and blinking your eyes open again you raise your head a bit to look around the fire. The rest of the group are circled around the other sides of the heat source, sleeping soundly. You figure that you’re probably just getting used to this routine by now, and your body simply woke up around your usual shift change time on its own.

Still, that doesn’t explain the vague, unplaceable feeling that something is just… off.

You let out a sigh that turns into a yawn as you stretch and roll away from the fire onto your back. Letting your head roll further to the left, your eyes land on the familiar sight of your lover’s back as he sits in his usual position beside you, diligently watching your six.

He’s taken to placing his bedroll right next to yours, insisting that you lie between the fire and himself. You couldn’t really argue with his point that he can’t feel the cold anyways, so there’s no need for him to be the one next to the fire. Nor could you argue with the benefits of having him as a line of defense between you and whatever lurks beyond the reach of the firelight.

The feeling of security and protection that he provides you with is still relatively foreign to you, and a soft smile blooms on your face at the warm feeling it brings. Your smile then falls a bit as you remember the silent question you ask yourself on the regular, of whether or not you provide him with the same.

You roll the rest of the way to your left, and shuffle further toward him, closing what remains of the small gap he’d placed between the two of you. Lying halfway on your bedroll and halfway on his, you curl your body around his seated form, bringing your right arm up and gently placing a hand on the right side of his waist. He flinches slightly, and if this were earlier on in your relationship, you’d retract your hand. He’s long since informed you though that his reaction to unexpected touch is simply involuntary, and as long as it’s you, you’ve no need to pull away.

You recall the quiet, restrained desperation in his voice when he first explained it to you, all but begging you not to pull away. He can’t control the way his body reacts to touch, given that before you, he couldn’t recall the last time being touched meant anything other than pain. In spite of that though, he wants it. He wants you. That’s obvious in the way that he, without fail, immediately relaxes under your gentle touch once his mind and body process that it’s coming from you. The way he’s come to not only relax, but to lean into it. Lean into you.

You’d never push past his boundaries, never in a million years, but he’s made it quite clear after about a thousand of your quiet requests for consent at every minor touch, that he’s entirely welcoming of your non-sexual physical affections. Getting the man to verbally admit that he actually enjoys cuddling with you, without the truth being concealed beneath a heavy layer of playful banter and practiced, honeyed words didn’t come easy, but he came around to it in his own time.

So, you don’t pull back, instead following through with the motion and slowly snaking your arm around his waist. You press your front against his lower back and curl around to rest your left cheek atop his left thigh. You can’t help but notice that he doesn’t relax into you in the way he usually does, and your head turns to the right a bit, struggling to get a half-decent look at his face as you’re both turned away from the fire light.

He remains tense, still, and unresponsive to your movements, gaze seemingly locked dead ahead of him, staring out into the dark forest.

With the warm haze of sleep fading from you, your brow furrows as your right hand presses lightly against his lower abdomen, your thumb sweeping up and down in a small attempt at a comforting motion. You quietly call for his attention, voice still thick with sleep.

“Star? Is everything okay?”

His typically silent breath suddenly hitches, and his head angles down to face you. Now that he’s turned toward the light, you catch the way his eyes shine, and the way the light reflects off of what you quickly realize are tear tracks, running down his cheeks. He’s actively crying, tears dripping from his chin, and now with his head tilted down at you they take a different path, running down to converge and fall from the tip of his nose.

You nearly bolt upright in your shock, quickly unwrapping yourself from him and clambering around on all fours until you’re sat down in front of him, your hands gripping tightly to your upper thighs in worry. His wide-eyed gaze followed your every movement, and even now that you’re sat still in front of him, his eyes still dart around, frantically scanning you, for what, you don’t know.

“What- what’s going on?”

You keep your voice as quiet as you reasonably can in spite of your shock and concern, not eager to wake your companions and have everyone witness… whatever this is.

He doesn’t respond, looking just about as lost as you feel, shaking his head in silence as more tears fall. It’s one hell of a sight, and it suddenly hits you that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him cry.

Unsure of what to do and what even caused this, you resist the urge to wrap him in a hug, not wanting to overstep in this unfamiliar territory. Instead, you glance back over your shoulder and once again see and hear nothing of note before trying another question.

“Is there a threat? Did you see something that scared you, honey?”

He takes a long moment to answer, seeming unsure, before eventually settling on another shake of his head. His lack of confidence in his answer isn’t the most reassuring thing at the moment, but given that you aren’t detecting any danger either, you decide to believe that he really didn’t see any threat. At least, not here. Not right now, in the present moment, in front of him. He seems about halfway here and halfway gone, and if your growing suspicions are correct, he’s probably been sat here lost in the dark corners of his mind for a while now, given the state he’s in.

You catch movement to Astarion’s right side and watch as Karlach raises up from her prior position sprawled out face-down on her bedroll, propping herself up with her forearms beneath her. Her expression of concern is too aware and her eyes are too awake for her to have just now woken up, and you quickly gather that she’s probably been awake and laying there long enough to have heard your questions and Astarion’s lack of any verbal response. She doesn’t say anything though, and doesn’t move, just letting the situation unfold and keeping a watchful eye on the darkness behind you.

Relaxing slightly at the knowledge that someone else is awake and helping to keep watch now, your focus shifts back to Astarion, who’s gaze has moved to his lap, tears still falling fast. It’s almost unsettling, the way he cries. There’s no sound, no movement, his breathing is hardly even affected, nothing more than the occasional shaky breath to give away any sign of struggle at all. You don’t have to guess why it’s like this, given what he’s told you about his past. You’re sadly certain that he learned to cry like this ages ago. Silent and still, sat alone in the dark so no one would notice.

You don’t want to think about the sorts of punishments he’s endured as a result of showing such pain and emotion, but your mind pulls from what experiences he’s shared and offers up a few anyways, making you begin to feel sick.

Leaning down and trying to catch his gaze, you ask another question.

“Astarion, are you with me right now?”

He blinks, more tears spill, and his lips finally part as he responds to you with a strained whisper.

“I’m trying to be…”

You smile in spite of your current emotions and the general mood of the situation, doing your best to be something positive, something gentle, something safe for him to focus on.

“There you are…”

You say it to yourself as much as to him, relieved to finally hear his voice, as laced with pain as it sounds. You hold out your hand near where his lie balled into fists in his lap, offering him contact without forcing it on him.

“I want you to keep trying, okay? Do your best to come back into the present with me. You can take my hand, if you’d like?”

He stares down at your offered hand for a long moment before shakily unballing one of his fists. He hesitates, fingers trembling, before reaching out and placing his hand in yours. His skin is even colder than usual and slightly damp to the touch, and you couldn’t be less put off, or give less of a fuck about the messy state of him right now, or ever, if you’re being honest. You just want to help him, however you can.

You curl your warm fingers around his palm, wanting to pull him into a hug so badly but restraining yourself, letting him call the shots.

“You’re okay now, Star. You’re safe right now, here with me. We’re safe.”

He’s quiet for another long moment as he shuts his eyes tight, taking in your words. His other fist unfurls, and his body trembles almost imperceptibly.

“I… I’m sorry… I’m sorry…”

Your heart breaks.

“Honey, you have nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all, I promise you.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, his voice an insistent whisper.

“I shouldn’t be doing this.”

Your shoulders drop from where they’d been tensely held up, body slumping with a silent sigh as you watch him still try to hold this wall up between the two of you. You’d made it past a number of his walls already, but this one… this one you’ve yet to be granted access behind.

“It’s okay to cry, you know?”

Another shake of his head, this time with far more force behind it, almost vehement.

“No.”

You soften your voice, insisting.

“Yes. It is. You can cry now, Astarion. No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna judge you. I swear on my life, that’s the truth.”

His breaths become more labored, uneven and shaking.

“You aren’t his anymore. The old rules don’t apply. You can let it out, now. No one, and I mean no one, is going to punish you for it.”

His eyes pinch closed and his head shakes hard side to side, like he’s fighting his own mind, and his hand opens and closes like it wants to grab onto something. He then moves, wrapping his free hand around your arm and suddenly you’re being pulled toward him, desperately, insistently.

You follow the motion as he continues to tug at you, first leaning forward and propping yourself up with your other hand on the ground as he continues to pull you closer. You quickly gather what he wants as he lets go of your hand in favor of latching onto your other arm, pulling you upward, choking back tears all the while.

You raise up on your knees and his hands move once again to hook beneath your arms as you allow yourself to be pulled up onto his lap with physical strength you keep forgetting he possesses. Hooking your legs around his waist, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him into you. His arms wrap tightly around your waist and he buries his face into the fabric of your shirt at the collar, muffling the soft sound of his crying which has now turned to full-blown sobs.

He’s still shockingly quiet in spite of it all, and you imagine it’s a mixture of being unable to let go of what’s ingrained into him, and not wanting to alert the entire camp to his current breakdown.

Your thumbs stroke up and down in place on his back, not wanting to let go of your hold on him but still wanting to give him some sort of comforting motion to focus on. Besides, you figure petting across the entire expanse of his scarred back might do the opposite of calming him down, so you refrain and keep your arms wrapped firmly around him. Turning your head down toward his, you whisper to him in between soft kisses to his temple.

“That’s it, love. Let it out.”

“You’re safe now, Astarion, I swear.”

“There’s nothing wrong with this.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“You have every right to cry. No one ever should’ve taken that away from you.”

He grips you even tighter as you shower him with painfully unfamiliar affection and acceptance, comfort unlike anything he’s ever felt before in his horribly long life. His forehead presses against your right shoulder as his crying slows, trying to ground himself and catch his breath. You make a point of holding him securely against you, breathing slow and deep to give him an example to follow.

You catch movement in your periphery and glance over at Karlach as she quietly sits up and makes a series of silent lip movements and hand gestures that you don’t entirely grasp. You work them out to mean that she’s gonna take over watch for the rest of the night, and you can rest with Astarion. You send her a grateful look and mouth a “thank you,” to which she waves you off with what you think you read as a silent “don’t mention it” on her lips.

After a short while spent focused on slowing down his breath and bringing him fully out of his memories and back here with you, you whisper quiet words in his ear.

“Your work is done, Astarion. You can rest now.”

You mean it in both possible interpretations of the words, and he seems to understand that, his body finally relaxing against yours for the first time tonight.

“You wanna lie down with me, love?”

He seems like he almost nods, but stops himself, whispering back in an exhausted voice, scratchy and thick from crying.

“Someone has to keep watch.”

You hesitate to inform him that Karlach has already taken over that role for tonight, sure that he’d get no sleep at all if he knew she’d witnessed this. You know you’re gonna be awake watching over him for the rest of the night anyways, so instead, you offer a compromise.

“I can hold you and keep watch at the same time, love. Just… let me sit and you can lay against me.”

He gives the suggestion a moment of thought before nodding his head, reluctantly loosening his hold on you. You maneuver the both of you carefully so as to avoid allowing his tired eyes to catch sight of your obviously awake companion sitting behind him.

It isn’t much of a task considering his eyes are halfway closed already, his only remaining focus locked on you. You settle down at the head of his bedroll, guiding him to lie down and bringing his head to rest in the center of your lap.

Your hands take turns gently combing fingers through his white curls, and you feel his tense shoulders begin to relax at the feeling. You bring a thumb down and gently stroke over the lines creasing his brow, quietly encouraging him to release the tension he likely doesn’t realize he’s holding. You watch him pull in a deep, albeit still slightly unsteady breath, and you can practically feel the relief that washes over him when he exhales.

Words aren’t necessary between the two of you at this point, not in this moment, but you offer him a few anyways, hoping they’ll resonate in his tired mind as he slips into sleep.

“You’re safe here, Star. Rest easy.”

A/N: Like I said in the CWs, I haven't played the game for myself (yet!) so I only know what I've seen in the hours of (mostly Astarion-focused) scenes I've watched on YT. As a result, this might have read a bit funny if I've gotten certain details wrong. For instance- I have no idea how resting at the camp actually goes, whether or not someone keeps watch all night, etc. Also I'm not sure if Astarion even needs to actually sleep or if he meditates/falls into a trance and just calls it sleep, but for the sake of simplicity, (and me being clueless,) when I say he falls into sleep just assume he's doing whatever he'd normally do to rest. On a different note- this little fic was inspired by a combination of two things. The lovely art and additional commentary on this post, by @velnna , and also by me listening to Midnight Hour by Sierra Eagleson on loop for like, an hour, and daydreaming up this specific scene before proceeding to write it out. It is a beautiful song that is now the title and theme-song for this fic, and I encourage you to go give it a listen if you haven't heard it already. Header Image Source: x

[selineram3421]

*lies awake at night and has an idea*

[Its 4 a.m. by the way.]

Other Worldly

Prologue

Alastor X Shy Reader

(Oneshot turned short story)

Warnings? ⚠

⚠ selectively mute reader, mentions of death-drowning, shaking head = no, signing-ASL ⚠

They were an oddity.

How could such a meek and bashful thing like them end up in this fiery inferno.

Alastor watched from the bar as they bumped into the check-in counter and squeaked before getting off balance and falling.

Clumsy, jumpy, barely making a sound other than some odd squeaks.

Yes, they were quite the wonder.

An entertaining one.

❇

You were somewhat new to Hell. At least two weeks in.

There was an accident where you worked in the aquarium and well..you kinda caused a mass drowning? It sounds impossible but it happened.

It was very challenging to get up after your fall, but you managed and wound up at the hotel.

With the help of the Princess, you were able to figure out what kind of demon you are. It came with pros but it also came with cons. One con being that you couldn't speak unless you wanted to hypnotize someone.

It made you a little sad, but also relieved. You didn't do well around others, too shy to speak up or get involved with anything that put you in the spotlight.

Maybe it was for the best.

There would be one thing you wouldn't give up though.

❇

Alastor was in the hotel's library.

There wasn't a whole lot of demons coming into this room, especially after some guests saw him walk in here a few times.

It didn't matter. At least there were multiple things that could entertain him. A small music room with instruments, projectors in another with film reels and other types of tapes, and the most dazzling room of all was the astronomy room.

The Princess made sure to have this room's dome ceiling painted with an accurate mural of the Earth's night sky.

Deciding to mess with the trinkets on the shelves, the demon in red walked towards the back of the room and glanced at the star charts. Tapping at some of the books and measuring tools on the desk nearby before sitting down on a chair.

No one ventured this far into the library. He was probably the only demon who knew of this room's existence.

And then he heard something.

Someone had entered the room.

Turning around and looking between the shelves, Alastor spots the timid demon that he enjoys flustering so much near the armillary sphere in the middle.

A little spook wouldn't be too bad.

He thought with a small grin, starting to summon up a shadow creature. However both dissipated when there was a note sung into the air.

"Let's go in the garden

You'll find something waiting

Right there where you left it lying upside down

When you finally find it, you'll see how its faded

The underside is lighter when you turn it around "

The Radio Demon sat there, mouth agape as they sang.

"Everything stays right where you left it

Everything stays

But it still changes

Ever so slightly, daily and nightly

In little ways, when everything stays "

Like a siren- a water sprite? A nymph? It was hard to pinpoint what he could compare their voice to.

It was other worldly.

Their voice echoed due to the room's acoustics.

He didn't notice that he had gotten out of the chair, didn't notice he was making his way towards them, didn't notice when they stopped singing until they gasped.

Blinking out of his trance, he found them facing him and covering their mouth with their hands. A panicked look in their eyes.

"You stopped.", Alastor spoke up. "Why not finish?"

They shook their head quickly and backed away.

Before he could say something else, they moved their arms down, one made into a fist on their chest and moving in a circle clockwise. Then they ran out. (Sorry)

He stood there for a while, his smile widening. Maybe there was more to them than he thought.

How interesting~

I'm still on break but I couldn't help myself with this one. 🐚 (Old note)

~Seline, the person.

Part 1

.

Alastor ML I🎙 | ChL OW🦀

[concreteburialplot]

Delicate Beginning Rush

pairing: nicholas ruffilo x fem!reader

masterlist: here | crossposted; ao3 | word count: 4.8k

warnings: alcohol, fluff??? who am i ????¿, shy nerdy nicholas, awkward fumbling drunk sex, oral (f receiving), mutual masturbation, nick has a big massive fat-, cum play ??, subby nick if you squint, reader doesn’t know anything about star wars / pop culture ? lol, au; college omens, 18+ MDNI

summary; your friend drags you to a house party you never wanted to be at but end up being grateful when a cute shy boy changes the course of your night

a/n: this is a work of fiction, don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

Around you rages a random college house party that your roommate dragged you to. The house itself was huge and almost dollhouse-like. You weren’t sure who’s party it was or who all lived there, all you did know was that your friend was on a mission. You’ve met the group of boys your friend was interested in a couple times. She’s been trying to get with one… or two of them? You aren’t quite sure anymore. But they were some boys from your English class that happened to be in a band – at least that’s what you’d gathered with various random study dates with them. They were chill, but you could tell that they were mostly interested in your roommate. At least that’s what it seemed like, with the way they’d usually only pay mind to her while you’d be working on assignments.

But now, you sit on the kitchen counter of this giant house with a raven-haired tattooed boy standing between your legs. You both are tipsy, giggly messes.

Your hands intertwined with his and playfully sway back and forth at his sides; the warm alcohol running through your veins makes you both more touchy-feely than normal. The drink coats your body in a tingly warmth.

“How come I didn’t know you were so funny huh?” You nudge his shoulder with the right set of your connected hands. Your fingers slip from the hold and brings the plastic cup full of neon blue to your lips. You take a sip looking up at him through glassy eyes over the white ridge of the cup. The sickeningly sweet beverage burns your throat with at least 3 different liquors mixed.

His tan cheeks are tinted peachy pink from the alcohol and a sweet smile tugs at his lips. “I don’t know.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his own drink. “I don’t really talk much I guess.”

Which was true. Now thinking about it, in all your group hangouts he was mostly silent, only speaking when spoken to. The other three boys were loud and quite talkative. Especially the two your roommate was pining after, both with long hair and one with an accent. It really depended on the day which she was leaning towards more. Tonight, it was Jolly, the one with the accent.

“Yeah, I noticed that.” You say softly, “But you seem much more talkative now with some of…” You hold up the horrid concoction you were given, “Whatever this is.”

He smiles, “Yeah, I guess it helps me out of my shell a little.”

It seemed to help him out of his shell a lot, with him talking to you for the past hour and making you laugh harder than you had in a while. You barely even knew what his voice sounded like before tonight. But you found that you really enjoyed it, it was deep and raspy but upticks when he’s excited about something. It swirls a flurry of butterflies in your tummy that you write off as just the alcohol’s doing.

“Well, I quite like you out of your shell Nicholas.” You beam sitting up. One arm wrapping around your own midsection and the other feeding more sips of drink to your mouth. You find the edges of your lips curling at how the blue liquid tinted the inside of his lips. You wonder if the stain on his mouth tastes just as sweet as the drink.

A blush coats his cheeks, and his eyes fall to his cup, “Oh, you can call me Nick.”

“Alright, Nick.” You grin and take the last sip of your drink. “You know it’s awfully loud in here.” You use a tried-and-true line.

“Oh, well, we could um,” He knocks back the last of his own drink. “We could go up to my room?” He offers kindly.

Hook.

Line.

Sinker.

“Sure, I think that’s a great idea.”

You hop off the counter and he takes your hand, weaving you through the crowded party and up the stairs. He pulls you into his room, the second door to the right. The room was cleaner and more decorated than you’d expect from a random college boy.

Your eyes wander across the shelves of figurines, books, and posters on the walls. It was all quite… “nerdy”, the only thing you could really recognize was Star Wars while the rest just seemed like miscellaneous anime memorabilia. It didn’t make it any less pretty or interesting, quite the opposite, you were awestruck.

Another wall was covered in framed records that hung above a bookshelf filled with vinyls and topped with a record player. Your gaze flows down to where propped guitars litter the floor.

“It’s lame I know.” He scratches the back of his neck with a subtle embarrassment on his face.

The mandatory college boy light strips around the room were set to purple and moving the light in a pattern – alternating between blocks of bright violent and dim violet. Your eyes followed the blocks as they trailed along the ceiling. The light strips and a warm yellow lamp on his night were the only sources of illumination.  

“No, no.” Your eyes finally land on Nick again. “I think it’s really cool.”

He chuckles and shakes his head, “No, it’s definitely not that.”

“Most boys’ rooms are bare with a mattress on the floor. Your room is so full of personality… and you have a bed frame.” You laugh. “It’s cool. I promise.”

The more you looked at his personality-filled room, the more you wondered how he kept all of this contained. You would’ve never guessed this is what his room would look like. But you sure were happy you were found out.

“Well, I’m glad you think so.” He says and sort of shifts on his heels. He picks up some random fidget toy and begins playing with it, it’s obvious he’s a little nervous.

You carefully sat on the bed, making sure not to disrupt the nicely made sheets.

“I don’t know anything about that stuff.” You say naively. You’ve been around enough nerdy boys to know that always gets them going.

“Of what? Star Wars?” His glassy eyes grow wide and shocked.

You giggle at his reaction, “Yeah, any of it really. Like all this stuff in here. Except the music, obviously.”

“No way.” He scoffs. “There’s no way you’ve never even seen one Star Wars movie?”

“Nope.” You lift your shoulders to a shrug, “But I’m sure you’re about to tell me about it.”

“Well, I mean, it’s only my civil duty to inform you about them.” The edge of his mouth pulls into a playful grin.

You bite down on your lip to stifle another liquor-soaked giggle. “Alright. Well, let’s hear it then.”

The way the corners of his lips curl directly into his cheekbones is so adorable you don’t even mind that he’s derailed your mission of hooking up.  You pull yourself further back into his bed making room for him.

“Okay, so.” He says excitedly with an uptick in his voice and scrambles to sit next to you on the bed. He takes an inhale before beginning to speak, almost like he doesn’t even know where to start.

Even though you were originally in this for something completely different, now you don’t mind just sitting here and listening to him excitedly talk about … whatever he’s talking about.

You let him drunkenly ramble without interrupting him, nodding at any points he was making. He lost you fairly early on, when he started to explain how the movies are chronologically not in order or something along those lines. But that didn’t stop you from just listening to him speak or admire how animated he got with his hands while explaining things.

He was just so cute – the way when he smiled, really smiled, it lit up his whole face. This smile reached his eyes, lighting them up with so much life. This was the first time you really noticed his eyes, with the purple lights reflecting in them you couldn’t even tell what color they truly were – they looked grey, then blue, then green all at once. When you were really lost in them is when he caught you.

He reeled his arms back to his body, giving you a little embarrassed smile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to talk so much.” His gaze fell before bashfully meeting you again.

“No, no, no.” You quickly answer, immediately feeling guilty for not paying enough attention. “I liked listening to you.”

“Oh, you don’t gotta say that.” A light pink coats his cheeks before his eyes fall to his fiddling fingers. “I’m used to it. Most people don’t tend to listen to me anyway.”

Your chest twists at the thought of anyone ever making him feel unheard or ignored.

“Hey, no.” You reach between you and grab his wrist, then meet his eyes. “I was listening to you. I really like hearing you talk. Okay? You can keep going if you want.”

He blushes a little more and gives a small nod. “Okay.”

He continues on some tangent he left hanging, and you return to your place with your chin on your palm supported by an elbow to your knee.

You didn’t lie, you really do like listening to him – you said nothing about understanding anything he said. Especially with how fuzzy your head is right now, you don’t understand a single word he’s saying. All you can pay attention to is the smooth waves of his cadence and his adorable mannerisms.

He pauses and chuckles nervously, “What? Did I lose you again?”

The edges of your lips curl up, and you shake your head.

“No.” You hum and press your lips together as you reach up to tuck some hair behind his ear. “I’m just wondering if you tell every girl you bring up here about Star Wars.” You giggle.

He nearly scoffs at even the idea. “No, definitely not.” He reaches up to scratch his arm “Mostly because I never really bring anyone up here. I usually stay here during their parties. They’re not really my thing.” He shrugs and fidgets with his thumbs as he speaks, transfixed on them while occasionally looking up to meet your eyes. “I don’t really like the loud music, or the people… or the alcohol usually. Really none of it is for me.”

“Well, I’m really glad you were down there tonight.” You smile sweetly, just admiring how pretty and delicate he is. You move your hand just a bit forward so that the tips of your fingers interlace with his and lean towards him.

A shy grin spreads across his lips, “Yeah me too.” He replies softly while matching your actions and moving closer to you. His eyes dart from your eyes to your lips and you can’t help but mirror it. His lips were perfect and plump and all you wanted to do was be on them.

From all the pieces of him you’ve gathered tonight, it’s easy to assume that he’s probably pretty anxious and can’t read social cues that well. So, you decide to spell it out for him.

“I want you to kiss me, Nick.” You breathe into the gap between your lips.

He gives you a quick but urgent nod before softly crashing his lips into yours.

The kiss ignites sparks all over your body, firecrackers exploding within each cell. Your hand finds his cheek to pull him in closer. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip asking for entrance and you oblige without a second thought.

His tongue hesitantly flicks at yours which begins a playful dance between them. It’s not rough or dominance-seeking, it’s needy and soft.

You tangle both hands into his long long locks and lean back on his bed, pulling him on top of you between your legs without ever breaking the kiss.

He’s so gentle with you. His hands stationed at each end of your body, one soft on your face and the other resting tenderly on your side. His tongue was skillful but mellow, just enjoying the kiss with you. It’s not often a guy wants to take his time and not rush, but he didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he was setting the pace.

It’s exciting and delicious all at once.

Your hand meets his face to bring him even closer before reaching up and tangling your fingers into his dark hair again. His scent fills your nostrils and it’s something woodsy and… spicy? Sweet, but peppery. The smell of his cologne goes straight down between your legs and worsens the throbbing there.

You continue the lazy kissing but take the lead again and slowly guide his hand to your tit, letting him know that it’s okay to touch you. He doesn’t need much convincing; his hand begins needing the soft tissue of your breast over thin t-shirt fabric. His fingertips lightly pinch your pebbled nipple. You can’t help but let out a tiny whine into his mouth.

You’re reminded of just how drunk you are when your numbed fingertips trail down his shirt to his belt and fumble with it. You struggle with the button and the zipper, but you finally reach his hardening cock. He lets out a small groan once you start palming him over his boxers. While you can’t even see it, you can tell it’s big – which surprises you, especially with his shy demeanor and the tight-ass pants he usually wears.

He follows suit, letting his hand trail down your side until it’s between your thighs beneath your skirt, running a finger between your panty-covered lips. You moan into the kiss; you need him like air – more than just his finger over cotton.

Since he seems to base his actions and pace on yours, probably out of courtesy to make sure he’s not crossing any lines, you dip your hand past the wide band of his boxer briefs. His cock is thick and heavy in your hand as you begin pumping him within his boxers.

It works, he dips into your panties and lets his fingers explore you. He rounds your clit nearly causing your entire body to convulse. Then he slowly brings them down to your entrance which makes you immediately roll your hips up towards his hand – your core aching to have something, anything inside you. A louder moan escapes once you feel two fingers slip inside you.

You pump his large member in your hand, and you can feel his pulse in it. The walls around his fingers tighten once he starts rutting into your fist – he needs you just as badly. You break the kiss, and your chests rise and fall rapidly together. He doesn’t pull away, instead, he presses his forehead against yours.

“Jesus fucking christ you’re so fucking big.” You breathe out heavily between you two.

Pink flushes across his cheeks in the cutest way. “Thanks.” He replies shortly almost as if he’s ashamed to receive the compliment.

Your brows knit together and your head tilts to the side. “What’s wrong? I’m sorry if I-”

“No, no, it’s not that it’s just…” He presses his lips together for a moment. “It’s big.”

You chuckle, “I mean yeah, every guy says that right?”

“It’s just… I just don’t wanna hurt you.” He says sheepishly. “If you want to go further that is, of course.”

You watch him with a skeptical gaze trying to analyze his features to see if he’s joking but, he seems serious. Of course, he feels big in your hand, but you don’t have a full gauge of it – you can’t see it. Surely it can’t be that big. He’s probably just exaggerating. Regardless, you find it endearing that he’s so concerned about hurting you.

“I’m sure it’s fine.” You wave off the conversation because you enthusiastically want to get back to the journey you were on before.

His lips urgently find yours again and his fingers continue their plight inside you – two curling right into your sweet spot and his thumb rolling small circles into your swollen clit. You’re grateful for the loud party downstairs that masks some of the noises you’re making.

Your hand works on him at the same pace as his fingers do on you. Deep groans rumble in his chest and in the back of his throat.

Breathlessly, you pull from the kiss looking up at him like he’s a glass of water after a trek through the desert. “Fuck- I” A moan slips from you. “Fuck I need you. I need your cock.”

“Are you sure?” He asks and pulls away, “Because I–“

The pulsing in your core outweighs your patience and you hastily tug down his pants, letting his cock spring out fully.

Your eyes widen at his size. He wasn’t joking - he’s fucking massive. So massive in fact that it almost terrifies you and makes you question if it could even fit inside you. It’s almost as long as your arm and thicker than a can of RedBull.

Nick must’ve picked up on your fear because his cheeks grow rosy in embarrassment. “See. I told you.” He says dishearteningly. “It’s okay if you don’t want to try, I really understand. Just let me eat you instead?”

You blink at him, somewhat taken aback by the whole situation. As much as you wanted to try – and you really wanted to try, the worry of you both being too drunk to properly prep you was imminent and you really didn’t want to risk him hurting you.

“Okay…” You agree timidly. “Sure.”

He smiles seeming happy to just be able to make you feel good regardless. His lips meet yours again and repeat the same soft dance as earlier for a moment before beginning to pepper kisses down your body. First, your neck, giving you open-mouth kisses with an occasional suck. Then, down your torso and tummy until he’s finally between your legs. He swiftly slips your panties off.

His inked fingers help to spread you open, using your own arousal to easily slide between your lips.

“So pretty.” He mumbles before diving in causing an abrupt whine from you at the sudden stimulation.

His lips and tongue work as delicately and meticulously between your folds as they did with your mouth. You could swear his tongue was made of some sort of magic from how good he was making you feel already. His tongue was masterful in how it would flatten and then curve around your swollen clit.

You peer down at him at work, and he was so beautiful, eating you like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. He must’ve felt your gaze on him because he looks up at you with lustful but sweet green-grey eyes. They make your breath hitch in your throat.

It was artistic how he’d move his tongue up and down in swirly wavy patterns serving you a perfect rhythm of stimulation then rest then repeat. Not too fast, not too slow, not too hard, not too light. His tongue was immaculate.

“Fuck Nick,” You groan, letting your head fall harshly back on the pillow and your hand dives into his hair again. “Fuck don’t stop, that feels so fucking good- Fuck.”

The knot in your tummy grew more with each twist of his tongue and when he started incorporating his fingers again, hitting just the right spot, you knew you were done for.

“God, fuck!” You moan out loudly, tugging at his roots and rutting your hips up into his mouth. The knot threatening to snap at any given flick of his tongue. “Fuck, fuck, Nick, fuck I’m gonna cum!”

He speeds his pace up ever so slightly, not enough to ruin your ride but just enough to push you over the edge. He even lets out a moan against your cunt letting you know that really fucking likes the way you’re reacting to him.

Your grip on his hair is tight and probably painful but the screams that leave your throat distract you from staying gentle. Your legs clamp around his head and your back arches from the bed as you release fully onto him. He groans deeply against you again, seemingly even more turned on than before.

He doesn’t stop, no matter how tight your legs suffocate him or how hard you pull at his hair. He doesn’t stop for a second. His speed is perfect, enough to keep you going but not enough to overstimulate you. He keeps you riding a delicate tightrope, stretching your climax out as far as he can.

Your tummy fills with rampant butterflies and a buzzing spreads across your skin as he gently carries you into another orgasm. Pleasure crashes into you like a tidal wave to shore. Every inch of your body reacts to him, bending to his skillful craft.

Screams erupt from the base of your throat, your body not able to contain the rush of euphoria that he’s sent you into. Your hips rut up into his mouth and your walls spasm around his fingers but he keeps his actions steady and consistent. His fingers curl and thrust into you harmoniously with his tongue, letting you ride out your high on his face.

You pat his head a bit to indicate you were done. He looks up at you so happy, so grateful to serve you. His eyes are bright and full of pride that he was able to make you feel that good.

He pulls away, revealing him working his still-hard cock in his hand. Watching him move his fist up and down his veiny shaft and roll around his head has you buzzing again. He slips his fingers from you and replaces his working hand with the one covered in your juices, using your orgasm as lubricant.

“Fuck.” He mumbles, his eyes still fixated on your dripping cunt.

Your hand slithers down between your legs and use two fingers to spread yourself open for him. His tongue swipes between his lips as you begin playing with yourself – dipping into your entrance to gather some arousal to bring up to your pulsing clit.

You bite down on your bottom lip while his hand speeds up on his member, the sight of it turning you on beyond belief – especially since he was using your slick to work himself. He pumps his member faster and faster, his chest heaving accordingly. You’re both transfixed on each other’s actions, just getting off at the sight of the other fucking themselves.

The head of his cock is so swollen and dark red and leaking precum. It’s massive and could probably fill your entire mouth if you were to suck him off. His hand grows erratic and sloppy as his other keeps him propped up on the bed.  

You feel a 3rd climax creeping up on you, filling your bud with nerves begging for relief again. Your free hand slides up your torso to squeeze your breast, watching him start to unravel. Your fingers work precise circles around your nub, occasionally moving down into your entrance. You never knew how powerful it could feel watching a man get off on just the sight of you. You loved the way his eyes tracked your fingers, how they’d widen if you spread your folds for him, how his hand would speed up if you fucked yourself.

“F-fuck.” He mutters, letting himself rest down on his elbow. “Ah-uh- fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

He quickly lifts his shirt to reveal his tummy just before milky white ribbons decorate the tattoos there. His eyes flutter close, and his head lulls back as he works every bit of cum out of himself. His lips part slightly, letting delicious groans and whimpers pour from his mouth.

Thankfully, you’re just as close and his moans along with the sight of him coating himself in cum push you over the edge. Flashing white blinds your sight and your thighs clamp around your hand. Your fingers don’t stop moving until his hand does.

You ride out your highs together before your bodies relax back into the bed. You lay there breathless beside him, your chests rising and falling rhythmically. He hadn’t even fucked you but that was still some of the hottest sex you’d ever had. God, his tongue was nothing short of magical.

The silence between you both is awkward but endearing, unfamiliar but delicate. Your tummy fills with fluttering butterflies just at his proximity. Finding a guy who made you feel like this was the last thing you expected to happen tonight.

A chill from the air conditioning reminds you that you’re still bare from the waist down. Strawberry pink flushes your cheeks as you lower your skirt back down. He follows suit and tucks himself back into his boxers.

You nervously chuckle and go to speak but he starts at the same time as you. The blush on your cheek only worsens.

“Oh sorry I-“ You both fumble over each other’s words again.

“You go.” He offers.

“No, no you go.” You reply, motioning for him to speak.

He chuckles with his eyes adverting yours. “Um, sorry if – if, you didn’t want, erm, this.” Referencing his jerking off.

“No – no it was –“

“You just – you sounded so pretty.” He blurts out. “And you tasted so good… I just, got worked up.” His cheeks and the tip of his nose coated in a deep pink. “Sorry.”

You try to keep yourself from smiling too big because you find his embarrassment so cute.

“It’s okay. I liked it.” You reassure, and for some reason, it tints your cheeks too.

“You did?” He asks almost shocked.

“Mhm.” You reply, digging your teeth into your lip and nod. You liked it more than wanted to admit. “A lot.”

“Okay.” He nods bashfully. “I, um, I’m gonna clean up now. Can I get you anything?”

“Hmm, maybe a water when you’re done?”

“Okay.” He sits up a bit. “Um, do you mind just kind of, looking away?”

Your eyes furrow and your head tilts at him in confusion but you comply. “Sure.” You cover your eyes with your hands. “Why am I looking away?” You question, seeing as you just saw a lot of him.

He shifts in the bed, and you hear him slip his shirt off, probably to use it to clean up his mess.

“I don’t know. I just don’t like to be shirtless around people, I guess.” He answers shyly.

“Oh, I’m sure you look good!”

“No.” He scoffs adamantly, “Definitely not.”

“I don’t believe you.” You hum, wiggling a bit while still covering your eyes. “But I’ll take your word for… for now.”

You sense him get off the bed and open some drawers. After a few moments, he lets you know it’s okay to look again. You open your eyes to see that he’s changed into a graphic tee and a pair of shorts that have some kind of wolf design on them. He somehow looks even better than before.

He returns with two bottles of water, one for you and one for him. He shuts the bedroom door so gently like he’s trying not to wake anyone, as if there isn’t a raging party downstairs. He hands you a water bottle before he cracks his own open and takes a gulp.

“Thanks.” You say with a small smile. As you steal your first sip, you take note of his shirt. “Deft-tones?” You sound out the word trying to make out what it means. “Is that a band or something?”

The look that washes over his face as he’s drinking is pure shock and confusion. You may as well have told him you didn’t know who Mickey Mouse was. He abruptly pulls the bottle from his lips with furrowed brows, “You’ve never heard of Deftones?”

You press your lips together and shake your head, “Nope.”

“You’ve never watched Star Wars and you’ve never listened to Deftones? What rock have you been hiding under?” He teases.

“I don’t know, a heavy one I guess.” You giggle and give him a shrug.

“Oh man. If I wasn’t still so drunk right now, I’d play you something.” He laughs and sits on the bed beside you. “But anything I play right now is gonna sound like ass.”

“Oh, I highly doubt that.” You smirk and shake your head. You hadn’t heard his band play, but judging by how skilled his fingers were, he had to be good.

“No, no. It’s true. But you’ve gotta let me play something for you sometime.” His grin begins wide then shortens. “If you want that is.”

Right then, you couldn’t imagine anything you wanted more.

“I’d love that.”

tag list; i don't currently have a general tag list for all my fics so if you'd like to be added to that pls lmk!

a/n; thank you for reading if you did! i'm not that good at writing smut so sorry if it wasn't that great! i really enjoyed writing this one bc was just so fluffy and awkward and sweet, which is so different than anything else that i normally ever write LOL

Thank you for any support you guys ever give me on any of my works, it truly means the world to me that you guys enjoy my words and lil plots.

let me know if you liked it! i love hearing your thoughts 🩷

[yappyappyapp]

babe, only you.

jack hughes x reader

to feed my jack obsession recently, here’s a bit of angst and fluff (no mature content). please, enjoy.

also: there’s no proofread, so..

—————————

you found yourself always wondering; “am i good enough for him?”, “do i deserve him?”. comments had been lashed out earlier this evening to darken those already eerie thoughts that you fought so hard to not reside with. a long, long stay.

jack came into the room, that was the man that’s ‘in love with you’. those thoughts slashed at your mind little cuts kept wracking your head. the trance you were in was broken by your lovers lips lovingly placed onto your head, and you felt the couch slightly dip when he sat down beside you. his arm snaked around your shoulders and pulled you close to him, your head lying on his shoulder.

no one questioned if he did enough in this relationship. no one made snarky comments on how he was so quiet, how he looked like he never put enough effort into how he showed his love, but they did to you. and it was torture trying to hit those thoughts out of your brain. every single one of those comments lingered for longer and longer each time someone made another.

“what’s wrong?”

his soft voice lingered in the room as he ran his calloused hands up and down your arm. the television was playing in the background, an old re-run of big bang theory, muted, but with subtitles.

“jack, it’s just,” you started, why couldn’t you form words. a pang in your heart stung against your chest. “i don’t deserve you.” you whispered, he froze, eyes straying from the tv and to your slumped form against him.

“what makes you think that?” he murmured, his blue eyes connected with your glossy (e/c) ones.

“i- im not good enough-“ you were cut off by a sweet kiss to the lips. “don’t talk like that. i don’t care if your quiet, i don’t care what people say about our relationship, (y/n)!” he exclaimed. “people don’t know you, and how lucky i am to actually know and to be with you. i thank anyone in the skies above that they let me hold your hands. you are everything, my universe, my world. don’t let people tear into you.”

he rubbed his hands up and down your spine as you sobbed painfully into his chest, dampening his shirt.

the thoughts were still there, but at least you had someone to guide you along this long and winding road.

“i love you.”

[sugoi-writes]

Reader being so excited to go on a lil Date with Alastor, having learned little tidbits in French to woo him... But there are tricky things called double entendre!

(went with 'cher' when referring to one another... Is there a gender neutral alternative to cher/chérie? Asking for an Enby ;;-;;) Short snack below!

On your little walk together, you couldn't help yourself. As you head towards a little diner, you grasp Alastor's arm tightly, saying,"Je suis excité, cher!" in the sweetest, most bubbly tone. Only now, Alastor's face was painted a deep, beet red. When you pester him, he keeps brushing you off, trying not to laugh.

When the both of you finally settle in a booth inside, with your respective drinks, you feel giddy all over again. Quickly, you say that you're excited again (you think) in French. Alastor just grabs your hand, trying not to stare too intently. And teasingly, he drawls out, eyelids lowered," Ouiii~?"

You happily agree, just as food arrives. As your date at the diner goes off without a hitch, you still have NO idea why Alastor seems to be holding back laughs. Was it your accent? Was it the way you spoke? Surely, you practiced your French well enough to get it right!

But regardless of your racing thoughts, you both have a great time, not a care in the world! Maybe your French practice seemed to pay off after all...

❤️

On the way to the next location, you feel a little warm, shuddering beside Alastor. You start to take off your jacket, sighing in relief. While giving him a casual side glance, you say," Ugggh, Alastor, je suis chaud! Aren't you?"

And then, not a moment later, the two of you are teleported via shadows into an alleyway. Alastor simply clicks his tongue at you, hands on his hips. You're left very confused when Alastor pins you against the wall, gently pressing you against the cool brick building.

"You have no idea what you're saying to me, do you?" Alastor teases, his eyes never once leaving yours.

Still oblivious, you repeat yourself," Je suis chaud! Chaud!! I'm hot, Alastor!"

A kiss to your cheek, before a nip is placed at your jawline," Dear, that would be J'ai chaud... You said that you were... 'hot'; bothered..."

Alastor can only grin as he keeps kissing down your neck, reveling in your squirming," That's not what I meant! Honestly-- Ahh! Alastor--!!!"

Alastor places a deep kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder, suckling to elicit a moan. When he's successful, he pulls off of you with a wet 'pop'. He glances over your pestering, continuing his exploits.

"Je suis excité... That would mean I'm horny, cher..."

Alastor levels you with a look that could make any person cave in. A taloned hand comes to your jaw, cradling your face as you're forced to look up to him.

"So what is it then... Are you 'excited' now?" Alastor purrs, leaving your mind blank and throat dry. You sputter for a moment, unsure if an alleyway is a great place for a romp. But, it was quite rare to see Alastor worked up like this... Inadvertantly, your French did have an affect on him.

You bite your lip regardless of your thoughts, nodding feverishly,"...O...Oui..." When Alastor brings you closer, your body flush against his, his intentions are made crystal clear.

"Alors ferme tes yeux et laisse-moi t'embrasser, cher~"

Did you know what that meant? No.

Did you hope it was permission to fuck you? He didn't need it, it was already granted.

You decided to not pester him about the phrase for now, opting to use your mouth to woo Alastor in a different way...

---

Translations:

Je suis excité - I'm horny

Je suis chaud - I'm hot/horny

J'ai chaud - I'm hot (in a temperature type way)

Alors ferme tes yeux et laisse-moi t'embrasser - (loosely, thanks to Google Translate): Then close your eyes and let me kiss you.

[yayll]

Could you maybe write smth up. About literally spoiling Dazai. Because i want to sit him down on the couch and kiss his pretty fucking face and buy him everything he even glances at.!! Hold his hand on walks, take him to like roooftops to stargaze and stuff and just stare at his PRETTY AHH FACE instead. Kiss his forehead goodnight!!! Cook him stuff and cuddle him and kiss him (again)!!!!....

Im lonely and past the point of no return sorry shdkhdkfjf

HIIII there, angel! i'm so sorry this took me a bit, but umm... i kind of went insane with this concept i read your ask and i immediately just blacked out because oh do i feel the same way about this god forsaken man.. and HEAVY on the spoiling. ahh, i hope it's to your liking, and i hope it makes u feel less lonely :') it was such a pleasure to write my first request xx

~ a little something about cherishing Dazai on days he needs it the most ~

Spoiling Dazai. Now there's something you can proudly admit to being happily guilty of. You couldn't count the times you've held him for hours after a terrible day at work, or made sure he had more than just canned crab and a few bottles of Sake. You'd do anything for him to be comfortable in his own skin, and you want to make sure he knows how much you adore him... that he knows he's allowed to take up space in the world too. You're also aware that he would rather die than to ever elaborate on the vague and dismissive little comments he makes about the debilitating weight of all of his past mistakes, the ones that make him resentful and tired when it really gets to him, but that never deters you.

You've put the pieces together long enough to understand that it's not easy being Osamu Dazai, no matter what silly mask he puts on for the world. He hasn't always been a good person, an exemplary man, and you're more than well aware of that. Still, he doesn't have to be the jester who's always entertaining the masses at his own expense.

You remind him that he isn't cursed forever, that he IS worthy of flesh and blood, and when you kiss him it's like you're absolving him of all sins... you make him new again. He is utterly bewitched by you and you feel it in the way he comes up behind you and rests his chin on your shoulder, squeezing your waist just enough to let you know your warmth is the reason his own blood circulates. Or when he whispers the most silliest and unhinged things in your ear late at night so you'll curl up those precious lips into a smile... Just for him. He gets off on the happiness he gives you, simple as that. He already feels he doesn't deserve to hold on to such a good life, but he's nothing if not defiant, and he'll squeeze out every little bit of love within that void of a heart for as long as you'll have him.

But... Today is your turn to love him so much it actually hurts, It's what he gets for being a menace 24/7! That is why you chose to make sure he has an extra special day today, by bringing him out of his comfort zone with a... mystery date!

"Oh? And to what do I owe the pleasure of being courted by such a beautiful creature such as yourself on this fine day?"

Dazai sips on his tea, eyes narrowing as they peer at you from the teacup curiously. You flash him a cheeky grin, already plotting your mission to make him so flustered he can't even look at you later.

"I thought we could go out somewhere and spend some time outside... Since we've both been so busy lately. Wouldn't that be nice?"

He raises a brow, and gives you a knowing smile back. Dazai's freakishly omnipotent in that way, and it's one of the many reasons you can never truly know if your surprises land or not.

"Mmm, it could be. Where to, my love?"

"... It's a secret."

He then pretends something has hit his chest, and he grips it, dramatically throwing himself back onto the chair causing his tea to flop about in the teacup.

"Oh my, is today the day you finally take me out and end it all?! I don't know if I can take the deceit, the absolute betrayal... What an occasion-"

You cut him off with your index finger as you place it right on his lips, zipped tight and his eyes burn into you, waiting for your next words. He eats this shit up.

"Shush! Let's go."

And with that, you grab your coats and zoom out and into the day. It's one of those days where It's cloudy, but the sun still peaks out just enough to send down warm rays of light. As you walk hand in hand, you see the way those very rays hit Dazai's side profile in the most devastating way.

You want to take a photo but you don't want to ruin the moment, so you quickly tip toe and peck him on the cheek, causing him to abruptly stop in his tracks. He blinks for a few seconds, still facing forward, and you swear you can see the highs of his cheeks turn red. You end up tugging him to follow you to the park, smiling to yourself in triumph as he recovers.

You walk to a quiet part, and plop yourselves down next to each other on the soft grass. Still holding hands, you rub your thumb in circles over his bandaged fingers, silently looking up at the cloudy sky. Finally, Dazai is the one to break the silence.

"Love used to always be an empty four letter word to me, but you..."

He pauses for a moment, swallowing hard as he tries to feign composure.

"... You are, by far, my greatest love, and my most beloved weakness altogether."

You were supposed to be the one to sweep him off his feet today, now your vision is blurry and you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. You slowly sit up, and look down at him, noticing that his eyes are closed. He looks like a sleeping beauty. Your chest aches, and you wonder if this is the same type of ache he lives with on the daily. You murmur, studying the way his messy bangs frame his face, and his expression unreadable.

"That's not fair, Osamu..."

"You sound so pretty when you say it like that... Osamu."

You swallow hard, and curse him in your mind for being the man that he is. For being all you've ever yearned for. You look down at your watch, and check the time, heart beating wildly.

Thump, Thump, Thump.

"... It's fifteen till 5."

"Mm, why does that matter?" Dazai purrs as he squeezes your hand, eyes still closed.

"It always matters. Any time with you matters. You matter, Osamu."

You spend the rest of the evening nuzzled into one another, whispering secrets and trying to name constellations and giggling when you can't figure them out. He lets you kiss him silly, his eyes closed the entire time while you also toy with his hair and the nape of his neck; where you smooth over the soft fabric of his bandages and his skin, giving him goosebumps. Your touch is a sensory heaven. He's dreaming of you while awake. You'll always wake him up from the nightmares, from what cannot be undone.

When it gets too cold to stay out, you head back home and cook him whatever he asks for as he rests his chin on his palm, gazing at you with those unreadable dark eyes... always thinking too much. Always somewhere else. This time, however, you could tell he was present. He would eat sewage if you poured it for him with that loving manner of yours. You finally crawl into bed together, and Dazai cradles your face in between his hands, facing you. He mumbles, so soft.. so tender. It's a tone only you get to hear.

"It really is selfish of me to think I can have this and more."

"Desire isn't bad, Osamu."

"Mm, no, I suppose not. But it's not always wise to have desire, not for someone like me. I can't afford that."

You hear the genuine ache in his voice, and you lean in to kiss his forehead, a gentle kiss that stays planted for a few seconds before you pull back.

"Do you have any idea what you're doing, love?~" He whispers, his voice a little strained as he looks at you with those eyes, those beautiful and endless orbs of cosmic proportions that are going to consume you one day. Hopefully.

"I think so. I'm being selfish."

You smile faintly, and you proceed to make sure that you end the night the way he deserves, the way you wanted to spoil him.

[eddiesghxst]

single dad!eddie who has to take his daughter to the hair salon bc his daughter wants a “pretty princess hairstyle” and refuses to let eddie do it himself. he goes to a random salon which ends up being where you work and you do his daughters hair and she absolutely loves it and begs eddie to take her back all the time so u become her hairdresser

you always offer to do eddie’s hair as well but he always just politely declines, he’s pretty content with cutting his own hair, he’s grown to be pretty good at it over the years, he thinks.

and then one day he comes in by himself and you’re like “where’s my little customer today?” and he surprises you and tells you that he’s actually here for his own haircut. you ask him what the occasion is and he says he’s going on a date. you try not to let that bother you too much because the two of you have been rather flirty with each interaction over the past few months and you’ve developed a little crush on him.

when you finish you show him and you’re like “think ur date will like it?” and eddie’s like “well idk… would you like to go on a date with me?” and y’all get where i’m going SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES

[fanf1cwh0rez]

[miss-tribbiani]

I got in too deep guys now I genuinely think (fancast ATJ) James Potter is my real boyfriend 😔😔😔someone get me therapy

[someplace-darker]

In The Static | Ted Lasso

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader (no y/n) Wordcount: 2.1k Warnings: panic attack/talks of panic attacks, vague mentions of trauma. That's about it I think, it's a touch angst and hurt/comfort I suppose. Fluff. Summary: Ted thought he was past his panic attacks until he encounters another, and you follow him to make sure he's okay. A/N: "now jay" you might be saying "wasn't the last thing you posted smut almost a year ago?" and the answer is yes. But i've recently become insanely attached to Ted Lasso, and I dipped my toe into writing more than a wip. SO here's my middle aged white man of the month. Enjoy :)

“REFEREE!!!” Keeley stands with a force that causes her to latch onto your arm to keep from falling forward. It continues to astound you that for such a tiny lady, she really contains an insane amount of spunk. One of the opposing team’s men had just slid Sam’s legs out from under himself, causing him to land hard on his shoulder. The game had been a rough one so far, more aggressive and bitter than most. Richmond had been respectful at first (as per usual) but the second their opponents had started playing violent and dirty, that changed.

Roy and Beard were obviously shouting and pointing angrily, though you couldn’t make out what they were saying from your seat in the box. Ted, however, was standing stiffly with his balled fists shoved into the pockets of his Richmond zip-up. You can feel that something is off. Even if you can’t see his face, you know him well enough to read his body language. There’s mere minutes left in the game and the teams are tied.

Rebecca is already standing and gathering her belongings to head back in, gesturing for the lot of you to follow. That’s exactly what you begin to do before the crowd goes ape-shit, jumping from their seats and screaming so loud it makes your head thrum. 

“ROJAS INTERCEPTS THE KICK AND PASSES TO TARTT AND JUST LIKE THAT-”

You turn just in time to watch Jamie kick the ball into the net, the stadium erupting in cheers that shake the ground.

“AFC RICHMOND TAKES ANOTHER VICTORY 2-1 IN A SHOCKING LAST SECOND SCORE”

Keeley, Higgins, and Rebecca rejoice, grabbing at each other in shock. Placing your fingers between your lips you let out a piercing whistle, jumping up and down as thousands of chants echo. You look down to your coaches, expecting to see all three soaking in the sweet relief of not gaining another loss. Instead, you see Ted darting for the locker room, head down with his phone held two inches from his face. It was obvious to you that he was trying to use it as a cover. 

“I’ll meet back with you guys later, I’ve gotta check something real quick.” 

They smile and wave you off, relishing in the buzzing excitement clearly felt throughout the facility. As much as you wish you could join them in celebration, you were pretty sure Ted needed you more. So you slip through the small crowds with ease, having much practice during your time with Richmond, taking the back staircase to the locker room hallway. 

At first you check his office, finding only his jacket laying on the floor. The second spot you search is the right one, opening the door to darkness. You almost turn and leave but a staggered breath gives him away. 

“Ted?” you whisper, stepping into the boot room and closing the door gently. He sniffles almost silently and hums in response, curling in on himself when the lights flicker on at your touch.. You’ve never seen him look so small before, his entire body condensed into half of his height in the corner of the room, the sight moving you to shut the lights back off for his sake.

“Hey,” you murmur softly, walking over to kneel in front of him. He has his head placed between his knees, hands on the back of head with his fingers intertwined tightly. As much as you know of his panic attacks, you’ve never been present for one. Something tells you he tends to keep it that way with everyone around him. 

However, you’re well versed with them yourself.

“I’m gonna sit beside you, but I won’t touch you unless you say it’s okay.”

You lower yourself onto the ground, the floor cold beneath your already freezing ass. England's weather was not kind to the warm blooded. Ted doesn’t lift his head all the way, simply angles it towards you just enough for an eye to peek out from behind his arm. He looks at you with the gaze of a wounded puppy, eyes red and wet, smeared with warm tears.

The silence that follows is deafening, a faint ringing the only thing you hear. Ted looks like he wants to say something, but thinks better of it. It’s not like you can blame him. The last time he opened up to someone he considered close about his panic attacks, it ended up plastered on every magazine and tabloid across the country. Trust within himself and others had been fractured- not broken. No one could ever betray Coach Lasso enough to break that within him, it was fundamental to who he was as a person.

After a few more minutes of silence his foot slides over to yours, just barely nudging it. He lifts his head and sniffles, using his sleeve to wipe the mix of tears and snot off his face.

“I want to tell you about it, I do. I’m just… stuck. Feels like if I tell you, it’ll be too much,” he murmurs, keeping his foot pressed to yours.

“I understand, Ted,” you whisper. “I started having panic attacks before I was even a teenager. I’d been through things- rough things -and they plagued me for years.” He begins to unfurl himself, listening intently to every word you say, the blatant honesty and vulnerability easing his anxiety. “It took me a while to open up to anyone about them, let alone a therapist. I spent so long trying to hide them, that when I finally did get help I felt like a fake.” 

Ted adjusts himself to sit up straighter, shimmying closer so your shoulders touch. You can tell he’s trying to be inconspicuous about it, but the man is known to be anything but subtle.  Outside you can hear the boys begin filing into the hallway, headed for the locker room surely for some type of victory activity. Their shadows dance across the wall in the darkened boot room, slashed into segments by the blinds slanted slightly open. Both of you seemed to have held your breaths as they passed, because as soon as they’re gone there’s a simultaneous exhale of relief.

An amused breath comes from Ted, palm pressing from the corner of his eye to the tip of his cheekbone to wipe away the stray tears. He knocks his knee against yours and dares to glance at you, opening up enough to make eye contact. Here in this room, he looks more human than you think you’ve ever seen him. For the most part he keeps his mood insanely optimistic, tending to care more about others happiness than his own. It gave him an almost otherworldly bounce to his step and light to his eyes. 

But now that he’s sat no more than two inches in front of you with puffy eyes and a chewed lip, Ted is just… a broken man. 

“You’ll never be too much, Ted. It’s normal to feel stuck, and it’s okay to not be able to talk about it yet.” His eyes flick to your hand when you lift it towards him, a lifeline of trust, openness in the form of warm skin and an upward facing palm. Internal conflict tugs at his lungs, his breath hitching as he weighs his options for all of five seconds before taking your hand. You are someone Ted knows he can always find solace in. 

Someone who he could spot in a crowd of thousands, someone who he will always seek out. 

His other hand reaches to pat the top of yours, rubbing his thumb against your skin in soothing circles. A shuddered breath begins to pass his lips, but he smothers it to ashes with the cool press of a kiss to your wrist. 

Humming amusedly at the feeling of his mustache tickling your skin, you lean your head on his shoulder, moving slightly as they lift with the intake of air into his lungs. “I suppose you’re right. I just feel bad that I haven’t spoken to you ‘bout it,” he tsk’s softly to himself, carefully navigating his brain for the right words. 

“I was fine out there, y’know? I’ve been doin’ better, Sharon’s helped a lot. But it just got so loud, and everything felt out of my control- out of any of our boys’ control and I- I just couldn’t breathe. Tunnel vision, boom, just like that.”

You whisper encouragements softly under your breath, murmurs of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘you can keep going’ pushing him gently in the right direction. Voices can be heard from the locker room, loud cheering and chanting from the team acting as muffled background noise for Ted’s moment of vulnerability. 

“After everything that happened with Nate, I learned to mask it a bit better I guess. That’s the fancy word Doc told me about,” the corner of his lips quirks up “I figured I’d be okay in here for a bit anyway, then you walked in.” Your brows furrow and you pull away from his shoulder, opening your mouth to apologize for intruding but he beats you to it.

“No, no, that sounded different than I meant. I am very glad that you found me here. I needed you even if I didn’t know it,” he traces the details of your face with his eyes, not stopping you when you move your head back down to his shoulder. 

“I think you’ve worked on it so much quicker than you realize, Ted. It wasn’t that long ago, yeah? Healing and improving takes time, and it’s okay that it takes time. I certainly took my time,” you muse, channeling your own therapist’s word. “But I think it’s right on par with who you are, who I know you to be, that you got on it as fast as you did. Even if it was begrudgingly at first.”

“Yeah, Doc definitely had her work cut out.”

You laugh, normally at first but then Ted snorts and you both lose it, bodies bumping against each other with the shakes that come with post-meltdown laughs. Soon enough you’re both wiping away tears of a different variety, the air in the room much lighter than before. You take that moment to push yourself up and off the floor, lending a hand to Ted to pull him up.

“I am immensely proud of you, Coach Lasso. So is the team. You have a very large family backing you up, as unorthodox as said family is.” You take one step closer, hand still holding onto his, pressed between your bodies. Taking your free hand, you hold the side of his face and lean in to kiss his cheek, thumb stroking his jaw. 

Ted presses into your lips, chasing your touch even when you turn to the door. Twisting the knob open you find Will standing there, boots tied by their laces hanging over his shoulder, hand outreached to grab the now absent handle. 

He blinks at the two of you for a second, gaze one of vague shock, before curling his lips in an embarrassed smile and stepping out of the way.

“Not a word, Will,” you sing-song when he opens his mouth, pulling Ted down the hall to stand outside of the locker room door. 

You can hear Roy in the middle of a somehow happy/angry sounding congratulation speech that only he is capable of, grinning and turning to face your Coach once more. “Now, get your butt in there and relish in the sweet taste of winning.”

“I mean, relish is pretty tasty-”

“Ted.”

“Yep,” Ted takes a deep breath and nods, squeezing your hand “you coming in with me?” 

“I don’t want to intrude on your moment, Coach.”

He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly and pushes the door open, dragging you with him. The boys’ faces light up, immediately rushing to storm him, all reaching to touch him and jumping up and down. Their team song buzzing and bouncing along with them.

“WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE, WE KNOW WE ARE, WE’RE SURE WE ARE, WE’RE RICHMOND TILL WE DIE”

You slide past the group, safely reaching Roy and Beard without your feet being stomped on. The smile on your face is one of pure joy and contentment, not faltering when Beard slides to your side, bumping your elbow. 

“Thanks,” he speaks, nodding towards Ted. It’s easy to know what he means immediately, always one to be of few words. 

“No need to thank me,” you reply easily, watching your family bond even more “it’s what we do.”

[sansxreaderbraindump]

FARMER! SANS X SHUT-IN READER HEADCANONS RANDOM HEADCANONS - FARMER! Sans does all the cooking in the house because you unfortunately, can't cook a simple meal but you are learning though. One time, you tried to make curry for him as a "thank you" meal for moving in with him. Consequently, the rice ended up being mushy and the curry turned bitter. so you ordered fast food as a gift instead. (@lylia9000) - During October, you randomly decided you wanted to dress up as a scarecrow for Halloween and began working on the costume. In addition, FARMER! sans added in a flower crown he made from agsore's garden to make the costume really "brighten up." Yet for some reason FARMER! sans had a weird "Deja Vu" feeling once he saw you in your costume, he stared long enough before you questioned him on it. "what's wrong? is there something wrong with the costume? oh god, is there a tear-" "nah hon, you look "Outstanding." "stooop." "what? not in your "field?" - Long before you guys started dating, FARMER! sans pampered you with his recently harvested vegetable's and homemade ketchup. The reason why he babied you was because when he went over your house, sans questioned how you were still living with how empty your fridge is. All this poor fridge only had was a half empty ramen noodle cup and a carton box storing leftover fast food you ordered last night. the next day when you opened your fridge, you were greeted by.. Sans's vegetables, homemade ketchup, milk, eggs, carbon boxes of cooked food, and toriel's butterscotch cinnamon pie (the full pie.. 0-0) it had a note "Butter not wheat-it all!" - toriel (Toriel joined in with sans on helping you with your fridge situation because she cares for you and is concerned for your health like a mother would.) - Staying inside your house home alone is guilt free but when it comes down with living with your "humerus" skeleton it is not very guilt free, it contains the tax of feeling like a burden. FARMER! Sans doesn't mind working on his farm alone; he done this many times and besides you done enough as cleaning the house for him. but to you it's not enough, so you went to sans and asked him if you could help him with his farm. "sosanscouldihelpyouonyourfarmnotbecause-" "ok" You kinda regretted asking to help because you were not shaped for farm work. You feel your lower back aching from all the hay dragging and rock lifting you had to do, You did ask for it though. though you struggled you were determined to work. hyping yourself with video game references in your mind fills you with determination. "THIS IS JUST STARDEW VALLEY, THIS IS JUST LIKE MINECRAFT, JUST LIKE MINECRAFT AND STARDEW VALLEY! JUST GOTTA KEEP ON WITH THE GRIND!" once you're finally done, you just flop onto the hay with a groan. your sweaty body makes you want to go to your bed but you were too tired to walk. Eventually sans comes up with a grinning smile as always, you lifted your face to greet him but he beat you to it. Sans cupped your face with his hand and rewarded you by pressing his teeth against your lips. *good job kiddo after that you considered working with him more in the future.

[b1zmuth]

You, ''Me'', and the fucking cat! | Satan X Reader

SC \\ replacement (To like the slightest degree), jealousy, angry MC, crackhead energy, whatever was that fever dream called the obey me anime, fluff, CAT!!!

Plot: You turn into a cat, and basically get replaced in some odd fashion. 

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Today was an ordinary day.

It was the same as all the other ‘’ordinary to the point it's insufferable’’ days, filled with silence and the occasional joke thrown your way, darting glances towards you and those god-awful poorly hidden whispers- basically, everyone was tiptoeing around your general presence, attempting to not set off the ticking time bomb that was a mere step in the wrong direction from going off.

Now, to give credit where it's due, you DID bring this on yourself, considering your recently declared mass ignorance streak of everyone in the House of Lamentation.. And when you said everyone, you really meant EVERYONE- even Cebererus wasn't spared from your wrath and backhanded responses.

Even then, it still didn't justify anything that the brothers had done to you yesterday- leaving you a sopping wet mess due to their shitty April Fools “joke” that left you sulking in ''your bed'' for hours on end… or well leading up until now, where you sat on top of the table in Solomon’s dorm- where the owner of said room laughed at the current absurdity of the situation, despite the glares your eyes shot at him.

You licked your paw in an unamused fashion, trying to ignore Solomon’s cackle session at your unfortunate situation.. he somehow still didn't get with the program- shutting his mouth already.

‘’Hehe, he- haha! This is just too- haaaa!- funny! Tell me the story again, please?’’ Solomon laughed like it was going to be his last, which further fueled your immense hatred for the slick bastard- your mind racing to figure out what would be the best torture method for his ass- ‘’So, before you start telling me how you got yourself into this… situMEOWation! how's life living on the short side? Y’know, as a CAT! Ha!’’

You were going to kill him one way or another that's for SURE.

‘’Meow meow meowww! Meow meow!’’ (I’ll gouge your fucking eyeballs out if you laugh one more time you shitty excuse of a cook!) you hissed at the god-awful cook who laughed even harder this time, having to compose himself before he fell off the couch- ‘’Oh, this is the funniest thing I've ever seen- it's even better when I know what you're saying! Haha!’’ ‘’meow meow!’’ (incompetent fuck!)

Solomon finally stops laughing and turns to you with an amused look on his face, his smirk being the telltale sign of his desire for the full story…

So, this whole problem started when you were in your room secretly planning a nice, luxurious retreat to Istanbul with Satan as a surprise date in your planner- Noticing Mammon who came in your room and started talking to you- ‘’Oi human! Needa’ wear something light to dinner, Lucifer says you will get your hands messy! And doncha’ keep me waiting!’’- you finished up your plans got redressed fairly quickly and started rushing down for dinner only to be met with a dark, like SERIOUSLY dark dining room and radio silence to top it off. ‘’The hell?’’ you said, turning your head in every direction in a confused manner, your eyes darting around- eventually getting used to the pitch-black darkness that consumed the room, which still didn't help much but you just shrugged it off, and shook your phone to turn on its flashlight to be met with a damn near petrifying sight- four gigantic ass spiders-looking THINGS on the roof of the dining room which also, damn near shaved off 15 years off of your lifespan, and it only got worse from there as the 4 ‘’shadows’ started jumping down from the roof… With guns???

Damn! All of that boy kissing really did come to bite you in the ass because there was no way in hell the big G was going to let you slide with YOUR record. Fuck!

‘’Well damn, this might be how I go out, to some fuckass spiders- yeah right, hell to the naw!’’ you thought before making a mad dash up the stairs, hearing the repeated thumps of feet trailing behind you, the sound of your own blood rushing past your ears, the delicious feeling of adrenaline coursing throughout your body made this whole chase a little bit fun..?

Well, it was fun up until you nearly got cornered by three more of the ‘’shadows’’, mindlessly ran into about two walls, and got some varying degrees of carpet burn from sliding across the rugged floor so many times- your screams echoing throughout the halls, NOW the situation had totally went from 0-100 real fast.

But never mind that! Where in the world were the brothers? You had JUST seen and talked to Mammon no less than five minutes ago, right? There is no way that all seven could have disappeared with a trace within a matter of mere minutes?

Well, you kept on running until you finally found a lit room… And then your legs gave out from underneath you- and you somehow slid across a. Soapy floor? What the hell?

‘’SQUUUUIIRRTING CONTESSSSSST!!!!’’ you heard multiple voices around you scream before you were blasted by multiple streams of.. ‘’Water’’, you think, and having buckets of that same ‘’water’’ being dumped all over your already sopping wet body- and then to make matters worse, the millisecond you got up you were pelted with numerous water balloons that sent you right back down for the count- with the same voices bursting out with cackles and giggles at your expense.

I mean, to give credit, your assailants finally got the memo that maybe you were dead due to drowning in some mysterious liquid, and a yellow blur pulled you up before you were pelted with MORE FUCKING WATER BALLOONS- oh yeah, you had to be fucking livid now, looking aligned to someones abandoned wet dog after all.

Oh, and livid you were! Enough to start flipping tables and chairs, turning the now revealed seven brothers into a humanized game of bowl, hanging three of them from a chandelier and giving two a swirly-whirly, leaving poor Lucifer and Satan staring at you in genuine fear and holding up their hands defensively whilst slowly walking backward- ‘’YOU!’’ You yelled, pointing a furious finger that switched between pointing at both demons before you spoke up again, your feet picking up pace and the distraught faces of both demons turning more scared with each step- ‘’I ALMOST DROWNED! MY PHONE? SHAMISLED! MY NOSTRILS? SHOT. MY HAIR THAT I SPENT AN HOUR DRYING AND FLUFFING OUT? DONE-ZOS! WHAT IN THE HELL COMPELS YOU TO DROWN SOMEONE IN WATER AFTER HELPING THEM UP?!’’ you screamed at the two before stopping dead in your tracks, just mere feet in front of them before you started having a stare-down contest with your two unwilling contestants before they nervously tried to plead the fifth with you, only to be met with a loud ‘’STAY!’’ and the loud thumps of their bodies hitting the floor.

‘’Uuuuuuuuurgh..’’ ‘’Nghuuuugh…!’’

‘’Meow meow meow meow, meow! Meooooooooow, meowww.’’ (And that's how I ended up ignoring all of those damn brothers, who almost drowns someone in.. whatever that ‘’water’’ was and then laughing when I got pelted with even MORE wate-’’ ‘’HAAAAAAAAHAAhhhheeeehe!! AHAaaa!’’ ‘’Heheeeee…. Oh uh.. continue, please..’’

So, after you eventually stormed up to your room after spamming ‘’Stay’’ on Lucifer and Satan, you tried to get somewhat dry and marched right on over to Levi’s Room, snatching up Crowe and marching right back on over to your own room before starting your devious plan; turn all of the brothers into cats of course! At least then they would be bearable to be around after the shadoozy they just put you through 15 minutes ago! What a fantastic plan! What could possibly go wrong?

‘’Crowe! I want you to turn something into a cat.’’ You said, hoping that Levi had autopay still enabled on Crowe.

‘’Hello, LEVIACHAN, what would you like to be turned into a cat?’’ Crowe responded, your giddy smile growing with the thought of the brothers getting their justified punishment, right up until you heard Satan calling your name out- ‘’Shit! Did Crowe hear that?’’

‘’Understood, autopay is enabled, beginning transaction soon.’’ You let out a loud groan, mentally cursing Satan for opening his mouth the second you decide to use something as sensitive as Crowe. Fuck!

‘’MC! Were sorry! Can we talk..please?’’ Satan yelled from somewhere downstairs, his voice getting louder- signaling his ascent up towards your room- ‘’Payment confirmed, LEVIACHAN, thank you for using Crowe’s Digital Transformation System. . . . . . A bright white flash quickly illuminates the room, both blinding you and ripping a poorly-hidden scream from your throat, before dissipating and alerting your unwanted guest. . . . As much as you loved Satan, you were SO going to kick his ass the second you got your body back, no! You were GOING to kick his ass as soon as he walked in! Wait, you could do it in the hallway too! Even better.

If only you could reach the door that was taunting you about your new, fuzzy, form.

Well, shit. Now not only were you stuck in this cat form, but your entire revenge plan also went straight out the window- I mean there wasn't jack your minuscule ass was going to be doing to a 6’1 demon who LOVED cats. You might as well just go ahead and call it quits, because this would be your unfortunate new life.

And just as you were sulking, deciding on what cat food you would have to set as your worst-case scenario- O-Great-Lord-O-Cats waltzes into your room, looking somewhat distressed as he frantically looked around for your (human) body, only for his greenish-yellow eyes falling on your adorable cat form- ‘’Oh! Where did you come from, little one? And how did you get inside?’’ Satan asked you, his large hands picking you up and holding you, one hand lifting up to pet your soft fur and eventually scratching behind your ear- but not before swiping a

‘’Never mind that, you must be hungry.. And angry at that..’’ He looked at you with a saddened face, seemingly to completely have forgotten about the very much HUMAN scream that came from your room, and that flashbang of a transformation that he had to have seen- my god, you really didn't think that Satan wanted you gone that much for him to overlook that gigantic red flag.

You wondered if someone were to wave a 50ft red flag in front of his face would he still just ignore it to care for a cat.. Probably so knowing him.

And to your shock, all the rest of the brothers were sitting at the dinner table eating, before they watched Satan walk into the room with yet another cat, before turning back to finish whatever they were doing at the table- I mean it was already confusing that Satan didn't say anything about the recent events, but for all seven brothers to not even spare a cough or a sniffle when your scream rang out and Satan came down with a CAT and not YOU.

‘’What for dinner.’’ Satan asked nonchalantly, setting you down on the dinner table, to which you stared at him with a confused look- ‘’Devildom Stir-fry with Toxic Chameleon’’ someone from behind you said, your furry face now scrunched up in contemplation- ‘’there is no way in hell they served a dish that only demons could eat, did I give them all brain damage? no.. no. did they forget me?’’ You thought to yourself, being so lost in thought that you didn't hear Satan excusing himself from the table to ‘’go get something’’, or really to notice the disappointed sighs of the brothers around you.

You felt a pair of warm, slender hands pick you up and carry you to a nearby seat, setting you down on their lap and petting your fur softly, and as you looked up- you saw Asmo pouting above you.

‘’You know, I feel sooooo bad for making our sweet MC angry… dinners so boring without them.’’ Asmo sighed, picking aimlessly at his plate after he passed you to Belphie- ‘’Agreed, I didn't think they would take it so seriously’’ Belphie hummed before turning you into his personal pillow, smooshing his face inside of your soft fur.

‘’I believe Lucifer told you to at least warn MC that they would be getting wet, right Mammon?’’ Levi retorted at the now worried Mammon who just responded with ‘’Y’know, who tells a person to change clothes because they are going to be getting wet in the dining room, huh?!’’ he pointed his fork towards Levi who scoffed,’’ YOU, Mammon! Are you seriously that dim-witted to not warn someone about a water fight?’’ he glared right back at the elder sibling- searching his pockets for his DDD.

‘’Either way, MC doesn't want to speak with us, they even hid in their room when I came to find them.’’ Satan responded, his tone slowly going more upbeat as he saw you desperately trying to claw your way from underneath Belphie- who awoke with some ‘’gentle’’ persuasion from Satan.

Belphie’s chair quickly tumbles to the ground, with him flying to the floor with it -’’ Y’know, you DIDN’T have to shove me out of the chair! Evil bastard!’’- ‘’tough luck, I need to put this collar on Satan’s Angry Kitty, and you're in the way!’’ Satan shrugged at Belphie, picking you up and returning you back to his seat at the dinner table.

Hold on a minute, he said a-what-now?

‘’Woah woah woah! Slow down! Did you just say you need to put a collar on that CAT who’s name is Satan’s Angry Kitty? Belphie pulled himself up off the floor, looking at Satan with a questionable look on his face ‘’Thats such a cringy name lool’’ Levi giggled to himself as he watched you desperately try to run away from Satan’s hands- ‘’Even the cat thinks the name is weird LMAO’’

Who in their right fucking mind names a cat that? I have to stop picking the freaklicious men to crush on- because this is just plain ridiculous!

‘’What a kinky name for a cat, Satan!’’ Asmo said in a sing-song tone, his smirk never faltering.

‘’Of course, I named the cat that- they remind me of MC, and it would be weird to name a cat that randomly appeared in MC’s room after them, no?’’ Satan laughed, covering your claws with his thumbs- ‘’Oi! What makes you think that the cat belongs to YOU? If anything I say I should get to name the cat! I was MC’s first man after all!’’ Mammon leaped from his seat pointing the finger at Satan and quickly pointing his finger at everyone else at the table.

‘’You would KILL that poor furry feline with your incompetence! I think that I, Asmo, should take care of them! At least they wouldn't end up being sold off to those witches you are so fond of!’’ Asmo put a hand on his chest, smugly making a comment towards Mammon, only to be cut off by Belphie- ‘’Nuh-uh! No way in HELL should an animal be left in your care! You're too self-absorbed to even give a second thought about it! Leave it in the care of ME and BEEL.’’

‘’And you're so sure that you could take care of it huh?! Beel would eat the poor thing as a midnight snack and your napping gramps ass wouldn't even know until a week later!’’

‘’Loool you guys are so pathetic, clearly the otaku could take care of a simple cat- unlike the rest of you normies!’’

‘’Oh COME ON! Your an OTAKU for fucks sake! You’d be too busy busting it to your figurines and those games your always playing to even notice if the cat got eaten by Henry!’’

‘’Who are you calling pathetic?! I was the first one to discover the cat, so I get naming privileges! All the rest of you clingy fucks can suck it!’’

‘’You all are being childish, none of you are even competent enough to care for this feline- so just go ahead and give it to me!’’

‘’SHUT THE HELL UP LUCIFER!’’

. . . . . . . .

It took a lot more arguing, flipped tables and chairs, plates, forks, food, and YOURSELF, being flung around the room before you were finally able to get Satan to calm down and pay attention to you- ‘’HURRRRRAAAAAUG- oh! Satan’s Angry Kitty! You seem like you want my attention.. You want my attention don’t ya? Awwwwwh! You really are just too cute!’’ He cooed at you whilst holding you in his arms before retreating to his room and setting you down on his bed.

I mean, seeing him in his demon form was really interesting since he seemed to get even dreamier when he was being nice in said form- and it was even better that he was lying down on his back and holding you up in the air, still cooing at you about how cute you were- ‘’you know, MC was planning on taking me on a secret date to this place in the human world called ‘’Istanbul’’..’’ ‘’Meow meow meow!’’ ( Damn it! You just had to look through my notebook!’’)

‘’I mean, I was planning on asking them out on a library date, I was really worried if they weren't going to feel the same about me, but thanks to you sitting right next to that notebook I got to know that they do like me back! What a helpful kitty you are!’’ He booped your small button nose, to which you tried to reciprocate the action by booping him back, but failed.

Now, it was only a matter of time before Satan swiped that planner of yours- it DID have the title as ‘’Satan X Me (heart heart heart)’’ but even then you did it as a funny haha joke, and now its come back to bite you in the ass. Dammit.

Unfortunately, he sat you back down on the bed and got up to go retrieve a book from one of his shelves, coming back and fully laying down on his bed with you resting on his chest.

You curled up into a ball on top of him, placing yourself where you could read the book with him, peacefully enjoying the steady beat of his heart, and his soothing breathing- ‘’How much longer do you want to stay as my little angry kitty, hm, MC?’’

Wait what?

He laughed, ‘’Don't act coy with me MC, I've already known that you were transformed into a cat. So, let me ask you again; how much longer do you want to stay as Satan’s Angry Kitty?’’ he narrowed his eyes as he spoke, watching your bewildered expression. (really he was watching your ears)

GET ME OUTTA HERE!!!

And did Jesus come to save you he did, having all six of his brothers burst into the room- teasing you about being Satan’s Little Kitten- and a mix of ‘’APRIL FOOLS’’ having you make a hasty retreat for the door, a mad dash to the dorms where Solomon was- because staying in that house another SECOND would have had you dead on the spot.

‘’Meow meow meow meow, meow meow.’’ (so yeah, here we are. I would have done anything to be in my human form when he told me that! Do you know how hot it was to be called his kitty whilst he was in his demon form AND laying on his chest?! Do you, Solomon?!) You meowed at the sorcerer, who laughed again- ‘’and now your just being thirsty for him, classic you.’’ Solomon responded flashing his bright smile at you.

‘’Meow meow meow..’’ (coming from the fruitastic maestro sitting in front of me I take that as a compliment.)

‘’Would you like for me to turn you back now? You know, so you can continue salivating at the mouth over Satan?

‘’Meow!’’ (yes!)

Solomon giggled at your enthusiastic response before he turned you back into the human- ''It's a wonder that he hasn't shown up here to come and get you-'' and he was swiftly cut off with a suspicious knock at the door to which you answered it… and it was Satan, holding a beautiful bouquet of your favorite colored flower, a giddy smile on his face, and a small ginger cat perched on top of his shoulder- ‘’Heard you had an interest for me, Kitt-’’

‘’let me stop you right there buddy, we need to sit down and have a talk about this nickname situation!’’ You giggled at the somewhat taller male who laughed right with you as he lowered his shoulder so you could grab the cat that was on it.

‘’Where do you keep on finding all these cats?’’ ‘’I don't know, I'm just a cat attractor, you know this already, hun.’’

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A/N: This was just wow. somehow this beat my diavolo x reader fic with a 1500 word difference.. atp every fic I write gets LONGER.. smh

Ngl this one drained me, so OMNB(+SWD) headcannons r next, so if you enjoyed this fic please like and drop a suggestion for the headcannons! oh yeah, and thank you to everyone who enjoyed my DXR fic! i really, really, appreciate it!! :)

Bizmuth 24' | Biz's Workshop

[vasito-de-leche]

okay I read your analysis on Forget Me Not and I'm in tears now thank you. (No but really thank you, it's such a touching piece.) Can you PLEASE for salvation of our fans souls write anything to like,,, give him hope? Forget Me Not x reader but it doesn't have to be actually all-out with hugs and kisses. We may,,,,,,,, just show him a new hobby? Any hobby of your choosing or idk play an instrument together. Just to give him something else to focus on, to channel at least part of his energy from self-destructive activities to something less hurtful. I'd personally like to bandage his (not actually wounded but still) hands as if they were bleeding. Something of the kind. Sorry for mistakes writing is incredibly inconvenient cuz tears aaa.

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "hands, fingers, scales"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.3k words. self-harm implied You've befriended Forget Me Not the same one befriends a rabid, beaten, old dog. And while he's much too busy fighting his inner demons, you're more worried about stopping these "pernicious habits" of his. A casual afternoon trying to make sure he's taking care of himself turns into something deeper.

thank you so much for the ask, nonnie!!

I got a little carried away with this request because thinking about how fucking insufferable and confusing FMN has to be just to indulge in HAND HOLDING and GETTING A FUCKING HOBBY made me so deranged and feral as if hes not fucking TOUCHSTARVED lmfao. this guy's love language is straight up worshipping, mf is not subtle about it

either way, hope you like it! here's the lil preview!

Sometimes, Forget Me Not understands the reason men and women kneel at the pew to worship and pray.

Devotion is something arcanists and humans share, whether honest or not. He's witnessed the rich and the poor, the pure and the depraved, and every binary that rules this world - all of them begging, pleading and praying at the end of their lives, casting away the pride they've held on for so long for the chance of salvation. Once stripped down to their core, there is nothing to do but hope God has enough love in His heart to look their way. 

And sometimes, Forget Me Not prays that you’ll find someone else - anyone but him - to fill the role of devotee.

The gentleness in your eyes whenever you look at him is enough to bring him to his knees, and Forget Me Not doesn't know what to do with himself but to worship and pray. Praying that you'll continue to look at him for a little longer, silently begging for your attention until you finally tire of him. Do you think yourself holy enough to replace the vitriol in his veins?

He does.

On good days, he even hopes that you can save him.

You never asked him to become your one and only believer, of course. You're not even aware of the space you take in his mind, nor the conflicting images he keeps conjuring of you at night, he's certain of this. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, holding his hands and inspecting them for any injuries. This role is one of the many self-imposed tragedies in his life.

Your thumbs knead and massage his palm, as if you could soothe the pain away, and yet you refrain from pressing down hard. He's at your mercy, why hesitate? What do you see that he cannot?

Something is bothering you. It's obvious in the way you touch him, like you're afraid of hurting him, as if you were the one with a body count between the two. Every so often, your movements come to a halt and you both sit in silence, until you return to your ministrations, filling the nothingness with your sighing and humming.

All he needs is to look up, right at your face, to know everything he wants to know - but he's too much of a coward for that. Instead, light grey eyes follow your index finger as it slides under the cuffs of his shirt. You trace over the bone of his wrist and continue upwards.

He can't tear his eyes away.

Normally, Forget Me Not wouldn't mind. There is an addictive thrill to witnessing the shock of anyone who dares get so close and personal, but he feels himself shrink when you brush against his scales and recoil away on instinct. That's when he raises his head and finds your eyes in the dimly lit staff room.

That expression on your face - surely, you were regretting every choice that led you to him. By now, you might've surely realized that there is nothing for you to salvage in this shipwreck he calls a life. All attempts to check on him were surely a façade for whatever ulterior motives you continued to withhold from him. He's stubborn, believing that he can read you like an open book, but now he's just as lost as you are. When he opens his mouth to speak, you beat him to it and he grows a little restless at your words.

"Sorry, sorry! Did I, uh, hurt you? Dumb question, you would've definitely told me if that were the case. Anyway, it looks like you're okay! I don't know why I was so worried, actually."

His silence prompts you to continue, and all Forget Me Not can focus on is the absence of your warmth.

You raise a hand to gesture dismissively at your behaviour, brush it off to ease your embarrassment, that much he understands - though it's painful to watch you fumble like that, to deny what he hides under his clothes. Forget Me Not thinks of filling the space between your fingers with his own, just to drag you back to that quiet, albeit suffocating, moment of peace. Instead of doing that, he retreats and places both hands neatly on his lap.

"Thanks for indulging me and, yeah uh, again - sorry about that? It just caught me off guard. I should've been more careful."

But you were never careful with his space or his rules, plunging in and out of his life and leaving him to figure out where he stood in his game of push and pull. Why were you being careful now?

"It's nothing, I understand," he lies. Everything you do means the world to him and he doesn't even understand why. "It cannot hurt to know what sort of things the person pouring your drinks might be hiding under their sleeves."

The word "hypocrite" lingers at the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill out with as much venom as he can muster, but it stays lodged behind his teeth because he knows he's even worse: Forget Me Not prays that you'll stay with him, while also opening the door right out his life for you. As much as he wants to, he has no right of calling you out.

He's not used to receiving apologies and so he chooses not to think too hard on yours - though he's dreamed countless of times for the perfect situation in which he finally rips out one apology after another from the throats of those who wronged him, this one feels different. Undeserved, even.

His heart, that wretched lump in his chest, finally settles down and he prepares to end this interaction to save you the awkwardness of addressing his "deformities". But then you go and surprise him once more.

"Come on, I already told you..." You sigh and he inhales in tandem, but you're much too busy rolling your eyes to notice. "That whole thing you do, when you start scratching or, like, picking at your hand? You've been doing it more lately. It had me worried you might've been doing, I don't know - something."

Forget Me Not's eyes widen in surprise. The audacity to notice such things about him? And to put them on display without a warning? What else did you find out?

Part of him wants him to embrace his nature and scare you away, but that's the side of him that's been slowly losing this battle of attrition in his heart - you're a bad influence for him, after all. The other part... Well, it's still trying to sort itself out.

He settles for slowly undoing the buttons on his sleeve. It only takes a moment to roll up the fine fabric to his elbow, knowing you're staring right at him, through him maybe. The expression on his face is one of indifference, one he fights to maintain - this is the most vulnerable he's felt in decades.

That unsightly pattern begins exactly where his sleeves usually end, coiling around his forearm not unlike a snake and traveling upwards. The scales are dark, an iridescent black that reminds him of an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, and the ones at the edges fade away into lighter hues until they mix with the pale, sickly tone of his skin. He knows the sort of beauty he holds, one that can only be admired at a distance, turning into a grotesque imitation of a man when up close.

Forget Me Not presents himself to you and, with his free hand, gets ready to pluck one of the scales off.

"Wait, don't do that-!"

Seizing his arm and holding it close to your chest, you deprive him of the catharsis that comes with this level of self-mutilation. He knows you're connecting the dots, feeling the scattered, empty spaces from all the times you saw him pick himself apart and more. Your fingers brush against his bare skin looking for said spaces, counting them in your head, mourning their loss.

Some scales are in the process of regrowing like unwanted parasites, and he wishes he could feel anything at all just to be closer to you.

"God, what is wrong with you?! What was the point of that?"

Something compels him to laugh (perhaps it's your heartbeat reaching out to him loud and clear through your clothes, he feels it faintly) it comes across as sinister and condescending, the only way he knows how to express joy. Like he's making fun of your concern.

"Apologies," Forget Me Not begins to say, readjusting his glasses. The way you try to keep his own arm out of his reach doesn't go unnoticed. It's such a petty, childish gesture that makes his grin widen and your frown deepen. "I was under the impression you found this little oddity distasteful. There's no need to worry - they will return in a few days, they always do."

"Still, don't do that. It's not funny. It must...hurt a lot."

"Ah, but it doesn't. If else, I'd compare it to being pricked by a very small needle."

"You're just going to find something to nitpick and contradict everything I say, aren't you?" It's the least he can do to repay all the headaches you've given him, and for forgiving his transgressions too easily.

An intrusive thought makes itself known from the depths of his mind - would you forgive him just as readily if he were to kill someone in front of you? If he showed you just how destructive his arcane skills could be when given free reign? Where would you draw the line? And how much could he continue to push his luck before he lost you?

Before Forget Me Not realizes it, you've loosened your grip on his arm and returned to that previous moment of suffocating peace - the only difference is that you've gone from being deep in thought to troubled and miserable, one hair away from darting out the room and refusing to speak to him. At this, his pinky finger wraps around yours and neither of you mention it.

"Can't you... I don't know, do something else?"

"I could be doing my job, but alas, you're keeping me prisoner here." He says, like he's not delighted to be given your undivided attention. There are no complaints when you step on his foot with a huff, he deserved that one.

"I'm talking about the scales thing! You could wear gloves. If it happens when you get distracted then, I could hang around to make sure you stop in time." A pause, and then the sound of your voice becomes unsure and so very small. "Maybe if we covered them with bandages...? But that could be annoying. Band aids? No, no - too unprofessional. It would ruin the whole aesthetic you're going for."

You continue to trail off, coming up with many different ideas and solutions to a problem he caused. He doesn't understand why you'd even bother in the first place. For you to reciprocate the attention he gives you, to care about him? That's the hardest pill Forget Me Not has ever swallowed - it's something he twirls around with his tongue, as if deciding whether to poison himself with bliss or spit it out and continue latching on to his doubts and insecurities.

Outside, in front of everyone at The Walden, he's the one leading the crowd and talking for hours on end, commanding their attention and manipulating the flow of every conversation.

Behind closed doors, all he does is listen to every nonsensical thought, unnecessary opinion and strange anecdote you throw at him.

"...No, that won't work either." Absentmindedly, you fix and button his sleeve back into place.

You've grown used to his silence the same way you've adapted and grown used to his flaws.

"I mean, it worked on me - getting a little slap on the wrist whenever I started biting my nails, but..." Without even thinking, you rub circles with your thumb across his knuckles.

You might as well be the stupidest angel in heaven.

"Why don't you just get a hobby? That's good enough, right? It's been so long since I've heard you play piano, the one by the stage." And just like that, you're on your feet attempting to drag him outside for a demonstration. "You could teach me! That way, we get to do something fun and I get to keep an eye on you."

Forget Me Not knows he has nothing to offer to this world, but when his saint looks at him with such hope, he cannot refuse. The path to recovery seems almost doable when you bump your shoulder into his, challenging him to play the hardest song he knows.

The stars in your eyes whenever you recognize all the songs he plays becomes intoxicating, more so than the sweet, sweet revenge he's yearned for since he spiraled into decadence.

Some days, his patrons join with their own singing or humming, and he forgets that he hates each and every one of them for as long as his fingers dance across the keys - a momentary reprieve from the constant stream of negativity. It doesn't take long for his body to remember his training and soon, he's improvising.

A melody for gloomy, rainy days. A whimsical tune here and there for celebrations.

A song for you and himself - the first one he teaches you and the only one he plays in private, when he's all alone with nothing but his thoughts. Solitude has gone from a noose wrapped around his neck to the perfect time to compose and hone this long forgotten passion. For the first time in forever, he doesn't dread the silence of an empty room, the endless wait between his shifts at The Walden - not when he can simply fill them with more and more music.

And so, Forget Me Not plays, hoping that you'll continue to cheer him on. Hoping that this tiny spark you've ignited in him can truly become his salvation.