#The name is still awful though... who the hell named this

[blindmagdalena]

Center Stage in a Gilded Cage (chapter four)

18+ 4.2k. homelander x f!reader. pre-s1. stalking, kidnapping, imprisonment, forced relationship, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter 4/8. gif credit. fic directory. AO3.

Lovesick and giddy, Homelander makes quick work of sharing the news of his freshly established relationship. Meanwhile, you're left alone in his penthouse with one goal in mind: escape.

Homelander’s absence is like a too-heavy coat slipping from your shoulders, allowing you to breathe again.

You shake the tension out of your hands as you walk back down the hall, thinking more clearly than you’ve been able to all morning. It’s 8:30 now, which means you have a little over six hours to figure out something that might help you escape.

There is a balcony, but you shut the door to it as quickly as you opened it once you realized there aren’t any railings. The concrete slab outside the glass door is more like a ledge than it is a balcony, and the roar of the winds outside instantly made you feel like you’d be knocked clean off of it if you stepped outside.

Definitely not an option.

You do find a landline—who keeps a landline anymore?—but when you bring the receiver to your ear and press a few buttons, the line remains silent.

The phone is plugged in, every cord connected, the little green light in the corner lit, but there must be some kind of mandatory input in order to dial. You slam the receiver back down with a frustrated growl.

Prowling through the penthouse with the urgency of a caged animal, you check every drawer you come across. Every cupboard.

You run your fingers under the edges of furniture, and—seeing his absurd collection of annotated law reports and Oxford dictionaries—resort to tugging books from their resting places and flipping through their pages, hoping you might trigger some secret switch or find a hidden compartment.

Instead, a slip of paper comes loose from one of the volumes, fluttering to the floor by your feet.

You dip down to pick it up, brows pinching. It’s a photograph of a little blonde boy, maybe five or six, standing next to an older gentleman with a partial crown of thinning light hair around only the sides of his head. He’s gesturing to a spot on the wall next to the boy, who holds a blanket to his chest. 

You squint, tilting the photo, as if it might help you see what the man is pointing at outside of the frame.

There are a handful of crayon drawings scattered on the stark white walls, though the quality and age of the photo make them difficult to interpret, and hidden in the spaces between—and presumably beneath—them are what look like crisp black scorch marks.

Looking back to the boy, you realize there’s a distinct crimson gleam to his eyes.

Homelander…?

He looks frightened. His little face pinched in an anxious expression like he might cry at any moment, but he’s holding it back.

You try to imagine what sort of life experiences would cause a child so young to be so disciplined with their emotions. Flipping the photo over, you see that it’s signed and dated.

Dr. Jonah Vogelbaum “Project Odessa” 1986

Unsettled by the image, you carefully slide the photo back between the pages of the book.

If Homelander had the kind of destructive powers he has now at such a young age, it isn’t a stretch to imagine he would have needed to be carefully cared for and observed. Taken to some sort of facility.

What average parent stood a chance against a tantruming child with laser vision, or the strength to flip cars?

Still, you can’t shake the awful feeling of dread the photo gives you. Just what the hell does “Project Odessa” mean? Why name the doctor, but not the poor boy in the photo?

You’re lonely, he’d said. You don’t have to be.

How personal those words had sounded. You’re not sure now that he was actually talking to you, even if he had been right. You are lonely at times—but doesn’t everyone get lonely? Loneliness has been a recurring theme in your life for as long as you can remember. You’ve never been tempted to kidnap anyone over it, though.

Taking a breath, you haul yourself back to your feet and dust off your knees, frustrated with the wealth of questions and dearth of solutions you’re left with. You’ve already spent over two of your allotted hours combing both floors of the penthouse.

Now what the hell do I do?

There’s a pep in Homelander’s step as he strolls through the halls of Vought Tower.

“Hiya, Danny!” He greets merrily, startling a young PA so badly that the man nearly drops the tray of coffee he’s carrying. “Whoa-ho, hey, watch it, kiddo,” he laughs, giving Danny a swift pat on the back.

“Th-thank you, sir,” he says belatedly, watching Homelander continue on with a look of thorough bewilderment.

Maybe even awe.

He doubts the chump ever thought Homelander even knew his name—which he didn’t before now. He just so happened to catch a glimpse at his name on the lanyard dangling around his neck before he said anything.

He’s having a good day, which means Danny may as well, too.

Everyone should have a good day today because for once, life is finally headed in exactly the right direction.

He’s still thinking about how you felt in his arms all night, how soundly you slept against him. He’s thinking about the smell of breakfast and how beautiful you looked cooking breakfast in his kitchen.

Every bit of it exactly the way he envisioned. Not to mention the fact you finally showed him a little gratitude. He grins to himself, eager to share the excellent news. So eager, in fact, he can’t stop himself when he catches a flash of red hair disappearing into an elevator.

Well… Maybe not everyone deserves a good day.

He barely manages to shove his hand into the closing doors, allowing him to step inside before it descends. He grins broadly at his target—who he’s now got nice and cornered—and Maeve offers a withering look in response.

He can’t help but laugh, sidling up next to her. She looks tired, black flecks of makeup smudged under her eyes, and he can smell booze on her breath.

Christ, it’s not even 9:00am.

“What?” She asks preemptively, her tone sharp.

“Golly gee, Maeve. Good morning to you, too! Someone shit in your pillowcase?” He asks, knocking his eagle pauldron on her shoulder. His tone is bright, his smile even brighter.

It’s been over a year since things ended between them, and he’s been able to smell every twink and whore she’s rubbed herself up against like a bitch in heat since. Finally, he has something to rub her nose in.

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “What’re you so chipper about?”

He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “I met someone,” before he pulls back, his shoulders and brows lifting with barely contained giddiness.

It’s an odd expression that comes to Maeve’s face, some muddled mixture of surprise, disbelief and wariness. “Someone I know?” Her tone is guarded. As if he’d bother with the nobodies she keeps her bed wet with these days.

He waves his hand dismissively, blowing a raspberry. “No, no. Please. The only people you know these days reek of jizz and methamphetamines.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s just an excuse to break eye contact. To hide from him. “Well. My condolences to them,” she says, crossing her arms. If she were any more sardonic she’d come full circle to genuine.

“Ohhh, Maeve, Maeve, Maeve. Is that a note of jealousy I detect ?” He purrs, bringing his face close to hers.

She leans back, scoffing a laugh that’s more disdain than humor. “Oh, please. Get over yourself,” she says, but there’s something odd about her tone. She actually sounds relieved. Even her shoulders are less tense.

“You’re the one who’s gonna have to get over me,” he says, feigning a sympathetic tone. “She’s perfect. Sweet, affectionate, loves to cook. In fact, she made me breakfast this morning,” he says, lips spreading in a slow Cheshire grin.

Maeve is quiet for a beat, staring at him like he’s more puzzle than man, working out the truth of what he’s saying. He twists side to side, cape swaying lightly, reveling in how bewildered she looks by his joy.

Did she really think he’d never find anyone after her? Fuck, he could sing aloud for how sweet this victory feels.

“Huh,” she says at least, looking away from him. She laughs softly, a more genuine sound than anything he’s heard from her in a long, long time. “Well, thank God for that.”

He blinks, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. She’s done nothing but desperately try to fill the gaping hole of misery in herself with drugs and liquor and sex ever since they broke up.

The only reason he allowed it is because it felt more like a self-imposed punishment than anything else. The news that he’s found something real should devastate her.

Jaw tight, he turns to properly face her, itching to wrest back control of the conversation. “This means no more moping around the tower soaked in whiskey, hmm? You’re supposed to be a hero, for god's sake.”

“A hero,” she echoes incredulously, the word somehow rotten coming from her. “You know what?”

She meets his challenge, turning to face him head on, her hands on her hips. “I’ll get right on that,” she says, her voice dripping with condescending sarcasm, though he can’t help but see some spark of genuine relief in the wicked slant of her unkind smile. “You really do know just what to say, captain.”

The elevator comes to a stop with a ding, and Maeve takes a step forward as soon as the doors open. Quick as lightning, he snatches her arm, stopping her in her tracks. She whirls on him, fist coiled like she might strike, but she has the good sense not to.

“I’m serious, Maeve,” he says, tone severe, his smile vanishing. “Get your fucking act together before you embarrass us both any further.”

He lets go and she takes two steps out of the elevator, lingering there a moment before she smiles viciously back at him, lips pressed tightly together. She turns around, and the doors close on the image of her walking away from him.

His gloves groan with the tension in his tightly coiled fists. He exhales a shaky breath, anger hot in his chest.

When God closes a door, He opens a window, he reminds himself, looking to the rows of elevator buttons. He presses floor 99. 

Next stop: Madelyn Stillwell’s office.

Eventually you opt for taking a shower, figuring it’s best to do it now while Homelander’s out.

Before stripping out of your pajamas, you give the bathroom a sweep, testing the mirror and checking for cameras the way they always warn you to do when you stay somewhere strange.

Glad to have turned up empty handed in this particular endeavor, you twist the shower knob—a golden eagle’s head, unfortunately—and shed your sleepwear, feeling exposed in the large glass box he calls a shower.

Nonetheless, the hot water still helps you feel better than you had before. The fluffy navy towels you wrap around yourself afterwards are soft and oversized, every luxury carefully thought of.

It doesn’t make you feel any less like a captive. Just a pampered one.

The clothes you choose fit just as well as the sleepwear did, the fabric sleek and comfortable. The opulence of them evokes the same wicked spite from you that breakfast did, though a distant part of you does quietly enjoy the feel of them on your freshly cleaned skin.

You wander around the penthouse a while longer inspecting the statues and the paintings, reading any slips of paper you find, checking under the blank trophies you can’t identify, but there’s no grand discovery.

No miraculous code for the door hidden somewhere.

You’re well and truly stuck.

Plopping down on the couch with the weight of defeat heavy on your shoulders, you pick up the television remote from the coffee table and stare at it. Its buttons are riddled with logos: Vought+, Voughtify, Voughtoons, VNN, all of them cluttered looking on the remote.

However, one familiar logo in particular catches your eye: two red overlapping O’s. It’s Vought’s web browser, OperaGX. Your heart jumps into your throat as you quickly flick the television on, pressing the button immediately.

All televisions are Smart these days, connected to the internet in order to provide this myriad of streaming services.

Even the fridge is hooked up to the wi-fi.

If you can access an internet browser through the television, you should be able to log into your email or one of your social medias and get a message out to someone.

The reality of your situation will probably be more believable to your friends and family than the notion that you suddenly decided to go “off the grid” backpacking through Europe, though you’re not entirely sure that you love what that says about your life.

You nearly shout with triumph as the screens on the wall flicker to life, the browsers home page displayed clearly. You ignore the headlines plastered all over the different boxes and dive straight for the address bar, tapping in vmail.com as quickly as the remote allows for.

Christ, is there any aspect of your life not tangled up in Vought? You’d never realized until now.

You smash the enter button, and the little icon in the corner of the tab spins for what feels like a millenia, loading. 

RESTRICTED

The smile drops sharply from your face. Dread replaces your fleeting elation, and you fumble with the remote in your haste to type in a new address.

RESTRICTED

You try progressively more obscure social media, forums, anything you can think of that might have a means for posting or messaging.

RESTRICTED

RESTRICTED

RESTRICTED

Tears well in your eyes.

Come on, there has to be something not on this stupid list of restricted sites!

You try again and again and again, but every single time you’re met with the same message. Of all things, something as innocuous as a parental block of all things stands between you and potential freedom.

This time you do shout, but it’s in frustration as you hurl the remote at the collection of screens. Part of you hopes that the impact shatters it, but so meager is your outburst that it simply bounces off of it, the message stubbornly persisting, mocking your upset.

You have nothing. You are nothing. Homelander has the powers of a god and all the measures that wealth like his can afford to take at his disposal.

The tears that roll down your anger flushed cheeks burn, and you wipe aggressively at them with the backs of your hands.

As you simmer, you come to the conclusion that it isn’t so much that certain sites are restricted, but that only certain ones are allowed. The connection has been narrowed exclusively to what might entertain you, but not allow you any form of outside communication.

Tucking your legs up onto the couch, you bury your face in your hands and let yourself sob out the horrible feeling of defeat.

“Gooooooood morning,” Homelander practically sings as he strolls into Madelyn’s office without so much as a knock, smiling brightly. He swings the door to her office shut behind him.

Arching a shapely brow, Madelyn looks slowly up at him from her work, leaning back.

Her blonde tresses are nicely curled, the ends of them barely brushing her shoulders. She’s wearing a patterned button up blouse tucked into a high waisted skirt. Her lips are painted in crisp red lines, and she takes her glasses off in a fluid motion to look at him.

She always looks like this—perfectly unobtainable.

“You’re in a good mood,” she notes, a detectable edge of suspicion in her voice despite the warmth of it.

“Sure am,” he says evasively, downright giddy to play this little game with her. It’s so rare that he has the upperhand between the two of them. He meanders about her office to admire the photos on her wall. Most of them are of him.

Her ruby lips spread in a patient smile. She rests her elbow on her desk and interlaces her fingers atop it. “Any particular reason?”

“I met someone,” he says too soon, too excited to draw the game out properly. He looks at her, eager to see the change in her expression, whether it be displeasure or—if he’s lucky—clear cut jealousy. He’d accept either. Instead, he finds her expression doesn’t change much.

“Is that so?” She asks in her same gentle way. He meets a lot of people every day. It’s part of his world. But they both know he means something more than a miscellaneous encounter. “Tell me about them.”

“She’s beautiful,” he says, turning his back to Madelyn. He strolls idly about, feigning indifference as best he can while his delight bubbles irrepressibly in his chest. He wants to rub Madelyn’s nose in it. To make her regret keeping him at arm's length.

Fuck, he’ll relish it.

“Clever. Funny, too. She likes to cook.”

“She sounds like a dream,” Madelyn says, sounding distracted. The tell-tale sound of papers shuffling punctuates her response. Turning around, Homelander frowns. She already has her glasses back on, her expression downcast at the documents spread out on her desk.

“She is,” he says, his smugness giving way to defensiveness, and then derision as he continues, “I’m sorry, did I catch you at a bad time? I was under the impression we have an appointment.”

“We do. These are your talking points for the gala on Friday, and these are your notes for your save this afternoon,” she says, lifting a handful of the documents towards him. 

His lip gnarls into a sneer. “Are you even listening to me? I said I met someone.” 

“And I’m very happy for you,” she responds, her level of patience enduring. She places the papers down on her desk, the corners hanging off the edge, inviting him to take them.

“Is she one of our supes?” She leans back in her seat, observing him in a way that always makes him feel small.

“No,” he says, jaw tight.

She hums, her calm serenity becoming maddening.

“Do you intend to be seen together?” She continues to press, and all at once he understands the angle she’s coming in from.

She doesn’t care a lick about what he’s doing, or who with.

All she cares about are the optics. Like he’s no different from The Deep fucking everything with a wet hole. She thinks you’re just another mess she’ll have to sweep under the rug.

“And if I do?” He presses, seething. Anger is easier than hurt.

“She’ll need to be vetted,” Madelyn replies matter-of-factly. “Likely have her socials expunged of anything that could be damaging to your image. What’s her name?”

He hesitates, the cold sting of regret lancing his gut. Looking Madelyn in the eyes, he suddenly doesn’t want her to know anything about you.

She could tell him to get rid of you.

Worse, she might choose to do it herself. This was a stupid and impulsive move, and he could swiftly pay the price for it. He hates how easily she unsteadies him.

“You’ll learn it when you meet her,” he says, forcing aloofness into both his tone and his body language, crossing his arms.

Madelyn’s look of tolerant reservation softens. She slides her glasses off and stands in a fluid motion, walking around her desk. “You know I’m only being protective of you, don’t you?” She asks, putting a hand on the jut of his elbow.

He purses his lips, gaze flickering away. He stares stubbornly out her window, fighting the urge to melt into her touch. She’s so busy these days. It’s made her even more withholding, and he has to cling tightly to his upset in order to keep himself from folding into her rare displays of warmth. 

“You know that I only want for you to be happy,” she continues to coo, voice low. Gentle.

He closes his eyes, inhaling a deep breath. When he looks at her again, there’s a note of defeat in his expression. He doesn’t know how true that really is these days. He doesn’t feel it. He had to go out and find his own happiness—and you have brought him that.

The feel of your body against his as you slept made him happier than he’s felt in years. He hasn’t been able to stop daydreaming about your silhouette this morning as you cooked for him in his once vacant, soulless kitchen.

You’re the spark of life he’s been desperately missing.

“Then you’ll let me have this,” he says, an underlying stress behind every word that makes something in Madelyn’s gaze shift.

“Okay,” she says with an air of reluctance. “I can see that this is important to you… You’ll have to let me in eventually,” she says, stroking his arm in slow, disarming movements.

“I will,” he says, eagerness slipping into his voice in the wake of her acquiescence. “When I’m ready.”

She smiles, but not in the way that she does when she’s pleased with him. This smile is an hourglass, and her patience is the sand falling through.

Her hand slips away and he feels the loss of it like a physical blow, immediately aching for more comfort. Instead he’s offered the notes she tried to give him earlier.

“So long as you’re where you need to be when you need to be there, what you do in your off time is your own business,” she says, and though her tone is placating, he can’t help but feel that he’s disappointed her. 

Hurt her, even. 

This isn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted her to care beyond the metrics, beyond the work they do. He wanted her to ask him to be with her instead so that for once, he might be the one in a position to withhold.

He takes the papers while Madelyn watches him, the judgemental weight of her gaze leaving him feeling cold, childish, and terribly small. Reading through the talking points she prepared for him, he frowns.

“Something the matter?”

“I mean… C’mon, this whole Kumbaya schtick?” He lightly slaps the page with the back of his hand. “We should be showing strength, not our bellies. People want leadership, not this–this noncommittal PC garbage. It’s not even saying anything!”

“It’s saying exactly what we need it to.” Her nonchalance sets his teeth on edge.

“We need to commit,” he insists, lowering his tone.

“We need to appear moderate,” she counters. “You aren’t only addressing your audience. Every dove and Democrat in Congress is going to be there, and it’s your job to make us look good to them, too.”

“I’m a fucking superhero, Madelyn!” He snaps, but there is neither strength nor anger in his voice. It’s a petulant desperation that sounds sour even to his own ears.

Her calm rebuttal of his every thought makes him feel powerless in a way someone of his caliber has no right feeling. His fists clench.

“They should be on their knees! Not deciding whether or not I’m worthy of their fucking votes!”

Her hand settles on his cheek. The warmth of it startles him, tampering a measure of that building indignant anger. 

“I know. I know it isn’t fair. Someone like you… you’re above these silly games,” she says, taking a step closer to him. 

“But that’s why we need you. It’s why Vought needs you. You’re the one who’s going to show them the truth. Show them that you are the future,” she says, her thumb lightly stroking back and forth on his cheek. “Just give them a little time to catch up, okay?”

He deflates under her touch, gaze dropping to her lips, her throat, her chest, where her heart beats steadily in his ears. Every inch of her she does not first offer is off limits to him. 

If he is all she says he is, how can she be so content to watch him starve?

“Okay,” he yields flatly, rolling the papers slowly into a tube. He bounces it off of his temple in a half-hearted salute, desperate to save face. Her hand falls away, leaving the spot cold. He swallows those empty feelings back like bile and clears his throat.

Defeated, he heads for the door, his tail tucked firmly between his legs.

“And Homelander,” Madelyn calls just as he reaches for the knob. He turns, looking at her with uncertain eyes. “Let’s keep this between you and I for now, okay? This little… acquaintance of yours. It would be a bloodbath if the press got a hold of her before we could prepare.”

“I told Maeve,” he admits right away, guilt and shame making his voice quiet.

“I’ll take care of it,” she assures him, though it does little to make him feel better. “Be good today.”

“Okay,” he says again, gut churning with a tumultuous mix of emotions. Stepping out of her office, the last thing in the fucking world he wants to do is plaster on a smile and let himself be blinded by a thousand camera flashes.

What he desperately wants now is you.

[fae-morrigan]

Someone put a post (where they admit they straight up dont know these characters lol, and also spell damian as 'damien' so like. yknow.) in the tags saying that if you're a fan of Jon & Jay, you shouldn't buy super son. Well, as the crowned CEO of Jay & Jon, I'm here to tell you guys that you absolutely should.

Super Son did the amazing thing of hitting several marks that I predicted while still managing to surprise me in how they hit them. Which is high praise for any story: A great narrative should be able to both meet reasonable audience expectations (i.e, staying in character, setup payoff) WHILE STILL throwing in curveballs that tell you something new.

There's a lot I want to analyze and get into, namely how I think the rooftop conversation between Jon & Nia is really brilliantly done in what it says about both characters, but mainly I've been thinking a lot about how great those last few pages were and how I think Sina absolutely nails how Jon & Jay's specific issues interact with each other.

Jay's always been a blunt person. From their first meeting back in SOKE 2, hes said what he thinks, and rarely does he try and soften himself. More than that, his bluntness is often a shield from vulnerability, which Jay struggles with the whole scene. It makes total sense, after what hes experienced (re-traumatization at the hands of a friend) that he's displaying that trait again.

Jon, however, is immediately vulnerable. This is the most poignant confession of the issue: Not even in the amazing sequence of Nia helping him make a place in the darkness (look, its back, thanks isabel!) do we get this admission of fear.

And Jay, like always, embraces him. Sidenote, LOVE how they got in the thing Jon does where he's constantly tucking his face in people's shoulders during hugs.

But the moment ends, and we get here. First of all, cold af. I could feel the aura before I turned the page.

Second of all: Jay is totally valid in feeling this way. And it makes perfect sense that he would.

Sara was his everything. Getting her back was one of his main motivations in SOKE. Because of Nia's actions, she died horribly (do you know what happens to a person when they fall from that sort of height? I do. Its AWFUL.) for an unjust cause. Of course he's glad she can't hurt anyone else!

And that's when we get to my FAVORITE PART! Oh how I love this bit. Because like. You understand why Jon's angry- Its a harsh thing for Jay to say! Nia was the one who kept him sane while he was trapped in his own mind! But Jay, like always, is RIGHT: Jon DOESN'T get it. How could he?

Jon Kent will NEVER, ever, be put in this position. Out of universe, his parents are Clark Kent and Lois Lane. They'll ALWAYS come back. Hell, the fact they'll always come back is something Ma LITERALLY says to Jon in SOKE. He will never, ever have to know this pain.

In universe, Jon's a white american. Despite being queer, despite being an alien, he'll never know what its like to be this kind of collateral, delegated as pawns in a greater war for 'freedom'. That is what killed Sara at the end of the day: imperialism.

This next bit hurts my heart. Great job, guys!

For one: Jon claims he's not excusing the mistakes Nia made, but by downplaying it like this... yes he is. But did you catch that part? Right at the start of that bubble?

"I'm going to fight every day to make up for my own part in this."

That's where it clicked for me. Something I had been hoping for since Nicole first called them twin flames.

He's projecting.

Of COURSE he's defending Nia. Of COURSE he wants Jay to forgive her. It isn't just about the fact that she gave him support, it isn't just the dreams, its the fact that... well. If Jay can't forgive her... how could he EVER forgive HIM?

THIS is where the fact that Jon and Nia are so similar as character SINGS. They become mirrors to each other, evaluating their own self worth through the other, at the unintentional expense of the people they've hurt.

Jay's right, though. Again. Its almost like he's the embodiment of the truth or something. He doesn't HAVE to do anything.

When he starts crying though, I immediately was RUINED. This is the first time we have EVER seen him cry before during his entire existence of a character. And its not really even because his mom is dead (though yes, that) and its not even because of the argument. Its because Jay fundamentally wants to be understood, and he's not getting that.

Which is important for the next bit:

I want to first backtrack a bit to Son of Kal El again, specifically, issue fourteen, right here.

Hello, two-panel sequence that succinctly describes these two as characters. How convenient you are for me, a guy analyzing a work that isn't written prose.

Jon isn't good at letting go, for better or for worse. The things he cares about stay with him, and when something or someone tries to exit his life, he clings to them with all his might.

Jay however, both selflessly and selfishly, is willing to let go first if he thinks its better for the other person. To me this line so effortlessly summarizes who Jay is- he's a person who's accustomed to not having things, and will leave before it hurts and he gets too attached.

And that thought is ALL over this scene. Jay, who begins to let go, Jon, who both literally and physically CLINGS to jay, practically begging him to stay.

(Sidenote. This is like, the third time Jay mentions breaking up when Jon starts acting up. Good for you king, keep that white boy on his toes, let him know he ain't all that.)

Every little detail of this four panel sequence is killing me. "My worst nightmare is not having a home with you in it." His greatest desire. The thing that kept tipping him off in every fake reality Nia constructed for him- Jay's absence. Him wiping the tear of Jay's cheek. Jay walking away from him.

But what really gets me is how on this page, Jon talks about them as 'we', while Jay is firmly stuck in 'I.'

This is what made me LOSE MY MARBLES at three in the morning. Just utterly fucking off my rocker in a straightjacket talking to myself.

Because this is what JON wants. But is it what JAY wants?

Jon never asks.

What about what Jay fears? What about the life that HE wants? What if he doesn't want San Francisco? What if the life he wants is the life he HAD before everything went wrong? Jon outright says he wants a fresh start. But Jay, Jay's someone with such deep connections to what he just lost, what he likely WANTS to get back. His country. His mother. His sense of self. But. He says yes.

(Sidenote. FIRST I LOVE YOU WOOOOOOOOOO) To quote my buddy Dami: Oh, the drama of needing a future with someone who can't get over the past.

It is left unclear, by the end, whether or not Jay is saying yes to this because he genuinely wants to, or if he's only saying yes because he doesn't want to lose Jon, too. Jon doesn't stop to question whether or not Jay's only reaching after him because Jon's walking away. We, the audience, are left to ponder that for ourselves.

How much of Jay saying yes is him just accepting that this is the best he's going to get? That he's never going to be understood because nobody wants to understand?

He's an afterthought to Nia, an obstacle at best, and to Jon he's a particularly handsome prop in this little fantasy he has of running away and starting new. He's either not thought of at all, or when he is thought about, it's in the context of how he can emotionally fulfill the other person And you get why Jon did this. He's desperate, he's hurting, he just got tangible evidence that the time he has with the people he loves isn't ever guaranteed. He's been needing space from Clark and Lois for MONTHS because god knows they haven't been fulfilling his emotional needs. In a very real sense, Jay is who he has.

But wanting someone to stay with you so much that you'll... Not even ignore, but just not ever consider what they may want. The intentional isolation, moving halfway across the country away from all support systems. The need to cling to someone.

It reminds me of... something. Someone.

Don't tell Jon I made this comparison. He'll kill himself. Jon and Ultraman ARE similar. They're both such deeply lonely people who cling very tightly and even though it manifests in different ways and even though they have different core thoughts about it. The effect at the end of the day is the same, isn't it?

Is loving Jay not a brutal act of destruction?

There's so many more details about this story I love. Jon & Nia's conversation being vague enough that you have no idea how Jon meant what he told her but you KNOW how NIA took it (girl you can do better hes literally ugly!). Jon breaking a pillar by bonking his head against it (LMFAO). The pretty lies vs ugly truth dichotomy of Jay vs Nia here.

But this one scene, man. This one fucking scene takes the cake. STELLAR work all around. Every panel counts.

This better lead into a full Superman & Gossamer run or SOMETHING or I'm going to have WORDS with DC's editorial staff.

[bonefall]

Mr Bones, what are your opinions on the blurb for the Ivypool Super Edition? I'm disappointed it's another travelling book myself and I'm nervous how they will depict the strange animals mentioned knowing the Erin's track record.

Much as I am known for my Hateposts, I am a Chronic Liker. I am not as hard to please as it may seem, I have VERY low standards.

You know what happens if we get "strange creatures?" BB gets some NEW MAGIC BEASTS

IDK ABOUT YOU BUT IM READY FOR MORE MAGIC BEAFTS.

Soooo keep in mind I have a bit of a bias. I am both an optimist and a scavenger. If there's a cool idea to play with im usually happy lmaoo

Assorted thoughts though;

I also don't like the idea of ANOTHER travel book. Come on man. We had two travel books in the main series, the new content in Riverstar's Hng was all travel, and now ANOTHER one??

Just nuke the lake already if you hate it so much. Why can't they write the battle cats battling or something.

VERY interested in "ancient sins" being corrected. Are we going to get the badger thing addressed??

Or the rats or raccoons SkyClan dealt with?

Or, hell, the beavers?

I'm willing to be a little charitable after the introduction of the Park Cats. I've spoken about how I dislike them as-are, BUT, also spoken about how they're a step in the right direction, y'know?

Park cats are a dissatisfying but GOOD thing. So I'll hear this out.

I'm pretty neutral-positive on Ivypool. I like when girls are mean.

I have no strong feelings on her having a thing with grief. I think it's a good idea and a good plot to explore.

Glad to see that Bristlefrost's death isn't all for the sake of Rootspring though I'll tell you that! So, again, charitability here.

Legitimately interested in what wild shit the new team is going to do with "Strange Creatures." I thought they were going to leave the weird non-cat entities in the transition like Fallout and talking deathclaws.

(And as a talking deathclaw liker...)

MIND YOU I think it will be awful. But if it's funny or interesting in its awfulness I'm game.

My wild hope is that the strange beasts are pine martens. I think that would be cool.

[sinning-23]

Calling Them By Their Full Name

OPLA Headcannons! I thought htis was a funny little thing lol. Anyway enjoy

Warnings: slight mentions of nsfw topics but nothing too serious

Sorry for any spelling errors!

Luffy

-ohhhhh that did not sound like your usual happy, loving voice.

-he knows he fucked up and now he’s hiding from your wrath.

-“MONKEY D. LUFFY, GET YOUR ASS IN THIS KITCHEN. NOW.”

-you could hear a pen drop from how quiet the ship got

-ok so maybe he ate that super expensive, super special dessert you had been saving for a while now. And like, it was going to go bad! All he wanted was a little taste! Than a taste turned into accidentally eating the whole thing.

-He was gonna tell you, honest! But it had proven obvious you found out before he could. He seen you round the corner with RAGe on your face and tears in your eyes.

-"TRAITOR!" You yell, throwing a tired punch to his chest.

-“I’m sorry mami, I’ll find you another one. Promise.” He hums, peppering your face with kisses, squeezing your face between his palms when he did.

-There’s no way you could stay mad at him for long

Zoro

-whoa whoa whoa why are you so ANNNGRY

-hated when you call him by his full name like that, makes him feel like a child being reprimanded

-“RORONOA GODDAMN ZORO.” You boom, Nami’s jaw dropping at the sound. Even she could tell you were pissed

-he’s the sassiest mf alive so he’ll probably just be like, “who the hell are talking to woman?!”

-“You’re a real piece of work you know that??” You’re still yelling and he wastes no time rolling his eyes at you and grabbing you by your waist, the action shutting you up.

“Wanna stop yelling and be a big girl and tell me what’s wrong?” He teases, that stupid smirk you love falling over his features at your speechlessness.

-It’s not often you say his full make but when you do he makes sure you’ll never forget it that same night.

-“Say my name baby, real loud.” He groans, a hand around your throat to steady spent body as he slams back into you

Sanji

-I know thats not a cigarette i smell Vinsmoke Sanji."

-awe hell. Yout tone is deadly. he tried he damndest to stomp it out before you rounded the corner but nope.

-You never use his full name like that. Never.

-did he just get chills?

-"Of course not my love!" He lies throigh his teeth but before he can say anything ese you re lips are on his, you fist gripping the fabric of his shirt.

-He knew he was caught, the taste of tobacco mixing with your usual mint. You pull away, smoothing his shirt out with a warning smile.

-"Don’t lie to me again, I’ll always know when you do, Black Leg." You explain , taking the small cardboard box from his pocket and walking off.

-Even though it was ment as a threat, he couldn't help but feel hotter than ususal. God he loved it when you talked all serious to him.

Bonus: Mihawk

-You know better than to use his full name. Orr to even call him anything besides the usual endearing pet name.

-So when he hears his name called with nothing short of rage, hes trying to figure out who you think you’re talking to.

-"Dracule. Mihawk." You spit, holding the empty bottle in your hand

-Ok so your rage was warented cause he managed to drink the entire vintage bottle of wine you'd been saving...it wasn’t like it was on purpose!

-He doesn’t even bother to look up from his book, just barely giving you a slight glance when you were right in front of him, pointing to the bottle.

-"Id watch your tone darling." he warns, smirking at the way you purse your lips and turn away with a fierce attitude he'd be sure to deal with later.

-“Oh shove it up your ass Dracule.” You scoff, trying to quicken your pace but failing when he’s already behind you, his much larger hand holding your wrist as you yelp.

-His look says it all. You’re screwed.

-So now you’re sitting pretty, bent over and counting each time his hand meets the sore and slightly reddened flesh of your ass.

-“Now, what’s my name again darling?”

[zepskies]

Headcanon: When You're Having His Child...

Pairings: Dean Winchester x F. Reader, Beau Arlen x F. Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

AN: This one is requested by @cevansbaby-dove, and is kind of a continuation of this imagine: When you have morning sickness.

Tags/Warnings: Potential fluff overload.

HC: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would act while you're in labor.

Dean Winchester

Oh, sweet man...

Dean does the thing where he pretends he has his shit together.

He's really trying, for your sake, for his own, and to save face around Sam and Eileen and Jody and everyone else in the hospital waiting room.

They can see it, and he knows it: he's freaking the hell out.

When he's in the room with you, he's either helping you, holding your hand, waiting for you to be dilated enough to start the whole "having a baby" process, or pacing around on those bowlegs, occasionally dragging a hand over his mouth in that telltale nervous gesture.

"Babe, come 'ere," you say with strain. That last contraction really took it out of you. "You're making me even more nervous than I already am."

Dean goes to you and smooths a hand over your hair.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. How're you holding up?"

Tears well up in your eyes, but you try to breathe through it. You're overwhelmed, you're in pain, and you've been in labor for several hours already.

"We're ready for this, right?" you ask, squeezing his hand. He sits on the edge of your bed and makes sure you look him in the eyes.

"We're about to find out," he says, with a bit of teasing. But his gaze is steady when he brings your hand up to his lips. "You don't gotta worry about anything. I'm gonna be with you, come whatever, okay?"

You smile, because you don't just believe him. You know.

Because after years of fighting together, surviving together, living together, you know that this is just one more adventure you get to go on with him by your side.

Now, Dean would rather not see all the gritty details of the birth, but he stays in the delivery room, letting you squeeze the shit out of his hand. He's not going to leave your side. He's wiping sweat from your brow and encouraging you, being whatever kind of support you need.

After the baby's born and the nurses bring her back all cleaned up, Dean holds his daughter for the first time.

He has tears in his eyes. For a long moment, he doesn't even blink. He stares down at that small, perfect face. Already he sees some of your features in her.

He can't put into words how he feels. It's overwhelming in his chest. But one thing is certain...

Dean's never been more grateful to be alive than in this moment.

He blinks, and the first of his tears fall. He brings her to you, sitting down carefully on the edge of your bed again so you can hold her. You're beyond exhaustion, sweaty, and weeping, but one thing is certain...

You've never been more grateful for Dean than in this moment.

You turn to him, giving him a small smile. He returns it, and he leans in to give you a gentle kiss.

"Do you have a name picked out yet?" one of the nurses asks.

You and Dean share a look: his imploring, yours knowing.

"We're not naming her Baby," you warn him.

"Aw, come on."

Beau Arlen

Round 2! 🫡

Beau runs the gambit from excited, to anxious, to freaking the hell out, and back to excited.

This is "Round 2" for him. His second child. But he's had reservations about being an "older" father to a new baby. (He's pushing 50 at this point. No matter how much he keeps in shape, he still feels his age in his bowlegged knees.)

You've assured him that plenty of men have children at his age.

Regardless of his insecurities though, you know he's still over the moon. Beau has always wanted more kids, deep down, and now thanks to you, he's getting his wish.

He's the man who's "prepared for anything."

When your water broke, he already had your to-go bag ready with everything you might need.

But he continues to ask you questions from the moment he's got you out the door to the drive over to the hospital, and even in the lobby.

"You thirsty? You comfortable like that? How's the pain? Just breathe, baby. I gotcha. Watch your step now. You hungry? We've got protein bars in the bag, unless you're cravin' something else. First things first, let's check in. Oh, I hope we can getcha in a private room. Let's see--oh damn, they sure are packed today, huh? Okay, how're you holdin' up? How's the pain, level of 1 to 10? Yep, got it, hold my hand. Just breathe through it. I gotcha."

Bless him. The man means well, but he's driving you freakin' crazy.

"Beau, I know. If you don't take a breath, I'm gonna pop you in the damn nose."

He tries not to smile at your grumpiness. "...Okay, I hear ya. Let's just get you into your room."

He rarely leaves your side during the entire labor, just to get you anything you might actually need. The radio at his belt occasionally goes off for work, but he apologizes, having forgotten to turn it off. He put Jenny in charge while he's gone.

"Let's just hope the precinct's still standing when I get back," he jokes. He finally turns off the radio and takes it off his belt, to your relief. And he returns his undivided attention to you.

Beau witnessed the birth of his daughter Emily, so he's no stranger to being in the delivery room. He even ventures past the curtain when your son is born, breathing air into his little lungs and letting out a powerful cry.

Beau laughs with tears in his eyes. "That's my boy."

When the nurses place him into your arms first, Beau supports your hold and brushes your sweaty hair back from your face. "Good job, honey. Good job."

"I know," you tease weakly.

Beau chuckles. He presses a lingering kiss to your forehead and looks down at the small bundle in your arms and his.

"We have a son," Beau says. His eyes are red and shining. "I have a son."

"You have a son," you nod. You look over at him and lean in for a kiss. He obliges you, and rests his forehead against yours afterwards.

Life is meant for moments like this, he thinks.

He's damn grateful it's with you.

Soldier Boy (Ben)

Readers of Strong as Blood in the BMD-verse will recognize some of this HC...

This day has been a long time coming, for both of you.

He smells like cigar smoke when he comes back into your recovery room. For which you have no doubt, Ben had been puffing away with Butcher and M.M. outside the hospital. 

Ben was with you for most of the lead up to the birth, but you actually agreed that having him in the delivery room wasn't a good idea. He never did well with you in pain, and with his temper, he might just scare the shit out of the doctor and nurses.

He strides toward you though, when he enters the room. He lays a hand on your head and another on the baby's tuft of brown, downy hair.

"We have a daughter," you tell him, with a watery smile.

Part of him still twinges with disappointment. He didn't react well when he found out you weren't carrying a boy, his future son.

(You'd given him enough hell that he never brought up the subject again.)

But that all fades away when he looks down at his daughter's face.

He carefully sits on the edge of your bed, but he's suspended in time. His chest tightens in a way he's never experienced before.

It's almost like pain, but not. Not at all.

He brushes a thumb along the baby's soft cheek. He's almost hesitant to touch her, knowing how fragile she is.

"Beautiful, like her mother," he says at last. And he means it.

He earns your smile.

"Flatterer," you accuse. You know you look as wrecked as you feel. Somehow, none of that matter's whenever you look at your child's face.

You look over at Ben with a shining smile. His lips twitch. He leans in and meets your lips with a kiss, slow and deep and intimate in this quiet little room.

“You okay?” he asks you, after he pulls away. “Got everything you need?”

He’s become even more protective, of course, but also more attentive to you. Especially in the last few months of your pregnancy, seeing how uncomfortable you've become.

It warms you every time, when you consider how rough, how stoic, and how damn-near emotionally repressed he can be.

It seems that fatherhood is beginning to soften him, even before he begins. You quirk a smile at the thought, and at his question.

“Imagine pushing a super melon out of your dick. That’s how I’m doing,” you say cheekily.

He snorts a bit loudly at that, and you shush him, as if it wasn’t your fault he was laughing. He expects nothing less from you.

“But I’m okay,” you answer his second question. “All I need right now is you.”

Ben considers you, a slightly gentler smile curving his lips, and he nods.

“All right,” he says. In this moment, he realizes that his entire world is in this room.

He’d never admit it, but it's a terrifying thought, for a man who once had everything and nothing.

You unknowingly stop the path of his thoughts when you ask him, "Want to hold her for a while?"

Ben perks up at attention. He's a bit uncertain on how exactly to hold the baby, but he can't lose face and tell you that. So he just accepts the bundle when you place her in his arms.

As he looks down at a small face that already has some of his features, he inhales a faltering breath.

It's the first time you ever see true tears in his eyes, despite how much he resists. One manages to draw a path down his cheek. 

“You know, you’re blessed to have my genes, sweetheart,” he says. It elicits a knowing scoff out of you. “But you’re also lucky as hell to have your mom.”

Ben looks up and finds the predictable well of tears forming in your eyes. His smirk softens around the edges.

“She’s the best damn woman you’re ever gonna meet,” he says.

AN: All right, I'll stop. 😭 I hope you enjoy this one, fluff overload and all! Who was your favorite this time: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 💜

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[dcxdpdabbles]

DC xDP fanfic idea: One hell of a good Bellhop

Danny and Jazz Fenton get a chance of a lifetime after a whirlwind of dimension displacement. It's hard to explain how it happened. One minute, they were visiting Clockwork, having tea with their surrogate grandfather, and the next, they were being attacked by what appeared to be woolly mammoths standing on two legs and carrying weapons.

Clockwork had dispatch to take them head on- timeline pests he called them- but in the confusion Danny and Jazz were taken by suprised, stuffed into sacks and thrown through a whirlpool turned portal that spit them out in a new world.

They tried to call Clockwork for help, but it was as if though the Ghost Zone was blocked by some power. Danny at least still had his ghost powers and Jazz was equipped with the standard Fenton weapons on her person, but that wasn't much help when between the two of them they had sixty dollars and thirty four cents to their names.

Drivers' invalid licenses, phones that weren't connected to any service, and maybe worse of all, no actual identity to speak of.

The Fentons simply didn't exist in this world. Not even their four fathers. The two were at a loss on what to do- for about three months. Then they put their Fenton intelligence to use and hacked into a hotel.

It was a run-down place in the heart of downtown Gotham- the place that the portal shot them to was Metropolis. Still, people paid way too much attention to homeless minors there, so they had to move after dodging a weird underwear guy who kept trying to capture Danny. Apparently, he thought Danny was a "Kryptonian Clone". Fruitloop.

Jazz thought they were the only guests in the Hotel, which is why the owner was so happy to host them for weeks instead of a few days. He was a sweet old man named Charles who was far too old to work but couldn't afford the staff, so he did everything himself.

Jazz felt an awful pity seeing him sit at his counter, staring hopefully at the door for any new guests whenever she returned from her work. It was heartbreaking to see Charles' eyes dim whenever the closing time came, and once again, no one stopped by. At this point, he kept the hotel open in a sad, broken dream.

Where did she work? Danny didn't know, but Jazz made him swear she would handle their expenses. She kept a tight lip on her day, and since Danny had no documentation to go to school with, he found himself helping Charles with maintenance.

He has no license to do anything, but Danny has been installing electricity, water pipes, and anything in between since he was young. FentonWorks always needed something fixed, after all.

He even went out and "borrowed" some paint cans to give the old place a little touch-up. Charles' eyes watered when he saw.

"My wife and I meet at this hotel, you know," Charles tells him one day as Danny patches up some old bricks. He runs to find the old man, gently running his hand along the fireplace. A picture of two young people dancing in the Hotel Lobby—back when it was new and shiny—is hanging right over it. It's easy to see it's Charles and his late wife, Sally.

"Of course, that was back in the forties—a few years after the war and before Gotham was crime-infested. We always wanted to run this place together. We worked two jobs, and when we finally had enough, we bought it from the old owners when they announced they were closing down. We were so happy and ran it together for a year, but then she got sick. Really sick. I was told to give up on the Hotel when I lost her. No one saw a reason when it was obviously failing, but it's the last thing I have of her, you know?"

Danny's lips wobble. He thinks back to hours and hours of tracing the Fenton Works logo on all his new clothes. It looks stupid but, gosh its the last thing he has of his parents since they been sepreated too.

"Yeah" His voice catches "Yeah I know. Did you two ever have children?"

Charles shakes his head. "Salley couldn't have kids, and no matter how many times we applied, we were never approved for adoption. Then we were too old."

"I'm sorry Charles"

"That's alright, my boy." The man's smile is just as heartbreaking and sad as it is soft. "It's something I accepted long ago. "

Danny decided then and there that he would save this hotel if it was the last thing he did. Danny wasn't aware that his Ghost Powers launched onto that oath and sent out a flair, turning Gotham's Fog Lodge into his new haunt.

This meant that overnight, Danny's haunt was carefully bettering itself as a reflection of Danny's happiness. It made it look brand new among all the old and falling apart scenery.

No one knew why or how, but it looked just as Charles remembered it in the glory days.

Danny decided they couldn't compete with large chain hotels, so he made it an experience instead. He did Era events using his experience with the different parts of the Ghost Zone as references.

Soon Gotham was hearing of the Victorian Era Ball—a chance to dress up and dance the old ways with antique clothing of that period.

But Danny didn't stop there.

Disco parties. Nineties garage bands. Murder mysteries nights from the roaring twenties. Even the props were so realistic that people swore they stepped into the time from when arriving for their events.

People started calling, hoping to book in advance, and Charles burst into tears the first night Danny told them they ran out of rooms.

Since it was Danny's haunt, he could complete all the work by himself, having the hotel help him along the way. No one knew why or how, but somehow it was always clean, food was always prepared whenever someone needed it, and bags would be up into their rooms without actually seeing the Bellhop pass getting them at the door.

Not a single staff member in sight, either.

Charles suspected Danny was meta, and he was using his powers to be one hell of a good host. Everyone else thought the place was haunted by staff made entirly of ghosts, and that somehow made it more appealing.

Jazz's new boss thought it a little too good to be accurate, but he was so good at keeping records and organizing that he gave her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she did mention she had a meta brother she was desperately trying to protect.

If there was one thing Red Hood knew, it was that desperate people turned to crime the most. If he could keep someone like Jazz Fenton away from working with the nutjobs of Gotham, he would have been doing one thing better for the city.

As far as Jazz was aware, she was only an assistant/secretary to an obvious front masquerading as an insurance company, and if she pretended not to notice all the crime, she could feed Danny and help Charles.

Charles, for his part, never said it, but he thinks if he and Sally had been able to have grandchildren, they would have been exactly like Jazz and Danny.

He may have let it be implied at one point, and the misunderstanding spreads that he is their grandfather. None of the three make haste to correct it.

Gotham Fog Lodge starts to gain traction around the same time it captures the eye of one very intrigued billionaire. Bruce Wayne keeps an eye on the business but decided to let Jason make the call since the grandduaghter's owner works for him. '

Surely, he would step in if something malicious was going on.

[helluvapoison]

Nice To Eat You

[ii]

The Vees x Cannibal!Reader

warnings: drugs, suggestive, rosie slander, dark themes, violence, security shenanigans and, hello, cannibalism

heads up: if you didn’t know, the people of cannibal town are hellborn; born in hell, never lived on earth, never sinned! their life spans are unknown(?) but seem to age as a human would, unlike other demons

Cannibal town has been off limits to The Vees, courtesy of Vox, ever since the incident with you know who. Meeting you was a suspicious surprise for them. You were kicked out of said town by Rosie for giving cannibals a bad name. Can you fucking believe the irony!?

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Suspicious might be an understatement

• For the longest time, Vox is unnerved by you for every other reason than your appetite. Anyone associated with Rosie is an adversary by proxy. If you take Alastor out of the picture, Rosie is still an Overlord and all Overlords will inevitably crumble to The Vees– even if they don’t know it yet

• There’s an expression for that though, isn’t there? Keep your enemies close. That’s exactly how Vox went about dealing with you

• Gives you a job as his security guard. Hell knows he needs one, what with the price of fame and all, those dirty fucking sinners that try and touch him wherever he goes

• It’s a slow development because neither of you initiate conversation

• Vox is beyond used to the rotating door of demons in and out of his life. He abandons the names of anyone that isn’t you, Velvette or Valentino (Angel Dust and Alastor he can’t forget against his will)

• Becoming attached to you while simultaneously waiting for the other shoe to drop is fucking awful. It feels it like a bug in his system, annoys him to the point his screen starts glitching one day

“Just what the fuck are you up to!? I know you’re with Rosie–”

You knew, on some level, Vox didn’t trust you all the way but it didn’t bother you because he hardly seems to trust anyone. So you cut him off with a mix of a snort and a scoff,

“Rosie? Rosie’s a cunt. She gave me the boot years ago, haven't seen her since.”

Involuntarily, he begins to smile, “Years, huh?”

• Trust is another slow endeavor. Now that Vox doubts your motives slightly less than before, he can silently appreciate the fact you do a damn good job of keeping demons away from him. Bonus: if you happen to take a chunk out of them for shits and giggles, blood never touches his pristine self

• “I believe I owe you an apology,”

“Am I going to get one?”

• In a way, sure, but you’ll be sorely disappointed if you thought it was with words. He invites you to dinner. From that moment until you arrive at the restaurant, he’s reveling in the constant state of shock you seem to be in

• Your eyebrows jump when the waiter nervously lifts the lid from your plate and reveals ribs. Real, demon ribs

“Surprised?” Vox asks rather smugly

“Somewhat,” You return his sly smirk, “Most can’t stomach my… indulgences.”

“I don’t have a stomach. I think I’ll be just fine.”

˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• Vel doesn’t give two steaming shits about Rosie or her backwards, unflattering town so long as it doesn’t interfere with her enterprise. Vox’s grudges are his own. If The Vees got hellbent and demented over each other’s EOTD (Enemy Of The Day) nothing would get done!

• During a pathetic comment war on the her social, a few threats became too detailed for Vox’s liking

• A cannibal wasn’t his first choice– or second, or third– but you’d certainly scare off anyone trying to hurt his business partner!

• Velvette’s far from worried about being lunch when she meets you.

• “You’re my–? No. Absolutely not! I can’t be seen with this.” She gestures to all of you

“You’re not exactly making me drool either,” You mutter under your breath

• Judging by the looks of her partners’ faces, stunning Velvette to silence was impossible. Key word: was

• It didn’t last long and hasn’t stopped since

• She pulled out every trick in the book to get you to quit. She gave you a uniform to wear during your shifts, tossed fabrics at you until you turned into a living clothes rack, forced you to hold her phone during her live streams but criticized and berated the way you did

• For fucks sake, she even screamed at Vox to let her fire you!

• You didn’t need her to like you and that was as obvious as it was infuriating. She was Velvette! Everyone loved her! Having you around was like a black eye; literally bruising her ego and bad for business

• Or so she thought

• She made you stand in the shadows of her studio so you wouldn’t frighten anyone and ruin photoshoots with your “freaky face” she so eloquently put it.

• Velvette was mid fashion crisis, yelling at Joanne for the gazillionth time, when you approached from behind

“I’m taking my lunch.”

“Fucking fantastic! Here, have Joanne since she insists on being fucking useless!”

Playing along, you let a guttural growl rip from your throat, making Joanne jump high in the air.

She squeaked and shook her head vigorously, holding her hands in surrender, “I-I’ll be better, I swear!”

• Her candy cane eyes widened in delighted surprise. How had she been so blind to your potential usefulness!?

• Velvette could get high off the new game she created with you. It was like having a scary guard dog– only better dressed to aesthetics. Paparazzi didn’t dare touch her now, standing at a respectable distance that made her more unattainable and desirable than before

• Her attitude change makes her like-able to you too, she’s heaps more pleasant to be around now. You don’t mind doing the extra stuff that wasn’t in your contract like being a dress up doll, dealing with the pet names or escorting her to events. She knows and takes advantage of this instead of saying how she feels

• “You’re my arm candy now, dollface! You go where I go.”

“I hardly think I qualify as arm candy,” You mumble to her, overtly aware of how she holds you close to her

“If you’re fishing for compliments, fuck off to another pond. I don’t waste my free time with uggos,” She says seriously, abruptly smiling as a camera flashes in her direction, “Now get ready. Fans have been dying to get a picture with me lately and if anyone smudges this dress with their dirty fucking fingers, I want you to bite them off!”

“Anyone that touches you won’t have hands tomorrow,” You promise

• You swear she shivers upon hearing that

˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚

• The easiest by far to get along with. In a mortifying way

• Val is fairly accepting of all Hell’s creatures. It’s typically followed up by something sexual but, hey, you’re not in a position to complain, not when no one else in Hell would willingly sign up to work with a cannibal. Especially one outside the confines of Rosie’s civil town

• Rosie’s loss is his gain

• You would be lying if you said you weren’t expecting him to turn horror-struck but he barely blinks when you explain what you did to get exiled. Your savage methods intrigue him, a plethora of potentials just waiting to be explored. In fact, he goes a step further to praise you for being different

• “Hell would be deathly boring if everyone thought the same way, darling. That’s what makes you so… alluring.” He rolled his tongue with the last word, dragging it out and making it ring in your ears

• You’d been called many things in your afterlife, but never that

• You feel rather useless at the moth’s side. You were supposed to be protecting him but he could take care of himself just fine. Val was about the tallest in every room (if not the tallest) with guns hidden under his coat that he never used

• Later you’d understand he only reached for them as a last resort, when his head was unclouded by blood lust

• If you ever voiced your complaints, he’d be quick to reassure you that you make him look good. What powerful Overlord doesn’t have bodyguards? (Do. Not. Answer.)

• However the day does come when you prove your services have merit. On set of all places! A coked up Hellhound didn’t take kindly to Val’s directions, sending a demon wielding a boom mic flying towards him

• Valentino dodged the demon with ease, whipping around and aiming his pistol to put the dog down. Instead he saw you pushing the mutt’s face into the ground, his arm pinned at an angle. Your sharp teeth were bared at his throat, drool dampening his fur

• But you made no moves without Valentino’s say-so

• There’s a lot he could say about the scenario you provided him and how it made him feel– but he only calls your name, beckoning you back to his side

• Where you belong

• “You’re lucky I don’t like hair in my food,” You growl in the Hellhound’s ear before following after Val

• Valentino may be a mastermind of porn and sex but he knows the real way to a demon’s heart, it’s is the universal love language

• Unbothered by blood, he’ll sit pretty and poised on his loveseat while you tear into the meal he provided you. A thanks for a job well done

• “You’ll never go hungry now that you’re with me, monstruo,” The pet name is dripping with adoration, “I won’t waste you like that bitch did. Look at you, you’re already so special.”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ i lost the request that went to this but i hope it reaches them. cannibal!reader got that rizz, huh?

[lurochar]

Before It All

Alastor’s affiliation with deer goes back much further than his death.

Part 2 + Part 3

Human Alastor Headcanons

‐-----------------------------------

No.

No way.

Were your eyes deceiving you?

“You summoned me?” You exclaimed with disbelief, staring at the adolescent boy with incredulity and he seemed just as surprised as you were. “You are just a–”

He interrupted you swiftly with a bitter voice. “If you call me a boy or a child, I’ll…” He clenched his hands, kicking at the dirt in a very childish manner before looking at you again. “I didn’t think it would work. I mean,” his voice lowered and he let out a scornful laugh, “demons? They aren’t real.” 

Your brow rose and you tilted your head. “You drew a summoning circle and somehow have access to the secrets of a ritual to summon a demon and you don’t think we are real?” You crossed your arms. “I know I probably am one of the least frightening demons you could have summoned, but still. What exactly were you trying to do here?”

The boy opened his mouth, but did not seem to have an answer. Instead, he took in your unique features and blinked when he seemed to realize just exactly what he was looking at. “Are…” He almost hesitated to ask when you sighed, clearly guessing what he was about to say. “Are those ears…?”

“Yes, these are deer ears, okay?! I’m a deer demon! I know, I know! Not very scary, is it!” You were flustered and the boy watched in fascination as your ears twitched and flattened against your head. “I’m still a demon though. And you’re just a human. Don’t make me remind you who is stronger here.”

“Can I touch your ears?” The boy asked, not even hearing what you had just said as you spluttered, almost backing up as the boy fearlessly moved closer towards you.

What the hell was wrong with him? Did he have a screw loose in his head?

‘This is happening. This is actually happening.’ You thought, standing stiffly as the boy stood in front of you, staring at you expectantly. He seemed rather tall for his age, there wasn’t too much of a height difference, that could not be an excuse to turn him down.

Well, if you really were going to let this human touch you…

“What’s your name?” You sighed, willing your ears back to their usual position and his eyes followed their path with clear interest. “Why did you summon a demon to begin with? How old are you to even be doing such things?”

“Alastor Hartfelt.” The boy, Alastor, shrugged. “I’m fifteen. Why I summoned you?” His eyes darkened so abruptly that you were taken back by the sheer hatred you could see within them. “I want you… to kill my father.”

Ah.

You should have known.

It was a typical request.

You reached out your hand, looking at Alastor for permission to touch him and though he hesitated for a moment, he nodded. You felt him unconsciously flinch when you grabbed his arm as gently as you could and slowly brought it up towards your head. “Please, just don’t pull or tug them too hard.” You placed his hand on your ears and they twitched at the touch of another other than yourself.

“They’re real.” Alastor blinked, as if surprised by that fact as he stroked your soft ears, causing you to sigh. It took a lot out of you not to bleat when Alastor kept on stroking your ears for quite some time before he had his fill and finally stepped back. “You’re actually a deer.”

“A deer demon. Yes, thank you for pointing that out for me.” You shook your head. “Are you aware of the consequences of this? If I kill your father, your soul is mine. It will be mine to do with whatever I please once you die and descend to Hell. Is that what you truly want?”

“I don't care, as long as that man dies. Just kill him! He hurts my Mama, he hurts me! He's a drunk waste of life!” Alastor trembled with rage at first, but then began to claw at his face when he felt his eyes sting with unwanted tears.

He absolutely froze when he felt your arms wrap around him in a warm embrace.

“Damn. I'm an awful representative of demons everywhere for even thinking this, but I don't want to condemn you to Hell. Just this once, I'll give you a pass. I'll make it look like your father died in some accident and you keep your soul, okay?” You pulled back to see Alastor’s wide eyes.

“Why?”

It was a simple ask.

Why indeed.

You weren't quite sure yourself. 

“Go home now. Take care of your mother. And most importantly, make it like you never met me. Forget about me.” You began to shoo him off, no longer paying him any attention as you began to plot the death of a human, made to look like an accident.

You didn't notice Alastor’s manic eyes staring at you until he could no longer see you through the foliage of the forest.

His fascination with deer festered.

~00~

“Oh my!”

Rosie placed her teacup down on its saucer, enthralled with the story. It wasn't often Alastor talked about his human life and even less so about his adolescence.

She was almost reluctant to ask, but she had to know!

“Have you found your sweet Doe here in Hell yet?” Rosie eyed Alastor’s expression closely, though, as expected, it did not change from its usual unreadable smile in the least.

“Hmm,” Alastor set down his empty coffee mug, “who can say?” His grin widened when Rosie pouted and he stood from his chair. “That's information I will not share even with you, dear Rosie.”

“I suppose that's fair.” Rosie also stood. “I'm grateful you trusted me enough with that precious story of yours! It must be dear to your heart.”

“What little there is left of it.” Alastor’s smile darkened for a second before bidding farewell to Rosie.

He had a rare day off from his hotelier duties tomorrow and he wasn't going to waste a second of it.

And while he wasn't one to believe in redemption–

–an entire day with his Doe sounded heavenly to him.

[tiny-space-platypus]

Another Danny is a Jason look alike thing because it's in my head.

WARNING: mild destruction of vivisection ig

Jason after being told about both Dick's and Tim's interaction with his look alike felt weird. Like both his brothers, 2 bats believed this dude was him for a hot minute. He had to meet this guy at some point.

Jason's thoughts were interrupted by a blood curdling shriek and the power in Crime Alley and at least a 800 foot (12 blocks) perimeter. This wail made the pit within him bubble and scratch with rage. Yeah, he had to go check this out and so did the rest of the bats. Great, a family adventure.

They pinned down the location to an old apartment build recently bought up by a mystery company surrounded by guards with unfamiliar weapons. Whatever those weapons were they hurt like a motherfucker, one of those guns, Lazer? Whatever it was it 𝙝𝙪𝙧𝙩, it felt like it was pulling something out of him or ripped from him. Whatever the hell those weapons were they didn't seem to affect Tim (lucky motherfucker) but they also found out if the Lazer wasn't focused on them the pain went away almost immediately though it did make them stagger a bit. Good thing there are plenty of them tonight. Though Jason would never say that out loud.

They managed to make it through their security rather quickly. Just as they got through another scream rang through the walls shaking the foundation as well as making the pit in Jason act up. Without warning or a plan Jason sprinted in shooting anyone in the way with rubber bullets, the pit was guiding him. Guiding him to what looked like a shittily put together surgical room. Another scream came through as well as sobbing.

Jason didn't wait for the other bats and opened the door to a horrific scene. Jason shot before he even realized he did. On the table was a girl who looked a little older than Damian, she was sobbing still somehow conscious.

The girl was strapped down to a medical surgical table with her chest cavity cut open and a few technically none vital organs removed and placed on a medical cart. A few of her fingers, kidneys, spleen, stomach, and one of her eyes were all placed on the cart. All of it bleeding an awful mixture of red and green. There were 2 IVs pumping through her, one green and glowing (Lazarus water?) The other, a dark black labeled as some kind of poison. He removed the black one causing the girl to whimper as her unfocused eye looked at him. The girl struggled but there was where to go. She sobbed desperately. Her voice horse and small

"It hurts- p l e a s e it hurts"

Jason tried to speak but couldn't muster the words. Right he must be terrifying and he needed to put this girl together again meaning he needed to take off his helmet to get it done right. Jason took off his helmet and began to put the child together again. He put her organs back into her body as well as reattaching them with some stitches.

The other bats would finally enter the room when he finished up his little impromptu anatomy lesson. They stood there for a second unsure as to what to do. Robin looked the most upset at this scene as RR went to the wall. The restraints on the kid was electronic meaning that one of these controls had to undo it. Nothing was labeled because of course it was never that easy. Nightwing would over and try to speak to the kid though she didn't really respond. The child's head lolled to the side and faced Jason.

"Danny?" The child rasped in her small voice as she tried to focus her one eye at Jason. Just as she said the name RR managed to find the button that would restrain her. The child shot up immediately suddenly staring at Jason with a deep toxic green eye as she grabbed onto him she looked at him with an scared and hurt eye. As well as popping a few of the stitches Jason had just done from the fast movement.

"...Danny you lied. Not safe.."

The child clung to him as someone else entered the party in the surgical room. Someone glowing green and chilling the room. Someone who looked Just like Jason, someone using the same but different pit energy, a protective energy rather than a rage filled one. They both just stared at each other.

They probably would have done something to each other but not of the bats could move. Whatever this guy was he was powerful and walking towards Jason. Jason couldn't move either as this man who looked exactly like him bug some how more regal and wearing a crown took the girl from him who had started to melt in his arms.

A glowing green portal appeared next to the man who glowed a similar green. He began to walk through then stopped. The man snapped his fingers having a card appear in front of Jason with some sort of summoning circle on it. As the man spoke the room boomed.

"Thank you for saving my Daughter. Summon if you need assistance from the dead."

He then stepped through the portal with the melting girl and had it close behind them allowing all of the bats and birds to breathe again. Batman spoke this time as Jason looked over the card that he was now getting a little of the green and red blood on.

"We will need to meet with Zatanna for this."

[ckret2]

One of my favourite things about the book of Bill has to be how hard it has cemented that, for all the airs Bill likes to put on, he's actually awful at manipulating people. Like if you look at the just the show, on the surface his record isn't bad. 2 1/2 successful manipulations out of 3 shown on-screen is solid. ((That is until you examine it further and realize that the 2 successful ones were done to 12 year old children who 1. Weren't exactly in the best states of mind at the time due to severe sleep deprivation/a difficult emotional state and 2. he still had to trick via his power (the fake timer on the laptop/possessing blendin so Mabel didn't know it was him)) But now? Oh man! Ford wasn't just lucky, he joined a tradition dating back all the way to humanities beginnings! Bill has been trying to get people to do his bidding literally since people had gotten good enough at resource-gathering and tool-usage to be able to potentially build his portal! And he failed over and over and over again and he never learned shit! That would be bad enough but not only did he fail at manipulating several civilzations worth of people, they ALSO constantly thwarted him in ways beyond that! He got himself banished, trapped, and annoyed to hell and back and thats just the stuff he told us! Thats not even speaking of his latest and possibly greatest fumble, failing the convince us, the reader of the Book of Bill who is canonically a fan of Bill or at least Gravity Falls into striking a deal with him. In short, if I asked Bill to manipulate a child into eating ice cream with just his words I wouldn't trust him to get it done within my or the kids life time.

Except, Bill IS good at manipulating people. You JUST DESCRIBED several examples of him being good at manipulating people.

Identifying the most vulnerable targets, the "weakest link" most likely to cave and do what you want—like children (or elderly people with dementia, or immigrants who don't understand the language well)—is part of being good at manipulation.

Identifying and taking advantage of people in a compromised mental state when they're not thinking clearly and are more likely to do what you want is part of being good at manipulation. (He didn't try to persuade Mabel to destroy the laptop, BECAUSE HE KNEW DIPPER WAS MORE VULNERABLE. He didn't approach Dipper or Ford dressed as Blendin—BECAUSE HE KNEW MABEL WAS MORE VULNERABLE.)

Just straight up lying to people—about a situation (the timer), about a person (Blendin)—is a manipulation tactic.

Fabricating a totally artificial emergency and pressuring a target to ACT NOW to prevent disaster is a common con artist trick. (See: scammers who cold call strangers, say they're from the IRS and the stranger is behind on taxes, and demand they transfer a large amount of money from their bank RIGHT NOW or go to jail—WHICH ACTUALLY WORKS A LOT, especially because people CAN'T THINK AS CLEARLY when they're panicking.)

Disguising yourself as somebody trustworthy or somebody intimidating to trick a target into obeying you is also a common con artist trick.

Not to mention ALL the work we see into how he manipulates Ford: he makes note of Ford's social isolation and how Bill can use that to his advantage; he identifies the thing Ford wants most (respect & acknowledgment for his intellectual achievements) and weaves that into his manipulation; he uses both Ford's ego AND Ford's insecurity against him; he almost effortlessly turns Ford against the one friend who adores him, making Ford think his friend's kindest attempts to help are evidence of backstabbing; and even though ultimately it didn't work, you can't say that threatening to destroy Ford's life from inside his own body was a BAD manipulation tactic.

Plus the entire muse schtick. Fooling people into thinking you're doing something magical or supernatural is such a common manipulation tactic that there's a whole name for it: "mystical manipulation." Bill does this NON STOP with Ford, and with many of his other victims.

We see him successfully talk an entire tribe into helping him build a working redwood portal—and they only turned against him when the portal started petrifying people, unleashing monsters, and creating bottomless pits. He talked the Aztecs into sacrificing 9,000 people to build a portal that didn't even work. He talked not-Disney into making a cartoon about Bill that included UNLEASHING LIVE BEES IN THE THEATER. Who the hell would think that's a good idea!

And to top it all off, he formed multiple successful cults that were ride or die for him until the bitter end. That's like the crown jewel of being good at manipulating. Bill talked a whole town into joining his cult in under a month in spite of the fact that he kept calling them plasma bags and chugging formaldehyde. Based on the dates in the document about Silas Birchtree, people were marrying into Ciphertology at least five years after Bill's puppet disintegrated and he ditched them.

Bill was good at manipulating people!

Do you know what Bill WASN'T good at? Getting people to finish and open a portal.

Largely because portals are difficult to make, and because he can only get so far into the process before it becomes obvious that this thing will destroy the world and that's usually enough to override any other threats or promises he makes.

Yeah, he says some stupid things that should obviously give him away—like talking about setting off all the nukes. He's kinda pathetic and a bit of a dumbass sometimes. But, here's the thing about successful manipulators, con artists, and cult leaders: MOST of them are kinda pathetic dumbasses. Cult leaders are idiots. There's a cult leader who preached his followers should be on minimal vegetarian diets, had his chauffeur take him out to a big fancy steak dinner, then told his chauffeur he did that to test his faith—and the chauffeur was like well okay. Cult leaders are idiots, AND YET SUCCEED. When Bill says you can get anyone to hum along with your tune if you've got charisma? He's right—that's true in real life.

Manipulators get away with manipulation not because they tell such brilliant impeccable lies that the most clear-headed rational person in the world would believe them... but because they know to tell their lies to people who aren't clear-headed and rational, and because they know using cheap tricks and false identities and lies that the victim WANTS to be true works better than a flawless story, and because they know most people tend to give other people the benefit of the doubt that what they're saying is probably true.

So yeah, he's too cocky, he's a bit pathetic, he lost a lot, he loses at the end of the book... but that doesn't mean he's a bad manipulator. It means that being good at manipulating can only carry you so far, and Bill didn't have what it takes to carry him the rest of the way.

[infictionalwonderland]

hot physiotherapist | j.potter

SUMMARY, james has a rugby accident and has to take physiotherapy - he’s pretty down about, but all that depressions forgotten as soon as he sees you, his physiotherapist. why had he not done this sooner?

James Potter was miserable.

A very odd occurrence, although it did happen (evidently). He was pouting the whole way as Remus drove them to the physiotherapists, Sirius was giggling to himself in the backseat the whole time—Remus, ever the angel he was, tried to cheer James up by giving him complete control over the music in the car and even greeting him with his coffee order and a chocolate croissant.

James was still miserable.

“Have fun, darling boy!” Sirius chirped out the window as James got out of the car, “try not to break any bones on your way in. God forbid you need physiotherapy.”

He burst out into borderline manic cackles and fell down completely into the row of backseats, never one to wear his seatbelt as he hated being constricted—James glared with upmost venom and hatred at the backseat windows, Tarzan looking cunt.

“I hope everything goes well.” Remus’ voiced gently, shooting his boyfriend a blank stare even as he tried to stop his own amusement. “D’ya want me to fetch you any food or anything for you when you come out?”

“No. Thanks.”

Remus winced.

James was still miserable.

He trotted his way indoors, cursing inside his head at the shooting pains all up his back and his hips, with the largest pout there ever was he made his way over to the reception and told them who he was—why he was here, before behind asked to take a seat in one of the rooms where he would be joined shortly by the physiotherapist.

He sat, frowning at the large room with equipment and soft turquoise coloured walls for a short about of time and then the door opened.

And then his world stopped.

In you stepped. . your hair was tugged into a low ponytail, front strands out of the pony to frame your face. He had died, he was certain. Your skin looked so soft, the beaming white lights giving you the most heavenly glow, he was sure you were an actual angel. Your eyes gleamed beautifully, and he was lost in the exact shade of them—trying to pinpoint every little detail and speck of colour. Your lips were pulled into such a fucking lovely smile, he could’ve melted (he did melt). Even from where you stood in the door, he was greeted in the pleasant aroma of your perfume and he felt like he was floating.

Your mouth was open—oh my god he was missing an opportunity to hear your voice—wait, what had you been saying. Balls.

“Um—h—muhuh?”

Double balls.

Your beautiful smile didn’t even waver in the slightest, though, amusement weaved it’s way into your eyes and created a mesmerising pattern into your irises that he forever engraved into his memory.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Mr Potter! My names Y/N and I’ll be your physiotherapist for the foreseeable future.” You grinned, walking closer to him, “Hopefully.”

Wha—was that flirting? No! You had said it in a normal tone, like Hi I hope I stay your physiotherapist because it is literally my job, James and I enjoy it. But—yeah, no. It was like that. You were so close to him now—so so much more beautiful up close, he didn’t think that was even humanly attainable.

“Yeah—i—I hope so too, ma’am.”

MA’AM?!

Somebody sedate me, he thought.

You didn’t seem thrown off or even slightly offended, or disgusted by him. Which was, good, really, really good.

Instead, you let out this little bubbly burst of laughter and fucking hell, James knew from that point he was gone and could never return. His eyes were probably comically wide and maybe in literal heart shapes but he could truly care less. He look at you in awe—your nose scrunched when you laughed, your eyes squinted and to James you just became even more perfect.

“Please, call me Y/N—Ma’am sounds overly American anyway—“

“Would you prefer Miss?”

I’m never leaving the house again.

You blinked.

He almost stumbled to his knees in apology though that would obviously only give you the impression he was more of a creep than you already thought he was—but—hold on. He watched, mouth falling open just slightly, as your cheeks flushed a very very pretty pink and your mouth formed into the cutest smile he’d ever seen in his entire life.

He was definitely leaving the house again, and it was going to be to come here everyday.

“Just Y/N is fine, thank you for being so considerate though.” You laughed teasingly.

“Can I be upgraded to just James?”

“Oh? You don’t want to he called miss? Or Ma’am?” You grinned at him, white teeth glistening from under your full lips, cheeks turning a faint rosy shade under the strength of your grin and a strand of hair swooping in front of your eye. He was in love. “Or, Sir maybe?”

Jesus Christ of Nazareth.

James is one hundred percent that he would’ve fallen over fast first had he been standing and he’s never been more thankful he’s not. He can feel his cheeks turn red—his face heating up to an embarrassingly tomato red state at an embarrassingly quick rate.

“Nah—Ju—Just James, please.” He huffed out, moving the material of his shirt dramatically off his chest and fanning himself. “Is—um, is it hot in here or is just you? Me! Is it just me?!”

You smile at him, adorably crinkle eyed and slightly pink cheeked, looking every bit the goddess and the angel James already knew with certainty that you were.

James Potter was, as it turns out, no longer miserable.

In fact, he can’t wait for his next appointment.

[ellecdc]

Dude since like you would continue writing poly moonwaterkiller. Idk if you okay with it, but do you mind writing poly moonwaterkiller x sick reader. I mean, we know barty is so fucking wild. Would love to see barty doing anything for reader to make her happy, but moonwater get stress cos "no barty! she shouldn't be outside rn! She's sick!" And Barty be like "but she looks happy out hereee!!!"

Something like that, thank you! And love you both

thanks so much for your request (and your patience in me writing this for you a few months later 😅). I knew I loved the idea; just needed to wait for the right moment to write it!!

poly!moonwaterkiller x sick!reader who Barty is taking very good care of thank you very much

CW: fem!reader is poorly, Barty calls Pandora peculiar [affectionately], disgusting amount of fluff

“Dovey!” Remus exclaimed as he spotted you sitting on the stone floor of a small balcony on the side of Gryffindor tower. “What are you doing out here!?”

It had officially been about a week of this gods-awful flu that was wreaking havoc on your immune system (and more importantly, your lungs) to which Madame Pomfrey prescribed healing draughts, lots of water, and rest.

And this, Remus felt, was decidedly not rest. 

He and Regulus rushed to crouch beside your hunched over form to see that your eyes were closed as you pointed your face towards the sky. 

“Hi boys.” You offered weakly, still never opening your eyes to greet them.

“Amour, what are you doing out here?” Regulus repeated, placing the back of his hand against your temple and grimacing at the heat radiating from it. 

“Getting some sun.” You explained simply. “Haven’t been outside in ages.”

And while Remus knew that to be technically true, he also knew there had been a reason for that. 

“Dovey, it’s barely spring and it’s far too cold for you to be out here; besides, it’s mostly cloudy.” He explained, wondering how in the hell you found the energy to move yourself from Remus’ bed all the way out here when you seemed completely incapable of even opening your eyes. 

And where the hell was Junior!?

“Exactly; mostly cloudy.” Barty’s voice chimed in as he stepped out onto the balcony to join the three of them with a cup of tea in one hand and a bowl of soup in the other.

“Junior, what in Salazar’s name do you think you’re doing?” Regulus hissed at him as he placed the bowl on the ground in front of you. 

“Taking care of our girl.” He hissed back at him before softening as he turned to look at you. 

“Hey Treasure, still doing okay?” He asked softly, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. 

You hummed in acknowledgment. 

“I brought some tea with lots of honey.” He explained as he placed the cup in your hands.

That, Remus noticed bitterly, enticed you to open your eyes. 

“Thank you.” You cooed, though the sentiment was sort of lost in the coughing fit that it elicited. 

“Junior, it’s too cold outside; she needs to be in bed.” Remus sighed disappointedly.

Disappointed that he had to play the bad cop, and disappointed because this looked like a really nice way to spend the afternoon. 

If you were tired of being sick, Remus was tired of watching you feel so poorly and not being able to do anything to fix it. 

“I cannot believe you think me daft enough to leave her to the elements, Lupin.” Barty sneered as he resituated the blanket that had begun to slide off your shoulder. “She has four layers on and a heating charm surrounding her, Evans had some muggle fever reducers that I gave her just before I went to the kitchens, and vitamin D is supposed to support healthy immune system function. So suck my dick; the both of you.”

“Okay.” Remus offered quickly at the same time Regulus let out a tiresome “Barty”. 

“You feel better already, don’t you baby?” He cooed as he sat beside you and pressed a kiss to your overly hot temple.

You hummed in the affirmative again. 

“Okay, but where are her shoes?” Remus continued, noting the way you were sitting with your knees up to your chest and the soles of your feet pressed firmly into the stone beneath you.

Barty seemed to turn a bit bashful at that before quickly schooling his expression. “It’s quite simple, really. Pandora suggested that she ought to try grounding.”

Though his tone was haughty, he turned bashful again when he received no response from either of his boyfriends.

“Said it would be good for her…chakras or her aura or…I don’t know! Alright!? I don’t know; but Salazar’s saggy balls, she’s been so sick for so long and I just wanted her to feel better. So yeah, I listened to Peculiar Pandora, okay? Sue me.” 

Barty hardly had a moment to pout before Remus was wrestling the Slytherin into his lap as Regulus cooed at him.

“Barty’s going soft.” Regulus taunted lovingly.

“I will literally bite your fucking head off, Black; try me.”

“You’re just soft for our girl, hm?” Remus purred into Barty’s ear, relishing in the way the notoriously tense boy melted for him.

Barty made a harrumphing sound half way between reluctant admittance and a whine. 

“Be nice to him.” You admonished quietly; opening one eye at Remus and Barty as you leaned into Regulus’ side who had moved to sit beside you in Barty’s place. 

“He is being nice.” Regulus defended quickly.

“I’m always nice.” Remus added. “I’m alway nice to you, aren’t I?” He continued as he looked down at Barty, currently curled up in his lap. 

“You’re mean.” Barty pouted.

“Come now.”

“Horrid.”

“Yeah?”

“Just awful.”

Remus beamed down at the petulant boy before nuzzling his face into his neck.

“You love it.” He accused.

Barty was quiet for a moment as he drew circles on the back of Remus’ hand. “Maybe.”

Remus was very thankful that Barty was such a clever person, because sitting out here with his three loves on this semi-lovely Scottish spring day felt an awful lot like Remus’ own little personal heaven.

[rae-writes]

An Angel...

om demons x reader (+Simeon, Solomon)

wc : 1.k

warnings : simping bois, humor, some sprinkled suggestive comments

synopsis : a deviltok trend has the boys on their knees for you (though that’s nothing new)

a/n : this audio scratches an itch in my brain and I needed to do something with it

angel ver. 

<Asmodeus> GUYS!!!  YOU HAVE TO WATCH THIS!!!! NOW!!!!! LIKE RIGHT NOW!!!!!!

[attachment sent]

Casually clicking on the video file, his interest peaked immediately when he saw you. Clad in your RAD uniform, you were positioned in frame a couple steps back. 

“Who are you?” 

He watched you slowly stalk forward with a smile on your face; it was both reassuring and off putting. Only someone like him would be able to notice. 

“An angel…”

You held out your hand towards the camera gently, as if beckoning someone closer. 

“What’s your name?”

The transition was fast— smooth. In an instant, your hand came up and grabbed the phone, like you were choking someone, causing the frame to shake. 

“Satan.”

Once the shaking transition stopped, with your hand still in its previous position, his mouth dropped. You had completely transformed yourself into what he assumed is your version of their demon form. 

Realistic black sheep horns protruded from your head, curling backwards around your ear and ending at your middle jaw. There were light purple extensions added here and there, blending with your hair perfectly. Your free hand had come up to splay over your malicious grin- showing off the fangs you’d added and the sharpness of your new nails. The outfit you wore was revealing- black with shiny accents and shiner jewelry - easily showing the intricate marks you’d drawn over the exposed skin. 

[8 people saved a video attachment] 

Lucifer

His stupidly handsome face forms the most obnoxious smug smirk imaginable 

Don’t get me wrong, he was absolutely flustered. On the inside. 

On the outside though, he radiated pride and smugness 

Like ‘yeah. That’s my Mc. mine. Eat it.’ 

Not that he would ever speak those words. Totally not

Was he also slightly bugged that Asmo seemed to be the only one who had access to this video? Sure. 

Was he gonna make sure his brothers, Diavolo, and Barbatos deleted this from everything they owned? Of course. 

But first, he’s gotta get you to dress up like that for him in person 

Mammon

Mans was astonished. Eyebrows had shot through the heavens, mouth was dropped down to sea floor level, cheeks were a blazing inferno— he was in awe 

First thought : ‘HELL YEAH, MC, YA LOOK HOT!’ 

Second thought : ‘WAIT HOLD UP, THE OTHERS ARE SEEIN THIS TOO-‘ 

Really though, Mammon is just so in awe at how gorgeous you looked 

especially in that gold he knows he bought you

Immediately takes a screenshot of you in that getup and makes it his home screen wallpaper

Then he texts you, begging demanding you dress up like that again because he wants to make videos with you in his demon form too!

I mean, if he doesn’t get to have his hands all over you and his mouth on you like that, how will anyone get the message you’re only for him?

Levi

Someone call the equivalent of 911 for the Devildom, Levi might just be coding 

Actually- don’t even worry about it, he’s just a big puddle on the floor! No worries! 

He. Is. FLUSTERED! Flustered doesn’t even begin to cover it really- 

Levi can't breathe, can’t talk, can’t even wave his hands around frantically to express his lost words

Irl version of a windows restart. 

But as soon as he does reboot, he’s doing his best impression of Oprah into his pillow with how high pitched he’s screaming 

Would love to take a picture with you in that outfit while he’s in his demon form or have you sit on him 

He’ll send you a bunch of emojis in show of his approval but his normal skin tone still isn’t visible under the blush for hours

Satan

Smug as fuck about the audio itself. Definitely silently bragging

Aside from that, Satan is absolutely willing to kneel for you in that outfit 

He’s studied with you on seductive speechcraft but this? He was not ready

Has to take a minute to get his bearings together and to wipe that blush off his face

Satan’s actually pretty speechless for a good 30 minutes 

Not that he’d let you know. He will, however, be telling you how fucking good you looked

Wants to ask if you’ll walk around town with him in his demon form too so everyone can see 

Power couple ™— Take that Lucifer 

Asmo

Azzy is on his knees in an instant- pliant and ready for you to fucking step all over him 

The moment he saw the video he was liking, favoriting, commenting, saving, sharing- everything 

He’d suggested something similar for you to do in the past but you just. 

You went light years beyond what he was expecting the outcome to be and he is here for it 

#1 supporter and immediately is coming up with different- sexier -outfits for you to wear

Will ask, beg if he has to, if you’d come have a photo shoot with him (surprisingly he mainly wants to take photos of just you) 

Admitting to anyone who listens that your beauty is absolutely on par with his 

On his way to your room right this instant- but only after he shares the video with the others 

Beel

Choked. 

You’d think he hadn’t ate in years with how much he was drooling but no

He was just looking at you in that outfit. Which he thought was amazing. 

You are easily the most delicious thing he’s ever laid eyes on (“Gorgeous too…”) and he can’t wait to tell you to your face 

Wonders if you’d have a tail or wings if you really did have a demon form 

Wants to ask Diavolo if there’s magic to make you a real, temporary demon form to find out

Please come to one of his Fangol games dressed like that. He’d promise to win for the rest of the season- and succeed

Overall flustered with his cute blush present, but unlike Satan or Levi, he doesn’t mind showing you 

Belphie

Two words : “holy. fuck.” or alternatively : “fuck. me.”

He is sprinting- yes, sprinting- throughout the fucking house and barreling straight through your door

On his knees faster than Asmo was and is ready at light speed to crawl at your feet and wrap his arms around your leg 

All of his usual curt expressions are thrown out the window without a care in the world

No pure thoughts behind those doe eyes. Not a single one. 

Convinces you to let him take a picture from underneath you while you’re choking him to put as his lock screen because he needed it

Will not be letting you go for the next 24 hours or longer

Fakes innocence like a pro when the others accuse him of hogging you to himself (“they are mine” he snips, even though you have the metaphorical leash right now)

Barbatos 

Mmmmmm, the silent simping is strong in this one

He was simultaneously so fucking ready and so very much not ready for that

Does not know what to do with himself for the next 2-7 business days

Had to put down shit he was cleaning multiple times before he broke something (because you actually broke him)

Straight up doesn’t even ask to show up in your room this time, he just does and immediately beelines to shove his face into your neck 

No, his ears are not red. I believe you might be color blind Mc…

Won’t outright admit how badly you affected him- he just lets out a small ‘you look lovely’ like yeah, Barb? Just lovely? 

Please wear this to the next formal event you attend to watch him lose his cool for split second intervals all night

Diavolo 

If he didn’t have millennia of training on composure, he’d been screaming as loud as Levi 

Instead he settles for slamming his hand on his desk like that meme Asmo showed him 

Concerning his butler a bit, but Diavolo is a proud simp- he ADMITS it

Please come sit on him. Let HIM sit on YOU, for all he cares

You look so good?? What the fuck?? Marry him?? (<<exact texts he sends you)

Tries to find ways to give you a real demon form before getting scolded

Volunteers whole heartedly to let Asmo take pictures of both of you while you’re dressed like that

Ring, ring, Lucifer, he’s coming over ASAP, don’t be alarmed when he shows up at the door

Bonus : 

Solomon

Fuck this man is so down bad for you

I mean, he knew that before but this is just something else, Mc, what have you done to him? 

Knows you’re still human but god does he crave having your pact mark seared into his body (it’s a guilty pleasure of his)

Maybe you’ll just create one and tattoo it on anyway

No second thoughts, teleports to your room immediately to yank you into a kiss

Door is locked- Solomon refuses to let the brothers snatch you away from him rn

Please get on top of him and show him how real your fake fangs and nails feel

Will actually beg without a fight

Simeon

Thinks he should not find this as attractive as he does but the heat flooding through his body disagrees

Gets so hot and flustered, it would be concerning if he wasn’t an actual angel 

Drinks a whole ass cup of water in less than 2 seconds 

Personification of ‘hold my mf halo’ as he makes his way to your place once he calms down a bit

Yes, he’ll take pictures with you with his wings on display and yes, he may or may not be into this (and if you start a little roleplay with him? He’s ascending.)

Don’t tease and make fun of him, he can’t help it! He’s not trying to blush- though he isn’t trying to hide it either

Lies through his teeth without hesitation when he gets questioned about the faint lines on his shoulders 

Heaven’s filthiest angel, on brand

[ikarakie]

mike has a panic attack.

it's sudden and it's terrifying and eddie has no idea what to do. one minute they're all yelling and laughing and just playing d&d, and the next, mike is collapsing to the floor struggling to breathe. gasping out the same two names over and over again. the panic attacks eddie's had before were never, never this bad. for a fucking awful moment he thinks he's about to watch wheeler die.

lucas stays with him, crouched by his side and talking in gentle tones. murmuring words of assurance that, while good, don't seem to reach his friend. dustin had sprinted out of the room yelling into a walkie talkie as soon as mike went down, so eddie has no fucking idea what he's up to. not that he's able to focus on much other than the kid (because, god, he's so young, what the hell has happened to him?) trying and failing to just breathe.

he tries the shit that worked for him, trying to get him to breathe in time with his counts, but it's like mike's ears are full of cotton. there's not even a hint of recognition in his eyes as either him or lucas speak.

dustin returns exactly three minutes later, trailed by the last guy eddie would've ever expected to walk through the doors of hellfire club. steve harrington zeroes in on mike like a hawk, crosses the room quickly and crouches in front of him. lucas scoots away, visibly relieved to see steve, so eddie reluctantly does the same. mike's knees are to his chest and he's heaving sobs so powerful they wrack his entire body. for about thirty infuriating seconds, steve just watches.

"oh god- oh fuck- fuck- will, will-" mike is saying, through stilted breaths. "will, el- el- i can't- they're-"

"mike." steve's voice is like honey, low and soothing in a way lucas' can't be yet. mike snaps his gaze up, finally proving his ears work. "where are you right now?"

"hawkins lab-" mike chokes, and eddie just listens, dumbfounded. "hawkins- starcourt- fuck-"

"no," steve says gently. mike stares at him, slightly less glazed. "where are you?" he asks again, a little more pointed. a few seconds pass. mike's eyes dart around the room.

"hellfire." he whispers, barely audible. steve nods, asks if he can come closer, if he can touch mike. the kid nods frantically, and then his hands are being peeled from where they were curled protectively against his chest. they're placed against steve's instead, and they spend the next few minutes breathing in tandem. harrington demonstrating and mike doing his best to follow.

his breathing eventually evens out, thank god, and the heart-wrenching sobs simmer down into quiet tears. mike all but throws himself into the embrace steve offers, tucking his head under the guy's chin and seemingly making himself as small as possible.

"it's okay, you're okay." steve promises, speaking into mike's hair as he gently rocks them back and forth. "they're okay. they're just fine, both of them. you looked after them so well, bud." he keeps whispering reassurances and sweet, kind words into the little cocoon he's crafted. mike stays curled up there for a while, making a wet patch on steve's shoulder.

then finally sounding more like himself, grumbles, "just 'cos we're hugging doesn't mean i like you." after maybe four or five minutes have passed. steve just huffs a laugh, because despite his words, mike is still clutching steve's arms as he pulls back.

"of course not." steve agrees. mike smiles as his hair is carefully ruffled. turns and reaches for dustin and lucas, who waste no time in piling themselves onto their friend. steve doesn't go far though, keeping a hand in the hair at the nape of mike's neck.

it's only then that he finally makes eye contact with eddie, who's watched the whole thing go down with a sick curiosity. because... who was this guy? this was not king steve, or the asshole, cookie-cutter jock steve harrington that eddie knew of. eddie had thought dustin's nickname for him of 'number one babysitter' had been an exaggeration; that maybe he'd watched them a grand total of three times back when he and nancy wheeler dated, and dustin had developed some fixation on him.

but... no, here he was. having brought hard ass michael wheeler down from easily the worst panic attack eddie had ever seen with the ease of someone who's done it a million times. (and wasn't that a harrowing thought?)

"you mind cutting it a bit early tonight, man?" he asks, softly, and it takes eddie a second to register that he's speaking to him. "i know you've still got, like, 20 minutes, but-"

"no, no," eddie cuts him off, kind of desperate for wheeler to get home and rest. "shit, man. that was... yeah, of course, take him." steve smiles appreciatively (an annoyingly pretty expression eddie never imagined him capable of, let alone directing at him), and turns back to the kiddie hug pile.

"hey, boys? mike?" he calls, all gentle and warm. it makes eddie's heart ache; even more so when all three turn to steve with big, shiny eyes. mike's peek out from dustin's arms. "how about we head off now, and stop at that payphone on the corner of glenview on the way home? give the byers a call in california?"

mike nods, hinging on desperate. dustin and lucas give him one more good squeeze before agreeeing themselves. steve corrals them all up, bids a fucking goodnight to the present company, (plus an extra one for eddie specfically), and shuffles them out of the room. eddie, and the rest of hellfire, are left stunned in the wake of babysitter harrington.

(when mike tries to apologise the next day, eddie absolutely refuses to accept it- and, at lucas' timid request, writes the mind flayer he'd introduced out of the campaign entirely. the next session, it's like the thing never existed.)

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Final Girl.

Pairing: Yandere!Chrollo x Reader (HxH).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: 'Girl' Is In The Title But Reader Is Gender Neutral, Death and Blood, Mentions of Guns, Manipulation, Implied Kidnapping, and Spoilers for the Ninteenth-Century Novel Dracula.

The night you met him was, by no coincidence, also the night you learned what it meant to feel your blood run cold.

‘Met’ might’ve been an exaggeration. You didn’t meet him so much as you stood still and stared at him – lumbering down the hallway, clutching a gore-splattered butcher's knife, his suit disheveled and stained with a dark, blotting substance you couldn’t bring yourself to put a name to, in your fear-induced paralysis. With the manor's high ceilings and dim lighting, he seemed impossibly tall, his black eyes blank and terrible, his smile manic in a way that sent a chill up your spine, that left you frozen where you stood and unable to run as he came to stand in front of you, as he raised a hand and—

And pointed to the book tucked under your arm, a yellowed paperback beaten to hell and back from weeks of loving abuse. You’d spent hours wondering if you should bring it with you, if there was anyone else on the face of the planet who’d be stupid enough to bring a book to a mascarade ball, but you figured you’d have to step out for a breath of fresh air at some point, tonight, and phones weren’t really an option at this kind of thing. Looking back on it, you struggled to remember why you’d spent so much time agonizing over something so inconsequential, especially when whoever found your body likely wouldn’t pay it a second glance. “Is that—” He started, pausing to wet his lips before correcting himself. “Is that Bram Stoker’s Dracula?”

You blinked several times, shifting your weight. “It is,” you managed, eventually, just before the point of no return. “I… I’m only a few chapters in, though. They’re only on the second blood transfusion.”

His smile widened. “I’m reading it for the second time, now. That’s one of the best passages - you can practically feel the dread mounting in the prose.” While he spoke, you stole another glance at his attire. With your shock beginning to fade and your nerves given a few seconds to cool, you could see that he clearly hadn’t just walked out of a crime scene. His clothes were wrinkled, but not torn, not displaced the way they would’ve been if he’d been in a real fight, and he was covered in a cartoonish amount of (presumably fake) blood. He couldn’t have meant for it to be realistic, not unless you were supposed to believe he’d bled twenty people dry on his own.

He must’ve noticed you staring. His rambling trailed off into an airy chuckle, his free hand drifting to his blood-soaked shirt. “I’m afraid I might’ve misread my invitation,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. You were almost in awe of his nonchalance. Showing up to a masquerade ball in a costume fit for a b-rated haunted house would’ve left you catatonic for… god, the rest of the year, at least. “That’s how I found my way back here, actually. You can understand why I wouldn’t want to stay in the ballroom for very long, considering I’m dressed for a very different party.”

“No, no, that makes a lot of sense! I mean, a costume party would be more in-season.” You felt like an idiot. You could only hope you hadn’t looked as scared as you felt. “Honestly, I’m just surprised they let you in with a prop.”

He glanced to his ‘knife’, too, as if he’d forgotten he was holding it. “Oh, this little thing?” He took the blade in his free hand, bending it downward. Unceremoniously, it snapped into two pieces as easily as if it’d been made of little more than tin foil and plastic - which, to be fair, it probably was. “Most people struggle to see me as a threat, for whatever reason.”

“The doormen probably just felt bad for the strange man who showed up to a charity gala covered in blood.” You spared a small smile, then genuinely brightened, taking up your novel and fishing out the spare mask you’d shoved between the pages while you were getting ready. He should’ve counted himself lucky that you could never be bothered to find a real bookmark. “Mine came in a set of two,” you explained, signaling for him to bend down. A little too easily, he obeyed, stooping just low enough for you to work your spare mask over his head. It was cheaper than anything you would usually like to show off – the base simple black cloth, the embroidery meaninglessly gaudy, the main body kept in place by little more than a simple white ribbon that never seemed to sit just right, but he accepted your offering with a grateful hum. “It’s not much, but—” You paused, buttoning his suit jacket, doing your best to make it look a little less like he’d just walked out of a bad slasher movie and a little more like a tragically color-blind, but ultimately well-dressed party-goer. “It should get you through the door.”

He straightened his back, and you thought you might’ve seen something spark in his dark eyes. Then again, it could’ve just been the moonlight. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

Oh, right – that was something most people did before offering to fix a stranger’s clothes, wasn’t it? You rushed to introduce yourself, and he did the same. “Chrollo Lucilfer.” And then, offering you his hand, “Perhaps I’d be more warmly received with a plus one?”

As hesitant as you were to slip back into the ballroom on the arm of a disheveled stranger who’d already made an impression of his own, it would’ve broken your heart to turn him down. That, and you might’ve had a weakness for disheveled strangers who fell on the more handsome side of the spectrum.

You laughed as you threaded your arm through his, letting Chrollo guide you back to the main event. A second passed with only the sound of your footsteps and distance music to fill the quiet, then another. Eventually, you broke the silence. “It’s very well-written,” you started, trying to fight the urge to fidget. “But… I don’t think I’m the right audience. I care too much about Lucy. Seeing her go through so much and knowing she’s not going to make it is just—” You sighed, shook your head. “It’s agony. Especially when the villain is literally in the title. I mean, I know the characters don’t know that, but still.”

“The benefit of a voyeur's perspective.” For all his glowing praise, he didn’t seem very offended. “I think the dramatic irony is part of the appeal. By the time the tension breaks, it’s nearly too painful to keep going.”

“Which is exactly why it hurts to read,” you groaned, slumping into his side. “I get why it’s happening, but I just can’t stand spending so long on the build-up knowing how it’s going to end. It probably doesn’t help that Lucy’s one of my favorites, either. Well, aside from Mina, but it wouldn’t be fair to compare her to the author’s self-insert.”

The two of you came to a pair of rounded oak doors. There’d been a pair of attendants stationed outside when you left, but Chrollo didn’t seem to mind shouldering it open himself, ushering you inside with a smile and an idle gesture. You took a second to steel your nerves, still not entirely prepared to throw yourself into a very crowded room filled with very loud music and very eager socialites, then crossed the threshold, coming face to face with—

Carnage. Pure, unadulterated carnage.

There were bodies everywhere, each corpse mangled and bruised and broken in every possible way. Dark blood and broken glass covered the formerly pristine ivory floor, and the walls were painted with the remnants of gunfire. A few people were still standing – the murderers, you figured, judging by the blood on their outlandish clothes, the weapons in their hands, the indifferent agitation written across their expressions as you stared at them in horror, as your heart threatened to give out for the second time that night. The tallest man you’d ever seen pointed a hand-held machine gun in your direction, but Chrollo found his way back to your side, resting a hand on your shoulder as he spoke. “Hold your fire,” he said, casually, as if you weren’t standing at the edge of a bloodbath. As if he’d known what he was leading you into. “I think I’m going to keep this one.”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. The air hitched in your throat as he brought a hand up to your chin, tilting your head back and forcing you to meet his unblinking stare. You’d been right the first time. There was never anything his eyes could’ve been but terrible. “I always did like Mina.”

There was never anything he could’ve been but a monster, prowling for his next kill.

“I guess I just have a soft spot for survivors.”

[bbyleiah]

breakfast.

| part 2 to smoke-you-out for you thirsty hoes 😭 reader folds and sleeps with Eren again after they bicker a little because the reader is ‘regretful’ about her mistakes, Eren is obsessed with reader. |

cw: smut, cheating, bf!Connie, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, pussy slapping, spit, fluids, squirting, unprotected sex, missionary position, creampie, scratching, hair pulling, pet names, lots of dirty talk (bc eren a chatterbox 😭), overstimulation, crying, desperate eren ‘just the tip’, whimpering, biting, pwp, etc. ( plenty of plot though ☝🏽😭) fem! sub reader, dom! Eren. reader is black.

Word Count : long asab 😭

sn : thank y’all so much for all the love fr 🫶🏽

part 3 : all-yours <3

You woke up in a bright room, stretching and groaning as consciousness spread over you. Your body was very sore and you felt drained. You took in your surroundings as you sat up, wrapped in white sheets on a large bed. The room was extremely nice and tidy, and it looked as if you were in some kind of mansion with the large windows on the side of the room.

Panic began to take over you once you realized you weren’t at home though and once you remembered the events of last night you were starting to feel sick. “no no no no..” You said on a mantra while shaking your head as if that would change things. To interrupt your distress, Eren came out his bathroom looking like a wet dream. His hair was down, damp and falling over his shoulders and he was shirtless, only wearing pajama pants that hung low on his hips showing off his happy trail and the band of his briefs.

“Goodmorning little one.” Eren hummed casually as if you weren’t on the verge of losing your mind. You stared at him in awe, still processing everything while subconsciously gawking at his appearance. “You might start drooling if you keep your mouth open forever sweetheart.” He chuckled breaking you out of your trance.

You blushed and instantly shut your mouth that you didn’t realize was gaping open as you stared at Eren. You held the sheets closer to your body even though you were clothed in what seemed to be one of Eren’s t-shirts judging by how big it was on you. “Uhm…this was a mistake. Last night was a mistake. This should’ve never happened. Oh my god…Connie will never forgive me. I can’t believe I cheated on him.” You began to ramble. “Why did you let that happen?? You’re his bestfriend!”You said to Eren.

“Woah, don’t go blaming me sweetheart. You’re his ‘loyal girlfriend’ as you said last night. I asked you if you wanted it and you said you did so don’t make it seem like I coerced you or something. Plus I never gave a fuck about your relationship anyways. You were mine from the moment I saw you.” He said seriously as he looked at you.

You stared at him in disbelief, “I am not yours! You’re a terrible bestfriend by the way. Who sleeps with their bestfriend’s girlfriend?!” You exclaimed. “And who the hell sleeps with their boyfriend’s bestfriend?” He shot back. You opened your mouth to respond but there was really nothing you could say to that. You were the one more in the wrong in this situation. “Mhm exactly, so quiet now little one.” he hummed. “Shut up Eren” You muttered.

“I told you that you’d regret it more than me.” Eren shrugged. “I do regret it…a lot. We should never see each other again. If me and you both just forget about it then Connie won’t ever have to know.” You said as you found your phone, seeing that you had tons of missed calls and texts from your boyfriend. “Mhm yeah, what do you want for breakfast?” He asked you as if he didn’t hear anything you just said.

“Excuse me?” You said as you looked back up at him. “I asked what do you want for breakfast?.” He repeated. “Eren I’m not eating breakfast with you. Are you crazy?”

You said, not understanding why he wasn’t more pressed about this situation. “I’m not crazy, and you’re not ditching me to go back to Connie. Now answer my question.” He said, and you realized he was dead serious.

“I’m not hungry Eren…eat by yourself.” You said while shaking your head before you focused your attention back on your phone so you could text Connie back. “I wanna eat you though.” He said seriously with a hum. Your eyes widened at his words and you instinctively closed your legs. “Eren..no. Don’t talk like that.” You said, getting deja vu from your own words.

“Don’t talk like that~” Eren mocked you. “You love saying that, don’t you?. You love it when I talk like that though. Makes your little pussy all gushy and wet.” He said with a grin as he stared into your eyes. You almost let out a whine but you held it back, your face flushed at his words. “I-It does not!” You defended. He chuckled, “I guarantee you’re wet right now baby.” He said, highly amused as your denial.

He was unfortunately right but that didn’t mean you were gonna admit it. “You’re delusional!” You huffed as you blushed. “Only over you baby” he said teasingly with a wink, leaving you baffled at his shamelessness. “I’m serious though sweet girl, I’m craving you soo bad. I want you to squirt on my tongue just like you did on my dick last night. Won’t you be a good girl and do that for me?” He said, talking in that sickly sweet tone that made your head fuzzy.

“Eren…” you whined and shook your head. He somehow managed to put you in a spell with his words everytime. His attention and his filthy sweet words making you want to give in and spread your legs for him whenever he wanted. “Aw baby, you want it too don’t you?. You can be good for me just like you were last night.” He hummed, using his teeth to take the hair tie off his wrist and holding it in his mouth as he began to tie his hair up.

You couldn’t take your eyes off him. The act of him tying his hair up, seemingly getting prepped for his ‘meal’ was getting you excited. Your thighs clenching together as your panties became more wet by the second, anticipation building for Eren to act on his lewd words. “You’re giving me that look again sweetheart.” Eren grinned as he walked closer to the bed, towering over your form.

You blushed in embarrassment at his words, it’s not like you could control how you looked at the man but he didn’t have to call it out. “You don’t even realize how slutty that look is do you?. All fucking needy, eyes begging for me to ruin you and make you my pretty little whore. Do you look at Connie like that?” Eren taunted. “I bet you don’t. He can’t fuck you like I do, right sweetheart?. I got you all desperate for me and I haven’t even touched you yet pretty girl.” He continued.

You couldn’t even hold back your whines anymore at his words. The more he spoke the more you wanted him to touch you, to devour you, to make a complete mess out of you. You wanted to stay strong on your morals to not sleep with Eren again but god he sure was making it hard as fuck. “W-We’re not doing this again..” you breathed out.

Eren faux pouted dramatically at your words, “You’re breaking my heart baby.” He tsked while shaking his head as he climbed onto the bed, inching closer to you and pulling the sheets off you. “You really don’t want me baby?” He asked as he looked up into your eyes, his hands easing up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You bit your lip, contemplating how to respond. It wasn’t that you didn’t want Eren, the problem was that you did want him, very badly at that. But this was wrong, but it also felt so right. Your thighs instinctively began to part as Eren began to kiss up them gently, humming in approval the more your legs spread. “I still need an answer sweet girl~” Eren reminded you.

You let out a shaky breath, “I do want you…but this is the last time! No more after this Eren! I’m serious.” You declared, although you barely believed your own words. He chuckled, “Mhm, we’ll see about that. Love having my good girl back though.” He grinned as he sat up and wrapped his hands around your ankles.

You shrieked as he suddenly pulled you by your ankles, making you lay flat on your back. He was quick to get back in between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs as he pressed his nose against your clothed wet cunt. Your panties already completely soaked through from Eren’s words alone.

Eren groaned as he inhaled your scent, his eyes rolling back a little “smells so fucking good..you’re like a drug little one. My favorite kind of fucking drug. Can’t get enough..” he rasped before he ran his tongue along the sticky fabric of your panties. You whined out starting to squirm in Eren’s hold, he only gripped you tighter, his fingers digging painfully into your thighs.

“Don’t fucking move or I promise I won’t be as nice little one. I’m trying to have a meal remember? It’s rude to take someone’s food.” He said as he looked up at you with that same ravenous look he had the night before. That look made you fold instantly, making you want to be the good obedient girl Eren adored so much. You nodded at his words, “I-I’ll stay still~” You muttered out.

He smiled, “Good girl. Always so good for me.” He praised happily before he placed a gentle kiss on your clit, he grazed his teeth on it sending shivers down your spine. You swooned at his praise, it causing those little flutters in your stomach that you craved from his approval. Eren didn’t even warn you before he tore your panties, disposing them off on the floor somewhere. You gasped in shock, “you didn’t have to rip them!” You exclaimed in disbelief.

“They were a mess anyways.” He brushed it off nonchalantly before he delve back in between your legs, immediately running his tongue through your folds tasting your slick on his palate. The two of you moaned out in sync, you falling into the pleasure and eren enjoying every second of tasting you. Eren kept his eyes trained on your face as he began to devour you messily. The lewd noises of slurping, sucking, and smacking beginning to fill the room.

Eren sucked on your clit, focusing his attention on the nub as he circled his tongue on it his spit dripping filthily onto your cunt and mixing with your slick. You were a moaning mess as eren ate your pussy like his favorite meal. Your head thrown back and your hands gripping the sheets as the intense pleasure consumed you. Eren loved the sight of you falling apart for him, it was so breathtaking. You were like a dream for him.

Your messy hair sprawled out on his white sheets, his shirt falling off your shoulder the marks he left on you the night before looking so beautiful on your brown skin, your nipples hard and peaking through the shirt, your eyes fluttered shut while you bit those pretty full lips of yours. Fuck Eren felt like he could bust a nut just from looking at you. “so good ren’..mmfph’ You whined as your back arched, feeling his tongue prod at your entrance, his nose deliciously bumping against your clit as he buried his face in your pussy.

He was already soaked in your fluids, his chin and his cheeks covered in your sweet slick mixed with some of his own drool and saliva. Eren loved it, being drowned in your sweet essence was heaven for him. He kept consistently running his tongue up your folds, back to your entrance and then up to your clit, sucking and kissing at your cute little clit every time. “I could eat you out all day sweet girl.” He groaned as he used his fingers to spread your folds, opening his mouth and allowing his spit to drip onto your creamy clenching cunt.

“such a pretty fucking pussy..” He sighed almost in complete awe at the sight of your messy cunt. He then gathered the filthy mix of fluids onto his fingers before he slid one inside you, making your breath hitch slightly. He pulled your clit between his teeth as he began to thrust his finger into you slowly, making you moan and whine out as you began to tug at his hair.

Tears brimmed your eyes at the pleasure, completely drunk on everything eren was giving you. The way eren touched your body was just so perfectly right, it’s like he knew exactly what to do to have you losing your mind. Hitting every spot that made your toes curl and your eyes roll back. It was like your body was made for him and him only.

“You’re mine, pretty baby. Isn’t that right?” He said as he slid another finger into you, curling them and increasing the pace as he licked and slurped up all your slick that was gushing out all over his hand. “Mhm! A-All yours ren’.” You moaned as the heels of your feet dug into Eren’s back, your legs resting over his shoulders. “That’s right. All fucking mine. My fucking pussy. Only I make this pussy this wet.” He declared, his possessiveness showing as his fingers repeatedly hit that spot of nerves that had you seeing stars.

Eren was so turned on just from eating you out and fingering you. His cock painfully hard and dripping precum in his pajama pants. He actually had to stop himself from pathetically rutting against the bed. Pleasuring you was the most orgasmic thing for him. He could get off just on that. Even you could see how much eren was enjoying pleasing you.

His eyes rolling occasionally as he moaned and whimpered against your pussy, his occasional ruts against the bed that he tried to stop, the way he gripped your thighs and didn’t allow you to move an inch from his face, wanting to drown between your legs forever. Your slick was coating his neck and collarbone by now and he loved it, it was so filthy and he couldn’t get enough of it.

“M’ close!” You gasped out as you felt that coil in your tummy about to burst as eren repeatedly abused that spot, your legs beginning to tremble from the stimulation as he simultaneously sucked on your clit. “Want you to make a mess all over my face little one. You can do that for me, can’t you sweetheart?” He encouraged as he sped up the pace of his fingers.

You whined and nodded, crying out and pulling harshly at Eren’s hair as you reached your climax, squirting all over Eren’s hand and his face. He moaned, slurping up as much of your juices as he could, loving the taste of you. “Always squirting so prettily for me baby.” He sighed happily as he slapped your swollen clit, slamming his hand down on it repeatedly to watch your pussy squirt and gush out more.

You cried at the overstimulation, “‘s too much! Too much ren’!” You sobbed as you squirmed. “Shh, it’s okay sweet girl~” He hummed soothingly as he placed gentle kisses on your drenched inner thighs and gently stroked your cute tummy. He then sat up and hovered over you, placing gentle pecks against your lips as he grinded his erection against your wet swollen pussy, moaning into your mouth.

You whined placing your hands against his abdomen to stop him, “sensitive ren’…” you pouted. “I know baby but..fuck just the tip princess, hm?. please, I’ll be good.” He was begging at this point but he felt like he had to be inside you right now. You blushed hearing his shameless begging and you didn’t have the heart to say no, “okay..but just the tip!” You said. Eren grinned, “thank you baby~” he kissed both your cheeks before he pulled his leaking cock out of his pajama pants.

His tip was swollen and red, precum dripping down to his balls. Eren hadn’t been this turned on ever. He rubbed his leaky tip through your messy folds before he began to push the tip in, literally shuddering at the feeling of your warm wet pussy swallowing up his tip. He did a shallow thrust, whimpering as he buried his face into your neck.

You were a whining mess, eren seemed so desperate for you, falling apart just from his tip being inside you and his pathetic state was doing something to you. You never had a man want you this badly, not even Connie was this effected by you and you were literally his girlfriend. It was an addicting feeling.

“shit I know I said only the tip but baby I need it, so badly. Please honey.” Eren begged more, you gasped seeing he had actual tears brimming his eyes as he shamelessly begged you. Eren knew he being pathetic right now but he couldn’t help it, you were just so addicting to him. He craved every inch of you. “I-It’s yours ren’, you can put the rest in~” you gave in, as you ran your fingers through his hair that was falling out from his loose bun.

“thank you baby, so sweet and good to me. So fucking perfect.” Eren moaned as he bottomed out, gripping your hips as he began to thrust into you with eagerness. His balls slapping against your ass as he roughly pounded into you. He moaned and whimpered into your ear, his quickened breathes fanning against your cheek and neck. You were so overstimulated but it felt so good, your nails dragging down Eren’s back as you cried out in immense pleasure.

“so close sweet girl. Gonna fill you up real good, have you all nicely stuffed for me.” He said breathlessly as he used your pussy like his favorite cock sleeve. His eyes moving to watch the way your pussy ate up his dick, the mixture of your fluids covering his dick and soaking his trimmed pubic hair. He began to rub circles onto your clit with his thumb, making you sob as your back arched. You came again instantly, gushing erotically on Eren’s dick.

He moaned out at the feeling of your cunt squeezing his cock as you came so beautifully, he came soon after, his warm cum filling you up and adding to the filthy mess of your fluids. He continued slow thrusts, fucking his cum into you as he kissed along your neck and collarbone. “so good, so obsessed with you, my sweet girl.” He muttered against your skin, the two of you panting breathlessly in sync.

“Mm, I’m hungry now ren’” you suddenly said, completely fucked out as you laid there and gladly soaked up all of Eren’s gentle touches and kisses. You did have an appetite now. He chuckled, “I’ll make you food baby. Don’t worry.” He hummed as he pulled out. He got up to get a warm cloth to clean you up.

While he was doing that, your bubble burst seeing a call from Connie. You sat up and answered instantly, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry Connie. I can explain!” You began, regret filling you once again. “Where the hell have you been?! I been looking for your little ass all over. You haven’t even been responding to my calls or texts!” He yelled angrily into the phone.

“I asked everyone if they seen you. I’m actually pulling up to Eren’s crib right now. He was the last person who saw you so I assumed he’d know where you were at.” Connie continued ranting on. You felt your heart sank to your ass. “He doesn’t! I’m with my family! Emergency trip!” You blurted out as you scrambled out of Eren’s bed. Your legs were wobbly so you almost busted your ass.

“Well why didn’t you say anything? Had me running around looking dumb and shit because I don’t know where my own girl is at.” He said, clearly irritated with your antics. Honestly a part of you didn’t feel bad, happy that Connie got to experience that same helpless running around you had to deal with. “Because..it didn’t cross my mind. Sorry babe.” You apologized, hoping to appease him.

“It’s alright.” He sighed. “I’m gonna chill with eren and smoke a lil to relax. I’ll come see you later, alright baby?” He said. You felt like screaming. Your eyes widening and your heart racing in panic. Eren came back out, immediately getting concerned seeing the look on your face. “You okay little one?” He asked you as he walked up to you. You felt your heart stop once you heard that dreaded knock at the door. You definitely regretted sleeping with your boyfriend’s bestfriend now.

[ hopefully y’all liked this part as much as the first one 🥹💗]