#and he goes CRASH CRASH CRASH to the ground

[chunibyo-x-sorcerer]

Stop. Stop. Stop. That's not...stop talking using my brother's face. Knock it off. You're not him! Stop!

Taz's hair is grabbed and is lifted to face Kris as her black bangs cover her eyes. She closes her eyes, she is shaking right now. No..no...it's not it. It was just..

Switch.

Then a fist hits Kris's face, and his world spins around until he hits the ground hard. Wincing, Kris gets up as his nose is bleeding. He goes to wipe it with a smirk, "Oh so I was righ-"

Then something hits him on the right side of his face, cutting him in mid-sentence, shutting him up.

"A jumping roundhouse kick?!" Rioto exclaimed, seeing that move. Daichi, Hana, and Yuria widen their eyes at this. Miwa gasped as Kamo was stunned into silence. Kris staggers to the side until he gets a front kick, striking his gut so hard that it makes his eyes pop out. This gives Kris a shockwave of pain as he grits his teeth, making him crash onto the ground. He coughs harshly.

Rina widened her eyes at this. "?!" But then she shudders as she feels a sudden change coming from the girl. What the hell? Igarashi's team is getting nervous by this.

"So damn...noisy..." A demonic tone is heard from Taz, but it isn't Taz.

"An annoying pest..." Taz lifts her head, looking down on Kris as who has two identical orange marks on her right cheek. Igarashi grips his hands on his arms, seeing this.

"Crap...it's Kinie," Daichi said. And seeing that face, she is ticked off. Kris laughs, "Huh? What the hell is this?"

Rin was struggling trying to get up from Rina but she kicks him down again harder, coughing as he winces from her foot pressing down on his chest watching.

"T..Taz...."

"Oh! From the looks of it....did you kill him? No! That wouldn't be it. Usually...it's not unheard of siblings become demons together and separated." He said as the twins, Kyari and Kenzo, woke up and looked down, attending to their injuries. They frown at the words of Kris.

Oh. It makes me wonder if exorcists and sorcerers know how humans become demons at your age. You see...humans who sign up to become demons are at their worst moments when they happen! And it when it happens, the parents are already dead or they end up killing their parents"

"Kris..don't over do it.." Rina said.

"But it's true! I'm being honest!" He looks from her then down to Taz to bend down near her. "So come on tell me....what was the reason? Did your poor big brother abandon you? Did he ditch you? Did he leave you in the bad streets where you and him became demons?" He laughed even reaching to grab some of Taz's hair to make her look at him dead in the face.

"Or maybe you were just too weak and he abandoned you for that.....your a demon but your not strong.....your just someone's little sister crying that was left alone by her older brother...Heh, I bet he did it because he couldn't handle babysitting you."

"L..Leave her alone, Kris! Stop!" Rin shouted but gets kicked again by Rina.

"Is that it??? Huh!? Did your brother drop you like the dead weight that you are!? HUH!?"

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

Hey, are you doing okay? Could you write a Transformers: Animated headcanon with Optimus, Bumblebee, and Ratchet being friends with a reader who's super unlucky? Like, they're constantly getting into accidents or being flung across the room, yet somehow they always survive? As if the universe is playing a big prank on them XD

☆ [TFA] BOTS w/ an Extremely Unlucky Reader

i am doing fine anon! thanks for asking, i had a lot of fun writing this request :3 i think a reader with comically bad luck is interesting— each bot would have a very different way on dealing with it. i couldn't stop thinking of 'Wonder Of U' from JoJolion for some reason when i saw this request. reader is a victim of calamity lmao

scenario: your crew is trying to help you despite a few of them thinking you might be cursed. reader is a lot younger than Ratchet, like the rest of the crew.

including: Optimus, Bumblebee, Ratchet

Optimus:

— Optimus isn't really sure what's up with you, or how you even manage it. You're always the first to find a Decepticon, you're the first to get attacked by the Decepticons, you're getting tail-swatted away by Grimlock half the time out of sheer bad luck because that T. Rex doesn't seem to like any of them and you get it the worst.

— Now that he's thinking about it, you get everything the worst. He can't leave you alone for ten minutes. If it's not the Decepticons coming to offline you then its your surroundings. He suspects that you might have the environmental awareness of a rock. But that changes pretty quickly when he realizes you're just that unfortunate.

— One time, you drove into a cement pit and nearly got buried alive with cement if it weren't for Bulkhead interrupting those construction workers. The other time, you wandered into a demolishing ground and almost got flattened by debris. You're like a character from that Earth film Sari watched with Bee… a ‘Final Destination’ protagonist with the way you barely survive your day-to-day life. Optimus doesn't know how a single bot can get so much bad luck, it isn't even funny to him (it is to a certain someone else though). He may or may not be concerned.

— So, Optimus being the leader that he is, puts you under his supervision all the time. You're right where he can see you and nowhere else. But it takes a downhill turn.

— He ends up getting stuck in precarious situations with you. As if your misfortune is communicable and he can tell you don't mean it with the way you're looking at him as if you might explode into tears with absolute frustration. You don't mean for any of this to happen and it makes him feel... bad in a way.

— After being in a lot of near-death situations with you, he's gotten to know you a lot more better now so Optimus is a bit more protective over you and he can tell all of these repeated almost-encounters with Primus has definitely left you paranoid with a pessimistic streak. But hey, Optimus is trying his best to make you feel better and more hopeful about the next fight. Usually with a pep-talk or a pat on your pauldron. He is a bit protective over you, mostly because you seem to have the highest chance of getting dying and he doesn't want to lose a good Autobot.

— Eventually, he decided to keep you in the base at all times because of you being, and i quote, “a walking natural disaster surviving on mere gambles” only for a Decepticon to crash the base when the rest of the crew were out on the very same solarcycle.

— Optimus did this not only because of safety concerns but also because your bad luck is unpredictable; it could either be tripping when you're trying to run or get shot at point blank with a fusion cannon (and somehow miraculously survive). He thinks it's a liability for the team. Optimus is still figuring out how to be a leader here, he's figuring things out just like you are.

— Despite everything that goes down, your wit helps you survive all of these near termination situations that you get thrown into so Optimus is kind of impressed with your quick thinking. If only you weren't cursed with such bad luck, you might’ve made a wonderful addition to the Elite Guard. Or so Optimus thinks. Your case is unfortunate.

— He is definitely hesitant about letting you near Sari way too often when Optimus isn't there to make sure that you don't trigger the end of the universe by just existing. Primus knows what chaos would ensue with you and Sari in the same room.

— Optimus feels bad for you but he isn't sure what he's going to do with you. At all. He eventually realizes that your bad luck is just inevitable and the team has to push through it, especially when you start using your bad luck against the Decepticons.

Bumblebee:

— At first, this mech had absolutely no hesitation about laughing his aft off at every single one of your misfortunes as if there was a reality TV show unfurling in front of him. Bumblebee was borderline insufferable.

— But then, it slowly gets more concerning. Especially after the whole Allspark incident. He still gets a laugh every now and then, don't get him wrong but he may or may not be a teensy bit concerned now.

— Watching you getting flattened after Bulkhead tripped and fell right on top of you was pretty damn funny but at the same time, you being nearly made into molten metal by Blitzwing wasn't exactly something to laugh at. Or the fact that Megatron grabbed you and almost crushed you into bits with a single servo. That was painful to watch.

— Bumblebee feels genuinely sorry for you when Optimus basically grounds you saying that its for your safety and everyone else's safety. Sure you got a lot of bad luck but it can't be that bad!

— So Bee went against the big bot and helps you sneak out of base with Sari. You're not supposed to be around the human but Bumblebee thinks thats scrap!

— Bee pretty much stands up for you when Optimus decides to beach you and you seem clearly upset with it. He may be an aft sometimes but that doesn't mean he is one all the time. Bumblebee just likes cracking way too many jokes than he should.

— Has nominated you, without your consent to be bait to lure in Decepticons. You're a trouble magnet. Bee is pretty sure that if you were kept tied to a post, all the Decepticons in the vicinity would instantly be drawn out to the area. He clarified it was a joke.

— Bumblebee & Sari theorizes that your bad luck might just be your ability. Optimus Prime has his grapples and foam, Ratchet has his EMP burst, Prowl has his ninja skills, Bee has his stinger and Bulk has his ridiculous strength. You don't really seem to have any particularly special abilities.

— At some point, even some of the Decepticons (Blitzwing) notices how particularly unlucky you are and mocks you mid battle because you're stuck under a boulder that seemed to have come from absolutely nowhere. Bee stands up for you and says something like, “HEY, THREE FACE! I’m the only one who gets to make fun of ‘em!”.

— He goes from consistently making fun of your mishaps to "hey, dont take it too hard" after getting closer and closer with you. When he helps you sneak out, the two of you have gotten into a lot of mishaps together and almost died but Optimus doesn't need to know that part.

— Bee is more of a “We can work through your unfortunate circumstances together because I care about you!” type mech than a “I care about you as well as everyone else on the team so I'm going to set you aside so no one gets hurt." like Optimus is initially. So he doesn't really think you should avoid doing something just because you're basically cursed by Primus.

Ratchet:

— Out of all of them all, he probably pities your misfortune the most because he's the one repairing you afterwards.

— You and Ratchet are really close because of your repeated visits to the medbay back when you guys were just a usual Space-Bridge repair crew. You somehow managed to get yourself hurt even in that.

— The fact that you're alive is a medical mystery with the sheer amount of damages your endoskeleton has suffered. He remembers the first time he looked into your internals and his optics practically widened into bulbs. Theres cracks nearly everywhere and it took nearly forever for him to fix them all.

— To make sure he never has to spend cycles soldering and rewiring your frame, Ratchet makes regular check ups on you after a battle. Just to make sure you haven't sustained any damage trigged by your mythical levels of misfortune.

— You're capable, he can clearly see that. Ratchet also makes sure to teach you some basic repairs so that in the situation that you're on the battlefield and your stupid luck nearly gets you offline again, you can pick yourself back up.

— Ratchet can see how disheartened you are when something goes awry during a mission involving you and he isn't the best at comforting you so he just goes "it'll go better next time.". Implying that there will be a next time because you're practically a tenant in his medbay with how often you get injured.

— He's also pretty strict about you resting after a battle because you've sustained the most damage almost all the time. Ratchet wants you to be fully recovered before you go off to have another near-Primus-meeting incident again. But Bee sometimes sneaks you out regardless because you need to have fun! Despite what Ratchet says.

— He's very concerned but hes not really saying a word. Just raising his optical ridge, questioning Bumblebee when he says that you should come along to do something he perceives as reckless. Then he says something real snarky which makes Bee shut up near immediately and regret even suggesting that.

— He's your supportive yet very concerned grouchy grandpa. You're probably the only one who actually listens to some of his stories he talks about while repairing because when you're in the medbay, its usually for a longer time considering the amount of damages you sustain. So you really have nothing better to do.

[hopelesslydimwitted]

@aroace-get-out-of-my-face i hope you don’t mind that i wrote smth for the hunger games au. the worms got me 😔

idk who the tribute is. hes probably as big or bigger than stanley tho— i like the idea of two bigger boys going toe to toe, one trying to brute force his way thru a fight while the other one (stan) just… dances around him

i also wanted to work in that trident aro mentioned. idk if stan keeps it for more than fishing (i don’t see him killing anyone with it)

tw for violence, this is a hunger games thing

Maybe, just maybe, if Stan stayed really still, the hulking tribute in front of him wouldn’t see him. The other boy wouldn’t notice him, and definitely wouldn’t point that fucking trident at him. He wouldn’t charge at Stan, trident raised, and try to kill him.

They both take a breath, Stan’s pulse steadily thumping in his ears, and the other boy charges.

Fuck.

Stan does what he does best-- evasive maneuvers. He ducks the first jab of the trident, hearing the heavy metal whistle past his ear at a speed that would have definitely impaled him. He quickly dodges around the boy’s other side. He’s light on his feet, boots dancing along the grassy floor as he tries to stay in the tribute’s blind spot. Stan just needs long enough to untangle his net and then--

Stan throws the net high, over the tribute’s head, the knotted rope spreading like the wings of the totem pole. It’s only half-finished, but it should be large enough to tangle this kid up. This boy knows Stan’s strategy-- throw the net, pin them down, and take off-- he should, he’s been caught by Stan’s net twice.

This time, he won’t let himself be trapped and tied down. He manages to swing the trident around fast enough to avoid getting tangled in the net himself. The tribute roars, both with fury and victory, trying to shake the net off the barbed ends. Stan lurches forward, grabbing the tail of the net and yanking.

It’s a deadly tug-of-war for a few moments before Stan finally manages to wrench the trident out of the boy’s hands, blindly hurling it to his left. He only just hears it clatter to the ground as he turns right and bolts. He’s about a hundred yards from the lake. He knows this tribute can’t swim-- if Stan can get close enough to dive in, he should be able to--

Something crashes into his legs, sending Stan face-first into the damp dirt of the beach. The breath is knocked from his lungs.

The tribute crawls the rest of the way up his torso. He grabs Stan by the arm and flips him around, pinning him. Stan kicks, heart frantic between his ribs.

This is bad, get up get up get up

A fist lands across his jaw before he can swing. It bursts with pain, but it’s not enough to knock him silly. The tribute settles on his hips, raising his fist for another blow-- Stan gets his feet on solid ground and bucks, managing to knock the boy off of him. Stan rolls, scrambling away as fast as he can. He kicks at the hand that finds his ankle and manages to drive his heel into the boy’s nose.

Stan rises to his feet. He’s accidentally put the tribute between him and the lake, and the other boy is standing before Stan can skirt around him.

His eyes are wild, locked on Stan with deadly intent.

Stan decides he’d rather fight here than up closer to the tree line-- if they get close enough to where he threw the trident, he’ll be in trouble.

The tribute approaches with a wide swing. It’s one of the worst hooks Stan’s ever seen, and he dodges it with ease. The boy’s left himself open, too, and Stan lands a quick jab to his abdomen. It goes like this for a while-- the boy throwing wild, desperate punches that reek of poor training. Stan dancing around him, trying to get to his other side. The tribute must know this-- he refuses to let Stan get even a foot closer to the lake.

Stan’s legs are starting to burn, fists aching from the fighting. It’s been too long with too little food-- he needs to get away.

“C’mon, man!” he finds himself shouting. He doesn’t know what he’s asking for, if anything.

Then, he sees an opening. The boy lurches and steps wrong, his ankle twisting out from underneath him. He falls, and Stan goes to circle him.

Stan’s not expecting the hands that clamp down on his leg, sending Stan crashing to the ground.

“Get off!” he shouts, kicking wildly behind him. He’s yanked backwards towards the other boy.

They wrestle, hands bruising and nails scratching each other as they fight. Stan’s lungs are on fire. Fighting for your life is exhausting, and he can’t do this much longer.

Why won’t this bastard let me run?

When Stan finds himself on top, one of the boy’s arms crushed under his knee, Stan takes the opportunity. Not to run-- he knows how that will go-- but to rain down punches. His knuckles are torn up and bloody as they batter the tribute’s face. Stan can feel bone crack under his fists.

“Let-- me-- go!” he’s yelling. He doesn’t know he is.

The tribute’s grip on his arm loosens, staggering as his head lolls on the ground. Stan’s fist falters for a moment, and he can’t feel his body. The boy groans, dazed and half-dead.

I-- Stan’s whole body freezes. He has to force himself to stop, to not give in to the arena-fueled adrenaline that begs him to kill this boy. This child.

His feet slip once as he rises. He accidentally steps on the boy’s arm, and he hears an answering cry.

He’s not dead, Stan thinks. He’s not sure if he’s grateful or not.

He runs.

He runs to where dirt turns to sand, less than 20 yards from the shoreline. He’ll have to swim above water; he doesn’t have enough breath to dive--

Pain lights up the side of his thigh.

For the third time, his knees hit the dirt. Hot blood starts to stain his pants.

“Get--” he hears behind him. “Get back here!”

Stan didn’t realize this tribute had more than one weapon on him. He scrambles forwards, ignoring the shooting heat from the cut. He feels his throat tighten with desperation-- he was so close to escaping.

The small knife finds purchase in his calf. Stan screams and kicks back. The tribute is already on him, crushing him against the earth. The knife in his hand is wavering, even if the look in his swollen eyes is determined.

Stan tries to punch his jaw, his face, his neck, anything, but the boy is too high above him. He claws, grabs, bites, kicks instead, trying to worm his way out again. He wonders if he’s sobbing yet.

When the knife comes down, it’s slow and messy. The tribute sways. Stan registers it, somewhere in the back of his mind. He can’t think about it, not yet-- not when his body is still fighting for his life.

They roll. The boy goes too easily. He’s reacting too slowly, and the words coming out of his mouth are wet and slurred.

“Jus’ die already,” he spits. He’s missing a tooth from where Stan’s knuckles knocked it loose.

The tribute lands on his back, head knocking hard against the ground. Even that is enough to daze him again, his eyes losing focus. Stan can’t think about it. He can’t think about how weak this boy already is, how he’s still so intent on killing Stan, how this boy shouldn’t even be here.

He can’t think.

He strikes instead. The first punch lands solidly against the tribute’s cheek. The knife is dropped from his slackened hand.

Stan takes a shaky breath in.

The second punch connects with his temple. Stan tries to ignore the way it buckles under his fist.

Why couldn’t he let Stan run away?

The third bursts the boy’s eye. There’s more than just blood flowing from the wound.

He wants to leave.

The fourth dislocates the tribute’s jaw. It hangs, bouncing with each following strike.

He wants to go home.

The fifth. The sixth. The tribute is still making sounds, low moans and wet sobs from deep in his chest.

He wants Ford.

Seven. Eight. Stan’s knuckles are numb. His whole being is numb. He can’t feel the tears on his face.

Stan doesn’t know he’s speaking. He can’t hear how rough his voice is or feel the rumble of his vocal cords. He can’t hear the choked pleading coming from his lips. The cameras pick up every “I’m sorry-- I’m so sorry” that he weeps.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

The tribute stops moving. Stops making noise.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Stan can’t stop crying, can’t stop apologizing. Who is he apologizing to? The television personalities will argue this for days to come.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

There’s a cannon above him. It’s the only thing that makes Stan stop. The boom echoes in his ears, halting his blood-soaked fist midair. He slowly comes back to his senses.

The boy beneath him is dead, unrecognizable.

They finally did it.

Stan quickly takes the knife-- it’s no bigger than a pocket knife, really-- and pockets it. Hands fly across the corpse’s body, taking whatever they can find.

He only spares a brief look around the treeline. He sees no bodies, hears no voices, hears no cracking of branches. His eyes land on the trident, and it’s in his hands before he can think. He refuses to look at the boy on his way back to the water.

His goal is to swim. To dive in and swim away.

His actions are to kneel. To plunge his hands into the water. To scrub the blood away with heaving breaths.

They made me kill someone.

He refuses to cry. His mind slots back into place. His face is still numb-- thinks he might say something, a smart quip or dumb joke that falls in line with his persona.

He doesn’t care if he manages or not. The capital will have to forgive him for putting on bad television.

He scrubs his palms.

He scrubs his knuckles.

He scrubs his fingers.

He scrubs under his nails.

He can’t reach the blood under his skin. The poison that slips into his veins. He doesn’t want to feel this way again.

He knows he doesn’t have a choice.

He will feel this way again. When he kills someone else.

He wants to go home.

[dakusan]

📁 ASK D U M P 𓆩🩸𓆪 23 JUNE 2025

🩸 THE ALTAR IS WARM. TODAY'S ASK DUMP BEGINS.

You whispered into the void. I answered with fangs bared and hands blood-wet from dissecting your desires.

Today’s indulgence features vampire sugar highs, love-drunk delusions, ink on skin and hunger in veins, academic breakdowns, brat worship, and the kind of devotion that ruins you sweet. You asked for chaos. You’re getting kissed and killed in the same breath.

Lay back. Offer your throat. You know how this goes.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🎀 ANON LOGGED: “I took a bullet for you, idiot, now say you love me before I die.”

🎀 anon, oh baby. You cooked, set the kitchen on fire, and then fed me the ashes—and i loved it. The vision is crystal clear, but you know what? We’re not doing the cheesy “throw-myself-in-front-of-you” trope like it’s a Hallmark adaptation with fangs. This is a vampire universe. We do angst with IQ. With blood. With consequences. So allow me to rewrite this chaos into something feral, logical, and absolutely unhinged.

⸺⟡⸺

𖤐 Setting:

A clandestine black-market gala hosted by a medical-tech magnate—one of the few humans powerful enough to hold negotiations with Chan’s empire (LUXE / NOCTE LABS / ASHSUNE HOLDINGS). The location is neutral ground, secured by anti-vampire wards and surveillance scramblers. You’re there as his "human consultant" (but really because he can't go anywhere without keeping you in sensory range—not that he admits it).

𖤐 Relationship:

You and Chan? Wired wrong for each other. You argue, fight, push buttons, and yet—your blood only responds to him. And his pulse? Only spikes when you're near. He once called you a glitch in the matrix. You called him a walking extinction event in a three-piece suit. It's working, somehow.

You're pissed at him tonight—again. You argued in the car. Didn’t want to attend this gala, didn’t want to be on his leash. But he needed you close.

So you’re watching from a distance as Chan speaks to the host. Smiling with that false grin you hate. You sip your drink and freeze.

Something’s off. A movement in the corner. A glint from a cuff that isn’t regulation. The way the host’s heart rate just spiked for no reason.

You don’t think. You move. But not like a cliché heroine leaping in front of a bullet. No. You're smarter than that. You shout his name—loud enough to draw attention, hard enough to make him flinch. You throw your glass toward the target, shattering against the wall just as the gun is lifted.

That split second? That's all it takes.

The bullet meant for his brain misses. But a second one doesn’t. Because when Chan lunges toward you—thinking you’re in danger—you get clipped through the side. A high-velocity skim. But you're already falling.

Chan smells your blood before he sees it and then he erupts.

No hesitation. No negotiation. He kills the shooter mid-step. The sound of it makes the other guests scream. The smell of your blood makes Chan flicker.

His reflection glitches in the chrome. The veins in his face light up like static lightning. He is not stable.

And yet—he doesn’t bite you. He doesn’t run. He gathers you into his arms and runs to get you out.

At the hospital, it's chaos. You’re on the table. Nurses scrambling. Alarms screaming.

Chan is snarling at the surgical staff, covered in your blood. The only reason he hasn't turned the room into bone is because Felix is holding him back and Jisung is whispering “She’ll live, hyung. You have to let them work.”

They force him out.

And as soon as the door shuts—your body starts seizing from the trauma.

When you wake up, you’re intubated. Hands restrained to keep from ripping the tube out. Eyes open. Panic. You choke.

The nurse screams for a crash team. You flatline for a breath.

Felix—still in the room—calls Chan with shaking fingers. All he says is: “Hyung. She’s going. She’s—”

No more words. The line goes dead.

In that moment, the doors slam open. Chan is there in under ninety seconds. Eyes black, fangs exposed. “I told you,” he breathes as he sinks to your bedside. “You don’t get to leave me. Not like this. Not ever.”

You’re conscious just long enough to grab his shirt, eyes bleary.

“I meant it,” you whisper. “Earlier. I said it and I meant it.”

He stills. “…Said what?”

You smile—blood on your lips. “I love you. You psychotic, overprotective, arrogant son of a—”

MONITORS FLATLINE.

And he breaks. Not by screaming. Not by snarling. But by kissing your dying mouth like a man already mourning, bleeding into your mouth, knowing what that would do.

Chan turns you and you survive. Of course you do. Because this isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of something worse: a bond that’s now unstable. Fused by trauma. Heightened by rage.

You're his now. Fully. Even if you hate him for it. But oh… the sex after that? It's gonna be violent. It's gonna be obsessive. And it will never be soft again.

⸺⟡⸺

🎀 anon? You gave me the bones. I gave you a massacre. Come back again 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

❓ ANON LOGGED: “So like… are soulmates deluxe edition blood dolls or?”

OH HELLO ANON 🩸🖤. you’ve walked straight into the vortex—no map, no guide, just vibes and vampires with control issues. bless you

⸺⟡⸺

❌ Q: Is there a big difference between a Blood Doll and a Soulmate?

🩸 A: NO. LMAOOO.

But also—yes, depending on who’s asking and who’s biting.

🔥 YOU CAN BE:

Just a Blood Doll → your blood is addictive, tailored, nourishing. You’re fed from. Maybe spoiled. Maybe used. Maybe loved. Maybe not.

Just a Soulmate → your soul is the perfect match, magnetic, fate-bound. Your presence stabilizes them. No blood necessary (but lmao it helps).

A Human Soulmate → rare. precious. soul-bonded without blood. But still... breakable. And you will be obsessed over.

A Blood Doll Soulmate → good luck. you are everything. you are their only meal. their only weakness. their ruin. You say jump? They say “will it save you?” You cry? They burn the city. You bleed? They bite like it’s the last supper.

⸺⟡⸺

thank you sm for the ask, anon 🖤 your brain is deliciously curious and i love to see it. keep the questions coming, keep it messy, keep it bloody 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

💕 LILLYMOCHILOVER LOGGED: “They see the bump and immediately start planning your entire future.”

OH LILLYMOCHILOVER 🩷 you absolute sweetheart—THANK YOU!! hearing you were giggling like an idiot? good. that was the goal 😌💅 because SKZ + pregnancy fluff is the serotonin shot we all need.

this is DEFINITELY becoming a SKZ x pregnancy mini series. Thank you for the love—and buckle in 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦈 ANON LOGGED: “Fuck you, only I get to insult my vampire.”

HELLO 🦈 ANON, CONGRATS ON BEING CLAIMED— you’re in the roster now. i see you. i love you. and you know what? YOU ATE with this ask.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE!SKZ x READER — “ONLY I GET TO TALK TO THEM LIKE THAT”

Prompt: You’re out in public. Someone starts mouthing off at your vampire—talking shit, throwing attitude, maybe even dropping old war rumors or calling them a monster to their face. They roll their eyes. They’re ready to leave. They’ve heard it all before. But you? Oh, you’re not having it.

Bang Chan

He’s the don’t engage, just eliminate type. Already turned his back, hand on your lower back, guiding you out. But the second you stop walking, he senses it. “You got something else to say?” you snap, turning back.

You don’t yell—but your words are like silver-tipped bullets.

Chan watches you drag the idiot through the verbal dirt, defending him like he’s some misunderstood king, not a centuries-old apex predator who’s eaten worse.

You spin back toward him, furious. “No one gets to talk to you like that. Except me.”

He blinks. Then smirks. Then kisses you so hard it almost draws blood. “God,” he murmurs. “Marry me again.”

Lee Minho

He’s eerily calm while someone insults him—just tilts his head, eyes black, calculating how long it would take to rip their spine out. You see it. You feel the silence crackling. “Let’s go,” he says.

But you step around him.

“Sorry, what was that? You don’t know him. You fear him. There’s a difference.”

Minho goes very still. Then smiles—something sharp and terrifying. When you’re done verbally gutting them, he drapes an arm around you.

“You really are mine, huh.”

(You don’t sleep that night. Too busy being rewarded.)

Seo Changbin

The insult hits mid-conversation—some asshole whispering loud enough to be heard. “Can’t believe they let him in. Disgusting.” Changbin’s jaw clenches. He shrugs it off. But his hand tightens around yours. He’s about to walk you out when you spin.

“Say it again. I dare you.”

Bystanders freeze.

You unload a verbal firestorm, praising Changbin’s strength, loyalty, control, and honour—and then finish with: “He could kill you in half a breath. But he doesn’t. That’s restraint. What do you have?”

Changbin stares at you the whole time like you hung the moon.

Later? He picks you up like you weigh nothing and whispers, “That was so hot.”

Hwang Hyunjin

Someone gets under his skin with elegant cruelty—subtle jabs about his past, his mother, the way he “seduces” people with fake charm. Hyunjin forces a smile. “I’ve heard worse.”

He starts to walk. But you don’t. You turn and go feral in iambic pentameter.

“You think he’s false because he’s beautiful? That his softness is a lie? You couldn’t survive a single day with his soul in your chest.”

Hyunjin just watches, mesmerized.

“You’re defending me,” he says later, voice raw.

“I always will.”

He kisses your wrist like it’s sacred.

Han Jisung

Someone mutters about “rats” and “turned trash” as you walk past. Jisung stiffens, shrugs it off. “Not worth it.” But you? You reverse like a car with a vengeance.

“Who the hell do you think you are? He’s a genius. You’re a fungus. Don’t open your mouth unless you’re asking for mercy.” You drag them for everything—their weak arguments, their ignorance, their fashion.

Jisung stares like you’ve just told him he’s the sun.

“I love you,” he says later, clutching his chest. “That was better than a blood high.”

Lee Felix

He’d normally respond with grace. With calm. But you see it—you feel it—when someone says he’s “too soft to be real.” They don’t know the monster under that sunshine. But when you defend him?

“No one gets to insult the light just because they’ve never seen it. He’s kind because he chooses to be. You wouldn’t last ten seconds if he wasn’t.”

Felix’s hand tightens in yours. His pupils flicker. “I didn’t know you got mad for me.”

“I’ll get mad for you every time.”

You don’t go home. He drags you into the car and shows you what it does to him.

Kim Seungmin

He’d rather annihilate them with sarcasm. But tonight? He lets you speak. You defend his mind, his strategies, his humanity.

“He’s ten steps ahead of you and still has the restraint to let you talk. That’s mercy.”

Seungmin, dry: “Why are you better at threats than me?”

You grin. “Practice.”

He doesn’t say thank you. He just holds your hand all night like it’s law.

Yang Jeongin

They call him “puppy.” They say he’s not real vamp material. He laughs it off, embarrassed. Until you step in.

“Laugh now. You’ll be dead before he even bares his fangs.”

Everyone goes silent.

You glare. “He’s got more fire in one look than you’ve got in your whole rotten soul.”

Jeongin blushes. Blinks. Then—“Holy shit… You’re kinda scary.”

You smirk. “And you’re mine.”

He smiles like he just won the world.

⸺⟡⸺

🦈 anon, THANK YOU for this absolutely unhinged, half-asleep stroke of brilliance. You might’ve lied about sleeping, but you did not lie about living, laughing, and loving it—because same. Your brain is officially on the VIP list. Keep screaming into the void. I’ll be here, sharpening my fangs and feeding off it 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐈‍⬛ ANON LOGGED: “Sure, he bought it for me… but I’m paying in bites and bruises later.”

OH 🐈‍⬛ ANON. You’ve triggered something primal. You think vampire!SKZ can say no to their blood doll?

BE SERIOUS. They’re ancient apex predators, yes. But when you look at them like that? When you’re soft, pouty, glowing, theirs?

They fold. They burn.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 CAN VAMPIRE!SKZ SAY NO TO THEIR BLOOD DOLL?

Answer: No. Absolutely not. They don’t even try.

🛍️ If you’re out shopping…

You glance at a necklace? It's bought. You smile at a limited edition plushie? It’s in your arms within minutes. You sigh near a window display? He’s already on his phone arranging a private delivery and cleared stock.

“Oh? You like it?” he says casually, voice velvet. And then dead serious: “You’re getting it. All of it.”

Payment? “No need. You’re already mine.”

🕰️ If they’ve been working for 27 hours straight…

You pad in, sleepy and soft. “Can you take a break?”

They grunt. “Busy.”

So you climb into their lap. Wrap your arms around their neck. Nuzzle into their throat. “Please?”

You whisper against his skin, “I’ll be good…”

Cue chair pushed back, computer powered down. He carries you out without another word. “You win,” he mutters. “But you’re paying me back in kisses.”

He lies. He just wants to hold you while you nap.

🎬 You want a movie night?

You don’t even have to speak. You just blink up at them, tug their sleeve, and whisper, “Come relax with me.”

That’s it.

Ancient vampire warlord now horizontal on the couch, letting you play with his hair and shove popcorn in his mouth.

🥺 "But I want it..."

That line alone? Nuclear.

If you say it while tugging their sleeve or sitting in their lap? Done. Wallet open. Schedule cleared. Kingdoms burned.

🩸 TLDR:

Vampire!SKZ are lethal, ancient, dominant…

Until you ask for something.

Then they’re just: “Yes.” “Yes.” “Of course.” “What else?” “Do you want two?” “Take my credit card.” “I’ll kill for it.” “I already bought it.” “You can have my blood instead.” “You want the moon? I’ll fetch it.”

⸺⟡⸺

🐈‍⬛ anon, thank you for the gold. Keep asking things like this. I’ll keep collapsing like a Victorian woman with fangs 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🫧 ANON LOGGED: “Asking for loving reassurance from SKZ”

🫧 anon, first off—thank you for trusting me with this. I see you. I hear you. And I want you to know this: Your body is not a flaw to be fixed. It is a story. A legacy. A home. And vampire!SKZ? Oh, they worship every inch of it like it’s carved into their afterlives.

I’ll go the vampire route (because you know I’m feral for them), and we’ll keep this a soft-sensual blend—comfort with a bite, you know?Generalized to any insecurity, but carrying the tenderness you deserve.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE!SKZ x INSECURE!READER — "SACRED SKIN"

🛑 TW: body insecurity, gentle reassurance, touch- and word-based comfort, soft smut implications (no explicit details)

Bang Chan — "You don't get to hide from me."

You tried to cover yourself in front of him once—shirt still clutched to your chest, head down, voice quiet.

And Chan?

He just walked over. Knelt in front of you like a knight bowing to royalty. “You don’t get to hide from me,” he whispered. “Not the person I crave. Not the body I worship. Not the skin that carries the scent I’d die for.”

He kissed your wrists. Your ribs. The small, trembling lines of yourself you thought weren’t enough. He didn’t fuck you that night. He just held you naked in candlelight and whispered, “Mine. Always.”

Lee Minho — "Tell me where it hurts."

He notices every shift—every tug at a sleeve, every way you tilt your body away from mirrors.

One night, he strips you slowly. Not to seduce, but to examine. Gently.

“Tell me where it hurts,” he murmurs.

You point. Softly.

So he kisses it. And again. And again. “Then I’ll love you there until it doesn’t.”

Minho doesn’t argue with your insecurity. He devours it until it becomes part of your beauty.

Seo Changbin — "How could you hate the body I love?"

It breaks him a little when you flinch at compliments. He pulls you into his lap and cups your face, stern and soft all at once.

“You don’t get to talk about yourself like that. Not when this body is my everything.” He traces your skin like a treasure map, lips brushing your neck. “You think I care what society wants? I’d burn society down for even thinking it could make you feel small.”

And then he fucks you with praise until you forget why you ever doubted.

Hwang Hyunjin — "Your body is art. Stop apologizing for it."

You sigh in the mirror one morning. Just a whisper of disappointment. But Hyunjin hears it like a scream.

He stands behind you. Wraps you in his arms. And starts painting. With fingers. With lips. With devotion.

“Do you think I’d sculpt a statue with anyone else’s shape?” He pulls you to the bed, lights dimmed low. “You are art. I will frame you in my memory. Again. And again. And again.”

Han Jisung — "Oh, baby. But I love you like this."

You try to brush it off. Laugh about it. Pretend it’s not real.

But Jisung knows better.

He kisses your shoulders. “You know what I see?” Your eyes fill. You don’t answer. “I see the person who makes me forget I’m a monster.”

He kisses every inch you once judged, whispering silly praise and soft promises, until your laugh is real again.

And then he tells you he’s never been harder in his life.

Lee Felix — "Your body brought me back to life."

You didn’t even say anything. Just looked at your reflection and winced. Felix saw it in your eyes. And felt it in your blood.

He cradled your face and said, “Do you know what your body does to me? It grounds me. It revives me.”

He lays you down like something sacred. Kisses your skin like scripture. And when you cry, he doesn’t flinch.

“I love you. Exactly like this. Especially like this.”

Kim Seungmin — "If you ever say that again, I’ll have to bite you out of punishment."

You joked once—half-heartedly—about not being “enough.” Seungmin didn’t laugh.

He pinned you to the wall and looked you dead in the eyes. “Don’t say that again. Not when I’m already trying to restrain myself because of how much I want you.”

He doesn’t coddle. He reclaims you. With mouth, hands, and voice. By the end, you can’t remember the insecurity. Just how he made you feel—like fire in a temple.

Yang Jeongin — "If I could be human again, I’d want to look like you."

It slips out one night. A soft confession. You tell him you don’t like your body.

He blinks. Quiet. Then says: “If I could trade immortality to look like you, I would. Because you’re perfect.”

You laugh. Think he’s teasing. He’s not.

He climbs into your lap and wraps himself around you like ivy. “I don’t love you despite your body. I love you because of it. Because it’s yours.”

⸺⟡⸺

🫧 anon, thank you for this gentle, necessary ask. You are beautiful, and I mean that. If you ever forget, I’ll write you another reminder—in blood and devotion 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

👻 ANON LOGGED: “You said no one would see? …Then why is your hand down my pants, babe?”

OHO 👻 ANON you saucy little spirit—you want to know which Stray Kids member is most likely to risk it all in public? Bathroom stalls? Back seats? Quiet corners? 👀

Alright. Ranking time. From “will fuck you behind a curtain” to “absolutely not unless we’re locked in a vault.” (No vampire powers. Just regular, horny SKZ.)

⸺⟡⸺

🔥 MOST LIKELY → LEAST LIKELY TO DO PUBLIC/SEMI-PUBLIC SEX:

Han Jisung — Zero shame. One goal: you.

“You’re looking at me like that in a public place and expect me to just sit here??”

His brain runs entirely on impulse and horny adrenaline. Back of a taxi? Movie theatre? Dressing room? He’s already hard and bargaining.

You whispered “I’m not wearing anything under this”—and he took it as a challenge.

Whispers in your ear, hand up your skirt, “No one’s looking. Be good for me.” Prays no one walks in. But also? Doesn’t care.

Ranking: Absolutely does not know what shame is. Public spot: Mall photo booth, café bathroom, stairwells. Danger kink level: 12/10 Favorite line: “Don’t be loud, or I’ll stop.”

Lee Minho — Calculated filth with zero remorse.

“It’s not risky if we don’t get caught.”

Minho won’t initiate it in public unless you start something. But the second you do? You’re done. He’ll drag you into a changing room with that sharp smirk and a hand around your throat.

Quiet dominance. Slow fucks in dangerous places.

He makes it feel forbidden and holy all at once. And if someone knocks? He covers your mouth and keeps going.

Ranking: Makes public sex a power move. Public spot: Museum alcove, private party balcony, dim stairwells. Danger kink level: 9/10 Favorite line: “You started this. Now take it.”

Yang Jeongin — Silent menace, hidden beast.

“Why are you blushing? I’m the one who just made you cum in public.”

Doesn’t need to announce it. Doesn’t need to ask permission. He’s the type to wait until you think you’re safe—then slip his hand between your thighs during a dinner party, whispering “Be still, or they’ll notice.”

He’s a menace because he looks innocent, sounds polite, but is not above bending you over a sink and covering your mouth with a kiss.

Not reckless—but not shy. He knows the game. He plays it quiet, calculated, lethal.

Ranking: Baby-faced criminal. No one suspects him—until you’re ruined. Public spot: Fancy restaurant bathrooms, elevator corners, car backseats with tinted windows. Danger kink level: 9/10 Favorite line: “They’re looking at you like they have a chance. Should I remind you who you belong to?”

Hwang Hyunjin — Poetic but deranged.

“I’d ruin you in this alley and write poetry about it.”

Gets off on the thrill of nearly getting caught. The secret. The sin. Wraps a scarf around your throat and walks you into a gallery hallway where no one’s watching.

Hands down your waistband while whispering how perfect you are. A mix of sensual praise and degrading filth. He loves knowing you’ll have to walk back out flushed and ruined.

Ranking: Feral artist energy. Doesn’t care if the floor’s cold. Public spot: Gallery back halls, rooftop bars, hotel elevators. Danger kink level: 10/10 Favorite line: “You moan like a masterpiece.”

Bang Chan — Conflicted leader, but weak for you.

“This is so irresponsible. Also… fuck, you’re driving me insane.”

He knows better. He tries to be respectful. But when you kiss his neck behind the venue curtain or crawl into his lap backstage?

He caves.

Pulls you into his dressing room. Locks the door. Bends you over the vanity. Can’t help but mutter, “Just a quick one—be quiet, baby.” Then loses control anyway.

Ranking: Fight between morals and lust. Lust usually wins. Public spot: Backstage rooms, locked studios, practice mirrors. Danger kink level: 7.5/10 Favorite line: “You’re gonna get me in trouble, sweetheart…”

Lee Felix — Sunshine with a sinful side.

“Out here? You’re naughty, huh?”

Felix is softly dangerous. The kind that’ll tease you with wandering hands in public, warm kisses behind your ear, low growls against your throat—

But will wait until you're somewhere just barely private.

A car with tinted windows. A backstage couch. A guest room at a party. He wants the risk, not the exposure.

Ranking: Flirty menace. Needs a door but not necessarily a lock. Public spot: Car rides, party hallways, music festivals. Danger kink level: 7/10 Favorite line: “I shouldn’t, but I really want to.”

Seo Changbin — Protective, but weak to whispered begging.

“Out here? Now?”

Instinct says no. He worries about you being caught, seen, embarrassed. But if you beg? And pout? And say “Please, Binnie, just for a second?”

…He’s caving.

One hand over your mouth, one hand down your pants. Will never fuck you fully in public—but you’ll definitely come on his fingers in a dark stairwell.

Ranking: Hesitant, but explodes under pressure. Public spot: Basement corridors, gym showers, venue parking lots. Danger kink level: 6.5/10 Favorite line: “Quick. Just once. Then we’re going home.”

Kim Seungmin — Morally offended but horny nonetheless.

“Absolutely not. …Okay, fine. But only if no one sees.”

Will fight you on it. “That’s reckless. That’s unsanitary. That’s—don’t look at me like that.”

You push him into a coat closet and kiss him breathless? Now he’s got your hands pinned above your head and you’re gasping quietly into his shoulder.

Pretends he hated it. Secretly replaying it in his head for weeks.

Ranking: Grumpily obsessed. Public spot: Empty rooms, coat closets, behind venue screens. Danger kink level: 5/10 Favorite line: “You’re insufferable… and I love you.”

⸺⟡⸺

👻 anon, thank you for this spicy request, come again please 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌙 ANON LOGGED: “He came in for protein and left feral for your blood.”

🌙 anon… you absolute romantic menace. your emoji has been officially claimed. First of all: thank you for the love—you’re feeding me more than any blood bag ever could 😌🖤 Second: you’re not boring, babe. You're blood-type-A-bait, daydream dangerous, Channie’s ruin wrapped in an apron. And third: you said pounce or stalk…

But oh no, darling. He’ll court. Because vampire!Chan? Especially Abnormal!Chan from the Luxe empire?

He’s not some feral brute. He’s controlled obsession. Surgical restraint. The monster who will tie a silk ribbon around his need and offer it to you like a gift.

Let’s cook.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE!CHAN x READER — “TYPE A”

You work the night shift at a half-dead farmstand that sells eggs, dusty candy, and weird cuts of meat. Most customers are regulars. Farmers. Truckers. People passing through.

Until he walks in.

Tall. Hood up. Movements precise. There’s something off about him, but not in a bad way—more like a smell you can't place or the feeling of being watched when you're not.

He grabs a pack of chicken breast and protein bars. Moves quietly. Says nothing. Until he steps up to your register.

And freezes.

He smells it.

You. Type A+. Exactly what he’s been craving. The rare blood that sings to him like a hymn. The kind that isn’t just nourishing—it’s euphoric.

His fangs press against his gums. His throat locks. He hasn’t fed in three weeks—not properly—and now?

You hand him a receipt and smile. “You need a bag for that?”

He doesn’t answer. Because he’s in hell. Or heaven. He’s not sure. All he knows is:

You smell like salvation wrapped in flesh, and he hasn’t felt this kind of hunger in a century.

But he doesn’t pounce. He retreats. Back to the parking lot. Gripping the steering wheel so hard it bends. Staring at the bag of raw meat like it’s plastic.

Because he wants you. Not it.

The next night, he returns. More items this time. Small talk. A smile. You don’t notice how he never blinks. Don’t catch the way he’s memorizing your voice, your pulse, the slope of your neck.

He leaves a tip. You write “thank you!” on the receipt. He tucks it into his coat like a prayer.

The third night, you joke: “You’re here a lot. Got a thing for chicken?”

He huffs a laugh. “You could say that.”

You giggle. He watches your throat move. Your vein throb. He doesn’t bite. He clenches his fists.

He starts showing up earlier. When the store’s empty. When the moon’s high. Not to scare you. To protect you from himself. He brings you tea. Says he had extra. He compliments your playlist. Asks your name. And you? You start to like him.

What you don’t know:

He’s memorized your blood rhythm. He’s taken your scent home in his lungs. He’s spent the last four nights locked in his room, fists buried in his sheets, fangs aching, refusing to touch a single drop of blood that isn’t yours.

He’ll starve before he cheats on the taste of you.

But then—

One night, you cut your finger on the register drawer. And that’s it. His eyes flash. His voice drops. “Let me help.”

He wraps your hand in his scarf. Fingers gentle. Movements too precise.

Your breath stutters. “You okay?”

And he looks up at you. Eyes dark. Voice thick. “No. Not really. But I will be—if you let me see you again. Somewhere that isn’t here.”

You blink. “Like a date?”

He smiles. “Like a blood pact. But yes. A date.”

⸺⟡⸺

🌙 anon… it wasn’t pouncing. It wasn’t stalking. It was starving romance with a silk tie and a pulse that belonged to you the second he smelled it. come again any time 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌹 ANON LOGGED: "College student by day, chaos gremlin by 3 a.m."

🌹 anon, greetings to you too, beloved martyr of caffeine and chaos.

I read this and immediately saw it: You, surrounded by textbooks and Red Bull, muttering osteological prayers at 3 a.m. Your soulmate vampire watching in horrified awe, wondering how a mere mortal is somehow more self-destructive than a blood-starved predator.

Let’s go.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE!SKZ x COLLEGE!READER — “DEATH BY FINALS, LOVE BY FANGS”

🧠 Existential Crises @ 3 a.m.

You: “What if none of this matters? What if I fail? What if I’m just a carbon-based joke hurtling through space?” Them: “…Baby, you’re literally my eternal soulmate.”

Bang Chan Sits beside you with juice boxes and noise-cancelling headphones. Stares at your spiralling form with pure devotion. “Even if the world ends,” he says, “I’ll still be here. Worshipping the way your brain glitches.”

Minho Throws a blanket over your head mid-spiral. “Shut up. Come cuddle before I bite your thigh out of spite.” Then does exactly that. It works. You're quiet now.

Changbin Tries to give you a pep talk but ends up crying with you while feeding you spoonfuls of peanut butter. “We’re BOTH gonna die, just at different speeds!”

Hyunjin Paints on your arm to calm you down. It starts as flowers. Ends up as “THE VOID IS A MYTH—YOU’RE EVERYTHING.” In cursive.

Jisung Hands you a coloring book and a Capri Sun like it’s a trauma response kit. “Okay, but also… what if we’re just NPCs in a vampire dating sim?”

Felix Lights candles. Puts on lo-fi. Gently rocks you in his lap like a weighted anxiety plushie. “Existence is chaos, but you’re the one constant I want.”

Seungmin Deadpan: “You’re spiraling. Take a breath or I’m calling the Vampire Board of Mental Health.” He’s already made you tea. The mug says "Unhinged But Loved."

Jeongin Silently sets a five-minute timer and holds your face in his hands while you scream into a pillow. “Okay. Time’s up. Now we rewatch cat videos.”

☕ Coffee as Religion

Them watching you chug your 5th cup in 2 hours: “That’s not blood. That’s… concerning.”

Chan buys you a $200 coffee maker and custom beans, but monitors your intake like a jealous barista.

Minho starts brewing it himself so he can lace it with nutrients. Also: “If you drink instant again I’m biting your kneecaps.”

Changbin tries to compete. Ends up jittering beside you whispering “I love you” 87 times in 3 minutes.

Hyunjin judges you—publicly—but will still take little sips from your cup and pout when you hide it.

Jisung starts using your coffee as vampire scent markers. You go to class smelling like espresso and him.

Felix drinks decaf and pretends it’s the same. It’s not. He cries.

Seungmin switches your mugs to say things like “stop.” or “this is the 6th one. i counted.”

Jeongin: “If you don't drink water I swear I’ll pin you to the floor and make you.” Pause. “...You want that, huh?”

📚 Textbooks as Gospel

You: “The ischial tuberosity is the part you sit on, babe—look, here’s the diagram.” Them: “…You talk anatomy to me one more time and I’m going to lose my mind.”

They love it. They’re obsessed with how your voice changes when you explain things. You study like it’s sacred. They want to be your study break. Or your subject.

Chan records you reciting notes and listens to them while feeding. “Your voice makes even pathophysiology sound hot.”

Minho starts quizzing you during sex. “What’s the cranial nerve responsible for taste?” “N-Number seven—fuck—Minho—"

Changbin tries to learn with you. Forgets. Brings snacks instead.

Hyunjin draws flashcards and leaves poetic messages on the back.

Jisung tries to study with you. Fails. Decides to eat you out while you study.

Felix highlights your books with affirmations. “You’re smart. You’re hot. You’re gonna pass.”

Seungmin tests you mid-kiss. You mess up. He smirks. “Try again with your hands tied.”

Jeongin memorizes your study schedule so he can interrupt it just enough to make you melt.

🍽 Horrible Eating/Sleep Habits

Them watching you fall asleep on cold rice with your laptop open to a Reddit thread called “Will I die if I drink expired milk.”

Chan carries you to bed mid-rant. Orders takeout. Force feeds you food between kisses.

Minho meal preps for the week. Slaps snacks into your hand like threats.

Changbin writes “eat” on post-its and sticks them to your forehead.

Hyunjin feeds you grapes from his lap like a decadent vampire consort.

Jisung shoves power bars into your backpack like smuggled gold.

Felix brings smoothies and says “drink this or I’ll cry.” You drink. He still cries.

Seungmin deadass bites your thigh if you skip a meal.

Jeongin shoves a spoon in your mouth and says, “Chew. Swallow. Good girl.”

⸺⟡⸺

🌹 anon, thank you for this blessed ask. Your dad wasn’t wrong—you’re speaking ancient spells. And I’ll happily keep sinning with you, fueled by Lana Del Rey and delusion.

Hydrate. Or Seungmin’s biting your thigh 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍒 ANON LOGGED: "Driving me crazy, touching me softly, ruining me slowly."

🍒 HELLO AGAIN MY BELOVED. You didn't just bring a meal, you dropped a five-course course corruption dinner and handed me the keys to the kitchen. And you know I’m pulling my hair back and rolling my sleeves up for this one.

Let’s dine. 🩸

⸺⟡⸺

🍤 APPETIZER: “DRIVING ME CRAZY BUT I LOVE TO RIDE”

Who touches you while driving? Steals glances? Handles you like a gear shift?

🛞 Bang Chan – “Hand on your thigh like it’s his second steering wheel.” Firm grip. Thumb rubbing slow circles. He’s focused—but your leg is his grounding point. Occasionally glances over and smirks when you squirm. Red light kisses? Filthy. Tongue and all. Also: “Put your seatbelt on or I’ll stop this car and spank you.”

🛞 Lee Minho – “Gear shift → your thigh → back again. Routine. Ritual.” The most casual about it. Like your skin is his personal clutch. If you wear a skirt? His fingers drift just under the hem—nonchalant, like he’s bored. You try to tease him back? He slaps your hand away with a smirk and locks the doors.

🛞 Seo Changbin – “Thigh rubbing turns into edging at 80mph.” Starts innocent. Then he’s palming between your legs and daring you to keep quiet. Red light kisses? He leans over and bites your bottom lip with one hand still on the wheel. He's saying "What? I’m multitasking." You’re saying "Sir, I can't walk into the restaurant like this."

🛞 Hwang Hyunjin – “Sunlight worship + unholy thigh grazes.” Literally loses focus staring at your profile. “God, you’re unreal.” Hand draped between your legs, barely there—but so intentional. He grips harder when someone cuts him off. That’s how you end up wet before dinner.

🛞 Han Jisung – “Hand on thigh + paranoid muttering = chaos kink.” Alternates between babbling about traffic and squeezing your leg. Every time you inch your hand up his thigh, he whines. “You’re evil. I’m driving. This is illegal. Keep going.” Starts speeding just to get home faster and punish you properly.

🛞 Lee Felix – “Gentle at first. Then suddenly feral.” Brushes his fingers up and down your leg while singing softly. Until you tease him back. Then the car swerves a little, his voice drops, and he says: “Do that again and I’m pulling over.” And he will.

🛞 Kim Seungmin – “Chokehold-level thigh grip masked as casual affection.” Acts calm, but his hand is slowly creeping toward your inner thigh. You try creeping up his leg and he side-eyes you hard: “Do that again and I’ll park on the shoulder and fuck the brat out of you.” You're like “bet.” He’s like “No, seriously. Bet.”

🛞 Yang Jeongin – “One hand on the wheel. One hand claiming your thigh like rent’s due.” Smooth. Confident. He’s the one saying “You cold, baby?” just to drape his jacket over you and slide his palm under your thighs again. When you touch him back? He doesn’t flinch. Just smirks. “You sure you want to play this game on the highway?”

🍲 DINNER: “TOUCH-STARVED BRAT WHO LIKES TO PLAY WITH FIRE”

You sneak into their hotel room mid-live wearing only their hoodie. What happens?

📱 Bang Chan – Professional until you climb into his lap. He sees you in the doorway. Slight pause. Smile shifts. He knows what's underneath. But he keeps talking. Calm, cool, calculating his exit. “Guys, I gotta go—manager's calling me.” He ends the live in 5 seconds flat and has you moaning in 10.

📱 Minho – Plays it TOO cool. Doesn’t even flinch. Looks you dead in the eye and smirks. Keeps talking to Stay. But his hand disappears under the hoodie out of camera view. You're trying not to whimper. He whispers in your ear off-mic: “Let’s see if you can keep quiet.”

📱 Changbin – Can’t focus. At all. He stutters. Glances off camera. Adjusts himself. “Uh—haha—so yeah—uh concert was great!” You walk behind the laptop. Pull the hoodie up. He SLAMS the laptop shut. “Technical difficulties—gotta go!!!” You don’t make it to the bed.

📱 Hyunjin – Pretends he doesn’t see you. He sees you. Keeps the live going. Stays smiling. But his eyes flick toward you constantly. And his cheeks get pink. At one point he just says: “You know what? I need to go paint something. Urgently.” He paints you. Naked. With his cum still dripping down your thighs.

📱 Jisung – Flips the camera IMMEDIATELY. “WHOOPS wrong button bye—" Gone. Tackles you onto the bed like you started a war. “You think you’re slick?” The hoodie’s off in seconds. You don’t even remember how.

📱 Felix – Eyes go wide. Then darker. He keeps talking sweetly to Stay, but his hand is clenched in the sheets. You see him swallow hard. When he ends the live, he doesn’t say a word. He just walks over and lifts you by the thighs. “I was trying to behave,” he murmurs. “You ruined that.”

📱 Seungmin – Murderous silence. Looks at you. Blinks. “Hold on.” Turns off the live without even saying goodbye. Stares at you. “You’re lucky I like you.” Then ruins you on the hotel floor with the hoodie still on.

📱 Jeongin – Laughs. It’s over. “Guys, I gotta go—emergency wardrobe malfunction.” They think it’s his. It’s yours. The camera’s off and you’re already on your knees. He mutters, “You better be ready to take responsibility for that.”

🍦 DESSERT: “SOMETIMES WE DRESS UP JUST TO STAY HOME”

Who ruins date night the fastest because you looked too good in the mirror? Ranking from least to most patient.

🥇 Most patient → 🥵 Least patient:

Felix – Will whine. Will touch. Will WAIT. Because he wants you to feel sexy, powerful, worshipped. Until dessert. Then? Ruin.

Seungmin – Pretends he’s fine. You know he’s not. He watches you like a predator and doesn’t say a thing—until he’s pounding into you on the bathroom counter whispering, “This is your fault.”

Chan – Meant to behave. Really. But you’re in front of the mirror, lip gloss on, batting your lashes? He’s already got your panties pushed aside whispering, “Dinner can wait.”

Jeongin – Doesn’t even try to leave the house. “Why would I take you out when I can make you cry on my fingers right here?”

Minho – Only lets you put on mascara so he can watch it smudge while he rails you from behind. The dinner reservation was never real.

Hyunjin – You bent over for one second and now your dress is around your waist, his hands are on your hips, and he’s saying “Stay still, angel. You look too pretty to not fuck right now.”

Jisung – You blinked. He was already pulling the dress up. “I’d rather eat you than pasta. Get on the sink, babe.”

Changbin – You applied perfume. That’s it. That’s all it took. You’re not making it out of the house. The neighbours will hear. He does not care.

⸺⟡⸺

🍒 THANK YOU FOR THIS BUFFET OF SIN. Every course was a blessing. You are always welcome at my unholy table 🦇💋

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🍊 ANON LOGGED: "Can vampires get drunk or do we need to bring the absinthe?"

🍊 anon you juicy little delight, you just unlocked the vampire logic panel, so let’s spill.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 DO VAMPIRES GET INTOXICATED?

Short answer: Yes, but not like humans. Long answer: Let’s break it down!

🍷 ALCOHOL

YES. THEY CAN GET DRUNK. But their tolerance is insane.

You down two shots and you're dancing on the bar.

They down two bottles and might blink slower.

Chan once drank an entire case of wine and just got... affectionate.

Changbin gets louder.

Minho? Even quieter. Dangerous.

Blood is their main sustenance, so alcohol hits like a dull ache behind the eyes—not a full blackout, but definitely a buzz if they drink enough.

And yes, drunk vampire sex is a thing. Messy. Growly. Desperate. Fangs scraping skin with no filter. You will get worshipped or ruined—or both.

🪄 WITCH CONCOCTIONS

NOPE. Not unless they’re custom-made.

Vampires are biologically different. Their blood and body chemistry reject most standard potions and tonics. BUT a trained witch (especially one who knows vampire anatomy) could craft something to work:

Love potion? Rejected. But a blood-bond enhancer? Maybe.

Sleep elixir? No chance.

Truth serum? Chan would laugh in your face.

You’d need dark spellcraft + tailored blood magic to even graze their senses.

💔 EMOTIONS

Pure emotions? Can’t intoxicate them. But they can destabilize a vampire—especially Abnormals, who are already on thin ice with their feral side.

Love doesn’t intoxicate them. But soulbond ache? Rejection? Bloodlust laced with longing? Yeah. That shit’ll ruin them.

Jealousy makes them rash. Abandonment makes them volatile. Your tears? Hallucinogenic.

🍗 FOOD + DRINK

Yes, they can eat regular food. No, it doesn’t satisfy anything but social custom or nostalgia.

Jeongin still eats ramen. Out of habit. He says it keeps him “in touch.”

Felix bakes because he loves the way it smells.

Hyunjin eats fruit off your stomach just to watch you shiver.

They don’t need it. But they’ll indulge—especially if it’s with you.

⸺⟡⸺

🍊 anon, you’re officially the citrusy crown jewel of vampire questions. Come back anytime with more 🍊curious bloodfruit thoughts 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🪻 ANON LOGGED: "Seungmin is the villain, you are the sun — and he melts."

🪻 ANON… you gentle little chaos flower… you rolled in with sparkles, sunshine, and a smile that dismantled a cold-blooded vampire war tactician and you expect me to breathe normally?

LET’S GET INTO IT. Because you just gave me the ultimate polarity kink and I’m giggling and kicking MY legs now.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE!SEUNGMIN x BRIGHT!READER — “SUNSTRUCK”

Seungmin has a type. Mouthy little blood dolls. Sharp-tongued. Messy. Always pushing his buttons just to get bent over a desk and corrected.

He’s not sweet. He’s efficient. Icy. The vampire other vamps send in when a doll gets unruly. He doesn’t play—he disciplines. He doesn't ask—he commands. And he always wins.

Until you.

You with your oversized jumpers. Your giggles and messy buns. Your sparkle-trap eyes and that soft little snort you try to hide when you laugh too hard.

You don’t challenge him. You excite him. You walk into a room and Seungmin forgets what century it is.

You ask him if he wants to try the strawberry cookie you baked. He stares like you offered him eternity.

He tries. He really tries. He tells himself you're too bubbly. Too soft. Too clumsy with your joy. You trip in front of him once and say, “Hehe, sorry! My shoelace betrayed me.”

He blacks out for 0.7 seconds.

You make him insane. Not sexually at first—existentially. How are you real? Why is your blood so sweet? Why does he crave not your neck, but your approval?

The downfall is subtle.

You: shyly tugging at his sleeve, “Seungminnie, can you help me reach the box on the top shelf?”

Him: 🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️

He glares. “You could’ve gotten someone else.”

You pout. “But I like it when you help me.”

He dies. Right there. In the aisle.

He starts bringing you things without being asked. Leaves notes on your lunch box. Glares at anyone who looks at you for more than 2 seconds.

You ask him to sit with you while you paint your nails. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. Just says, “Yeah. Of course. Obviously.”

BUT HERE’S THE KICKER: You’re not dumb. You know what he does to brats. You’ve heard the stories. He’s a legend in vampire circles.

So one night you sit in his lap, all soft and glowing, and say: “Do you wish I mouthed off to you more?”

He blinks. “No,” he says. Too fast. Then quieter: “…I’d ruin you. You’d cry. I don’t want to make you cry.”

You tilt your head. “What if I wanted to?”

He growls. Then shakes his head.

“You’re not for ruining,” he whispers. “You’re for keeping.”

⸺⟡⸺

🪻 anon, thank you for this bouquet of sunshine-fueled sin. You’re everything to me. Come back anytime 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🐹 ANON LOGGED: "Fresh ink, sensitive skin, and one starving vampire boyfriend."

🐹 anon, I LOVE YOU. YOU JUST HANDED ME A TRAY OF BLOOD-SLICKED ANGST, OBSESSION, AND DENIAL-BASED FOREPLAY. And then you bowed and said, “Here, break them.”

So I did.

⸺⟡⸺

🩸 VAMPIRE!SKZ — “TATTOOED FOR YOU”

Bang Chan — "You’re playing with fire, love."

It’s on your collarbone, the perfect place for him to mark. He sees the fresh ink, still wrapped, and his jaw locks.

“You did this for me?”

“Mhm. It’s your handwriting, too.”

Chan has never known restraint like this. Every time he kisses your neck, he stops just before the tattoo. Every time you take off your shirt, he stares.

At night, when you’re asleep, he brushes his lips just above it and whispers, “When it heals, I’m going to bite you right here. And you’ll remember who you belong to.”

You already do.

Lee Minho — "Don’t test me."

You got it on your inner thigh. His favorite hunting ground.

When he sees it? Still red. Still raw. He backs up like he’s been slapped.

He can’t touch it. Can’t bite you there. Can’t kiss the spot he’s obsessed with. And you’re sitting there in nothing but a towel, whispering: “Do you like it?”

Minho growls. “No. I hate it. Because I can’t have it. Yet.”

You tease him. You stretch. You flaunt.

He pins you down without touching the tattoo and says, “When it heals, I’m fucking you so hard on your stomach you won’t remember getting it.”

You will. Every time you see it in the mirror.

Seo Changbin — "Baby, this is mean."

Your new tattoo is inked just under your breast, hidden until your shirt rides up.

He sees it by accident. Chokes.

“You got a heart? Under there? For me??”

You nod. “It’s… tender.”

He doesn't trust himself. You’re straddling his lap. No bra. Breathing like sin. He groans and leans his forehead against your chest. “I can’t touch you there. I can’t even—God, you’re cruel.”

That night, he wraps your entire body in his arms and whispers how good you were for him.

When it heals? His tongue won’t leave it for hours.

Hwang Hyunjin — "You did that for me?"

It’s behind your ear, delicate, hidden, perfect. He brushes your hair back and sees it.

A flower. His flower. His mark.

You say softly, “I wanted to bloom for you.”

He nearly cries. But he doesn’t touch. Doesn’t press his mouth there. Just hovers and whispers, “When it’s healed, I’m going to mark you there with my fangs. Then you’ll have my art and my blood.”

You whisper back, “Please.”

Han Jisung — "You’re so evil. I love you so much."

It’s on your ribs, right where he always grabs you when he fucks you from behind.

He peels up your hoodie and freezes.

“Is that—fuck. You inked it?”

“For you.”

Now he can’t grab you there. He has to be gentle. And you know how much he hates being gentle when you’re a brat for him.

He huffs, pouty and feral. “You’re gonna pay for this. I’m gonna wait so patiently. And then? I’m gonna pin you down and make you beg for every inch of what I couldn’t give you today.”

You beg anyway. He gives in—just a little. Just enough to remind you who owns that ink.

Lee Felix — "You didn’t—oh my god."

It’s small. It’s sweet. A little sun on your hip, the same one he always kisses first.

When he sees it, his voice cracks. “You really got that? For me?”

You nod. “I wanted you to feel loved. Even when you weren’t here.”

He can’t stop tearing up. He doesn’t touch it. Not once. But when it heals? He kisses it like a vow. Then bites above it. Just a little. Just to claim.

Kim Seungmin — "You're not getting away with this."

You got a tattoo on your lower back. Just above your ass. His favorite grip spot.

When you bend over and it peeks out of your jeans, he short-circuits.

“Did you—”

You smile.

He steps back like he’s about to commit a war crime. “You got it there, knowing I can’t touch it?”

You nod.

He breathes through his nose. Then mutters, “Okay. Fine. Heal up. Then you’re mine. For a whole week. I’ll mark the other side with bruises to match.”

Yang Jeongin — "Why would you do this to me."

You got a vampire bite tattoo on your neck. Right where his fangs hover.

He stares at it. Frozen. Reverent.

“You got this… for me?”

“Of course.”

You tug your collar down. Bare your neck. Tilt your head. He moans. Then grabs your wrists and pins them gently. “No. I can’t. Not yet.”

He looks at the ink like it’s a sacred seal. “When it’s ready… you’ll feel what a real bite there feels like. I’ll show you what you signed up for.”

You’re ready. Even if it means waiting.

⸺⟡⸺

🐹 anon, THANK YOU FOR THE CONCEPT. I’d follow you into hell for this. Or into a tattoo parlor. Or a vampire’s bed 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌘 ANON LOGGED: "Wait… can I have two soulmates or is this monogamous magic?"

Short answer: No. Not in this vampireverse, baby.

Long answer: Soulmate bonds in this universe are singular, absolute, and magically binding. There is one blood that sings to theirs. One scent that breaks them. One touch that unravels centuries of control.

You don’t get two flames. You get the flame — and if you lose it, it scorches everything behind it.

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🦄 ANON LOGGED: "Unicorn anon reporting for vampire duty."

🦄 IS NOW TAKEN — welcome to the vampire cult, my beloved unicorn anon!! 🦷💜

Thank you so much for your kind words; your message made my undead heart do cartwheels. I'm so, so glad you're enjoying the lore — there’s so much more coming (fangs, blood, courtship, chaos, and cuddles).

You’re officially part of the eternal coven now. No backsies 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🌙 ANON LOGGED: "Secret thoughts, starry eyes, and a shy heart full of sin."

AHHH 🌙 anon you are so, so welcome here — I’m beyond honoured you worked up the courage to send in your ask 🥹🖤 BUT, alas, our lovely moon has already been claimed by another child of the night…

HOWEVER, I’ve got a whole constellation of delicious alternatives for you to choose from! Here’s a lil list (but feel free to suggest your own too):

🐾 paw print

💌 love letter

🍓 strawberry

🦴 bone (rawr xD)

🔮 crystal ball

Once you pick, I’ll officially crown you and welcome you to the anon cult 🖤 Can’t wait to see what beautifully unhinged things you send next 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

🫶🏼 ANON LOGGED: "Hi, when is Vampire Changbin dropping? Asking nicely <3"

EHEHE THANK YOU BABY 🫶🏼🖤 I’m so glad you’re loving the series — it means the (undead) world to me!

And yes yes YES — Vampire!Changbin is rising from the shadows this Wreck Me Wednesday, June 25th. Get ready, he’s gonna bite, break, and build you back up.

Prepare your neck 💋🦇

· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────༺♱༻────── · ·· · ──────

If you made it to the end of this blackout banquet of fanged worship, tattoo fever dreams, vampire academia, brat-induced insanity, and thirsty psychic combustion—

🩶 congrats. your humanity’s been repossessed. 🩶 your mind? archived in crimson script. 🩶 your heartbeat? syncing to mine. 🩶 your browser history? deeply concerning.

⚡️“Phantom Flame” from the album VX is getting uploaded to YouTube as an official track coming this Sunday!! yay. ⚡️yes, I’m figuring out how the hell to bend TikTok to my will. until then, scream about me in group chats and playlists.

This is the gospel of thirst, ink, lore, and lunacy. Thank you for being terminal with me. Now go bite something 💋🦇

[notbxnny]

i need randy to beat the shit out of benson, like give it all he has, sweating and panting from how much energy he’s exhausting! not even being able to feel the sharp pain in his fists due to the adrenaline.. he deserves that as a treat i think 😊

i think getting beat up by randy would probably feel like getting trampled by an adolescent deer. he’s all sharp elbows and boney knees. i think if gave it his all he’d have to tackle benson to the ground which i think he could do because he has a decent height these broad shoulders & hands that probably have a steel tight grip. and it’s less he wants to hurt benson he just. it’s so much. he’s too much. randy needs him still. to stop. doesn’t matter how he has to do it. he’s running off enough adrenaline to kill a horse and he is fucking desperate. the whole time he’s quietly muttering between panting ‘benson..just please..please stop moving..i need you to stop..sorry..im sorry’. he knees at bensons ribs and refuses to unlatch his hands from bensons wrists. he lashes out at any sign of movement, sharp little warning kicks he doesn’t even realise he’s doing when benson thrashes. bites at his hands and arms and the bridge of his nose at one point. and benson is stronger than him but randy is persistent. shushes him and apologises breathlessly as benson finally goes still.

afterwards he cries and cries and can barely move in the adrenaline crash. throws up a little. but in the following days he doesn’t feel guilty, he sees the bruises and little bite marks and feels weirdly good. possessive even, which he hadn’t been prepared for. he can hurt benson, and no one else can. benson can hurt him all he wants because randy can hurt him back.

wow that was a fun ask! thanku worm🪱

[calculatorloser]

TIMESKIP USHIJIMA

warning: smut

your mind goes into a haze as everything else dropped away—completely lost in it. Ushijima made you ride his fingers. You felt suspended weightless in a moment so vivid, the world dissolved. It felt so good. He curled his fingers and hit your g spot. He knew you too well. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips parted slightly, a quiet gasp slipping out as a flush spread across your cheeks.

“Oh my God Wakatoshi. Stop. I’m going to”

“going to? to what? speak up y/n”

“I’m going to cum” Your body jerked, trembling beneath every touch. It was too much—the pleasure came in waves now, crashing harder each time. Your breath hitched, then broke into a moan, eyes fluttering shut as you writhed, torn between begging for more and needing it to stop. His fingers quickened, no longer slow and teasing. Each motion sharper, more desperate, driven by rising heat.

“Still want to leave me y/n?” You opened your mouth to speak, but your voice broke. A stuttering gasp replacing words as your body trembled, overtaken by sensation.

Using all your breath you cried a soft “no”

“I thought so” His smile widening in victory as your hands gripped the sheets in blind desperation, the only thing grounding you as your body arched and trembled. You were shaking now. Sweat-slick and flushed, lips trembling with every ragged exhale. Pleasure blurred into something sharp, almost unbearable. You gasped, muscles clenching as your back arched involuntarily. Every nerve felt white-hot, hypersensitive. Even the lightest touch made you flinch—overwhelmed, overstimulated as you came undone. Your body trembled in the quiet aftermath, thighs quivering and fingers twitching in the sheets. Chest rising in shallow, uneven breaths. He kissed your temple as he cleaned you up gently, wiping sweat and warmth from your skin with a soft cloth he found in the bathroom.

“You did so well y/n” Ushijima’s voice was low and grounding. “Let’s go home tomorrow okay?” You didn’t answer. Head nodding in submission as you nestled closer, eyelids heavy, cheek pressed to his warm skin. Eyes shut as you leaned in. A minute later, your breathing evened out and your grip loosened. You were fast asleep. His eyes lingered on the sleeping face before him and he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. Careful not to wake you.

[jezymae]

PINK + WHITE || 🪷 GC²⁵ blond

THATS THE WAY EVERY DAY GOES / EVERY TIME WE HAVE NO CONTROL / IF THE SKY IS PINK AND WHITE / IF THE GROUND IS BLACK AND YELLOW / ITS THE SAME WAY YOU SHOWED ME ── The seaside stretched before you, a timeless lover's embrace where the ocean's sapphire whispers kissed the golden shore. Each wave becoming a tender caress, sighed secrets of eternal devotion, while the salt kissed breeze wove through your hair. As the sun dipped below the horizon, hues of rose and amber painted the sky.

You both laugh about how you didn’t plan for the perfect timing, but it feels like the universe conspired to make this moment magical. George's blue eyes, like twin sapphires kissed by dawn, shimmer with a quiet adoration as they trace the contours of your soul. Each glance is a soft wave lapping at the shore of their being, brimming with unspoken tenderness and a depth that could rival the endless sea.

The world felt yours and George's alone - a sacred dance of tide and heart, bound by the melody of crashing foam.

♪

YOU SHOWED ME LOVE / GLORY FROM ABOVE / REGARD MY DEAR / ITS ALL DOWNHILL FROM HERE ── One summer's evening, you and George both drunkenly scramble onto the balcony, escaping the chaos unfolding throughout the party in the apartment. Soaking in the city's glowing lights before you, George wraps his arms around you. His embrace tightens as he softly says "You know, having you by my side makes everything feel so right". His words wrap around you like a warm hug, something so pure it feels like magic. Your cheeks heat up, and you respond with "That means a lot, my dear". Both of you chuckle at the old school, cheesy nickname. Then he adds, "Seriously though, this moment, its perfect. Even if things get tough later, I wouldn't swap this for anything." You lean your head on his chest, knowing this simple and perfect moment is everything.

♪

IF YOU COULD DIE AND COME BACK TO LIFE / UP FOR HEAVEN ALL MY LIFE / JUST TO GET ANOTHER HUG / ITS THE SAME WAY YOU SHOWED ME ── The evening hums with the quiet buzz of the busy city outside, but inside, its just you and George curled up on the worn couch in the cosy living room. His suitcase sits by the door, a silent reminder of the long trip he will be leaving for the following day. The weight of it settles in your chest as you lean into his embrace, a soft blanket tossed over both of your laps, his arm wrapped around you as if he is trying to freeze this moment.

Your cheek rests against his sweater, his heartbeat a steady rhythm under your ear, and you murmur, "I don't know how I'll survive without these hugs". He lets out a quiet chuckle, warm but tinged with sadness, his breath ruffling your hair as he pulls you closer. "I was just about to say the same thing" he says softly "'cause I'm already missing you, and I'm still right here.". His fingers trace gentle patterns on you shoulder as your eyes flutter shut, making sure to savour this bittersweet feeling

George whispers, voice thick "Promise you'll save a hug like this for when I'm back?". "All of 'em" you reply, your words catching as you hold him tighter making the blanket bunch between you. The world shrinks to his warmth, his familiar scent, the way his arms feel like your safest place. You both fall into a comfortable silence, the commotion of London being forgotten.

⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚⋆｡°✩ ⋆｡˚ ⋆｡°✩ ⋆

You dont even wanna know how LONG THIS TOOK ME OMD THE COLOUR GRADIENT FOR THE TITLE WAS DOING ME HEAD IN

Hope u enjoy!!! Make sure to request so I can write more, trying to make this a hobby so I dont end up doom scrolling on insta reels...

Thanks for reading! ✩✩✩

[saycheeeese]

It's been 281 days since you last saw another human being. You couldn't risk staying outdoors for long - that is, unless you want to run into a zombie. Those mutilated creatures now practically roam more than half of the world, and in only the 2 years they've been here, they've gotten way stronger. By raiding countless shops, they've enhanced their artillery and population, and the death rate drastically goes up daily.

Now, you're crouched on top of the run-down building you've been living in for the past few months, peeking over the edge, ears perked for any sort of noise. You ran out of rations a week ago, and you've managed to scrape by, occasionally coming across a god-forsaken convenience store, the lights fused and the entire area reeking of dust and wet carpet, a few canned foods edible in the midst of rotting perishables. So you finally got the courage to venture into the gloom and snag something to give you some kind of nourishment.

You almost deem the area safe when you hear the noise of rock crunching. Your breath catches in your throat and you drop to your knees, daring to look over the edge. Your eyes strain and water against the dark and pollution, trying to find -

There!

You lower yourself a bit, your knees popping, and you hiss. Three dark figures approach the street, moving stealthily. The middle one turns to the left one and whispers something, to which the left one slaps the first one's head. You cock your head. They certainly don't seem like zombies, you swiftly put two and two together. As they sidle into sight, the fluctuating, muted streetlight sluices them in a green glow.

On the left is a boy with spiky hair - really spiky - and his hair color is hard to determine in the colored light. You decide it's either a dark blue or black. He's standing straight and tall, hands in his pockets, mouth in a firm, straight line. The middle one is yet another boy with pink hair. You narrow your eyes. Pink? His eyes have some sort of markings under them, and you tense. But when you see him say something and grin, elbowing the tall boy, you conclude he might not be a zombie. Something warms in your heart to see the cold, tough circumstances haven't taken away his joy, even if it seems a bit subdued. The one on the right is a girl, thankfully. Her brown hair gleams in the ghostly light, and she bites down on her lip to stifle her smile. She also seems a bit serious, but not as much as the spiky-haired boy. In one blink of your eye, she has the pink-haired boy in a headlock. Seems like an ordinary teenage group, you nod to yourself. No danger, but I'll scout the area once they're gone.

You sigh, and lower yourself to the ground, but fate isn't on your side as your elbow hits the the rusted metal can on your left, and it crashes to the ground. You manage to grab it at the last moment, but it still created a whole lot of ruckus. You grit your teeth, heart in your throat. Their voices abruptly cease, and the echo still rings in your ears - why did this place have to be so quiet?

"Who's there?" Someone sternly says from below. You lay down on the roof, hiding every inch of your person from sight. There's a gap between the once ornate edge and the roof, seemingly a drain, and you squint through it. The tall boy signals to the others, and they stiffen, shifting closer to each other and taking up a defensive stance. The tall boy points to the roof, exactly where you were a moment ago, and the others look up there too.

"Who is there?" The tall boy asks again, his voice sharp and commanding.

You contemplate blowing your cover, but you still haven't decided if they're working for the government or some new kind of twisted thing the zombies have created. Or, maybe, you don't want to talk and explain yourself.

"Whoever is there, come out this second," the girl steps up and orders, one hand on her hip and the other clutching a dagger. Where did she get that?

"Or we're going to come up there and drag you out ourselves," the pink-haired boy says, his voice more serious than before. His bubbly expression is gone, and he's warily staring at the aforementioned spot. The three of them palm their weapons and advance toward the building. You groan, deciding it's better you show yourself. At least you know your stealth and fighting. Thank the heavens for the training you had and the zombies you beat.

Before they can react or shout, you hoist yourself to you feet, knees cracking noisily, almost glide over the edge and scale the building, feet lodging onto any kind of purchase before you reach the rusted pipe and jump onto it, shimmying down and landing on the ground with a thud. You wipe your grimy hands on your black tights, previous residues of dirt, blood and whatnot concealed by the color.

A sharp intake of breath has you sharply looking up, the three of them staring at you as if you're a zombie. You bare your teeth, spreading your feet apart and raising your hands. They might think you're in a defensive stance, but you're doing it so they can see you don't have any weapons on you. That they can see, of course.

The tall boy ignores the pink-haired boy as he says something to him and takes one step forward. "Who are you?"

"Nobody of importance," you shrug. You didn't realize months of not using your voice would turn it so raspy and hoarse, and you almost cringe as they shrink back.

"Who are you," he repeats, eyes assessing you deftly.

You repay him the courtesy, scanning them thoroughly with your eyes. "Not a zombie." Something in you wants to mess with them, act like an ass - purely because you've seen too much to act sweet and kind and like the girl you were before it all went to hell.

The pink-haired boy subtly grins. "I like her," to which the girl jabs him in the ribs.

"I don't aim to harm you or anything," you drawl, "but if you have those intentions, then please get the hell away from me."

The tall boy narrows his eyes at you. "You live here?"

"I don't have a permanent abode, but this is where I've been hiding since the past three months," you shrug. You notice the other two's shoulders relaxing. "What about you?"

"Different city," is all he says. He turns to his group. He must have something in his expression, because the others shrug, tilting their head. He sighs and turns back.

"What's your name?" You ask them, dropping the defense and placing your hands on your hips, lifting your chin.

"This is Megumi," the pink haired boy answers, pointing to the tall boy - whose hair is definitely blue. "This is Nobara, and I'm Yuuji. Who are you?"

Merely because his risk level is low, you answer, "(Y/n)."

Nobara eyes your clothes. Her eyes quickly dismiss your tights but stay on the baby blue jacket, which is now stained with grime, dust and coal. She steps to Megumi's side.

"Cute clothes," she grins.

"Th-"

"Where'd you get them?"

You're taken aback by how swiftly she took out her dagger and is now a few steps away from impaling you. Her face is serious and assessing, eyes glinting in the streetlight as her breath fans your face.

"An insignificant shop, down there," you point, "I got it just a few weeks ago."

"Liar. There are zombies infiltrating every nook and cranny - how did you get it? You're working with them, right?" The cold tip of her dagger rests on the hollow of your neck. The others tense - you wouldn't blame them, her accusation is logical.

You reply calmly, although every muscle in your body is locked. "I studied them. from behind a rusted-out car: one had a missing leg, one was too bloated to move fast. One was tall; top-heavy. Weak ankles. Then I moved. I cracked open a can of cheap soda and rolled it. It hissed across the pavement and two of them followed the sound. I grabbed a piece of rebar and slammed it into the cement at a slant as a tripwire. Then I whistled, and the noise brought one straight toward me. But I crouched, rolled, and let it stumble straight into the rebar. It tripped. I stomped the back of its skull before it even hit the ground.

"Then, I kicked a rock at the bloated one’s head, enough to enrage, not kill. It flailed toward me, unbalanced, arms reaching. I timed it. Sidestepped. And it crashed into a shattered window frame. The jagged glass impaled it through the chest. I used her boot to shove it deeper and bashed its skull. I climbed the awning above the door quietly, not even breathing., waiting for one to walk under. Then I dropped. My knees slammed into its back. The weight snapped its spine like dried bark. I ripped a shard of metal from the signpost and dragged it across its throat and drove it into its head." You stop to take a breath, a haunted gleam on your face.

"I remember them snarling. The last three rushed at me and I ran, baiting them toward a power pole draped in broken wire. Luck was on my side, I guess. I ducked under, but they didn't. The tallest one slammed into the live cable. Sparks snapped and two of them were lit up like birthday candles, shrieking, unaware as I decapitated them. I faced the last one, with no weapons. Just cracked knuckles. It chased me, and I went there (you point to an alley), cornered it between two dumpsters, and gruesomely beat the crap out of it. Their heads crack open easily."

Nobara backs away, a corner of her lip lifting in a smirk. "I like her."

"Thanks. I guess some violence is necessary."

"Wait - so you can fight?" Yuuji gapes at you.

" 'Course I can," you beam at him, the foreign action hurting your cheeks. It had been a while since you last smiled.

"You did all that for ... a shirt?" Megumi asks, though you notice he's not as tense as before.

You shrug. "If I'm gonna die in this world, I'm not doing it in a tank top with holes in it."

Nobara and Yuuji grinned, and Megumi raised a brow. Guess that's all the appreciation I'm getting, you wonder. Though it's a lot coming from this serious boy.

"Are you sure we can trust her?" Megumi says under his breath to Yuuji.

"I guess so, yeah," Yuuji cocks his head.

"I think so, too," Nobara offers, striding over to them.

Megumi looks at you for a moment before nodding, the tension seeping away from his shoulders. The two of them whisper something in his ear, and he sighs, glancing at you.

"Are you happy where you live?"

"Do I look like I am?" You raise a brow. "I mean, I'm alive. That's fine. But - happy? In this world?"

"You could be, if you lived with people," Yuuji supplies. "Though you sound like you were the one who created the alphabet."

"You sure you didn't hear the Big Bang?" Nobara suppresses her grin.

"Come on, it's obvious she saw the dinosaurs go extinct," Yuuji nudges her.

"Though, girl, you look like the last time you ate was at the Last Supper," Nobara appraises you.

"Guys," Megumi groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Stop it. We don't tease people who witnessed the fall of the Roman Empire." He chastises them, although his lips lift imperceptibly. It takes you a while to understand he made a joke, too.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny, coming from the people whose expiry date expired," you roll your eyes.

"She has humor!" Yuuji whoops, and Nobara hisses.

"Just because we met a human doesn't mean the zombies are gone," she snaps, and Yuuji pouts.

They glance at you and shift on their feet.

"You could ..." Megumi began, biting his cheek. "Join us, you know?"

"Yeah, if you wanted to, of course," Nobara intervened.

"You'd help us a lot, and we could give you our food and clothes - we know how to fight, too," Yuuji shrugged, excited.

You smile. This offer might change your life ...

And maybe, just maybe, you were looking for a change of events in this world you knew no longer.

★ please tell me if you want another part or a fight scene where you four encounter zombies ★

[greasermoon]

Worth Keeping

dallas!fem reader

fightingxcursingxmakingupxcigusagexalcohmentionxmildsuggestivecont

ꨄ

“Dammit, Dallas, would you just stand still for once?”

Your voice ricochets off the cracked brick walls of the vacant lot. It’s past midnight, the summer heat giving way to a restless, humid dark, and Tulsa feels like it’s holding its breath. Even the cicadas have gone quiet. Across from you, Dallas Winston paces like a caged wolf, a half-smoked cig dangling between two bruised knuckles. The red tip flares, dies, flares again.

He doesn’t look at you. “Gotta keep movin’, doll. Ground’s hot.”

“Bullshit.”

That finally makes him glance over. His blue eyes—storm clouds waiting to break—fix on yours, and you swear the air tightens between you. This started hours ago: a stupid rumor that Sylvia had been hanging on his arm down at Buck’s, the way Two-Bit’s teasing grin cracked something raw inside you, the look on Dally’s face when you asked, “Was she really there?” One too many questions, one too many evasions, and now you’re both here, hearts hissing like water on a skillet.

“Thought you trusted me, y/n,” he says, voice low, dangerous. “Ain’t that what you’re always preachin’? ‘I trust you, Dal, I know you’d never—’”

“Don’t you dare put this on me.” You step closer, fists clenched. “All I asked was whether she showed up. You couldn’t even say yes or no.”

He snorts. “Like a straight answer ever fixed anything in my life.”

“Maybe try it for once!”

The shout rips out of you before you can leash it. Dallas’s jaw ticks. Somewhere behind the Curtis house a dog barks, then silences. The streetlight above flickers, paints him in harsh amber for one breath, then goes dim again, like even the electricity knows better than to stick around.

“You wanna know where I was?” he snarls, flicking the cigarette away. It sparks against gravel, dies. “I was at Buck’s, yeah. Sylvia came creepin’ up, actin’ sweet so she could dip a hand in my goddamn back pocket. I told her to fuck off. That answer your question, detective?”

The words hit, but the venom behind them stings worse. “Then why lie earlier?”

“Because,”—he spreads his arms—“every time her name pops up you get that look. Like I’m gonna run right back and marry her in Vegas the second you blink.”

“You keep dodging, Dallas! It’s not just Sylvia. It’s the jobs nobody knows about, the black-and-blue knuckles, the nights I wake up alone because you slipped out the window like a ghost. I’m sick of guessing which alley they’ll drag your body out of!”

For a second he just stares, chest rising, falling. Moonlight catches the thin white scar on his cheek. “That’s rich,” he says softly, deadly calm. “Comin’ from the girl who knew exactly what she was signin’ up for.”

“I signed up for you, not the funeral.”

Silence crashes down. The words echo, raw, awful. Dallas blinks once, and it’s like the mask slips; you see the kid under the swagger, the boy who learned too young that caring is a liability. But it’s gone in a heartbeat, replaced by frost.

“Maybe you oughta find somebody safer, then,” he whispers. “Some nice Soc with clean hands and a shiny future—”

“Stop it.”

“—leave the hood trash to rot where we belong—”

“Dallas!”

But he’s on a roll now, voice rising, brittle with something that sounds like heartbreak disguised as rage. “Face it, y/n, I ain’t changed and I never will. I steal, I fight, I drink too goddamn much, and every cop in this city’s got my mug memorized. I’m poison—“

You cross the distance, shove him hard in the chest. “You’re not poison, you stubborn, beautiful idiot. You’re scared.”

The word freezes him. He opens his mouth, closes it. Tries again. “I ain’t—”

“Yes, you are,” you say, voice cracking. Tears blur your vision, but you keep going. “You’re scared I’ll leave, so you push first. You’re scared you’re not worth saving, so you keep proving yourself right.”

He exhales like he’s taken a gut-shot. “y/n…”

“I don’t need perfect,” you whisper. “I need honest. I need alive. And I need you to stop acting like love is a goddamn crime.”

A car rumbles past on the main road, bass thumping, then fades. Somewhere a neon sign buzzes. Dallas’s shoulders slump. When he finally speaks, his voice is hoarse. “You really wanna know why I slipped out tonight?”

You nod.

“I… I went to meet Tim Shepard,” he says. “He was settin’ up a deal—boosted radios. He wanted me in for muscle. Good money, easy grab.” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I told him no.”

The confession hangs between you, fragile as glass. “Why?”

He laughs once, broken. “Because you got in my head, that’s why. You and your damn future talk. Your ‘maybe tomorrow we won’t have to run’ dreams.” He looks at his hands like he hates them. “But then that scared me worse, so I came home and picked a fight instead.”

Your breath hitches. “Jesus, Dal.”

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits, voice barely a rasp. “Nobody teaches a guy like me how to—to be worth somethin’. I know how to swing a blade, how to rob a store, how to use a girl till she hates me. But you—” He swallows. “You make me wanna be better, and that’s—fuck, it’s terrifying.”

You step closer, place a hand over his still-bruised knuckles. “Being terrified’s allowed,” you say, softer now. “Running from it isn’t.”

He closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they’re shining. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. The words sound foreign on his tongue, like a new language.

You squeeze his fingers. “I’m sorry too.”

For a heartbeat you just stand there, city sounds pulsing in the periphery. Then Dallas pulls you into his chest, arms wrapping tight—as if letting go would be surrender. You feel his heartbeat under your ear, wild and unsteady.

“I didn’t touch Sylvia,” he murmurs into your hair. “Swear on my life.”

“I believe you.”

“I ain’t gonna promise I’ll never mess up, y/n. But I’ll try to… y’know… not die.” He huffs a laugh.

You smile against his shirt. “Reasonable goal.”

He tips your chin up, eyes flicking to your lips. “Can I—?”

“You better.”

The kiss is rough, desperate, all teeth and salt until it gentles, turns slow. The taste of nicotine and mint. The smell of leather and sweat and something that’s just Dallas. When he breaks away, breathless, he presses his forehead to yours.

“I love you,” he says, voice shaky. “Been scared shitless to say it, but there it is.”

Your heart stutters. “I love you too, criminal reputation and all.”

He snorts. “Yeah, well. Maybe I’ll retire. Open a bakery. Sell cupcakes shaped like switchblades.”

You laugh, really laugh, the sound ricocheting into the night. “You’d burn the place down in a week.”

“Worth a shot.” His thumb brushes a drying tear from your cheek. “Come on, doll. Let’s blow this dump before the cops swing by.”

You lace your fingers with his. “Where to?”

“Anywhere the sunrise won’t find us,” he says, and for once there’s hope in the mischief. “But first—” He digs in his jacket, produces his packet of cigarettes, flicks it open. Instead of lighting one, he crushes the whole pack, tosses it in a nearby trash barrel.

Your brows lift. “Since when do you waste smokes?”

He shrugs, almost shy. “Figured if I’m tryin’ not to die, maybe start with the easy stuff.”

Warmth blooms in your chest. You squeeze his hand, and together you head for the sidewalk, leaving the lot—and the ghosts that haunt it—behind. The sky over Tulsa is turning silver now, first hint of dawn. Dallas nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, y/n?”

“Yeah?”

“If I fuck up again—”

“You will,” you say, smile soft.

He huffs. “When I fuck up again… just remind me of this, alright? Remind me I got somethin’ worth keeping.”

You stop, tug him back, and press a kiss over a faint scar on his cheek. “Deal.”

Far off, a siren wails. Dallas squeezes your hand once, then pulls you into a jog, the two of you laughing like fugitives who stole back their own hearts. And maybe the world is still rough, and the future still uncertain, but for the first time, Dallas Winston isn’t running from love—he’s running with it.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

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° 　. ● . ★ ° . *　　　°　.　°☆

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Hope y’all like this one.

[sonkitty]

To be honest, I think Satan's portrayal is one of the weakest parts of the entire story.

If he's so evil and so powerful, why is he so utterly pathetic in the big showdown when we finally see him take on a partially physical corporal form?

The dialogue between him and Adam is very one-sided and in Adam's favor overall.

Here is the conversation:

Satan: Where is my son? You? You're my rebellious son? Come here.

Adam: You're not my dad. Dads don't wait until you're 11 to say hello, and then turn up to tell you off.

Satan: What?

Adam: If I'm in trouble with my dad… [loud crash] …then it won't be you. It's going to be the dad who was there. You're not my dad.

Satan: What did you say?

Aziraphale: You can do it.

Crowley: Say it, Adam! Say it again.

Satan: Come here.

Adam: You're not my dad. You never were.

Satan: No. No, no, no, no, no, no! No!

After calling Adam rebellious, he has a super basic question involving the word "What" twice, then "Come here".

For now, I'm stuck on the "what" parts. Those parts have a lot of things that are not said. Not "How dare you!" Not "I made you, and I can unmake you." Not "You had better do what you're told". Not, "You make a good point, maybe I should have been there after all." Not, "We'll spend some time together after you destroy the world like you were always meant to". Not, "Well, I had a representative of myself [Crowley] who was supposed to be there in my stead, and I am definitely going to find out what went wrong there." None of that. Instead, it's just "Come here".

Come here and then what? Huh?

Aside from making the ground shake, what are you going to do? Blast him with lightning? No? Set fire to him or anyone nearby? No?

He gives zero acknowledgment to Crowley during the entire scene.

He acts like he genuinely does not understand and cannot process what Adam is actually saying.

Then when Adam denies him a third time to hit that magical Rule of Three, Satan says no repeatedly and disappears.

That's it.

In season 1, when the demons kidnap the person who they think is Crowley, do they take that "Crowley" to Satan for punishment? No. Satan isn't even mentioned or considered to have any role in this trial whatsoever.

Crowley stopped time on Satan himself, and we are led to believe the demons quite possibly understand that happened because it is included in the retelling that starts with S1E6.

...

For further honesty, I think the story vaguely hints that Crowley kinda sorta is Satan or an extension of Satan, so that's part of why Satan is so pathetic in all of the above.

Human perception is given a very, very strong power in the story.

The Four Horseman can do all of these strange, wicked things, but then Adam tells us, through telling his friends, "The thing is, they're not actually real. They're just like nightmares, really."

So, I tend to think of the Satan in Good Omens like that. He's some sort of demonic nightmare.

To many Christians, the Serpent of Eden is Satan, which would, in turn, make Crowley Satan. The book and season 1 of the TV show lean into that very quickly with Crowley's first "11 years ago" segment.

From the show:

Hastur: ...All hail Satan.

Ligur: All hail Satan.

Crowley: [Absolutely positively not hailing Satan] Uh, hi, guys. Yeah, sorry I'm late...

So, the joke here is that Crowley does not have to "hail" Satan because up here on Earth, through his job, he is Satan and the one being hailed. Neither Hastur nor Ligur reprimand him for that specific action.

The show goes so far as to tell us that Crowley tempted Jesus before Jesus' death as well, further symbolizing his role as Satan on Earth.

If you don't have the subtitles on for season 1, you might not catch that "Satan" is the voice on the radio since Crowley does not address him by name or title. You could just as well assume it's just some demon who is not Crowley.

When Crowley asks himself why the M25 is causing the problems it is, his memory of that conversation with Satan tells him. As in, he is telling himself that's why.

While we have God narrate, and her narration does have restrictions on who She will tell us about, she is not restricted to only Aziraphale. She tells us about Adam, Anathema, the Four Horsemen being summoned, and so on.

Meanwhile, Satan never narrates. We only hear about him sometimes.

We only see Satan appear "live" in the story two times. The first is giving Crowley his instructions in S1E1 and the second is the Tadfield Air Base scene.

Both Crowley and Adam are in both scenes. For S1E6, Crowley is the one most deeply affected, and affected first, upon Satan's arrival.

There is never any depiction of Satan in Hell, and there is never any depiction of Satan without Crowley.

So, even though Satan is indicated to have some separation from Crowley as well, through Adam's basic existence for example, those links to Crowley are still there.

...

As for how the finale will deal with Satan...

I genuinely obsess over this show because I have developed a deep love for season 2.

However, that love comes from trying to understand what actually happened, not to guess what will happen.

I only care what will happen in that I want some genuine vindication on the Earthly Objects game. I really don't want to have suffered The Pocket Trick "alone". I don't really suffer it alone since I know some people read my posts, but I'm the only one I know of who actively publicly tries to solve it by name.

So, the finale can do whatever it wants with Satan. Surprise me.

Why do we all overlook Satan?

We all love talking about the different characters in Good Omens. But there is one person that almost never gets analysed as a character. One that even I have been overlooking for a long time, although he is essential for the very premise of the plot of the series: Satan.

Some of the reasons why we tend not to pay much attention to Satan are quite obvious. First, he has very little screentime. He only makes one short appearance at the end of season 1 and even then is quickly sent back to hell by Adam. Another reason is that in the eyes of the viewers, including me, he does not need much character analysis. Because of our general knowledge about Western culture (no matter if we live in a Western country or not), we simply understand him to be the embodiment of evil, no further explanations needed.

And in the context of Good Omens, Satan, like God, mostly stays in the background. It is the demons who act on his behalf, while Satan himself is quite passive. But comparing Satan's and God's roles in the series and treating them both just as the alienated leaders of two opposing sides is actually imprecise. Because, as I will try to show, there are huge and important differences between them.

First, I think that Satan is one of the few characters in the series who are portrayed as utterly and unquestionably evil. Not only that all demons in hell are more or less forced to commit themselves to his evil values, but the way his character is talked about compared to others also points in that direction. Crowley definitely fears him more than anybody else. He is brave enough to stand up against Hastur, Ligur and even Beelzebub, but once Satan appears, he shouts "We are f*cked!" and wants to give up. When Job's son Ennon declares that Satan wouldn't dare to hurt him and his sisters, Crowley seems almost shocked about the implication: "I'm sorry, Satan? Satan wouldn't dare?" This gives the impression that Satan is both way more powerful and way more menacing than the average demon - a fact that is emphasized by his enormous size.

But as powerful as he is, he is still only another of God's creations. That alone makes a huge power difference between them. Satan was the angel Lucifer, who was made to serve God and then rebelled against him/her. But even in his role as the Adversary he can only act within the limits that are defined by God. In order to destroy Job's possessions, for example, he first needs a permit by the Almighty. That's why Satan depends on God in a way God does not depend on him. It goes beyond just 'good and evil need each other', because God is responsible for Satan's very existence.

And that's not the only difference between them. Satan does everything to take away people's free will. An example is the scene in which he gives Crowley his instructions about how to deliver the Antichrist (cf. this post by @vidavalor). He does not simply tell him what to do, but plants the knowledge in his head instead (illustrated by a stream of white mist flowing into Crowley's eyes). In the book, it is explicitly stated how much Crowley despises this, probably because he perceives it as a display of power, a way to remind him that he is nothing more than a tool to enact Satan's will, a tool that is not supposed to make independent choices (cf. Pratchett/Gaiman, p. 32; cited below).

And when Adam, his son, dares to thwart his plans, he becomes furious. It is less the failed Apocalypse that angers Satan than the fact that his own son disobeyed him. Crowley knows that: "This isn't about Armageddon, this is personal!"

For God, on the other hand, there are many clues that he/she is actually very fond of the idea of people having free will, as I elaborated in this post. Him/her not reacting to the averted Apocalypse is a striking contrast to Satan's behaviour. In the book, there's also this interesting scene at the end where Crowley muses about why God, who is almighty, did not simply prevent the rebellion of Lucifer and his followers from happening. And he comes to the conclusion that this is because it is part of God's plan, too: "Anyone who could build a universe in six days isn't going to let a little thing like that happen. Unless they want it to, of course" (Pratchett/Gaiman, p. 392; cited below).

So unlike Satan, God allows his/her creations to rebel against him/her, because he/she obviously wants them to be able to choose - between obedience and disobedience, between good and evil. That's the biggest and most important difference between the two characters, in my opinion. The implications of both of their philosophies become manifest in Adam and his character arc.

At the height of his power, Adam acts like his father when he takes away his friends' free will. They protested against his plan to destroy the world, so he takes control of them, freezes them so they can't move or speak and thereby express their disagreement with him anymore, and forces them to smile. When he finally releases them again, they run away from him - and Dog follows them.

Brennan Croft (p. 156f; cited below) points out how meaningful this particular detail is. The hellhound was sent to Adam in order to carry out his will. By naming it, Adam was able to give it "its purpose, its function, its identity". And he named it 'Dog', because that's what he wanted - a companion, a real dog. Thus, the hellhound became a real dog, and through Adam training him more and more of his hellish nature was lost (cf. Brennan Croft, p. 156; cited below). And so the hellhound, whose task was to serve Adam, was in fact given free will by him. "He's not your dog, he's his own dog" Pepper shouts at Adam, and she is right - which makes it possible for Dog to turn his back on his own creator because he isn't okay with his actions anymore. As Brennan Croft writes: "Dog has developed a moral life of his own" (p. 157; cited below).

This is the turning point for Adam, who eventually realizes the wrong of his doing. His character arc serves to both illustrate how taking away people's free will causes great harm and how giving them free will is the key to solving problems and to the triumph of good (for more about this topic, see this wonderful explanation about process theology by @haemey in her reblog of my post about Crowley and God).

That means Satan is not only evil because he endorses bad deeds, but even more so because he takes away free will. I don't see how he could ever be redeemed. But since I strongly suspect that both heaven and hell will be destroyed in the finale (see this post), that leaves me with the question of what will happen to Satan. "I don't think fighting him would do any good" Crowley tells Adam in season 1, and I guess he's right. So how does Adam defeat Satan? Well, he simply decides not to accept him as his father, not to give him power over him (cf. Brennan Croft, p. 159; cited below). And maybe that's the answer. Maybe Satan will continue to exist, but it will be people's choice whether they want to give him power over them by doing evil things.

What do you think? How will the finale deal with Satan? I would love to hear your ideas!

Works cited:

Pratchett, Terry and Gaiman, Neil: Good Omens. The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch. London 2011.

Brennan Croft, Janet: Adam's Task. Naming and Sub-creation in Good Omens. In: Giannini, Erin and Taylor, Amanda (Eds.): Deciphering Good Omens. Nice and Accurate Essays on the Novel and Television Series, pp. 151-162.

[chained-truths-au]

You mentioned that one of your inspirations was inuyasha and now I can totally imagine them yelling at each other across a room or something lmao

LMAO YEAH

chain has to be thankful key doesn't have the ability to make him sit like kagome does with inuyasha cause key would spam that so hard if she could

[otter-and-terrier]

The Fallen Star.

[ryanthedemiboy]

If NASCAR can make stock cars (this means chassis and shape that are the same as yours) that can go 200mph and wreck head-on and do a dozen flips in the air, and the worst that happens is a concussion, with the car even still almost intact, then you can make a street legal car do the same at 40% of that speed.

Here's one of the wrecks btw. He was taken to a local hospital for observation, not even a concussion (NASCAR reports injuries to everyone for transparency), and he raced the next week. (Although he did have a couple bruised eyes iirc)

He climbed out of the car almost completely under his own power.

[theorphicangel]

lowkey part 2 to this because i can't help myself

'hey...nanami...i need to talk to you about something, it's pretty serious' gojo states, walking into nanami's office without knocking. A sullen expression is on his face as he sits on his desk, ignoring the neat files of paper near him. Satoru swallows, his adam's apple bobbing up and down.

'your crush is taken.'

Nanami looks at him with a puzzled expression, implying for him to elaborate.

'i saw her with an engagement ring this morning...i'm sorry man..I'm sorry you had to find out this way. I felt like I should tell you before you fall to your knees and crash and burn and-'

'it's okay.' Nanami interrupts not looking away from his papers.

'really? You're okay with another man just stealing her away?'

'It's not really stealing if she said yes.'

'But the principle! You liked her first!'

'As long as she's happy.'

'Wow.' Gojo's mouth shapes an 'o'. 'You really are the bigger man...I'm really proud Nanami.' he says, delivering a light punch to his shoulder.

then when Gojo goes back to his desk he finds a wedding invite with your name on it and....nanami kento?

you both can hear gojo's scream from each of your offices. Gojo barges in five minutes later, finding you in nanami's office with him, slamming the door open.

'HOW LONG?'

you and nanami struggle to find the words.

'HOW LONG?' Gojo repeats, tufts of white hair falling over his face.

'Three years.' you state.

Gojo falls to the ground on his knees in defeat. 'And...I didn't know about it?...nanami how could you?...we were best friends.'

'hardly' he deadpans.

(gojo ignores him for a solid 3 business days before asking what type of food and cake will be at the wedding)

[whenstarsundress]

zayne is the guard dog type of alpha—hyper aware, instinctively protective, always between you and the world.

his scent is warm and grounding, like worn leather and golden amber. it clings to you for hours after he touches you, and he loves that.

huge on physical touch. even in public, he has to be touching you. palm on your lower back, arm around your shoulders, fingers brushing yours.

but it’s not just instinct. he wants to be close to you because he’s in love with you.

“i don’t just want your body, omega,” he says low in your ear. “i want your everything.”

when you’re in heat, he goes absolutely still, like a bomb about to go off. his pupils dilate. his scent deepens. his jaw clenches.

he won’t touch you until you beg. he needs your consent or he’ll implode trying to hold himself back.

and the second you whisper “please, alpha”? he snaps.

he doesn’t take—he gives. gives his mouth, his hands, his knot—anything to make you feel safe and full and adored.

praises you like it’s instinct.

“you’re doing so well for me, baby.”

“taking me like you were made for it.”

“no one else gets to see you like this. just me.”

heavy, dominant knotting. he locks in deep and holds you through it. pressing kisses to your temple, chest heaving, whispering sweet, shaky nothings.

refuses to leave you unclaimed. you’ll have his scent all over your chest, neck, thighs. he’ll scent your pillow and mark your wrist just to make sure everyone knows you’re taken.

“i’m yours, omega,” he murmurs after he knots you. “but don’t forget that you’re mine too.”

aftercare god. carries you everywhere. kisses your sweat-slick hair. makes you drink water. spoons you through the comedown with his knot still inside, murmuring, “you did so good for me, sweetheart.”

he says “i love you” against your gland, where it means the most.

his first rut with you:

he didn’t expect it to hit this hard.

zayne always thought he could handle his rut. he’s strong. disciplined. his body’s been through worse.

but now you’re here. your scent’s in his lungs. your voice in his ear. and suddenly he’s on his knees, forehead pressed to the cold floor, trying not to drag you under him.

“baby… please go,” he growls, low and raw. “i can’t hold it back much longer—”

but your hand touches his cheek. your omega scent curls around him like a safety net. you whisper, “i want you to let go, zayne.”

and he breaks.

one second he’s shaking, the next he’s lifting you and slamming your back to the wall, mouth crashing into yours like you’re the only thing keeping him alive.

“mine. mine. say it, omega. tell me who you belong to.”

he rips your clothes, not to be rough, but because his hands can’t stop trembling. he needs to feel your skin on his palms. needs to see you take him.

he knots you hard the first time, sinking into you so deep his breath shudders. his forehead rests on your shoulder as he groans, shaking from how tight and perfect you feel.

“fuck—you take me so well, sweetheart. you’re perfect. perfect.”

his hips stutter and stop, knot locked, body trembling from how much he needed this.

but it’s not enough. not even close.

he flips you onto the bed and knots you again, this time with tears in his eyes and mouthing desperate “i love you”s into your throat while his body claims yours over and over.

“never done this before. never… felt this before,” he gasps. “you’re everything, omega. everything.”

when the haze clears, he’s holding you tight to his chest, rocking you gently, whispering promises into your hair.

“i’d never hurt you.”

“you’re safe with me.”

“thank you for staying.”

and he means it. you saved him. not just from the rut, but from the fear of ever being alone in it again.

[littlelamy]

a/n: the beginning is loosely based of S4 with rafe and sofia! I’m kinda obsessed with rafe being needy behind close doors 🥵I hope you guys enjoy!

you couldn’t stop replaying his words over and over again in your head. each syllable hit harder, cutting deeper than the last. always running her mouth? what. just a hookup, id never date a pogue.

you stood there, behind the slightly ajar door, heart pounding so loudly you were sure it could be heard. but rafe didn’t notice—he was too busy tearing you down with topper, speaking like you were nothing more than a nuisance in his life. he’d never know how those words would haunt you, how the trust you had in him shattered like glass.

your eyes burned with unshed tears, the sharp sting of betrayal settling into the pit of your stomach. but there was something else bubbling just beneath the surface—rage. not the hot, fiery kind that comes and goes. no, this was colder, more calculated. the type that stews, planning its revenge.

your fingers itched to grab your things and leave, but not without making sure he understood who held the power in this relationship. you weren’t going to walk away defeated, not when you could leave him begging for mercy.

so, instead of running, you turned, heart hardening with each step as you walked back into the room, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled out a suitcase from under the bed.

if he thought he could treat you like this, he was about to learn how wrong he was. you weren’t some weak girl who would let this slide. no, rafe was about to see a side of you he never had before.

the door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, you could hear his confused muttering. "yo, topper, i’ll catch you later."

rafe’s voice rang through the hallway, much closer now, but still carrying the same arrogant tone. you ignored him, hands moving swiftly as you tossed your clothes into the bag, each item thrown more aggressively than the last.

when rafe finally stepped into the room, his eyes immediately fell on you, and panic flickered in his expression. "what the hell are you doing?"

his voice wavered as he took in the scene—your half-packed bag, the angry flush on your cheeks, the tight set of your jaw.

"what does it look like?" you shot back, barely sparing him a glance as you continued packing.

he hesitated, taking a step closer to you, but the sight of your seething rage stopped him in his tracks. "hey, let’s just—let’s talk about this, okay?"

you laughed bitterly, slamming the suitcase shut before finally turning to face him. "oh, now you want to talk?" you snapped, the sharp edge in your voice slicing through the air between you. "funny, because earlier, it seemed like you had plenty to say."

his face paled as realization dawned on him. you watched as his lips parted, searching for words but finding none. for the first time in a long time, rafe cameron was speechless, guilt flooding his features.

"i didn’t—" he started, but you cut him off.

"save it," you hissed, stepping closer to him now, your eyes blazing. "i heard everything, rafe. every. single. word."

rafe’s breath hitched as the full weight of your words crashed down on him. his eyes widened in panic, and he took another shaky step toward you, reaching out as if to touch you, to ground himself in this spiraling nightmare. "i didn’t mean it, baby. i swear, i wasn’t thinking—i was just venting—"

"venting?" you scoffed, stepping back from his touch. "do i look like someone you just 'vent' about, rafe? am i just some girl you get to shit on when i’m not around?" your voice cracked slightly, the hurt bubbling beneath your fury slipping through the cracks.

rafe’s hands trembled as he dropped them to his sides, a strangled sound escaping his throat as he shook his head. "no, no—please, you know i didn’t mean any of that. i was just—" his voice broke, and you watched as his composure started to crumble, tears pooling in his eyes. "i was just talking, okay? i’m sorry, i didn’t mean it. you have to believe me."

but you weren’t about to let him off the hook that easily. your eyes darkened as you stepped even closer to him, your voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper. "if you’re really sorry, rafe, you’re going to have to prove it."

a flicker of hope sparked in his eyes, and he nodded eagerly, desperate to fix what he’d broken. "anything," he breathed, his voice shaky. "i’ll do anything."

you stared him down, watching as he swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing with nervous anticipation. there was no trace of the cocky, confident rafe now. instead, he was a trembling mess, willing to do whatever it took to keep you from walking out that door.

you grabbed your phone from the dresser, starting the recording and letting the soft beep fill the silence. rafe’s eyes widened as he watched you, confusion and curiosity mixing with the fear in his gaze.

"get on your knees," you ordered, your voice firm, leaving no room for hesitation.

rafe blinked, momentarily stunned by the command, but the second your eyes met his, cold and unwavering, he obeyed. he dropped to his knees before you, looking up with wide, tear-filled eyes. the vulnerability radiating off him was palpable, his breath shaky as he knelt before you, completely at your mercy.

"you don’t get to speak," you warned, holding the phone steady as you circled him slowly, capturing his wide eyes, his trembling hands. "you only get to listen and do what i say."

he nodded quickly, his throat tight with emotion as he blinked away the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

you positioned yourself on the bed, spreading your legs slightly, and gestured for him to come closer. "you know what to do," you said, your tone soft but commanding.

without a moment’s hesitation, rafe shuffled forward on his knees, his eyes glued to your thighs as he leaned in, his lips pressing soft, tentative kisses along your skin. his breath was hot and shaky, the desperation in every touch making your pulse quicken.

"good boy," you murmured, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, guiding his mouth exactly where you wanted it. "now, show me how sorry you are."

rafe wasted no time, his tongue flicking against you with a desperation that sent shivers down your spine. his hands gripped your thighs, holding on for dear life as he worked to prove himself, his movements frantic, eager to please.

your head tipped back slightly as a soft sigh escaped your lips, but you quickly regained control, focusing on the phone’s camera in your hand. you adjusted the angle, making sure you captured every second of rafe’s unraveling—his lips swollen and red from the effort, his face flushed, sweat beading on his forehead.

"look at you," you cooed softly, your free hand caressing his cheek. "you’re such a mess for me, aren’t you?"

rafe whimpered in response, the vibrations from his soft sobs sending waves of pleasure through you. his eyes fluttered shut as he pressed his face harder against you, the tears finally spilling over and streaming down his cheeks.

you could feel the shift in him—the way his body trembled beneath your touch, the way his breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps. he was breaking, right in front of you, and the sight sent a surge of power through your veins.

"don’t stop," you whispered, your fingers tugging on his hair as his pace quickened, his tongue working furiously. "not until i say so."

rafe let out a choked sob, his tears soaking into your skin as he continued, his movements growing sloppier, more desperate. you glanced down at him, the sight of his tear-streaked face and swollen lips sending a rush of heat through you.

"you’re mine," you whispered, your voice dripping with possession as you tilted his face up slightly, capturing the tear that rolled down his cheek with your thumb. "and you’ll never forget it."

rafe’s body shuddered at your words, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he clung to you, his breath coming in short, shallow gasps. another tear slipped down his face, and you leaned down, your lips brushing against his cheek, kissing the tear away.

you recorded it all, making sure you caught the exact moment rafe broke for you, his body trembling beneath your touch as he whimpered your name.

"please," he gasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "i’m yours. i’ll never leave you. i love you. please…don’t leave me."

his words were slurred, thick with emotion, and you smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair in a soothing motion.

"good boy," you whispered, pressing one last kiss to his temple as his body finally collapsed against you, completely spent and vulnerable.

slowly, you stopped recording. rafe barely noticed, his head resting against your thigh, still trying to steady his breathing. his tear-streaked face was a picture of surrender.

you stood up, gently pushing him off you, and his body slumped against the mattress, too weak to even protest. you didn’t say a word as you picked up your phone, your fingers tapping with practiced precision.

rafe watched through bleary eyes, his chest still rising and falling with uneven breaths, the reality of the situation not quite sinking in yet.

the video—the raw, intimate recording of rafe at his most vulnerable—was right there, in your hand. the smirk playing at your lips deepened as you attached it to a group chat, the names of topper, kelce, and several other friends flashing across the screen. rafe’s inner circle, the same ones he was so eager to talk big around. they’d all see this.

and then, for the final touch. your fingers hovered over the keyboard for just a moment before typing: looks like the pogue got your boy.

the message was delivered, the little ‘sent’ confirmation making your heart race with satisfaction. the power was now entirely in your hands, and you relished the silence that followed, the calm before the inevitable storm.

rafe blinked, finally realizing what had happened as he noticed the shift in your demeanor. “w-what did you do?” his voice was small, trembling with fear as his eyes darted from your phone to your face, dread sinking in fast.

you leaned down, brushing a lock of hair out of his face with surprising gentleness, and a sweet peck on his lips. “just reminding you who really holds the power here, rafe,” you whispered softly, your voice laced with a wicked edge. “you thought you could talk shit about me behind my back? guess again.”

rafe’s eyes widened as he tried to sit up, his body weak and uncoordinated. “no, no, no—what did you send? please, baby, please!” he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation.

you straightened up, staring down at him, your smile never faltering. “i sent a little reminder to all your friends. they’ll see it soon enough.”

he scrambled to reach for his phone, but it was too late. his friends were already watching the video, seeing him like they’d never seen him before—broken, crying, at your feet, worshiping you. and with that message—looks like the pogue got your boy—they’d know he wasn’t the powerful rafe cameron anymore. not with you around.

rafe’s breath hitched, panic surging through his veins as his phone buzzed incessantly on the bedside table. “no,” he whimpered, tears spilling over again, pure terror flashing in his eyes as he looked up at you, utterly helpless, still with a needy gaze.

you bent down one last time, tilting his chin up so he could meet your gaze, your thumb gently brushing against his swollen lips. “next time you even think about talking behind my back,” you whispered, “remember this moment. because there’s more where that came from.”

with that, you walked away, leaving rafe alone in the room, his phone lighting up with messages from his friends, the weight of his humiliation crushing him.

you didn’t even glance back as the door clicked shut behind you, a satisfied smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

you owned him now. completely.

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