#and none of the rest of my static does it

[ohdeerfully]

alastor request HAI can it be based on the fact that alastor doesn't sleep, and it's his lover finding out that petting his ears during cuddling makes him fall asleep.

thank you for your service

yess i love sleepy alastor thank u so much anon :D!!

Goodmorning, Love

Alastor x Reader (fluff) TW: none! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You were well aware of the Radio Demon’s sleep habits. Or, well, lack of sleep habits. You often spent nights in his room, where he would sit with you in bed until you fell asleep and go do whatever the hell he gets up to late at night. You always woke up in an empty room, and often so in the middle of the night, struggling to rest again as a greedy tightness gripped your chest in worry and disappointment.

You understood, though, and tried your best not to let it get to you that you didn’t have his warm body next to you when you woke every morning. But you couldn’t help that twinge of sadness. You weren’t particularly needy or clingy, but would it kill him to stay in bed with you for a single night? And to have a slice of domestic bliss as you woke up?

Obviously. 

You roll your eyes as you lay, staring up at the ceiling. You had just gotten ready for bed, and now waited for said demon to join you for a few hours. Your fingers tapped, impatient, against your chest as you hummed absentmindedly.

“How lovely,” You heard him speak. Tickles of that radio static that always followed him clung to your exposed skin, which was signal enough that he had entered the room had he not announced himself. “What a siren you are, luring me here with that hum of yours.”

You smiled slightly at his comment, scooching over slightly to encourage him over. He obliged, joining you under the covers. He still wore his usual outfit, which made sense considering his tendency to go away all night. You purse your lips at the thought, slightly chewing on the skin.

“Why the face?” Of course he noticed your expression. He always noticed when any emotion tickled your face. You appreciated the genuine tone in his voice, the typical buzz of radio barely detectable in his words. He always got a little softer and kinder when he was alone with you like this.

You appreciated nights with him, being able to see a side of him that nobody else would live to spread word of. You enjoyed feeling a little special, especially to somebody like him.

“Do you think you could stay in,” You asked cautiously, fiddling with your hands as you inched closer to him, pressing your body against his. Even laying, he still seemed much taller than you. You gingerly guided his head down, against your chest as you spoke, hoping the multitasking would keep him from sitting up and rejecting your intimate gestures. “Just for a night. I miss you all night long.”

He allowed his head to lay against you. He did feel tense, of course, letting the back of his head be exposed in this manner as he lay vulnerable on you. It was a strange feeling, but not one he cared to consider for too long. 

“(Y/N),” He began with a sigh. “It’s impossible for me to get much done during the day, what with all the running around Charlie does. Somebody has to keep an eye on that young princess. I prefer to stay awake to get my own errands done at night.” 

I know that, you wanted to say and interrupt his explanatory ramble. You wanted to beg him to understand, just this once. You held in a sigh, watching as his head gently rose and fell with every breath you took. Maybe you should just take this submission from him as good enough.

You gingerly began tangling your fingers through his red hair, brushing out any kinks he may have gotten throughout the day. His tense body seemed to ease slightly, becoming more and more relaxed as you weaved your fingers through the locks.

“You have really soft hair, Al,” You commented, changing the subject. You figured there was no use convincing him. You let your fingers lightly trail upwards, up to his ears. You grazed them slightly with a finger. You touched again. When he made no motion of dislike, you fully began rubbing them. Petting him. You smiled to yourself at the idea of petting the feared Radio Demon. “And your ears are even softer.”

“I try to take care of myself,” He responded proudly. There was another hint of something in his voice, but you couldn’t quite place what it was. But it seemed heavy. “A well groomed man is a successful one.” You absentmindedly agreed as you stroked the velvety fur of his ears, switching back and forth between them and his hair. You had a preference for the ears, though.

You sighed and began humming quietly again. He rarely got so… comfortable, even around you. He always had some sort of guard up, always had his shoulders squared. He almost never became so… loose and vulnerable.

You noticed the clippings of radio frequency had stopped, which was a noise that was ever present in his wake. You had a suspicion why it disappeared, a small grin forming on your face.

Yes, the Radio Demon never slept. But that was a choice he made, not a curse that prevented him. Even demons get tired. You don’t know how Alastor makes it day by day without a wink of rest, but it was apparent that exhaustion had built up in him. He just needed to relax for a second.

You graced your fingers over his fringe, and craned your neck in a way to get a glance at his face. Yeah, you were right. 

He laid there, eyes shut, features relaxed with the lightest grin playing on his face. Even in sleep, you complained. It didn’t really matter. What mattered was the sound of his deep, slow breathing and occasional twitch of his velvety ears. You briefly wondered what the Radio Demon would dream about.

Would he be aggravated with you when he woke up, realizing you had practically cast a sleep spell on him? You didn’t, but the rate of which exhaustion took over may as well have been some sort of magic.

You shut your own heavy eyes, exhaling lightly as you continued to comfort yourself with the texture of his fur and hair. It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

You craned your arms and neck as consciousness came back to you, but an unfamiliar weight kept you from getting that good stretch in. Momentarily confused, you blinked open and looked down.

Red and black hair, more of a mess than usual, still took place on your torso. This was a first, and your chest felt like exploding with the glee of seeing Alastor still resting with you. He somehow looked even more relaxed than the night before, his cheek flush against your stomach, squishing his lips up slightly. A light grin was still there.

You gently brushed your fingers over his face, trailing a line around his features with an index finger. His eyes squeezed for a moment, and that static ambience of his slowly, quietly, returned. It was a noise that you had learned to find comfort in. He slowly opened his red eyes, a confused and sleepy daze clouding them. There was a wrinkle in his brow as he roughly propped himself up with an elbow, looking up at you with a furrowed expression.

“(Y/N)..?” He trailed, pausing to take in a shuddering morning yawn through a confused smirk. “Did I… Dear, what time is it?”

You looked at him tenderly. Oh, how cute he was, sleepy like this. Composed like an exhausted kid. Something even you have never seen before.

“Yeah,” You responded to his unspoken question. “It’s probably seven a.m. or so. I dunno.” There wasn’t a clock in your immediate line of sight.” “A.m. …” He said slowly. He sat up fully, looking down in disappointment at his wrinkled day wear. He quickly blinked the sleep from his eyes and managed to bring some composure to himself, but that lick of exhaustion was still prominent. Especially under his eyes.

“Yeah,” You said again, a light chuckle following. “Goodmorning, Al.”

He wasn’t obviously upset, it seemed. Though he probably was too tired to think about it too much yet. Maybe later.

“Well… Goodmorning, love.” He responded, still with a hint of confusion in his voice. “I suppose I accepted your plea from last night.” He brushed at his clothes while he spoke, trying to flatten out the creases that were brought on through a night of rest.

“Maybe more often?” You asked, twiddling your thumbs in anticipation. You already knew the answer, but it was okay. You knew how to keep him in now. You mischievously smirked as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Unlikely.”

[boneblushed]

Ignorance by infatuation

synopsis A detective behaves lewdly with you. Aaron Hotchner gets uncharacteristically jealous.

wc 1.7k

a/n omg my first Hotch fic ever hehe 🤭 feedback and love always appreciated, still trying to find my Crim Minds voice!

It’s 8 o’clock in the morning, the air sultry and verdant, rain soaked leaves underfoot. 

Aaron Hotchner frowns. Petrichor and dew mean evidence awash. He pauses to squint up at the sky, muddy grey with isolated streaks of yellow dawn.

You’re acutely aware of Spencer’s eyes on you as you walk past Hotch, and give yourself a mild headache by focussing too hard on the commotion ahead. The rest of the team don’t seem to notice the tension between you and SSA Hotchner. Or perhaps they do, and the pair of you are just too stubborn to admit it.

It’s been lurking under the surface for a while now, this perplexing pull between you. Lingering glances, raised eyebrows, irises spooled with tendrils of static. A hand pressed against your back every time he scoots behind you, like an excuse. He doesn’t do that with Emily. None of the other agents. A frown that tends to yield when your gaze catches his.

Or hardens when someone acts a little lewder than is appropriate.

Like the other day, for example, when he’d overheard you on the phone with some deadbeat cop in the Dallas area. (He’s probably being unfair. He probably isn’t even a deadbeat. It’s just that anyone that flirts with the idea of your favour is going to be unworthy in comparison, even Agent Hotchner.)

The phone had rung in the middle of your exchange, and you’d answered it immediately, mouthing apologies in its place. Aaron Hotchner remembers the shine of gloss on your lips, the ways your fingers clasped the phone to your ear, gentle but firm. Remnants of peach coloured polish on your nails.

“Yes, this is she,” you’d answered, mouthing another apology to him. “How can I help you?”

You’d come into his office a few minutes prior to discuss something media strategy; Hotch didn’t have a mind for it, he much preferred giving you all the reins. He recognised how strange this was for a control freak as prolific as him. You were different though, he’d attest. It was a sentiment as dangerous, as non-platonic, as the feelings making home in his ribcage.

“Right,” you’d said, pulling your spiral-bound notebook out of your pocket. You’d wedged your phone between your ear and shoulder, slipping your pen out of your breast pocket and clicking it against it. Hotch felt unseasonably hot at such attention to your chest. He raised his eyebrows inquisitively, trying to catch your gaze.

“Ah, I see, yes that does sound like our area of expertise,” you’d continued, and then a pause, an awkward, unwieldy laugh. Still beautiful. “No, yes, our is correct — I am in fact part of the team.” Another pause; this time, you’d rolled your eyes when your laugh spooled out of your pretty mouth. He didn’t recognise it. “I don’t know about that. Should we get back to the case at hand? Great.”

Hotchner’s eyebrows had lowered then, furrowing into an expression of concern, flailing interest. Not jealousy. He was pretty certain he knew all your laughs, the cadence of them, the syrupy timbre. This one was new. You sounded uncomfortable, as though something said over the phone had abraded you somehow. As his eyebrows had, his heart had sunk into his stomach. He remembers the strain of his forearm muscles against his clenched knuckles.

“Sure. Yes. As soon as I have all the details I’ll be able to distribute them. Great, yes, we’ll see you soon, I’m sure. Thank you. Goodbye.”

And that had been that. Hotch hadn’t had the stomach to ask after the details, especially not when you’d seemed so eager to put it behind you.

After ending the call, you’d shaken your head and proclaimed, “Don’t ask,” launching back into your spiel about media strategy like it hadn’t happened. Hotch wasn’t in the business of disagreeing with you; pressing things. Saying no. It wasn’t lost on him that he used the word liberally with everyone else he knew.

Back at the scene, Hotch stays a few steps behind the team. He knows that Spencer’s assessing eyes will see right through his faux contemplation; Hotchner knows, from the many frowns Spencer’s eidetic memory has learned, that the expression on his face will be recognised as distraction.

He needs to focus. He needs you near. He needs to keep his eye on the ball. He needs deadbeat detective far away from here.

As you and the BAU team near the crime scene, a rugged looking cop pulls away from his colleagues. He has eyes like treacle tart and a grin that borders on a smirk. A toothpick hangs from his mouth like something out of a Western.

“Detective Landon?” You say, extending a hand in acknowledgement. “Hello, we spoke on the phone yesterday morning.”

Detective Landon spits the toothpick out of his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he does so. But it isn’t the depth of his gaze that drops yours. You can feel someone else’s eyes searing holes through your skull.

“Well I’ll be,” he drawls, taking your hand and pressing it to his mouth. “Your voice doesn’t do you justice, darling.”

You resist the urge to make a face. It’s awful, unfortunate, but you’re far too used to this. Behind you, Derek raises his eyebrows, sharing an amused look with Emily beside him. Rossi looks exasperated. Spencer’s expression remains unchanged, though he does steal a glance at Hotchner. You smile, the way you always do, refusing to be thrown off by his candour.

“That’s a shame,” you reply breezily, turning to introduce your team. “Detective, this is SSA Morgan, SSA Prentiss, Dr Spencer Reid, and —”

“I’m the unit chief, Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner,” Hotch interrupts, a menacing gravel to his timbre. He doesn’t shake the hand Detective Landon extends to him. The detective draws it back with a gauche bark of laughter, turning his attention to the rest of the BAU.

“My my,” he says, his drawl returning as his eyes meet Emily’s. “What do I gotta do to get in on this team of yours?”

“A formal education would be helpful,” Spencer supplies, squinting at him through his glasses.

Detective Landon turns to him then, raising his eyebrows. “Doctor Reid, was it?”

“It is, but no need to aim that high, buddy,” Morgan says then, stepping forward and patting him on the shoulder. Landon winces. “Now. You going to talk us through what you guys got so far or what?”

“Damn, y’all are a feisty bunch, huh?” He replies, pulling another toothpick out of his breast-pocket. He sends you a wink that makes Hotch’s insides turn, adding, “Don’t mind it on you, sweetheart, but maybe the rest of the BAU ‘oughta play nice.”

Aaron Hotchner would normally agree with his sentiment. He’s been a long time advocate of working alongside the local police in investigations; he recognises that collaboration is far more productive than condescension.

Unfortunately for him, this isn’t quite a normal situation.

Things to do with you and other men rarely are. An ugly green emotion eases his heart right into his throat.

“Or maybe,” Hotchner says crisply, his steely gaze pinning Landon to the spot, “I should have a chat with your Captain and take you off this case.”

Landon balks. “Sir —”

“You’re dismissed,” Hotchner interrupts, not wanting to hear it. He’s unaware of the amused look Emily and Morgan share behind him.

“You…” Landon trails off exasperatedly, shaking his head, “…you can’t dismiss me. This is my case.”

“Actually, it’s the BAU’s case now.” He turns to you expectantly. You think you catch his gaze soften as it falls over your face in paces. Trick of the light, you suppose. “Right?”

“Sure,” you say weakly.

“Right then. Rossi?” Hotch says then, turning to David Rossi autocratically. “Why don’t you and the team go ahead and assess the scene while I head to base and sort out a reassignment.”

“Not you, Reid,” he adds, keeping Spencer in place. “You can come to the station with me, get our replacement up to speed. Sound good?”

Morgan’s trying hard to hide his knowing grin, one side of his mouth upturned with mirth. Emily isn’t bothering to pretend she doesn’t know what’s going on, her pretty features lit up with amusement. Detective Landon looks mortified. Your cheeks feel on fire.

“Alright,” Rossi says after pause, glancing between you and Hotchner. He’s been in the FBI for long enough now that he’s learnt to pick his battles.

He turns around and begins walking toward the crime scene, the three of you trailing behind him with less purposeful strides.

“Huh,” Derek says, faux-thoughtful. You’re wedged between him and Emily, much to your chagrin. “Wonder what that was about. Any ideas, SSA Prentiss?”

“Well, SSA Morgan,” Emily replies, her smile audible. “I’m afraid that our dear old unit chief has a bit of a soft spot.”

“A soft spot?” Derek echoes, letting out a dramatic gasp. “That’s dangerous in our line of work, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say,” Emily responds sagely.

“Oh shut up, you two,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest. “That wasn’t just about me. He made a pass on Emily too.”

Emily snorts, shaking her head exasperatedly. “Hey Rossi, you got a name for this phenomenon?”

“Oh yeah,” Rossi replies without hesitation, his gaze trained ahead of him. “Ignorance by infatuation.”

Out of earshot, Spencer and Hotchner are having a similarly painful conversation.

“Strange,” Spencer decides, breaking the silence with his candour.

Aaron knows what he’s insinuating. He resists the urge to turn around and steal another glance at your pretty silhouette. “He was behaving inappropriately. There’s nothing strange about it, Spencer. I was protecting my team.”

“The whole team?”

“Yes.”

“Including me?”

“Yes.”

“But I liked him.”

Hotchner sends him an incredulous look. “And what exactly was there to like?”

“He was entertaining, I think,” Spencer replies casually, shrugging. “In a cop way, you know? Plus, I love listening to Y/N reject men. It’s fascinating.”

Hotchner swallows. “Fascinating?”

“She always does it in this way where they don’t even realise what exactly’s happening,” Spencer explains matter-of-factly. He turns to Aaron Hotchner then. “Don’t worry, though, she’d never do that to you.”

Hotchner’s traitorous heart leaps, his mouth pulling into a paradoxical frown. “Spencer,” he warns.

“Just saying,” Spencer replies, raising his arms in surrender.

“Well,” Hotch says grumpily, “don’t.”

“Alright. Noted.”

[a-hazbin-reader]

I know Alastor craves Wifey’s attention, but does Wifey crave his attention in the same way?

🥴

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None?? I think???

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor loves having your attention but he loves it even more when you seek him out, he loves being needed by you

He tries to hide his giddiness though, he can't be caught grinning like a fool because his wife wants a hug from him

He has a reputation to uphold

He's in his radio tower and you suddenly sit yourself in his lap mid broadcast? He's wrapping an arm around you and kissing your head while you bury your face in his neck

He cuts out the broadcast for a moment to give you the proper attention, tilting your chin up so that you look at him

"Just a moment, folks! Hello darling, stressful day?"

His claws are scratching along the back of your neck, sending a pleasant tingle down your spine as you lean against him

"Mmn... just wanna be with you..."

Suddenly you're being squeezed tight, your face smashed into his neck so you don't see the heat rising to his face over how cute you are

Anyone who might've been listening would find the screams of the broadcast suddenly interrupted by sharp crackling radio static

He's trying to get out of bed and you whine that you want him to stay?? He's going to try his hardest and resist the urge to jump back in

That is until you wrap your arms around him and press your chest to his back, rubbing your cheek on his shoulder

"Just stay in bed...we could have a lazy day..."

Alastor has to rub a hand over his face to hide his blush, his smile tight from trying not to coo over you, giving you a small kiss

"You have to get up too, my dear~ Come on, I'll make breakfast."

He stands up only to feel you hanging off of him, legs wrapping around him with determination

"No. I stay with you."

"Fine then, I'm going to get started on our day."

"I'll be right here~"

A small bleat escapes him, actual steam coming out of his ears as he helps support your legs

"Darling please! What will everyone say?"

You just close your eyes and hum, resting your head against his back as he laughs at the absurdity of the situation

"Don't care. Going back to sleep..."

Nobody dares look at you two as Alastor walks about the hotel with you strapped to his back, they all do their best to pretend like it's not happening

Except Angel who laughs as soon as Alastor walks into the lobby with a mug of coffee in hand, ears down low as he tries to hide his embarrassment

"Ha! Whipped!"

There's been plenty of times where you've just come to him wanting his affection for a moment before scampering off

You've even interrupted overlord meetings because he left without giving you a goodbye kiss, you always found an excuse to get in

One time, you even showed up with trays of food, trailing behind Rosie and Zestial, who both helped you crash the meeting and carry food

Carmilla was visibly surprised at the sight of you, doing a double take and cautiously sniffing the air

"Y/N..? What is all this..?"

You don't miss the way your husband's cheeks light up as he tries to look as innocent as possible, realizing his mistake

"Alastor forgot his lunch and I just couldn't let all of you go hungry..! I hope you don't mind~"

You brought out the big guns with the food, and none of the overlords even make a fuss about you being there

You come around to your husband's chair, hearing him audibly gulp as you lean down to kiss his temple

"Hello again, my dear-"

"You forgot to kiss me goodbye, darling~ What's a girl supposed to think when her husband won't kiss her?"

You sound so pitiful and cute, he can't help but stand up to squeeze you into a proper hug before walking you out to try and preserve some of his image

"They're just so cute, aren't they? Young love and all that~"

"...they are."

"Aren't they both like-fucking old?"

"Eat your food."

It's already gone, Alastor

"Forgive me, my dear... I was in a hurry and didn't realize-"

He feels even worse when you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a sad face, resting against him

"You owe me...at least 12 kisses and not little ones!"

He's fumbling to find the words to say, using one hand to push away your kissy lips while he looks away from you

He knows he looks so whipped right now-he needs a moment to compose himself

Once he's able to look at you again, he knows it's all over, a soft blush on his face as you kiss his palm and stare at him

"Darling..."

"I just want some attention from my husband, is that so bad?"

He can't deny you anything, leaning in to give you a soft kiss and rubbing your cheek, you nearly kill him when he pulls away and sees your lovesick expression

"I'll be home soon, I promise. You'll get all of my time and attention after that, deal?"

You close your eyes and nuzzle against his hand, practically hugging his arm to keep him there

"Mm...making deals with a man like you is dangerous, what do you want in return?"

Alastor can't help but grin, pulling you in closer for another kiss and stopping just before your lips touch

"I've already got an adorable wife~ Buuuut~ If you're offering something then maybe we go out dancing later?"

He kisses you before you can answer, pressing his forehead to yours as he smiles at you

"It's a deal then~"

Reluctantly, he lets you walk away after giving you a few more kisses only to realize later that you got exactly what you wanted

When he walks back into the meeting, everyone's eyes are on him before they suddenly look down at their meals

"What?"

Carmilla coughs awkwardly and Rosie pushes a mirror towards Alastor, who discovers his face is covered in lipstick marks

He can't even bring himself to be mad, sighing fondly as he takes a napkin from Carmilla and wipes his face off

What is he going to do with you...

I hope you like this one!!

[carame1bunny]

𝔊𝔬𝔬𝔡 𝔫𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱, 𝔪𝔶 𝔡𝔬𝔢

pairing: Alastor x fem!Reader

summary: Alastor comforts his little doe to sleep

warning: none! just some fluff and ooc Alastor:)

No one knew of Alastor’s little nightly ritual. After everyone went to sleep, he made his way down to the bar for a cold glass of whiskey. To clear his head and have some silence to himself.

Except, he wasn’t alone tonight…

Y/N was somewhat new at the Hazbin Hotel. She arrived in hell confused, disoriented and alone. She was wandering around the Vee tower, when she spotted the commercial on one of the televisions. A shelter she could go to. The Hazbin family took her in quickly and she enjoyed being there, she wasn’t cold, hungry, nor alone anymore. She was a big help to Charlie too, always helping her with the redemption exercises.

Alastor took notice of her the second he saw her. A deer like him, except that he was a big scary buck and she was a lovely doe. He never made a move on her, afraid that he would mess even a tiny bit with her sensitive little heart. But, he would always do little gestures for her. Helping her out here and there, and always stocking up on those little heart shaped chocolates she liked.

But back to tonight.

While he was on his way to the bar, he heard a little sniff from the parlor, he felt his heart tighten when he saw the doe curled up on the couch. Her little fluffy ears were hanging low and her pink nose was twitching sadly.

She didn’t even see the Radio Demon coming down, and her eyes widened when she heard his static voice.

“Is everything alright, my doe?” When she looked up, he was towering over her curled up position, and looking down at her with that lovey-dovey gaze, a rare sight to see.

“I’m okay, no biggie.” She tried to mush a smile onto her face, but he saw right through her.

He took a seat next to her and pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket, handing it to her, which she took gratefully.

“Don’t be shy. Feel free to tell me whatever is hurting your little heart.” When he said this, the dam broke. Her tears started flowing down her cheeks, and her lips were morphed into an adorable pout. “Oh, little doe.” He gathered her up in his arms and put her on his lap, she put her head on his chest. He felt her body shaking as she weeped in his arms.

His clawed hands gently caressed the top of her head, stroking her soft ears that were connected to her fluffy hair.

He spoke again, when her shaking lessened.

“Do tell, my dear, what got you so upset?” He said while he positioned her head, so she was looking up at him.

“I just had a long day. I was out, because Charlie needed more colored pencils and some guy on the street started talking to me.” Her lips wobbled again at the memory.

“What did he say?” He let her rest on his chest, and this way, she couldn’t see the way his face was turning into a more demonic expression. Who dared to h̴̩͛͒͆͑̐̄͂̀͝͝u̵͓͚̖͍͎͒̾̽́̈́̚̚͘ŗ̵̟͚̝͇͗̒̋́́̈́̀́t̵̨̤̺̟̳̝̔́̕͠ͅ ̷͈̩̔̾̐̾͐̂̑̕͜͝͠ḧ̷̨̖̪̲́͂̂̏́̈́̆͝ị̴̧̠̺͉̫͇̞̙̽̈ͅs̴̡̖͓̠͋̓̏̈́̒̕͘ ̶̳̳̘̘͚̭̳̟̪͙̏l̷̬̻̯͉̐̈́̃͘i̵̛̥̞̙̠̪̮̻t̴̡͎̮̬͍̦͕͑̐͗̈́̾̐͝ţ̷͎̥̪̻͕̠͓͉͈̇̈́̈͗̚̚l̴͉̎̿̐̇̆́͒́̆̃e̴͍̣̼̓ ̶̢̗͍̟͈̹̉̉̇͜d̶͙͉̻̗͚̬̦͎̖̖̂̀͊͝ơ̶̛̲̩̻͕̤̙̜̹͓̂͠ͅe̵͙̳̙̻̫̱̅͑͝?

“Disgusting things…”

He leaned back, so she was laying on his lap. With a snap of his fingers, a soft blanket was on her. “Well, you deserve to be treated nicely and gently.” He looked down into her doe eyes. “Don’t listen to those awful people, but if they dare to say another nasty word to you, just tell me. And I’ll make sure they won’t speak another word in their pathetic afterlife ever again.”

She smiled softly and snuggled between his shoulder blade and neck. She spoke with a sweet whisper. “Thank you, Alastor, truly.”

“No need, as I said, you deserve all the lovely things.” Her soft hair was tickling his neck, and he found himself nuzzling more into it.

“Sleep now, I’ll make sure to guard your dreams.” But he realized that her face was already relaxed and her breaths were even. He planted a kiss on her head, and her ears flattened from the softness of his lips.

“Good night, my doe.”

Yes, tomorrow he will make sure to find that bitch that disrespected her and hunt him down.

[nmakii]

“DO YOU THINK YOU’LL KILL FOR ME ONE DAY?” YES, OF COURSE I WILL, MY DARLING.

— manipulating yan!alastor + yan!vox was easy. after all, he’s a huge softie for you.

— lots of cursing + sex mention! (vox)

— lol!! after u read voxxy’s part, did u notice i said worse instaf of wordt? im super good at eng! 😈😈

— yan!alastor

you’d been acting out at this club for some time now— breaking property, starting a fight, and even lighting a fire. that last one did it for the owner, he finally banned you from the place, kicking you out indefinitely.

unfortunate, since it was your hangout spot for all kinds of mischief. perhaps— just maybe, there’d be a way to weasel your way back in? or, if not that, at least make him suffer.

a sniff came from you as you teared up, wondering about where else to have your fun. “ohh, my darling, is something the matter? you can tell me, i’ll make that problem go away.” alastor said as he walked into the hotel’s leisure room, his hand patting your back.

you tried to get the words out of your mouth, but it was simply too hard to breathe with the tears that poured down your face. “take your time, my doe… it’s okay.” alastor cooed with a slightly patronizing tone, as if he was the one in control right now.

“s-some club-owner… h-he called me degrading names, and then… he kicked me out…” you frowned at alastor, sniffing every now and then. “my doe, what exactly did he call you?” alastor asked, his voice slightly losing the static as well as having a more sinister edge.

as you listed the names the man had ‘called’ you, alastor pulled you closer to him as his anger began to boil. “it’s alright, my darling. a club with an owner like that is not worth it.” he smiled widely, brushing your hair gingerly before he planted a kiss on your forehead.

“besides, you’ll never see this man ever again. say, what did you say the name of this club was?” he asked before you whispered the club name to him. “i see… well, my little doe, it turns out that i must teach this man a lesson.” alastor stood up as his anger manifested into his body, elongating his limbs.

“you’re gonna kill him on radio? just… be kind… no one deserves a painful death.” you frowned in fake empathy. that fake empathy which would motivate alastor’s anger even more. “oh, dear, you are just too kind for hell. this man disrespected your honor, it’s simply fair that he receives something equally as humiliating.”

his hand rested on your chin, kissing you one last time before he left to find this disrespectful sinner. “now, if you’ll excuse me… someone has to be taught some manners. i assure you, love, that i’ll return by… dinnertime.” he promised before heading out the hotel, prepared to rip this man’s soul out of his body and make an example out of him for any other sinner who even dares to disrespect his little doe.

— yan!vox

are you the problem? nah, couldn’t be possible. if you were the problem, you wouldn’t have this lovely man as your boyfriend, now would you?

“ugh, then that bitch fucking unfollowed me! i don’t even know what i did to that fucker.” you sighed dramatically, frowning to your boyfriend through the facetime. “honestly, i don’t even know what you saw in her. you’re better off without, babe.” vox shrugged.

“and!! you wanna know the worst part?!?” you yelled out, face scrunching in pure dislike. “and what’s that?” vox asked. “that little bitch is yapping all over the city about you and i.” you rolled your eyes.

“ah..? she is? what exactly is she saying?” vox grunted as he glowed in anger. “she was ah… calling me your escort or whatever…” you scowled.

“tch, whatever! i’ll get over it— or, something.” you sighed, falling into your chair, as you closely eyed vox’s expression.

"aha... i'm glad you can let things go so easily, dear... now, i’d love to stay in call a bit longer, but i really have to take care of some important business right now." vox grunted, flying a quick yet lovely kiss to you before he ended the call.

okay, none of that happened— at least most of it didn’t happen. that girl... she was just pretty fucking annoying, always whining about how badly she wants to get fucked, jesus... close your fucking legs for once, yeah?

to be fair, on her own part, she was quite powerful. so, killing her yourself wasn't exactly a good option. instead, why not get your boyfriend to do it?

best case scenario, vox kills her, nothing else. worse case, vox simply hypnotizes her into selling her soul to him. ugh, imagine seeing that bitch's face everyday.

then again, you'd see her all sad and pathetic everyday cause she sold her freedom away.

either way, it's not looking too well for her.

[breannasfluff]

using my own prompt-💥😅👍- for uh. I think it would be funny for DPxDC, Jack Fenton and Bruce Wayne. Yeah

“Hey! It’s Batman! Hi Batty!”

Bruce has seen a lot of strange things in life. He’s been to a lot of weird places. He’s friends with the Justice League. He’s adopted multiple kids who made it their life mission to give him gray hair early. 

Bruce has seen a lot of strange things in life. But this? This is going in the top 10. 

There’s a stranger in a bright orange jumpsuit in the middle of the Batcave. There’s no indication on how he got down here, but he’s got a futuristic gun on his back and metal gloves on. 

Bruce settles into a defensive crouch, scanning the rest of the cave. Why did none of the alarms go off? Where’s the rest of the team? 

“Batman! Hey! Hey Batty! Batty-man!” 

“What do you want,” he growls.

“I’m looking for a ghost! Chased the spook down here but he vanished. Wait, are you a ghost?”

Oh no. Bruce does not like the maniacal gleam in his eye. 

“Prepare to be wasted by the best ghost hunter, Jack Fenton!” The gun is level in his direction.

Before Bruce has a chance to jump out of the way it fires. Something glowing and green shoots toward him. He has a split second of guilt that his family will find his corpse like this before the blast hits. 

Green explodes around him. With it comes radio static that whites out everything else. Below it is the wail of departed souls, just barely on the edge of hearing. The explosion is all cold fire; no heat.

It also doesn’t hurt.

The green fades away and Bruce stands in the same spot, not reduced to a smoking pile of ash. What. Just. Happened.

Jack leans the gun on his shoulder and rubs his head sheepishly. “Huh, I guess you aren’t a ghost. My bad, Batty-man!”

Bruce is still stuck in limbo, adrenaline past its limit and onto the next. “You just shot me.”

“Yeah, but you aren’t a ghost. It’s fine!”

“You hit Batman.”

“It’s cool!” Jack gives him a thumbs up and a big grin.

Bruce growls, storming forward. Jack stays where he is; smile barely fading as his gun is yanked away. “You. Start talking.”

Rather than be cowed, Jack’s eyes nearly sparkle. “Oh man, just think if Batman uses Fenton tech! Think of what we could do with more funding! And look at the cool stuff in this cave! I bet I could rig that dinosaur into a robot to fight ghosts! And that penny could smash ghosts! And that–”

Bruce tunes him out before he strangles the man with his bare hands. Batman doesn’t kill people. But man, this guy sure is tempting. 

The elevator door pings as it reaches the Batcave and Alfred steps out.

“Ghost!” Jack whips out another gun–where was he storing that?!--and shoots at Alfred.

The butler freezes as the blast hits and harmlessly dissipates. 

Bruce turns to Jack. “Stop shooting people!”

Maybe he can knock the idiot out. Before someone gets hurt.

As a treat.

Prompt list

[dee-the-red-witch]

…a lot of folks just see themselves in the mirror. Before I came out and started my transition, I mostly saw static- I'd gotten really good at making my brain just tune out what I was feeling about what I was seeing. But once I stopped hiding from myself? The litany my brain went through every time I saw my own face was way too loud and clear.

Chin too wide. Forehead too big. Brow ridge is massive, you have to keep your eyebrows constantly raised just help hide it. Where's your upper lip? It doesn't matter if that's been your hairline from birth, that fivehead is terrible.

And more. It was even worse before I'd started laser for my facial hair and found a stylist that does amazing work reshaping my eyebrows. And none of it is vanity. It's just my brain doing it's own best to hurt itself with all the reminders of a puberty that went in the wrong direction. Of the fact that I wasn't a girl.

And I want to point out something- all these features I've listed? They're all present in cis women. Gorgeous cis women. There's nothing inherently male about any of these. Hells, on a good day, I pass as a woman in public without much issue, which is something I never thought would happen.

But this isn't about passing. It also isn't about ultimately going stealth and hiding the fact that I'm trans. I fully intend to stay loud about that for the rest of my life. It's about being able to look in the mirror and not want to scream about everything that doesn't match what's in my head at all. It's about making that list shut up. I can see past it sometimes. Just sometimes. But that's why the second of these two surgeries I'm having needs to happen. So I can see it more often. So I can be myself, without the horror movie litany in my head.

And the fix for it? In my case it's the following, since I didn't want to deal with implants or fillers. Bone reduction in the chin and brow- make the former narrower and reduce the brow ridge entirely. Adjust the upper lip with a slight pull upwards, done just under the nose. Since my skin's going to be loose from the removed bone, use it to pull things a bit further by bringing my hairline forward and down a touch. That';s it. slight adjustments that'll leave my face looking like I got hit by a truck for the first six months of recovery, but afterwards, a face more like what I expect to see in the mirror.

And yes, this post is happening because GFM once again reminds me to give detail and insight about the medical needs I need covered to my audience. And for those of you unfamiliar, maybe it at least gives some perspective. I don't think they quite knew what they were asking for with these particular cases, and I'm hoping I didn't just horrify the lot of you with this. But when it comes to asking 'why I need to do this'? This is part of it. Making some of my life that much less of a struggle.

Anyways, thanks for taking the time on reading through this one if you've gotten this far. If you can, please, again, share this fundraiser around- I've got a long way to go still, but I'm hoping I'll be able to make it.

137 days to go.

[terry-perry]

Out of Business

Pairing: Alastor x Carmine!Reader

The next part of this

Tags: @mysterypotatoink @lokis-imaginary-friend @lonelysimp18 @readergirlstuff @amyking300 @for-hearthand-home @wonderlandfandomkingdom @purple-umbrella-girl @saccharine-nectarine @monomas-girl @ohmylovewhereartthou-blog @junieshohoho @yourmom132 @thebreadisthetruevillian @martinys-world @yui-onnero

He lurked in the background, observing the lovely doe before him grazing on grass. She was a sweet thing that was none the wiser of his presence as he slowly snuck up towards her.

He did his best to muffle the static radiating off him. He was normally able to keep it under control, but lately, he'd been out of sorts. He could deny it as much as he wanted, but everyone knew what was happening. Further proof came in how he spotted the markings of a nearby tree as he got closer to the doe, leading him to release an audible growl, alerting the doe of his presence.

It was too late for her, however, since a large, dark tentacle pierced her middle, killing her in an instant. He pounced on the carcass and took a giant chunk of it by ripping it with his teeth. For the majority of the time, he isn't so primal with his food and takes his time with it. That day and the past few had him unreasonably angry at everyone and everything.

He was mad at Carmilla for speaking with him, Y/N for not giving him a chance to explain himself, and at himself for letting her go. At that moment, he was mad at what was carved on the tree, which now looked over him and made him feel more judged for his recent actions.

It didn't help that he still remembered how the markings got there...

Months ago...

"Husker, my good man! I need you to serve only the finest bottle of wine tonight, you hear?!"

Everyone was caught off guard by Alastor's presence, seeing him trudge down the hotel stairs more animated than usual.

"I want things to be 100% top-notch this evening for me and my gal,"

"Aww, Alastor," Charlie approached him at the bar with curiosity and intrigue. "Do you have a friend stopping by?"

"Suppose you can say that," Alastor replied, still practically beaming as his shadow was conjured up with a mirror so he could adjust his bowtie and spruce up his hair. "I'm inviting a special someone to the hotel. Someone I've grown accustomed to after spending time with her."

"Oh shit! Am I hearing things right?!" Angel was the next to approach Alastor after hearing this bombshell. "Big, scary Alastor found someone he's willing to get it on with?"

Alastor snapped his head away from his reflection to glare at Angel, but it was only a second or two before regaining his composure. "I wouldn't put it so crudely, but yes. I have been courting someone."

Charlie practically squealed upon hearing the news. "That's great! I'm so happy to hear such news! She must be quite special to get you so happy and want to make this a lovely night for you both."

"Special, or out of her fuckin' mind..." Husk grumbled from the bar so only Vaggie, who joined the rest of the group, could hear and silently nodded in agreement.

"Thank you, my dear. I do request one thing. My lady love is a very private person and would rather keep our relationship under wraps for the time being. I assume you all can refrain from any gossip that can be conjured from our romance."

"Of course! Your secret is safe-"

"Why exactly do we need to keep this a secret?" Vaggie interrupted her girlfriend to offer the usual suspicion she reserved just for him. "You're not trying to rope us into some shady business, are you?"

Alastor refrained from rolling his eyes. She was always so distrustful.

His relationship with Y/N might've started as a potential business and a possible deal, especially since it was so easy to capture her heart so her soul would've been no problem. The more time spent with her, however, it instead was slowly turning into something else - something dearer that left him so unsure. Instead of him getting something out of her, he always made sure she'd want for absolutely nothing, no soul required.

He wondered how he could've gone through life and death not knowing such an endearing, trusting darling. She was kind and gentle but didn't possess any of the bubbly naivete Charlie did. She was not only aware of where they were but also came from a family of assailants and weapons dealers who raised her to be alert and to fend for herself. He both feared and admired that along with how she accepted him for who he was and never judged the darkest parts of himself.

It was all so new and a bit alarming, whatever this was. He just knew he had to keep a good hold on it--

----

Alastor's thoughts were interrupted by a tapping at his door. No doubt Charlie chose to stop by to check on him after he charged back to the hotel a few days ago, after his fallout with Y/N.

It wasn't the princess' dulcet tones that implored him, however, after some insistent knocking. Instead, Alastor heard a more unwelcoming voice that under more proper circumstances he'd find entertaining.

"Alastor?" Vaggie continued to call out to him outside his room. "Come on, let me in. We need to talk."

[tinydefector]

hey you do character x character right? Like canon character shipped with another Canon character? It wasn't on you list of won't do but I'm asking anyway

If you'd be open to, I like to request a TFP wavewave fic (Shockwave x Soundwave) where Soundwave is snuggled up with their big boyfriend (Shockwave is fat to me so very soft and nice to cuddle)

You could make it pure fluff or you could make it more then that, but ya I would just like to request Shockwave getting loved on by his smol partner

Query's

Shockwave x Soundwave

Word count; 1.2k

Warnings: none, complete soft and fluff

I do intact do character x characters when I get a chance. Sorry, this one took me so long to make, but I did enjoy making some cute Wavewave,

_________________

Shockwave was once again engrossed in his work, barely notices the photo message sent to his Comms. It's only when the small blinking of even more notifications pop up does he finally check the messages. He finally glances to the side as the image comes up almost like a hologram only he can see, the image of elephants. Followed by a small smiley face emoji. Curiosity piqued, he turned towards the communications officer on the other side of the Lab, Soundwave had taken to working on his reports, investigations and other important tasks while in the Lab due to how peaceful he found it. Most venicons avoided it like a rust plague.

"What is the purpose of these images, Soundwave?"

Soundwave looks up from the monitor he was viewing moving towards Shockwave, a servo moves to rest on Shockwave waist.

" image captured during satellite surveillance. Elephants: Large terrestrial mammals, they are fascinating." His reply is a mix of different recorded voices as he presses his faceplate into Shockwave's backstruts, a slight hum resonates from his spark.

"Elephants are indeed fascinating creatures, known for their social structures and unique adaptations. However, my current research does not pertain to them."

Shockwave states while he types away looking at levels and new details over his research. He subtly tries to shift away from Soundwave's touch, Two of the Soundwave's tendrils move and wrap around Shockwave's waist again as he stays pressed against Shockwave's back, it wasn't often either of them got time together or by themselves, Soundwave is aware of how caught up in work they both become.

"Statement: Soundwave Likes Elephants” He replied in the monotone dialect he had taken to using for communication.

Shockwave can feel the warmth radiating from Soundwave's frame against his back, and it sends a ripple of guilt through him. He himself is aware of how touchy Soundwave gets when something is wrong.

"Soundwave, this is highly irregular,"

Shockwave manages to say, his voice tinged with a mix of apprehension and curiosity. He tries to focus on the task at hand, but his attention is divided between his work and Soundwave.

"Query?" The communications officer asked.

"Query noted,"

Shockwave replies, as he relaxes into the smaller Mechs embrace. He attempts to regain his composure, despite how much he enjoyed this, he had work that needed to be finished. But he was willing to humour his partner. Soundwave is quiet as if waiting for an answer to his question but it's left unsaid answered.

"We will discuss further about Terra Tellus-Gaia's quadrupedal Mammals, but not now. I have important work to attend to,"

Shockwave says, his voice almost a Void as he tries to run more tests over the different energon levels in beakers. The Nemesis depended on Shockwave finding a new modification and dilatation of the Energon they had been recovering for it to be more productive as a fuel source. Another static like hum leaves Soundwave as he continues watching Shockwave works while cuddling him.

"Query: project success. details. results?"

He inquired. Helm tilted to the side enough to watch the screen. In truth Soundwave was aware of every change in the levels he watched everything and even knew all the information without Shockwave having to explain it but he enjoyed listening to his paterners voice when he spoke, he enjoyed how passionate he became with different subjects.

Shockwave's processor races as he tries to process Soundwave's query while simultaneously grappling with the unexpected change in one of the vials when it comes into contact with salt water. Shockwave is quick to note down the bubbling reaction with the liquid form of the unstable Energon.

" progress is satisfactory,"

Shockwave replies curtly, his voice betraying a hint of his inner turmoil.

"However, the details and results are. they can wait. There are. other matters that require my attention."

Shockwave turns towards Soundwave, watching the smaller Mechs visor. Despite Soundwave being a ‘Faceless’ mech, he had rather easy body language for Shockwave to read. Or perhaps it was just that Soundwave made himself more open when around the Scientist. Shockwave knows that he should prioritise his work and maintain a professional distance, but the warmth of Soundwave's embrace and the comfort it brings makes it difficult to resist. Soundwave moves, pressing his helm to Shockwave's optic ridge.

"Statement: project on hold, Wish to spend time with Sparkmate"

Soundwave calls Shockwave as he leans into the touch more, his field bouncing off Shockwave's as they flicker and dance together in a static laced buzz.

Shockwave's optic flicker. He wants to argue with Soundwave over getting this experiment finished However, deep down, he knows that he cannot deny his own feelings any longer, nor would he win the argument with the communications officer, for all his mute approach Soundwave was rather good at getting his way with Shockwave and wasn't past putting up a fuss if it meant he got to spent time with his lover.

"Understood, Soundwave,"

Shockwave finally responds, his voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and longing.

"The project can be put on hold. Spending time with you is a priority."

With a mixture of triumph and smugness in Soundwave's field as he snuggles into Shockwave's shoulder plating, the humming of their fields bring an almost peaceful vibe to the overly quiet Lab.

"Request"

Soundwave states before his actual voice comes through, a rare thing even for Shockwave to hear.

"You are exhausted, don't lie to me, I can read your body and your mind, "

he hums softly into Shockwave's shoulder plating. Shockwave's optic blinks slightly at Soundwave's request, both surprised and touched by the rare display of concern. He knows that Soundwave's abilities allow him to perceive things that others might miss, and he can't help but feel a sense of vulnerability in that moment.

"You are correct, Soundwave,"

Shockwave admits, his voice softer than usual.

"I have been pushing myself to the limits, neglecting my own well-being in pursuit of my scientific endeavours. It seems my mind has become so consumed with data and research that I have failed to take care of myself. And in turn neglected our time together"

He allows himself to lean into Soundwave's embrace, feeling a sense of comfort and security wash over him. The weight of his exhaustion becomes more noticeable, and he realises that perhaps he does need a moment of respite. An escape from This lab once in a while.

"Perhaps it is time for me to rest, if only for a little while. Your presence... it brings me a sense of peace that I have not felt in a long time."

"Retire with me?" The request comes quicker than soundwave would have liked

"I... I would like that, Soundwave. I have dedicated so much of myself to my work, and perhaps it is time for me to prioritise you."

As his exhaustion weighs heavily on him, Shockwave realises that he craves the solace and companionship that only Soundwave can provide. With a nod, he gently disentangles himself from Soundwave's embrace, his servo reaching out to take Soundwave's servo.

“Recharge sounds..”

“Delightful?” Soundwave finishes Shockwave's sentence, his smiley emoji flickering across his visor as he begins leading Shockwave back to his hab suite.

________________

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[uchihaharlot]

Hello there, i really love your headcanons tbh maybe the realest ones here

Since I'm here its obvious im in Uchiha hell so,

Could I politely ask for uchihas turn ons and turn offs? I swear to god when i think about them horny it brings a tear to my eye from blissfulness

The realest ones? Nonny, you honor me to the highest degree and I am forever grateful you feel this way. ❤️🥹

I think a better question would be what doesn’t turn these men off (I also think I answered this differently than you might have wanted, I hope not though). 😮‍💨😌 Though none of these men are shallow individuals, so rest assured, anyone would be their type.

Semi-NSFW; just some things that make an Uchiha melt inside

Madara:

All natural women. I’m gonna be honest here; in Madara’s time, the more rounded a woman. The better (for breeding). But in all honesty, he appreciates all shapes and sizes.

His turn off is weakness, she needs to be confident. Which sounds callous, but if she’s not at minimum as much a firecracker as he is. The chemistry is off. Madara needs someone who is going to keep him on his feet with excitement, not someone who will make him second guess their intentions. The more outgoing and confident. The better.

If Madara’s laying her in his bed, she’s going to have to be a very patient woman. This man can go for hours, and a woman who can appreciate his stamina without complaint is high on his priority list, possibly good for breeding. Madara needs to fuck her this way, ok? A test drive so to speak. It’s just how he does it, raw and unadulterated lust. He also won’t tolerate a quickie like some men.

Obito:

Its no secret that Obi, bless his soul, is the black sheep Uchiha. The quiet ones are easier for him to talk to, not because they’re touch starved or anything. But because they are legitimately sweet and soulful. A woman who is confident won’t really make him feel nervous. But what he really wants is to kinda be taken care of, tenderly.

He definitely doesn’t like loud noises or sudden changes, so the more ground and constant, the better. So a woman who has a temper, is not for him. He might get riled with a little spice, but Obito definitely doesn't and won't be a push over, even he has his limits. Obito thrives in a static environment where he can make mistakes without being treated like a child, even better if she babies him a little. I'm sure there is a mommy kink somewhere to explore.

And in bed, he’s a total mess for her, does whatever she wants. If she wants to be treated like a pillow princess and owned, he'll be man enough for it. If she wants to make him beg underneath her, that too.

Shisui:

Shisui 🥹🔥 he’s so fiery!! Definitely is turned on by a woman who is into self care. Bonus points if she agrees to partner stretch with him, it's so hot being able to feel her this way and not sexually...yet. Someone who eats well, the occasional bad food here or there isn’t a problem, but damn if she’s into good diet and exercise, sign him up and don't forget, sparring is like foreplay for him. So, if she ends up pinning him down (like he planned all along), he’s gonna be so desperate for her. And she has to be loyal; to him, to the village and morality.

As for in bed? Their chemistry is so far off the charts, neither one can keep from switching positions. I really think Shisui is one of those men, like most Uchiha but on a different level even to his family, that can go for hours. Just because he can and because he likes to see her all fucked out, it's different from her usual mouthy self, which reminds me. She needs to be just as spunky and spontaneous as he, maybe not on the same level, but a woman who is down for whatever is the best kind of medicine. Especially for a man with the whole village on his shoulders.

Itachi:

I love him, he's such an old soul. They say opposites an attract and while I think he would like someone like himself, I also feel like someone who could keep him on his toes a little. If she's a scholar, this is perfect. Itachi would really enjoy someone who he can discuss world politics with. Not too in-depth, but casually. That level of self awareness the sharingan gifts them with can often leave many Uchiha feeling mismatched, but someone who has wits to his is a godsend.

As for in the sheets, Itachi is someone who is very reserved when it comes to matters of the flesh. Trust and sex go hand in hand, he's not like Shisui who can stick it anywhere, pretty quickly too, (he once told Itachi he used a spaghetti squash as a fleshlight). Trust is earned, gained and has to be absolute. Once this is accomplished, he's so damn tender. The softest moaner, but he does it right in your ear. Hearing and seeing you enjoy sex with him is what ends up getting him going harder. Even better if you speak your desires as he rearranges your insides. As time goes on, you learn what a closeted freak he really is and end up in the false atmosphere of his Tsukuyomi.

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Untitled Buck/Tommy angst

For @kinardevan 'cause they sent out a general request for angst and I like hurting people with my words...er...I mean, writing angst is fun!

Pairing: Buck/Tommy

Werewolf!AU

CW: could be read as MCD, though the ending is ambiguous and we all know the 118 pulls off miracles all the time. Soooo, interpret as you choose.

t wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

The thought echoed uselessly in his head, circling and circling. Like if he just thought it hard enough, God or the universe or something would hear him, and agree. And this would not be happening. Not like this. Not like this.

He checked his phone for the hundredth, the thousandth, the millionth time, still cursing to himself when a signal had not magically appeared. Closing his eyes, he hit the call button on his radio, opening the channel.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217. I am trapped on the south side of the Stewart Street building collapse, at least at the sub-basement level. Firefighter Buckley, 118, is with me with severe injuries. Need immediate medevac. Does anyone copy? Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217, does anyone copy?”

Static.

Nothing but static.

“They're not–gonna hear you. Gotta be…forty…feet of debris…signal won't get through.”

Carefully, so, so carefully, Tommy shuffled closer to the figure sprawled inelegantly in a half-sitting position against a slab of what used to be part of a subterranean parking garage ceiling. Evan's head came to rest on his shoulder, and he pressed his lips against his boyfriend's bloodied forehead. His skin was icy cold, pale as a ghost in the dim glow of their emergency lights.

As far as he could tell, Evan had escaped any spinal injuries or broken bones. But none of that mattered. Not when there was six inches of twisted, jagged steel protruding from his boyfriend’s abdomen.

He couldn’t even tell what it had been originally–a support beam, or part of the internal structure of the wall…it didn’t matter. Evan had landed on it or been impaled in the fall, despite Tommy’s best efforts, and even if help arrived soon...

He shut that thought off before it could come to its conclusion.

He’d stabilized the piece of steel as best he could, ripping his undershirt into shreds to pack the wound in a desperate effort to keep Evan from bleeding out before they were found. People were coming for them. Even if everyone else gave up on them as a lost cause, Tommy knew the 118 wouldn’t abandon Evan. Wouldn’t abandon him, either. They were coming, he just had to keep Evan alive until then. He just had to keep Evan alive.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“How you holding up?” he asked, ignoring Evan's–very, very correct–assessment of the likelihood his radio signal was going through. He pressed two fingers beneath Evan's chin, finding his pulse and counting the fast, thready beats silently.

“Been…better,” Evan mumbled. “Finally get to work…together on the ground…and it ends like…this.”

“Probably should’ve expected something to go wrong,” Tommy said, aiming for humor and missing by about three nautical miles. “But hey, now you and Chim can have matching rebar scars.”

“Matching…parking garage stories…w’th Hen too,” Evan replied, his head growing heavier against Tommy's shoulder, his eyes fluttering alarmingly.

“No,” Tommy said firmly, shifting his hand to cup his boyfriend's cheek. “No, none of that. You know the drill, babe. Stay awake.”

“Trying,” Evan whispered, pushing into Tommy's touch like he always did. “What…’bout you? How bad…are you hurt?”

Evan had already asked him that. A couple times, now. Swallowing down the panic that was trying to claw its way through the iron control he'd developed long before he was a soldier or a first responder, he answered anyway.

“I'm fine. Bumps and bruises. I’ll be fine, I'm just worried about you.”

“Liar,” Evan sighed, reaching up weakly to tangle their fingers together.

Tommy was not lying, was the thing. Not technically. He had felt something shatter inside when the floor he and Evan had been trying to clear collapsed beneath them, plunging them two or three sublevels into the basement parking amid a hale of debris. Several somethings, actually. He’d had no time to try and categorize his injuries, too busy frantically wrapping himself around Evan, trying to cushion his fall, trying to protect him, to take as much of the damage as he could.

Evan was strong. Evan was tough. But Evan was so painfully, perfectly human. He couldn’t take the damage Tommy could.

He’d broken and splintered and shattered on the way down, had slammed his head hard enough upon the final impact that even with his helmet, even with all the strength his nature afforded, he’d lost consciousness. He had no idea how long he was down, but it couldn’t have been very long–he’d had bones still knitting back together when he woke up, cuts and lacerations on his exposed skin that hadn’t quite closed.

He’d have taken worse–a hundred, a thousand, a million times worse–as long as Evan was all right.

He’d done his best. He’d done his fucking best.

“How’s the pain?” he asked, resisting the urge to check his phone for a non-existent signal again. Evan swallowed roughly, his fingers twitching in Tommy’s grasp. “Evan?”

“Kinda…fading,” Evan admitted after a long moment, his voice so quiet that even with his enhanced senses, Tommy could barely hear him.

Tommy’s stomach dropped, though he didn’t let any of his fear show on his face. He didn’t need to–he and Evan both knew what it meant when a wound this bad stopped hurting. “Okay. Okay, sweetheart, you just hang on. Hang on for me, okay?”

Evan tried to smile at him, a small dribble of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. It was all Tommy could do not to start howling, his other self clawing, lunging, demanding to be let out, to so something.

To do the only thing that might keep Evan here, keep Evan with him…keep Evan alive.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

His mother had always warned him to be honest with his partners. The instant he started thinking he could see a future with them, it was best to be honest. To reveal himself for what he was and let them decide if it was too much.

He’d known he wanted to share his other self with Evan only a few months in. Wanted to share everything with Evan, for as long as Evan would let him. He’d been startled by the intensity of his wanting, the strength of it. He’d had partners he considered telling his secret to, before. Had actually gone through with it, once.

Only once. The relationship hadn’t survived the reveal.

Maybe that was why he’d been holding back, even as Evan became more and more entrenched in his life, in his heart. He’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Evan. Never loved anyone the way he loved Evan. He didn’t think he could bear it if he revealed his other self, and those beautiful, beautiful blue eyes filled with fear. If the same words that had poured out of Maddox’s mouth left Evan’s lips.

And yet, he’d known he would have to do it. They were moving in together next month, as soon as Evan’s lease ended. Evan had given him everything, offered up every part of himself with no shame, no inhibition, no regrets. He wanted forever with this man. He wanted it so badly it was like a permanent ache in his heart. But how could he ask for forever when he hadn’t given Evan everything, every part of himself in return?

He’d resolved to tell Evan everything. He’d just been waiting for the right time, waiting for their schedules to line up for some time off so Evan would have time to process, waiting, waiting, waiting.

He’d waited too long.

He hit his radio call switch again, gently wrapping his arm around Evan’s shoulders. “Mayday, mayday, mayday, this is Firefighter Kinard, 217, does anyone copy? I am in need of immediate medevac for an impalement injury on the south side of the Stewart Street building collapse. Does anyone fucking copy?”

Static.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

“Gonna be…hours, babe,” Evan said, his voice breathy and hoarse now, another dribble of blood leaking from his lips. “Even if they’re…already digging.”

He was right.

The truth Tommy had been refusing to acknowledge smacked him full in the face, damn near stealing his breath, ice blooming up and down his spine. Even if, even if rescue operations were already in full swing, even if the 118 had any idea they were still alive, even if they’d pinpointed their location and were going full tilt trying to dig them out…it would be hours before help got here.

Evan didn’t have hours.

“Love you,” his boyfriend–his partner, his lover, his fucking everything--murmured, his grip on Tommy’s hand growing weaker. “Never…thought I’d…get this.”

“Shut up,” Tommy said, a growl slipping into his voice as his other self railed against the weakness in Evan’s voice. “Don’t you fucking dare start saying goodbye to me.”

Infuriatingly, Evan just tipped his head forward, resting in the crook of Tommy’s neck with a barely-there smile. “Tommy. I’ve got…like a foot of steel…through my guts and it doesn’t hurt. Just…keep holding…me.”

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Tommy was supposed to ease his boyfriend into it…into the idea that there were other people than humans in the world, that there was a whole world out there that Evan had never seen or interacted with. It was supposed to be slow and gentle, giving Evan plenty of time to process, to consider. And then…and then later…later, when they were sure they both wanted the same things, wanted the future that Tommy craved so badly…when Evan had had time to really think about it. To get to know Tommy’s other self, to become comfortable with it. To decide for himself if he wanted to step into this other world with Tommy. Become a part of it. Become like Tommy.

In his deepest, most private dreams and fantasies, he imagined them going away together somewhere–the mountains maybe, or the beach–where they could have privacy for a few days. He imagined candlelight and roses and music, every romantic cliche he could fathom. Imagined making love slow and sweet, worshiping Evan’s body before tenderly taking his wrist in hand. He’d change just a bit, let his other self out enough for his eyes to glow a rich gold and his teeth to lengthen to fangs. In his dreams, Evan’s breath always caught, his scent growing richer with lust and desire, loving every part of Tommy just the way Tommy loved every part of him. He’d stare into the eyes of the man he loved as he bit down, kiss the bloodied bite apologetically as Evan gasped and shuddered, hold him tightly as the change worked through his body, as Evan’s other self was born out of their love.

It was not supposed to happen like this.

“Evan…do you trust me?” he asked, a leaden sort of dread settling in his gut. This–this was unfair. It was so unfair. Evan was in no condition to make such a life-altering decision for himself. Christ, he didn’t even know what Tommy was. Had no idea that things like werewolves weren’t just stories and legends. And it was dangerous to try and change someone who was this severely injured. The bite was only ever given to people who were mentally prepared for the change, who were healthy and strong and ready.

But God help him, he couldn’t lose Evan. Not here. Not now. Not like this.

“...’course,” Evan sighed, and Tommy almost wanted to cry at the simple conviction in Evan’s voice.

Please, he prayed, not even sure who he was praying to. Please let it be enough.

Evan was strong. He was so strong, one of the strongest people Tommy had ever met, in every way possible. He had to be strong enough to survive what Tommy was about to do.

Because he would surely die if Tommy did nothing.

“I’m going to get you out of this, baby,” he said, carding his fingers through Evan’s hair, clumped with sweat, grime, and blood. He kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, his cheek, his bloodied lips. “You’re not dying here. I love you.”

Then he shifted, let his other self come to the surface enough for his teeth to lengthen, for his eyes to shine with unnatural light in a twisted mirror image of his treasured dreams.

It couldn’t be Evan’s wrist–too small a wound, too far from the heart. With the blood Evan had already lost, with shock setting in hard, the bite would have to take fast to have a chance. The throat. It had to be the throat.

“Trust me,” he said again, asking, pleading, begging as he tilted Evan’s head back, the weight of it already so loose and limp. Evan was slipping away from him.

“Huh…wha’?” Evan gasped, blood bubbling from his lips, frothy, scarlet bubbles, his breath rattling in his chest.

Tommy bit down.

Squeezed his eyes shut as the man he loved more than anything in the world screamed in pain, the sound of it weak and ragged, dying, Evan was dying and he bit down harder, pierced skin and muscle and felt more blood spill into his mouth.

Please let it be enough

He held Evan still when he convulsed in Tommy’s arms, desperately trying to keep him from dislodging any part of the steel bar through his abdomen. Not yet, not yet–Tommy would have to get it out of him when he started changing, but he couldn’t risk pulling it yet, Evan would bleed out in seconds.

He pulled his teeth from Evan’s neck with a ragged cry, pressed his forehead to Evan’s as his boyfriend shook and shuddered. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “It’s all right, it’ll be all right. I’ve got you, I love you, I’ve got you. Just hold on, baby, it’ll be fast.”

Evan’s mouth fell open, his breath coming in short, rattling pants. His fist closed weakly on Tommy’s shoulder, spasming as his whole body seized. Tommy searched Evan’s face frantically, looking for the first signs of the change taking place, waiting for the familiar gold light to start to eclipse the blue of his eyes, waiting for his breathing to become steadier, his pulse to become stronger. The full change would take hours, but the first effects should be enough, should start to heal Evan’s wounds. He just had to be ready to pull out the steel at just the right moment.

“I’m here, I’ve got you,” he promised over and over. “Don’t be scared, please don’t be scared…it’s the only way. I love you, I love you so much–I couldn’t let you die.” The words escaped him in a torrent, a flood, and all the while he scanned Evan’s face for the first signs of the change.

They didn’t come.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Ten.

Evan’s shudders grew weaker and slower, until he slumped against Tommy, his chest barely rising and falling, his pulse a weak, fluttering thing against Tommy’s fingers when he pressed them against Evan’s neck, slick with blood from the ragged bite. Before Tommy’s horrified eyes, the skin around the bite grew inflamed, streaks of scarlet spreading out from it, crawling up and down Evan’s neck to disappear under his turnouts.

“No…no, no, no, no, baby, don’t do this. Hold on, please hold on!”

It didn’t always work right away, Tommy told himself, clutching Evan to him, barely resisting the urge to shake him back to wakefulness. There was still time. Evan was so hurt, it was just taking longer. That had to be it. Had to be it. Sure, his mother had told him that sometimes the bite didn’t take, that a person just couldn’t handle it, that sometimes a bite could turn bad…but that couldn’t be happening. God, please that couldn’t be happening. Evan was strong enough. He had to be.

“Please, Evan. Please don’t do this. Come on, baby, come on! Stay with me–just a little longer, just hang on a little longer. Stay. Stay! Stay, damn it!”

He clawed at his radio again. “Mayday, mayday, FUCKING MAYDAY! Anyone! Anyone copy?!”

Static.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

[stnkiconverse]

you're going to do it, and you're getting away with it. you know that.

Ch.8 - Move.

⇠ Previous

Next ⇢

genre: psychological horror (in a way), creepypasta, supernatural thriller (in a way)

pairing: none. (yet;) )

WC: 2.5k

content warnings: echoes in the static contains scenes and themes that may be disturbing or triggering to some readers, including: graphic violence and murder, mental illness and psychological distress, suicide and self-harm, domestic abuse, cannibalism and strong language.

Reader discretion is advised.

Yes this has to do with Creepypastas. Yes, Creepypastas will pop up and make appearances, it's basically a reader insert into the Creepypasta word.

do not repost my work anywhere, I only post in Tumblr.

The flower shop should have closed an hour ago, but you linger, waiting for the moment when the streets are entirely empty, save for the two figures standing just outside. Their silhouettes are dark against the streetlights, unmoving as if they're statues waiting to come to life. You know they're watching you, have been watching you since Lisa left, and you can feel the anticipation building within you, your heart pounding in time with the seconds that tick by.

Your hand brushes the duffel bag under the counter. Inside, the axe rests, ready to be drawn, its cold steel offering a promise of the violence to come. But not yet.

There's a thrill in the waiting, in drawing them in, making them believe they have the upper hand. You allow yourself a small, calculated smile as you stand and head toward the door, making sure to keep your eyes on them-unblinking, so they don't vanish like mirages.

You open the door slowly, the creak of the hinges loud in the still ni ght air.

You lean against the doorframe, your smile widening as you catch their attention. "Need anything? Why don't you come in?" you say, your voice dripping with a saccharine sweetness that barely conceals the malice beneath.

They exchange a glance, something dark and knowing passing between them before they step inside. Jeff, with his grotesque, carved smile, and Toby, with that unsettling gash on his cheek, walk in as if they belong here, as if this were their domain. You close the door behind them, the soft click of the lock sealing you in together.

The shop is dark, the dim lights casting long shadows across the walls. It's quiet, too quiet, but it's the kind of silence that hums with potential energy, ready to explode at any moment. You walk back to the counter, each step deliberate, your pulse quickening with every inch that brings you closer to the axe hidden just out of sight. You lean casually against the counter, your smile now a thin line of anticipation.

"So what was it?" you ask, voice low and taunting. "Frank? Mary? The cute little couple? Tell me, which one caught your attention?"

Jeff leans back against the wall, his smile widening into something obscene, something that belongs more in a nightmare than reality.

"We've been watching you for a while," he says, his voice a deep, scratchy, gravelly rumble. "You've got a real knack for this sort of thing. But Frank... he was fun."

Toby, standing just a step behind him, stutters slightly as he speaks, his voice dripping with mockery. "Y-you really p-put on a show with that one. K-kinda hot, actually."

Your fingers tighten around the handle of the axe inside the duffel bag, your patience wearing thin. The time for games is over. You slowly unzip the bag, the sound almost lost in the tension-filled silence. But they notice. Jeff's grin only widens, sensing the shift in the air.

"So, you're fans? Admirers? Or just creeps who get off on watching?" you ask, your tone hardening as the playful edge disappears.

Jeff's laugh is rough, almost manic, filling the small space with its grating sound. "Creeps? Fuck yeah, maybe. But we're not the ones leaving corpses with pretty little flowers stuck to them, are we? There's something about a girl with an axe that just... does it for me."

"You've got spirit, b-but let's see if you've got the guts," Toby adds, his eyes raking over you with a twisted sort of admiration. "I like a girl w-who knows how to use an axe."

You've heard enough. Your hand tightens around the axe's handle, and with a swift, powerful motion, you pull it free and swing at Jeff. The blade slices through the air with deadly precision, aimed right for his head. But Jeff moves faster than you expect, dodging the blow with a speed that sends the axe slamming into the wooden wall behind him, splinters flying everywhere.

"Feisty!" Jeff growls, clearly enjoying the thrill of the fight. "You know, I like it when they fight back."

Without hesitation, you yank the axe free, ready to strike again, but they're already on you. Jeff and Toby move like shadows, their movements almost too fast to follow as they slip past your attacks, dodging each swing, each stab, with ease. It's infuriating, the way they toy with you, their grins never wavering.

Your breath comes in sharp bursts, your frustration mounting with every missed strike. You're good—no, you're great-but they're better. Still, you refuse to back down. You grab the sharp scissors from the counter, your grip tightening as you change tactics. When Jeff gets too close, you lash out, the blade slicing through his arm. Blood spatters, but it only seems to excite him more.

"Now we're getting somewhere,"

Jeff laughs, his voice edged with manic glee. "If you wanted to get close, sweetheart, you could've just asked."

Without missing a beat, you grab his wounded arm, yanking him close and driving the scissors into his stomach.

The blade sinks deep, and for a moment, you see the flash of pain in his eyes. But it's fleeting, replaced almost immediately by that maddening grin.

"Is that all you've got?" Jeff rasps, blood dribbling from his mouth.

"You're gonna have to do better than that."

You shove him back, watching him stumble, but before you can capitalize on the moment, Toby charges at you, relentless. You barely manage to grab a nearby vase and hurl it at his face. The vase shatters against his cheek, sending shards of glass flying. Toby staggers, momentarily disoriented, but the grin on his face only widens.

"Nice shot," Toby sneers, wiping the blood from his face with a wicked smirk. "B-but you'll have to try harder than that, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, the back door creaks open.

"Y/N? You okay? Sorry, I just forgot my pho-" Lisa's voice cuts through the chaos like a knife.

You freeze. The sight of Lisa standing in the doorway, her expression shifting from concern to shock, sends a jolt of something-fear, anger, you're not sure-through you. But it's short-lived. Instinct takes over, you drop the pair of scissors and reach for the axe.

In one swift, brutal motion, you turn and swing the axe. The blade connects with Lisa's forehead, splitting her skull with a sickening crack. Blood sprays, and her body crumples to the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment, the world goes silent.

The weight of what you've just done hits you like a freight train, but you can't afford to dwell on it. There are bigger problems now-two of them, in fact.

With a growl of frustration, you spin back around, adrenaline surging. You throw the axe at Jeff, who's grinning like a madman, but Toby shoves him out of the way just in time. The axe slams into the wall again, and you realize, with cold clarity, that you're outmatched.

Jeff and Toby close in, their movements calculated, confident.

You duck behind the counter, your mind racing. You can't afford to lose control. As you crouch, your hand brushes against the sharp scissors you used earlier. Grabbing them, you prepare yourself, refusing to let fear take over.

Just as Toby reaches over the counter, you spring up, slashing at him. The blade cuts across his cheek, the same one already marred by the vase shards. Blood trickles down, but his grin doesn't waver.

"You're making this fun," Jeff hisses, his voice a mix of pain and exhilaration. "But you're outnumbered, sweetheart."

Jeff moves faster than you can react, swiping the axe from the wall. He wields it with a sinister ease, his manic grin never fading.

You refuse to back down. As he closes in, you slash at him with the scissors, managing to land a deep cut on his other arm. He winces but doesn't stop, his eyes gleaming with twisted enjoyment.

With the odds stacked against you, your mind races for a way out. You grab the nearest object—another heavy flower vase, a much bigger one —and hurl it at Toby's head. The vase shatters on impact, sending him reeling backward, giving you the opening you need, Jeff drops the axe and you grab it.

Before they can recover, you bolt for the back door, your axe still in hand.

You don't look back as you disappear into the night, taking a winding, familiar path home where no one can see you.

The adrenaline pulses through your veins, making your limbs feel both weightless and leaden as you make your way through the shadows. The path is quiet, secluded, and you're thankful for it. By the time you reach your door, you're exhausted, every muscle screaming for rest.

You drop your axe by the door and stumble into your bed, not bothering to remove your shoes. The moment your head hits the pillow, you're out, sleep claiming you almost immediately.

—————————————————————————

When you wake, sunlight is already filtering through the blinds, harsh and unforgiving. Every muscle in your body aches from the fight, but there's a sick satisfaction deep in your chest. You survived.

You reach for the remote, turning on the TV as you sit up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. The local news flickers to life, the anchor's monotonous voice droning on until the words "Local Flower Shop Burned Down Overnight" make your heart skip a beat.

The screen shows the smoldering remains of the shop, firefighters still working to put out the last of the flames. You feel a cold chill run down your spine, but it's quickly replaced by a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Jeff and Toby had destroyed the evidence, ensuring that no one would ever know what happened there last night. But it also means one thing: the police are going to be all over this.

You know you have to leave Greenville. The police are already suspicious of you, and with the shop destroyed and Lisa dead, it won't take them long to connect the dots.

You have to disappear, and you have to do it now.

But not without one last act. One final spree to leave your mark on this town forever.

You stand in front of the mirror, staring at your reflection. You look like hell- dark circles under your eyes, your skin now pale and slick with sweat. But there's a fire in your eyes, a hunger that burns hotter than ever.

You can't leave Greenville without one final act of defiance. One last spree that will haunt this town long after you're gone.

You pack your weapons-your axe, a few knives, and whatever else you can find. You know exactly who your targets will be. The people who have wronged you, who have looked down on you, who have made your life hell.

You wait until night.

Your first stop is close to home- a neighbor who has always been a thorn in your side. They're outside, tending to their garden, completely unaware of the danger lurking just behind the fence. You wait, your breath steady, your grip on the axe firm. When the moment is right, you strike. The blade slices through the air, connecting with flesh and bone.

The neighbor's body crumples to the ground, lifeless. You drop a small petal right next to your now deceased neighbor.

You don't linger. You move quickly, efficiently, leaving the body behind as you make your way to your next target—a former employer. You slip into the building unnoticed, your footsteps silent on the tile floor. The boss is working late, just as you'd expected. He doesn't even see you coming. The axe slams into his neck with ease, his body slumping over the desk in front of him. You lean in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whisper, "This is for everything you ever did to me."

You leave a single flower petal on his desk, a final message to anyone who finds him—a petal from a red spider lily, the symbol of a final goodbye.

Your spree continues, each kill more brutal than the last. A random stranger on the street, caught off guard by the blade of your axe. A police officer, targeted specifically to send a message.

With each kill, you leave behind a calling card—a petal from the red spider lily, each one a cold, silent farewell.

As the night wears on, the bodies pile up. The town is in chaos, sirens blaring in the distance as the police scramble to contain the madness.

But you're always one step ahead, moving through the shadows with lethal precision.

Your final target is someone who has always been just out of reach—a high-ranking official, someone who has the power to ruin lives with a single decision. You've been planning this one for a while, waiting for the perfect moment. And now it has arrived.

You approach his house under the cover of darkness, your heart pounding with anticipation. The windows are dark, the street quiet.

Perfect.

You slip inside, moving through the house like a ghost. Your target is asleep in his bed, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the door. You stand over him for a moment, savoring the power you hold in your hands. Then, with a swift, brutal motion, you bring the axe down.

The blade connects with a sickening thud, blood spraying across the room. Your target doesn't even have time to scream.

You stand there for a moment, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

The room is silent, save for the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. You look down at the body, at the blood pooling around it, and feel a sense of satisfaction settle over you.

This is it. The final goodbye.

You reach into your pocket and pull out a single red spider lily petal. You place it on the pillow next to your target's head, a final message to the town you're leaving behind.

You don't look back as you leave the house, the darkness swallowing you whole. You have one final task before you can disappear for good.

You arrive in Tuscaloosa under the cover of darkness, just as you had planned. Two duffel bags propped on your shoulder, one with your axe and a couple knives, and the other with as many clothes you could fit in it.

You have a new place waiting for you, a small, nondescript apartment on the outskirts of town. It isn't much, but it's perfect for laying low. Plus, it’s near the woods. Something you’ve been planning to explore since you rented the apartment. 

As you unpack your things, you can't shake the feeling of satisfaction that lingers in your chest. You've done it.

You've left your mark on Greenville, and now you're free to start over.

But even as you settle into your new life, you can't stop thinking about the thrill of the kill. The way it made you feel alive, invincible. You know it won't be long before the hunger returns, before you're driven to kill again.

But for now, you'll lay low, bide your time, and wait for the perfect moment. And when it comes, you'll be ready.

Tuscaloosa looks like the perfect place to wreak havoc in.

FUCK COLLEGE😡

i don’t like this chapter lol 

Who’s gonna tell her who lives in the woods of Tuscaloosa??? 👀

Once you’re done reading this, go vote on this!! It is VITAL for the story, pinky promise.

🏷️: @mimmickmouse @stranger-of-the-internet @akashic06072007 @hey-an-original-url

[sparrow-flight]

Operation STATIC SHOCK

[4413 words, 23 minutes]

This letter was written in a sketchbook stored in Agent HROTHGAR’s locker. It is written in a blend of Ingush and Russian.

Operation STATIC SHOCK 13 FEB 2017

First operation. Helvetia Branch 4 headquarters in Rio, Brazil. Amaia is late, and Melydice immediately jumps on the opportunity to tell it’s a good habit to be on time. What a great start. I am not looking forward to her talkative presence.

Arquette tells us about the case. A static worm came out of a man. Two people have been bit. No one knows how it happened or what it means, but he has an idea: it’s because of a drug people have been trying to send out. He doesn’t know where it’s from. I guess that’s our job now.

He drops a duffel on the table: 1 pistol for each of us. He empties the bag and leaves as Fisher enters, who mutters about missing the meeting. Again, Melydice scolds him. Even though we flew here on the same plane, he apparently had another meeting before this one.

Arquette immediately starts walking out. Fisher chases after him and we follow. We go outside to see the van we’ll be using: a Benz sprinter. The kind I’ll tell the kids to avoid. We use it to go to the crime scene, an apartment. Arquette starts it. Fisher sits in shotgun, opens a laptop, and we go in. God, it was really fucking hot in there. But if I took our uniform jacket off, Arquette will scold me. Or worse, Melydice.

Speaking of Melydice, she mentions logistical issues with another agent to Arquette. I thought it was about Molly, who was supposed to be here. But apparently she wasn’t here because of food poisoning (she ate seafood for her birthday). Anyway, Arquette tells Melydice to leave the files on his desk. I don’t think the rest of us were supposed to hear that, because he looks back at us after saying that while driving. Fisher takes over the wheel while that happens.

We’re still on the way to the apartment. I’ll continue writing after we investigate.

---

We arrive. The three junkies and the five cops are there. Arquette parks and tells us to get out. He and Fisher are only here to babysit (they have another task to do). So I go talk to the police and the junkies immediately. I don’t want to spend more time here than necessary. I ask them what happened. One of them wonders if they’re allowed to tell us. I don’t know what to do, so I look at our babysitters. Arquette mouths, “Lie”.

This is going terribly already.

Melydice does the talking again. She says we’re back up. Obviously they don’t know who we are, who called us in, and know none of us are locals. But I guess they’re shaken enough to let it slip. He tells us about the call to the apartment. A worm came out of someone’s chest like the “conjuring” (I don’t know what that is). 

After that, Melydice takes charge of the group. She suggests searching the apartment and investigating wounds. Yona checks the junkie’s and officer’s wound: swollen, developed new tissue (Metasised? Metastasized? I don’t know what that is), and static-like. The junkie’s scar is worse than the officer’s. Melydice then says to split the group: two to talk to junkies (Tatsu, Melydice), three to search the apartment (Amaia, Yona, me).

The three of us see the body the worm tore through. Yona inspects the body. She says its nerve channels are scrambled, repurposed by alien signals. The pineal gland also grew a radar organ that broadcasted signals. I don’t understand what any of that means, but it doesn’t sound good.

I use the UV light on my gun to look for the drugs. They weren’t good at hiding them. It’s just in the cupboard: small vials of glowing pink liquid. I give it to Yona. She asks me what drug I think it is. I don’t know why.

Amaia figures out the drug’s taken with a syringe, so I suggest looking for them. I help Yona with my UV light. She finds one syringe easily with equipment to test drug purity. I continue shining normal light on her. Yona reads the test results and says the drug is nootropic (heightens senses). Fisher was right. She is useful.

Then, I search the bag the needle came from. It’s filled with university textbooks and notebooks. A student’s. I take the bag. Amaia checks the body and finds a wallet. His name was Ted, 22. He was just three years older than Hrodwyn. Poor kid.

I check for any signs of other people being here, and then we leave to join Melydice and Tatsu.

Outside, they tell us about their talk with the junkies (Vito, Mike). Vito thinks he needs to go to a hospital. Melydice says he will, after answering her questions. So he does. The flat belonged to Ted. Vito and Mike were there only for a hit. Neither are the suppliers. This was Ted’s third time taking the drug. It’s the first for Vito and Mike.

Vito said the drug was called “Pink”, or “Fuzz”. It lets you see everything, like “mega LSD”. It lets you see everything, and everything sees you. At the crime scene after taking the drug, Ted opened his mouth. Static came out, and then the worm came out and bit Vito.

Melydice asks where Ted got the drug from. He got it at a comic store. He used a sign up sheet for a game room (Magi Nation, Jyhad, some dead game), asked for 30 minutes, and the dealers showed up. Vito and Mike have never gone to the store.

Tatsu gets his turn and asks Vito how he and Mike knew Ted and the drugs (Ted was their university friend). And then he tells him how things aren’t so fun with drugs involved. Vito tells him to fuck off. Even then, Tatsu tries to medicate Vito’s wound, even though he has no idea what to do with it. What a strange man.

Melydice reconfirms if it was Vito and Mike’s first time. Vito confirms. He says they saw other worlds with the drug and refuse to take it again. He also tells us there are other users besides the three of them. They all know to sign up for the dead game.

By the way, while this was happening, Vito keeps asking Melydice to go to a hospital and to see a doctor. And each time, Melydice tells him she’ll let him only after he answers her questions. It’s good that she’s efficient. That’ll get me home sooner. But I remember he’s just a kid and feel a bit bad for him. In the end, Yona was the one who treated Vito.

Melydice starts questioning the bitten officer. She asks if it was a wild animal report. The officer says yes. And then Melydice insists that it was a wild animal he saw. The officer describes the same thing as the one before and whenever he says monster, Melydice talks over him to say wild animal. I don’t know how convincing she thinks she is…

This is when an officer approaches Arquette and Fisher to ask them questions. So I walk between them, tell Arquette we’re done and we can leave. But the officer still tries asking me who we are. I tell him it’s not his business. He says it is. I don’t know what to say. But Melydice likes to talk and she’s good at talking to people. So I point at Melydice. Ask her. Not me.

That worked. He goes to her. As she says we’re private investigators working under an NDA for a private health firm, I see her slip her wallet out, and she makes sure the officer sees it. I shouldn’t be surprised she’s not above that. And I figure I should be there for extra support, unfortunately, if things go dirty.

I don’t really follow what she says, but standing there seemed to work. The officer asks us to “show credentials” but instead, brings us aside and opens his hand, expecting money. I am not spending a single cent for the job. So it’s good that Melydice is. The officer takes her money.

At this point, it has been 1 hour and 20 minutes. Cops have been here 15 minutes: they’ve been here for 1h and 45 minutes total. In that time, Vito’s wound went from the fresh state of the officer’s to the worse state it is in now. We don’t have much time.

We agree on a plan: Arquette and Fisher will drive the victims to a hospital and will drop us off at Stoneburner Comics (we got the address from one of the junkies). Fisher also changes into his suit, for some reason. It’s a 15 minute drive to the comic store. We just arrived, so I’ll continue writing later.

---

The comic store is empty, except for some people. The sign up sheet at the front is easy to find. 20 people have signed up for dead games. 20 people have signed up for death.

Melydice takes a picture of the list and writes down Yona’s name. Hm. The store owner sees us and reaches for his phone. I thought he was onto us. So I walk over and put his phone down. Just in case. I say we’re only here for a good time. He doesn’t say anything. 

I can’t fucking believe what I’m about to do. You would never let me live this down. 

I sling my arm over Melydice’s shoulder to convince him that we’re only here for a good time with friends. That was all for fucking nothing, because he wasn’t convinced. So I try to ask who he was calling, but he’s too scared to answer! Why is he so scared? I don’t understand. I’m trying very hard to be nice, especially with my arm around fucking Melydice. I’m sure you’d agree. Right?

Melydice does calm him down in the end, and the owner says that he was going to call the dealers… until I put the phone down. God. What a sick joke. How was I supposed to know?? He could’ve just told me. At least Melydice has talked sense into the owner and I can leave. But Melydice holds the back of my jacket so I can’t. Bastard. At least I can write all this down before the dealers get here.

---

20 minutes later, Arquette calls Melydice from the hospital. He’s posing as a doctor and says the kids’ wounds are growing. Since Melydice has the information on the wounds and drugs, he asks her for help. Melydice calls Yona outside for her to relay what she knows to Henri. She thinks amputation is not a good idea, but remembers the radar organ in the pineal gland. In the living victims, the radar may be sending or receiving signals. She suggests surgery to remove it. Arquette tells Fisher to find out if there is a basement: if there is, put the victims there. If that doesn’t work, trepanation. He speaks French and hangs up.

Then the dealers arrive, and we go into a game room. The dealers are 2 people. First: 7’ man, shit posture, bald patch on neck. He doesn’t have hair. Instead, it’s… long, thin cattails poking out of his head? Second: 5’ woman, all muscle, looks very sunburnt except for the glyph on her head. Strangely, I think I recognise it. Maybe from a book I’ve seen. It’s from another world, so she’s definitely not from this place. Maybe from this planet, but not of this… realm. Maybe you’d known more about it, Lin. Ah, but if you were here, I wouldn’t bring you into this mess.

The man is the one who talks. He asks how many we want. Melydice asks how many they have. The man opens his bag, showing 20 vials. Tatsu asks if they’re the only suppliers, and the man says they are.

I ask how much it is. It’s 4000 Real. God. I’m not spending that much for this job, and I’m especially NOT spending that much for drugs! I say it’s too expensive and leave. The rest follow. The dealers are upset and stare at us, but I don’t care. All I need to do is know their car. I see it, write down the licence plate in this sketchbook, and draw the symbol on the woman’s head. Melydice calls Fisher to pick us up.

When Arquette and Fisher arrive, I show them my sketchbook. Fisher goes to his computer and gets the car’s information. It includes the owner's apartment address. We leave immediately.

Fisher drives fast. Very fast. Arquette quickly gives our breaching order. Tatsu goes in first with his sword (why is he using a sword??). I’m next to throw a flashbang to cover him. Melydice gets the shotgun and goes next. Amaia and Yona are door guards.

We arrive. As Fisher and Arquette wait at separate exits, we don our kevlar vests and scopes and storm up to the fourth floor. Tatsu kicks down the door, and the skull on the table screams like a death whistle.

My gut tightens. Melydice kicks the skull. It shatters and stops screaming. The dealers aren’t here but others will hear it. We need to move fast.

Messy room. Takeout boxes everywhere. There’s a couch with a broken frame. Something heavy broke it, maybe. A pile of laundry behind it. I smell it before seeing it. Oily. Disgusting. There’s also a blue-grey metal gong on the wall. It doesn’t have any symbols on it.

Rooms: living room, bedroom, bathroom, kitchen. Amaia and Yona stand guard. Melydice checks the bedroom. I cover her. There’s a wardrobe and closet. The bed… is a mess. Medication, handguns, blood and… semen samples, candy, and coloured lamps shaped like a round cartoon cat. Very cute. Hygd might like it. Melydice checks under the bed. There’s nothing. I open one of the candies. Normal candy. I check the sample labels. Only has names and words ‘blood’ or ‘semen’. 

Melydice checks the closet. I watch her back. No clothes. But there’s a body. McDonalds cashier. Opened up. Missing organs. Walls smeared with no-scent incense. No wonder there’s no smell. But I can imagine it. He was just a kid. Really still a kid. He was just Merethel’s age. 17 years old.

Melydice asks Yona to inspect the body while calling her “sweetie”... Meanwhile, I shine UV light on the corpse, the closet (just smears), and the rest of the room. There’s nothing much. Melydice checks the wardrobe. It’s designed to suspend a person (there’s a harness dangling from the top).

Melydice checks on Yona and asks if something is wrong, as if there’s nothing wrong with a teenager being ripped apart. Yona says his chest was crudely opened and it is empty. Heart, lungs, stomach, liver, all gone. Though his pancreas is still there. There are signs of struggle: he was serrated open while alive. I’ve seen all sorts of things before. You know that, Lin. But this… now that the job’s done, my mind keeps going back to Merethel.

Anyway, Melydice thanks her. The kid has no identification on him, so I take a picture of his face and the room. I wonder if his parents know. They should.

Tatsu checks the kitchen: cabinets, oven, a fridge. He opens the fridge. There are sheets and sheets of fatty skin marinating in plastic bags, their colours changing to the light. The oven has wooden boxes. The cabinet has lighters, incense, crystal necklaces. Tatsu goes back to the boxes to open them, and there’s a shit ton of Pink.

In the bedroom, I check for fingerprints on the items on the bed again with my UV light. I ask Yona to record the fingerprints, and we both gather the rest of the evidence. Yona categorises them to bag them. For the 5 handguns, I turn on the safety, unload them, keep one magazine on me and hand one to Yona. She thanks me. I distribute the other magazines to the other agents. Tatsu joins us to help.

Amaia suddenly locks the door and puts a chair under the handle. We stare at her. She says she hears the dealers’ voices echoing up the stairwell. They’re coming. There’s no key. The dealers have it on them. 

I quickly check the bathroom. There are two sets of helmets and “shoulder pads” (I searched it up later: gorget). On the shower curtains are glyphs. They look like computer writing. I tell the other agents. Melydice and Tatsu checks.

Melydice reads the glyphs:

WHEN THE CURTAIN IS DRAWN FROM ONE SIDE TO THE OTHER, THE GATE OPENS.

Tatsu reads more:

SHOULD YOU OPEN IT, THE AIR WILL FREEZE. IT WILL LEAD TO THE FEATURELESS PLANE AND THE MONITOR WILL CARRY YOU TO THE BORDERWORLD. THE WHIPLASH IS FATAL WITHOUT NECK PROTECTION.

Tatsu also tells us about the Pink in the oven. But there’s no time to do anything about it now! We put our backs to the wall: Melydice to one side of the door, Tatsu to the other. We hear them coming, talking in a strange language. Amaia hears the woman fiddle with the keys and twist it. The man says something in a low tone. They speak in hushed voices.

And then the man speaks in English. He stutters. “What-what-what do-do you-you-you want?”

Surprisingly, he seems… genuine. Open to talk. And nervous. Good. I ask if he wants to live. Silence. Then, from the other side of the door, after whispering with the woman, the man says the gong blocks out sound from the room. If we want to negotiate, we open the door.

Melydice removes the chair from the doorknob and opens the door. She tells them to put their hands on their heads and walk in. The outer layer of the woman’s skin looks like it’s made of stone, while the man’s skin is peeling off. Tatsu notices the skin looks like the one in the fridge.

When they see our guns, the man, who’s 2 feet taller than the woman, tries to hide behind her. He’s trembling. Melydice says there’s nothing to be scared of if they follow our instructions. The man grips the woman’s shoulders. She shrugs them off. Tries to. Says she’ll put her hands up because the man’s too much of a bitch to.

We keep the guns on them. Melydice keeps threatening them. The woman says not to do anything funny and threatens us with two stone eggs in her hands…

I notice the man eyes the bathroom. I follow his gaze and look back at him with a raised eyebrow. The woman says to not look at him, to look at her, and to ask her questions. 

Amaia closes the door. Melydice asks where they get the drugs from. The woman asks why, saying we probably already have some. But we don’t care about that. We want to know where they’re from. The woman says ‘Mechanics’.

Melydice asks her to elaborate, but the woman instead comments about how calm we are, as if we’ve seen these things before. (No idea what they’re talking about, but alright.) She explains they’re not from this world, which is obvious at this point. Then she explains where they get the drug from. Pink is fuel they get from mechanics of their world that’s used to fix communication devices. They sell it here because it’s cheap back home. They come here, take human materials (the ones on the bed), and sell them back at their home.

I ask about the skin in the fridge. They’re disguises to look like humans. It’s what the man wears, but it doesn’t look good on him. He’s too stressed for it to work. I ask about the kid in the closet. Organ trafficking. Some things still stay the same across worlds, huh?

I also ask what the rock eggs do. She asks if we want to find out. Tatsu and I say no. As Melydice reaches to her pocket, the woman’s hands tighten around the eggs. But all Melydice wants to do is to call Arquette.

Some time later, we hear his voice: “Room service.” Amaia opens the door. Arquette and Fisher enter. Fisher’s two fists are held in front of him and when the door closes, a flaming sword appears in his hands. You would’ve loved seeing that. The sword, I mean. It sounds like the story about the sword in the stone you tell me about. The one with Merlin, right?

Arquete gets more information out of the drug dealers. They’re from a city called the Borderworld, made by extinct aliens. It’s filled with refugees from other universes. Traffickers, sorcerers, slavers, awful people. Also slaves. These two go between both worlds through gates like the bathroom, trying to keep low because both worlds hate them. So they do a bad job in both worlds. Money’s tight. They have a hard time keeping it. Besides Pink, they also sell machetes (made out of meteoric iron, intricately engraved, very useful for combat), protective equipment, necklaces (good for defence, guns will be useless with them).

And then, instead of killing them or arresting them, Arquette decides to negotiate with them for some goddamn reason. If they stop selling drugs and stop killing people, Helvetia will keep them alive as payment for their goods. He continues to threaten the woman, cornering her, and intimidates her into dropping the stone eggs, the snake. She complies. Nothing happens.

Arquette tells Melydice to bag the eggs as evidence and to take them away. We can handle the aliens as we please. As we do so, Melydice tells them they’re lucky we were told not to kill them. The woman also spits out an amulet and her skin turns to normal.

I hold Fisher back. Since he’s the computer guy I thought he could, I don’t know, track the kid’s face and find his parents. And I don’t need to use English to talk to him. He says he’ll take care of it. No parent wouldn’t want to know their kid has been torn up like that. It’ll be a closed casket funeral, and he’ll find the kid’s parents.

We’re the last to leave. Fisher tells me that even if it doesn’t look like it, this was a job well done. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it. It doesn’t feel like anything.

Everyone gets in the van. The woman and man are handcuffed. Arquette fixes the disguise on the man, looks through the evidence bags, and keeps one of the cat lamps. I’m glad I kept one in my bag. Hygd’s going to love it. I hope she will. He also talks about keeping one of the lighters even though Fisher says Arquette doesn’t smoke anymore.

Arquette tells the prisoners that they’ll be kept in a special cell where Melydice can visit them. Melydice interrupts, saying he's making another mistake by keeping them. Arqutte says it’s better to keep them out of others’ hands, even though there are other ways of doing that. The prisoners also have weapons and defences that are good for Helvetia. Melydice leans back into her seat: “Don’t say I didn't warn you, Mr. Arquette.” Arquette trusts her to take care of him when he gets over his head.

I’m writing part of this as we drive back to headquarters. I also take another cat lamp: something for Molly’s birthday. She’s still young. She might like it. Yona takes two of them. Tatsu and Amaia take incense.

We arrive at headquarters. Fucking Arquette had the same idea as me and gave his cat lamp to Molly! Melydice tells her to throw it away because it’s “touched by devils”. I think it’s more important for her to know they were left next to blood and semen samples. I give my second cat lamp to Molly since I don’t know what to do with a spare. I tell her to not listen to Melydice, but that she may want to wash her hands because of the blood and semen samples. I clarify that the samples weren’t on the bed. They were in the tubes. So the lamps are at least that clean.

Arquette and Fisher talk to each other in French as we follow them into an office. Arquette says we did good. And the bastard reveals he made us wear the uniforms to make the mission harder for us! He wants us to make sure we have the right clothes with the right situation. Obviously we already know that. A fucking six year old would know that!

He also reveals the police were under his pay. Apparently, when the cops at the apartment called their office, it also went to Helvetia. This won’t always be the case for our operations, though. Then he talks about the other Helvetia branches (we’re in the South American one). The North American branch was killed off. A prisoner from there either escaped or was broken out. The African branch killed themselves. The Asian branch is dying out. There’s only Europe, Antarctica, South America, and Australia left. Melydice raises an eyebrow at Arquette. I can hear her say “I told you so”.

We’ll get a message in late April to get our clearances, whatever that means. We’re also supposed to get “mandated therapy sessions” as well. I also don’t understand what that means, but I don’t care either. Because of the list of 20 we gathered, we got paid well. Very well. And most importantly, I can finally go home.

My flight home isn’t until tomorrow, so I’m writing this from my hotel room while lying on my bed. To be honest, I don’t know why I wrote this. I thought this would’ve been like those books you like to read. But even if you were here and I was stuck in Helvetia, I would never show this to you. It’s sick. And I’ll get killed for that, too.

I guess I can’t help it. Maybe in another world where all this was just make-believe, you would’ve liked reading these. And it’s always nice to write to you. It’s like you’re still here, listening to me. And I would really like you to be here right now.

---

Amaia, Melydice, Tatsu, and Yona belong to and were played by other @daruqin, @katastrofish, @mintrhine, and @inkysatell respectively. Arquette and Fisher belong to and were played by our game master @theroyalzealot.

This campaign session was based on the scenario "The Signal Smugglers" by mellonbread.

About the Flight | List of Stories

[headphonesbones]

Shattered dream sans x a reader who works for nightmare- [idk if this is what you mean by like you know writing reqs-]

Cas and Null decided to write this together! Hope you enjoy <3

-----

Alright, this is probably gonna get real complicated REAL FAST

Man is crazy (obvi)

But he’s thankfully (or maybe not thankfully) crazy for you

Uhhh… good luck with that…

So man, this can go a few ways… None of which are probably good lol

Let’s say you’re close to Nightmare before stuff hits the fan. Well, as close as you can get to him…

He’s kinda emotionally constipated, but we love him (kinda)

Nightmare, if he actually gives a damn about you, probably would be… let’s just say “reluctant” to have you around his newly corrupted brother.

He trusted him even less now tbh

BUT

I mean, at least he’s not suspiciously nice anymore??? /j

So, man’s crazy x2 so both of them are kinda trying to manipulate you in order to “see their side”

Basically, they’re fighting over you. One as a romantic interest and the other as platonic… probably.

But basically, neither are exactly “right”

You were doing a pretty good job at trying to stay away from Shattered!Dream until, one day, he managed to corner you when you were really sleepy

“Oh, poor thing. Aren’t you tired of mercilessly working for that…. Imbecile brother of mine? Come here, rest your head.” Shattered cooed at you from the other end of the room, watching you stumble your way into your house after a particularly rough mission. How did he even get in here? You were too tired to care. You shuffled over to him and slumped down at his feet, resting your head in his lap. He places his hand on your head, tenderly stroking your hair and murmuring sweet nothings. 

So naturally, you were like “whaT THE FU-”

Nah, you totally didn’t suspect anything. I mean, how different could Shattered!Dream be from his old self? (very different, as you’d come to find out)

You hadn’t slept in literal days, you’d just come back from one of Nightmare’s missions, things got messy in that mission, “your husband is dead, we found him with no head” type shenanigans. 

(… the frick did I just say???? ADHD brain is wack as frick, don’t do vegetables, kids)

Your brain was confused and static-y (is that a neurodivergent thing???) and you were just done by that point

You were kinda not too trusting of him, buuuuut… his lap was comfortable, what else can I say, Your Honor?

(I was just in a silly goofy kinda mood, so I fell asleep on my mortal enemy’s lap)

His voice was relaxing, his lap cozy, the mood just right, and you were exhausted beyond belief

So what did you do?

You fell asleep

Anyways

I have no idea if any of this is coherent

When you woke up (like 16 hours later, thanks to exhaustion) you found that you were in your bed.

You, not knowing wtf just happened, are confused, of course.

Was that all a Dream? Well, Dream was involved but NO, IT WAS NOT A DREAM

HIT THE PANIC BUTTON

You have gay panic for a bit until you see the note on your bedside table

He called you mi cielito in the letter.

Mi cielito?? Depending on if you know Spanish, you may be a little confused. Means “my little sky”... what can I say, he’s a sucker for Moon, Sun, Stars, Sky, etc. motifs

Same

Alright, so…

Thankfully, unlike Nightmare, he’s probably not gonna leave dead birds outside of your doorstep

(probably)

You know, for someone that doesn’t really like cats (we all know what I’m talking about), Nightmare sure does act like one… Neko! Nightmare coming up? (I know the word “neko” just dealt +40 psychic damage to one of you out there)

----- 

Alright, I didn’t really answer your request but I am PLANNING on making this a smol series. So like… a few parts? I just really want to get this out! :]

Cas was sorta working off of first caffeine in week, combined with not sleeping in over 24 hours.

Hope you enjoyed! Please, feel free to send as many requests as you want!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Things We Can't Change

Epilogue for Sweet Treats AU: by character | chronological | epilogues

Warnings: these drabbles will include dark elements such as noncon, control, intimidation, and other stuff that may not be specified. Take this as you chance to scroll by.

Note: 👋

Please let me know what you think <3

🍯🍯🍯

You swirl the whisk around, wrist keeping a sharp and tenuous rotation as you hold the bowl steady. The rhythmic ting of the metal against the glass fills the kitchen and the silence of the large house. The place is static and surreal, just like the rest of your life. Ever since…

Don’t think. You won’t be alone tonight. Isn’t that something to look forward to? Is there anything left in this world you can be happy for? Maybe if you could feel anything but the flatline.

“My brother is not very happy,” Loki’s voice brings your head up as he strides coolly, “something about that little mouse and her attitude.”

“Oh…” you look back down, focusing on the batter’s consistency. Almost there. The burning in your tendons is almost enjoyable. To feel anything but dread. “Are they not coming then?”

“I never said that, darling,” Loki stops at the end of the marble island and rests his hand atop it

“Good, good,” you utter, “wouldn’t want this to go to waste.”

“Please, it will. No doubt my brother will leave crumbs littered across the floor like the animal he is.”

You look at him again and give a tight-lipped smile. He does this, makes you and offer but makes it feel like a favour asked. Was it not his suggestion to have Muffing come keep you company? Because he said it would cheer you up. That it would help you forget.

How could you forget what he did? You narrow your eyes and stare at him. Your wrist moves out of instinct and a loud clink keeps you from a full-blown glare. You look down. Fuck.

“Gosh,” you stop and drop the whisk to lean against the brim, “looks like I ruined them myself.” 

You sniff and turn away. You go to the other counter and pull close the tray of eggs. Start over. That’s the good part about baking, you can always try again. 

You separate the yolk into one bowl and the whites another. You flinch and break through the yellow with the shell as Loki snakes his arms around you from behind. You cringe as your whites are stained with the viscous slime. You suppress your disappointment and lower the shell as he nuzzles your neck.

“It is rather amusing to think of how you midgardians can find such joy in menial tasks,” he purrs, “on Asgard, we have servants who bake our bread.”

“Mmm,” you stiffen and rest your hand on the counter. “You must miss it.”

“I do, though Asgard never missed me,” he sways you with him, “we have some time… they are still upon the road…”

His hands slip down your sides and frame your hips. He pulls you against him, pressing his twitching crotch flush to your ass. You curl your fingers and swallow a shudder.

“I’ve egg on my hands,” you sidle free of him and grab a dishcloth, “and I promised Muffin strawberry meringues the next time she was in town.”

“Do you even know if she heard you? The creature seems rather oblivious.”

“She’s not stupid,” you argue but keep your tone from piquing, “she’s quiet, that’s all.”

“To think, my brother would make that his wife,” he approaches you again, penning you in before the sink, “none are so fortunate as me, are they?” He looms closely, leaning in until his nose brushes your forehead, “when I heard of those buffoons and their missing women… not me and my darling.” He touches the emerald at your throat, “I shall always keep her close.”

“My prince,” you murmur, “I wouldn’t…”

“I know you wouldn’t, darling, you are a prince’s wife now. You know your duties. You’ve proven to me that you could never let me down, yes?”

“Yes, my prince,” you reply. 

You hold back a tide of rage. You never would have said yes if you knew what it meant. If you knew what he would do. It wasn’t a fair trade. He is worth none of it but he is all you have left. Besides, he will never let you go and that fact sounds a lot more romantic than it truly is.

“My princess,” his hand crawls down your skirt, slowly tugging it up your thigh as he rubs his nose against yours, “the only promise I care for is that which you made to me.”