#being excited about shadow appearing or being mentioned is one thing

[sonknuxadow]

why do some shadow fans act like shadow is this obscure character who never appears in anything and any mention of him is a huge surprise. hes literally one of the most well known characters in the franchise and appears so often its not surprising at all when he gets mentioned or its confirmed that hes gonna be in whatever new thing is coming out? what planet are you guys living on

[acourtofwhatthefuck]

Bluebird — Part VII — Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel and reader’s relationship with growing, but so are the tensions between human and fae. Reader is being yanked back and forth between what she think she knows, and what she knows she feels.

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Word Count: 5k.

Warnings: Mentions of masturbation/sex. Mentions of violence.

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Weeks passed, and thus began a routine.

You found yourself thankful for your father’s campaigns against the fae, only because of the freedom it afforded you. Him being away for stints at a time meant you had the inn to yourself, time to yourself — your excitement for which would once have been about losing yourself in your music.

Somehow…somehow, that enthusiasm had bled so heavily into the other factor at play. That with your father gone, you were able to have secret meetings with the man — male — who had begun to consume every one of your thoughts.

Awake, you daydreamed about him. Asleep, he visited you there, too. You had never felt so giddy, never known any feeling like it.

And for a fae male, too.

Sometimes, you wondered if you should feel guilt. For lying to your father, going behind his back. For the fact that Azriel came from the same species that had brutally taken your mother from you.

But this small, secret thing — whatever it was blossoming into — was solely yours. And it brought you such happiness that everything else seemed to fade away.

For three weeks now, Azriel had visited you without fail. On the same night, at the same time. The two of you had devised a signal — he would fly above the inn, and if your bedroom curtains were open, all was well and it was safe for him to winnow into your room. It had worked flawlessly, become a routine.

The only difference between those three visits was that he’d stayed longer each time. You certainly weren’t complaining.

Now, you sat at the dressing table in your bedroom, the curtains wide open and the stars winking at you in the sky. Your father’s campaign had taken him to a village a couple of hours south this week. The inn was locked up for the night, still and silent.

It wasn’t long before you were feeling that telltale prickle of awareness at the back of your neck — the one that always came seconds before Azriel stepped out of thin air. You turned on your dressing stool just as he materialised before you.

You supposed you were opposites in your appearance. He was all dark leathers and brutal weapons and snaking shadows. You were delicate as moonlight, in the slip of a nightgown, your hair unbound and face open. Opposites, and yet in a way that was most poetic.

“Sorry I’m a little late,” Azriel said by way of greeting. A little late was no more than five minutes. “I had some business to attend to at home.”

“I’ll forgive you this time,” you teased, your mouth curving into the small, giddy smile that you were sure you so often wore around him. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine. Especially now that I’m here,” he held a scarred hand out to you. “How shall we spend our time tonight?”

Cooped up in the inn, there were only so many things you and Azriel could do together. But talking for hours, or reading to one another, or losing yourselves in music…Azriel didn’t seem to tire of any of it. If it bothered him that you couldn’t venture outside for a late-night stroll, he hid it marvellously.

“Are you hungry?” you asked. “I could dig out some food for a late dinner,” your eyes darted to the clock at your bedside. Gone midnight. “A very late dinner.”

A deep caress of a chuckle left him. “Sounds wonderful.”

So Azriel kept you company as you dug through your kitchen for anything that didn’t require cooking. As you gathered a small feast of cheese, cold meats, grapes and bread, it occurred to you that you had never once wondered what food might be like on the other side of the wall. What kind of foods did the fae even eat? Did elaborate dishes interest them, or was food just a means for sustenance? Did some have cravings? A sweet tooth? Allergies—

“What,” a deep voice brought you out of your thoughts, “are you thinking so hard about?”

Strong arms wrapped around your waist, and you couldn’t bite back your smile as Azriel buried his chin into your shoulder, his mouthwatering scent enveloping you. You watched in pure fascination as a shadow danced around you and plucked a grape from the plate.

“Do they…eat?” you blinked, purely amazed that the fruit didn’t fall through the mist-like form.

“The shadows?” Azriel chuckled gently. “No. They need no sustenance. They just…are.”

“And what of your kind?”

He paused. “My kind?”

“Faeries. Do you eat to stay alive, or do you eat because food tastes good? What would a faerie even eat? I mean…do you buy food from the market, or do you hunt for every meal—”

“Why would we not need food to stay alive?”

Something about his tone had you faltering — a sudden edge to his voice that made you think of sharp blades and brutal night. A beat passed before you turned in his arms to look up at him, read his face. But nothing was to be found there. Not by an untrained eye, anyway.

“Aren’t you immortal?” you asked.

“The fae live a very, very long time — provided we take care of our bodies.” Azriel answered tightly. “But we are living beings. We can be weakened, and we can be hurt — as you well know, considering you removed the ash arrows I was shot with.”

You hadn’t stopped to think of that. The memory of his pain, though, made you want to flinch.

“Yes, we enjoy food just as much as humans do. And we need nutrition and sustenance, just as humans do. Perhaps not in the same way, but we need it all the same, and the majority of us do not need to hunt for it.” His eyes — somewhat guarded and reserved — scanned your face. “We think and we feel. We are not just beings of violent tendencies made into appealing mirages to lure people in. We are not hollow statues capable only of bad.”

The words hung between you, strangely haunting and stunning. And it was amidst those words that you realised a wall had been ever so slightly risen. That you’d touched a raw nerve.

“My question offended you,” you breathed, still somewhat taken aback by the fervour with which he’d spoken.

It was Azriel, then, who faltered — and studied you.

His eyes flicked over your face, and something softened imperceptibly in his own.

“I know…I know you have more reason to think negatively of my kind than you do positively,” he lowered his gaze. “I know that you, personally, have suffered at our hands, and gods, if I knew who had caused you such pain, I would—” he cut himself off. Took a breath. Seemed to force himself to relax. “I understand why you think and feel what you do—”

“I didn’t mean to offend you.”

His eyes met yours again. They were once more the warm, honeyed eyes you’d grown used to these past weeks. “I know,” he admitted. “I just…don’t want you to think of me as a monster. I want you to know that not all of us are bad.”

That wasn’t so hard to wrap your head around, was it? There was good and bad all over the human realm. Why would it not be the same across the wall?

You just…needed to accept that the fae weren’t strictly how you had always been raised to believe. Not all of them, anyway.

Certainly not Azriel.

“I know,” you said earnestly, and his shoulders relaxed even more. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

Your brow furrowed. “For what?”

A mischievous glimmer lightened his beautiful eyes, and his lips quirked into a smile as the shadow — that same one from before, grape and all — swam through the air to his mouth. And pushed the grape between his waiting lips.

“For stealing a grape,” he smirked.

You grinned, relieved that the tension was gone, and repeated your earlier words. “I’ll forgive you this time.”

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Bellies full, you drained your glass of wine and lounged back.

You and Azriel had thrown a blanket on the floor of your sitting room, your backs pressed against the worn sofa and your finished food in front of you. A makeshift indoor picnic of sorts.

Sitting together like this, it was easy to let the rest of the world drain away. A distinct feeling existed between you that you’d known Azriel far longer than you’d even been alive, and that came with ease, with comfort.

You nestled back against the couch cushions, allowing yourself to drink in the sight of the male at your side. He sat with his head tipped back and eyes closed — content to soak in the moment. So, so beautiful, you weren’t sure you could breathe. And to think he was at your house, by your side.

A shadow drifted up, lingering at his ear. Azriel seemed to stiffen, before his lips tipped up into a smile, his eyes opening and immediately finding yours.

As if…as if that shadow had told him you’d been staring. Had it known what you were thinking, too?

You narrowed your eyes, watching every fluid lope that it took back to his side. “Do they always tell you what I’m doing?”

Azriel chuckled — seemed impressed that you’d figured it out. “Not always.”

“But sometimes.” A thought struck you — one that had your face flushing. “Do they…do they know what I’m doing, even when they’re not here?”

“No,” the shadowsinger angled his head curiously. “Why?”

You shook your head. A change of subject was definitely in order.

Because it would be a lie to say that these past weeks, you hadn’t grown more…curious, in your body. In the sensations that had been awoken like kindling to a flame.

You’d had them before, of course, like you imagined most women your age had. But those desires hadn’t truly been desirous. They’d been…dulled, easy to ignore.

That had changed, as of late.

A couple of times now, you had awoken from dreams of rippling muscle, tan skin, wings. A melodic voice had lingered in your ears, and a heat had ached between your legs that hadn’t been relieved until you were following instinct and touching yourself, exploring yourself. You’d writhed in your bed and drenched yourself with sweat and muffled a cry as you’d crested that hill into release.

And it was Azriel that you’d thought about through it all.

Recalling it now had your cheeks scorching.

Azriel sucked in a slow breath, and his voice was a little strained as he asked, “What does that look mean?”

You cleared your throat. Shook your thoughts off. “I was wondering something.”

“…Wondering what?”

How to phrase the foreign thoughts that were filling your head at an alarming pace? This was all new to you — not just the clandestine meetings with a fae male, but every thought, feeling and sensation that seemed to follow. You were feeling too many things to keep up with.

And right then, in that split second, the thought that suddenly plagued you had you feeling something…unpleasant. Itchy and bitter.

“…Don’t you have anyone else you could be doing this with?” you asked, and Azriel’s brow immediately pinched. “Don’t get me wrong, I like having you here — I want you here…” Gods, you were making a mess of this. You flushed scarlet, wishing you’d just kept your mouth shut. “I just mean…another woman. Female.”

Azriel paused, seeming…surprised by the question. And you…you would have been happy for the ground to swallow you whole.

But then he was shifting on the spot, wings rustling, shadows stirring. He angled himself towards you and asked, “Do you mean…lovers?”

Yes, yes you did. But your nerve had vanished. Your cheeks burned.

Still, Azriel read the confirmation in your eyes. He studied you with an unreadable expression.

“I’ve had lovers.” Of course he had — five centuries was a long, long time to be alive. “Right now, though, I do not. I don’t see anyone. Except you.”

Shameful relief stormed you. There was no label on the, quite frankly, strange relationship you had with this male. Yes, you met regularly. Yes, the two of you kissed — a lot. But Azriel was his own person with his own needs. He was well within his right to fulfill them if he did so wish. With someone…experienced.

It made your heart pinch, though.

You were stolen from your thoughts by warm, scarred fingers touching your jaw. Azriel gently turned your face towards him.

“Have you been worrying about that?” he asked. “That I come here to see you, and then fall into bed with somebody back home?”

Such gentleness in his tone. You swallowed, reading his face. “I have no right to worry about it. You are…unattached. If you need to find release in somebody—”

“I don’t need to at all.” His voice was like silk. And his eyes…they unmistakably flickered down to your lips. “And on the contrary, I’m very much attached.”

Like a switch in your brain, that bitter, oily jealousy was replaced by…want. Need. To taste his mouth again.

Though he was the most common instigator of your kisses, there was no denying you’d grown in confidence with each one since that very first time. And that confidence aided you now, as you leaned forward and settled your hand on Azriel’s jaw. Slid your lips over his.

He kissed you back without hesitation, a pleased hum seeming to sound in a deep part of his chest. And just as you always did, you were becoming lost in no time, in his scent and his taste and the weight of his mouth on yours.  

But this time was different, because you were different. More curious, more confident. You didn’t want to shy away from your intrigue or the new experiences that hovered just out of reach. You didn’t…didn’t want to just be the girl whose life was confined to this inn in this village. You wanted more.

Wanted Azriel.

You shifted where you sat, not breaking the kiss as you tucked your legs beneath you and pushed onto your knees. Azriel’s hand immediately steadied your waist, its heat permeating your clothes — and that in itself was…pleasurable. You breathed a sigh into his mouth, inching closer, closer, your hand slipping down to the collar of his tunic.

But just as quickly, he was pulling away. Pulling his lips from yours.

He panted, something dark and tempting in his eyes. And much to your disappointment, he rasped out, “We need to stop.”

You tried not to let your shoulders slump. “Why?”

“Because we’re getting carried away.”

You stared at him — his utter perfection. Did he…did he not want to take things that far with you? Maybe you’d read entirely too much into his kisses, more heated with every stroke. Maybe this was simply fun for him, and you…you would never cross his mind, if he were to take another lover.

You didn’t understand any of this. How it was supposed to work.

You rocked back on your rear, heat creeping up your neck — a different, unpleasant kind. One that made you want to bury your face and hide.

But before you could move another inch, Azriel was grabbing your hand.

“Don’t do that,” he said softly.

Your eyes inched up to his. “What?”

“Don’t be ashamed or embarrassed of what you want. Don’t regret having confidence.”

“…You don’t want it though, do you?”

He stared back at you. Confirmation enough.

“You don’t want me — like that. Because I’m inexperienced, or—”

He squeezed your hand. “It has nothing to do with that.”

“Then what is it?”

His eyes swept over you again, and they were…open — perhaps more open than he was normally comfortable with. Your own gaze fell to your joined hands, as he brushed his thumb across the back of your palm, and then laced his fingers in between yours. Locked them together.

“When we take things further,” he said, “I want to know that you trust me. I want to offer myself to you, knowing that you have no doubts about me. And I don’t think you’re there yet.”

“I—”

“It’s alright,” he squeezed your fingers once. “You do not have to justify anything. You have valid reasons for not trusting my kind, and I respect them,” his lips quirked up into a small, teasing smile. “It just means that I’ll have to put the work in to gain that trust.”

Your heart, in that moment, threatened to burst out of your chest. And perhaps things were changing, because you couldn’t imagine that many human men would offer such patience and understanding. Such respect. Azriel cared more about your trust than his pleasure.

Would this male ever stop surprising you?

“It’s not—not you,” you murmured, allowing your thumb to explore his scarred skin. “It’s just…complicated.”

“I know. Like I said, you don’t have to justify it,” he scooted closer, his leg now touching yours. “But…look at me, Y/N.”

You did.

You lifted your gaze to his face — and it wasn’t just the beauty that constantly threatened to bowl you over, but what now sat within it.

You didn’t need experience to know that desire coloured his face. That the way he swallowed, hard, seemed to be some sort of coping mechanism — to rein himself in.

“I do not want you thinking, for one second, that I don’t want you…like that.” His voice held a sudden grit that made you shiver. “Because believe me — I do. I want you, and I think about you, and when you’re ready — when you trust me — I will be honoured to give myself fully to you.”

The words alone…gods, they only made your blood burn fiercer. And you understood Azriel’s reasoning, respected it. But that didn’t mean you weren’t still aching.

“You’re not helping,” you groaned, bowing your head.

A silken chuckle skittered over you, and Azriel’s lips were at your cheek, brushing a kiss there.

“I’ve waited a very long time for you,” he murmured. “I can wait a little longer.”

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It was hard, flitting between the two versions of yourself.

There was the version of you that you’d always known — the one who pulled pints behind the bar at the Bluebird Inn and knew everybody in the village whether you wanted to or not. The version of you that had never considered life outside of this miserable place, because it had always seemed pointless, fruitless.

And then there was the newer version of you. The one who looked forward to that cloak-and-dagger meeting every week, when the most beautiful person you’d ever laid eyes upon would give you hours of his time and company and make you feel like…someone else. Someone more. The version of yourself who laughed and kissed and explored. Who had begun to crave.

You were starting to think the newer version of yourself was the better one. And with every moment Azriel wasn’t here, you were starting to miss him more and more.

Particularly right now, with your father and his cadre home from this week’s campaign. The taproom was full of their booming voices and their arrogantly loud laughter. All you could do was stand behind the bar and watch as they riled each other with tales of the fae and fantasised about retaliation, revenge. It was all they seemed able to talk about.

It bothered you in a way it never had before.

Perhaps because you knew of at least one good fae. Or perhaps because you still hadn’t told Azriel that the human rebellion he’d been made aware of was lead by your father. That he and his men discussed their strategy, their plans, in the very building that you spent such idyllic time with Azriel in every week.

Two versions of yourself, indeed.

Even Devin was here. It seemed he’d finally been swayed to join your father’s cause. A guard-in-training turned rebel. You’d have to be careful about the eye he so often had on you.

Heaving a soft sigh, you spared a glance at the clock. It didn’t seem that any of your father’s group had plans to leave any time soon. Still filthy from days on the road, they seemed content to make use of the bar rather than to return to their respective homes. You just wanted to go to bed. To lay staring at the ceiling and wonder what your winged…friend was doing at the exact same moment.

“Loud, aren’t they?”

Your gaze crept over to Devin, where he took up his usual seat at the bar. He shot you a winning smile that you knew would make every girl in the village swoon.

And yet…where your stomach would usually erupt with butterflies, you felt…nothing.

He was handsome, there was no doubt. But that charm paled in comparison to Azriel’s beauty.

“Just a bit,” you agreed, your eyes flickering to the gathering of unwashed, rowdy men at the centre table. “I don’t know how they don’t tire of having the same conversation over and over.”

Devin cocked an eyebrow. “Well, now, they’re just passionate about the cause. Aren’t you? Surely your father has spoken to you about it at length.”

He had — for the entirety of your life. You knew the cause inside out.

You just weren’t sure it was entirely right anymore.

“Of course he has,” you replied. “I support my father wholeheartedly. Sometimes I just wonder…”

Your words trailed off. This was tricky territory. You couldn’t go around sharing your thoughts just because Azriel was…different.

But Devin leaned forward encouragingly. “Wonder what?”

You studied him. Would it be so wrong, to suggest that good, honest fae were out there? It didn’t wipe away the atrocities that had been committed, of course, but to have an open mind wasn’t a bad thing.

And certainly not for a village guard, either. To be broad-minded, sometimes merciful.

“I just wonder if there’s good and bad in everyone,” you relented a little too quickly. It surprised you…how much you wanted to talk about it, make your point. “There are good and bad humans. Who’s to say that such isn’t the case with the fae? And if it is…should the good fae be punished for what the bad ones have done? It seems—”

“The fae are evil, Y/N,” Devin cut in, his eyes fierce. “Make no mistake about that. It’s not the same with them because they’re made differently to us. They lack what makes us good and moral. They lack compassion and care. They’re self-serving and violent to their very core, and this world cannot be improved upon until every last fae is wiped off the map.”

You blinked, taking a subtle step back. The speech seemed…extreme. You’d never seen Devin quite so aggressive. And it seemed to take a moment for him to snap out of it — to relax the hard set of his jaw, the firm grip on his glass.

His eyes shuttered, and he swallowed hard. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, I just…I’ve seen for myself what the scum across the wall are capable of. The bodies of the village girls that were killed…it’s not an image I’m likely to ever forget.”

You studied him cautiously. “I imagine not.”

“I’d hate for you to meet the same fate, Y/N. These are dangerous times, and that filth are only growing bolder. It’s why I chose to join your father’s cause. Why I know that what he says is right.”

Such sure venom in his tone. And yet you knew…you knew that Azriel would never do anything like that.

The entire conversation made you feel sick.

But Devin clearly misread that as fear. Worry. “Get yourself to bed,” he said softly. “These idiots aren’t going anywhere any time soon. I’m sure I can pour a few drinks.”

Bed sounded like a good idea. Bed was safe. A place to think clearly.

You nodded, wiping your hands on a nearby cloth. It was all you could do to murmur a gravelly, “Thank you.”

Devin inclined his head. “Sleep well. And try not to worry,” a soft smile played on his lips. “You’re safe with us.”

You couldn’t muster a response.

But as you made it out of the stuffy taproom and headed for the stairs, you weren’t at all sure, anymore, where exactly safety lay.

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“I changed the barrels.”

“Good.”

“And mopped the floors.”

“Good.”

The next morning, you eyed your father as he took his breakfast at one of the taproom tables. He was in an even stranger mood than usual. Even more…pensive. Quiet.

You cleared your throat, gathering his empty cup and plate onto a tray. His dark eyes watched every one of your movements.

“I’ll get these cleaned up,” you said. “And then if there’s nothing else to be done, I thought I might—”

“Don’t worry about that for a moment,” he jerked his head at the tray in your hands. “Come take a seat.”

You paused. Couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked you to sit with him.

“I want to talk to you,” he pushed. “Sit.”

As you dumped the tray on another table and pulled out the chair opposite his, a bleating panic began to scream inside your head. Had your father somehow found out about Azriel? If he had, you didn’t want to imagine what kind of punishment that would warrant—

“Devin spoke to me before he left last night.” His voice was almost too quiet. “About you.”

You swallowed a lump in your throat. “What about me?”

“He seemed concerned about you. That you don’t truly appreciate the danger that is out there. Do you?”

Fuck. You really shouldn’t have said anything to Devin. Should have known that he’d report back to your father.

“Of course I do,” you answered. And you did know what danger was out there. Your dead mother was a fine enough example.

You just…didn’t think that had to mean that the entire fae species was bad. You didn’t want it to mean that.

“Then what’s all this nonsense about wondering if there are good fae?” your father pursed his lips. “Surely you know better than anybody that there aren’t. You’re without a mother because there aren’t.”

Your body had entirely locked up in the chair. It wasn’t exactly that you were scared of your father; you didn’t think he’d ever hurt you.

But he’d spent years behind this cause, and was closer than ever to it coming to something. This was his purpose, his passion, the thing he cared about perhaps more than anything else in the world, you included. To debate him on it…to question it…it was the worst thing you could possibly do.

You forced yourself to shrug, to look meek and clueless. “I just…asked Devin a question, that’s all,” you answered. “Sometimes I think I could know more. You could tell me more.”

It seemed so long that your father spent studying you. And as he did, you made yourself the version of you that he knew. The picture of innocence. Nothing but mild curiosity.

And then, finally, his body relaxed. He gave a slow nod. “I know you think I keep you in the dark sometimes,” he admitted. “In truth, I have. To some degree. I wanted you to have some semblance of peace and safety in this world, if only a little. But perhaps I’m doing you more harm than good.”

“I—”

“After Devin spoke to me last night, I got thinking. And I made a decision.”

You stared back at him, trying desperately not to clench your fists at your sides. Something about the resolve on his face made your stomach turn.

“What’s the decision?” you asked.

“Next week — I’ve decided I’m taking you out on the road with us. You can get a proper idea of what all of this is about. Perhaps I should have taken you with us before.”

You stared at him, lips parted, not entirely sure he couldn’t hear the shrieking that rang in your ears.

His time on the road was the precious little time you got to have with Azriel every week. What you looked forward to every week. To miss that—

And to miss it to join your father’s campaign…you were sure the colour must have drained from your face. It was bad enough that you hadn’t told Azriel that your father was the driving force behind this human rebellion. If he were to find out you’d actively participated in it…

Well, he’d surely want nothing more to do with you. The thought alone made your heart plummet into your stomach.

“I can’t go with you,” you blurted, and your father’s brow pinched. “I mean…what about this place?” you gestured to your surroundings. “No one would be here to keep the inn open.”

His shoulders relaxed, and there was even a hint of a smile on his face. “I can find someone to hold the fort for a few days, don’t you worry about that,” he reached out, mussing the hair on your head. “You’re a good girl, Y/N. But this trip is necessary. It’s time you understand what we’re up against.”

He stood from his chair, and you could do nothing but watch. There was no arguing with him. His mind was made up.

“It’s decided — you’re coming on the road with us next week,” he turned, and he didn’t look back at you as he said, filing through the door, “make sure you’re fully prepared.”

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[rain0tes]

Hi hi love your hacker reader a bit too much it's great!! What would be their reaction to sir pentious trying to join the hotel? And the little eggbois once he starts staying there for real?

Hacker!reader's reaction to Sir Pentious trying to join the hotel.

Hacker!reader actually comes in after the heaven vs. hell battle, when Pentious has already been redeemed. This is an alternate scenario where you've been in the hotel a few weeks before Pentious makes an appearance.

Warnings: mature language and jokes, mentions of violence (although nothing too explicit), all the obvious hazbin stuff

You've been at the Hazbin Hotel for a few weeks. Although not fully convinced by the idea of redemption, having a roof over your head while easing into your new life (or afterlife) was nice.

You find a friend in most of the other wayward souls in the hotel, especially Charlie, who was more than excited when you show up.

The actual story starts when Pentious comes crashing into the hotel the first time. Literally.

You were having tea with Alastor out on the balcony when you feel the ground below yourself shake.

"Show yourself, Alastor."

That earns the radio demon a side eye from you, which he only shrugs at.

You see the others go outside in your peripheral, wanting to check out what the commotion was about. You shrug and head down as well, actually using the stairs since not everyone can just warp through shadows.

You stand beside Alastor, squinting at the giant blimp as they conversed.

"When I've slain you, the almighty Vee's will finally acknowledge me as their equal."

"Ooh! Wait, who are the Vee's?"

"Aren't they that tacky trio with the crap network security?"

"They're no one important."

One beating later, Pentious is on the ground after Alastor has decimated his war-blimp...thing.

"Thanks for another forgettable experience."

"Thank...you...for letting your guard down! Haha!"

Pentious rips off a part of Alastors suit, causing you to physically wince.

"Ah, you shouldn't have done that."

You can't help but chuckle when you see him get sent flying.

"Looks like team rockets blasting off again."

You expected that to be the last time you'll be seeing of him (at least in a while), but it seems that fate has other plans when someone comes knocking on the hotels doors only six hours later.

Vaggie was the one to answer, and he almost got skewered upon sight. Charlie seemed excited that he showed up, tho, and somehow you're not surprised.

"Are you fucking nuts? This chump was trying to kill us like, literally six hours ago?"

"Yeah, exactly, are you seriously gonna let this pathetic loser live with us?"

They did, IN FACT, let the boyfailure in the hotel. You weren't too happy about it, and neither was angeldust (bonding through a common enemy).

You can't help but feel that something was odd about him, sensing an electrical device on him that was certainly not a phone. You remained quiet for the time being, if only to please Charlie by playing along with her activities (even if they did make you cringe just a tiny little bit).

You watch him slither sometime in the middle of the night, prompting you to follow him as you take a sip out of a monster energy can.

"A camera? Wow, that's pretty cheap. Certainly doesn't help my already low expectations of the Vee's"

Yeah, you caught him in the act when he was placing the camera. Angeldust already behind you, confronting Pentious while you pick up the device.

You take a screwdriver out of your pocket, disabling the thing but not damaging it, all while the two fight beside you.

Pentious immediately calls for backup once he's been outed to Vaggie and Charlie, only for Vox to laugh in his face.

"If they don't kill you, go ahead and do it yourself you miserable failure."

You immediately snatch the smartwatch. He may be right, Pentious certainly was a failure. But you've already decided that you're the only one who gets to insult him.

"Listen here, you musty little bitch. You either shut the fuck up or I do it for you."

He's tearing up as you throw the meanest sentences he's ever heard to Vox. Some of them even sound poetic to some degree.

"Two thousand years of constant human evolution only to make some simple minded cunt."

Immediately refers to you as his best friend after this. You waged war on an overlord of hell for him. There's no take backsies.

For once, there's someone in the hotel who's not actively looking out for you, but you're the one looking out for him instead.

You two would share ideas ALL the time.

One thing you'd accomplish together is making a clone of you. He made the android, you made the A.I it would run on.

"Would it technically be mastur-"

"Don't you dare continue that sentence."

The main difference is that the Vee's know who you are in this one. Actively waging war against them instead of remaining anonymous. All because you've decided that the weird boyloser snake is actually kind of endearing.

I might make another part to this one where the reader participates in the hell vs heaven battle.

(masterlist)

[kingofspadescos]

Astarion x Reader - All You Wanna Do

Warnings - ANGST WITH GOOD ENDING

TW - Trauma, Sexual trauma mention

ALMOST MADE MYSELF CRY FROM THIS-

So in Six we all know Katherine Howard's (the pink one) song right? '

'All You Wanna Do'

And it goes through her lovers but how they only used her for her body?

Tell me that isn't Astarion.

Imagine after escaping Cazador (or at some point) he tries to get back out into the dating pool. He just wanted something, anything to make the numb feeling go away. And he thought he found it, but every day he'd wake up to an empty bed and every time he could feel more and more of himself break. Its an endless vicous cycle that he tries desperstly to break but fails inevitably.

He gives up, slinking back to the shadows and watching from afar.

But then one day when he slips out at night to visit a midnight market he accidently bumps into someone.

And it just so happens to be you.

He tilts his head when you smile up at him

"Sorry, sir, apprantly the skill of walking has alluded me" you said.

He's dumbfounded, a snarky remark at the tip of his tongue but unable to make it past his lips. How could it? You were truly breathtaking, the moonlight reflecting off your skin in a way he could only describe as ethereal.

And the way you looked at him, oh gods your eyes had him reeling. There was no hunger in them, no want, no lust, just embarrassment and genuine kindness, something he was not used to being the target of.

He could handle pure mindless need, but this? Such a sweet innocent little thing like you? Oh, no, he couldn't handle that. Not when you looked at him like he actually mattered in the world.

He barely managed out a stangled 'its fine' before dashing back to his dwelling...where he proceeded to lock himself away for days.

What else was he supposed to do? His heart was beating to another rhythm, a time that only meant heartbreak, anger, and self loathing. He couldn't handle it, not again.

But then, after a few days, a knock sounded at his door, and with caution he had opened it to find you there, holding his blade.

"Hi! You dropped this at the market a few days ago" you said "I asked around about you so I could find you, which was tremendously easy, apprantly there is only one known vampire around here."

And there that smile was again and those same eyes that had him crumbling.

"Thank you" he had coughed out, gently grabbing the blade. He wanted you out, far away from him as possible, just so he could function normally. But then your fingers accidently brushed his and he was almost done for.

Panic, excitement, fear, and hope came down on him in waves as he looked into your eyes again. He barely manged to stop himself from taking a step back as if the adoration and happiness that were captured in your eyes had physically pushed him.

"Well I should probably get going" you said turning to walk, and a new panic rose in his chest, the fear of never seeing you again.

"Wait!" He said too quickly for his own liking "come in for some tea, won't you? It's the least I could do to repay you."

From there you two go closer and closer, spending as much time together as possible. Each second he spent with you he felt his heart reach out towards you as if to embrace you and never let go.

But the fear was still there, the fear that he would get to close and you would leave him, just like everyone else.

However, the day came when you confessed. A new dagger in one hand and a rose in the other you looked up at him with those eyes. The same eyes he had yet to act normal about and told him you liked him and wanted him to be yours and you to be his.

The cold hand of panic that crippled his heart made an appearance, twisting the fear into his body and causing his knees to buckle. God's, he felt so stupid, felt so vulnerable and useless, but then a warmth surrounded him.

Your embrace.

You held him, arms tightly woven around his body keeping him secure to you.

"You can say no, you can tell me no" you had whispered, and he almost jumped at the out "but if you're willing to let me hold your heart ill shall cherish it til' the sun no longer shines and even then I shall create my own."

You had him in tears, hands clutching at you in desperation and head burying into your neck.

The rest of the night was spent with assurance and love, you guiding him through a simple kiss that led to nothing more.

And in the morning when he awoke, he cried again when he saw you curled into his side, hand clutching his with the intent of never letting go.

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Eight: You’re the Best Part

summary: you head to vail for thanksgiving and things maybe don’t quite go as planned.

warnings: sick mention, r and steve; reminder that r does have a family for the sake of the fake marriage plot; mother has passed, parent loss talk.

modern day! rich! fake husband! steve harrington x afab! reader.

masterlist

——

Your plans to happily return the favor for Steve when he gets home don’t quite pan out the way you want them to.

Why?

Well, it seems the world has its own plans. And those plans apparently don’t involve getting your mouth on the man and learning what your name sounds like coming from his lips while he’s falling apart for you.

What’s the saying again? You make plans, and the big guy upstairs laughs? Yeah—that one.

It’s around three when Steve appears at the entryway to the penthouse. Pale in the face, coughing up a storm, sweat lining his brow. He’s out of it; a simple, cursory glance tells you that much. That and the fact when Charlie rushes over to greet him, Steve barely brushes his hand over the puppy’s head, and instead seeks out the comfort of you.

His hulking form stops at the edge of the couch, shoes kicked haphazardly onto the floor as he lowers himself down. Rests his head in your lap and groans his defeat, ringed hand curling around the span of your thigh, hugging you closer. Were this any other day in the exciting newness of your relationship, you would sigh and dreamily run your fingers through his hair. But as your fingers brush along his brow, you find he’s hot there.

Burning hot. Feverish in a way that has you tugging at his shoulder until he can look up at you. Dark circles shadow his under eyes. His skin seems paler than usual, too. Exhaling, you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb trailing over the curve of his jaw. Smile down at him as he leans into the touch, eyes closing. The same hand then turns over and presses against his forehead and confirms that, yes, Steve is definitely sick. Unfortunately enough, right before the holiday, too.

“I’m calling your doctor—”

“No, no, no,” Steve groans, turning his head into your stomach, where he ends up coughing into your hoodie, apologizing for doing so. “I just want to sleep.”

“After I call the doctor,” you tell him, fingers carding through his hair. “You’re burning up, Steve. I knew you felt warm this morning.”

“Please,” he mumbles, “no doctor.”

——

Dr. Murray Bauman is an…interesting man, to say the least. When you call, after effectively getting Steve to lay down in bed, he sounds like he’s in the middle of a war zone. And you wonder briefly if you can hear angry voices in the distance.

He asks you a multitude of questions, the first being who the hell you are calling for Steve Harrington, but when you tell him you’re his wife, he only awkwardly laughs, stating he didn’t know Steve had finally settled down, before regaling you a story about Steve from when he’d been a younger boy.

“He’ll be here in a half hour, he said,” you tell Steve, before reaching for his phone and holding it in front of his face. It unlocks and you immediately search for Hailey’s number in his contacts. You hadn’t met her yet. Well, except for the brief greeting at your wedding. But you’d heard enough to know she’s kind and your husband couldn’t do half of what he does without her. She picks up on the first ring and greets you. “Hello, Hailey?”

“This is her,” she says. A hint of uncertainty creeps down the line. “May I ask who’s calling?”

“Mrs. Harrington—”

Steve, who suddenly realizes what you’re doing, reaches out to grab at your hand dangling limply at your side. Tries to tug you closer, but you raise a hand in warning. “Wait, wait, wait—”

“Mrs. Harrington! It’s been a while. Is everything okay?”

“Actually,” you say, rubbing at Steve’s shoulder, grinning to yourself as he huffs a bit but otherwise leans into your affection, “I’m calling because Steve���s going to need to cancel the rest of his meetings for today. Maybe the next couple of days, actually.”

“I told him he sounded like shit.” She pauses, chuckling nervously. “Sorry—didn’t mean to say that. He just sounded terrible, so I suggested he go home early. Thank you for letting me know.”

“No problem.” You wait a moment and then, “Thanks for the flowers, by the way. Steve mentioned you had them sent.”

“Oh, no. That was all Mr. Harrington,” she says, and your chest flutters with the notion of her words. “I just helped pick them out. Okay—so I’ve gone ahead and canceled all his meetings through the holiday and the week after.”

“You’re wonderful, Hailey. Thank you! And I hope you enjoy the holiday,” you say truthfully, settling down onto the bed beside Steve, rubbing his back through another lovely coughing fit. “We’ll talk soon.”

The line goes dead. You place the phone down onto the bedside table beside your husband and help slide his glasses off of his face for good measure. As his eyes meet yours, you want to lean down and wrap your arms around him. He looks younger than his years, more boyish somehow, the tiredness in his eyes alluding to just how sick he actually is. You hope Dr. Bauman hurries, if only so he can get some much needed rest.

“Canceled my meetings, huh?” He asks between the rumbly heaves of his chest.

“Think of it as an extended vacation.”

“Forced,” Steve emphasizes, rolling over so you can allow him into the circle of your arms. His head rests on your chest, the blankets you draped over him high up on his shoulders. “You shouldn’t even be in here; you’re going to get sick.”

“Pretty sure what we did earlier will get me sick anyway. That and the fact I’ve shared a bed with you for a bit now.” Your fingers card through his hair, your other palm rubbing up and down the achy muscles of his back. “Plus, what better way to test our vows? In sickness and in health, right?”

You step out of the room when Dr. Bauman arrives and immediately starts taking your husband’s vitals, wanting to give him a little privacy. Charlie bounds over to you in the kitchen as you search for something to throw together for dinner. You hadn’t really planned on eating home with Thanksgiving being so close, and the two of you about to spend a few days at Mrs. Harrington’s home. But now that you stare at an empty fridge, you realize maybe a little forethought might have saved you from the bare shelves you’re greeted with upon opening.

Pushing it shut, you pluck your phone from your pocket, scrolling through a list of nearby restaurants when you hear your name being called from down the hall. Dr. Bauman is tossing his stethoscope and other equipment into a black bag as you knock on the doorframe, his eyes tipping up to greet yours.

“It’s the flu,” he says, tapping away at an iPad resting on his forearm. “I already sent his prescription out to be filled. Lots of rest. No work. Lots of fluids. Limited shenanigans…of the, uh, newlywed kind. Maybe a warm shower to clear up some of the shit that’s rattling around in your chest.”

Steve rolls his eyes and Murray claps him on the shoulder. You definitely don’t understand their relationship. “I also ordered you a script for a preemptive antiviral,” Murray says to you, hoisting his bag up and over his shoulder. “You know my number, obviously. I’ll be around should you need me.”

“But you highly suggest I don’t,” Steve grouses from the bed.

“You get it, kid,” the older man says, petting Charlie as he bounces into the bedroom, wanting to see what all the fuss is about. “You’ll get a text when your prescriptions are ready. But other than that, I think you’re all good to go. Take care.”

Just as quickly as the man arrives, he’s gone, leaving you alone with your husband once more. “Told you that you needed to slow down,” you tell him, climbing back into bed and resuming your prior position. Steve’s head against your chest, his arms looped around your waist, wanting to simply be close to another person when every inch of him aches with fever. “Want me to make you anything? Tea? Soup. Well…we don’t really have food. I didn’t get groceries because of Thanksgiving.”

“Just wanna lay here,” he grumbles against your sweater, “…but I wouldn’t mind soup later.”

“Then I’ll order you some, handsome.” You chuckle, fingers running through his hair, listening to his sighing breath as he edges closer and closer to sleep. “Definitely not how I pictured our afternoon.”

“Rain check?” he asks, and you know then he’s really sick, as he spent the earlier half of the afternoon texting you about how he couldn’t wait to get home and resume what you both started in your kitchen.

“I’m holding you to it, Harrington,” you laugh, rubbing at the right muscles at the base of his spine. Hot breath spills from his lips, warming you through the material of your shirt. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

He doesn’t even argue.

An hour later, you’re in the middle of watching some silly dating show on Netflix when your little sister, Caroline, tries to FaceTime. Steve’s still sprawling out against your chest, but rises up onto his elbows and tells you to pick it up. To which you question if he’s sure. A moment later, he shifts so his back is against the headboard of the bed and hits the answer call button, watching the younger girl’s face light up on the other line.

“Hey, sissy,” she says brightly, then peers further at the screen and sees Steve there. “And brother-in-law.”

“Hey!” You smile warmly.

“Are you two sleeping?”

“No, no,” you reassure her. “Steve’s got the flu, so we’re laying low for the day. What are you up to?”

“Just sitting around,” she says, nearly dropping her phone as she maneuvers around Gram’s kitchen. “Dad’s with Gram. You know how it is.”

“How’s he doing?” You frown, biting at your bottom lip. Doesn’t matter how long Mom has been gone, the holidays are always hard on him. “Do you need me to come home?”

“No. No.” She tugs her hair over her shoulder, strings of her hoodie curled around her fingertips. She’s so cute and you miss her so much that you wish you could smack kisses to both her cheeks. “We’re okay. Eddie stopped by yesterday with Uncle Wayne. And then I just realized how much I missed you.”

“I miss you too, sweetie,” you sigh, breaking off into a watery laugh. Steve reaches over across your lap and curls your palm in his. “But I’ll see you next month, right? Gonna bring this guy with me too. Hope that’s okay?”

“Mmmm,” she considers, head tilting to the side. “Not sure about him yet.”

Steve points a thumb at himself, earning a laugh from your little sister. “Guess I’ll have to return the gifts I got for my little sister.”

“You got me gifts?”

He shrugs. “Depends. Am I invited?”

“Fine. Fine,” she giggles airily, beaming so bright your own cheeks hurt. “How’s Charlie?”

Charlie, at the mere mention of his name, hops up onto the bed. Despite the fact he knows he’s not supposed to. You both haven’t really made it a habit of letting him sleep with you two; especially not when you’re still getting used to using your own bedroom as storage space for your clothes and things, and sharing his.

Referring to it as yours.

As of late, you’ve started placing your things in Steve’s bathroom. In one of his drawers. A robe in his closet. Slippers near his bedside. Your books on his bedside table. Neither of you had said anything about it. It just felt like the natural progression of things.

“Hi, Charlie!” Caroline enthuses, earning a loud yip from the puppy. Steve’s hand rubs over his floppy head, drawing your gaze to his sleep-addled features. “Hey, sissy?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come visit soon?”

You glance at Steve in question, who merely says, “It’s your home.”

At that, you want so badly to lean over and kiss him. To thank him silently, to reveal those feelings that keep growing stronger for him every day through touch. In the only tangible way you know how exactly to express the inner workings of your heart.

“Any time, sweetie. Tell me when and I’ll book you a flight to come visit, okay?”

Her smile grows wider, and you can’t help but think about how she looks just like your mother. How your little sister is growing so fast. Things are changing. In your life, your career, your marriage, your family.

“Are you okay?” Caroline asks, brows furrowing high on her forehead.

“You’re just so beautiful,” you tell her honestly, sniffling, “you look just like Mom.”

“Nooo don’t do the water works. I’m going to vom—”

“You’re just—”

“I love you,” she says, shifting onto her elbows at the kitchen table she’s sitting at.

And she never says that. Always so buried in her phone. Making her TikTok videos. Texting her friends. Scrolling social media sites. Your heart soars with her words. Chest aches and burns with the feelings that rise up because of them.

“I love you too.”

The three of you spend a good chunk of the afternoon simply talking. Asking Caroline questions about school, you and Steve about work and your studies. Caroline even goes so far as to ask Steve ice breaker questions and riddles, and he’s terrible at them, feigning that it’s his sickness making it hard for him to answer any correctly.

After a while, your father’s tired face appears in the phone camera, alerting you he’s just spent the better part of the afternoon tending to cooking dinner. Gram is overjoyed not only to see you, but gawks over the fact that, even while sick, your husband is handsome as ever.

Steve leans into you bashfully at that, and you tousle the strands of his hair, and Gram thinks because she’s older she can casually blurt out, “The look he’s giving you right now is the same look your grandfather gave me the night we ended up—”

“You know what? I need to go pick up Steve’s medicine from the pharmacy and probably go and grab us some dinner,” you tell them, shoulder bumping into Steve’s, “I love you all so much. We’ll see you soon!”

It’s a chorus of goodbyes. A barrage of I love yous. A plethora of see you soons. Steve glows with the onslaught of affection. Tops of his cheeks stain bright under their well wishes, his lips tugging into a broad smile. The phone screen goes black and you toss it onto the bedside table, shifting onto your side beside Steve.

“They’re pretty great.”

“They’re…” A lot. Overbearing. Ridiculous (Gram mostly). But you catch the hopefulness on his face. Picture your husband, younger in age, alone in a crowded room wanting, searching, vying for someone to notice him. “They’re your family too now, you know?”

He opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out is an endless coughing fit. His mouth presses into his elbow, your fingers running soothing lines up and down his bicep, waiting until it passes to clamber out of the bed and snatch your phone from the bedside table.

“I’m going to run to the pharmacy. You should try and get in the shower like Dr. Murray suggested.”

“I might need your help for that.”

Heat curls low in your belly. “I’m going to blame the mucus in your head for that one, lover boy. Get in the shower, I’ll run out quickly, and then we can spend the rest of the afternoon relaxing. Because those were the doctor’s orders. No work.”

“My whole body hurts,” he grumbles, leaning into your frame as you rush around to his side of the bed and help him along the way to the master bathroom. “I couldn’t work even if I wanted to.”

Steve watches from the edge of the bathtub as you shuffle about, gathering things as you go. A towel on the outside of the shower cubicle. New soap. His fluffiest robe. He’s about to open his mouth to speak, but you’re tucking a thermometer in his mouth, watching his mouth downturn into a pout.

A moment later, it beeps.

“One hundred and one,” you murmur, placing the device back in its proper holder. He groans, leaning into your abdomen, your arm curling around his shoulders to keep him close. “Bet you’re feeling all kinds of achy right now. I’ll be right back, okay? And then I’m here for whatever you need.”

——

When you return, Steve’s already propped up in bed on a mountain of pillows. The box of tissues beside him looks freshly opened, his nose a bright red that has your stomach dipping for him. He’s foregone his usual sleeping routine of wearing no shirt. Instead, he wears a hoodie with some sports logo you're unfamiliar with on, hips covered in the bedspread.

On one hand, you have his soup. In the other, the medicine he’s meant to take for the next few days. He accepts both greedily. As greedily as one who looks very much ghostly at this point can, normally tan skin pale, eyes heavy lidded.

“What are you watching there, handsome?” you ask, remaining near his hip, taking the garbage from him once he’s taken out his things.

“Some show where these people bake and you have to guess if the items are cake or not.” He’s so stuffy now, and you can’t help but giggle at the change in his voice. “You can’t make fun of your husband when he’s sick.”

“Is that a rule?”

“It was one of our vows, actually,” he says, glancing about the bedside table momentarily.

“Must have forgotten that one. Need something?” you ask, combing your fingers through his hair.

He leans into the touch. “Some water, please?”

You make your way over to the bedroom door, fingers curling around the frame, just as he speaks again, “Oh, and some more tissues?”

The box felt mostly full, but you toss him a smile over your shoulder all the same, fondness welling in your chest for the man.

“Can you fluff my pillows, baby?”

At that, you whirl back around, brows arching. “Yeah?”

He grins as you lean over him, chest nearly brushing his face, smacking both sides of said pillows. “Maybe tuck me in while you’re at it?”

Now you’re snorting, but reaching down around his waist to start pushing fabric into place near his hips, drawing back when he stops you in your movements. “Is that not good?”

“I’m just messing with you, honey.”

You shove him. Hard.

“Hey! I’m sick.”

“And you’re a pain in my ass, Mr. Harrington.”

“But you love it, Mrs. Harrington.”

And you’re speechless.

Because he’s right, and there’s nothing you can say to refute that fact at this point.

A fact that becomes more and more clear every day.

——

All in all, you really do both get the opportunity to work out those in sickness and in health vows. Because about twenty four hours into Steve being sick, you start to feel run down, and about twelve hours after that, the two of you spend the better part of five days sleeping and holding one another in bed, watching mindless reality television shows, and coaxing Charlie to join you both so he can curl up near your feet and keep a watchful eye on you both.

Eddie calls on the first day you’re both down for the count. Checks in to see if you need anything, offers to drop off food, and pick up anything you might need from the grocery store. Hopper ends up sending food up to the penthouse, cooked by Joyce herself, and joined by some freshly baked chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

On day two, Robin and Nancy stop in, keeping a far distance, but end up cleaning around the house since you hadn’t really had a chance to before your own fever and body aches kicked in.

After that, your friends and family alternate until you’re both back on the mend. And it’s not long before Steve has a healthy glow back in his face and you can breathe through your nose once more.

The day before Thanksgiving, you both pack up your things in suitcases and send off Charlie to go stay with Joyce and Hopper for the duration of your trip. The kids, El and Will, are overjoyed at the prospect of spending time with the puppy and promise to keep him safe and feed him all the treats if he’s well behaved.

Sighing a hum of relief, you slam your passenger side door shut, wincing as Steve slams the trunk closed before joining you within. He thumps against the headrest, left hand on the steering wheel, the other reaching over the center console you lace his fingers through yours. You beam up at him, heat crawling along flesh, and give his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Ready to go, Harrington?”

He puts the car into gear, and you’re off.

——

Mrs. Harrington’s second home is beautiful. More than you could ever imagine. After a five hour flight and a short drive from the airport to the front gates, you’re greeted by a worker who allows Steve to pass in the rental car, weaving up cobblestone roads through an endless sea of trees in what feels like the middle of nowhere Vail, Colorado.

The home is gorgeous. Nestled in the middle of lush greenery is a luxurious mansion adorned with endless rustic charm. Glowing lights spill from the giant windows, illuminating the wrap-around stone patio that compliments the blend of timeless stone and timber exterior of the pale walls boasting of the multiple floors within the home. From where you’re standing you can see the garden off to the right side of the home and the pond trickling amidst her blooms.

“This is how all the good scary movies start…” you say, leaning your head back to take in the towering home standing before you. “Giant home in the middle of nowhere.”

“Is that so?” He’s laughing, sides shaking with it as he grips your suitcase and tugs it after him. “Come on, honey. No one is about to hop out of the woods.”

“How do you know?” Your brow arches high on your forehead, breaking off into a snort he rolls his eyes at.

“Come on.” He tugs you along beside him, your shoulders bumping at the proximity. “My mom can hardly wait another minute to see us if her dozens of texts were any indication.”

He’s not wrong.

She’s there in a flurry of movement to greet you, patting you both on the backs of your heads, overjoyed that you’re both feeling better.

The inside is just as magnificent. Vaulted ceilings, white walls with wooden decor. A burning fireplace in the middle of one of the largest living rooms you’ve ever seen, attached to a kitchen that looks the size of your old apartment. She walks you through the rest of the home, revealing room after room of generational wealth. Old money that runs in Steve’s blood—a fact you often forget, because he’s never been one for the lavish or lofty.

It dawns on you that this is what he’s used to. Holidays in the Hamptons, vacation homes in Vail and on tropical islands, cars that cost a salary.

Noting your stupor, Steve curls an arm around your shoulder, back of his hand on your forehead. “Still feeling okay?”

“I’m okay,” you reassure him with a smile, jolting as Mrs. Harrington whirls on you both and catches the two of you in the middle of a private moment.

“Well aren’t you two just lovely. I’m really so happy you could make it.” She claps her hands excitedly. “You’re the first ones here. I’ll show you to your room. I’m sorry it’s across from mine, I just figured with Cami, Theo and the kids, you two would want a little peace and quiet.”

And absolutely no privacy, you think, taking in the short distance between your bedroom and Mrs. Harrington’s. And it’s not like you’d anticipated anything happening, but you couldn’t help but to wonder if something might have. The room is lovely. A king sized bed with cream colored sheets. Various sandy colored decorations. Plants hanging in the bedroom window. A dresser that you easily slide your things into, and the adjoining bathroom just next to the room. Up above a sparking chandelier dangles, shards that look like mirrors cutting yours and Steve’s forms into dozens of miniature versions of yourselves that you stare back at.

She gives you a moment to unpack and destress, and you’re barely aware of the bedroom door clicking shut before Steve’s crawling over your form on the bed. You hum into his lips as they claim yours, days of doing nothing but sleeping, making your insides burn, craving more. Always more of him these days. A sigh falls from your parted lips as he pastes endless kisses to your neck. Until you’re writhing beneath him, cheeks burning up, fingers clutching at his biceps.

“Not in your mother’s home,” you giggle, breathless and giddy from his attention. “I’m serious, Steve. I'm still trying to make a good impression.”

He flops over onto his side, hair freshly cut and beard freshly shaven. He’s perfect. The slope of his nose, the curve of those cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. Your forehead leans into his, fingers trailing over the thin sweater covering his abdomen, before trailing beneath, roaming over sinewy muscle. The divots and indentations from hours spent in the gym, the patch of hair that slips down past his belt, always teasing—tempting.

“We’re in my mother’s house,” he reminds you as your fingers trail lower, toying with the too expensive buckle on his belt, eyes following the path of your touch, “isn’t that what you said? Plus, if I remember correctly, you’re not one to keep quiet.”

“I changed my mind. I can be so quiet,” you argue frostily, earning a chuckle from the man. “Like a little church mouse.”

“As much as I would love to test that theory, I think that’s the doorbell.”

Theobald and Cami.

You groan, burying your face into his shoulder.

——

You’ve decided on a silky burgundy dress for Thanksgiving dinner. Long sleeves glide over your arms, the deep neckline drawing Steve’s gaze from where he sits on the edge of the bed fastening his cufflinks with his diamond encrusted initial in the center.

He looks handsome as ever. A pair of dark pants, his suit jacket, a pop of burgundy on his necktie that matches what you’ve worn. He’s gotten a haircut, his hair no longer falling around his jaw. Instead it’s a bit shorter, coiffed perfectly on his head, and that hair along his jawline has been shaved once more, leaving him fresh faced and glowy after his shower.

Exhaling deeply, you run your fingers over the fabric, turning to and fro, taking in your image in the mirror, making sure the fit is immaculate, before turning to face him.

“Good?”

“Perfect,” he whispers a little breathlessly, crossing the room to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. He holds out a hand and you clasp it, allowing him to lead you to the bedroom door. “Shall we?”

Your nose wrinkles. “We shall.”

Despite the face dinner is taking place at Mrs. Harrington’s home, she hired a full wait staff for the evening, along with a private chef. The dining room—though you thought it more akin to a dining hall—is decked to the nines with all the finest offerings. She’s gone for the vintage plates and freshly polished silverware. Wine glasses sparkle all around the table, illuminated by the candles down the center of the velvet runner.

Cami’s familiar head of curls lifts first as you enter, her hands that were moving to fix the lapels of her son’s suit jacket moving to draw you in for a hug as she rushes over to greet you and Steve in the entryway.

“Oh we are so happy to hear you two are doing better,” she gushes, patting Steve affectionately on the cheek. Like he’s a puppy like Charlie—like a child. You catch the wince as she pinches the skin there and gives it a wiggle, and then moves to grab your hand like this isn’t only the third time you’ve seen her in the five months you’ve been married to her family member. “Let me introduce you to my two little babies. They’d been with the au pair the night of your wedding. This right here is Harriet, and here is Holden.”

Twins. Harriet and Holden Harrington are twins, and they look absolutely nothing like their father and that fact alone has your lips twitching up in laughter. Because the sweet little ones sitting across from you with eyes that remind you so much of Steve’s are red headed and just as freckly as their mom is. Adorable, in a way that has your insides melting, reaching out to Steve to grasp onto something as you bend down and finally greet them both.

“Hi,” you whisper, telling them your name. “I’m your cousin Steve’s wife. It’s so nice to meet you! How old are you two?”

“We’re seven,” Harriet says demurely, her little nose turning upward just the slightest as she adds, “almost eight.”

Cami giggles brightly. “And nearly ripped my a—”

“Cami, dear,” Theobald interjects, appearing in the doorway with a bottle of wine that looks older than you are. He’s swaying a bit on his feet, the glass of whiskey in his free hand alerting to what he’s gotten up to before you came down for dinner. “Well, hello there. We were wondering when you two would come out to join us.”

“It’s been a long week,” Steve reminds him, curling an arm around your waist. “My wife and I were sick.”

“That’s right,” his cousin says, glancing down at the label on the bottle, uninterested. “What a misfortune that was. Canceled all your meetings that week, but don’t worry—I took care of things.”

“Thank you,” Steve says, leading you to your chair, and the tautness in his muscles alerts you this is not a good thing Theo has done. He slides forward as you sit down and presses a kiss to the side of your head before joining on your right. “Sweetheart, would you mind passing me that bottle?”

“Why don’t we open the vintage?” Theobald suggests, holding aloft his latest discovery from the wine cellar you’d passed on your short tour around the premises of the Mrs. Harrington’s home.

The room settles into an uncomfortable silence. Minus that of the children’s chatter and their father’s requests for them to behave like ‘civilized human beings and not like wild animals at the dinner table.’ At which you sink further into your chair, grateful for the weight of Steve’s left hand on your thigh.

Mrs. Harrington has already made herself comfortable at the head of the table by the time the wait staff comes around to declare the menu offerings for the evening. A four course meal, with ample options to choose from. Everyone orders and the salads are brought out for the first course, when the room starts to shift.

Or rather, Theobald starts to shift. “So, I’m really glad to see the two of you thriving. So happily in love, aren’t they?”

“They’re just lovely,” Mrs. Harrington agrees from where she sits beside her son, cupping his jaw lovingly. “She loves my son so well.”

Your heart aches at her words, at the honesty behind them. She truly, undoubtedly believes that you love her son. And maybe you’re starting to. You’re not sure. In the past, you’ve never really thought much on the topic of love. Had never had time for relationships, always buried in schoolwork, trying to stay afloat, get ahead. Love had always been a maybe. A someday. Not a necessity. Not something you’d ever base your happiness off of. But all around you you’d seen people giddy with it. Your own parents, Robin and Nancy, Eddie and the way he felt about Chrissy.

You knew you were fond of Steve. Knew you loved him like you did Robin. Like you did Eddie. The way you loved Charlie. And yet—and yet there’s a whisper in the back of your mind. A tendril or something new growing. Unnamed still, but with the humble beginnings of something special. Something waiting to be tended to, lured into the light, encouraged.

“How is everything going with school, dear?” Mrs. Harrington asks you, and Theobald’s face twitches from where he sits beside you.

“Oh—it’s great,” you tell her, swallowing your sip of wine. “Clinicals are going well. I’m on my fall break right now. Just a few more months and I’ll be a veterinarian.”

“Doctor Harrington,” Steve says, bringing your hand up to his lips to press a kiss against the back of your knuckles. “So proud of you, honey. She works harder than anyone I know. Runs a business, takes care of Charlie and me.”

“You know, it’s a wonder how you’re affording it,” Theo mutters, drawing the gaze of everyone at the dinner table. At the curious stares, he adds, “Well, the typical cost of veterinary school is somewhere in the hundreds of thousands. And that’s not including what you may have incurred from your undergraduate studies.”

“I’ve worked very hard to stay ahead on my payments,” you splutter out, the lettuce you’d just placed on your tongue turning to acid.

“I’m sure you have,” he says, sounding a little smug. “I, for one, would like to say how happy we are that you’re here. I know the holidays must be hard for you.”

“I—uh, yes.” At Steve’s confusion, you murmur, “We lost my mother this time of year. She’d been sick for a long time.”

He knows that much. Knows she passed, doesn’t know what from. Doesn’t know that your father struggled for years after. That he became a shadow of the person he was for a time—choked off by the grief. That you had to step in and grow up far before you ever should have had to to help raise your little sister. That you watched as the man you loved lost everything he had, and nearly lost the home he loved his wife in for so many years, the home he’d raised his children in, the home he’d wanted to one day have his grandchildren run through the halls of, grow old in, make memories to last a lifetime in.

“I’m also happy to hear your father’s home is no longer in foreclosure.”

Your fork clangs onto the plate at that. “What are you—”

“Seems your father was able to make up for all his missed payments, late fees, and those pesky attorney’s fees. Where might he have gotten all of that money?”

“Theobald,” Cami hisses, leaning over her wine glass to look at you with a pitying stare. “I’m sorry, sweetie. My husband must have over served himself. Isn’t that right, darling?”

“It just seems…interesting, you know?” Theo continues against her wishes, eying you curiously.

Steve opens his mouth to argue, but you jump in before he can. “And what might be so interesting, Mr. Harrington?”

“Initially, I’m going to be honest in saying that I thought you married because you were pregnant. I figured my dear cousin had tried to cover up his mistakes with a shotgun wedding and raise his littlest Harrington as his fortunate heir. But seeing as you are not, I may have hired a private investigator to look into who Steve married.”

“You what?” Steve and his mother balk, anger lining their gazes.

There’s an awkward silence that descends over the room. It’s made more uncomfortable when the wait staff comes in to clear the salad plates and sets down entrees in front of those sitting at the table. Harriet and Holden are chatting amongst themselves, Cami there to help tuck napkins in their collars. Your eyes wander their way, nose sniffling sharply to keep your unshed tears at bay.

Because Theobald Harrington will not see you cry today.

So you’ll beat him to it. You’ll play along with his vicious game.

“Yes, when my mother died my father struggled. I have a little sister, and she was so young at the time. We’ve never been particularly wealthy, so you imagine going from two incomes to one was hard,” you begin, carving at your food hastily. Steve’s hand brushes along the back of your wrist, but you continue, “Bills started piling up. Medical bills are expensive, and it’s not like we had money just laying around by the bucketful like you might. So, yes, he struggled to stay afloat. And I helped him, but a waitress salary at the time could only go so far. Should I continue?”

Theobald leans his chin onto his hand, elbow on the table despite his aunt’s protests. “Humor me.”

“I started my business and have sent him money to pay down what he owes. And yes, the home came out of foreclosure.” You slam your fork down onto the plate below. “No, I’m not pregnant. And if you want me to admit I married Steve for money or something, because that’s what it sounds like you’re insinuating, you’re wrong; I married him because I love him. A word I’m not quite sure you know the meaning of, because you haven’t been a good family member to Steve, and certainly haven’t been one to me either.”

You turn your head to Mrs. Harrington, hot embarrassment burning behind your eyes. “May I be excused for a moment, please? I’m suddenly not feeling very well.”

She nods, eyes a little misty, voice hoarse. “Yes, my dearie.”

The chair beneath you groans, sweaty palm slipping out of Steve’s hand, before your napkin is thrown onto your empty plate. Cami mutters a silent apology, the children stare, Steve stares ahead, jaw tense, and Theo only grins into his wine glass. Smug as ever.

And it’s then, and only then, as you slip into your bedroom that you allow the tears to fall. Because for months you’ve been trying to fit a mold, to be that woman for Steve, to walk in this world as seamlessly as he does.

But you don’t belong, and Theo’s only made that clearer.

——

Steve knows you. Knows beneath that stubborn exterior, the way you’re always flippant and easy to brush things off with a joke, you have a soft heart. He knows you would prefer to divert to humor before accepting an uncomfortability of conflict. Knows you default to protect yourself, because you’ve been doing so for so long. That you’ve built walls around yourself, even if you don’t realize; walls he can see dismantling every day he’s gotten to know you.

Sure, you’ve been romantic for only a short while now, but five months of marriage — of being your friend first — has lent to a deeper understanding. A love that he’s not felt before, growing deeper every day.

So as he watches as you excuse yourself in a blur of tears and choked words, he knows to wait a minute before slamming his napkin down on the table and following you. He knocks first as he approaches your shared bedroom door. Speaks your name into the open space when you don’t answer at first, only to find you curled on your side in bed, holding a pillow flush against your chest.

His first thought is how much he wants to wrap you up in his arms and kiss your sullen face until it lights up with his favorite smile once more. That same smile he thinks is his kryptonite, always brightening your features and effectively robbing him of air. And you don’t even know the power you hold. But he halts near your hip, backside hitting the plus mattress, palm around the dip of your waist. He feels the shake of your sides, the effort of your tears you’re trying to smother in the pillow.

It cleaves his heart right down the middle. Two halves slowly flutter to the bottom of his stomach, lungs tight in his chest like a vice. The last time he saw you cry, it had been just as terrible. You hurt over his actions, eyes red, lids puffy. To think seeing you like this now would be any less heartbreaking is a mistake on his part. Because his heart breaks for what yours does, body slowly sidling up behind yours, your back against his chest, his fingers gradually walking up and down your arm, quiet as your tears start to subside, your breathing evening out.

“Thank you, Steve,” you sniffle after some time has passed with you in his arms.

He exhales deeply as you shift on the bed, turning to face him, wiping at your mascara smudged cheeks. You’re still the prettiest girl in the world, he thinks, without a doubt. Thumbs the corner of your eye where a little dark smudge has started to form, collecting the tear that spills out the corner of your eye.

“Cami started yelling at him when I left, if that makes you feel better,” he says, chest aching when you shake with laughter, burrowing your head into the curve of his shoulder where it meets his chest. Where you’ve always been meant to fit, he realizes. “Said he’s sleeping in the guest bedroom down the hall, and that she’ll stay with the kids. She loves you, you know? She’s a little…intense but she loves you.”

“I’m glad someone does.”

“Hey…” He pushes back a bit to tilt your head up, eyes locking on yours. “My mother loves you too. And I…you’re my wife. You're just as much a Harrington as anyone else at that dinner table, okay?”

“Steve, I don’t belong, and you know that.”

The sound that escapes you is a pitiful thing. A mix between a sob and a moan, more tears spilling down your cheeks when he leans down and presses his lips to yours. Softly, at first, but it quickly grows deeper, his desire to keep you there with him pounding in his blood. Screaming into the space that you belong, you belong, you belong.

“You do belong,” he says, his breath a mere pant against your trembling lips, “you belong with me, okay? That’s all that matters. He’s jealous. He’s jealous because of years of hatred that have started long before I married you and will continue because he’s unhappy. And because he’s unhappy he’s made it his goal to make everyone around him unhappy too.”

He brushes the tears beneath your eyes. Kisses the tracks with the lightest of touches against your face. Nudges your nose until all that remains is that bright, beaming smile. “You’re a Harrington. We’re a team, okay? It’s not a conventional marriage, sure, but you have me. Okay? I’m here for you; it’s okay to let me be here for you.”

He exhales deeply as you sink further into him. Bodies tangling like they’ve done so for years as opposed to weeks. A hand comes up to brush along the back of your head, your fingers splaying in the bunched fabric of his shirt.

“Thank you, Stevie.”

The name is a jolt to his heart. Saccharine sweet and liquid hot in his bloodstream. The arm wound around your waist draws you closer, tighter to him. He wishes he could be closer, wants to memorize every detail of your form, the depths of your eyes, wants to memorize the sounds you make when you fall asleep, the way his name sounds on your lips in utter bliss like that afternoon in the kitchen. He wants it all. For the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he knows.

“He’s not wrong though,” you say after some time. Softly, so softly.

“About?”

“I did marry you for money.”

At that, his lip twitches. “Well, I married you for a company and a title.”

Unconventional. Irresponsible. But as the months slip on by, he knows he wouldn’t change it for the world. He would take thousands of moments like these over and over again. You, in his arms. You, chest to chest, nose to nose, forehead to forehead. Two people wound together and tied together by a contract, now lost in the unfamiliar something more growing.

“I think it ended up being a good business deal, though,” you tell him, eyes boring into his. Like this, he feels raw. Exposed like a nerve. But he’s unafraid. Welcomes it. “Don’t you?”

“I do,” he wholeheartedly agrees, sliding a palm along the contours of your cheek. Relishes in the feeling of you sinking further into the mattress, sleep starting to peek in at the corner or your eyes. “And another thing, you know you could have come to me about your family, right? I didn’t realize that’s what you were doing with your dog walking business.”

“Steve, you’ve already done too much. I’m not asking you for more. Plus, things are okay now. He’s doing well, Caroline is well—I’ve got it handled.”

And, in a way, he knows you have for a long time now. Wonders if you’ve ever just allowed yourself a moment of respite. Of not worrying how the next bill would get paid, wondering if your family would be okay, all while grieving the loss of someone so important. It pains him to think of it, chest heaving with a weight so great it’s nearly suffocating.

But it’s almost like you know, fingers slipping along his chest, pausing at the space against his sternum where his heart pounds loudly in his ears. “Just let me have this and I’m happy. This—you, us, whatever this is.”

“You just…you never should have had to grow up so fast,” he says sadly, wishing he could have been there, would have met you sooner—he’s not even sure. He just knows he grieves for the young girl who felt like she had the world resting on her shoulders. “You’re…probably one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met. But you have me now, for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot,” you tell him sincerely.

He swallows the knot forming in his throat and smiles to himself as you lift his left hand and trace your thumb over the wedding band there idly. A silence settles over the room, comfort found in roaming hands, in gentle brushes of lips, of soft sighs as either pulls away to catch a breath.

And later, as the moon rises high over an inky sky, and he’s holding you close in his arms, both of you in pajamas and ready for bed, he brushes an open kiss to your shoulder blade. Whispers, “Tell me about her, will you? She’s important to you, so she’s important to me.”

The two of you lay for hours. Talking amongst your sheets and pillows. Wound together tight. Interlocking fingers and legs. You begin to paint a picture in his mind of the woman who meant the world to you and more. A woman with joy and love in her heart, a lyrical laugh, a bright smile he can only imagine mirrors yours. Someone he knows had a part in growing you into the woman laying beside him. A person he’s proud of, is fond of, finds himself…falling for.

Love, maybe?

An abstract to him for so. A lofty ideal he thought always meant for others, never him. His own family had been lacking it, his parent’s marriage scarred and soiled by years of lies and infidelity. But he wonders if it’s there. If the capacity of love exists within him, and maybe it only has been seeking the right person.

“She would have really liked you, you know?” you tell him after some time, fingers crawling along the divots of his abdomen, his skin breaking out into gooseflesh.

He gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You think so?”

“Absolutely,” you say reassuringly, peeking up through your lashes to gaze up at him. “It’s hard not to.”

Those eyes—your eyes—will never not render him a little speechless.

He’ll get lost in them over and over again and never tire. But there’s comfort in it.

Even now, as you lean over and shut the bedside lamp. As you crawl over his chest and tug his glasses free from his face and press your lips to his. As you slump down into his chest, head over his sternum, arms around his waist.

Something like love blooms behind his ribcage.

It should be scary, but as he watches your back rise and fall in your sleep, he realizes it isn’t.

——

please like/ reblog/ interact if you enjoyed! i love hearing from and talking to you all. next chapter is…one you’ve probably all been waiting for. 😏

[phoenix-bleh]

Got idea for an intresting self aware au fic thing! A concept I did with friends but want to see your take on it! Not quite a single self aware cookie run character x reader but...here it is. My idea!

Self aware cookie run x very anxiety-ridden reader! Like having a habit of overthinking and yeah lol!

Imagine...y/n knows the Kingdom story and loves the game and the characters buuuuut when they are taken into world...they are TERRIFIED because of dark enchantress, the war and fighting and conflict going on and is terrified of being dragged into it so probably freak out at first about being out into the game like "ok i didn't know I was gonna get possibly killed by cookies of darkness today!"

Buuuuuut over time they learn from experience that things aren't as they seem. seems like all the conflicts have calmed down ever since y/n appeared and no there are no more of the usual story conflicts...instead, it's just the silly conflict of who can spoil y/n better and everyone focuses on making y/n happy and comfy and relaxed rather than trying to tear eachother a new one.

Example (just to demonstrate well..what problems y/n worries about vs. What they actually face. Just to give you a sample.)

Worry: y/n thinks they have to worry about dark enchantress taking them hostage and being treated badly as a hostage....

Reality: y/n if...really big if since they know kidnapping causes anxiety, dark enchnteress decides to take em as a hostage...y/n just had to worry about what snacks they are gonna choose to much on while watching their favorite movie while waiting for the good cookies to rescue em.

Worry: pure vanilla and shadow milk fight and being caught in crossfire.

Reality: pure vanilla and shadow milk have competition on who can make y/n their favorite breakfast dish the best! Winner gets to cook y/n breakfast!

Tldr: anxiety y/n gets dragged into cookie run world and gets scared because they think they will be doomed via plot because of the fighting always going on in it. Lucky for them...cookies won't let plot lay a finger on y/n and just want to spoil y/n rotten!

Self aware CRK x Anxiety! reader

Good luck trying to survive when you got a bunch of cookies wanting your attention 👍

warnings: you get spoiled to death

You don’t know why or how you ended up here in the game Cookie Run Kingdom but here you are. You were surrounded by the many cookies excited to meet you and you were just standing there confused out of your mind. Looking at all the cookies in front of you you realized you were actually here, in real life, and this wasn’t a dream. You let that sink in and on the inside you were screaming.

You knew about the game and you KNEW the story that came with the game. You loved the game, it was amazing, but the conflict that you might get dragged into scared you to the core. Not to mention you were in the middle of the Dark Flour war. What if that was still happening right now?? You were not in the mood for dying today.

The fear in your face was not unnoticed by one of the Ancients, Pure Vanilla Cookie walked up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. You flinched at his touch and turned to look at him. “y/n are you alright? Is this all too much for you?” His face held genuine worry for you. You put your head down a little “Is…is the war still going on?” you asked him quietly. He still heard you and rubbed your shoulder for comfort “Unfortunately yes, but no need to worry dear if any harm were to come to you we promise to keep you safe at all cost.” 

You wanted to thank him for the reassuring words but if you were being honest they really didn’t work that much. However after some time being here most of the major conflicts started dying down just because of you existing. Even Dark Enchantress Cookie stopped focusing on trying to take over all of Earthbread and started focusing on trying to steal you and spoil you. Which is weird since it seems like something she wouldn’t do but here you are. 

She just kidnapped you and obviously you were terrified of what she could possibly do to you. She could do anything she wanted to you since you were way weaker than her and just thinking about it made you shake in terror. You were then placed in a big room with a bed and one of your favorite movies/shows and Dark Enchantress standing next to you asking you if you needed anything. You looked like a deer in headlights and just said you wanted a glass of milk. She then told her followers to go fetch you a glass of milk. Now you were just sitting here with a bunch of blankets and pillows surrounding plus the dark cookies huddled up next to you with a bunch of snacks all over the floor. You were waiting to see if anyone would come and save you just in case she change her act and decided she wanted to torture, but that was just your thoughts

It wasn’t just her either, almost every cookie fought over to see who could spoil and treat you the best.

During the expedition of Beast-Yeast you were freaking out about the conflict that Pure Vanilla and Shadow Milk might have and how much destruction it might cause. Also if Shadow Milk Cookie won you knew for a fact you were all dead. Noooooo it was nothing like that at all. They fought over your attention and for some reason had a cooking contest, out of all things, to see who could serve you the best. You can say you were pretty confused and now you have two cookies in front of you shoving each other so you could eat their food first.

When you met Wildberry Cookie and Crunchy Chip Cookie at the same time you were sure they were gonna argue with each other about something and you did not want to be caught up in their fighting. Too bad you were and they were fighting over who could protect you from danger better. If you were being honest you were just thankful they cared about you but you were definitely not expecting this much attention.

You thought you were gonna be caught in the terrible scary plot in this game and get yourself killed. Lucky you though none of the plot ever touched you because everyone was too busy trying to please you and keep you happy. Which apparently is way more important than anything else, but hey at least you know you're not dying anytime soon besides being spoiled to death.

[tenebraevesper]

Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic Prime, Character Analysis - Part 1)

Welcome to the first part of my personal elaboration on the topic of why ''Prime!Shadow is peak Shadow!'', or in other words, why Prime!Shadow is one of the best written iterations of Shadow's character.

Will I try to make proper arguments for his character writing? Of course. Will I also be biased as hell just because he's my favorite character? Absolutely!

So, if you can handle both of that, we should dive in!

Before I start, I suppose I should give a brief overview of Shadow's character and how he had been handled through the years. The general consensus seems to be that Shadow was at his peak as a character from Sonic Adventure 2 to Sonic the Hedgehog (2006) (as well as Pre-Reboot!Archie Comics during Ian Flynn's run), being someone who was deeply traumatized by the death of his sister Maria Robotnik, had his memories manipulated to get revenge on humanity, only to sacrifice his own life to save the world Maria cherished, losing his memories in the process and trying to carve out his own path, only to finally solidify his role as a protector of the world, even if his methods aren't always the most peaceful ones.

So, where does the idea of edgelord Shadow come from?

Yeaaahh... let's just say that Shadow's own game, Shadow the Hedgehog (2005), didn't do him any good in the character department, because it seems that all that people remember was that one time SEGA decided to give Shadow a gun and let him deal with an alien invasion. The confusing story routes didn't help either.

In time, Shadow's character went from a complex and layered character to something akin to Vegeta (no offense Dragon Ball fans!), much to the disappointment of everyone who understood character before he underwent this transformation. Also, I'm not counting Boom!Shadow in this because Sonic Boom is a different universe and its own thing, but I won't argue against the fact that Boom!Shadow's characterization as a complete jerkass didn't do Game!Shadow any favor either. That's not even mentioning the Sonic IDW Comics, where Shadow had many mandates tied to him that even the writers found it annoying to write him (although with the most recent arc where Shadow was shown, it seems that the mandates have loosened a little).

Of course, I might be missing out on some information, but this is the general gist of the history of his character. So, when Sonic Prime revealed that Shadow would be one of the major characters, you can bet that I was nervous about how he would be written and I decided to keep a close eye on his characterization; and honestly, I went from genuinely pleased to excited when I realized that Shadow was being written as a very compelling character. Not only that, but he also appeared to have gone through subtle character development over the course of the show.

Starting from the very beginning, I'm certain that you remember how Shadow's first appearance was basically him punching Sonic at the end of Episode 01: Shattered, a very impactful first impression that left us with more questions and headaches. The following episode, Episode 02: The Yoke's On You, gives us more details in regards to why he punched Sonic, seemingly out of the blue.

Shadow's proper introduction kicks off with him searching for the Chaos Emerald... and I have to ask, when was the last time we even saw Shadow genuinely smile? Was in the Mario & Sonic at The Olympic Games franchise? I don't really remember.

In any case, being clearly happy about finding the Chaos Emerald, he speeds off, only to suddenly sense that something is wrong and is met with a giant blue pulse of energy (released during Sonic's fight with Dr. Eggman) and a vision of Sonic using the Paradox Prism energy.

''Sonic!''

This expression just screams ''Something bad is going to happen and it's Sonic's fault! I'm going to kick his ass before he does anything stupid!''

We then follow Shadow as he searches for Sonic, clocking him square in the face for something he hasn't done yet. Eh, I'd say that this one wasn't really deserved.

Even before Sonic starts explaining his relationship with Shadow, we immediately get an understanding of Shadow's character. He is serious, works alone, quite fast and powerful, prefers to fight over talking things out, is willing to do anything to protect his home and clearly has a history with Sonic. Sonic proceeds to add how Shadow is his biggest rival, a buzzkill and that he totally roller-skates.

''They're air shoes!''

Did... Did Shadow just break the 4th wall? Did he just make a joke? Dude, not even Boom!Shadow got to do that and Sonic Boom was the epitome of wall breaking!

Yeah, let's just say that my jaw dropped when I heard this, realizing that Shadow's character in Sonic Prime will be different than what we got used to see.

So, after knocking the Rings out of Sonic (I mean that literally), Shadow questions him about what he has done, with Sonic pointing out how Eggman is the bad guy, clearly confused about why Shadow is attacking him.

''You literally shook the world!'' ''That's because I'm good! And powerful apparently! Jealous?''

After a bit of teasing from Sonic, he and Shadow get into a race, during which I had noticed something. While Sonic keeps teasing Shadow (and also having fun fighting him), Shadow tells him to stop and listen for once.

''Clearly you're angry, which is normal,... but I'm supposed to be on a bit of a mission here, Shadow!'' ''What mission?'' ''None of your business.''

Sooooo, have you noticed it too? Because there is something very telling in this interaction. If you haven't, I'll let it play out until the end. Anyways, to continue, Shadow knocks Sonic into a rock, with Sonic confirming another aspect of their relationship.

''Ughh, I know, we're fighting again. Don't worry guys, I'll calm him down.''

We now know that this certainly wasn't the first time they had a fight and it won't be the last time. Sonic points out that, whatever beef they have, they aren't going to settle it this way. While Sonic is right, I will admit, I had to gush over the excellent animation and fight choreography. X3

Sonic then hears an explosion from the cave where the Paradox Prism is and tells Shadow that he needs to get to his friends, only to get punched for his troubles.

''Learn to focus!''

Now that the flashback is over, what exactly is going on between the two?

First of all, the main thing I have noticed is that both Shadow and Sonic seriously have a problem with communication. Shadow knows Sonic is about to do something stupid, and from his actions (aka choosing violence over talking) he is trying to prevent Sonic from doing whatever he was about to do. It does paint Shadow as a bit of a jerk, but Sonic isn't completely innocent here either.

An observation I had made was that Shadow probably knows that if he tried to just talk to Sonic, Sonic would either blow him off and run away or just tease him back, which was confirmed when Shadow asks him on what kind of mission he is with Sonic responding that it's none of his business. I imagine that there were previous events where Sonic was doing something stupid and Shadow tried to stop him from making things worse, and that violence was indeed the answer to Sonic's antics.

If Sonic had explained to Shadow what the deal is, I'm certain that Shadow would help him out. Perhaps Shadow could've told him about his vision, but going by Sonic's behavior, Sonic would probably not listen to him.

This brings me to my second point - this moment establishes that, if there will be character development for Shadow, it will be mainly through his interactions with Sonic and them learning to work together and listen to each other, something I'm really excited to talk about in later episodes.

The flashback continues in Episode 03: Escape From New Yoke, where Sonic does the old ''Hey, look behind you!'' trick and Shadow falls for it, hook, line and sinker. Sonic knocks him into a wall and speeds off to where his friends are fighting Eggman, leaving Shadow to recover and follow him.

I do like how Shadow just shakes his head here. Even if he doesn't say much, you can clearly see what it is going through his mind. He's angry at Sonic, but acknowledges that this is just typical for his blue rival.

in Episode 07: It Takes One to No Place, we see that Shadow manages to reach the Paradox Prism cave, just as Sonic is about to shatter it.

''Chaos Control!''

Unlike Sonic's friends and Dr. Eggman, Shadow manages to use Chaos Control, preventing him from being shattered just like the others.

''Sonic!''

Instead, he finds himself floating in The Void. I'll leave what happened to him in The Void for the next part, but what is important to note is that he cannot enter the individual Shatterspaces, but he can communicate with Sonic every time the latter gains enough speed to use the Paradox Prism Energy.

''Sonic, it's broken! It's all broken!''

Sonic is at first freaked out, thinking he's just hallucinating. I suppose that explains why Sonic keeps ignoring him in any subsequent appearances, despite Shadow trying his best to contact him and trying to explain him what to do, like telling him how he's lost in The Void and for Sonic to keep moving and to not stop (which also leads Sonic to find out how he can travel between Shatterspaces).

I suppose this can also be interpreted as ''Sonic leaves Shadow on read''. X3

Once Sonic accidentally gets out of No Place in Episode 08: There Is No Arrgh In Team, he is confronted by Shadow, who is absolutely furious. Not that Sonic notices, given how he had a really rough day himself.

''Shadow? Ugh, I don't have time to deal with whoever you are. I just wanna go home.''

''Home? Home doesn't exist anymore BECAUSE OF YOU!''

Considering what Sonic had done, yeah, this punch was definitely deserved.

As I said above, the first eight episodes are here to establish Shadow's character, his relationship/rivalry with Sonic and his own flaws (mainly the lack of communication on his part, choosing to fight Sonic instead) and it is clear that in order to overcome those flaws, he will have to work with Sonic (calm down Sonadow shippers, we didn't get there yet), something I'm excited to explore in the second part of this analysis.

#Shadow the Hedgehog (Sonic Prime, Character Analysis - Part 2)

#Sonic the Hedgehog Analyzer (Masterlist)

[the-moral-of-the-rose]

Montgomery's female characters that were not-exactly-pretty-but-fascinating-and-charming:

Anne Shirley:

"Public opinion never agreed on Anne’s looks. People who had heard her called handsome met her and were disappointed. People who had heard her called plain saw her and wondered where other people’s eyes were. [...] While Anne was not beautiful in any strictly defined sense of the word she possessed a certain evasive charm and distinction of appearance that left beholders with a pleasurable sense of satisfaction in that softly rounded girlhood of hers, with all its strongly felt potentialities." (Anne of Avonlea).

Emily Starr:

"A slender, virginal young thing. Hair like black silk. Purplish-grey eyes, with violet shadows under them [...]; scarlet lips with a Murray-like crease at the corners; ears with Puckish, slightly pointed tips. [...] An exquisite line of chin and neck; a smile with a trick in it; such a slow-blossoming thing with a sudden radiance of fulfilment. And ankles that scandalous old Aunt Nancy Priest of Priest Pond commended. [...] With all this—pretty? I cannot tell you. Emily was never mentioned when Blair Water beauties were being tabulated. But no one who looked upon her face ever forgot it." (Emily's Quest).

Valancy Stirling:

"Valancy was still leaning forward. Her little hat with its crimson rose was tilted down over one eye. Olive stared. In the moonlight Valancy’s eyes—Valancy’s smile—what had happened to Valancy! She looked—not pretty—Doss couldn’t be pretty—but provocative, fascinating—yes, abominably so." (The Blue Castle).

Pat Gardiner:

"Somehow people seldom wondered whether Pat Gardiner was pretty or not...she was so vital, so wholesome, so joyous, that nothing else mattered. Yet her dark-brown hair was wavy and lustrous, her golden-brown eyes held challenging lights and the corners of her mouth had such a jolly quirk. She was looking her best to-night with a little flush of excitement staining her round, creamy cheeks. She felt as if she were slipping back into the past." (Mistress Pat).

Jane Stuart:

"Your granddaughter is going to be a very handsome girl," a lady told grandmother. "She doesn't resemble her lovely mother, of course, but there is something very striking about her face."

"Handsome is as handsome does," said grandmother in a tone which implied that, judged by that standard, Jane hadn't the remotest chance of good looks." (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Thora Dark:

"Whenever she came into a room people felt happier. She lighted life like a friendly beaming candle. She had a face that was charming without being in the least beautiful. A fascinating square face with a wide space between her blue almond-shaped eyes and a sweet, crooked mouth. She was very nicely dressed. Her peculiarly dark auburn hair was parted on her forehead and coronetted on her crown. There were milky pearl drops in her ears." (Tangled Web).

Marigold Lesley neé Richards (Marigold's Aunt, a wife of Uncle Klondike, a female doctor):

"She had a little, square, wide-lipped, straight-browed face like a boy's. Not pretty but haunting. Wavy brown hair with one teasing, unruly little curl that would fall down on her forehead, giving her a youthful look in spite of her thirty-five years. What a dear face! So wide at the cheekbones—so deep grey-eyed. With such a lovely, smiling, generous mouth." (Magic for Marigold).

[hazashiovo]

Oblivious, supportive fem Reader x Ayano Aisha, the reader really doesn't get that poor Ayano likes her. It would be nice if they are childhood friends and if Reader isn't a pushover or weak, just clueless as fuck when it comes to love.

After all, girls make shrines about each other all the time, right? And really, getting chocolate from your gal pal on valentines day is the best, good thing you got her home made chocolate too!

My first Yan sim request:D

Ayano Aishi x Female reader

Side note: this character is a yandere,wich means yandere themes might appear disturbing to some readers.

T/W: mentions of kidnaping,mentions of drugging, obsessive behavior,murder,blood, stalking, pshycothic behavior,mentions of self harm and suicide.

Ayano has known you ever since she started first grade. You being her only friend in school,and with time this friendship evolved.

Which made you and the dark haired girl grow closer.

Her behavior never made you uncomfortable around her, neither did her silence. Because in truth,you liked it better, the difference between you two matched perfectly.

Your out going and talkative personality tangling with Ayano's introverted and silent language.

Kids your age called her many names due to her lack of emotions,but every time you were there to send them on their way with a bruise or two, nobody talks to your best friend like that!

At first when she was little,the girl saw your behavior towards her unnecessary. Why were you trying to get close to her? She had nothing to offer back to you.

But as she grew, whenever you weren't around her there was this empty spot in her heart,and that dull feeling griping her soul.

Not long before starting highschool did she realize what this meant.

Her mother talked to Ayano about this,since she was a child.Of course you were her special person,the one who will fill her heart with joy and warmth.

You belong to her.

And nobody can convince her otherwise.

You noticed when she became more clingy to you during breaks,but what you didn't see was the way she was glaring down at any student who dared to look at you for more than one second.

You didn't ask questions when your things were 'Borrowed' and never given back,it's what friends do,right? They share things with each other.

There would be times when you felt followed,like a shadow was glooming over you, following your every move when she wasn't with you. Even if you turned around to ease your paranoia,not seeing anyone there made it worse for you.

People noticed how tight you were with Ayano,so they chose not to meet pats with you. After all the shorter girl was creepy,who would want to tangle in something so complicated, definitely not most of the students,that's for sure.

But some couldn't help but be curious, maybe the feeling of being with someone they shouldn't be excited them.

But it didn't matter to Ayano. How do I know? The student coincidentally died because of food poisoning.

Rat poison isn't a condiment,silly.

Nothing changed after the incident,you and Ayano were closer,yes, that's because she offered you more protection than before, promising something like this will never happen to you. Unless it has to

Oh and she was over the moon when you accepted her invitation for a sleepover over, barely waiting to see your beautiful sleeping face,maybe she could even steal a kiss.

It didn't strike you as weird when you accidentally found her little shrine.

Dedicated to you, you even found it cute.

It had some of the hair ties and pins Ayano 'borrowed' from you a long while ago, pictures with the two of you as little children,pre teens and one from the first day of school.

She even kept the doodles you drew for her couple of months ago. Awh,she really is a sentimentalist even if she doesn't show it.

When ayano saw you looking trough her prized possessions she swore she saw her life flash before her eyes.

Heart rate quickening and this panick taking place in her chest. What will you say now? You will definitely hate her and then you won't want to be her friend anymore. How will she see you if you won't be her friend? How will she confess her love to you?

Of course all those thoughts broke when she heard your chuckle. Mind suddenly clear from the anxious rambling in her head.

"Man, why didn't you tell me? If I knew you prized those moments so much I would have taken more photos!" Relief completely washes over her when she sees that grin on your sweet lips. Why was she over thinking in the first place? You never doubted her, you're her loyal friend.

Of course,if you ever were to be creeped out by her she would have to take you, she'd never allow you to leave. After all you two can have a wonderful life together, whether you like it or not.

But that's not the case now, fortunately she doesn't have to drug you and tie you to her bed. How fortunate !

She smiles, nodding and promising to ask you for more photos for her 'prized moments'.

More people started either going missing or end up dead. People who tried taking you away from her,can't they see? You belong with her, you belong to her.

Since people are so stupid,she has to make it obvious and spell it in their face.

Slowly, letters practically spawned in your shoe locker.

Love poems calling you the sweetest of names. You were intrigued who this anonymous fan was,you must say you even tried peeking to see who was leaving them,but failed each time.

Ayano on the other hand was overwhelmed by pride when she heard you rambling about your secret admirer, cutely giggling over one particular sentence or so.

But she also felt... jealous? It doesn't matter that she's the one who wrote them,but seeing you so enamored with this 'anonymous ' person annoyed her.

On occasions she started gifting you chocolate she knew you liked. Mostly doing it because she loved your happy little squeals and that hug that followed after. She loved the feeling of your chest pressed against hers so tightly. Often wondering how it would feel without the layers of clothes on top of it.

This was only a step further to her plan, this way it wouldn't be a shock when she confessed her undying love to you. You will realize she's the only one you deserve,and you'll accept her love,even return it!

By the end of the first school year you're ready for the final part of her plan.

Yeah the people in your class wonder how you two are not dating yet. Of course they can see how deep Ayano is in for you,but you simply can't.

Making you hers. After she worked so hard this whole year to please you and gain your affection (even if she already had it) she's finally ready to spill her feelings to you.

So here she is,hidden behind the Sakura flower tree, waiting for you to join her.

Your secret admirer called you here to tell you something important,right in the last day of school,in case something goes wrong.

She will leave with you in any case scenario, preferably hand in hand ,rather than taking you home in a box,oh well.

If all goes well,by this time next year you will be her beloved girlfriend,but if not, then you'll be in her basement accompanied by her. Easy.

"Ayano?" Your sweet voice calls out once you get a whiff of the dark ponytail behind the thick tree. It's now or never.

And there she goes, spilling her feelings to you hoping you will return them. Telling you how she wrote those letters meaning every single word that was written on the paper. How she spent her afternoons making the chocolate gifted to you.

This of course came off as a surprise to you, never really thinking Ayano would be able to fall for somebody , especially you. Her best friend since first grade. We're you just so obvious you never noticed the signs?

One look at her flushed face and hopeful eyes and you knew that you also liked her all along,you just chose to push those feelings aside due to your fear of them never being returned by the brunette.

Of course you accepted her confession,and returned it of course.

But if you truly knew the things she had to do to have you,never In a million years would you choose to be hers.

Bonus, slightly suggestive

Ayano didn't usually dream,but when she did ,you were the star of the dream.

Most of her dreams would end up with you on display for her. The next morning she would check you out and pout, thinking that it's a long way before she actually gets to see you and touch your naked body.

But a girl can dream,right?

[deathbxnny]

Ik i already sent a request to you but.. once you said you’re also accepting JJK requests. I just had to. I hope you dont mind this

Ok so im not into JJK as much as i am into Genshin and HSR and all but im aware of season 1 plot and some of season 2. But can i request Gojo and Geto with an underclassmen who they have a sibling like relationship die and came back as a curse spirit? (While this request have them together, you can make them seperate if you want)

Here the context:

So the reader is a year below Gojo and Geto. After some time since you guys met, the two of them sees the reader as their cute little sibling and in return the reader sees them as their cool big brothers. All was fine until the reader died from a mission. How did the reader die? They dont know. Both of them werent told how the reader died but if there’s one thing they were sure of, the reader wasnt killed by Jujutsu. Because what other explanations do they have when they see you come back as a vengeful spirit? A vengeful spirit they need to take out.

So in the JJK wiki, it is said that “Sorcerers must also be killed with Jujutsu or they can become a vengeful cursed spirit after death” Which makes a very good angsty sceanrio dont you think?

Hope you have a great day/night!

- Flower Anon 🌸

Hey there, Flower anon!! I absolutely love this idea, and thank you very much for the tasty angst. I've been itching to write some jjk angst, haha. Also, regarding your other request for the second part to the Lyney x reader one-shot, just know that I will make it in a separate post to your ask due to formatting issues! But either way, I hope you meanwhile enjoy this!<33

Content: Heavy angst, platonic relationships, Geto is deeply depressed, Gojo is in denial, hurt/no comfort, reader is a year younger than both of them, vague descriptions of readers death, mentions of blood/injuries, vague descriptions of jjk canon violence, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

Inspired by the song "Death" by Melanie Martinez

((Not fully proofread))

Back from the dead.

At first, you appeared in the flickers of lights, in the corners of mirrors, in the shadows casted by trees and their own bodies, in reflections of windows and water, in gruesome, awful dreams.

And then you began being there in larger ways. You'd stand behind them, follow them around, no matter where they went, no matter where they looked, you were right there.

It was easy to ignore you at first, act like you didn't exist, like you were just a part of their traumatised, exhausted imagination. When was the last time they had slept properly? Perhaps the day before your funeral. Your face was plastered everywhere, a smile gracing it like it always did, an excited, pure one for a sorcerer. But there was nothing to be excited about anymore.

Maybe that's why you looked so sad now, as you stood in front of them in this classroom that was reserved for people a year older than you'll ever be.

Suguru wondered if you felt guilty for taking the color of their world away with you when you died.

"You know... denial never suited you, 'toru." You whispered quietly to Satoru, breaking this suffocating silence at last. Your body leaned against the desk a row in front of him. It all felt so casual, as though everything was perfectly fine. You never left. You simply came back a little different.

This was the first thing you've ever said since you've come back, Suguru then solemnly realised in his depressive haze. He nearly didn't hear you and wished he hadn't either. Your voice sounded distorted, like it didn't belong to you at all. But it was still you... wasn't it?

The only visible sign that Satoru meanwhile had even heard you was in a stutter of his hands that in turn messed up his text to Shoko again. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. What was he even texting her for again? Maybe for help? For a way out? "I'm seeing things again, Shoko. They're talking now." That's what your colorless eyes could read off his broken phone screen, which made you frown a little. You knew he'd never want to upset you. But he never wanted to face you again. Not like this.

It was so unlike him too, wasn't it? He hadn't been the same for a while now.

It was late in the afternoon by then, the orange hue filtering into the empty classroom through the blinds. An awfully nostalgic feeling that was now filled with tense bitterness. A past filled with laughter and joking now seemingly disappearing into the smoke of the burning incense sticks nearby.

Neither of them had said a single word for the entire duration of your little "hang out" session. Suguru simply leaned his head against his palm, gaze turned to a far away point in the darkening horizon outside, as the sun bid it's last warm goodbye. He took a deep breath, words shaky and filled with a deep exhaustion, not even his dear best friend could ever come close to feeling.

"Let him be... he'll come around eventually." The blackhaired boy muttered back to you, not bothering to look at your bloody, dead form anymore. He had come to terms with it a while ago. Or at least, visibly, he has.

Gojo just took a little longer in accepting your death, is all. Neither of them really knew who was handling the situation worse.

"Who are you talking to, Suguru?" There it was again, the odd denial the white-haired teen had drowned himself in. You never thought that he'd be the one to end up like this. You figured that Suguru would've had it harder, but perhaps this was just one of the many new things you've learned as a spirit. "Stop it, Satoru... you're not helping with any of this. It's just... making things worse." Gojo's teasing smile twitched, his head turning to look at his friend before he seemed to slowly deflate into his seat. You probably could only imagine how red and puffy his eyes were behind the sunglasses he refused to take off nowadays.

But in a way, you must've also understood why he was this way. How couldn't you?

Your death was untimely, unexplainable. No one knew what happened, and your body was never found either. One day, you were absolutely excited about going on a mission with your two favorite seniors, four hours later, you were missing, and a week later, you were declared as dead. The only proof they really had was a piece of your bloody uniform floating in a river nearby where the mission was supposed to take place. Other than that, there was no trace of anything else regarding you.

Suguru wished they would've at least had something to bury you with. Your casket was empty. And Satoru was ashamed to admit that he dared open the lid in a desperate attempt to see if you were in there after all. Just hiding, waiting to jump out and scare him. But seeing nothing made him break.

Everything got worse when you reappeared as this, however. A vengeful spirit that simply followed the both of them everywhere. You were relentless. And yet, neither of them could ever find a single trace of anger on you. Their guilt was heavy enough to make up for it, though.

It didn't help that Satoru refused to talk about it, even when they knew what they had to do. You only ever appeared around them, and both of them had made the unspoken decision to deal with you themselves. They felt like they had caused your death indirectly. The what if's kept piling up higher and higher until it eventually brought them here.

They thought that they were finally ready to move on, but oh, how wrong they were. It was so hard to see you as a simple spirit to exercise when you still looked like yourself most of the time. It just got bad when you looked dead. They couldn't hide behind their excuses and delusions when you looked like this.

Time ticked on and the silence was deafening again. You leaned in close to Satoru, glossy eyes staring into his side profile. "Stop ignoring me. I know what you're here for." You hummed, face devoid of any emotion. But the constant dripping of the blood that poured out of your nose and lips made Gojo close his eyes for a second longer and gulp down the painful lump in his throat. It was childish, absolutely stupid. But maybe... if he acted like you weren't there like always... then you wouldn't be. You were just a hallucination, surely. Neither of them had slept or eaten properly in months. He just had to pray that you'll go away, finally find the peace you were looking for.

But when he opened his eyes and you were still there, he just bit his lip. He couldn't take any of this anymore.

"Tell them to go away, Suguru. Please." "So you're finally done pretending now?" The blackhaired male asked, glancing back at his friend for the first time in hours. The great Satoru Gojo. The strongest of them all. Now reduced to nothing more than a miserable teen at your death. It would've been funny if he wasn't actually losing it right now.

Suguru shook his head at the lack of response before getting out of his chair and standing over the white-haired sorcerer. "Let's go outside." He said, not waiting for the other to agree before pushing past you. Or rather through you. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide this really was for him. As expected, however, he heard Satoru's footsteps following behind him with ease. Typical.

The walk was silent and rather aimless. Neither of them knew where they were going. But their subconsciousness seemed to know. Suguru's body felt heavy, like he was dragging and fighting himself with every next step he took. He felt uneven and unbalanced. Like he'll fall over and break apart at any moment, and he doubted Satoru would be able to glue him together with shaky hands and teary eyes.

Geto pulled a hand through his black hair, strands unkempt and messy as they fell down hus shoulders. He caught a glance at his face in a mirror, the dark circles, even darker eyes staring back at him near accusingely. The anger and festering hate hidden under a thick layer of sadness.

"They weren't killed by a sorcerer." He suddenly said when they arrived at the schools courtyard. Satoru glanced at him, frowning a little. "Why does it matter now?" He asked, yet his best friend didn't bother answering. Why should he bother when the white-haired male was unwilling to wake up to reality. Instead, he stared at the Sakura trees filling the area, the ones you loved the most. And as expected, you stood right under them.

Your hands were clasped behind your back, smile so gentle and serene, that it made it look like you were simply waiting on them as always. And in a way, you were indeed doing so. Geto was thankful that your consciousness was strong enough for you to realise what was going to happen next. "Can you do it, Satoru?" He whispered, voice so soft, that it made Gojo actually consider it for a moment. But despite always having prided himself in being the strongest, he just stood still. Suguru couldn't help but smile tiredly at him. Perhaps the other boy would be happy about this if his smile didn't seem so bitter and exhausted. Like it took up all of his energy to force the corner of his lips to go up.

"I think they are the one thing I could never exorcize." "I'm glad you're being honest... I can't do it either." The two boys approached the empty bench next to your form before simply sitting down. There was a large gap between them, one reserved for you.

Your smile stretched wider as you took their silent offer of defeat and took a seat as well.

Gojo tensed when you leaned your head against his shoulder, a familiar melody leaving your lips. Suguru leaned his arms on his knees and listened to you, eyes closing with a tired sigh. Perhaps playing pretend was easier. Perhaps you were never meant to leave them in the first place. Maybe one day someone would free them from you, someone who was stronger, someone who wasn't ever going to be them.

You were back from the dead, and they figured it was better than you having left them for good.

If only they could ignore the mangled state of your body too.

Alright, I'm sorry this took so long! I also don't think it's that good, but I hope you like it anyway, Flower Anon! I've been super busy with work and everything else going on in my life, so I'm glad to post anything at this point. Anyhow, thank you again for this great request!<33

[strawberryya]

The art of seduction - part one

pairing: jeong yunho x reader

synopsis: Since she left you, it feels like your life has been turned upside down, and you're struggling to find your footing. He sees that, and he wants to help. Or maybe it's not as pure as that. Perhaps he's just looking for a new plaything — an artist to inspire, or someone to slowly destroy.

word count: 4.5k

genre/cw: angst, smut, suggestive, fantasy, thriller and/or romance, yandere themes, supernatural au, faery au, leanan sídhe!yunho, human!reader, they/them pronounces for reader, I tried my best to keep all descriptions gn as well - I welcome all feedback on this area ofc, grief and death depicted/mentioned, specific smut warnings will be listed in each part.

rating: 18+

a/n: this has been a big project for so many people this year, and I would like to thank all of the inspiring people in this collab for all the fantastic ideas that has been contributed to make all of these fics possible. it has been a journey writing this, but this fic is only the beginning of the even longer journey that yunho and our mc will be going on ;)

this is part one of my first fic for the wonderful collaboration thrill of the hunt, hosted by @cultofdionysusnet - check out the other exciting and thrilling stories on the official master list here!

the second part to this story will be found here once it's posted. if you wish to be tagged in the continuation you can dm me, send an ask, or comment on this post <3

network tagging: @svthub @cultofdionysusnet @k-labels @kvanity-main

“Oh, he’s the most wonderful man I’ve ever met, y/n! He’s perfect… I didn’t think anyone could be so perfect until he came into my life. He makes me feel like I’ll never need anything ever again… like he and I are enough forever. I need you to meet him someday soon! I wanna introduce you to him, I promise you’ll love him too!”

You never got the chance to meet him. The more you think about it, the more you regret not making more of an effort to do so. Your best friend Anna had been in love with someone, and you hadn’t even had the chance to meet the man she spoke so fondly of. 

“I haven’t been feeling very good lately, y/n… I’ve been to the doctors and they say there’s nothing wrong. They said it’s all in my head, that I should go talk to someone… y/n, do you also think I’m making myself sick?” 

She only got weaker after that. 

And he had seemingly fallen off the face of the earth after she became bedridden. 

She said he came to visit, but she wasn’t in her right mind in those final weeks. Nobody had signed in at the reception. Nobody had seen a beautiful man with dark brown hair that gleamed blood-red when the sun shone. During all that time when she was admitted into the psychological ward at the city’s second-largest hospital you and Anna’s mom were the only visitors. 

They said she was mad…

You had wondered a lot about who he might’ve been during those times when she had talked about him as if she had just spoken to him, but nobody had seen anyone in her room. Had he been a fraction of her imagination the entire time? Or had her mind created a lie based on a man who had left her before her illness took over her mind and body? 

When she passed he was the one piece of the puzzle that you couldn’t let go of. If you had tried harder to meet him, would her illness have been caught earlier? Could it have been found and treated before it took her life…?

You’ve been staying late at the studio lately, trying to get through your feelings about losing her through your art. The shadows in the room seem to close in on you at every chance they get, and you don’t fight them. Hugged by the darkness is somehow better than being left so completely alone. 

The brush strokes soothe you like nothing else is able to. Fizzling seas crash along the shore, a looming tree stands barren and alone, and her face appears in the dark clouds. 

The only things you know to be true are that: she is gone, you are in pain, and you can only paint this one single picture. The lonesome tree at the cliff, watching the storms and waves trying to pull the ground away from beneath the large oak tree. You paint it over and over again, day after day, and you haven’t even paid any mind to when other artists have come and gone through the studio. People painted right next to you, people posed on the podium in front of you, and you didn’t care about any of it. All that matters to you is that you have been left all alone. 

Your best friend has died, and you can’t even do the one thing you have been able to do your entire life ー paint. You had pursued your passion fiercely, not budging even as your parents pleaded with you to be reasonable and try “having a career worth having”, and let painting stay as a hobby. It was how you had met Anna. She was a dancer, and she had gotten into the same art college as you. Back then you had both been carefree young adults, simply trying your best to survive on your own for the first time in your lives. Now, she has left you, with the bittersweet taste of the last conversations you had had with her on your tongue. 

“He inspires me you know, I’m just a dancer anymore when he looks at me, I become the air itself.” 

You had smiled and nodded at her nonsense, she seemed to be dreaming of it. Her limbs were too weak to be of use, but she had the same smile on her lips as when she performed. You had tried your best not to be mad at her for only speaking of this man even as she lay dying in a hospital, dreaming of her passion was at least better than dreaming of him. The tears had stung your eyes as you held her hand before leaving her to her rambling. 

It has been a while since her funeral, and you have practically been living at the studio. Home doesn’t make you feel any better, so you sleep on the small pullout couch in the corner instead. It isn’t meant to be slept on and your back is sore from the many nights in a row you have spent on it. But the art studio is at least comforting you more than home. You have too many memories of Anna in your apartment. Here you can focus on your art. At least, that’s the idea. You have had no inspiration since her death. It’s strange, she hadn’t exactly been the reason you painted, but everything that happened still affected even that part of you. 

You had begun questioning if you should give it all up, move home to your parents for a few months, and go back to your waitress job until you had processed all of this. But could you give up on your passion? After years of struggling to pass courses and hustling on the side of your studies just to make it all work? What would Anna say if she knew…?

You aren’t sure how it happened, it might've been a dream. It’s barely been three weeks since Anna’s funeral and you woke up with the clearest picture of a man you had never met in your mind. 

He’s handsome, just like she had told you. He has gentle features, and dark, captivating eyes that catch hold of your mind and refuse to let go. You can’t seem to escape the image of the stranger you know in your bones is the same man Anna had known. 

Sometime after the day you had first seen him in your mind, after hours in front of your easel and a blank canvas, you finally force yourself to pick up the brush. This couldn’t be the end of pursuing the only career you had ever wanted. You need to get over it and paint something, other than that stubborn tree and the punishing sea. His features burn your eyelids, and you see him as you blink and dream of him as you sleep. You can’t escape the visions, so you make him real, tangible. You create a portrait of the man in your head. Watching the finished portrait once you put down the brush. 

You look at it until it gets dark again, staring into his eyes until you fall asleep on the couch in the corner. 

You wake up with a headache. You groan quietly since you neither have the energy nor the will to get up and take something for the throbbing pain stemming from the sides of your head. Before you could even summon the will to get up despite this, you almost jumped off the couch in surprise. There is another person in the room. You’re still in the corner of the room, so the stranger might’ve missed that you were even there, you reason. It looks like a man from behind. His short dark hair lay in a rather messy way against the back of his head. He’s turned away from you, watching the painting you had fallen asleep staring at. He’s tall, his shoulders are broad. You panic, because what did this man want, and why was he here in the middle of the night?

“Who are you?” you ask breathlessly, jumping up from the couch, trying to see if he’s someone you know in the dim light. Could he be another artist here to paint at an odd hour? You don’t recognize him, but you aren’t the best at remembering people, so you’re not sure if you should be screaming or apologizing for your hostile greeting. 

The man didn’t even flinch at the sound of your voice. He didn’t seem like a threat, but then again, something about him creeped you out. You ignore the fact that he also intrigued you, and try to catch his attention again. “Hey, I asked you a question.” In response, he simply raises a hand as if to shush you. 

This man hadn’t just broken into the studio late at night – he was also incredibly rude. The air around him is so still, so calm that it’s giving you chills. You want to see his face. If he was going to murder you, you want to have looked the fucker in the eye so you can, at least, curse his existence. You take a step forward, grabbing a long paintbrush from the drying rack. Maybe you can get his eye if you’re fast enough.

“So aggressive, little dove,” the man finally says. His voice is smooth and deep. It’s an attractive voice, at least your murderer has a nice voice, not that that makes this situation salvageable. You’re still prepared to stab him with the wooden brush in your hand. 

“Wouldn’t you be aggressive if you woke up to a stranger in your bedroom as well?” 

You had tried putting on a brave face, hoping that he wouldn’t notice how scared you were. He seemed to see through this facade easily though, chuckling at your attempt instead of turning around to face you. “Not your bedroom. I’ve been to your bedroom and this isn’t it. Also, not really a stranger, am I?” 

Your breath won’t calm down, and your heart is beating mercilessly in your chest. This man had been in your apartment? And you know him? What the hell is he talking about? “Are you some kind of stalker you fucking creep?” you wheeze out, taking a step away from him. 

You desperately wish for this to be some kind of nightmare. 

When he turns around you’re sure it is because there’s no way the man you see in front of you isn’t just a fiction of your imagination. Dark hair, streaks of red when the light from the window hits it. Perfect lips, and captivating eyes. It’s him. The man in your painting, alive right in front of you. Your grip on the brush tightens, the bristles folding backward from the pressure of your palm. The world began to spin, he wasn’t real, he couldn’t be real. You see the edges of your vision blur and his smile widens at the visible panic you were displaying. 

He was right, he isn’t a stranger. 

“I think you might’ve heard about me, little dove. She used to talk about you ー the talented artist she had met in college.”

It couldn’t be, you hear the blood rushing in your ears like thunder. “Who?” 

He smiled innocently, “Don’t you remember your friend? Anna, I think her name was.” 

No. It couldn’t be true. The brush fell from your hand as you fell to the ground. Your already sleep-deprived mind couldn’t handle the thought that maybe the man Anna had spoken about was real, and right in front of you. Knocking yourself unconscious was the only thing your body could do to stop your heart from giving out. 

Have you gone mad as well? Maybe this was your way of grieving? Should you go to the hospital?

The questions spun in your mind. He was gone when you woke up. But the long brush in your hand and the bruises on your knees and shoulder felt like substantial proof that you had not lost your mind. He had been here, you know it, but who would believe you if you told them? Who would even care?

You decide to let it go, instead, you force yourself to go back to your apartment. A change of clothes was needed and you know that the lady down the hallway will be worried after not having seen you for days yet again. She had been at Anna’s funeral, wondering how and why your roommate had passed so quickly at such a young age. You hadn’t known what to answer. You still didn’t have your own answers as to “how” or “why”. At least, none that you could share…

You had managed to shower and get into some clothes when your neighbor knocked on the door. 

“Hi, Auntie,” you greet her as she had insisted you do ever since you and Anna had first moved in. She’s older than any of your real aunts, but remarking on that had felt incredibly inappropriate, so you had both simply accepted your fate and begun calling her “Auntie”. 

"Darling!" How are you? I haven't seen you here in days! I was beginning to worry. You know, this was just how it was with Anna, I didn’t see her for days and then she would show up saying she had been busy practicing and dating and whatnot!”

You don’t respond, forcing a smile. She meant well, but when she insisted on bringing you some food you wanted to refuse her. She didn’t mind your protests, “Oh, dear child, you don’t even know how sunken your face looks. You need some of my home-cooked food to get your spirits back up!” 

In the end, your refrigerator was filled with casseroles and little boxes of different dishes, and a bitter feeling, knowing you wouldn’t be here to eat it. You left your apartment as swiftly as you had arrived, not wanting to stick around long enough to see the traces of a life lived – a life you didn’t feel belonged to you anymore. You brought what you could carry in your bag back to the studio. 

You fall asleep again, after hours of trying to create something, only creating more pain in your back from sitting on the wooden stool all afternoon instead. It’s not like you hadn’t tried your best to think about anything else besides him, you had actually tried your very best! But in the end, your mind kept wandering back to the dip of his lips, and the grin on his face as you fainted. You painted the outline of his lips, over and over again. 

You hated him. 

Would he come back?

He had mocked you with his words.

Why had you felt such a rush when he spoke?

You never wanted to see his perfect face ever again.

Why couldn’t you stop wishing to see him just one more time? 

You woke from a cool hand on your hair. Slowly and gently he patted your head until you opened your eyes. It was still dark out, and he was back. Leaning over your sleeping body, a large hand caressing the side of your head. You scream, and he smirks. He shushes you, and you push him away angrily. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” you shout. 

“You wanted to see me again, I thought it best to wake you so your wishes could be fulfilled.” His voice coursed through you, giving you goosebumps again. “Don’t be angry with me, little dove.”

“I don’t want you here.”

“Don’t lie. It’s not polite,” he retorts as soon as the words leave your mouth. 

“I don’t care, I hate you. Leave me alone!” You bark out the words, tears stinging your eyes. You don’t know why you’re reacting so strongly to him. 

His tongue darts out to lick at his lips in annoyance. “Little dove,” he chirps menacingly, “Lie one more time and I won’t help you anymore.”

He terrifies you. He’s beautiful, but nothing about him feels true. He’s like those beautiful flowers forever trapped inside glass orbs. You wanted to protect the frozen beauty from getting the slightest scratch and smash it to pieces, all at once. 

“Help me…?”

The gentle smile on his lips came back when you revealed that he had managed to pique your interest. “Mm, I help people. Artists, especially… it’s an interest of mine, the arts.” He winked at you, which caught you off guard. 

“And you came here to help me?” 

He nodded, but you weren’t convinced. 

“Why? I didn’t ask for any help from you.”

He looked around the room, gaze wandering over the canvasses you had painted in the last couple of weeks, all depicting the shore and the dead tree. All except two. The portrait of him, and the sketches of his lips. 

“You did that?” You ask incredulously. His gaze snaps back to you sharply. 

“Of course. Didn’t it feel different? It felt like you had been inspired by something again, did it not?” His voice is honey in your ears, but the sticky feeling is making you want to flee for your life. You don’t. 

“Want me to prove it?”

You frown, “What do you mean prove it? Are you going to inspire me to paint something on the spot in the middle of the night?”

“Tell me you want it and I’ll make sure you feel inspired for the rest of your miserable human life, little dove.” 

His wording is so unnatural, you think for just a moment. You don’t trust him one bit, but perhaps this is the way to convince yourself that he is indeed just some creep that you need to get away from. You take a deep breath before answering, “I’ll agree if you tell me your name.”

The man stepped back, you had made him flinch. You don’t know why you made that exact demand. Maybe you had just really wanted to call him something other than “the one Anna spoke of” in your mind. It hurt each time you remembered her name.

“A name can be more powerful than you think, little dove,” his tone warned you of something. He seems on edge for the first time since you met him. 

You don’t budge, his reaction only makes you more sure that you need to follow your gut. “Tell me, and you can help me.”

He hesitated before seemingly giving in to some innate need that you didn’t understand yet. “Yunho. That’s one of my names… Use it with care, little dove.”

You turned his name around in your mind, tasting the sweet taste on your tongue as you said it out loud. “Yunho… Sure, help me find inspiration to paint again.”

The same excited and menacing grin he had worn the last time you spoke now grace his lips again, and you feel you have committed a horrible mistake. 

You look around the room, the sun is rising and casting long shadows from the easels placed around the podium. How has the entire night already passed you by? You have no memory of sleeping. You look at your hands, they are covered in paint. Why had you been so messy? You couldn’t remember right away. You know that you have painted. Yunho had kissed your hand, you can still remember the heat of his breath on your skin. Then you had picked up your brush. You hadn’t been frightened by the fact that you weren’t in control of your actions. After the weeks of forcing yourself to do the most basic human functions to stay alive, having something else move your hand in your stead was somehow freeing. 

When you look at the canvas your breath stops. It’s him, you have painted him again. He’s not completely like himself, however, he is just as captivating in the picture as he is in reality. You had managed to capture his beautiful features, from the way his cupid’s bow dips graciously on his lips, to the way his hair gleams blood red when light shines through it. But behind him is something new, something you have never seen belonging to a human before. Wings, almost translucent wings, appearing on the canvas as a shimmer of light blue and white, adorned with shimmering ruby gemstones. He looked magnificent. 

“Pretty,” you hear his voice whisper on your neck before you feel his soft lips press against your skin. You shiver, it feels good but you’re still in shock, watching the man who’s behind you on the canvas in front of you. 

“How is this possible?” you mumble.

“You were inspired,” he responds calmly, brushing your hair away from your face from behind. “Did you enjoy it?”

You have a feeling that the answer to that is yes, but you also know you shouldn’t reveal that. “I don’t remember.”

“I think you did… I know you did.” 

The way he seems to know everything, even the things you don’t, scares you a bit. But you might be addicted to the feeling of his touch, you’re addicted to what he can do to you, addicted to what he makes you feel deep inside. He has given you your passion back, he has helped you paint again, and you had enjoyed it this time. This shouldn’t be possible. Why does this man have so much power over you that he could help you paint as you had used to, for the first time since Anna’s passing? 

There’s no way he’s human, no human looked like he did. In the morning light, he was even more dashing, even more unreal. You want to smash his perfect exterior to pieces and see the flower inside rot as the air hits its delicate petals. 

“Go away. I don’t want this,” you choke out, pushing down the sobs that threaten to escape your throat. He kisses your neck again, but you don’t move. “I think I’ll die if I don’t end this Yunho. Please, just leave me alone.”

“It’s possible, but maybe you’ll be the one who makes it out alive.” His honey voice rang in your ears as the day began and his touch against your back disappeared. You cried yourself to sleep. You knew everything was wrong, Yunho was wrong. But there was nothing you could do about it anymore. 

Two days passed without so much as a glimpse of Yunho. The hours of the night when he didn’t come to see you had almost been enough to convince you that you had truly gone mad. But then, suddenly, there he was, as dashing as ever. Pretty eyes watching you stare at an empty easel. 

A chilling chuckle escaped him, nothing more. He stands and gazes upon your hopeless state for a while in silence. You will never get rid of him, you realize. You’re not upset about it. You can’t be upset. Nothing feels real anymore. 

Yunho circles you, a predator watching his prey. You don’t flinch under his gaze this time. When he leans his lean body against the stool next to yours you feel disgusted. You weren’t upset that he would never leave you alone, but you deserved to know why, at least. 

“What do you want from me?”

“Want?” He sounds almost offended. 

“You’re not here just because it’s fun to sit around and watch me paint all day.”

He didn’t give you an answer, he just smiled at you with that perfectly enchanting smile of his. He’s dangerous, his beauty is dangerous. He leans forward on the stool, his face now scarily close to yours. Will he kiss you…? You can feel Yunho’s breath, hot against your lips, his gaze burning as he stares into your eyes and flickers down to your mouth. Do you want him to kiss you…? 

What do you want from him?

You almost forget that he hasn’t given you an answer when he bends forward, his lips inches away from yours. This time you do flinch. Can he read your mind too? No, your eyes stare right back into his, a flash of maroon tints his irises an unnatural color before it disappears just as fast as it showed up. 

His thumb drags across the side of your cheek, a small smirk plays on Yunho’s deceptive lips. “I’ll make you a promise,” he whispers, “I promise to make sure you’re motivated to do what you love the most, for the rest of your life.”

His breath burns hot against your wet lips. You want to kiss him. “A promise…?” you exhale, mind not quite able to focus on his words, but they sound good to you right now. You swallow, eyes flickering to his perfectly shaped cupid bow, his rosy lips, and the tongue that teases behind his plump lips. “What… what would I have to do…?” 

“A clever dove, I knew you would ask the right questions.”

You didn’t truly understand though, too distracted by Yunho’s eyes mirroring your flickering gaze, teasingly watching the way your hands fiddled with the brush in your hand. 

“All you have to do in return is say that you agree, and I will fulfill all of your wishes.” His soothing hand moves around to the nape of your neck, his grip gentle but secure. 

Will he fulfill them all? 

Does it even matter? Almost anything would be good enough to accept right now, at least you can’t think of something that would be worse than walking through life as the zombie you had been since… Since Anna’s death. If you accept his proposal, will you find out what happened to her? 

“I agree.” 

Your stomach flips when plush lips are pressed against yours. It seems he had already begun living up to his word. At least he wasn’t playing a trick on you when it came to that part. His hands travel over your body, he knows exactly how to touch you the way you like it. Has he been watching you for a long time? Or is it something magical, like those shimmery wings you had imagined he had? You’re not sure, but knowing could wait until later. Right now you have a couple of needs. Needs that Yunho had promised to fulfill. His leg firmly presses open your legs, strong muscle relieving some of the intense pressure that had built up in your lower abdomen since the thought of having him in this way had sprouted in your mind. You need more. You close your eyes even tighter as you let the brush fall from your grip. Hands moving across Yunho’s perfect form without hesitation. 

The sound of the brush hitting the floor didn’t reach your ears. You were already lost to the world of humans. 

“Do you believe in fairies? I do. I think there are things we don’t know in this world. Magical things. If I could go there I would, I think it’s a beautiful place, nothing like Earth. I’d want to dance for them…”

Reblogging and commenting is highly appreciated!! Hearing what you thought is what makes writing and being here overall so much fun! Ty and ily 💕

[bokettochild]

Why didn't anyone tell me we got an update?

Anyways, real glad to see the boys talking things through! They're heading back to the road, but they'e at least touched on a few of their weaknesses and struggles:

Not trusting each other with secrets

Not working well as a team

Not unleashing their full power

All of them have a lot of strength, and tools, and I like that JoJo has hinted at both of those here in the newest update as well as in the Swords comic where Four mentions that they all have a lot of secrets, I have a feeling new skills and weapons are going to start making an appearance now!

They also actually dug into the power up the shadow keeps putting on his weapons before attacking them, as well as stating directly that he creates the gates and whatnot, so we do have clarification on some important points! I know JoJo said she'd barely tapped the story, but this really is setting in now how clearly we're at the first few chapters of a long novel, with so much more to learn about how she's crafting her version of the various eras of Hyrule! I'm really excited for it!

On a more character focused level though, I like how Wild and Legend seem to be over their spat, now playing off of each other verbally to discuss the shadow.

It's only now that anyone realizes Legend's battle plan from the start of the Sunset arc is actually being actually being acknowledged as the best course of action, but I'm glad he didn't pipe up about that.

Warriors is clearly still simmering with some hurt and unspoken feelings. We've seen a hint as he mentions the Wolfie thing

That said, I don't think he's fully expressed all of what he wants to say. He's got a lot of feelings he's bottling up, and while they're spilling over slightly, I feel like it's only a matter of time before they escape in some other way. Based off the evidence, it'll probably be at Wild, since he's been handling everyone other than Twilight and Wild with a lot of grace for a man under as much stress as the captain. Still, he's tense.

Time's tension, and Sky's firmness regarding the Master Sword are also apparent, and I have a feeling we'll be seeing some more of that disagreement in future too. So not only do we have a Wild and Warriors confrontation coming up, but probably a Time and Sky one too!

Legend's really coming in with his puzzle brain to think things out too, which I love! Ad Four is working hard to play peacemaker and ease some of the tension with his "friendly fire" comment, I adore these two! They're trading the braincell while the others are struggling with Big Feelings.

There's ore of course, but this is what stood out to me most!

Sky also delivered those letters! So now we (hopefully) get to know what they say!

And Warriors finally has his scarf again! Thank God!!!!!!!

[bucketsofmonsters]

Ghost Stories

cw: oral sex, vaginal penetration, size difference, non-human genetalia, deceased partner mentioned

male specter x afab reader

Word count: 7k

When he heard the door of the house creak open he groaned and went to surveil his newest target. Usually it was teens snooping around, looking for a secluded spot to make out. Or dumb kids, trying to scare each other in the abandoned house in the middle of the woods. Not this time though. It wasn’t even people trying to evaluate the property, see what was worth salvaging, at least he understood why those people were there. 

This one was different. You were alone, already an anomaly. People didn’t tend to come here alone, stomping through haunted houses appeared to be a group activity more often than not. You had more stuff than was typical too, with a small machine in your hand and a backpack that looked quite heavy strapped to your back. 

Then he heard the noise coming through your little machine. At first he thought it must be a walkie talkie or a phone. So you weren’t here alone, not really, you were talking to someone else. The longer he observed from the shadows the more he realized that that wasn’t the case. Whatever the machine was was more akin to a radio, switching through radio stations nonstop, spitting out mostly static and the occasional word that he’d mistaken for another person. 

He’d seen enough of your little shenanigans, he wanted you gone. So, he did what he always did, he prepared himself to scare you off. It was really all he knew, some instinctual urge he never really questioned. 

He’d been watching you for a while, but from your perspective he appeared out of nowhere. You might have caught a glimpse of him before, out of the corner of your eye, he never fully disappeared, but now you could most certainly see him. He was vaguely humanoid, in the staticy, abstract shape of a human, though something about it was decidedly not right. Parts of his form would occasionally flicker in and out of view, he wasn’t perfect at staying tangible but his towering form seemed to do the job nonetheless. The easiest part to maintain and the clearest part of him was his mouth, which was good because it was the most frightening part of him. While the rest may be a little flickery his gaping maw and the sharp teeth inside were clear and distinct and decidedly threatening. 

Your eyes widened the second you saw him, but not with the same face that most had. There was no fear there. If he didn’t know better he would’ve called it excitement. 

You spent a few moments just taking him in, tracing his form with your gaze. He could feel the flickering in and out of reality get worse. He wasn’t used to being stared at like this, usually one glimpse and people went running but you couldn’t seem to pull your eyes away. 

He tried to stay menacing in the face of this unusual response. 

“I’m not scared of you,” you said, clearly figuring out his intent. That taunting, excited smile was still plastered across your face as if wanting to rub salt in the wound. He had half a mind to show you that he wasn’t messing around, that his daunting appearance wasn’t just for show but that was a last resort. He didn’t really want to hurt you, at least not unless absolutely necessary. 

He scowled down, unsure with how to proceed. He’d never spoken to one of them before, he wasn’t quite sure how to get you to leave when plan A failed. “You should be,” he hissed.

You squeaked, letting out a little yelp of excitement, your hands flapping a little by your sides as you stood. 

Many of the signs here were the same as when people were afraid, the arms movement, the squeaks and yelps and wide eyes, but for entirely opposite reasons. Maybe humans just didn’t have that many reactions for things, cycling through the same few regardless of the emotion. 

As your investigation of his form concluded and you seemed content with whatever you’d been looking for, you seemed unable to contain your excitement. “You’re a ghost! A real, live ghost! Well, maybe not live, but still!”

Is that what they called him? Ghost? He didn’t have a name for what they were so he supposed it would have to do. 

“Why aren’t you scared?” He supposed if he couldn’t get rid of you, he might as well figure out why. Then maybe if someone else came along with a broken radio he could shoo them away faster. 

“I was prepared, I guess, although I was totally wrong about what you’d look like. I came here looking for you.”

For him? Noone had ever come looking for him before. He didn’t really know how to respond. Had one of the people he’d scared off told you about him? “How did you even know I was here?”

“Everyone says this place is haunted, you have quite the reputation.”

Although you not being scared off by him had certainly hurt his pride, that boosted his ego a little. “Do I?”

You gave him a little nod, your eyes still raking over him. “Can I ask you some questions?” you asked, and he couldn’t think of any other way forwards. 

“Will that make you leave?”

The little human nodded eagerly and he supposed that sealed his fate for the afternoon. He’d prefer answering a few questions to having to deal with a dead body anyways. 

You settled in pretty quickly, pulling out a notebook and clicking a pen as you sat cross legged on the floor. 

He faded out of his physical form as you sat. It was more comfortable to set himself adrift anyways, and he could still talk that way. At least then you wouldn’t be able to stare at him endlessly anymore. You could still see glimmers of him, moments of movement out of the corner of your eye, but nothing substantial. 

“When did you die?”

He reeled back. “When did I what?” Maybe you were mad, running around, accusing people of being dead. Perhaps that was why you weren’t scared by him. 

“When did you die? Do you not remember that, is that insensitive to ask?”

You sounded absolutely genuine and he couldn't make any sense of what you were getting at. “Do you think I’m dead?”

“That’s what ghosts are, right? Dead people.”

Is that what humans thought of them? Of course he wasn’t dead, did he seem dead? He hoped not, although he wasn’t entirely sure why he cared what you thought. 

“No, dead people are dead people, how could one be here?”

“Oh.” Now you looked upset. Why couldn’t he have gotten this reaction before, when he was trying to scare you? 

“You seem very personally invested in me being dead,” he prompted, hoping to get more information out of you.

“No, it’s not that, it’s just… someone close to me died and… and I’ve been convinced he was still out there somewhere, I’ve been looking for proof all year.” He could see your eyes welling up and some quiet sniffles coming from you. “It’s not your fault, I’m sorry.” 

Oh. Well now he felt like an ass. “Hey, I don’t really know what happens to dead people. Maybe he’s still around.”

This did not appear to stop your sniffling. If you started crying he didn’t know what he was going to do, this was so far from what he was good at. He could scare people off, could protect his home and could keep the insufferable creatures away from him, he could not comfort people.  

You tried to wipe your eyes before any tears got the chance to fall, although he wasn’t sure why. He could clearly see the state you were in, you weren’t going to hide anything that way. 

Still, you tried to push past it, putting on a strained smile for him before pushing on. “So what are you then?”

What was he? Not dead, that much he was certain of, but beyond that he wasn’t sure he had answers for you. “I don’t know, for a long time I wasn’t and then one day I just… was. And I was here and I knew I had to scare people off.”

“What happens when you can’t scare them off?”

“Then they ask me a bunch of silly questions.”

He hadn’t meant it as a joke but it spurred some giggling from you anyways. You couldn’t see it but his head cocked to the side, the noise curious to him. That was the noise the kids made when they went running through the halls of his house trying to spook one another or the teens made as they talked about sneaking about and doing things they weren’t supposed to. 

Noone had ever made it for him before, he wasn’t certain if he should be pleased or upset. 

“My questions aren’t silly!” You defended yourself with a smile, a genuine one this time.

Of course they were silly. “You asked if I was dead,” he reminded you, hoping that would spur your memory on the subject. Humans seemed to have some difficulty grasping rather simple ideas, he noted quietly, although he didn’t say it aloud for fear of upsetting you again. 

“How was I supposed to know? Basically everyone thinks that the specters that haunt old houses are dead people.”

He didn’t want to keep pushing the issue, to tell you how silly the idea really was, even if it was held by all of your kind. You were clearly clinging to the idea that dead people were just lost and all you had to do was find them again and he didn’t know how to broach the issue without upsetting you so instead he just let out what he hoped was an ambiguous noise.

You filled the silence he left pretty quickly with more of your endless questions. “So you just stay here, all on your own? Who do you talk to?”

“You.”

“No, I mean who else?” you asked, clearly thinking he didn’t understand the question when it was you who wasn’t getting it. 

“There is no one else.”

He watched a look of realization cross your face, your eyes widening and your hand whipping up over your mouth in surprise. “Am I the first person you’ve ever spoken to?”

Of course not, that was ridiculous. “Sometimes I speak when I scare people off and make them leave,” he clarified, something he thought you would have assumed. 

“That doesn’t count.”

Well, if you were going to impose a bunch of silly, nonsensical little rules on him then of course he couldn’t meet your standards. “Then yes, you are.”

Your eyebrows were furrowed in concern and he could see your eyes shift, trying to locate his currently transparent form, latching onto the little shifts in the air whenever you could find them. “Don’t you get lonely?” you asked, doing your best to look up at him but ending up staring at his chest. Close enough. 

Lonely? He understood a lot of things, they seemed almost implanted in him. Not that one though. He logically understood it, it meant a longing for companionship, but he didn’t really understand it. Alone was how things should be, how could one fear it.

“No,” he said, the spite clear in his tone, “I don’t get lonely.”

You didn’t look like you believed him. He wasn’t sure what more he could do to convince you. He supposed it didn’t really matter, you’d leave soon anyways and then he wouldn’t have to worry about what you did or didn’t believe about him. 

Speaking of, he was eager to get rid of you. He’d heard enough of your questioning and he clearly did not have the answers you were looking for anyways. “Are we done here?” The spite in his voice seemed to carry over because the question came out sharper than he’d intended it to.

You nodded, looking even more upset at his frustration. “Yeah, I can go. Sorry to bother you.”

You stood up, clearly a little shaky on your feet and for a moment he worried he’d somehow caused it. You turned to look at him but just like before, there was nothing to see. Likewise, you couldn’t see him trail behind you, following you all the way to the door, watching you through the doorway as you entered the woods just outside. 

You looked back at the house, clearly uncertain of if he was watching you leave or not, unaware of his transparent form hovering in the doorway. You gave a hesitant little wave and for reasons he didn’t really understand, despite the fact that you absolutely could not see him, he waved back. 

After you left, he assumed you’d just be gone. You’d seemed dejected by your conversation, of course you had, he’d destroyed your hope and made you cry despite your initial chipper attitude. But a few days later, you returned, just as bright eyed as the first time. 

He made himself tangible immediately, still half convinced you’d go running at his monstrous form, despite all the evidence he’d received on the contrary. “Why are you here?” he hissed out as you jerked back at his sudden appearance. 

The jolt back gave him hope that maybe the prior incident had been a fluke but you quickly settled from the start he’d given you. “What do you mean why am I here? 

“You’re back. Why?” He wasn’t sure he could make his question any clearer, hoping you’d understood it this time. 

“I met a supernatural creature, that’s crazy, you think I’m just going to go home?”

“You were looking for dead people. I’m not dead people.” You really did need things spelled out for you it seemed. 

You just shrugged. “Maybe you weren’t what I was looking for but you’re still incredible.”

Was he? He did think he was incredible but he supposed he didn’t have much of a frame of reference. 

As he pondered the issue you settled back onto the floor, clearly here to stay for a while once more. Your backpack seemed lighter this time and you reached in and pulled out a bag of orange crackers as you made yourself comfortable. 

“So you really don’t know what you are?” You spoke through a mouthful of your little crackers, studying him as you snacked from your spot on the floor. 

Once more he found himself humoring you, providing answers to all of your endless questions, unsure what other options he had.  “Not really. The universe doesn’t like emptiness, that’s my theory. We fill in the cracks, the places where no one else is. We’re built to be solitary creatures, that’s why we’re, you know, used to scaring people off. And why we’re not usually tangible, just the wind in abandoned spaces.”

“Does it hurt? Being tangible like this? You seem to flicker in and out a lot, if it’s uncomfortable you don’t have to do it.”

He shook his head, solidifying even more firmly for a moment so you could see him. “It just takes focus. I’m getting better at it after last time, normally I don’t do it for more than a second or two so I’m not really used to conversations.”

He was trying to stay tangible so you could see him this time. Whenever he stopped your eyes would drift, searching for signs of him to latch onto, and he wanted to make things a little easier on you. 

Your face immediately broke out into a smile at his words. “Glad I could help you learn then!” Your pride at being helpful to him was obvious, sitting up a little straighter as a gleam entered your eyes. “So me and my questions aren’t a complete nuisance, good to know.”

He wasn’t sure he’d say that, you were a little bit of a nuisance, even if you did seem to be inexplicably growing on him. Not that he’d ever tell you that.

He didn’t need to worry about his little secret though because you’d already moved on to yet another question. 

“So the ghost hunting gear I brought, it doesn’t do jack shit, does it?”

Considering he’d sensed literally nothing that first time he’d seen you, that was probably a no. “Absolutely not. Was that what that radio was?”

You nodded. “Yup. It’s supposed to help ghosts communicate, but I guess you don’t really seem to have a problem with the whole talking thing.”

“I can talk just fine on my own.” The insinuation was insulting, why wouldn’t he be able to talk? Humans really did just assume the worst of them. 

“Well I know that now. Wait, do you have a name? Shit, I should have asked earlier, sorry, I got caught up in the whole talking to a ghost thing. I really should start writing down my questions, prioritizing.”

“No. Like I said, we’re solitary creatures, had no one to give me a name and I’ve got no one to call me one so really it would be useless.”

You didn’t seem to like that answer. “I should call you something.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, I just feel like I should. Do you have any names that you like?”

He thought on it for a moment, trying to appease you, but nothing came to mind. “Not really.”

“I can help you come up with one then!” You fished your phone out of your pocket, something he recognized from the many visitors he’d promptly scared off. “God, the service out here is abysmal,” you said as you poked at the scream.

“Apparently it’s better if you hold it up.” Not that he knew from personal experience but that’s what he’d heard as he’d watched from the shadows as people held their phones to the sky and complained about the service.

You stuck your arms straight up from where you were sitting on the ground, your head craning to still see the screen. A small victory cry escaped you and he assumed he’d helped fix the problem. That shouldn’t make him as pleased as it did. 

“I could just go through a list of names, how’s that sound?”

“Fine.”

The human names you kept proposing to him were absurd. None of them could capture him at all, not in any way. ‘Ghost’ was already pushing it but Charlie? Peter? Absolutely not, the thought was absurd. 

At the hundredth rejection you scrunched up your nose, falling silent for a moment before vocalizing your decision. “Fuck this, it clearly isn’t working, I’m googling ghost names.”

He sneered at the idea. Humans had no idea about his kind, if they thought he was dead he could only imagine how awful their names might be.

His suspicion was proven correct as he heard a giggle escape you. “I could call you Casper.”

He could tell from your tone that it was a bad choice, even if he had no idea why. “Am I being mocked?”

“I’ll take that as a no. There’s things that are less names and more…categories, I guess, maybe that’s more your speed? Like, there’s wraiths…”

“No.”

“What about Salem?” you asked.

“No.”

“Why not? Can I get some direction here?” You were basically pleading with him and he refused to throw you a bone. 

“It’s stupid,” he explained, as he’d done several times before. 

“They can’t all be stupid.”

He would beg to differ. “Clearly they can.”

You spent a while going through countless lists, proposing idea after idea as he shot each one down until finally you threw your hands in the air. “I give up, nameless it is, you’ve beaten me. For now at least, I’ll keep thinking about it, I’m sure we’ll figure it out eventually.” 

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little smug about outlasting you. “Eventually? How long do you plan on staying?”

“Well, probably a bit longer but I’ll be back.”

“Again?”

“Yeah! You’re not getting rid of me that easily buddy, we’re friends now.”

That couldn’t be. He didn’t have friends, he was meant to be alone, not to have some little human kicking around his home. “That’s not how things work,” he said, it coming out a little poutier than he’d intended. 

“Too bad, we’re friends now, nameless ghost buddy.”

He couldn’t find it within himself to be mad as you gave him a self-satisfied grin from the floor. If you wanted the two of you to be friends, who was he to stop you. However, that was the only reason he didn’t protest, placating you, he was sure of it. 

You hadn’t lied that day, you did keep coming back. A few days rarely passed without you poking your head in every now and again. The questions never ended but they did slow, the two of you entering into an odd sort of rhythm. 

When you entered the abandoned house once more, settled on the floor, and pulled a snack out of your bag, he was already used to the routine. 

As you began to eat, you studied him, as you often did. He tried to stay corporeal for you as often as possible, you liked when you could see him. He could tell your eyes were tracing over his sharp teeth when your eyes suddenly widened and he looked at you, worried something was wrong.  

Before he could ask if you were already, you had already begun speaking. “Shit, I should have offered you some food. Wait, can you eat?”

Oh, was that all? He wondered if you knew how badly your reaction had spooked him. He shrugged at your question, trying to move on quickly. “Not really, don’t need to.”

“Okay, you don’t need to, but can you?”

“I guess so.” What odd questions you asked him, how did you even come up with these?

You fished a handful of the crackers out of your bag and looked down at his hand expectantly, waiting until he held it out for you. Your hand was much smaller and softer than his, his hand long and spindly in comparison. You dropped the crackers into his palm and then stared. 

He wasn’t used to eating. It was messier than it should have been. His mouth was made for self defense, for attacking nosy little humans if he needed to, not for little crackers shaped like fish. And yet, as soon as the taste hit his tongue he understood why his little human was seemingly so obsessed with these things. 

They were incredible. Who knew humans could make something like this.

You gleaned his enjoyment as he took the little bag out of your hand. His reaction pulled little giggles from you as he inspected the food, eating all that you’d let him eat. 

The next time you returned, your backpack was stuffed full once more. He watched you curiously as you settled down on the floor and began pulling things from inside and setting them in front of you.

“I brought more food for you to try!” you said, grinning up at him. 

He learned a lot of things. 

There were more types of food than he could have ever imagined. He had no idea how people came up with all these things. A few were natural, fruits grown on trees, but most were invented by your crafty little species. 

Spicy foods overwhelmed him. He flickered in and out of existence for far too long after eating them, the burn almost inescapable. You couldn’t stop laughing at the sight and at the drama he brought to the situation. When you finally managed to cull the fits of laughter you’d given yourself hiccups.

He watched the small sounds escape you, seemingly against your will, as he paused his taste test. “What’s wrong with you?”

You snorted, at what he wasn’t sure. “They’re just hiccups, nothings wrong with me. There’s a bunch of wives tales about how to make them stop. I usually try drinking water upside down but there’s no couches in here to hang off of. You know,” you said between hiccups, “It’s kind of ironic, the most common cure for hiccups is being scared. Anyone else and you could probably fix them.”

In the past, the reminder that he’d been unable to scare you would have soured his mood but those days had long since passed. Not being able to scare you off had led to too many good memories for him to continue to be bitter about it.  

He tries to fade out and then suddenly pop out at you, at least hoping to startle the hiccups out of you but that just induced another bout of giggles. He didn’t mind it, from you that was the reaction he’d come to prefer. 

Chocolate was his favorite thing he’d tasted by far, he couldn’t get enough of the stuff, eating up all the candy bars you’d brough with you faster than you seemed to think was possible. You promised you’d bring him more next time you came. 

As the taste test concluded and all the food had long since been eaten, you just laid on the floor next to him, putting off leaving. This was what your visits had become lately, tests of how long you could stay and putting off heading home until you had no other option than to head out to wherever it was you went when you weren’t with him. 

“When you leave, where do you go?” he asked. He knew so little about your life outside of this room, you always managed to shift the subject away or mention shockingly little. For someone so fond of questions, you didn’t seem particularly keen on answering them. 

However, lately you were a little more open with him, sharing a bit more each time. “Just the hotel I’m staying at. I was only supposed to be here a few days, just wanted to check this place out, see if I could find any ghosts. I got more than I bargained for, I guess.”

“You don’t have a home?” That seemed sad, even he had a home and he didn’t have much. 

“I do, I just don’t go back there often. I can’t bring myself to sell it, keep telling myself some part of him must still be there.”

The sadness in your voice told him all he needed to know. “This person you lost, who were they?”

“My fiance. We’d been together five years and we were going to get married this last spring. And then… and then we weren’t anymore. Funny, how fast a wedding can get called off after you spend so long planning it.”

“I’m sorry.” He had no clue what to say. It was in moments like these that he wished that he had a little more experience with conversations, something he could pull from to actually help you. 

“It’s alright, I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it. Haven’t been doing a great job of it, actually, both of our families think I’m nuts with the whole ghost thing but hey,” you gestured at him vaguely. “Seems like I wasn’t that far off base after all.”

“Yeah, you had the right idea.” He didn’t really think you did, you had thought he was dead after all, but it seemed to make you feel better and he didn’t want to ruin that. 

Every time you showed up from that day forward you brought him chocolate. It was the first thing you did, you both ate as much of it as you could, although admittedly he could eat significantly more than you. You kept telling him that the gesture wasn’t entirely altruistic, that you loved the way he lit up when he ate it and that’s why you kept bringing it for him. He couldn’t help but fawn over you when you came, time and time again, with a bag full of chocolate to just sit there with him in the abandoned house. 

Even the faux complaining, the kind he had done just for show, had faded out. You both knew it was pointless, that he wanted you here just as much as you wanted to keep coming. 

Chocolates weren’t the only things you’d started bringing. At first it was just a blanket. Something to sit on, you’d said. However, the number of items you’d brought kept growing and soon there was evidence of your visits covering the house, top to bottom. 

In your absence, he found himself nestling into some of the blankets you’d left behind, 

This time you brought more pillows, some to sit on in the little nest of blankets he’d built up in your absence. 

As soon as you got yourself situated you beckoned him over. “Come on, we both should be comfortable, there’s room in here for you too. I know you sleep in here when I’m not around, you don’t need to leave it just because I’m here.”

He didn’t know how to tell you the truth, that his little obsession with all the stuff you’d brought wasn’t for comfort, it was because it reminded him of you. 

He settled down next to you, careful to maintain your personal space. As he sat cautiously next to you, you added, “Oh, by the way, I sold my house.”

You said it so casually but he felt like everything had stopped. “What?”

“I just, ghosts aren’t real, at least not my kind, and it was about time for me to move on and stop believing in ghost stories, you know? It’s scary, I have to find a new home now.”

He knew what he wanted to say, he wanted to beg you to stay, to tell you that he wanted you here.

Instead, he learned forwards and kissed you. He wasn’t sure what came over him, just some overwhelming urge and by then he couldn’t stop himself, forcing himself to solidify fully and leaning forwards before he could think.

You tasted like the chocolate you’d both been eating. He didn’t think it was possible to like the taste even more but here you were, just as sweet as he knew you’d be. His kind little human who kept coming back, who was too sweet to leave, of course he had to kiss you, how could he not?

It was messy. He was bigger than you and inexperienced and his form wasn’t exactly built for gentleness, or for kissing, with his big teeth and long tongue getting in the way and making it messier than it probably should have been. He wished he was built like you were, made to be sweet and gentle but he wasn’t, he was made to be frightening. That didn’t stop you from kissing him back, your soft little hands coming up to rest on the sides of his face. 

Maybe he was dead because surely this was heaven. 

And then, as quickly as you’d embraced him, you pulled back, drawing in a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, I should leave.”

No. Anything but that. That last thing he wanted was to scare you off now. “Wait, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong,” you reassured him as you picked your bag up off the floor already rushing out. “I just… I just need to leave.”

And then he was alone again. He didn’t know how he’d managed this before, how he’d reveled in the quietness in this god forsaken house. With every hour that passed, he was more and more sure that you were never coming back, that he’d scared you off for good. 

You’d asked him if he was lonely. Maybe he had been and he just hadn’t realized it. Maybe that’s what this absence you’d left was, he’d just never felt anything else before. 

A full day later, when he’d already begun mourning you, his little human that he was sure he’d never hear from again, the door creaked. He was up in a second, praying it was you. If it was anyone else they were about to get the fright of their life, that was for sure. 

But it wasn’t anybody else he came barrelling up to, it was his favorite little human. You came back and he was next to you instantly, apologizing in barely coherent strings of words while you struggled to calm him down. “Hey, you’re okay, I’m sorry I left, it isn’t your fault, I just kind of… panicked.”

Panicked? Had he made you panic? The idea filled him with dread, that was the last thing he ever wanted. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he managed.

You let out a little coo and he gathered that you thought what he’d said was sweet. “You didn’t scare me, I just needed time to think.”

You both seem uncertain how to proceed, a silence falling over the two of you. In the silence, he let his thoughts escape them. “I want you to stay here.”

“What?”

His instinct was to take it back, not to push and risk scaring you off again but couldn’t contain it anymore. “I want you to stay. You could live here with me and I could fix it up for you and that way you’re already here and you don’t have to travel all the way here all the time and you said you needed to find somewhere new to stay…”

“Hey, slow down,” you said with a laugh. “I’ve been looking at places near here so I could still visit so either way you’re not getting rid of me but are you sure you’d be okay with me staying here? If I stay, there’s going to be other people, it can’t just be me and you forever, I do want to have other friends.”

His heart dropped. “Oh. I might scare them off.”

“Please don’t.”

“Not on purpose,” he clarified. 

“Oh. Well, if they’re scared of you just for existing then fuck them, as long as you play nice it’s fine.” Had he heard you right? You’d choose him over other humans, side with him in all this? You were still going on, already making plans.  “We have to sort this place out, make it livable. And there will probably be people here to sort that all out..”

He nodded eagerly. Anything to keep you here with him. “But you’ll stay?”

You giggled and he felt like he was about to melt. “Yeah, I’ll stay. If I can, who even owns this place?”

“Some people come by sometimes talking about owning it and renovating it.”

“They do? Who?”

“I don’t know, we don’t normally chat.”

“Shit, okay, I just have to find them and buy it then! This place is a mess in the middle of nowhere, shouldn’t be too pricey, then we can fix it up together! God, getting electricity to this place is going to be a nightmare. And there’s no service, Jesus, how are we gonna figure that out…”

“Are you really going to stay?” The reality of the situation was washing over him, you were making plans to stay here, with him, permanently. He hadn’t scared you off, he was going to get to keep you. 

His voice was soft and it pulled you right out of your little plans. “Yeah, of course I am.”

“I thought I ruined it, that you’d never come back.”

You got on the tips of your toes, reaching up towards his face and he leaned down to match you. The second he was in arms reach your hands rose to cup his face. “Listen to me, you did nothing wrong. I just needed some time to think, to sort through my emotions. The problem wasn’t that it was wrong, it was that it felt right and I didn’t know how to deal with that.”

It felt right? Did that mean… “So you liked it.”

You nodded and leaned forwards to give him a quick peck on the cheek. “Yeah, I did.”

It took a beat to process it all, for him to make sure he’d absolutely understood what you’d said. The second he was sure, he lurched forwards and crashed your mouth into his once more, your arms immediately wrapping around his neck, pulling him tighter towards you. 

His kisses drifted away from your mouth, the sloppy desperate kisses moving down to your neck. He kept pulling back, to check if you were okay with this but you repeatedly pulled him back in, not wanting to lose this newfound closeness. His teeth ghosted over your skin and he pulled back once more, terrified of harming you, wanting to prove you weren’t in any danger, not with him. You didn’t seem to need the reassurance, your back arching up towards him. 

As he dipped back down towards you he let his teeth brush against you again and a soft moan escaped your lips. That was interesting. 

As he observed you, he could see you squeezing your thighs together, searching for any kind of stimulus and he just stared for a moment. He never thought someone’s thighs could be so hypnotizing but he could have stared at them all day, could have stared at any part of you all day.  His inaction caused a whine to escape you, pleading for more of him. 

He didn’t take much convincing, immediately pulling your pants down. You did your best to help kick them off, doing so as quickly as you could. 

He could tell just from looking at your cunt that you were soaking wet for him. You seemed hesitant to be looked at there but all he could feel was awe, he couldn’t understand your apprehension, this was the best sight he’d ever seen. 

His tongue lapped experimentally through your folds and your thrusted your hips up into his face. Chocolate was nothing compared to this, you were heaven. He wanted to taste you every day for the rest of his life, he felt like he could get drunk off of this. 

His tongue snaked deeper, wanting more. Your pleasure was almost an unintended side effect at first, he just wanted more of you. But as your little whines escaped you, he grew more and more intent on inspiring more of them. 

His tongue dove repeatedly into your cunt, desperate to taste more of you, pushing it as deep as it could get. He wanted to taste every inch of you.  His gaping maw covered a significant portion of you, his teeth occasionally pushing into your lower stomach as he devoured you, pushing further and further, wanting to be as far inside of you as was possible.  

He could feel you clench around him and he humped into the ground, desperate for the friction but refusing to leave you, his mouth glued to your cunt. 

Eventually, you were the one to pull him away, although he couldn’t understand why. It had seemed like you were getting close. 

“Want more,” you said, pulling him up towards you.

He obliged you almost reluctantly, not wanting to leave the taste of your cunt behind just yet. But there would be more time for that later, right now you needed him.

The size difference worried him a little, his fear of hurting you crossing his mind once more. You did not seem as concerned, pulling him towards you and gawking at his cock which you could finally see, now that he was no longer humping the ground. 

“Holy shit.” You seemed taken aback by the size of him.

“Listen, if you don’t want to or think you can’t manage it, that's totally fine, we can…”

You looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “There is nothing I want more, I promise I can handle it just… please, I need you.”

He pushed inside you as gently as he could but still, the second his cock entered you, you let out a hiss. He stilled, letting you adjust, wanting to make sure he wasn’t pushing you too far. Eventually you settled and he pushed in further, managing little by little until he was fully seated inside you. You were clinging to him desperately like he was your lifeline. 

The second he was inside you he felt like he might come. You were perfect, hugging tight around him. You pressed kisses into his chest as he did, and occasionally, when things got overwhelming, you bit him. You couldn’t hurt him, your small mouth filled with blunt teeth was no threat to the monster, but he loved how possessive it felt. He hoped it would leave a mark on him, that it would be proof he was yours. 

He tried a small experimental thrust inside, a cry immediately leaving you as he did. It felt like you were strangling him and he knew you were already close, his hand snaking down to play with your clit as he thrusted inside, harder this time. 

It didn’t take long for you to come, already brought to the edge by his tongue, but your orgasm didn’t stop his steadily increasing pace, chasing his own orgasm. You were clenching desperately around him, trying to milk him for all he was worth but he kept pushing.

“Too much,” you whined, grabbing at him.

He pulled you into his chest, one arm coming up to stroke your hair as he rutted into you. “You can take it, I know you can. You feel so good.”

You bit his shoulder hard as his thrusts increased in power, nearing his orgasm. That bite was what pushed him over the edge, pumping into you.

You winced as he pulled out. He imagined the sudden emptiness caused it the same way the lack of you around him made him let out a quiet hiss. 

He watched his cum drip out of you and poked at it, pushing some back into you, earning an oversensitive whine from you that probably would have been more effective if it weren’t so cute. 

He licked a long stripe up your cunt, tasting both of you together and he was ready to eat you out once more before you pulled him up. 

Now it was his turn to whine but you quickly shushed him with a smile. “You gotta give me a little time first, okay? I’m exhausted.”

He understood immediately, pulling you into his side protectively as you relaxed. You curled up next to him in the makeshift nest he’d made in your absence and added, “The first thing we are getting for this place is a bed, okay?”

He nodded along. He would’ve agreed to anything you’d said right about now. Besides, he’d never slept in a bed before, it sounded exciting. 

A sharp, toothy grin that he couldn’t suppress covered his face, imagingng it all. It was so different from everything he’d ever experienced but he didn’t mind it. 

He’d had his fill of being alone.

[yanderes-galore]

Anon couldn't be here for the request period so I reserved two requests for them, this is their second one

Anon Said: "With “Dittophobia” generating renewed interest in FNAF 4, how about we revisit the nightmare animatronics a bit? Could we get some rivalry headcanons between Nightmare Bonnie and Nightmare Chica? I want to see some nightmares throwing hands (or claws in this case)."

A/N: Sure! This is based off the small behavior talk I did a long time ago! Been awhile since I've written for the Nightmares and I'm excited for this!

Yandere! Nightmare Bonnie vs Yandere! Nightmare Chica

Pairing: Platonic/Romantic - Rivalry

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Biting, Jealousy, Possessive behavior, Blood, Cannibalism mentioned, Stalking, Violence, Kidnapping implied, Supernatural forces, Mentions of death.

When it comes to the Nightmares I'm pulling from other works I've done.

Both Bonnie and Chica, they're cruel, sadistic, and crave attention.

You need to pay attention to their presence or you could get hurt, right?

Plus, I'd write these two similarly to how I wrote Nightmare Fredbear and Freddy in the past.

How I tend to write the Nightmares is they're demons.

Which would mean you have strange anthropomorphic mechanical animals haunting you.

I've said in the past they take a twisted form based on things from their target's past.

This would imply you've been to Freddy Fazbear's Pizza at least once in your lifetime.

It would only be better if you were fond of Bonnie and Chica as a young child.

When you could have first encountered these demons can vary.

Maybe similar to the Fredbear fic I've done in the past they were masquerading as your imaginary friends?

Since you were young and you came home from Freddy Fazbear's, you were always greeted by a large bunny and chicken.

Maybe when you were younger you never saw them as demons.

With your childish mind you only ever saw your friends from Freddy's.

Perhaps here they play nice, although often argue about your attention.

Play more with the bunny and the chicken appears jealous that you care more for the bunny's songs.

Play more with the chicken or eat her food she made for you and the bunny appears irritable.

It's then you meet them again as an adult.

Only to learn they aren't quite imaginary.

It's this or you meet them as an adult with no prior knowledge about them as a child.

However I feel them originally being your imaginary friends is the best case scenario.

Unless you want something similar to the Nightmare Freddy fic I did where you're babysitting a kid they are haunting.

Either way, this Bonnie and Chica are much different from their usual counterparts.

Not only in appearance either.

Bonnie still wants attention, especially from his favorite human...

He just hopes you don't mind his games getting a little violent or his music haunting your ears.

Chica also wants your attention, to the point she craves it like a meal.

The demonic chicken even still makes, she just hopes you don't mind if she puts a bit of blood in her cakes.

Maybe it could even be yours, she bets it will taste amazing.

As expected, both of them like the idea of biting you to get a taste of you.

Chica seems a bit too fixated on it.

They're demons, demonic creatures that happen to be haunting your home.

In the corner of your eyes at night you'll see them slink back into the shadows.

Maybe you'll even see the small cupcake Chica sends to watch you.

Both of them would be possessive as they're territorial.

They wants to be your tormentors but they want to do it alone.

Since they've known you it's always been one or the other.

Bonnie tries to lure you in with songs written just for you, a twisted form of mimicry compared to the real Bonnie.

Meanwhile Chica tries to lure you to her with meals she mysteriously prepared in your kitchen.

Everything from pizza to cakes, the smell wafts through rooms and into your nose.

Yet it's all strangely metallic smelling when you look past the tasty smells.

Don't be fooled, when either of them get you close, they'll dig their claws into your flesh and claim you as theirs.

They yearn to bond to you, lapping at your wounds to devour you like prey.

They're monsters, way worse than just nightmares.

Unlike nightmares... you can't escape their terror by waking up.

This is reality.

The haunting songs and smells don't stop.

You can't do anything but hide in your room as the two fight.

They pounce at each other, clawing and growling like wild animals when not trying to lure you to them.

The smell of brimstone pierces your nose as mechanical clicks and clangs rings through your ears.

Being demons, they're immortal.

However, you are not, you are merely mortal.

One of them will take you and your soul by force if they have to.

Sure, hold them off as long as you can.

Soon you'll give into one of them

The question is which one?

Will you follow the bunny's songs and be lured in like a siren?

Or will you follow the scent of food the chicken made like a rat to a trap?

The two could battle it out for seemingly forever...

But you'll fall victim to them at any moment in your life, as they'll follow you and fight until the day you rot just to take you away.

Only then could their quarreling simmer down... and that isn't even guaranteed.

[bi-bard]

How Did We Get So Good at Dismantling These Hearts? - Kaz Brekker Imagine [Shadow & Bone]

Title: How Did We Get So Good at Dismantling These Hearts?

Pairing: Kaz Brekker X Reader

Based On: Hourglass

Word Count: 1,219 words

Warning(s): mention of murder

Summary: Kaz gets word of a new job for the Crows. On the surface, it appeared to be nothing other than a normal job. However, when he tells the crew, (Y/n) has a reaction that immediately catches his attention. He just needs to find out why.

Author's Note: I changed this story because the original one was alarmingly similar to the May stories.

Part Two of "June" [Release Date: 7/5/2023]

Part Three of "June" [Release Date: 7/7/2023]

YEARBOOK - SLEEPING AT LAST WRITING CHALLENGE MASTERLIST

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If any of the Crows had noticed me tense, then none of them spoke up about it.

Not at the time.

Kaz had gathered all of us together, telling us about a new job that he apparently couldn't turn away. Nothing felt strange about it. It all seemed normal... our version of normal, anyway.

Some plan for a heist, a good pay... it was exactly what our crew was meant to love.

And I did. I loved working with the Crows. The idea of having a new job made me grin a bit to myself.

And then, I heard my mother's name come out of Kaz's mouth.

My shoulders tensed a bit. I had to physically stop myself from drawing them up. I did my best to take a subtle deep breath, desperate to return to normal. Nothing would stop my heart from racing and my leg from bouncing.

I was watching Kaz as he spoke, but I couldn't hear him. My ears were filled with buzzing as my mind played back every memory that I had buried for all too long.

The first thing I heard was Kaz dismissing us for the day.

I was the first person to stand up and walk out. Maybe I had been a little too fast on my way out. Maybe I had pushed the chair away a little too hard. I don't know.

All that I could think of at the time was going home.

I didn't notice anyone paying any mind to me.

It wasn't until that night that I would even know that anyone had looked at me in some way other than normal.

I was pacing my small room, mind still racing when there was a knock on my door.

I took a breath before walking over. In my state of distractedness, I didn't think much before pulling the door open. I found Kaz standing on the other side of the door.

"All this time with the Crows and you still open your door with no attempt to check who could be on the other side," he said. There was the smallest hint of a grin on his face, letting me know that this wasn't him genuinely scolding me.

"Did you come here to inform me of your new passion for comedy," I asked.

"I'm here to talk about the job."

"Much less exciting," I replied.

Kaz didn't reply, merely raising an eyebrow at me and nodding toward the inside of my place. I took a deep breath and stepped to the side, letting him walk in.

It was strange to see Kaz in my home.

I had trouble associating him with something so... comfortable. There was something about Kaz being in a place meant for merely existing that made me pause. It felt like watching an animal exploring a new habitat. It made me wonder how many nights he had spent avoiding his room. How long had he been avoiding falling asleep in his bed? Or simply falling asleep at all?

I moved around him, putting myself between him and the rest of my home. "What did you need to talk about?"

"You have a personal connection to the job," he said. "I need to know what it is."

I scoffed, going to deny it.

He cut me off before I could, "No use denying it. You're not as subtle as you think you are."

There was a long pause.

"I need to know any potential risks that come with this job. Whatever you're hiding is a risk."

"The woman that you're robbing... she's my mother," I explained. "I... ran away... a long time ago."

"Why?"

"My uncle. He killed my brother... He didn't know that I had seen him until after it was over. I had... I had only seen the very end of it. If he had told me that he had just found him like that, then I would have believed him. And then, he told my mother that I did it."

"You were a child."

"He called it an accident," I shrugged. "He played the part well. That was when I knew that he had done it. My mother hated me. He threatened to kill her if I ever said anything... because killing me would be too easy. I had to run. Now, he is going to inherit everything that my mother has... and nothing is going to stop him."

There was a silence.

I watched as Kaz's eyes scanned me. I couldn't tell if he was trying to see if I was telling the truth or if was merely some kind of assessment of my current state. I blinked away any tears that had built up. I hadn't let myself think about it for years. I forgot how much it hurt.

"I can't have you on the job," Kaz finally said.

"What?"

"It's too dangerous-"

"I can keep my composure on the job, you know that-"

"That's not my concern," he stopped me. "Your uncle knows that you're the only one that knows that truth. Your mother thinks that you killed her son and then ran away. If either one of them sees you, then it will be more than just imprisonment. I am not going to willingly get you killed."

"We have gone on jobs where our lives are in danger," I argued. "Most of them do-"

"Not with such a clear target on our backs."

I took a deep breath. I hated how much I agreed with him. Mainly because I had never once seen him show himself this much care. I had watched him walk into dangerous situations with little to no concern for his own well-being. Part of him had to be aware of that.

"You're off the job."

"Fine," I muttered begrudgingly. "No mourners."

He nodded once. "No funerals."

Kaz turned around to walk back out. He made it to the door before I spoke up.

"Why did you come," I asked. "Why not just sent Inej down here to get information? Or Jesper, even?"

"Your desire for vengeance... it's one that I'm familiar with," he explained. "More than you know... and I will help you get it."

He went to turn away again. His words made me panic.

"Kaz," I stopped him again. "Don't get yourself killed for me."

He didn't respond. He merely looked back at me, waiting for some explanation or request or something.

"I'm not worth it," I said quietly.

He watched me for a few moments longer. I wish I knew what he was looking for. "You don't get to decide that."

He walked out before I could ever question him about that statement.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I stepped forward and locked my door.

I didn't want to make any assumptions or jump to any conclusions, but it was difficult for me to act like I had no desire to do so. Taking me off of the job, the way he spoke, the promise of vengeance in my name... it all gave me pause. Embarrassing pause.

I ran my hands over my face before shaking my head. Jumping to conclusions was foolish. I knew better. His rare empathy was not a sign of anything.

And all I had to do was continue reminding myself of that until I believed it.

-------------------

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[balanceoflightanddark]

I would be curious to hear your full thoughts on Azula in the Spirit Temple

...oh boy...my full thoughts on Azula in the Spirit Temple...

Needless to say, there has been a LOT of discourse on the release of the Azula one-shot these past few days. I know cause...well, I made a post saying my fic was on hiatus till I got my head straight. So needless to say, I've been in the middle of it myself.

The thing about the one-shot though is that it's not just the comic itself but all the baggage and expectations that comes with something that we've been waiting 15 years for. This is the first time Azula has EVER gotten the focus for once. For many of us, this has sort of been a make-or-break situation. I'll get to why in a moment but needless to say, it's been a stressful week.

But having read the comic, I'm ready to give my opinions on it. Spoilers. Obviously.

By now you should know the synopsis: after a raid on a granary, Azula's Fire Warriors make a rescue attempt for one of their comrades, leaving Azula behind. After trying to track them down for their "betrayal", Azula stumbles across a temple deep within the wood home to a monk. Of course, not all is as it seems, as it becomes apparent that something dark resides within, pitting the Princess against her very own psyche.

As I mentioned before, this is Azula's first time in the spotlight. The whole comic is written from her point of view, and she is effectively the protagonist. Going in, I was both excited...and terrified. See, this is her first appearance since the Yang comics and...

...yeah. Needless to say, there's a LOT of bad blood for me going into this comic. So much so that I nearly lost it when I heard some of the spoilers going in.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

To begin, this comic does the most critical thing right: Azula is NOT portrayed as being an irredeemable monster. While she's still a villain and makes a lot of questionable choices (her treatment of the Fire Warriors is reminiscent of how she treated Mai and Ty Lee after all), she's also given a great deal of sympathy. Probably the most we've seen out of the franchise so far.

If Azula was some kind of monster, there's no way panels like this should even exist. What's more, I actually think it does something that I think wasn't handled well in the series and treated little!Azula as...well, a kid. Not a monster or "sick" as Zuko called her in "Zuko Alone". Just a talented kid who unfortunately caught the eye of Ozai for being good at firebending. Hell, that teaser image of her burning the turtleduck was actually a toy and not the real deal.

It's stuff like this that got me excited for the comic initially. This was what we've been waiting for years now. Writers actually acknowledging that Azula was a victim and not some monster.

...which is why I blew up when the previews turned out to be misleading.

See, Azula doesn't get her redemption here. She's offered one (we'll get to that in a minute), but she rejects it and ends the story as a bad guy. Granted there are hints that she's starting to change, but she's still going after the throne and is still opposed to Zuko. Which...kind of got me upset. Mainly cause I thought it was another bait-and-switch like with Yang hinting at Azula changing at the end of The Search, then going around with her crappy portrayal in Smoke and Shadows.

Course there's only so much you can do within a single one-shot, so admittedly...my hopes were too high. Like, there was a lot I wanted. I wanted the heroes to finally get called out on their bull crap. I wanted Azula to get a break. I wanted...I guess I wanted to feel validated that somebody was listening to us.

And granted there is a little bit here and there. The asylum is NOT looked on kindly by Azula or any of the Fire Warriors, with her even trying to reassure herself she's not being held there anymore.

She even calls out Ursa on abandoning her, saying that Ozai effectively conditioned her into being a weapon when she didn't have any choice in the matter. Hell, there's a heavy implication she's genuinely hurt by what Zuko, Mai, and Ty Lee pulled in the past (which considering what they did in the comics, is a lot) and wants some kind of apology from them.

Again, while she's not entirely a saint here, I don't think they'd have this panels if she was entirely in the wrong.

Which then we get to the redemption offer. Basically, the Spirit offers to give her a chance to change...which she rejects.

The problem is, said chance involves her apologizing to THEM first. And I don't think that's portrayed as a good thing since the hallucination of Zuko looks eerily reminiscent of Ozai and downright monstrous. As others have pointed out, it's clear that the Spirit doesn't know Azula and the "redemption" sounds more like groveling for forgiveness. So of COURSE it's not going to work for somebody like Azula since that won't solve anything for her.

So...we come to the ending.

The Spirit calls Azula a monster, says she's squandered a chance for redemption, and she looks upon the Fire Warriors having fun together and...she leaves...

...alone...

...look. I understand that @prying-pandora666 said this was essentially a reset. Getting Azula to a post-Sozin's Comet state with a fresh start. And I get that. Particularly if the animated stuff is gonna feature her.

...but she's alone...again...

I'm okay with her not getting a redemption since I don't think she was mentally ready for one. But...

sighs

Listen, remember how I said I wanted a lot from this comic? Too much in fact? Yeah. I was so focused on what I needed as opposed to what Azula needed. A fresh slate might be what she needs. And in a vacuum, I think this comic is pretty solid.

It's just everything else is where I have problems.

15 years waiting. 15 years of Bryke/Yang's comics, ableism, and lack of empathy. 15 years of stress, of being seen as an outcast by the fandom. It's...it's a lot to hold. And there's no way a single good comic is gonna be able to rebuild those burned-down bridges. I understand that there's talk of a potential follow-up and stuff for her from Avatar Studios.

It's just...you know. You're always afraid of this being the end. Which...doesn't sit well with me. I'm just afraid they're gonna use Azula as a marketing tool to sell future comics. That they're gonna drag this out. That they're gonna keep playing this centrist field instead of committing (it's fine here, and I do think Faith does lean in towards Azula being sympathetic after all), it's just...

I'm sorry. I want to love this comic and be excited for more stuff with Azula but...15 years is a long time. And it's going to take more than a single good comic to get me back on board fully.