#but that's just the physical effects. if your body is fighting to kick out a spirit (which edgar's usually isn't) it causes a lot of-

[wombywoo]

🤝 1, 10, 18

💓 3, 20

all ears kicking my feet giggling

thank you boo 😘

🤝Community and Relationships

Does your character prefer company or solitude when sick?

I think they both generally prefer to stew in their aliments alone, but now that they have each other, they recognize the benefits of seeking out company for comfort--lots of sympathy and soup and hair petting, etc (I can attest because I'm sick rn 😔)

10. Is there a habit your character has that they learned from someone else?

Vincent tends to emulate those around him, something he does subconsciously to 'fit in', so he often expresses sentiments or behaviors similar to those closest to him (considering his best friend is a 79 year old, this can potentially be a comedy gold mine)

I don't think Quinn has actively learned habits from others, rather he adjusts his own behavior out of spite--if he sees someone he despises behaving a certain way, he'll usually do the exact opposite on principle. He has tried to incorporate stricter and more professional practices from officers he actually respects, but his personal life doesn't really reflect that

18. What is your character's favorite form of affection?

Vincent really enjoys talking--this can be causal banter or long, deep meaningful conversations. He expresses his emotions most effectively when he can vocalize the issues at hand, so having someone sit and listen and engage is something he considers affection in itself. For physical stuff, he just likes being close; holding hands, leaning on each other, sleeping side by side, etc. To show affection, he loves pampering his partner; giving little gifts, one-sided sessions in bed, giving them all the attention~

Quinn's not an outwardly affectionate person and it takes him a really long time to even open up to that sort of thing. But, hypothetically speaking, he loves getting his hair played with. Also cuddles 😤. As an ordinarily 'aggressive' lover, in order to show genuine affection as opposed to lust, he tends to slow things down a bit; long, deep kisses, spending hours just holding each other and letting the passion speak for itself

Hmm. I see I took the horny route instead of saying 'they call each other cute names' or whatever... 🤷‍♀️

💓Mind, Body and Soul

3. Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

Both are more inclined to fight. If threatened, I think both of them would instinctively try to attack and defend rather than retreat. Quinn has some anger issues and would definitely prefer to punch someone out in the heat of the moment than walk it off. Similarly, Vincent also has some uncontrollable bouts of rage, so yeah...he's a fighter 💪

20. Is there a fear your character wants to learn to overcome?

So..Quinn had previously been deadset on being a pilot (something he'd wanted since he was a kid), but at a certain point in his application process, he dropped out and joined the regular army. Turns out he has a real, deep-seated fear of flying (due to trauma, as per usual) Embarrassed and ashamed, he took measures to overcome this throughout his career--sure, he can jump out of a plane, but he still has this weird fear of being the one in control of an aircraft. Maybe one day Vince will teach him how to fly 🥺

Vincent has a rather valid fear of being used as a science experiment and thus stripped of all humanity. He'd been subjected to some gnarly examinations at some point (once vampirism was exposed, he was one of the first to admit himself as an 'example' and yeah--the British govt had no qualms in doing some pretty dubious shit to test his physical and mental capacities) As such, he still has this lingering fear of medical personnel and usually forgoes any kind of treatment unless necessary. He'd prefer to overcome this at some point, but it might take some time...

[carbonateddelusion]

on a show of hands who here remembers how possession works in the 80s universe it was SO long ago I'm assuming none of you do

[risuola]

TOO MUCH — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Lately, it felt like not a second pass by without some new curse appearing somewhere in Japan and both you and Satoru had your hands full of work for few weeks, but when he comes back home, exhausted to the bone, his composure snaps and he unloads his frustration on you.

cw: angst, verbal abuse, hurt/little comfort, mentions of blood and hurt, reader is injured, mental exhaustion — 2,5k words

Too much. Too much of everything that piled up on Satoru's shoulders, weighing him down so heavily that he almost couldn't breathe. It felt like the world was on fire, curses crawling out of every shithole in Japan, most of them first or special grade, spreading nothing but death and chaos. So many people killed, so much blood and pain he had witnessed in the last few weeks, it drowned him in exhaustion and helplessness. Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive, and yet he felt so helpless in the current situation. He traveled from town to town, fighting these terrors, but the lives that had been taken away, he couldn't bring back, and he used to think that he was immune to it already. Turns out, one can never be immune enough.

You had your hands full with work as well, but you stayed in Tokyo. The situation drained your energy too, the cascading waves of sadness and sorrow made you feel like you couldn't think straight, but you pushed through. You felt so weak, but had to be strong, everyone had to be. All of your sorcerer friends were just as engaged in the fight as you were, just as tired and distressed, but the show must go on, as they say.

You and Gojo weren't officially a couple, though everyone knew you were together. You were friends, yes, the kind of friends who kiss and have sex. The kind of friends that use pet-names and fall asleep while cuddling naked. Shit, you lived together for a few months, you know everything about him and he knows just as much about you. And you were happy, sharing every moment. He always said that you bring him so much comfort, that he feels like he can be openly himself when he's with you and be accepted for it. Nothing could ever bring you more joy than the man you love feeling comfortable with you.

That being said, it wasn't the best time for your relationship slash situationship. He was more out of the house than in it, and you were just sleeping there, barely. It's been going on for a few weeks already, and it's just now it’s beginning to finally calm down. Few weeks of constant fighting for everyone involved in the jujutsu world, but it started to slow down. So you knew that Satoru would finally return home.

It's when you showered and put on your pajamas that you heard the keys twisting in the lock and the doors opening. Putting on a smile, you rushed to welcome Gojo home, but the moment you saw him, you knew he's extremely exhausted.

Satoru entered the house already annoyed by the conversation he had with Gakuganji a few moments before. That old fart had the audacity to nag him about his methods while he himself was sitting in his cave sipping green tea, not caring one bit that the world was drowning in curses and blood. He threw the keys on the shelf, kicked off his shoes and took off the blindfold, then looked at you, all clean and comfortable in your pajamas. He scoffed quietly.

He felt like his own body was falling apart, everything hurt, his head was pounding, his eyes were burning. Even though he was actively healing himself, the side effects of everything were getting to him. A few weeks of nonstop fighting, of domains, of reds, blues, and purples, and so much physical combat had left him hanging on the last thread of his composure. The usual mask of cheerful carelessness long gone.

Suddenly he wished he could enter the empty house, throw away his clothes, collapse on the bed dirty and just fall asleep, but he couldn't. You were there. And there was never a time in the past when he wouldn't be absolutely overjoyed to come home to you. Even when tired, he wanted nothing more than your arms around him. But not right now.

"Satoru, hey," you greeted him, keeping your voice soft and on the quiet side. You knew him so well, you could see how fatigued he was and frankly, you couldn't blame him. Being the strongest had its downsides, one of which was being very much in demand, and sadly, no one could take his place. "You're exhausted, huh?"

"Look at you, so damn perceptive," he snapped harshly, his eyes cold and empty as he looked down at you. He walked past you to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge.

“Are you hungry? I can make you someth-“

"No, just shut up, you cannot make me fucking anything," once again, his tone was cold as he snarled at you. It was the first time so much cyanide spilled out of his mouth and he just barely opened it. At first you tried to understand it. Things had been really draining lately and you knew he was angry because he was tired, but it hurt nonetheless.

"Alright," you sighed, deciding it's best not to get deeper into the conversation when he's so argumentative. "Do as you wish, get some rest, Satoru."

"You know, why instead of telling me what the hell to do, you just don't leave my house, huh?", Shut up Gojo, he screamed at himself subconsciously. "Why are you even here anyway?" Shut. Up. " All comfy when I'm constantly on the job?"

"I know you're tired, Satoru, but I've been on missions too. I'm tired too," you looked at him in defeat, unable to keep the smiley mask on. There was so much wrong in this situation, so much anger being thrown at you for no reason whatsoever, and you had every right in the world to be just as angry as he was, but you just chose not to. You wanted to welcome him home with warmth, comfort him, and keep him up even if you felt down. You wanted to soothe his aching body when yours hurt just as much. Or worse. You were badly injured during the last few battles, but Shoko had her hands so full, you told her you could wait, and you hid all those wounds from Gojo's eyes so as not to worry him.

"'Yeah, your little missions,'" he bit, and your brows furrowed at the sound of his words.

"What does that even mean?" you asked, slowly feeling the heat of anger coursing through your veins. "I'm first gra-"

"I don't care what you are. You're still nothing to me. I deal with real shit, not those..."

You slapped him. Or at least you tried, your hand stopping just short of his face, and it surprised you to realize his limitless was still on, even though he was home already. He was still in fight-or-flight mode, still feeling threatened enough to keep his defensive techniques activated.

"Just what do you think you're fucking doing?" he growled, taking your wrist into his grip, the squeeze shooting shockwaves of pain through your nervous system. "Did my words hurt you? Did the truth hurt you so badly that you thought you could actually hit me?", his tone had a taunting undertone, and when you looked into his blue eyes, you saw nothing but cold. "Funny little thing."

"Let go, Satoru."

"Oh, I will. And when I do, you'll get your useless ass out of here. I'm not your boyfriend, we just fuck, we're not in a goddamn relationship for you to be here all the time. I need my space."

Gojo hated every word that fell out of his mouth, but now he couldn't take them back or erase them, and he didn't exactly know how to act now that he had said them. Immediately, he let his limitless inactivate, hoping you'd want to slap him again. Shit, he'd even accept a kick in the balls, but you remained silent, just looking at him. He could tell by the way your eyes glistened in the sharp artificial light of his kitchen that there were tears threatening to come out, but you didn't cry. Your jaw clenched for a moment and you lowered your hand.

"Right," you exhaled deeply, feeling the hurt burn your heart and soul. The smoke of sadness already flowing through your veins, your cells, your mind. "You're right, we're not. Here," you performed a theatrical swing of your arm, displaying the interiors to him, "your fucking space. I'll let myself out."

"Y/n..." he tried, but you were already in the room, changing from your pj's to sweatpants. He stayed in the kitchen, hoping you'd just jump into bed and maybe cry about it all, and he'd just come back later and comfort you when he wasn't mad anymore, but it didn't go that way.

Once he saw you again, you were heading towards the door.

"Y/n stay, don't be silly, stop," he tried to grab you, but you slapped his hands away.

"What, does the almighty, fucking honored one wish to add something to his oh-so-wonderful speech?"

"No, I'm sorry, stay," he took your hand forcefully, pulling you into his chest, but you fought back, not wanting anything to do with him right now. He had said too much. You knew it was all driven by his exhaustion, but it was far too much.

"No, Gojo, I don't want to stay here. I'm more than pleased to leave you in your space. There's no damn reason for you to share your precious air with such a useless nothing."

"No, no, please," he begged, his anger slowly being overtaken by panic. The sound of his last name felt cold and unfamiliar as it rolled off your tongue. "I'm sorry, please stay. I didn't mean it. Fuck, I didn't mean any of it."

"Please, take your hands off me," you told him more quietly. You were tired and now emotionally drained as well. All you wanted from this evening was to cuddle up with him to sleep. To bask in his warmth, knowing he's safe and home, to feel his skin against yours, to breathe him in. But no.

"No, I won't," he lowered his head and buried his face in your neck. "Please, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it, I'm just so tired. I feel dead, there has been so much fighting and pain and suffering and death all around me these past few weeks. I'm sorry, y/n," his voice faded to whisper as he rambled against your pulse.

"Gojo..."

"I don't think you're useless or nothing. Fuck, what have I done" he was spiraling slowly into a panic attack. You could feel his heartbeat getting hectic, his breathing uneven, and his grip on you so tight it hurt. "I am nothing without you. Please stay."

"Gojo."

"I love you," he whispered, his tone breathless, and at first you thought you had heard him wrong. He had never told you that. Not even once. "I love you so fucking much, please. Slap me, kick me, punch me in the dick, I don't care. Just don't leave me. I'm so sorry."

"Satoru, please, it hurts..."

"Hurts?", he froze. What hurts? Did he hurt you? The thought frightened him, not only did he insult you for no damn reason and now he caused you pain? As if burned, he let go of you completely, raising his hands as if he wanted to keep them in sight so you knew he wouldn't hurt you anymore. "I'm sorry."

"I've been fighting for these weeks, too. I'm tired too. I would never compare myself to you, but I gave it my all, too," you exhaled deeply. "And I know you're exhausted, Satoru. So please go to bed and get some sleep. I'll just go home."

"Here is your home, with me."

"Here?", you briefly looked around. It was a place you loved because it was filled with him. It was where your heart wanted to be when you felt safest and happiest, but now... "Suddenly I feel like an intruder here. I feel like I shouldn't be here."

"No, please don't say that. Listen, y/n, love," he dropped to his knees, took your hands in his and kissed the tops of them gently and tenderly. "Please, stay with me. I'm an idiot. But I love you. And I need you here, I need you in my life. I want you by my side."

"So, what do you want us to be? You said we're just fucking. God, I thought we were at least friends, if not a couple, but..."

"I want us to be everything. I want you to be my friend, my partner, my lover, my wife and my entire world."

You sighed. Deep and slow, pushing the air out of your lungs, letting your whole body deflate as you took his hands and pulled him up.

"Go take a shower and come to bed. You need to sleep it off. I need to rest too."

Obeying, Satoru rushed to the bathroom and you made sure to lock the doors, turn off the lights and took the time to change back into your pajamas. Sitting on the bed, you finally felt the tears running down your face. They brought you some relief and you let them flow freely, desperate to get it out of you before Gojo came back. It pained you how wrong the evening went and you wondered if there was anything you did to cause it, but no. It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t deserve it. And you should leave him there alone, just as he wished for. Then why were you still here?

"Please don't cry," his long arms wrapped around you from behind, enveloping you in his warmth. The light sweet scent of his body wash pleasantly filled your airways and it's out of habit that you leaned into him. "Will you ever forgive me?" he asked, gently wiping the tears from your cheeks. Slowly, he laid you down on the pillows and took his usual place beside you.

"I will," you sighed, already feeling the discomfort. "But please, let's change sides."

Satoru didn't understand at first, but he did what you asked anyway. When he saw you exhale in relief as you turned to the other side, his brain clicked. Moving his hands in the most delicate way possible, he lifted your shirt a little, revealing the many layers of bandages, already tinged with red that was seeping through them slowly.

"God, you're wounded. That's what was hurting you when I held you... I had no idea why you didn't tel-, ah, because I was being an asshole, right," he sighed.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to tell you anyway. I'm fine, just Shoko had her hands full, so I told her I'd wait a day or two. It's just a scratch, really," you told him, fixing your shirt. "Please, let's get some sleep, okay? We'll talk about it all later."

"I love you," he whispered, pulling you to his chest and planting a kiss on the top of your head. It was only now that he could feel his body relax, with you right next to him, your heartbeat syncing with his own, and all of your loving aura filling his body. And he realized that the words he never had the balls to say out loud to you now felt natural, rolling off his tongue. "I love you so much."

"You idiot," you sighed, closing your eyes and slowly melting into his form. "I love you too."

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

title: Miscommunication

author: sciencebecameouraddiction

fandom: hazbin hotel

rating: G

pairing: Alastor x Reader

Summary: Alastor and reader have been dancing around each other for quite sometime, but reader doesn’t believe that Alastor could care for her.

╭── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╮

“What are we?” you ask standing in the room, trying to look at anything but him. The silence after the question felt suffocating, like it was choking you but not physically. Like the silence had nestled into your airways and started to bring them crashing upon each other in a supernova right in your chest. Your hands shake as you brush off your shirt, trying anything then to actually look at the man in front of you. If you did you’d know the answer you thought would be there. You’d see his disgust, and hatred and you couldn’t bare that. Not when he’s handled you so gently, smiled at you so gently, not when you’ve sought him out in crowded rooms. You could feel your tears in your eyes as you willed yourself not to cry, not yet.

“You know what we are. You just want me to say it.” Alastor’s voice carried across the room and you stiffened, his voice lacking the radio effect for the first time. Tears began to fall, as it was confirmed to you.

“I-I-“ you take in a shuddering breath and start again. “Can you please say it? Out loud? I need to hear you say it, so I can move on.” Tears stream down your face as you hit your lip to stop from sobbing. ‘Damn you heart for feeling so much’, you thought to yourself. You don’t hear Alastor make his way toward you, but suddenly his hand gently cups your chin and guides it to look at him. His eyes widen in shock and it makes you angry. He knew how you felt, he knew that he didn’t feel the same way, and he has the nerve to look shocked?

You rip away and put distance between you both, your breath ragged, not able to stop the sobs as they came and your brain too foggy to try and pull yourself together.

“DON’T!” You yell at him and his eyes widen further. You shrink into yourself after this outburst, all fight leaving you. “Please, stop toying with me Alastor. I understand that you get your kicks off shit like this but just be real with me and tell me you don’t see me… see me like I see you. So then, I can let you go.” You whisper, your arms wrapping around your body like you were trying to hold yourself together.

“Mon Coeur, oh, cher…” Alastor trailed off and approached slowly, raising his hand to your cheek, watching every movement of yours for even an ounce of discomfort. “I am…” Alastor pauses and takes a deep breath, readying himself to say a phrase he never thought he’d utter to anyone, “So sorry.” He whispers.

“I don’t want you to let me go, darling.” He murmurs. Your head whips up, eyes wide.

“What?” you managed to croak out. Alastor looks at you and a soft smile falls on his face.

“You are someone who is very dear to me. Someone who I think I can learn to love.” Alastor murmurs, bending down to you. “If you’ll allow me to.” His eyes meet yours, as you search through trying to find something other than earnestness and what could only be described as love in his eyes.

“You may.” the whisper of your consent weaving between you two, like vows. Your hand reaches up to his face as he leans down slowly, his eyes flicking between your eyes and your lips. He moves so slowly giving you the chance to move away, and you stay still, giving him the opportunity to change his mind. That idea was thrown out when you felt your lips touch his, as your other hand reaches up and anchors yourself on his neck. A little whine coming from you as you feel his body meld against you. You both break away feeling like it was too soon and you nod.

“It’ll be hard to get rid of me you know?” You ask, fixing Alastor’s collar.

“Hmmmm, not as hard as it will be to get rid of me, cher.” Alastor smiles and you laugh as you pull him into your arms and feel him stiffen at first and then relax against you, pulling you closer and resting his head on top of yours. He starts gently humming, both of you basking in each other’s company and for the first time you were grateful you were so emotional.

╰── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ──╯

[charmwasjess]

Strap in for the Soresu form III Obi-Wan lightsaber post. This is gonna be a sad one, girlies. We’re getting into Obi-Wan’s Fucking Trauma. 

Qui-Gon’s death changed literally everything about Obi-Wan’s life, right down to the lightsaber form. Still a Padawan himself, he had to watch as an extinct monster from his nightmares* utterly took apart the form he’d learned since he was a child, and then, to complete the destruction, slaughtered the teacher who’d taught him the form and raised him. The devastation of Qui-Gon’s actual death had to be the last in a cascading series of horrors that started with the gut-sinking realization that Qui-Gon was losing. And if all of that weren’t enough, Obi-Wan also loses his own lightsaber in the same duel, a psychological blow to his personhood which we don’t have to guess at the significance of. Obi-Wan tells us the cost of it himself in AotC: this weapon is your life. 

The Duel of the Fates on a sheer physical level is a devastating thing to consider. It’s a grueling, full out running battle, the likes of which we don’t see elsewhere in the saga. The beauty (and pounding musical score) of the fight distracts from the sheer brutality of it. Maul is physically attacking them at every turn; he manages to kick Qui-Gon hard enough to knock all 6’3 of him off his feet; he dumps Obi-Wan into a fall that seems to be several stories high. We don’t see Obi-Wan get back up off the floor with Qui-Gon’s body at the end of the duel, and I’d be surprised if he was physically able to even stand again so after the adrenaline faded and the soreness and exhaustion took over. He just been whirled in a lightsaber blender. 

I can’t imagine how hard it was for him to pick up a lightsaber again after the trauma of that battle - much less, a new, unfamiliar one, not the kyber crystal that had been his since he was a child. The new canon’s emphasis on the spiritual relationship between a Jedi and their crystal makes this detail even more excruciating. The Ataru form itself must have felt broken and unusable. How can you put your trust in a form once you watched it be broken so ruthlessly?

And this is where Obi-Wan is so endlessly beautiful as a character. He goes through this horrifying experience of violent unmaking, and instead of avoiding lightsabers as an understandable trauma response, or picking up an overwhelming power and dominance form like V, he remakes himself into a master of Soresu: a form of simple, complete defense. He doesn’t attempt to become a weapon of attack like Maul did to disintegrate Ataru; he makes himself invincible, untouchable, with a perfect defense. Soresu works the pieces that fell apart for the Jedi in the Duel of the Fates to an advantage. It is a form of ultimate endurance, of playing out your opponent and staying up in a fight until the attacker is exhausted or angry. It preserves and it lasts. It is philosophical. It is considered. It lacks the showy flash of Makashi or Ataru and returns to the basics, even working in some of that battlefield meditation that Qui-Gon so believed in. And in that simple economy, it’s gorgeous and effective. 

I have to wonder: is Soresu, on some level, a form of kinetic self-soothing for a person who faced an incredibly traumatic battle at a young age? Does Obi-Wan use it that way?

All of this is perfectly in keeping with the themes of the character. Obi-Wan’s story remains about life, about hope, about survival. The word he uses to describe the Jedi to Luke in the OT is important to me. “Jedi knights were the guardians of peace and justice.” Guardians. And what better lightsaber approach for a person who sees his role as one of protection than a form whose signature move is called “The Circle of Shelter?”

*Maul, of course, is a tragedy in his own right, but that’s a different post. 

[literaila]

what did reader and satoru do when they got called in to the guidance counselor because megumi beat up some kids 😭

it’s safe to say that satoru handles the talking in this particular instance.

because you’re just looking at megumi, arms crossed, face blank. in reality the silence is probably worse than if you were just scolding him.

but you’re not. this is your third time sitting in this office.

megumi is cowering even further into his seat with each second that ticks by.

“he’s a…” satoru is smiling at megumi’s counselor, and you’re glad that he’s charming in his own, foolish way. “problem child. we’re trying to train it out of him, but apparently restricting food isn’t very effective.”

the counselors face is skeptical. you nudge satoru with an elbow without breaking megumi’s gaze.

“kidding,” satoru laughs. “i’m just kidding. please don’t report us.”

“this is his second suspension,” the counselor says. “if he gets a third—“

“he’ll be expelled?” you ask, raising a brow not at him, but your little boy.

the twelve year old who really knows better.

“yes. we do not tolerate physical altercations, but witness accounts say that mr. fushiguro was defending a child from another student.”

satoru hums and you just stare.

the man sitting in front of you looks very confused. the three of you are communicating in hand gestures and looks that he doesn’t—and shouldn’t—understand.

he clears his throat. “so, we’ll just have you sign this acknowledgment, and megumi can resume class again at the start of next week.”

“great!” satoru claps his hands together. “hear that? next week?” he pokes your side, glasses sliding down his nose.

“uh-huh.”

megumi winces.

“…i’ll sign then. do you have a pen?”

and then the three of you are walking out of the school doors, satoru’s hand on megumi’s shoulder, and your eyes on every inch of him. he’s got a cut on his cheek and bruises along his hands.

it’s not that you’re not used to it—more that you’re not used to it on a small little boy.

and megumi is glowering.

satoru tries to get your attention with a hand, but you don’t bother to give him the time of day. honestly, right now you’re preoccupied with your son—your son who is about to be kicked out of school.

“i’m sorry—“

“do your hands hurt?”

you and megumi say at the same time, and his eyes whip towards yours, blue and guilty.

seriously, for someone with no biological ties to satoru, he really does look like him.

“you’re sorry?”

“i know i shouldn’t—“ megumi stops, groaning. he turns toward you. “i just… there were these boys and they were trying to mess with this other kid and i—“

“he was trying to help,” satoru says, ruffling his hair.

megumi nods.

you raise a brow. “why are you on his side?”

“because it was just a normal fistfight,” satoru abswers, shaking his head. “remember last time? with the cursed energy thing?” he’s smiling like he’s won this argument.

you sigh.

“i’m sorry. really. but i couldn’t just watch them bully someone else.”

“of course you couldn’t, ‘gumi. you’re a fighter,” satoru pinches his cheeks.

“we are not praising this behavior.”

“i’m just stating a fact!”

“megumi, what’s the one rule we set for school?”

megumi kicks at the ground. “don’t get into fights.”

“then why’d you do it, kid?”

“clearly, those devil children—“

“satoru.”

satoru mimes zipping his mouth shut and you both look to megumi.

megumi bites the inside of his cheek, shaking his head. “i don’t know.”

at that, your entire body softens. it’s true that you and satoru have tried your best—but the mind of a twelve year old boy is a strange place.

if you hid in the pantry when you were scared as a little girl, then megumi goes down swinging.

you crouch down, finger nudging his chin so he’ll look at you. “if you can’t handle school, being around those kids then we need to figure something else out, megumi. you can’t hurt people—even if they’re being mean.”

“i know.”

satoru messes with his hair again. “ah, he reminds me of myself. so strong and intelligent.”

“you’re not helping.”

“don’t you agree, megumi?” satoru asks the boy, ignoring you.

you sigh, standing up again. “let’s go home. we’ll talk more later.”

this time, satoru moves between you and megumi, slinging an awkward arm around both of your shoulders. “well, i think it all worked out splendidly.”

“shut up, satoru.”

“what? my son won his fist fight and my wife isn’t pouting anymore.”

“i was not pouting.”

“i thought we weren’t supposed to lie around the—“

[genshin-obsessed]

Could I request headcanons of Diluc and Zhongli with an s/o who hates loud noises? Lightning, thunder, shouting, arguments, they scare her into silence.

✧ Hiya! I hope you like this ^w^ also i've finally decided to open requests back up to all characters. I do still have super low count of fics for the newer characters (like kaveh literally only has 1 fic lol), but I'm just not that into them as much. And I really miss the other characters ;w; ✧ Includes: Diluc, Zhongli ✧ Extra: it's been SO long since I've written for these two, I could cry.

✧Diluc✧

He didn't know you were scared of loud noises... at all. It's not exactly something that comes up without the situation

The first time he found out was when you two were at Angel's Share and there were some rowdy individuals in the bar. You flinched and almost immediately fell silent. He tried to keep talking to you, but you weren't really responding, other than nodding and just looking at your drink.

Unfortunately, the individuals weren't really doing anything wrong so he couldn't just kick them out. However, he opted to just remove you from the scene. Since he was with you, a late night walk would've been good. So, that's exactly what you did. He didn't ask, but he figured you'd probably didn't like loud noises.

Then there was a day where you had accidentally run into this one guy. Now, he wasn't... a bad guy, he just wasn't the greatest. He was having an off day, you ran into him, made him spill his drink AND HE WENT OFF.

You felt your entire body freeze up, even tears welling into your eyes. You were terrified and this guy was just screaming.

In came your knight and shining hero. Well... Darknight. Knowing that yelling at the guy would only upset you further, Diluc just opened to glare and point his claymore at the guy.

"Leave her alone." And he did. That guy ran. And fast.

Nowadays, Diluc is SUPER observant of everyone and everything. Looks like its gonna rain? He's already home and preparing some distractions for you. Does it look like someone's gonna fight? He's already leading you away to somewhere quiet. He makes sure all the dates are in more quiet places and he even has a few coping methods prepared for you.

✧Zhongli✧

Zhongli isn't usually in very rowdy places, so it took him longer to find out that you don't like loud noises.

When he first found out that you didn't like loud noises, it was during a firework show. You actually weren't even attending, but you were close by and heard it. You immediately froze up, your hands covering your ears and you just stopped talking. You and Zhongli were having a conversation but you just went silent.

Zhongli picked up on that pretty quickly and actually placed his hands over yours. When there was a silent moment, he made sure to escort you somewhere far away so that it was much quieter. That was the day Zhongli learned you didn't like loud noises.

Due to this, Zhongli makes sure he keeps an eye on your surroundings when you two spend time together. He'll often find excuses to go on walks if he sees some rowdy people showing up. He's not a fan of loud people either, he just doesn't have the same reaction as you.

There was a time when you were stuck in a big crowd of loud people and he had to physically help you out and take you somewhere quiet to just help you through the discomfort.

Zhongli will not stand for anyone raising their voice at you. If someone wants to yell at you, they can yell at him once you leave. And watch them try and stop him.

Zhongli has fought people before because they pushed you too far- effectively pushing him too far. Zhongli's like... extremely protective of you.

Zhongli may not fully understand why loud noises upset you, but they upset you so he takes them all seriously. The second he sees some of those traits come out (like you falling super quiet), he knows it's time to move. Zhongli has NEVER argued with someone for upsetting you, because he knows it'll only upset you further.

[shuttershocky]

Is there any power scaling discussion that will inevitably make you feel the need to respond, no matter how irrelevant power scaling is to the actual media in question?

"How did Nero defeat Vergil at the end of DMC5 he's only 1/4th demon he should be much weaker wahh wahh plot armor"

First of all, Nero won because he wanted to win more than Vergil did. Second of all, Vergil's used to fighting an agile clown like Dante and not a brute gorilla like Nero who has no problem with just grabbing him and slamming him into the dirt repeatedly until he cries uncle.

BUT ALSO we know that human blood fuels demons in Devil May Cry. They have to consume it to grow their powers, which is why these guys keep powering all their infernal machinery with blood and why the tree whose fruit is kingmaker of the underworld must feed on human blood.

Before Nero, it looks like Vergil and Dante's strength came from being the sons of Sparda, who was Mundus' strongest soldier and was able to solo all of hell for his lady love.

But honestly I think a lot of their power comes from their nature as hybrids. When Urizen consumes the same fruit that made Mundus king of the underworld, he gets torn a brand new asshole by Dante working with an 8 year old's logic (if Vergil cut himself in two with the Yamato, maybe stabbing myself with Rebellion glues both my sides tighter?) and it actually works.

Not only is Dante's SIN Devil Trigger form written down in Nico's notes as matching (or even surpassing) Sparda's peak, he crushes Urizen both before and after the latter consumes the fruit containing human blood worth millions, completely mystifying the demon king because what the fuck kind of bullshit powerup is that?

Urizen's only able to match Dante's strength once V fuses his human self back into him to recreate Vergil.

I think being a demon-human hybrid basically acts like an infinite human blood battery. It's already inside you and never runs out because your body just makes more blood. The demonic side isn't granting the power, it's granting the abilities; the human side is the gas fueling this killing machine.

The whole time Sparda was turning on his own hell legions for Earth pussy he was unknowingly stumbling into the blueprint for creating unbeatable demonic super soldiers, and had no idea.

Every time Dante defeated the likes of Mundus or Argosax they must have been calling horseshit because there's no way they're getting destroyed by this buffoon just because he's Sparda's son when fighting skills aren't something you inherit like it's hair color, not realizing Dante's powers are fueled by his own blood (and plenty of self-stabbing).

This means that Nero is not inherently weaker than Vergil or Dante by having less demon in him, because it's the hybrid nature itself being their strength.

While Nero's powers aren't as mature as theirs, his demonic strength is enough to grab both Dante and Vergil's SIN devil trigger forms and push them back when they charged at full might, and in fact he's physically strong enough to lift giants like Goliath and ragdoll them around like their name is Bluto and he's just eaten a can of spinach.

Dante even points out at the end that Vergil cut off his own son's arm for more power and the son still kicked his ass anyway. By the end of DMC5 Nero doesn't need the Yamato anymore to do Buster moves, he can shape his own aura into arms to punch and grab things just as effectively, making him completely independent from actually using any devil arms to fight (he only needs human weapons like Lady does). He's strong enough that Dante trusts him with protecting the world by himself while Dante goes to hell, which is a big ask given you know, everything in DMC 1-4.

TL;DR - Nero strong

[cyber-night]

Hihihihi, so important update as to why I have vanished. I was diagnosed with a genetic condition that affects my muscles and means I'm losing my fine motor skills, skills like typing and writing, so this is taking so much effort to actually do as it's getting worse. I'm okay. I'm going to keep writing, but it's going to be at my own pace so I can mitigate the effects.

Content Warnings: Non-con to Dub-con, Priest Fyodor, Religious themes, Dom Reader, Sub Fyodor, Drowning, Degradation, Hair pulling. Tell me if I missed something.

Fyodors head was pushed down under the water, his robes flipped up over his ass and pushed up his back, exposing his pale skin and malnourished body. You held his hair in a death grip under holy water, water he himself had blessed.

He was struggling to escape your grip, not really afraid but more angry. He was too weak to fight you off physically. He trembles as he tries to flee. Your cock pistoning into his tight hole. He manages to push himself out of the water, making you laugh as he struggles to hold himself up on the slippery marble lip of the font. After taking his skinny wrists in one hand and then shoving his head under the water again with the other you shift him so his toes are the only part of him touching the floor and then go back to brutally fucking him. He's left writhing and the fear kicks in as his lungs scream in pain at the lack of air. The way you fuck him like you hate him makes him want to cum but he can't he needs more, after all you're fucking him like hes a toy with no care for his own satisfaction.

When you shift to finally abuse his prostate, his body trembles, going weak he no longer tries to fight back, too lost in fear and pleasure. He's struggling to stay conscious with the lack of air. When you pull his head up above the water so he can breathe, he takes in gasping breaths, moans interspersed alongside them. "Think you can keep quiet, Father?" You ask cruelly. "Imagine what your parish would do if they knew you weren't just a sinner but a common whore." Before he can argue and fight back you push his head under the water again his head pressed against the bottom of the marble basin as his body weakly twitches. You pet the back of his neck with your thumb as you pull harder on his pretty black hair. Fucking him against the font with only your pleasure in mind. Once you cum deep inside him you let him fall to the floor in a heap and start putting yourself back together.

Father Fyodor weakly crawls over to you, drenched in water and trembling. His eyes wide as he throws away his pride. "Please- c-can I..." You cut him off with a laugh "aww did my holy fuck toy not get to cum? How sad. Tell you what, you can use my boot but that's all you get." There's a look of hesitation in his eyes as you lean back against a pew offering him your boot.

He crawls forward and positions himself so he can grind against your leg like a mutt. He hides his face in shame against your thigh before you yank his head back by his hair "Look at me when I'm being so generous to you Father." Fyodor looks up at you weakly his hips stuttering as he grinds faster trying to get it over with. "You should thank me." Fyodor closes his eyes before forcing out a garbled "Thank you" He then pauses and looks at you before whimpering "Need... more." You smirk and wrap a hand around his throat. "You need to feel like your dying is that right slut? Don't worry I can do that for you." Fyodor's body tenses as he cums on your boot his eyes rolling back in his head. "Father~" you sing, bringing him back to the present. "You made quite a mess. Why don't you make your God proud and clean it up." You say smiling sadisticlly "Though I hardly think we should waste it." Fyodors eyes widen at the implications but leans down and kitten licks at the cum covering your shoe.

Once it's clean, you lift your boot and press it against his head, pressing his head to the floor. "I can't help but think you need a less... absent God. You need one to keep you on a short leash and put you to use. I think I could be that God. We could trade your clerical collar out for a nice locked collar with a leash. What do you think?" You ask the priest idly, knowing he's so lost in the after shocks of pleasure and pain that he'll agree to anything.

[taki-yaki]

Draconic Sorcerer Tav Headcanons

not an anon request this time but this was sitting on my wip for ages so I'll put it out now. Hope my fellow draconic sorcerer/dragonborn(?) fans.

As a draconic sorcerer, the blood that runs in your veins is filled to the brim with the magical potency of such grand beasts. The scales that lie across your skin are a clear sign to others of your ancestry.

Despite the power within you, it can’t transform you into a dragon but rather changes the physical appearance of your body, from the tips of your fingers becoming sharp-like claws, to your fangs ready to tear anything or one that stands in your path.

Many upon hearing of such graphic descriptions would tend to avoid your kind, but not Astarion, he’s enamoured with the way you look and act. 

Astarion would be interested in your draconic tongue, listening as you speak to Gale and Lae’zel with each syllable hissing off the end of your tongue, akin to a growling beast, in comparison to the soft-spoken tone of elvish that he speaks in.

Later he tries to ask Lae’zel and Gale to teach him some draconic phrases, under the guise of wanting to learn such a uniquely rare language. Gale would attempt to teach him more simple dull phrases whilst Lae’zel would teach him phrases that mainly translated to battle cries. But soon he would tire of the dull lectures. Deciding to just stick to common instead.

After your first night together in the forest during the tiefling party, he would go around bragging about how he got to “ride” a dragon first before poor lae’zel. She’d quickly rebuttal with the threat to slice off his head, lest he continue with his antics.

When he drinks your blood, apart from getting a slight boost to his magic, the flavour changes based on your blood ancestry. acid has a slightly sweet-sour aftertaste, fire has a spicy flare, lighting leaves a jolting taste on his tongue and cold creates a slight tingly numb sensation. 

Other elements of your ancestry also affect your day-to-day life, from fire blood making you his personal hot water bottle, full of blood. Or your cold blood, creates a faint aura of ice upon your skin, causing you to have Gale create an enchanted heated blanket to keep you both warm.

Using your wellspring of magic within your body, you attempt to twist the arcane magic that flows in your blood in an attempt to transfer some of your arcana magic into Astarion when he feeds from you. Mainly in the hopes of making him stronger in difficult fights. 

However, this backfires causing your blood cells to temporarily produce faster, causing you to get Astarion to help. He does chastise you for doing something dangerous but doesn’t say no to the offer of having seconds of your blood in one day.

A few days later, you learn how to replicate the same spell, but on a lower scale, which assists in not only keeping Astarion well-fed but also stopping the effect of bloodless afterwards.

Some traits that emerge from your ancestry is the habit of hoarding objects, from gold coins to silver plates. Even taking one of Astarion’s spare nightshirts to sleep with much to his annoyance, so he tries to steal things from you in retaliation, which becomes an unspoken agreement between you two.

When your wings finally come through, he tries to help you become used to them, mainly in the hopes that you could fly him around places, eliminating the need to walk around all the time whilst carrying such a heavy pack.

Preening habits also start to be displayed, mainly done in an attempt to impress Astarion. Everyone at camp teases that Astarion has been rubbing off on you, with his usual morning beauty care routine usually holding everyone up some days. He would find this to be cute but attempts to get you to kick the habit, by brushing them for you.

“Darling, I know you want to take care of your wings, but would it kill you to just fix up your hair as well.”

In return, you show your affection by wrapping your wings around him both when you embrace each other, acting as a sort of comfort blanket to both of you.

If you’ve grown out a set of dragon-like claws, he does your nails if they get too sharp, ensuring that you don’t accidentally scratch yourself. And if you have a tail, similarly to tieflings, you would have a habit of wrapping your scaled tail around his leg, which he would endlessly tease you for.

Later on in your relationship, you both give each other unique pet names, you call him your Isk meaning star in your draconic tongue, whilst Astarion in return calls you his miniature dragon.“An elf and a miniature dragon, hmm quite the pair wouldn’t you say love?”

[tmntkiseki]

This is a bit tangential to your Bo staff thought, but it made me think about it.

I’ve always thought Donny was the weakest fighter, mostly because on screen he’s the most likely to just drop what he’s doing or trip over himself. Which I attribute to him having his focus split between training and tech.

However, I personally don’t think him being physically the weakest makes sense. I don’t know a lot about the Bo staff either, but he uses it to launch himself quite a bit which has gotta take some crazy upper body strength. Which also tracks since he’s the one who’s (most often) working with heavy machinery. I think that’s a really interesting thought about how the weapon could lead to that stereotype, though. A guy with a staff doesn’t immediately look as imposing as a guy with a sword, even if they’re built the same.

Yeah, being physically weak and being the weakest fighter are two different things. As a casual observer, the bō comes off as a weapon that is far trickier to utilize effectively in combat as an offensive weapon than, say, Leonardo's katanas or Raphael's sais, simply due to the fact it's not a blade weapon; it is, for lack of better comparison, a glorified stick. And because it is a stick, it doesn't look particularly intimidating, which might give off the impression that Don is weak and doesn't have as much going for him when faced with a crowd of enemies.

However, what the bō lacks in raw attack power it more than makes up for in overall utility. A lot of Donatello's fighting style seems to rely on first defending against attacks with his bō, then finding an opportunity to counterattack using either the bō itself or his own strength. This gif offers a pretty good example of what Donnie looks like when he's at his best in combat, since we get to see him using his bō both offensively and defensively.

Like, especially note how the encounter with the Foot Ninja wielding the katana plays out. Don first uses his bō to block his attacker's weapon, then kicks him away while spinning the bō in the event the Foot Ninja attempts a counterattack, adopting a defensive posture in the process. A lot of lovely little details in the span of only a few seconds that show just what kind of fighter Don is.

Again, it's difficult to talk about how the turtles fight when you don't study/practice martial arts yourself, but Don is an interesting case study because he's probably one of the strongest turtles physically, yet his weapon of choice and the fighting style that comes along with it demands that he fight more defensively.

Edit: ALSO, in regards to Don having his focus divided between both ninja training and inventing, that would definitely account for some of his occasional clumsy moments during missions. He's definitely dedicated when it comes to his actual training sessions, but if he's spending a significant amount of time working on his machines, then he's likely not getting in quite as much practice as, say, Leo.

[romanoffsbish]

I Still Can’t Fucking Breathe…

WandaNat x Fem!Reader

I Can’t Breathe

Requested 🥺 | Avoid this fic if you know you won’t fair well with “vivid” imagery

Warnings: Heavy on the past Self Harm/Current Temptations(Indulgences—ED/Physical stimuli—Cold Bath), Blood, Overall Numbness, Ideation. Ends happy, and this one shows the Reader saving themselves a bit 🥹 | 3,082 Words

Numb—A state of mind that is all consuming. Feeling anything at all is next to impossible. The thing about it too, is that it never goes away; it can be dulled, buried even, but in the silence it always finds a way to creep back in.

—————

For almost two years now you'd managed to evade its cold grasp, but after the fight you had with your girlfriends, and their disappearance immediately after for a month long mission, you find yourself back where you'd started. Thoughts of how the world would be brighter without you consume your mind whenever you have the energy to think, and when you don't all you can do is stare mindlessly at the door.

Everyday you lose more of your fight to stay, the lack of Natasha's comforting humming to put you to sleep has left you perpetually tired, and without Wanda's cooking you're starving. Pathetic is all you feel at the prospect of not being able to even exist without them here; it accompanies the numb well, because you cycle between fits of sobs, and dissociative episodes.

Two weeks of mindlessly existing went by in a blur, everyday you spent even more time in the bed, in unchanged clothes that reeked of musk. Trudging down the stairs had become a chore, one that seemed unnecessary when you knew the women you loved weren't coming back yet.

Your mind cruelly reminds you that it might even be permanent, flashes of their faces full of disappointment plague your mind all day long.

It's funny really—if only you could laugh...

You honestly can't remember why the three of you fought at all, it's all irrelevant now though. Nothing matters, no rational thought process is going to bring you out of your current spiral. Finding a cause for it will have no effect here... Natasha and Wanda's return is the only way you see this coming to an end, well, you also envision other ways but those come with a permanence that you're honestly unsure of.

Death has been a potential occurrence that you'd welcomed since your early adolescence. Memories of lying awake while your parents fought over God knows what echo in your mind as you ironically lay in this bed in total silence. A childhood spent fighting to survive breeding an adulthood where said concept was all but played out. Fighting everyday just to reach the end of your youth to find it doesn't get better. All you do now is scrape by with more burdens.

However, every time you feel those burdens weighing you down you remember that you had two people who were rooting for you to push back. Even with your doubts on if they still want you or not, a tiny part of you still holds onto hope that they do, and that's all that seems to be keeping you from the edge.

It'd been an entire sixteen hours since you last left your bed, every muscle in your body ached as you failed to utilize them, and there was also this really intense pressure on your bladder. Still, you generally found yourself unmoving, but then the air kicked on and you were aware of the stench you were apparently exuding.

Shockingly enough you were repulsed so badly by your own stench that you now found yourself standing still in the bathroom while the tap runs freezing cold water into the tub. Your lovers paid the bills, but in your mind you were undeserving of the hot water they funded. Cold water was a punishment you were worthy of, and so you entered the tub without a shiver; you didn't deserve to express your discomfort.

You watched the spout with an unwavering intensity, observing as the droplets of residual water fell about every forty five seconds. The minuscule sound of them rippling into the water reminding you of the way the crimson droplets of the past used to drip onto the tile flooring from your arms. Temptation is at its absolute precipice here, but then you start to see flashes of them with every single drip...

Drip...

The flash of crimson against a murky yellow tile fades from your mind fast. It's replaced by Wanda's smiling face and calm voice., "You're stronger than your thoughts are detka..."

Drip...

Your lip quivers as you see the oozing marks on your arms, too deep for your own patching up, you felt that familiarity; cold. When you blink you're quickly thrown into another memory. Natasha's arm is over your abdomen as she hums and smiles down at you, your attention slowly shifts to the opening door to see Wanda with a tray of food, and a wide grin; warmth.

Drip...

"Moya lyubov', I'm so proud of you.," Natasha cheers while placing soft lips to your faded scars before pulling you into a tight hug.

The last memory had felt so real, your wet body trembling as it imagined the pressure of a hug. Tears now befell your cheeks, but this time they were different as you now felt a glimpse of hope for the first time in two weeks. Their love was everything to you, and it was what guided you out of the cold tub, and what allowed your fingers to drop the untainted blade into a bin.

—

Natasha was thrashing about in the hotel bed, her mind wandering back to the night they left. Nothing felt right in her chest when she thinks of how sad you looked when they left in a huff. Angry words were muttered in the heat of the moment over shit that held no significance. Everyday that went by on this no contact mission led to a deepening sense of dread for the both of them. So much so that the top agent willing broke Shield protocols for you.

They tried to use a pay phone to call you, but you expectantly didn't answer, and they've been feeling even more uneasy ever since. Calling anyone else would've given themselves away, but now that she's staring at the ceiling of this dingy hotel room she reasons it would have been the smart thing to do regardless.

"I feel this tightness in my chest Natasha...," Wanda winces as she sits down beside her., "Something's wrong, and I'm not going to just ignore this and stay here two more weeks."

Natasha only nodded, hers was more akin to a deep pit in her stomach, but it was a definite sign that this mission was to be abandoned., "Let's go home.," she extended her hand out for her love, then guided her out to the incognito jet that was already holding their belongings.

—

It wasn't much—you knew that, but you were actually proud of yourself for being here at all.

Stood in the kitchen, dressed in Nat's sweats, and Wanda's oversized t-shirt you stared warily at the egg that was sizzling in the frying pan. Days had gone by since you last ate, so it was a daunting challenge to eat at all at this point. Fears of throwing it back up as your body is prone to retaliating against you in such ways consume your entire being leading you now to the safest bet you have—an unseasoned egg.

The crackling over the stove leaves your tired mind a bit preoccupied as the front door creaks open. Natasha enters first, followed quickly by the frantic witch who's heart momentarily settles at the sight of you cooking some food. The peace doesn't last long though when she fails to hear your thoughts, the emptiness in your head a frightening bout of deja vu.

Last time you were this calm they nearly lost you, and that wasn't a reality ever worth facing.

Natasha clued in to your state as well, her eyes roamed your body, taking notice of the way you had clearly thinned out in such a short time. Adding onto that the way you left your hair a sopping mess, and the lack of length on your nails she knew you'd been here suffering alone.

The women shared a moment of sorrowful eye contact, the witches lip trembling, but the former assassin shook her head—not now... Wanda nodded, then the pair made their way over to your rigid form, and as softly as she could Wanda laid her hand over your very own.

"Detka.," her word was a whisper that drew an audible whimper from your throat., "It's okay."

It wasn't really, you all knew that, but you all also knew that now that you're all together again that it would be fine eventually, and well quite frankly that had to count for something because if not, you were all left with nothing.

"Come here love, let me handle your hair...," Natasha coo'd in your ear as she gently guided you out of the kitchen and up to your room., "Sit down at the vanity for me please detka.," her voice was soft as ever so that she wouldn't startle you, she even smiled at you too for good measure, and though you couldn't return it just yet she saw the gratefulness within your orbs.

Natasha entered the bathroom with the intent to collect your brush, along with a variety of products for your hair and skin. The mess on the floor was overlooked completely as she rummaged around, but she stopped in her tracks when the lights reflected off something. Her hands trembled as she dropped the products in the sink before reaching for the trash can by the door., "Please, no, no, no..."

The truth became clear as she lifted the metal from the trash, a few tears fell from her eyes at the reality of what they were dealing with here. Thoughts of what could've become of you sends her tumbling to her knees, choking back her sobs because you didn't need more burdening, a tear falls atop the blade, and that's when she notices how easily it cascades off the metal.

The closer she observes the piece she realizes that there were no traces of blood on it, and no uncleaned stains along the tiles or sink either. It's enough to stop her tears, but the damage to her heart and psyche had already been done. The Russian rushes out of your joint bathroom, the need to be with you imminent, and when she finally reaches you she feels the need to hug you tightly, but she fears it might be too much too soon for you to handle.

Natasha set a hand on your shoulder, a clear yet non startling sign to you that she returned., "I'm going to blow dry your hair, then I'll put it up in a bun.," you shook your head., "Braids?," she tried again, and to her relief you nodded. The redhead went slowly, her hands gentle as they tousled through your wet locks, moving the hair around to aide the machine drying it.

After the hair was faintly damp she began to separate the strands meticulously, her eyes double focused as she caught ever tick of your face as she worked to tightly braid your hair. There was a ghost of a smile on your face when she scratched at your scalp affectionately, and her heart fluttered in her chest at the first sign of you coming back to them., "All done love."

"Detka, can I take your hoodie off please?," you looked at her warily, but eventually nodded., "Thank you.," she smiled softly at you even though her mind was screaming at her to hurry and make sure you were okay. At the sight of your unmarred skin she knew you were, her shoulders tension instantly eased up. Once you were slyly assessed Nat went into the hallway to collect her favorite hoodie from the dryer., "Arms up.," she gently commanded, and then she smiled when you groaned appreciatively.

"Now what?," she was shocked to hear your voice this soon, there was an obvious scratch to it from being inactive for several days, but it didn't effect the way she nearly burst into tears at hearing you speak., "Whatever you need.," the tears nearly won out though as she reached out to cup your cheek and you didn't evade her.

"C-can we please cuddle?," you looked at her with the most pitiful gaze, there was an air of embarrassment in them that left her a bit unsettled, but she still took your initiation of physical affection as a good sign that you were headed in the right direction., "Of course moya lyubov', sounds absolutely heavenly to me."

Natasha laid down first, pulling back the blanket she gave you all the autonomy here. Because though she was desperate to hold you, she also knew you were in a fragile headspace. She watched carefully as you slumped into a prominent dent in the mattress, her arms were now resting besides her body in wait for you. Without any words you used your hands to guide her flat onto her back, then after laying atop of her with your head over her chest you squeezed her arm., "Please hold me Natty."

Strong arms wrapped around your body in an instant, her hand was now resting over your head to hold you in place while she hummed along to your most favorite of her lullabies., "Sweet dreams pretty girl...," her hands never stopped rubbing calming circles into your back, and it wasn't long before you were snoring.

It wasn't until an hour later that Wanda quietly entered your shared bedroom., "What is it?," the witch lifted the tray into her lovers eye line, while hers fell to your currently relaxed face., "How long has she been out for Nat?," the redhead murmured her response of an hour while moving to rouse you awake, but Wanda reached out to stop her so she could do it.

"My sweet girl, time to wake up for me please.," her arms wrapped around your body as you shifted ever so slightly, she lifted you from Nat's body and settled you in her lap instead., "I brought you lots of different options honey, we know you're scared, but please try to eat."

Natasha was sat before you with the tray, she playfully waved food before your face to feel it out, her eyes watched your face for the slightest bit of intrigue, and she found that the apple dipped in peanut butter and yogurt chips seemed to win you over., "Here love.," you softly munched on the snack while instinctively l settling deeper into Wanda's embrace, and missing the way the pair were staring at you.

"How about these cucumbers in ranch, hm?," you allowed her to feed this one to you, your heart soon fluttering back to life at the sight of her emotionally charged smile, and also at the feel of Wanda's soft lips against your hairline., "Can you eat a little more for me angel?," you nodded against her chest, then accepted a few more bites of the varying foods until you knew you'd reached your bodies ultimate limit.

As Natasha carried the tray down to the kitchen Wanda continued to hold you close, rocking you in an attempt to soothe your soul. It had even appeared to be working when she felt your breathes evening out, but then she heard you gasping, and it was near painful for her to see you breaking down so candidly.

"I-I'm sorry.," her entire body froze as you not only spoke, but you felt the need to apologize., "No, detka we're the sorry ones here. We not only yelled at you due to our misguided anger, but then we left you all alone without so much as an apology or even a bit of reassurance."

"You didn't deserve that my sweetest love.," her lips tenderly pressed against your tear soaked cheeks., "So please don't apologize to us.," she then laid you down in the middle of the bed., "Let us apologize to you instead, we'll make it up to you, I promise...," her forehead was now pressed to yours, and your heart was cracking as her tears mixed with yours on your cheeks.

"We will, and we just hope you'll forgive us.," Natasha softly adds as she enters the bed, and masterfully pulls the both of you closer to her., "You're our entire world detka, the most precious thing we've ever called ours, and we will never leave you alone like this ever again."

"Nat—.," Wanda kissed your lips to cut you off., "She means it detka, no more joint missions, the promise isn't a fable—it's the truth, because if anything were to happen to you we wouldn't survive Y/N.," her voice cracked, and a steady stream of her tears befell your cheeks again. "Losing you would be devastating for us detka."

"I-I'm not going anywhere.," you sounded so small, like a meek little worker bee trying to impress the queen, but there was also a small flash of determination in your eyes that was caught by the both of them as they adoringly looked at you., "I promise I'm here to stay."

"Thank you detka, for fighting to stay, we know it's hard, but we're so freaking proud of you.," Wanda's lips lovingly pressed to yours, she just needed to feel the familiar touch she desired., "So gosh damn proud love.," Natasha agreed before taking her own chance to kiss you.

Neither of them stayed on your lips for long, they didn't want to overwhelm you at all, but fortunately for them you seemed content with the affection as you sighed softly and smiled softly as you melted back into the mattress.

There was no overnight fix for you here, they both knew that come tomorrow you'll be back in a vulnerable state, but the only difference is they will be there for you when you awake numbed. Natasha will be there to rock you in the morning when you wake up crying, and again at night, as she sings to you for as long as you need to fall asleep, and Wanda will be your hands as she bathes you, and feeds you when you can't manage to do the tasks on your own.

They'll be there to love you back to life every day until being a person again comes naturally, because even just one moment of happiness with you is worth a hundred bad days to them.

—————

[lace-coffin]

It's me again! I have another request, and I think you might like this one! But a few things first.

I love your profile picture! I very much wanna do that to a Yautja, and have reason to believe it is the most effective way to calm your mate when I'm privacy 👍

I'm glad you appreciate how in depth I go when making a request! I've dealt with other people who tell me I should shorten the detail, and it has made me very sad. Mostly because the reason I go so deep into depth is because autism demands it --

Anyways!

I was wondering if you could write some headcannons for Asa with a more feral pet? Like, when he's with them or their with his bugs/arachnids?

Baby, sweet one, gentlest thing alive, happy animal noises, copious amounts of purring (yes, his pet can purr how lucky did he get?)

But when confronted with a violent escaped toy? Teeth are bared, growling, snarling, split flying, clawing, kicking, scratching, going for areas that hurt not even Asa knows about

Yet when Asa tries to calm them down, all he need do is just

And bang! Pet is back to normal

Better description of what I have in mind!

Once again, and toy escaped, this time from the box. Asa. Is. FURIOUS

This is the second time this has happened! he fuming as he stalks the halls, when he suddenly hears loud screaming and cursing. Cold fear goes down his spine, his pet is out and about, and we're much to small to fend off his newest toy, why, he's bigger than Asa!

Listening intently as the pained wailing turns into gurgles, he bursts into the area where he "plays" with his new toys, and finds his pet standing above the toys dead body. Scratches litter his arms, his eyes have been clawed open and gored, and his throat? Ripped completely out.

We stand huffing over it, shoulders tense with adrenaline and hands blood stained until half up our forearm. We turn our head to the side, eyes shrunken our mouth and has doused in blood, the man's throat clutched between our teeth.

We blink, split out the throat, and fully turn to Asa. Suddenly, Asa's pet looks sheepish, ducking their head as they play with their hands and avoid eye contact. Timidly we say "i-...I caught him, Master"

having so many thoughtshhhhhhhhhh

Asa Emory x Feral! Gn! Reader

Asa Emory x gn!reader

trigger warning for graphic violence,description of gore/corpses and power dynamics

Requests are closed (for now!!)

First of all thank you for the request! I always super enjoy writing urs!

I would also love to hold a Yautja gentle like hamburger and pet their mandibles, save me big Yautja women.

I’m sorry people have been mean to u abt how u prefer to send requests : ( I’m also autistic so u being specific in what u want also rlly helps me out!

Your relationship with Asa was strange, well it was strange from an outsiders perspective, not that you really saw them much anyway, but that’s neither here nor there. It’s just your relationship was different from his other pets. Obviously you were the favourite, sleeping in a cute padded cage whilst the others slept in a fenced off area and essentially cannibalised each-other from starvation. Meanwhile you were fed 3 balanced meals a day plus snacks. If Asa was somewhere in the hotel it’s basically assured you’re there to, probably perched on his lap, gloved hand running under your chin as you rumble and purr happily.

Despite the amount of fight you put up at first you were truly a lap dog through and through, always at your masters heels even if he wasn’t doing anything of interest, as long as you could lay under the desk and wrap an arm around his ankle you were happy. Asa never really was one for physical affection but he’s grown to love it since ‘acquiring’ you, not that he really had a choice with the way you stuck to his side like a rodent on a glue trap, he’s wasn’t complaining however. With the way you clung to him anyone would think you’re the one who’s holding him captive.

This unfortunately wasn’t the case with other inhabitants. Your special place in his heart was only 80% of the reason you got special treatment, granted it would’ve happened anyway but it may have been hurried along by the fact that he didn’t trust you to cohabitate with the toys he kept. You know the reports you get back from doggy daycare? The ones that say “doesn’t play well with others”? Yeah. That was you.

On multiple occasions even before settling in he’d caught you surround by bodies or chunks of other people in your mouth. Clearly you didn’t take well to sharing whether it be food or Asa’s affection. If you were anyone else you would’ve been slaughtered already for conveniences sake but he’d seen the way you soften when he visited. He knew there was something more to it.

Cut to current day, Asa is stressed and pissed off. A new toy has escaped, he could have sworn the box was secured properly, even double checking it. To be fair the toy in question was built like a brick shit house, taller and stronger than himself. Hopefully the term “the bigger they are the harder they fall” will apply to them, for both your and Asa’s sake.

Thats another issue, you’re currently roaming the halls too. Your master doesn’t usually have to worry about you when you’re out and about in the hotel, the minute you slip from his side it’s like all placidity and calm he’s come to love dissipates, leaving you the feral beast he had first stolen from your home. If anything it’s comforting for him to know you can hold your own out there. He keeps a watchful eye on you but not even he can anticipate what’s going to happen sometimes. Despite his opinion of himself he was only mortal.

It was now a race against time to either locate you and get you back to safety whilst he re contains the rogue or find said escapee first and detain him before you can cross paths. Your sir knows you can usually handle trouble but this guy is huge..

Asa swears under his breath and hauls himself through the twisting corridors, dipping in and out of rooms in search of either of you. Beginning to panic more as you prove hard to find he calls out for you, hands cupped around his mouth. “Pet? It’s time to come back, this is serious, I need you back right now.” He tries not to let the anxiety bleed into his voice, not wanting to scare you, and smothers it with an authoritarian tone. He waits a few moments to listen for any response. Shit. Nothing.

He moves further into the hotel and onto the other side, cupping his hands again and trying once more “cricket? I’m not playing, I need you here now” nothing again. Just as he turns his heel to try another direction he hears a noise that turns his blood to ice. Disgusting wet gurgles and muffled curses boom from down the hall. Asa isn’t easy to startle considering the vile things he does everyday to real people but the idea of you being in pain and too late to save- it makes him want to vomit.

Pushing through the nausea he bolts down the hallway and slams the doors to his ‘playroom’ open. Usually this room is reserved for experimenting on subjects.

What he sees calms him and raises his heart rate at the same time.

There you are, his perfect docile pup, hunched over what is (was) his newest pet. Shoulders raised, hackles up. The body below you is almost unrecognisable, arms littered with angry raised scratches, most likely from you struggling. Eyes completely missing from the sockets, well one was still technically attached to the coord but that’s not important. Chunks of once warm and rosey cheek flesh have been gouged from the skull, the imprints around them suggest the flesh was bitten away from the bone. Lastly and maybe most notably the throat is missing a considerable amount of matter. The hole runs deep, severed veins now lazily trickling warm blood into a puddle after the initial bite drained most of it.

Eventually you notice another presence and bristle, turning your head slowly to meet Asa’s eyes. Your eyes are essentially bulging out of your head, pupils dilated and crazed, throat and forearms doused in slowly cooling crimson. A chunk of what Asa presumes to be the missing throat lodged in your firmly set jaw.

The second you realise who it is it’s like you gain some clarity, spitting the foul meat onto the floor and wiping your mouth on your sleeve. It doesn’t help, only smearing the liquid further. Turning completely to face your master you slump onto your knees, eyes down to the floor shy and respectful like you’ve been trained. “I-…I caught him master.” It comes out croakier than you’d like.

You keep your eyes trained to the floor as the larger man approaches, heavy boots thumping on the floor towards you. You brace for the telling off, you can see yourself ending back up with the other fodder pets, you’d really pushed it this time, killing another subject. However it never comes. two warm now ungloved hands cup your bloody cheeks, gently coercing you to look at him. To your surprise Asa looks…relieved almost?

A soft smile paints his face. “You did catch him, thank you pet.” You sit there dazed and confused as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, ignoring the hair matted to it from the gore. “You did such a good job and I’m more than relived your unharmed, I don’t know what I’d-“ Asa cuts himself off, clearing his throat,not wanting to show vulnerability right now when you’re the one who needs attention. You don’t miss the way his voice wavers with worry. Embarrassed he quickly offers you a hand up, spinning on his heel and facing away. “Let’s get you cleaned up and rewarded shall me?” You don’t see the pink tint to his face.

[the-guilty-writer]

Seven

Aaron Hotchner x platonic!GN!reader

Summary: “No one should have to function like this. Someone should fight for you. You deserve for someone to fight for you.” 

A/N: Apparently I just really like naming my work after numbers. Prompt from my poll a few weeks ago! Ya'll picked Hotch and I’m not mad about it at all! I don’t usually do dedications, but I think this is worthy of one. The piece revolves around physical chronic pain, but the emotions in this can be applicable to many situations: so to all those who need it, i hope you find comfort in this piece.

CW: Reader experiences chronic pain, feelings of unworthiness, takes medication

---

Seven.

On a scale from one to ten, your pain was a seven. On normal days is was a four, maybe three if you were lucky. You called your doctor if it was above a six for a few days and your medication wasn’t working. The only time it was worth it to go to the ER was when you reached a nine - anything less and they didn’t take you seriously. Today, you were at a seven.

With every breath, the oxygen that washed into your lungs fueled the fire that burned you from inside out. The medication that should have kicked in hours ago didn’t ease the sensation; you’d taken the pills in the middle of the night when agony woke you from your slumber. The drugs made you feel high out of your mind, but at least they worked. By the time you’d have to get up, the worst of the side effects would be gone and the excruciating suffering would have deadened itself to a more manageable ache. But not today.

Today, you sat at your desk in the bullpen, fighting back tears. With every slight movement you made the pain washed through your body like acid. All you could do was go on, wishing that you had taken the day off. You could have called in sick, but there was something about the pile of files on your desk that forced you to come into work; the longer it took to get a profiles out, the longer it would take to stop the killers and the more lives could be lost. You wouldn't let that happen.

If one was to put it simply, you always put the needs of others before your own. Your greatest blessing and your greatest curse in one.

A notification came up on your phone - a reminder that the team was gathering for a meeting. The walk from your desk to the conference room was less than 100ft, but even the idea of standing made you want to cry. It was painful to think about walking, and you honestly weren’t sure if you’d make it up those five stairs without throwing up. You’d made the journey before, though, even on bad days.

But today you had reached a new level of anguish. Through the past few months, the pain had been slowly intensifying - so slowly that you didn’t recognize it until you did. It was as if you were a child who didn’t realize how many seashells they had collected until they were halfway back down the beach, only noticing the extra strain when they didn’t have enough energy to carry the bucket any longer; the gradual desensitization to the weight caused it to go unnoticed until the body could no longer pretend that it didn’t exist.

Still, you gathered your papers like another beautiful shell to add to your overflowing bucket and stood to go to the conference room. Every fiber of your body screamed. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you still stood from your desk. Every time your heel hit the floor, lightning struck through your body, and with every step the voltage increased.

When you found yourself at the bottom of the staircase, your breath was uneven, hands shaking ever so slightly. The metal of the railing was shockingly cold under your palm, not making it any easier to hide how raw your body was to any sensation. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, preparing for the painful ascent.

“(Y/N)?”

You paused and looked up to the man who stood outside his office at the top of the stairs. “Sorry I’m late,” you said. The waver in your voice would have gone unnoticed if you were anywhere else but the bullpen of the BAU. Nothing went unnoticed in the bullpen of the BAU.

Hotch tilted his head slightly- the action itself softened his entire demeanor. But you didn’t want him to be soft right now. You wanted him to tell you to get your ass to the conference room, that everyone was allowed to be late just once, that the team was on a deadline and-

“Are you okay?”

“I-” Your breath faltered before increasing in speed. “I-” The hand on the rail took on a little more weight than before. “I’m-” Your throat closed, unable to speak the lie you so badly wanted to tell, but couldn’t. One more attempt at a deep breath that was severely shallow. “No.”

And just like that, you began to fall apart. Your mind, clouded with pain, didn’t quite register what was happening. It could only pick out the small things; files no longer being in your hands, the sound of an old office chair’s wheels, the smell of a freshly pressed suit, and gentle hands guiding you.

“Sit down.” It was odd to hear your boss’s voice in such a gentle manner, but you were in no state to be shocked and in no position to deny his order. So you sat, resisting the urge to curl up in a ball as soon as you hit the seat. You tried to think about your breaathing once again, having to focus a little too much on a function that the body should do automatically.

“Here,” it was Hotch again, pressing a bottle of water into your hands. “Drink this.”

If you felt better you might make a joke about poison, but you didn’t. You instead, drank the water- room temperature. Somehow you managed not to spill it all over your shirt. Hotch gently took the bottle back and you heard him set it down on the desk.

When you opened your eyes, you were met by the sight of your boss looking at you with concern. You let out a sigh. You hated that look. Even though Hotch was well aware of your condition, it was different for someone to see you experiencing it in real time… shattering your idea that if no one ever saw it, then it didn’t actually exist. You never actually suffered.

“Do you have your medication with you?” Hotch asked.

“I already took the maximum dose,” you whispered, feeling the hopelessness weigh on your chest.

“I’ll take you to the ER,” he started, getting up from where he was sitting across from you. 

“No,” you said, swallowing to contain the pain from escaping your tone. “I’m only at a seven.”

Hotch paused and sat down again. “What do you mean?”

“When you go to the ER they ask you to rate your pain on a scale from one to ten,” you told him. “I only go if I'm at a nine. Right now I'm at a seven.”

You met Hotch’s gaze. Even with its softness, it was still soul piercing. As if he was looking right through your eyes, reading the thoughts written across your mind.

“You’re in pain.”

“As long as I can function, it isn't worth the fight.”

“No one should have to function like this. Someone should fight for you. You deserve for someone to fight for you.” 

A pause stood between you and your boss, his words hanging in the air long after he had finished speaking. Never, in your life, had you been confronted by such deep sympathy at once.

As a child, you had hidden your pain so well that no one would have ever known it was there unless you told them. The pain grew as the years went on, but every cry for help was shut down. Complain and you were a burden, other people had it worse, you weren’t worth the trouble. So you kept it to yourself.

Until now.

With tears in your eyes, you nodded at Hotch. He helped you rise from the chair, careful to support you without causing further pain. You stood carefully, clenching your jaw to keep from screaming.

The manila folders caught your eye. “My files-”

“Reid can handle your files,” Hotch said softly, as he helped you move slowly toward the glass bullpen doors.

“The meeting-”

“Morgan can lead the meeting.”

“There are consults-”

“Prentiss can do your consults.” Hotch opened the door for you.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

The question was deeper than it appeared on the surface; are you sure I can miss work? Are you sure I’m not bothering you? Are you sure I’m worth it?

Hotch took your hand gently. “Yes.”

[cloudcountry]

well enough

Genre/Tropes: Very domestic.

Summary: Epel makes you breakfast in bed. It gets a little rambunctious.

Author's Comments: this is an epel characterization test. i hope you all like him C: <33

~~~~~

A distant thud wakes you up from your light slumber, and you crack your eyes open. There’s a soft sunlight drifting through the curtains and you slowly drag the bedsheets off of your body. Before you can even throw a leg out of bed, your bedroom door swings open and Epel’s back fills the empty space. He turns around, cursing softly under his breath as the silver tray in his hands glints in the sunlight. He kicks the door shut, and you find it's amusing that he still hasn’t noticed you staring at him.

Epel finally looks up and sees you staring at him. He jumps back and nearly spills the glass of what looks like freshly squeezed apple juice.

“Ack! Darlin’, ya scared me!” he hisses, somehow keeping a steady hold on the tray, 

“Sorry.” you murmur, too tired to genuinely apologize as you reach out to him, “Come back to bed. I’m cold.”

Epel rolls his eyes, but the pink flush on his cheeks persists. The intensity at which he approaches your bed makes it seem like he’s about to fight you, and you almost laugh when he delicately places what appears to be your breakfast on your nightstand.

“Had to make sure ya weren’t hungry t’day.” he grumbles, sitting on the edge of your bed as he stares down at you, “Are ya feelin’ alright? You’re sleeper than usual.”

“Maybe it’s because my sweet apple pie left my bed to run off with some pancakes and apple juice and left me all alone, cold and miserable.” you joke, throwing a floppy arm over your eyes in mock distress, “Was it worth it?”

“Oh, shut it.” Epel huffs, and you can tell he’s rolling his eyes again at you right now.

“Make me.” you yawn, propping yourself up on your elbows.

You’re greeted with the sight of a red faced Epel furiously sawing at the stack of pancakes. The sight is so absurd that you start laughing, and even though you try desperately to quiet the sound with your hand, Epel still hears it. He shoots you a dirty look but he’s so flustered that it has virtually no effect on your giggle fit.

“What's so funny?” he huffs, turning his head back to the pancakes with a scoff, “Ya idjit. You’re lucky I love you.”

“I am.” you confirm, scooting closer to him as he stabs a small piece of pancake, “Who else would make me breakfast in the morning? No one. And even if someone did, it’d never be as good as yours.”

Epel makes a satisfied hum as he runs the pancake along the plate, collecting extra syrup so it’s just to your liking. He shifts a little, bringing the tray into his lap and setting the glass of apple juice on the coaster resting on your nightstand. Epel outstretches his hand and you place your chin in his palm. He’s always insisted on feeding you like this, and even though his explanation was always that any food crumbs would fall on the tray in his lap instead of the bed, you know he likes the physical closeness too.

“This’ll make ya shut it.” Epel snickers, and before you can question what exactly he means by that, he shoves the pancake slice into your mouth.

“Ephel!” you jolt away from him, covering your mouth as you begin to laugh.

He’s cackling on the other side of the bed, pointing at you and clutching his stomach. You can’t even bring yourself to be mad right now, so you simply chew and swallow without aiming an expertly manuverd kick at his hip and kicking him off the bed.

You’d save that for another time. Epel likes roughhousing, so you’re sure you’ll get a chance.

“Ya should’ve seen your face!” he hollers, and with the way he’s laughing you’re grateful he set the tray down next to him in his giggle fit because there’s no way syrup wouldn’t be all over your bed otherwise.

“You’re terrible!” you screech back, snatching up the tray from beside him, “I’m going to feed myself!”

“Aww, c’mon darlin’.” Epel snickers, stealing the tray back from you with a smirk, “I didn’t mean it. Lemme make it up to ya.”

You pretend to consider it as he sticks his hand out again, another perfectly slathered-in-syrup pancake slice on the tip of his fork. Sighing, you turn back to your lover and begrudgingly place your chin on his hand again, playfully glaring at him.

“Ya gotta open up, darlin’.” he shakes his head, holding the fork meaningfully in front of you, “Won’tcha lemme make it up to ya? Please?”

You pretend to consider it a few beats more before you let your mouth fall open. Epel smiles, one of those boyish, rugged ones that make your heart stutter in its chest, and you accept the pancake. This time, you have time to savor the flavors.

It’s good. His cooking always is.

“When I get married to you, you better feed me like this every day.” you huff.

He turns bright pink again and mumbles something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you know enough about Epel to know what it’s probably about.

When.

Not if, when.

“What was that?” you tease, cupping your ear and leaning in close, “I didn’t quite catch that.”

Epel glares at you, but there’s no malice behind it. Just a soft adoration and something that says “I am so fed up with you and your antics but I love them so much and I’ll encourage them even if they give me a headache because they’re a part of who you are and I love you.”

“I will.” he says, and it's like that is all he has to say because a warmth fills your chest and it’s like all you’ve ever known is peace.

“I want to be good to you.” he whispers, almost like an afterthought, and the warmth becomes hotter.

“You’re already so good to me.” you whisper back, grabbing his hand where it lays against the bedsheets, “Thank you for everything, Epel. I promise I’ll take care of you, too.”

He flushes even redder and avoids your gaze, but you know it’s not a bad thing.

You know Epel well enough.

[ericsprincess]

feel my breath on your neck

nc-17, smut, vampire!Hyunjae, cunnilingus, period sex

~~~

You get your period while fighting with your vampire boyfriend.

~~~

“For fucks sake, Hyunjae, how many times do I have to remind you to pick up your dirty clothes! I’m not your mom!”

“Y/N, I really don’t want to watch another reality tv, can we watch something else, for once? Ugh.”

“Could you, please, put your dirty bloody cups into the dishwasher? This must be a biohazard, you slob.”

“There is literally no space in the bathroom with all your cosmetics shit, it’s a bit too excessive, don’t you think? Who even needs so much? Jesus..”

And this was just the last 2 days. You hate to admit that, but these past few days were not easy on either of you, both separately and together. You are drowning in work deadlines, your coworkers are incompetent and your boss keeps adding you more responsibilities. You’re slacking off your workouts and that’s not only making you feel upset, but also the lack of physical activity is definitely having a detrimental effect on your mood. Which is already in gutters, because you’re definitely PMSing and in a shitty and snappy mood all the time. 

Hyunjae, on the other hand, while having it breezy in his job, has different problems. Not only are there some dumb political fights in his coven that he has to navigate, but what’s worse, his favorite fancy blood bag brand has an outage and so he had to delegate to cheaper, less tasty ones. Which for him, a picky eater par excellence, is pretty much the same as an actual torture, as he had been drinking this “iron-flavoured mud” for weeks at this point. \

And on top of that, your apartment looks like a pigsty because neither of you is feeling like cleaning. And also, there is barely any food. For you, that is. You are acutely aware that just your existence is like flaunting a prime steak in front of Hyunjae and telling him that he can’t have any of it. He can only sip on his great value blood bags, while looking at you, walking around like nothing is happening. Like he can’t sense your blood running through your body even from another room. 

You know you could offer him to drink from you, but since he’s been pissing you off, he can suffer. It’s not like it will harm him and if he were that desperate, he could always ask. And he’s not asking. Just staring really intensely. 

So both of you are hitting low, and it shows. You haven’t even had sex in a week and while you could really use some comfort and intimacy, as well as the release, you are not quite desperate enough to initiate, not when you’re somewhat in a fighting mood. You know this will pass, it always does, and one or both of you will cave and you will make up, but you’re not quite there yet. Today, Hyunjae can go to hell, for all it matters. 

And boy, are you going through it today. It’s already late evening when you finally came home, flinged your bag somewhere in the hallway and kicked off your shoes. You took a shower mostly with closed eyes and now you’re chilling on the couch with some makeshift dinner you made out of whatever you could find in the fridge, watching some dumb action movie. The lights in the living room are off, only the TV being a source of light and you’re swaddled in the blanket like a baby. Finally some rest. Your eyes are tired, your feet hurt and you’re already getting cramps, so you’re really glad you can rest for a bit. You have no idea where Hyunjae is, and frankly, you don’t care. 

You’re almost falling asleep when an explosion from the TV resonates through the room and wakes you up from dozing off. You sit up and look for the remote to turn the volume down when the bedroom door opens. 

“Could you please turn that shit down? I’m trying to take a nap here,” Well, here he is.

“I was already doing that, calm down,” you roll your eyes.  

“I would really appreciate it, if you were more considerate regarding the fact that you don’t live alone, Y/N,” Hyunjae grumbles. He looks like he wants to argue, but you are not in the mood to have a passive aggressive fight right now so you get up and try to pass through him to get to the bedroom. 

You’re just about to get past him when he suddenly grabs you by your arms. 

“You…” he whispers. 

“What? Let me go, I’m going to sleep,” you try to shake him off but he’s holding you in straight up iron grip. 

“Can’t you…can’t you feel it?” he presses, his whole demeanor a complete change from just a minute ago. His eyes are huge like saucers, and his voice is almost shaking. He’s still grabbing your arm, but how it feels more like he’s holding onto you.

“Feel what? I don’t get it, what’s going on? Hyunjae, you’re scaring me,” you ask with concern, not getting his sudden change in behavior. 

“The blood. You’re bleeding.” he replies impatiently, as if you were too slow to catch up on something that’s been obvious the whole time. 

“Am I?” you ask incredulously. Why is he so weird? You’re not injured or anything, except… You shift your weight. There is a dampness in your panties that haven’t been there a while ago. Oh.

“Oh,” you whisper. “Yeah, I guess I am…”

“You guess? I can smell it, Y/N,” he whines. “Can I..can I have it please?” he asks with a small voice. 

“Have it?” you ask, feigning a surprise, but you know what he wants. It’s not the first time he expressed a desire like that, but he has never been so desperate to ask for it so insistently. But you’re not the one to give up so easily. You could use an orgasm to help you with the cramps though.

“Don’t make me say it,” he pleads, looking borderline desperate. And that’s something you really like seeing on him.

“Oh you’re going to say it. If you won’t, you’re not getting anything,” you smirk. 

“Y/N..can I please eat you out? Please, I haven’t had a drop of normal blood in weeks and you smell so good… Please, don’t let it go to waste,” he begs, falling on his knees. He hugs you around your hips and looks like he’s fighting with himself to not rub his face all over your crotch to get more of the scent. 

“2 weeks of washing dishes and I get to choose what we watch, and it’s all yours,” you spit out. You’re not going to let the opportunity to get something out of it slide like that. 

“Deal,” he breathes out and lifts you just like that. He takes a few strides across the room and almost throws you on the bed with how in hurry he is. You reach to take off your sweatpants and underwear, but he’s already there, ripping it off you as if it personally offended him. 

It takes him just a few seconds before he’s straight up latched onto your pussy. His tongue licking all around, gathering all the blood that already leaked out of you, licking you clean. It’s hot and wet and his warm breath on you is arousing, as well as looking at how enthusiastic he is about this whole thing. You briefly think about how this should feel disgusting but it’s hard to think about it that way when he is so into it. And blood is a normal, daily encounter for him. 

He’s also not forgetting about your pleasure. It’s not like he’s just doing it for himself, but he’s really trying to get you off too, flattening his tongue to lick over your clit in broad strokes, until he slowly builds up the tempo so he can just flick over it. 

It feels really good and you’re getting there, but then, to your displeasure, he moves his tongue to your hole, pushing it as far as he can, chasing the blood and its taste. You whine and you’re considering grabbing him by his hair and moving him back to sucking your clit, but you decide it’s only fair. He can get the blood you promised. Especially since you can see him moving one hand down and taking out his cock, hard and leaking, so that he can jerk it off as he eats you out. 

“Y/N, this tastes so good,” his voice is muffled, since his face is pressed against your pussy. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted…Y/N, I’m gonna cum,”  Oh no. 

Now you really yank him off by his hair. He blinks at you, and oh what a sight - his pretty doll face, pale, with eyes glossed over and pupils dilated. His mouth and chin are both red and glistening with your blood and pussy juices. 

“Me first.” you growl at him, and he just nods, too dazed to protest and leans back down. He’s not playing anymore, licking over your clit as best and fast as he can, doing his best to get you off quickly.

You can feel it coming and you don’t want to prolong the wait either, so you let him make you come, your thighs squeezing his head hard, so he couldn’t breath even if he still had to. He continues until he can feel your orgasm fade, and then immediately moves back to tonguing at your hole, trying to get the most of the new blood and slick that gushed out of you when you came. 

You hear the sound of him frantically jerking off and you can even tell when he’s coming, as he’s almost sobbing with pleasure. He slumps down on the bed, completely tired and fucked out. 

“This was really great, thank you,” he wheezes, still catching his breath. “I could do this every day, it’s worth all the dishwashing duty you would bargain out of me.”

You poke his shoulder with a toe. Now that’s an idea. 

“Play your cards right and you can have a whole week of this.”