#first doppelganger one is up first I’m starting it now

[blood-injections]

Having so many wacky au thoughts so much I want to write and so little free time to but like. Mmmmngh doppelganger Fab Four thoughts rn especially like clones or androids made to get in and take the place of the Fab Four or one of them in order to spy or get the girl or or also like time travel aus where they come back from like sing where they die to warn the younger them or also like a time loop one with a similar idea and one of them is in the time loop I’m thinking either Kobra or the girl and they have to find a way to stop them all from dying and oh like an au where there’s like aliens maybe there’s the doppelgangers but they’re shapeshifting aliens, something Other and not bli

[notmyneighbor]

instinct | doppel francis x female reader

rating | explicit

part 3/?

words | 4.8k

cw | explicit sexual content, light breathplay, breeding kink

ao3 link

fanart credit | kri_stasss on X

taglist | @maskedpacific @dreamndestiny @r-o-s-e-0

“We can’t do this.”

The words tear reluctantly from your throat when your mouth is finally granted a reprieve, the doppelganger’s lips now teasing beside your ear.

“Why not?” His voice purrs, punctuating this question by licking a stripe around the thin skin shielding the curve of cartilage.

Fuck. “Because it’s unprofessional, for one thing.” You try to make your voice stern but you notice the distinct waver when his mouth distracts you yet again.

“Given your behavior earlier, I don’t think you entirely understand the meaning of that term.” His teeth clutch your ear lobe, tugging lightly, and your breath escapes in a sharp hiss of sound.

“Are you still giving me shit for that? I said I was sorry.” You’re trying to hold onto your anger from earlier, to regain some sense of control and composure. But it’s becoming more and more obvious the cause is lost. His hand clutches your hip, his pelvis grinding against your body and your brain short circuits over the next lined up protest once again.

“And I said I didn’t believe you. I still don’t,” he reprimands, rolling his hips so the bulge at the front of his suit pants nudges your groin.

“What’s it gonna take to convince you, then?” Your fingers have mussed the mimic’s hair completely, finally abandoning that zone to move further down, nails scrabbling against your partner’s shirtfront.

“You could start by inviting me in properly. Bring this somewhere more comfortable. Unless you want me to fuck you up against the door. That’s also an option,” he murmurs, his tongue stroking up the arch of your throat.

“Jesus,” you hiss at his brazenness.

“Francis, actually.”

“You’re making jokes now, too?” This comes out almost as a squeak when his hand begins palming one breast through your blouse, his fingers managing to pinch your nipple even through the layers of clothing shielding it.

“Adapting to the situation.”

“You do this with all your police partners?”

He draws back to look at your features, his body suddenly going still. “No. Never. You’re the first. Why?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.”

“You’re jealous,” he decides, nipping at your bottom lip.

“No, I’m not. Why would I be?”

“Defensive, too. You can relax. It’s just us. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I know you’re a hardass.” Another kiss. “And I know your heart is in the right place. I know I’ve said this before, and you said you agreed, but I can tell you’re not really willing to trust me. You absolutely have got to work with me, not against me. Okay?”

There is nothing mocking in his tone now. The replicant stares at you with those dark eyes housed in bruised looking sockets and you find yourself surrendering a little. “I am trying to do the right thing,” you reply. “You don’t know how difficult it is, being a woman in this field, seen as something lesser just because of your very nature, something you have absolutely no control over…” Your voice trails off as you realize the implications of what you’re saying. “You do understand,” you say softly.

“I do. All too well.”

Your final surrender is issued in a gentle sigh. “You want to come in? Maybe take this somewhere more comfortable?” You echo his words from earlier.

His lips twitch in a smile. “Yes, I would.”

“Okay.”

He steps back to give you room to move. The sudden absence of the warm press of his body makes yours ache with longing already. You lead him to the bedroom, trying to push the rest of the doubts and misgivings from your mind.

Once you’ve reached your destination, you turn to face the milkman’s clone. You rest a palm against his chest, feel the thudding of his heart. Start small, you think. One step at a time. Don’t overthink it. Just do it. Let it happen naturally.

You slide your fingers to the top button of his shirt, unfastening that one and the one below it. Curls of dark hair are faintly visible beneath his now exposed undershirt. You lean forward to kiss his chest through that thin layer of fabric and he hums a little appreciative sigh. His fingers weave through your hair and tip your head back and his mouth captures yours. There is no teasing now. His tongue sets forth to map the interior of that warm, wet opening you offer, starting with the tip and then sliding along either side of the base. Another burst of heat sizzles between your thighs when he reaches for the fly of your pants, unfastening them and jerking them down to your thighs, along with your panties.

“Your scent has been driving me insane. Begging to be bred.” The hand forcefully knots in your hair, tugging your head back further, and you glare at the doppel, challenging him. “The real question is, do you want to be fucked by a man, or do you want me to show you my true potential?”

You refuse to answer, suddenly tight lipped, teeth stubbornly gritted but your nostrils flare, dragging air in sharply at this unexpected opportunity. You’re still struggling over the idea of intimacy with a replicant, who is supposed to be an enemy species, but the seeming wrongness of it excites you. You can feel the slick arousal oozing between your clenched thighs, your body way ahead of your mind.

“I want to devour you,” he says, and you can see the faintest hint of his teeth growing sharper, narrowing into points, the tongue no longer the modest replica of the human he’s impersonating. Devour me? Does he mean…? The clone’s pupils snap from abyssal pools to small specks surrounded by burst vessels. Your pulse ratchets up even further, caution whispering in your thoughts. He’s still dangerous, alliance or not. Each revelation of what truly lies beneath makes you shiver with a combination of fear and anticipation. Your lips part and you gasp when you feel his other hand at your mound, thumb wedging in between your nether lips to press firmly against your swollen, aching clit. A sharp point digs into the pink flesh bordering it, something claw-like that doesn’t penetrate, merely letting you know of its presence.

“Give yourself to me,” he rasps, the hand at your pussy lifting, settling at the neckline of your blouse before dragging down in one swift, sharp motion. The row of buttons surrenders, the threads severed and the plastic pieces scattering to the carpet.

“I didn’t like that shirt anyway.” You try to keep your tone light and playful, but it shakes as much as your body does.

The doppel regards you, the grin of those fangs now wolfish. “Are we cracking jokes now?” His words echo yours earlier. “Or is this merely false bravado? You’re terrified,” he says, the adjective caressed by the thick tongue coiled in his mouth, “but so brave.”

“Just don’t rip my brassiere. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I can see that.” His hand inverts, the backs of his fingers sliding over satin and lace. “Take it off for me. Everything. I want to see you laid bare.”

“You asking or ordering? Because I don’t—”

You’re interrupted by his mouth crushing yours. Oh. This was different. There’s so much of that tongue, now. The texture is smoother, the saliva coating it thicker. It’s more agile, too, no longer restricted by that fragile little tether beneath, free to roam, twisting and stroking your cheeks and palate and tongue before creeping back further and further. Deepthroated. Like choking on dick, only this has so much more mobility. Your gag reflex kicks in and your throat reflexively clutches, trying to expel this intruder but you remain resolute, forcing yourself to relax, to accept this challenge.

He withdraws and you gasp for air. You can feel the spit, some of it yours but most of it his, gushing over your lips and chin and trickling down your neck. “Oh, you’re good, sweetheart. Taking it so well. I’m going to love shoving my cock down there later. More of a challenge, to be certain, but I’m sure you can handle it.” He grabs one of your hands and moves it to the front of his crotch and your eyes widen. He’s not bragging idly. The image of that invading your mouth, your cunt, sends a fresh wave of arousal spilling from your channel. “Don’t make me wait any longer. Let me have you,” he growls.

You fumble with the hooks at the back of your bra, trying to divest yourself of your garments as hurriedly as possible. He still seems so methodical, unfastening the sleeves of his shirt, running down the remaining fastened buttons lining the front—not tearing through his own clothing, you notice—then easing out of his jacket and then finally pulling his undershirt overhead in one smooth motion, reaching overhead between his shoulder blades. You’ve managed to clear everything from your upper body and you sit on the edge of the bed to finish the job he’s already started on your lower half, watching raptly as his leather belt strap is slipped free of the belt buckle, pants and briefs thrust down and fuck, you’d known, you’d felt it in the palm of your hand, but still, the display in front of you was more than a little intimidating. His cock angles up and slightly to the left, leaking red, circumcised; like the original milkman’s, then, you suppose there is not a single detail he’s left imperfected, but that size surely is more of a reflection of his own, making you wonder not for the first time what he really looks like, beneath the handsome human countenance, scaled and monstrous, never meant to be viewed by human eyes.

Once he’s standing naked he finally moves towards you, pushing you back into the bed, your ass skidding along the top sheet, rumpling the material. Your head lands near the pile of pillows at the top, or close enough, anyway. You don’t care about the comfort of those cushions, already distracted by his mouth back on yours.

He doesn’t linger, doesn’t test your reflex this time, instead lapping his way down your body. He teases along your collarbones and slides between your breasts, then over each nipple, the sight of his hand grasping each globe to raise the stiffened centers into his wicked mouth terrifying erotic when you see those dusky claws digging into your flesh. You’re trying to stifle most of your noises of pleasure, mindful of the thin walls and your neighbors, but the doppelganger frowns over this, the tongue that has just painted a line to your umbilicus after outlining several of your ribs pausing.

“Don’t do that. I want to hear you.”

“The neighbors…”

“Fuck the neighbors. I want to hear the pleasure I’m giving you.”

You whimper but nod, neck craning to watch where that mouth is traveling, knowing exactly where its final destination lies. You feel his teeth scrape along one hip and the inside of your thighs that you spread for him, never piercing the skin but leaving red welts behind. Your body tenses in anticipation before he plants a surprisingly gentle kiss at the top of your mound, his eyes locked on your features. You know he’s smiling, even if your view is blocked at this angle. Then his tongue darts out, flicking your bud so sharply it’s like a slap, and you moan, your hips rocketing upward.

Francis’ clone wraps his arms around each leg, keeping you anchored and splayed for him, braced against his face. He sucks and lavs at your clit until you see stars. You could explode right then, but you want to see what else he will do, both fearing and longing for something to fill your aching insides.

You don’t have to wait long for your fantasy to come true. One finger thrusts into you, and you tremble, thinking that sharp tip must surely do damage, but he somehow manages the task, penetrating the muscular tunnel and curling around the spongey, sensitive tissue nestled near the front of your body. You reach for the replicant, your fingers knotting in his hair, grinding yourself against his mouth, against the pair of fingers that now corkscrew and spread and curl inside of you. His tongue joins in, stretching past those digits and exploring even further. It aches in the most delicious way, the feel of that wet, foreign intruder wriggling and stroking, marking the path that his cock will follow later. You can’t hold back any more, climaxing over everything the doppel has thrust inside, your entire body tremoring violently as you cry out and toss your head from side to side. He doesn’t stop, even after you’ve relaxed your grip in his hair and your body has gone limp and soft. The obscene slurping continues, your oversensitized clit twitching as you beg him for mercy.

At last the doppelganger grants you a reprieve, climbing back over your body, his mouth on yours again. You know what you taste like already, having sampled it before during self pleasure sessions, but it’s even stronger tonight, so deeply saturated on the mimic’s lips and tongue and even his chin, he’s drenched in your fluids and saliva and you lap it up greedily.

“You are the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs, his breath warm over your lips. “I could eat you out for hours.”

Even as intense as the orgasm you'd just enjoyed had been, you can’t deny there’s a little thrilling heated tingle in your core at this declaration. You have no doubt he could. Would. An entire day and night spent in bed, with him just ravaging your pussy with his mouth.

In a different timeline, of course; you can’t indulge in that idea now. There is still the case to be solved. You may be allowing yourself to be distracted by carnal desires at the moment, but the impending sense of time slipping out of your grasp has not abandoned you.

Francis’ doppel notices the change in your expression, the solemnity washing over your features. “You’re thinking about the case.”

“I can’t help it. I’m sorry.” You thread your fingers through his tousled hair and stroke his cheek. “It doesn’t mean I’m not enjoying this. That I don’t want to continue.”

“I have no intentions of stopping just yet. Not when that delicious pussy is begging for my cock,” he adds, nuzzling the side of your neck. “I’m going to fuck you hard, honey. Going to stretch you and fill you to the brim. You ready for it?”

Your breath shudders. “Yes.”

“Good girl.” Normally you’d balk at praise like that, but coming from his lips it makes you melt. He shifts positions, leaning back onto his knees, looping his hands around your thighs and tugging you closer. His gaze never leaves yours as one hand manipulates his erection up and down your slick sex, paying special attention to your still recovering clit before it presses against your entrance. He pushes, leans, and the air leaves your chest in a rush as he begins penetrating you.

“Oh, fuck,” you curse. Still more than you’d anticipated. Still unprepared for this sensation, even with the use of his tongue and fingers to pave the way. Burning. Speared fleshed stretched taut to accommodate his prick. Like being a virgin all over again, your body violated, reshaped, remade.

Your eyes flutter closed and you bite your bottom lip. He’s barely begun, still easing into you gently. You find yourself conflicted between wanting him to be buried to the hilt in one go, like ripping a bandaid off, and taking his time, letting you get accustomed to his length and girth.

“Look at me,” he says, and your eyes snap back open obediently, watching this creature that is now straddling the line between man and doppelganger, a little of both presented to you. He shoves in a couple of inches and you visibly tense, making him rest a hand along the side of your waist, thumb stroking small circles of encouragement. Despite his promise to fuck you hard, he’s being surprisingly tender and patient.

“Francis,” you whisper, letting your hand slide over his.

He huffs a little sound of pleasure at your caress, body leaning forward, the momentum burying him further inside of you. He lets his weight drop his hips down, his cock now finally sunk fully inside, his face greeting yours with a sloppy kiss.

“Oh, sweet girl. You’re so tight around me. Doing so well taking me.” His pelvis arches and then slams forward, knocking the air free from your chest again. “So brave. Letting me eat you. Letting me fuck you.” Another repeat thrust and withdraw, followed by another, the pauses in between shorter. The introductory period is clearly over. He nips at your shoulder, still not breaking the skin, but you’re beginning to wonder if he won’t do so inadvertently in the throes of passion. How much control did he actually have over his true form?

“Does it feel good?”

“It’s…hnnngh…” You’ve been rendered incapable of proper speech. It aches. Every part of you throbs. Sore, but also pleasurable. When you’ve recovered enough of your senses your body rocks to meet him, driving you further and further away from the discomfort and into something sublime.

“You’re mine, now. I’ll never let another man touch you. Another doppel. No one will ever have this. You’re mine,” he repeats, his voice sultry, lust and pleasure blanketing each word. The mattress creaks, the headboard sent against the wall—there goes my security deposit, you think wryly—and the lewd slap of damp flesh meeting serenades you. You rake a hand down his spine, halting when you reach the slight swell of one buttocks cheek, kneading the flesh. He growls, hips slapping harder, his mouth sucking along your collarbone. You know for certain this will leave a mark, the skin burning when he draws it away from the bone and against his tongue. At least he’s chosen somewhere you can conceal with your clothing.

You’d only intended to rest your hand in a similar location on his body, but the replicant surprises you when he shifts it from the strip of bone connecting his shoulder to the base of his throat, his hand squeezing your fingers, indicating what he wants. You’ve never attempted breathplay; you’ve always been pretty vanilla when it came to sex. But the doppel clearly had all sorts of kinks, and you think this is just one of many on a long list of depravity. Still shy, your first attempt is soft, and he growls disapprovingly, flexing again over your fingers until you comply, pressing against muscle and tendon and cartilage and his eyes roll back.

You can feel him try to swallow, hear the narrow wheeze of air before you relax your grip. He clutches your wrist before you can move it away, that impossibly long tongue stroking against the inside of your wrist. “I want to cum in you.”

You’re not on birth control; don’t even know if pregnancy is a worry with the mimics. Was it biologically possible? You’d just finished your period a few days ago so the chances that you’re ovulating again this soon aren’t likely, but fuck, why is it so stimulating to consider the idea of him filling you up, impregnating you, just imagine the scandal of that, a human and a doppel successfully mating…

“Do it,” you say out loud, granting permission.

“Yeah? You want it, sweetheart? Want me to fill you up, breed you…?”

“Fuck, Francis, yes.”

He hums approvingly, gifting one last kiss to your wrist before pummeling into you with renewed vigor. The dirty talk seems to have reset your release, and you feel another building.

“That’s it, good girl. Cum on my cock.”

“Francis, I’m going to…fuck…” Your back arches and you feel the wave of your orgasm crash against you. Your body spasms, massaging and wringing the prick inside of you and it sends your partner over the edge. He moans—so loud, you love it, never a fan of the quiet ones, but still, the neighbors—and you feel the answering shudder as his body begins pumping ropes of sperm into you. It quickly becomes apparent how much there is, spilling back out as he withdraws, only to replace that sudden vacancy with his fingers again, fucking his cum back inside of you. He presses his thumb hard against your clit and your back arches again, surging violently against him in another wave of bliss.

You’re both panting when he finally removes his hand from your body, slumping beside you. You stare at the ceiling, wiping absently at the perspiration that dots your forehead. The air smells like sweat, like sex, a nearly palpable humid layer of fragrance.

“Fuck,” you mutter. “God damn.”

“I take that to mean you enjoyed it.” You let your head tip to regard the replicant. His features are completely human again. Normal eyes now, pupils blown, bordered with clear white. His teeth flat edged again, revealed in the little half grin he offers you.

“Fucking hell. As if you couldn’t tell.”

“Hmmm.” He reaches for one of your hands. The claws have vanished. “I was fairly impressive, wasn’t I?”

You gape at him, noticing the little smirk that’s developing anew, and you release his hand to shove at his shoulder, rolling over until your face hovers near his. “You…”

“Me…what?”

“Yeah, it was great.”

“Thought so.”

“Proud asshole. I’m going to have trouble walking.”

“Good.”

You playfully slap him again, fingers colliding with one pectoral muscle before you gentle that touch, guiding it up to his jaw.

He covers your hand with his, regarding you with those sleepy eyes, and you feel something lurch in your chest.

“Francis…”

“You know we’d get more accomplished if we got an earlier start in the morning. If I spent the night it would save us some valuable time.”

“You’re inviting yourself to sleep here?”

“No. I’m asking you.”

“We wouldn’t sleep. Then we’d be too tired to wake up in the morning, undermining the entire process.”

“I’ll behave,” he promises with a soft smile. “I won’t even lay a hand on you. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“You’ll do no such thing. If you’re staying here, you’re going to be in my bed.” You sigh. “You really think you’ll sleep?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I will,” you concede.

“Am I that irresistible, then? This doppel that you claimed to hate?”

“I told you, I don’t hate you. I didn’t mean it.”

He nods. “Don’t say it again. I don’t like you lying to me.” His eyes flash and his grip on your hand tightens. “I did mean what I said before. You’re mine, now. I won’t let anyone else have you. You understand?”

A little nervous flutter makes your stomach quiver as you nod.

“Say it.”

“I’m…I’m yours now.”

“Good girl.” He relaxes his grip and lets his head loll back to the center.

You’re still not sure how you feel about this new habit of praise he’s adopted. During intimacy was one thing, but outside of it? Your natural instinct to dominate was bristling right now, objecting to being quashed down.

”I can hear those mental gears turning from here. You practically have steam coming out of your ears,” he teases, his eyes on your face once again. “Come on, out with it then.”

”It’s…I’m not sure how I feel about this ‘good girl’ stuff.”

”Ah. I thought it might be that. I think you secretly enjoy it. I wouldn’t do it out in public, of course. That’s just between us in private like this. And no, it doesn’t mean that I think I’m superior to you. You don’t need to feel threatened. It’s more like…affectionate, I suppose. Like a pet name.”

”I guess.” You mull this over. “I don’t know what to call you, though. Like I can’t see calling you babe or honey or…I don’t know. I don’t know why I’m so focused on this. It’s foolish, really.”

”I like when you call me Francis,” he says quietly.

”But that’s not really who you are,” you murmur.

”It’s who I am now.”

You swallow thickly, nodding. “Okay, Francis.”

The doppel heaves a contented sigh and stretches his arms. “Well, now that that’s been addressed, we should have dinner and discuss strategy for tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Yes. I’m starving,” you admit. You always got ravenous after a really good climax. “What did you have in mind? I picked last time, so I guess it’s your decision to make now.”

“How about pizza?

“Oh, that sounds good. With extra cheese. You don’t like gross toppings like anchovies, do you?”

“Don’t know. I’ve never tried them. We can get whatever you want.”

“Alright. The place on West Ninth delivers now, I’ve heard. We don’t even have to leave the apartment. We can have them bring soda, too.”

“Convenient.” His face turns to you again. “Do we have time for a shower, first?”

“Yeah, I think we can squeak that in after we order. But we’re just bathing,” you remind him. “No funny business.”

He adopts a mock hurt tone. “You really have no faith in me. I can be a gentleman when it’s required.”

“I think I like it better when you’re not,” you murmur, leaning over to place a kiss on his shoulder.

“Now see that is exactly what got you into this mess in the first place. Tempting me. Challenging me. Wasn’t it nice just to let yourself go for once? Let someone else be in charge?”

“Careful. That sounds awfully similar to the toxic masculinity bullshit I keep encountering at work.”

“Nothing like it.” He shifts positions, moving until you’re beneath him again, his hands lightly bracing your wrists. “I know what you need. Let me give it to you. It’s not about your career. It doesn’t extend beyond these walls. It’s just for us. It’s okay to surrender, sometimes.”

“When do I get my turn to be on top?”

He smirks. “Whenever you want, sweetheart. I’m more than happy to oblige. You can ride me—”

“—That’s not what I meant,” you interrupt hastily. “It can’t always be you being so possessive and domineering. It’s only fair that I have a chance to exert some of that, too.”

His features grown solemn. “I know. There are so many things we can explore together. So much pleasure we can share,” he murmurs, abandoning one wrist so he can graze his fingertips along your bruised collarbone, then stroking along the notch at the base of his own throat. “It’s not completely black and white, not all one way or the other. Compromises must be met. Here. Even back out there,” he nods towards an imaginary target to indicate the world beyond your residence. “I think you’ll find that if you loosen the reins a bit, people will be more cooperative with you. You won’t lose respect. You won’t be looked down upon. You’ll just level some of the imbalances out. I know your past experiences have colored your outlook. I know it’s hard to let those walls you’ve built up around you lower. I’m not asking you to destroy them completely. Just let people see what’s behind those boundaries sometimes.” He kisses your mouth gently.

“What happens to us when the case is closed and we’re not working together anymore?”

“We might be asked to team up again. But even if we aren’t, this doesn’t have to end. There can still be an ‘us’,” he says.

“I’m a little overwhelmed here,” you confess.

He nods. “Frightened?”

“Yes, that too.”

“Do you think I’ll harm you?”

“Not intentionally. Maybe not even physically by mistake. But in other ways…I don’t want to get hurt again. There’s a reason I’m single. Why I’m so defensive. A hardass, like you say. The reason I have those walls you described in place. It isn’t just about my career, about being a woman in a man’s world. I don’t want to ever let anyone hurt me like that again,” you finish in a whisper.

“I have no desire to see you hurt that way, either.” He combs his fingers through your hair.

“It’s a bad idea, Francis. Not just the sex. Being…emotionally involved. It compromises judgment. It can be costly at precisely the wrong moment.”

“I’m fully committed to this case. You know that. You are, too. I don’t see it as an issue.”

“But what if something happens? What if the suspect threatens me? Will you be able to stay calm? Not do anything brash?”

Francis’ clone remains silent, his lips pressing into a thin line at the thought of that scenario, his hand stilling, buried in your scalp.

“That’s what I’m talking about. The more time we spend together like this, the harder it’s going to get.”

“I won’t fail. Not the case. Not you,” he adds, caressing your cheek. “You have my word.”

[fandomnsfw]

Because He Listens - Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Pairing: Klaus Mikaelson x Reader

Prompt: I tried my best with this one. It isn't as long as some of my others but I wrote what felt right at the time. love triangles are hard enough pentagons much harder.

Warnings: None just swearing really.

Beta'd by my lovely long time friend, beta and fellow writer @lets-imagine-fanfics

ENJOY!!

*********

You started your day like every other day.  

Wake up brush your teeth, take a shower, get dressed, makeup, hair, then out the door. However, this morning you were bombarded with Damon Salvatore laying on your bed causally when you came out with a towel on your body, and one wrapped around your hair. You gave him a silent glare as you picked out your clothes in silence.  

Once you’d gotten what you needed out of your closet, you spun around to face him when it became obvious that he wasn’t going away, no matter how much you ignored his presence. You gave him a fake sweet smile that did nothing but amuse the older man. 

“How can I help you, Damon?” You asked with a sickeningly sweet tone. 

“Have you thought about what I said last night?” He responded, his tone turning serious.  

“Why are you doing this Damon? You’ve never cared if I was at the centre of danger before!” You shouted as you walked through your front door after fighting against some witch who came for a doppelganger or more specifically doppelganger blood. 

“Because I care okay! Oh yes, I know that’s a shocking concept but I. CARE.” He punctuated with his usual level of sarcasm and sass.  

“About Elena yes. Me? Never.” You snarked back with an eye roll.  

“Well, I care about you, okay?” He sighed seriously, his usually sarcastic demeanour dropping.   

“Why?” You snapped making him close his eyes as if exasperated by this entire situation. 

“Because-” He seemed to stop, wondering whether his reason was worth stating but you crossed your arms in a way that said you wouldn’t drop this, so he stared down at you as he walked closer.  

“Because...I love you.” He muttered quietly.  

“Tell me your joking?” You whispered with wide eyes.  

“Oh yeah, this seems like the type of prank I’m fond of, doesn’t it?” He growled in annoyance.  

“What is it with you brothers!?” You screamed as you lightly pushed Damon away.  

“So, I guess Stefan got here first.” He grumbled like a pouting child.  

“What is there to think about, Damon?” You sighed as you stepped away from him, your eyes dropping to the floor as you contemplated how to handle this.  

You’d never really been told ‘I love you’ by anyone who seriously meant it and now you had Stefan, who had told you before the fight; and Damon, who had told you after the fight. Oh, and let's not forget the good Mikaelson brothers who seemed to have taken an interest too. How the hell were you supposed to deal with this?  

“Well, do you like either of us?” Damon tried with an eye roll to show his frustration.  

“Between the Salvatore brothers, the Mikaelson brothers and a witch trying to kill me I haven’t exactly thought about it!” You shouted as you disappeared into the bathroom to change.  

You slid on your undies, bra and jeans before realising you hadn’t grabbed your top as you were too busy thinking about how your life was turning out. You knew Klaus had a thing for Caroline as well, so you never really took him seriously until last night while fighting this witch, he jumped in front of a giant flaming ball to save you all the while Elijah hid you behind him.  

“I’m not doing this. I’m not Elena and I don’t enjoy being stuck in a love triangle...or a pentagon in this case.” You snapped through the door before wrapping the towel around your bra-covered torso and making your way out of the bathroom to grab your top.  

You grabbed the article of clothing ignoring Damon’s eyes on you before rushing back to the bathroom. Once you’d tucked your plain black V-neck t-shirt into your high waisted jeans you exited the bathroom to Damon who was sitting on the end of your bed staring at the floor.  

“If you can’t decide then I guess we’ll do it for you.” Damon hissed before speeding out of your room and your apartment before you could even ask what he meant. 

You stood there with a frown on your face as you pulled out a pair of socks and started putting them on but once again you were interrupted by a knock on your door. You finished putting your socks on and walked out of your bedroom to answer the apartment door.  

You stared at the British vampire with narrowed eyes as she looked at you in confusion, her eyebrow raised as if silently asking what was wrong.  

“You’re not here to profess your undying love for me too, are you Bex?” You whispered suspiciously.  

“No, definitely not love.” Rebekah snorted as she pushed her way into the apartment without another word. 

“So Damon told you?” Rebekah chuckled as she flopped down onto your couch.  

“Yeah, and Stefan. All the while your biggest brother protected me from a witch and your other brother took a fireball for me. I feel like I’m in the cheesiest rom-com ever to exist. I have my own Harem.” You sighed dramatically as you flopped down next to her, sinking into the couch as if that would protect you from this entire situation.  

“Did you get Bonnie to cast a spell?” She whispered jokingly.  

“In what world is this something I would want?” You asked seriously making Rebekah shrug in response. 

“To break 4 people's hearts all in one go!” You huffed angrily making her smile sympathetically.  

“So...you don’t like any of them?” Rebekah asked with a raised brow.  

“I didn’t say that! But I’m not gonna choose one so the others can watch as I have a happy ending with the one I do like!” You snapped as you jumped up from the couch.  

“Well, it's better than letting yourself be unhappy just to save these idiots. They all chose to pursue you, that was their choice. Forget about them and do what makes you happy.” She responded with a kind smile on her face.  

“Everyone is gonna be unhappy with my choice.” You muttered sadly, your eyes casting down to the floor the fear of your friends hating you was eating away at you.  

“So? Why does it matter? Do something for you.” She stated calmly as she stood from the couch.  

“Is it really that simple though?” You asked uneasily, your heart pounding a little at the thought of finally pursuing the one person you’d been head over heels for, for months.  

“Yeah, it’s really that simple.” She stated as she pulled you into a hug.  

You spend the rest of the day with Rebekah, eating waffles and drinking coffee while you watch bad tv. You didn’t know what you’d do without her in your corner to back you up. At least if your friends abandoned you, you’d always have Rebekah.  

It was now 4pm and Rebekah was about to leave but before she was out of the door one of her brothers texted her. The text had Rebekah staring at her phone with wide eyes before glancing up at you with a pained look on her face. You frowned as she passed you the phone but once you looked at the words you couldn’t help the scream of frustration that came out of your mouth. 

Kol - Why are our dear brothers having dinner with the Salvatores’? 

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” You screamed making Rebekah wince at the volume. 

“I’ll drive you.” was all Rebekah said as she took out her car keys and started to head out of the apartment. 

You slid your boots on, running after her with an angry frown on your face. You couldn’t believe these idiots! What were you, some prize to be won! You glanced at Rebekah who looked rather angry herself, but you knew it was because she, as a woman who fought for woman’s rights back in the twenties, thought this whole thing was barbaric. 

She sped to her house which wasn’t far her fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly as she pulled up to the Mikaelson mansion. She got out of the car, followed by you as you both stormed into the house.  

You’re glad you had backup because this wasn’t something you wanted to deal with at all, let alone by yourself. 

She flung the door open to the dining room rather dramatically. If it was any other day, you’d probably have laughed at her antics but right now all you could see was red. You stared at the four men who were casually eating dinner and sipping glasses of blood. 

“What the hell do you wankers think you’re doing!?” Rebekah screeched, her arms crossing over her chest. 

“That is not your concern, Rebekah. If you could please leave that would be much appreciated.” Elijah stated politely, making you raise a brow at him. 

“It’s definitely my business don’t you think, oh noble one.” You snapped sarcastically as you mirrored Rebekah’s stance. 

“I would like to point out I didn’t put this dinner together.” Klaus chuckled as he glanced at Damon and his own brother, snitching on them quite happily.  

“Seriously, Elijah? What happened to be a feminist? I guess we can’t just forget you were from a Viking era! Fucking caveman.” You snarled making Elijah look down at the floor, shame taking over his expression.  

“What did you think was going to come from this?” You asked seriously.  

“We were trying to find a fair way we could all throw our hat in the ring,” Stefan muttered quietly his face covered in shame just like Elijah’s. 

“THERE IS NO FUCKING RING! KEEP YOUR FUCKING HATS ASSHOLES!” You snapped.  

“That’s exactly what Klaus said you’d say.” Damon scoffed as he glanced over at the hybrid.  

“That’s because he listens to me!” You snapped angrily making everyone's eyes snap to Klaus who looked rather proud of himself.  

“Him? Seriously!” Damon shouted as he jumped up from his seat at the table. 

“I am so not getting into this right now.” You sighed as your caught Klaus’s eyes staring at you curiously, but he kept quiet. 

“He’s a fucking monster!” Damon growled angrily. 

“She only said he listened Damon. Calm down.” Stefan sighed softly. 

“She’s obviously not going to pick one of you nutters. What do ya say, darling?” You heard a mischievous voice chuckled behind you and Rebekah.  

“You’re so not funny Kol.” You huffed as you pushed him away from you with a small laugh.  

“Well, it’s obviously going to be one of the noble ones.” Kol snorted as he pointed to Stefan and Elijah. 

“Ya know what! I’m sick of you ancient bastards assuming you have all the answers, okay, so here we have it!” You shouted as you stormed over to Klaus’s chair and stood behind it.  

“SEE!” Damon screamed as he got into a position like he was about to fight anyone who disagreed. 

“SHUT UP! Do you even know why I’m picking him? Hmm or do you only care if I picked you? Hmm.” You snarled as you started towards Damon.  

“That man over there was abused and betrayed his entire life! Yes, he did some shit but so have ALL of you, so have I. He gifted me things-”  

“I gifted you things!” Damon shouted, interrupting you.  

“Yes, because I seem like a diamond and Prada kind of girl, don’t I!?” You snapped making his eyes widen. 

“What did he gift you? Princess dresses and horses?” Damon snapped right back at you.  

“No! He bought me a stuffed wolf, drew a picture of me, he gave me a hand-carved figurine of my favourite tv character and last, but definitely not least, he took my dead mother’s coat to be mended by the best he could find so it would look brand new! But gifts aren't everything Damon! He also listened to me talk for hours about things I like, even though he has no idea what I’m talking about half the time. He drops off coffee and food for me when I’m so busy with college work, I don’t eat or drink. He even brought me a full 2 weeks' worth of grocery shopping with all the things I would usually get. He never once touched me or came into my house without me saying so. The way he looks at me as he draws me doing mundane things, makes me feel so seen and cared for. I am very much in love with him and if you don’t fucking like it, there's the door!” You screamed as Klaus glanced at you in absolute disbelief.  

“You see that look right there?” You exclaimed as you looked at him from where you were originally screaming at Damon.  

“He’s shocked I chose him. You lot think you have the right to put your hat in the ring but he’s just happy to be around me and before anyone says anything else. It’s been him long before you lot made your feelings for me known.” You chuckled softly as you gave Klaus the sweetest smile you could muster which he returned rather shyly.  

“I think it’s time we leave, brother,” Stefan stated as Elijah stared between you and his brother.  

“I did not realise you cared for her so much Niklaus. I am sorry to have gotten in the way of that dear brother.” Elijah stated seriously his tone apologetic.  

“Congrats on doing what you wanted, Y/N. Can’t wait to be sister in laws!” Rebekah chuckled as she ran out of the room dragging Kol with her.  

Once you were alone with Klaus you stared at him from the other side of the dining room table with a soft nervous smile. Your heart was pounding in your chest as he stood up and stride over to you. You barely had a chance to know what was happening but when he took you into his arms holding you like this wasn’t real and it would vanish if he blinked too hard.  

“I love you, Niklaus Mikaelson.” You whispered into his ear softly. 

He pulled away to look down at you as he cupped the back of your head. His ocean blue eyes staring down at you in amazement. He opened his mouth a few times but for the first time in 1000 years, his words seemed to be failing him.  

“I love you too, Y/N Y/L/N.” He whispered as his eyes flickered to your lips.  

“Kiss me, Niklaus.” You whispered, clutching his Henley like it was the only thing grounding you.  

He leant down, his plush lips pressing against yours so carefully it made your heart pound against your chest as if looking for an escape. His lips were soft and gentle as he kissed you, holding onto you as if you’d disappear at any second.  

Once he pulled away you wrapped your arms around him and buried your head in your chest which he returned by holding you as close as he could.  

“T-Thank you for loving me.” He whispered into your hair before placing a kiss there.  

“I always will. Speaking of we should probably talk about me changing.” You stated softly making him frown.  

“I don’t see why you need to change. You look fine the way you are now.” He stated in confusion which had you giggling.  

“I meant into a vampire. I don’t wanna be old and wrinkly while you still look hotter than hell itself.” You chuckled and he pulled away from you his eyes widening.  

“You’d become a vampire for me?” He asked as if he couldn’t believe it.  

“Of course, I would. I’m waiting till I turn 21 though.” You chuckled making him smile down at you with a loving smile.  

“Yes, love.” He laughed as you pulled him back in for another hug.  

This was the man you loved, no matter what. 

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 2)

☒ Summary:Your search history was probably alarming, but you trusted that no-one was monitoring it too closely. After all, you hadn’t resisted your fate, had been pliant and sweet for the television demon, even sleeping with your face nestled into his shoulder, his arm draped around you. You awakened in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Having fallen into the clutches of your doppelganger's nemesis, you plan an escape, blissfully unaware that the Radio Demon himself now knows of your existence.

☒ Warnings: Alastor X Reader, Vox X Reader, hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, explicit sexual content, reader is in Hell for a reason, Valentino, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Epliogue

Alastor sat in his usual breakfast spot on the balcony of the hotel, taking tea. Before him on the table sat an envelope, stamped and sealed with Voxtek logos. No-one sent letters in Hell these days, what with the smart phones that everyone seemed to love, but the weight of the item was such that it could only contain one thing. Photographs.

What was old Voxxy playing at? Alastor turned the envelope over in his hand, looking for anything out of the ordinary. In different circumstance, he might assume that this would be a threat or a blackmail attempt, but there was no-one in Hell he really cared about, and since his return after his seven year sabbatical he had committed no crimes worth speaking of- his deal made sure of that. Still, there didn’t appear to be a trap on the envelope itself, no microchips, not even a trace of Valentino’s irritatingly potent pheromone powder.

With a sigh, Alastor slit the envelope open with a single claw, and dumped the contents onto the table. What he saw took him a moment to register, and when he did he spat his tea.

What Vox had sent him were pictures of him. Alastor, naked and fucked out, electric blue cum dribbling down his inner thigh. Alastor on his back, eyes teary and pleading. Alastor with his knees hooked over the top edge of Vox’s screen.

Alastor crushed the first photograph between his claws, eyes becoming red dials, his grin extending to his ears. Vox had gotten him somehow. How? How had this happened? He’d been so careful, he’d never met in person, he’d brought his full mastery over technology to batter Vox back whenever they had interacted through screens. Yet somehow, here he was, splayed on Vox’s bedsheets. A hiss escaped him, angry static. Someone would pay for this violation.

“Hey, Al-” Angel Dust stuck his head out of the door but froze. “Oh fuck. See you’re having a moment here, I’ll go-”

“Nonsense.” With effort, Alastor forced himself down in size, his eyes returning to their usual form. “Just had a little surprise, that’s all.” With a little canned laughter, Alastor started to scoop up the photographs, in his haste scattering them more.

“So you finally fucked the TV, huh. Good for you, smiles.” Angel Dust squinted at the photograph that fluttered to land by his foot. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I didn’t-” distress started to creep into Alastor’s voice, a high-pitched feedback tone as he snatched up more of the pictures, grinning with only his teeth. “I would never.”

Angel Dust gave him a doubtful look. “You know there’s nothin’ wrong with fuckin’, right? Hell I’m the last one ta judge-”

“I have no memory of this.” Alastor hissed, crushing another photo between his claws.

“Oh. Fuck.” Angel Dust gave Alastor a compassionate look. “Sorry, man, I shoulda listened. Lemme help you with those.”

“I am quite capable of gathering these-” said Alastor archly as Angel bent over to retrieve some of the pictures that had fallen under the table. To his annoyance, Angel held one photo up to the light, squinting at it. “Give me that.”

“Nah. Wait. Look, I’m a professional at this okay? Nothing I haven’t seen before. And this? This ain’t the tall dark and creepy I know.”

Your stay in Vox’s suite was enjoyable, but not something that could last. Mercifully the television demon worked long hours, which left you a good amount of time alone. It hadn’t taken much persuading for Vox to give you a phone, a shiny new model with his company’s logo emblazoned on the back. And once you had that, this place’s equivalent of the Internet was your oyster.

Your search history was probably alarming, but you trusted that no-one was monitoring it too closely. After all, you hadn’t resisted your fate, had been pliant and sweet for the television demon, even sleeping with your face nestled into his shoulder, his arm draped around you. You’d even let him dress you, a fanciful blue outfit with a tailcoat and bowtie, and if that wasn’t a sign of co-operation, you weren’t sure what was.

what is hell pentagram city

As you suspected, you were in Hell. Though you had no clear memories of your death, you were fairly certain you had died. The memory of falling to the ground in darkness was there, along with the pain in the back of your head, a taste like metal in your mouth. And being here rather than the other place, assuming the other place even existed, was no real surprise to you. Heaven was for the meek and obedient, and you’d done things that were neither. Scanning the information online, and reading between the lines, you picked up the basics. Sinners were ruled by overlords, and Vox was one of these, in a coterie alongside Valentino, the man who had pulled you in and a third overlord you hadn’t met. Overlords gained power from owning souls, but a quick scan of the information told you little about what this actually entailed. Was owning souls like slavery? Did being locked in Vox’s bedroom mean your soul was already forfeit? All you found at first was that soul ownership required a contract of some sort, so you continued your search.

how to tell if you have a soul contract can you be forced into a soul contract how to get out of soul contracts

There was conflicting information on the exact nature of soul contracts, but the general consensus was that the contract required the participant to be cogent enough to sign their name, or at least shake the hand of their new owner. That meant that it was unlikely that Vox actually owned your soul. The bad news was that a person could be coerced into handing their soul over, and you still didn’t have much leverage on Vox. Eventually he would want a handle on you, and the thought of it made you uneasy. You needed an out. It looked like murder would work to break a contract, but Hell’s social media sites were full of people complaining about how difficult murdering a fellow sinner was. People, it seemed, could recover from nearly any level of injury. Fascinated, you followed the topic further.

can you kill sinners how to kill sinners

Unsurprisingly, you weren’t the only person on Hell’s internet interested in this topic. Aside from certain massive injuries, the answer that came up time and again was yes, angelic steel could kill sinners permanently.

what is angelic steel how to get angelic steel

The material was apparently from weapons dropped by heavenly exorcists, and highly sought after. It looked expensive, and you doubted that Vox would continue to buy your innocent act if you started asking him to bring you weapons. You checked the uses, scrolling down the list of applications until one caught your eye. Wire made from angelic steel was sought after by audiophiles for its use in the cabling of sound systems. And what was Vox, if not a man who would make for himself the best high fidelity sound system that money could buy? Stalking into the sitting area of Vox’s quarters, you surveyed his sound system. It stood about seven feet tall and a little longer across, the mesh over the speakers so black that it almost registered like a hole in your vision. You could almost imagine the sound it would produce just by standing there before it, the way the vibrations would run through your hooves and into your shins and through your spine. A shame, really. If you had been planning to stay longer, you could have asked Vox to play some music on it and sat there basking in the sound. Maybe even fucked to something slow and sensual, letting an external rhythm dictate your movements, letting the music override you.

With a sigh, you set the idea aside, opening one of the drawers set into the frame of the sound system. The thing was beautiful, so much so that you were reluctant to dismantle it unless you had to. Fortunately, a little rummaging led you to the spare cables that you hoped would be there, and running a talon over the protective coating, you slit one open. The metal inside was a whitish gold, braided thin enough to make a decent garrote. You tested the strength of it, winding each end of the cable around your hands and pulling it taut, and the feel of a weapon in your hands brought a giddy feeling to your chest. After days of feeling adrift, the tension of the wire between your fingers felt like finally hitting land.

You wouldn’t kill Vox. Not only was it a bad idea- you had no idea how much strength he had, and killing him would set Valentino and Velvette both after you- but you didn’t want to. Even if he had spent the entire time moaning the name of the man with your face, he was still a good fuck, and it felt like bad manners to repay those tender services with a red and sticky end.

After a moment’s hesitation, you took the bottle of Valentino’s pheromones from the dresser by the bed, slipping it into the inside pocket of your tailcoat as you tossed the Voxtek phone you had been using back onto the bed. Drugs had never been your usual route of attack, but who knew what would be waiting for you outside the walls of the Voxtek compound?

Getting out of Vox’s suite was easy enough- the override password on the door was fuckalastor, all lower case. But once you were outside, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Even with the length of angelic steel wire wound around your hand, you didn’t feel quite safe.

Alastor watched the V tower from the shadows, an ugly feeling in his chest. If the demon in the photos wasn’t him, as Angel Dust had claimed, he really had nothing to complain about. But the fact that Vox had seen fit to find a demon who was his doppelganger and then find fit to send evidence of those exploits to him? That was still an insult, a figurative glove across the face. His problem was twofold, however. Firstly, the constraints of his deal forbade him from undertaking violent action against anything not a direct threat to the hotel, which V tower very much was not. The second problem was that of his injuries from his fight against the angelic horde. He had lived, barely, but the rent across his chest was a persistent throbbing ache, a gap in him from which static escaped. It rendered him weak. It reduced him to watching and skulking like some street level cur.

It was in this state that he saw you exit the tower through one of the side entrances, your movements furtive and your ears down. You wore a copy of his own outfit in Voxtek blue, and the very sight of it brought a sour taste to Alastor’s mouth. How dare you, an impostor, a fraud, go round the city wearing Vox’s livery, as if the television demon owned you? It was embarrassing. He would make you take it off. Hissing rage between his teeth, Alastor followed you.

There was definitely someone following you. You could feel it. You had been on the other side of this equation too many times in your life, the fear of the other at the periphery of your awareness, chasing down with heartfelt and open-mouthed glee, that it was impossible to miss when you were the one being stalked. The shadows in Hell grew long and strange, studded with eyes and horns and mouths, and you took another blind turn into another darkened alley, grounding yourself with the sting of the angelic steel wire across your palm. You still weren’t wholly used to your new shape, and even now though you were no longer the trembling-legged fawn that Vox had half-carried to his bed a few nights previous, your gait wasn’t the steadiest. If you started running, you were fairly sure you would fall.

You would deal with it, whatever it was. That was how you had always done things. You chose the pragmatic option, you coped. You chose the righteous option, even if no-one agreed with you, even if it meant doing what no-one else could bring themselves to do. You chose the dangerous option, even if it meant staring down the creeping fear in your own heart. You slipped into the shadows, your back hard against the wall, garrote threaded between both of your hands, the pulse of your heartbeat a thunder in your ears, a pulse in your throat, the adrenaline of it making you almost dizzy, almost nauseous, almost aroused. In this your new body was the same as the old. You would catch your hunter, whoever they were.

He stalked round the corner, a figure in red, and with a start you recognized his silhouette as the same as your new body. Alastor. What had Vox said about him? A washed up radio host, a demon with no real power to speak off, feeding off the nostalgia of a bygone era? With a single motion you stepped behind him, looping the angelic wire around his neck and yanking it tight, pulling his body back against yours. He struggled, claws going to his neck, but his claws couldn’t shear the angelic steel any more than yours could.

Hissing, he twisted in your grasp, claws raking a symmetrical gash into your forearm, and you gave an involuntary, crackling cry, holding fast as you felt the blood well. Then two thick strands of shadow sprouted from Alastor’s back, pushing past your chest and wrapping around your own neck. You stumbled back in panic, back hitting the brick wall, vision blurring as the tentacle constricted your blood flow, your grip on the wire slackening. No! You couldn’t lose. There was no air in your throat but you still managed a noise, a soft whine like a capacitor failing to discharge, before your vision went truly black.

Well, that would have been an ignominious way to die. Alastor felt the mark at his throat and his hand came away bloody. His own blood. Sloppy. He gave a low noise of displeasure as he looked down at your unconscious form, the bright blue of that ridiculous parody of his suit now ripped and stained. He hadn’t been expecting a fight, not from Vox’s fucktoy. Had this been a trap after all? No, there were no reinforcements, no cameras. Not the television demon’s style.

Bending down, he took your chin between thumb and forefinger, examining your face closely. As it had been in the pornographic pictures that Vox had sent him, your face was a close match for his own, expression relaxed and naked in something close to sleep. What was more, it didn’t appear to be a disguise, your cervine features quite genuine.

Alastor ran his fingertip over your antler, freezing when he felt the velvet covering, the blood vessels just beneath the skin, a jolt in his heart. You were so vulnerable like this, a single cut and you could bleed out. No deer demon would go out like this. At least, not one who had knowledge of their own body. The implications sank in his gut like lead. How long had it taken for his antlers to mature, when he had come to Hell? A couple of weeks? Alastor felt his lips curl back further past his teeth, hating Vox a little more. Vox had nearly made him kill you, a newcomer to Hell, for the crime of being weak and confused enough to be dragged to Vox’s bed.

What should he do with you? Leaving you here so close to Vox’s domain would get you dragged back to the television, and you were an innocent, well, not quite an innocent, you had tried to garrote him with angelic steel wire, but few people in Hell were truly innocent. He couldn’t kill you, at least not now, with your supine form posing approximately no threat to him. With a resigned sigh, Alastor scooped you up in his arms, disgusting blue suit and all, and began his walk back to the hotel.

You awoke in an unfamiliar place, your face pressed into the pillows of a four-poster bed. It smelled like musk, a rich, smoky sort of smell, with an undercurrent of formaldehyde, and it was oddly comforting, wrapping around you almost like an embrace. Drowsily, you took stock of your body, the ache around your neck and a burning throb that seemed to cover your forearm, remembering the struggle in the alleyway. The scent in your nostrils pulled you back to the memory, with your hands at the back of your double’s neck. This was how Alastor had smelled. This was, unmistakably, Alastor’s bed. He had hunted you, and now he had taken you to his lair to toy with you. Your garrote was missing, predictably, as was the pheromone bottle you had stolen from Vox. You rolled onto your side to survey the room, and Alastor loomed from the shadows.

“Ah, the impostor rises,” chirped Alastor. His smile stretched practically ear to ear. “Tell me, how are you feeling?”

“My windpipe hurts,” you said, frowning at him.

“Oh, quid pro quo, dear child,” said Alastor, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and undoing the collar of his shirt to show the bandage at his neck. “Do you have any idea how long it has been since someone made me bleed my own blood?”

“You were hunting me,” you said, not bothering with any of the cutesyness you had tried with Vox. Alastor had felt you close a wire around his neck- he would never see you as harmless.

“And you were quite the game, little impostor.” Alastor leaned over, and with a slow, deliberate motion, pressed his fingertips to your antlers. You had done your best thus far to ignore the existence of the two prongs sticking up from the top of your head, and even Vox had avoided touching them, so the sensation took you by surprise.

Your antlers were incredibly sensitive. You felt every variation in pressure, every adjustment in position, through your antlers, through their connection to the bone of your skull and further, down your spine and into your loins. Alastor met your eyes, his own half-lidded, and gave a gentle squeeze between thumb and forefinger. You whimpered, feeling the prongs grow under his hand, feeling your face heat.

“Hm. Soft,” he murmured, half to himself, before bringing your attention back to him with another little squeeze, directing your head to his lap. “Not much fight in you now, is there?”

“Are you going to kill me?” you asked, heart in your throat.

“My dear, where would be the fun in that?” Alastor replied, his tone shifting to genuine amusement. “A touch could kill you right now.” As it to make a point, he ran a fingertip from the tip to the base of your antler, and you shivered as you felt the touch echo through your body. “Do you have any idea how much blood you would lose, with just one little nick?”

With Alastor touching you like this it was difficult to think straight. It was as if he knew this body better than you did, each touch intense to the very edge of painfulness, the sensations continuing to resonate through your body. You swallowed, burying your face against his thigh. “What do you want?”

“Now now, little pretender. That’s my line, not yours.” Alastor gave a soft laugh. “Though I imagine I know what you might desire. A world where Vox has no ability to drag you back to his bedchambers would be a start, don’t you think?”

Slowly, you nodded against his thigh, and Alastor gave a soft noise of approval. With both hands now he worked his touch from the base of your skull to your antlers, each movement a vivid, carnal pressure through your body. It was like nothing else, and you felt your antlers grow still further, your pulse throbbing through them, your cock aching untended against the inside of your pants, your cunt clenching unfilled. You bowed your head to Alastor’s gentle, dexterous touch, your mouth open as you moaned against his trouser leg, a clipping edge to your audio.

“Oh my, you are enjoying that.” The growl in Alastor’s voice was salacious. “Is it your first time? Does the mean old television demon not know how to touch you like this?”

You weren’t in the mood to indulge Alastor’s fantasies about Vox, not after days of doing the inverse, so instead you whimpered, “Thank you.”

“Mm. At least you have manners, I suppose.” Alastor lifted his hands from your antlers, and you gasped at their absence, the air cold where his fingertips had been warm. With a touch to your chin, he indicated that you should rise, and you did, propping yourself up on your elbows before sitting back.

Sitting up, you noticed that you were not the only one who had grown an impressive rack. Alastor’s antlers extended like the shadows of trees in winter, his own arousal written over his smiling face. They curled, dendritic and beautiful and unmistakably tied to his own libido, echoing through his own body in the same way as yours did. The way he touched you told you that, if nothing else.

Your eyes glazed, head tilting forward. You wanted to lock antlers with him. You wanted to touch him, bone to bone, and feel the same waves resonate through the two of you. You wanted it very, very badly.

Alastor caught you by your injured throat with a hiss. “If you do that,” he said. “You will die. Your antlers are too fresh, and you will damage them, and you will bleed out on my bedspread. So instead, sweet little pretender, you are going to lay quite still and let me tend to you.”

“S-sorry,” you stuttered as Alastor released you, the pain from his grip bringing you a little way back to your senses, your heart fluttering as tears stung your eyes. What did he see in you, you wondered. Was it a way to get one over on Vox? Or simply a reflection of his own face?

“Silly creature.” Alastor sighed, pushing you onto your back, and crawling over you, a depraved gleam in his eye. “You strangle me half to death in an alleyway, risking damage to my precious voice, and now is when you are tearful and apologetic? When I am trying to stop you from hurting yourself?” He placed a hand at your neck again, though with less pressure this time, just enough to hold your head in place.

You didn’t just want to lock antlers with him. You wanted to feel his lips against yours, sharp teeth against yours. “Would you kiss me?”

“I suppose I don’t see the harm. Hold still, now,” Alastor warned, and you felt how carefully he closed the distance between the two of you, how carefully he avoided even a brush of his antlers against yours, though electricity sang in their proximity, the shivering static of not quite the barest touch as Alastor’s lips closed on yours.

Compared to Vox he was a chaste kisser, not bullying his way in but leading you to him, leaving you wanting him, touching tonguetip to tonguetip, nose to nose, needlepoint tooth to lip. It left you gasping, left you quivering, your cock straining against the fabric of your trousers. With an almost coquettish roll of his hips, Alastor pushed his pelvis flush with yours, and you felt his own matching tent. Through four layers of fabric it was still an aching kind of hot, his pulse through it as surely as it was through his antlers. With a slow, measured motion he ground himself against your length, making you whimper soft distortion into his mouth, the tip of your cock leaking wetness and your neglected cunt absolutely slick.

“Oh, this will be fun.” Alastor’s eyes creased at the corners as he pulled back a little, his cock still pressing hard and hot against yours. “Call me a narcissist if you will, but I know that expression. Are you really going to climax, just from a little kissing?”

You would have corrected him, but he wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair how well he knew your body, how adeptly he stroked along the tines of your antlers, sensation resonating deep and intense through your body to your core, a master on an instrument you had yet to learn. Locking smug eyes with you, he rolled his hips against yours, grinding against you further, and you mewled for him, hips bucking a little as sensation threatened to overcome you, fighting against the inexorable tightness that built. But just as in the alleyway, this wasn’t a fight that you could win.

You came, your cock pulsing wetly against the inside of your pants as the reverberations through your body sang, a static whine on your lips, absolutely understanding why Vox had moaned Alastor’s name.

Both of you stilled for a moment after that, your body still wracked with aftershocks, Alastor watching you closely, his expression contented. He made no move to please himself, but rather traced the edge of your face, from your temple to your jaw, with his talons. “Good?” he asked, nonchalantly.

Good didn’t begin to describe it. It was sublime, another aftershock hitting you even now. You closed your eyes. “The best. Thank you, Alastor.”

“My pleasure.” Alastor looked down at you with a pleased smile. “You’ve made a real mess of that suit,” he said, a tilt of his head, his own desire for release seemingly forgotten. “Allow me to take it off for you.”

Alastor grinned at the hidden camera on the suit’s lapel, saying nothing but making sure it got a good shot of his face before he crushed it between thumb and forefinger.

[suppose-i-was-worm]

By Virtue of Being a Frog

**it's not great, but here's my birthday fic for myself. Enjoy!**

Look, Danny wasn’t sure what happened. First he was just Danny, hanging out in Gotham on a school trip, and next thing he knew, he was a frog. Now, he didn’t know much about Gotham, but he figured frogs weren’t… common.

He could probably turn back- enchantments didn’t tend to stick on ghosts, but where was the fun in that? With a ribbit and a hop, Danny was off and away, fleeing with the rest of his be-frogged classmates. Except that his fleeing was with purpose. He wanted to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. He knew the class had been in the Diamond District- near a place called Robinson Park, and that Robinson Park was the last place any of them wanted to go.

So there he went. It wasn’t often he was able to get away from his classmates on school trips, so this was a prime opportunity. Even at the age of 18, he wasn’t really allowed to leave the group. But now, escaping in a city that had it’s own guardian ghost? Sign him the fuck up!

Danny dodged between feet, turning himself intangible a few times in order to not get squished, and soon the musty streets turned into lush grass. Croaking, he hopped further into the park- it was gorgeous, all overgrown and blooming. Sam would love it.

Part of Danny wanted to keep this gem in the heart of the darkest city in America to himself, though.

He heard some rustling in the foliage as he hopped through the jungle-like park, but paid it no mind. There was too much to see and to smell to worry about some wildlife.

Except for the frog thing. He’d forgotten about the frog thing.

An honest-to-Ancients hyena lunged out of the bushes and snatched him up. Danny croaked in surprise, feeling himself become dizzy as the canine beast started to shake him about.

It didn’t occur to him to drop the transformation, not until after a young man caught up to the hyena and made it drop him.

“I am very disappointed in you, Bud. We have had this discussion before- if you continue to attack small wildlife every time Harley lets me visit with you, I will not visit again. Do you understand?”

The hyena yipped and bounded off into the foliage, and the young man knelt down to inspect Danny.

“My apologies, he gets excited. Why not come with me and I will get you patched up appropriately?”

There was something to the cadence of the man’s voice, the soft accent, and the emerald eyes that made Danny freeze up.

He allowed the man to scoop him up, and felt himself be carried away. Something in him said that this man was the safest option for him now or ever. The stress of the last hour finally took it’s toll, and Danny felt unconsciousness wash over him.

~~~

“It’s a frog, Damian.”

“What is your point? I found it injured and it has not woken up. Fix it.”

“I’m not a miracle worker!”

Danny woke to a heated conversation over his head. He was pleasantly moist, surrounded by soft things, and overall, fairly content. The safe man was still here, and still safe, and Danny felt better than he had for the last four years.

Or the last… thirteen? How long had it been since he’d been adopted?

“Timothy, please.”

There was a pause, and Danny cracked open one eye. He was nestled in a small damp towel, and the two voices were coming from above him.

“Hey, it just moved!”

Danny opened his eyes fully to look up at his savior. Getting a much closer look at the man forced a startled noise out of his tiny froggy body.

“It is scared, Timothy, back away.”

“You back away! You’re the one frowning down at him from point-blank range!”

Both men started to move away from Danny’s nest, so Danny croaked another protest.

His big brother’s face was looking down at him, older and alive, and even if it was a doppelganger or a dream, Danny wouldn’t let him get away. Not this time.

It finally dawned on him that he could transform back, so with a leap (assisted by some flight and minor intangibility), he sprung from the cardboard box and into the air, where he allowed the enchantment to slough off, landing feather-light on his feet.

He turned to find a sword and some sort of projectile weapon aimed at him.

“Oops.”

“Who are you, and how did you come here?”

Danny raised his hands quickly, his eyes darting around to look for possible exits. Sure, he knew he could just vanish, but even a decade after the fact, he couldn’t get rid of the habit.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that. I was a frog? And now I’m not. Not that I was a frog to start with, I was visiting Gotham with my school and we were all suddenly frogs, and then there was a hyena so now I’m here? Wherever here is?”

The person who was not his brother put away the projectile.

“There was a magic user attack in the Diamond District yesterday- he was pretty passionate about amphibians.”

“The others who were affected returned to their normal state within three hours, Timothy. I do not understand why this one did not.”

Timothy shrugged, opening his mouth to answer, but the man who was not not Danny’s brother continued.

“Or why he looks like someone who ought to be dead.”

It was Danny’s turn to shrug.

“I mean, in all technicality, I am? But also, did you say it’s been a day? My friends must be worried. Can I… go?”

“You are what?”

Timothy was looking at him curiously, and maybe!Dami was glowering. Ah, familiar.

“Dead. Technically. Oh, wait, you gotta promise not to tell. The Anti-ecto Acts would have my hide on a stick.”

Probably!Dami grabbed Timothy by the arm and pulled him away from where Danny was standing, muttering something in a low voice.

Too bad, Danny had enhanced hearing. Thanks, death!

“I suspect this is a League plant. He looks too similar to- He looks familiar, and in only the way one of Talia’s ruses to kill me would.”

Damn, okay, upgrade from probably to definitely. Except… Damian had been the Demon’s Heir, he would never address their mother by her first name.

Danny chose to feign cluelessness when the two turned their attention back to him.

“What are you here for?”

With a shrug, Danny continued his charade.

“I’ve never understood that question. What are any of us here for? That’s like asking what a prisoner did to get jail time. Crimes.”

“You have come to commit crime?”

Whoops, here’s to forgetting that League trained assassins were generally literal.

“No, that’s how prisoners get jail time. I’m here to live fast, kick ass, and eat grass. Veganism isn’t a phase.”

Ancients, what was he saying? Time to make an exit- but he would be back. He couldn’t live without Damian now that he knew his brother was alive and no longer under Grandfather’s thumb.

“Anyways, I gotta jet- smell ya later!”

Before either of the other men could react, Danny turned intangible and invisible, sinking through the stone floor and zipping his way back to the hotel he was supposed to be in.

It didn’t sink in until after the lecture from his teacher.

“Wait, was that the Batcave?”

[inawickedlittletown]

Aftermath - 7x09 Coda

Knock. Knock. 

Tommy looked towards Evan. They had started the evening by cooking together, but after dinner, they had put on a movie. Evan had actually seen very few movies and Tommy was doing his best to rectify that especially since Tommy was a bit of a sucker for rom coms. You’ve Got Mail was on the screen and they weren’t even far in. 

Knock. Knock. 

Evan groaned. 

“Are you expecting anyone?” Tommy asked as they detangled themselves from each other. 

Evan shook his head, pressing pause on the remote. Tommy followed him to the door. 

Christopher stood on the other side. He looked awful. Eyes red, glasses askew, and lips turned down. He looked nothing like the kid that Tommy had last seen in Howie’s hospital room.

At first, Tommy was worried that Christopher had somehow gotten there on his own,  but just a bit behind him was Marisol. She didn’t look all that great either. 

“He wanted to come here,” Marisol said. Her voice was weak and small. “Least I could do.” 

Christopher didn’t even wait to be invited in, he just walked past Evan, barely glanced at him or Tommy. Tommy caught Evan’s eye and Evan gave a nod, so Tommy followed Christopher inside. He heard Evan talking to Marisol, but not all the words or even what she said back. 

Christopher had settled himself into Evan’s couch. He looked small, shoulders hunched over and his arms crossed. 

“Hey,” Tommy said gently. “Are you okay?” 

Christopher shook his head. No words.

“Do you need anything? A drink? Food? Blanket?”

No response. 

Tommy wasn’t used to kids. The one time he’d met Chris before that time at the hospital, it had been at Eddie’s house and Christopher had led that conversation by being interested in Tommy being a pilot and asking a bunch of questions. 

“Look, I don’t know what happened or why you’re here. I don’t need to know. But you’re safe here, okay?”

At that he got a nod. 

“Is it okay if I leave you here on your own for a few minutes?” 

Another nod. 

Evan was still at the door. He joined him and found Marisol still standing at the other side. She’d started to cry, big tears that rolled down her cheeks and that she was angrily wiping away. Her arms were wrapped around her middle. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, a sob breaking through. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Evan said. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Do you want to come in? You shouldn’t be driving. Eddie would—”

She made a noise at Eddie’s name and Tommy winced. 

“Sorry,” Evan said, hand reaching out to Marisol except she stepped back. 

“Did you know?” she asked. 

Tommy could see Evan’s indecision. He could see how he shifted his weight as he gave a small nod. 

“I confronted him about it a few days ago,” Evan said. “Right after I found out.”

“She looks like his dead wife,” Marisol said and it came out strangled. 

“I know,” Evan said. 

She rubbed at her eyes. “How could — no…no, I can’t deal with this right now. Take care of Christopher.”

Tommy jumped forward. “Hey, I can drive you if you—”

She shook her head. “My brother’s picking me up. He should be here soon.” 

Marisol looked like she wanted to say something else, but she shook her head and then turned and left. They were left watching her go. 

“Chris?” Evan asked. 

“Is okay. Upset, but okay,” Tommy said. “Did everything blow up on Eddie?” 

“You could say that,” Evan said. “Marisol said they walked in and the doppelganger and Eddie were there. Chris thought it was his mom.”

Tommy felt his heart break. He could never fully understand Eddie’s grief — hoped he never would. When Evan had told him about Kim he hadn’t known how to react because it was just so out there and messy and insane. But to have it affect Christopher…well, that was something that Tommy could understand. His parents had disappointed him enough…he knew that disconnect between loving someone and feeling completely betrayed. 

“What now?” Tommy asked. 

“Well, first I’ll need you to text Eddie that Chris is here and that he’s staying the night.” Evan smiled a tight sad smile. “Next we give him somewhere to feel safe until he’s ready to talk to his dad.” 

“Of course he feels safe,” Tommy said. “He came to you.” 

Tommy pulled Evan into his arms and he felt Evan sigh against him, his arms coming around Tommy as well. He pulled back too soon, but with a new found determination and Tommy could only watch as his boyfriend headed towards Christopher and despite everything, he was warmed when Christopher wrapped his arms around Evan’s waist, head buried on Evan’s chest. 

[pandalexoxo]

OKAY BEAR WITH ME Y’ALL. I HAVEN’T PLAYED THE GAME SO I’M JUST GOING OFF OF SOME TIRED OLD MAN TROPES.

FRANCIS MOSES x READER

also, i haven’t written down any of my rules, but i don’t have any limits! i’ll write whatever requests people send me! whatever your dark mind can think of will be my pleasure to create!

i don’t mind if you’re not 18+, since, if i ever do make smut i’ll just label it as 18+ and TRUST that 18+ ONLY will read. you all have probably seen, but i’ve just written about my thoughts of different fandoms so far so there’s no 18+ posts YET. (maybe i’ll make this account SFW and do another for NSFW? idk, i normally post on other platforms but randomly decided to give tumblr a try lol)

as a NM/trans man myself, i TRY to keep my readers gender neutral by not really describing the characters features. hard on TRY bc i know the last blurb fic i made of dead plate was Rody x Male Reader lol, oopsies! anywhooo, enjoy~!

WARNINGS! doppleganger mention, possible unconsciousness, possible death, possible unfunny dialogue (bc sometimes i’m the only one who finds me hilarious lmfao), you’re kinda a baddie ngl, you and Francis are besties, Francis is a cat lover?! Francis is a tired old man who hates technology. phone mentioned despite the first wireless phone being made 23 years after the story takes place (use your imagination) uhhh, anything else i forget? comment below!

Francis let out a long sigh of relief, taking his cap off with one hand, using the other to dab away at his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. Upon seeing the exhausted man, you can’t help but smile softly, shaking your head as you get ready to scold him, once again. You cross your arms, looking at him through the window with a playful disappointed glare.

“mhm mhm, what do we have here? you really should be getting more sleep, mr. milkman, your eyes are starting to sport their own eye bags.”

with this comment, Francis shakes his head but is unable to stop the small, yet tired smile on his face. he bends down to place the crate of milk jugs onto the floor before handing over his ID card. you hum, narrowing your eyes when Francis doesn’t give into your whims. you eye his card, glancing at it a few times before slipping it back to him with a chuckle.

Francis’s eyebrow raises in confusion at your reaction but ends up shaking his head, rolling his eyes playfully and sighing softly. he places his cap back on his head and huffs, deeming your reaction as a go ahead inside.

“now… what if i was a doppelganger? you aren’t even going to call my room to check if someone is there? such a reliable doorman we have.”

despite Francis’s playful tone, your grin slips into a frown as you study Francis from behind the glass. this causes him to tense up, suddenly feeling nervous, like he did something wrong. you hum, tilting your head into your palm as you seemingly analyze Francis for a little while before deciding to speak.

“what’s up brother?”

Francis blinks a few times in surprise, his head tilting in confusion at your question. His eyes narrow as he thinks about the question you asked.

“what’s… up… brother…?”

Francis looks up at the ceiling, taking your question to heart. upon seeing nothing on the ceiling, Francis can only shake his head and sigh at your antics.

“are you done with your tomfoolery, (Y/n)? i’m quite exhausted and would like to go up to my room and rest.”

you can only shake your head, clasping your hands together like a disappointed father getting ready to discuss their kids grades at the dinner table. you begin to explain.

“when Francis first walks in here, he always forgets one of three things… his keys, his hat or the crate of milk. you came in here, although exhausted, you seemed put together, unlike Francis, who is clearly going through a midlife crisis. Francis will then ask me about my cat, well, because he’s a cat person, though he insists no one knows. oh, and, Francis’s home phone has been broken for the past few days and is actually at the store, right now. so, Francis being here so soon, isn’t possible. that, and well, Francis never understands my references, but indulges me anyway… anything else i forgot, doppelganger?”

you bat your eyelashes, smirking from behind the window like you just cracked down the traitor in your group. with each statement, Francis’s doppelgänger’s face becomes visibly more and more angry until the doppelganger begins to completely change: black eyes with white pupils, a wide and eerie black mouth, adorned with long and sharp claws on the end of the doppleganger’s elongated limbs.

“you… you’ll regret this… i will get in one day and get my feast, starting with you. i’ll gut you, keep you alive so you can watch your organs fall out of your body and your blood splatter against-! *CLANK! BAM! PLINK!*”

before the doppelganger could finish his fantasy, much to your amusement, the doppleganger’s body tenses upon being struck before crumpling to the floor after becoming unconscious. you look up from the doppleganger’s body to see the real Francis hovering above the, possibly dead, doppelganger. you shrug, knowing that you wouldn’t have to call DDD services to take care of the mess, now you just have to clean up the body.

“mmm… tuesday… tuesday…? did i get that right?”

you hold back a chuckle at Francis’s response to your last question. you can only nod, letting Francis have the win this time. pinching the bridge of your nose and sighing, a loud laugh bubbles up from your throat as the two of you realized what Francis had hit the doppelganger with.

“ngh… i just bought this phone… damnit… his hard head must have broke it, ah, if i bring it back could i get a… refund…?”

[infiniteeight8]

ironstrange meet fem!ironstrange

I’m jumping all around the queue right now. Apologies to the folks who are having to wait a bit longer, but the muse is being slippery right now.

-

Tony kept a wary eye on the pairs of Tonys and Stephens that were wandering around the compound's common area. “I never thought I’d say this,” he muttered to his own Stephen, “but this is officially too much me.”

Stephen chuckled. “Relax. Our universes will all naturally separate in an hour or two.”

“Still too— Oh, that’s interesting.” Tony caught Stephen by the arm and pulled him across the room, a little afraid he’d lose track of which one was his amongst all the doppelgangers. “Hello there,” he said to the pair he’d approached.

“Oh, Christ,” said the Tony, rolling her eyes. “This is your first time meeting a female alternate, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is,” the female Stephen’s voice was dry. “They always have the same look.”

Tony’s back stiffened. He gave his alternate a long look up and down. “You know,” he said, “I actually think I’m hotter as a man.”

“Tony—” That was his own Stephen sounding a little exasperated.

Turning to look at his Stephen, Tony paused, then looked at the female Stephen and back to his. “You are also hotter as a man.”

Stephen’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Female Stephen jumped in. “It’s the bone structure,” she said. “Male Tonys always expect it to look better on a woman.”

“Which it does,” female Tony insisted, sliding an arm around her partner’s waist.

“It doesn’t,” Tony told his Stephen, who was still glaring at him. The glare did not soften. “Come on,” Tony wheedled. “You can’t honestly say that you’ve never tried to picture me as a woman.”

Stephen started to speak, then shut his mouth, the glare falling away. “Okay, yes, I have,” he admitted. “But I’ll have you know that I already thought you were hotter as a man.”

Tony opens his mouth to say, Failure of imagination, before realizing that would probably just land him right back in hot water. “Good,” he said instead, “because I don’t think trading is an option.” The female versions of them had already moved off, impatient with a conversation they’d apparently had more than a few times.

“I know exactly which Tony Stark I want,” Stephen said, smiling slightly.

Tony smiled back and settled an arm around his Stephen.

[sweetest-honeybee]

Evil X and Vespa

Summary: Based in the Hels Kitchen scene, Helsknight opts to let Evil X and our beloved Hels Beesuma (whom I’ve named Vespa) meet and it doesn’t go down the way EX intends for it to. Turns out not all Xisuma’s seem to get along with each other.

Based on this drawing

Enjoy!

—————

Most would assume Evil Xisuma was what was considered a ‘Hels’ Xisuma. The most consistently dreadful alter ego donned in red and a black visor? Surely, he must be. And yet, he isn’t. That role was given to a much, much older version of Xisuma that had existed long before Evil Xisuma was created.

And of course, Evil X was rather surprised…and envious.

Come the reveal of the realm of Hels, Evil X opted to follow Helsknight into the fiery lands where he assumed by some odd logic, or a mere assumption, that he was the only Evil Xisuma to exist. Obviously, Xisuma lied about meeting some “Evil” Evil X. Stupid! No such thing. And so, Evil X disregarded the thought that there was not an Xisuma in Hels already. And of course, he’s not going to ask.

Meeting other evil, or ‘Hels’ Hermits as Helsknight called them, was hardly on Evil X’s mind. A bonus, perhaps. His derpcoin scheme may grow easily that way if he cared to have the help but Helsknight was just enough.

Between the first invitation to Hels and the day he decided to call for Helsknight, Evil X rarely visited Hels. Very little exploration led to being very unfamiliar when he came back. Yet, many older faces he had seen, his own minions even, were sitting at the many booths and stools while he waited to start his dastardly meeting plans.

It was a simple greeting at first. He nodded as Helsknight came with a short ‘I got held up’ and the two decided it was worth getting a bite to eat while they discussed their plans. Time had passed and they found themselves talking on loose threads about anything they could after the food on their plates went a bit lukewarm (cold, maybe, but not in Hels). After a while, Evil X found himself enjoying Helsknight’s company.

“I gotta say, you’re way less boring than I thought you’d be,” he eventually chuckled, taking a small sip of his third drink of the evening. “Tell me, are all those Hels Hermits of yours like that?”

Helsknight laughs in a short ‘HA’. “No, no, they’re not. If you’ve got a Hermit you hate, chances are you won’t like the Hels.”

Evil X hums, setting the glass down. “To be fair, Wels is the one really philosophical dude, right? Takes things too seriously, I definitely don’t like him and his whole ‘knightly protection’ thing going on.” He raises his hands in air quotes as he speaks, rolling his eyes. “He hates the very definition of all evil. An absolute bore.”

As he goes on about Wels, Helsknight snorts and listens. “Hey now, I’m still his doppelganger, aren’t I? You sound just like Vespa the way you go on about Wels.”

The name earns a brief pause from Evil X as he raises a brow behind his visor. “Vespa? And they are…?”

Helsknight leans forward in disbelief, eyes widening in some kind of genuine shock. “You’re kidding right? Vespa? The Evil Xisuma of all Xisuma’s? Hels Xisuma?”

“But I’m Evil Xisuma-”

“You’re not Xisuma’s Hels, though. I’ve got no clue how exactly you must’ve been created or what but Vespa came long before you did, pal.” Helsknight almost can’t contain himself, face reddening with a wide grin. He moves to get up from the booth as Evil X watches and looks around. “Wait hold on I always see him here- Ah! Follow me.”

Evil X finds himself dragged from the booth by the wrist to the bar. Before he realizes what exactly Helsknight is showing him, his eyes fall on another man in much similar armor to Xisuma- only a dingy yellow, scuffed with scratches and chipped paint. A dull matte compared to Xisuma’s usual suit. And behind him a pair of long, thin insect-like wings. Stripes on the armor’s plating would suggest a hornet or wasp. Or of course…a bee.

The man at the bar finishes his glass- something of a strong black coffee and as much hard liquor as the ghast behind the counter would allow him. Antenna sprouting from the crown of his head perk up as Helsknight approaches to land a hard pat on his shoulder.

“Vespa! Same time as usual, huh? Figured I’d bring a friend over here for you, change the pace a little.” He offers Vespa a wink as he pulls Evil X into view. Yet, Vespa doesn’t match the widening eyes of Evil X’s red LEDs.

“You both talk very loud, Hels. I wasn’t going to let you make me spill my drink again.” Vespa lifts the now empty glass and sets it on the counter with a loud thud. He swivels his seat around, resting his elbow on the counter. “I’m beginning to feel there are too many Xisuma’s running around. One too many.” He narrows his eyes, a burning red just like Evil X’s crossed with a single thick scar on one side.

Evil X scoffs. “Alright, well you’re one to talk. I ain’t ever seen you before, so clearly you must be pretty useless yourself, huh?”

Vespa speaks simply, expression unchanging from an unimpressed scowl. “Useless? You’re a fraction of Xisuma born from a single death- an accident. I’m the world generated personification of every awful detail about the very man you seem to just barely annoy. In fact, last I checked, he even likes you.”

“Not much for small talk, are you,” the other says, already more than annoyed.

“Not my thing. My time is precious here.”

“Oh is it now-”

“Yes, and you haven’t seemed to have accomplished much in your time. Believe me, I’ve seen everything. You poor thing, Xisuma practically tucks you into bed at night now that you live together.”

“You–! I control him and he works for me. And didn’t you hear? He’s long past the whole bee thing. You’re a bit late.”

“Very impressive,” is all that Evil X gets. And oddly enough it infuriates him more past the initial sense of pride. Vespa lifts his glass again to the ghast which takes it. “Another.” It’s a long moment before he speaks again. “What does he do for you? Clearly not enough that you asked for help.”

Evil X growls, balling his hands into fists. “Oh you know,” he says through gritted teeth. “Just exploiting every Hermit on the server through a server-wide currency scheme. Care to keep answering your own questions for me since you know everything?”

“Every Hermit?” Vespa asks, finally sounding amused and ignoring the rest of Evil X’s statement. “Look at that, you can control, oh, 25? 26 people? Is this why you need help? A bit of management assistance?”

Helsknight snorts, knowing well what’s to come of the conversation. “Oh no, I’m helping him control more of them, haven’t snagged everyone just yet but we’ve got what? 5 Hermits?” All he earns from Evil X is a hard glare.

“Well, I don’t see you doing any better!” He turns to Vespa again. “Is that all you do? The big bad Xisuma from Hels sits and drinks himself to death every single day? Why don’t you get up and do something with yourself then?”

The knight grins at Evil X, glancing briefly at Vespa who chugs his next cup and swallows hard. “No,” he says.

Vespa slams down the glass this time, empty aside from the long crack that shoots up the side. The sound of the impact gets the attention of most, if not all in the bar, and Vespa stands. He’s just a few inches above Evil X and yet he towers over the man. Among the now silent bar, he speaks.

“Do you have a name, Evil Xisuma?”

Everyone waits, and Evil X swallows as his ears turn a bit red. Thankfully hidden inside his helmet. “I uh- I mean it’s. It’s Evil Xisu-”

“Is it? Is that all you’ve cared to call yourself? Nothing except a self proclaimed title that you can’t keep up with.”

“...Yes?”

Vespa scoffs. “Right. Do you know who I am, then?”

The other goes to laugh. “I’m not answering some stupid- wOAH–!” The answer is cut off by the way the ghast takes Evil X by the shoulders, dragging him to pin him down against the bar. Bent back against it. “What is this?!”

Seeing this, people begin to crowd around the trio, most serving Evil X hateful stares.

“Let me break it down for you, Evil Xisuma,” Vespa starts. “I’m sure you’re familiar with a little server where they build and play games and sing Kumbaya, but we have a system here, buddy. This is a fraction of a realm of the world's worst kinds of people and I manage a what’s practically a kingdom of many of those people. Armies of thousands that do as I say and I have grown to gain a level of respect and authority beyond what you’ll ever achieve. They fight for me.”

Evil X stares and then looks around the room. Among the many faces, Helsknight seems more than amused. Excited, even. And he swallows at the thought. These people won’t listen to him.

“O-Okay. And what about it?” He regrets asking immediately but his pride will forever be his downfall.

Vespa uses no words. A mere whistle and a nod towards Evil X and a patron approaches to remove his helmet. A second patron takes the helmet while the first reels his arm back with a tight fist, and in less than a second a hard punch throws Evil X’s head back against the counter. The action has Evil X writhing in the ghast’s tightening grip and he snarls. With the sound, he flares up in sharp red bolts that make the ghast cry out and let go.

Of course, such a varied group finds its way to keep him tied down. Quite literally. Among the crowd are summoned black thorny vines that shove him back down. Much to Vespa’s surprise even. Still, he continues.

“Care to try again?” he asks. “Such a shame, if you were just a little kinder the way you should’ve been, I might’ve helped you with your little corporate scheme.”

“Alright, alright, I’m done. Just let me go, man,” Evil X grumbles.

“I don’t think I will. Seems you like getting yourself out of your own messes so I’ll leave you to it.” Vespa turns to the crowd, a smug grin on his face. “Please, give him a warm welcome to Hels.”

[andavs]

tbh season 6 was not a good season, but at least it wasn't bad in such a way that it treated its characters in a way that felt frankly cruel and spiteful, like s7 has. like...i don't even know what they were trying to do here. i don't see how the show can ever come back from this.

Yeah, s6 felt pointless and meandering, and very little of what happened had a lasting impact, but it felt more…grounded? I think it went too far in the other direction, but it had more realistic personal drama versus the wild shit like Buck getting struck by lightning—it was definitely still dramatic and soapy, but more like the usual real life turned up to eleven kind of stuff, and it still had the optimism I’ve come to expect from the show.

This season was just ten episodes of balls to the wall crazy.

Just the wild shit, in order: cruise ship hijacked by pirates, Marisol was a nun, Chimney gets viral encephalitis and hallucinates all over LA, Eddie meets his dead wife’s doppelganger, Bobby and Amir on the run from “the cartel”, Kim Vertigoes Eddie right before Chris walks in, “the cartel” burns down Athena and Bobby’s house, Bobby has a heart attack, a councilwoman is plotting to ruin Hen’s family for revenge, “the cartel” takes Amir and Athena saves him, Eddie’s parents take Chris, and then Gerrard (who must be like 70? at this point?) takes over the 118 as a villain.

In ten episodes.

I know the first season didn’t have a big spectacle of an opening disaster taking up a third of the episodes, but I wish they’d aimed more for that format rather than cramming a full 18 episode season’s worth of drama into half the time. Or hell, do one of the more focused kinds of compact seasons that a lot of streaming shows do. One long mystery for Bobby and Athena that started on the cruise ship and continued on the backburner until the end while the other characters had their episodes, rather than Bobby facing off against both vaguely Slavic pirates and also “the cartel” within a couple months of each other. Make it like a vignette setting up the next season.

I’m not writing the show off because I’m really hoping there was a specific place they wanted everyone to start the next season from, and now that they’re there, they’ll do a really solid, full length season…but also this season was kind of a disaster so who the fuck knows. Based on Lone Star, this could be real rough.

[mymoodwriting]

2.1k, yandere, car accident, amnesia, stalking, drugs, kidnapping, restraints, chains (@starillusion13)

“I know this place…”

Minho wandered the streets every night, finding himself following the same path over and over again. He’d always wind up at this bar, stumbling in, drunk on memories and pain. He was haunted by the past, by his lover. This was a place they’d frequent together, and he’d always come here looking for them. He’d confuse the girls around for his lover, and that would always get him into trouble. Every night he’d be dragged out and beaten, but that never discouraged him from going back there and looking for the one he loved.

Every day he lived in a nightmare. He lost his lover in a car accident, but he’s still looking for them. This night was like no other. Minho was making his way over to the bar when something caught his eyes. There was a girl looking around the area, she seemed a bit lost, but in his mind that was her, the one he had lost. Without a second thought he ran over and hugged the girl, holding her tight, afraid to let go. Of course she squirmed beneath him until she got free. Now that he was close Minho would realize this wasn’t who he was looking for, but he was caught off guard seeing the girl’s face. She looked just like his lost love.

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Do I know you?” The girl asked. “I-”

“No. I just thought you looked like someone I knew.”

“Oh… sorry…”

“I’m sorry… I’ll be leaving now…”

Minho offered a quick smile and stepped away. He knew he was chasing a ghost, but those little moments when he thought he saw them again, they could spark such peace in his heart. That simple hug, thinking it was someone, it eased his worries, even if only for a second. As he walked away he could still feel the warmth of the embrace, deluding himself into believe it was-

“Y/n!”

Minho stopped dead in his tracks, feeling his heart sink. Hearing your name brought so much to the surface that it overwhelmed him. Tears built up in his eyes, and a tightening was felt in his chest. He looked back at the doppelganger, only to see another familiar face by their side. A friend of their deceased beloved. Without realizing Minho was already walking back over, confronting the pair.

“Alya.”

“Uh…”

The strange gentlemen that had hugged you moments before came back, and was speaking to your friend. The fact he knew their name, you figured they were acquainted somehow, but Alya didn’t seem happy to see him.

“You called her y/n, why?”

“Who… who are you again?”

The stranger suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled up the sleeve, revealing a scar you had. He traced his fingers over it for a moment before you managed to free yourself from his grip, rolling down your sleeve.

“It’s you… you’re y/n…”

“Do… do I know you?” You mumbled. “I… I was in a car accident recently… it caused amnesia and-”

“That’s enough.” Alya covered your mouth. “We should be going, it is late.”

Alya kept your mouth covered, offering the stranger a fake smile and trying to move away, but he grabbed her arm.

“Why didn’t you tell me she was alive!” Minho yelled. “All this time…”

“How dare you!” Alya snapped. “You’re the reason there was an accident in the first place! I may not have all the details, but you and y/n were fighting that night and she left you! She was driving under duress and called me, trying to explain things when I heard the crash…”

“You-”

“Don’t put this on me, Minho! You didn’t reach out either. You were there that night, you saw her laying on the ground and bleeding, yet you walked away, believing her to be dead. She’s better off without you.”

Alya tried to walk away again with you, but Minho wasn’t going to let you leave that easily. Although soon enough a group of men saw the scene and intervened, pulling Minho away from you both. They threw him to the ground and started kicking him. You wanted to stop them but Alya held you back and pulled you away from the scene. All you could do was watch and hear how the men had repeatedly told Minho not to come around here and harass girls. When you got to Alya’s car you couldn’t help but ask.

“Who was he? Minho? Is he an ex of mine?”

“The worst of it. Don’t worry about him, he was awful, and you don’t owe him anything.”

“But-”

“Y/n, he nearly got you killed. It’s better you don’t remember him.”

A lot had changed for you in what felt like an instant. So much of your life was just gone, but you knew that couldn’t hold you back. This place felt like a ghost town. Everywhere you went, everywhere you looked, you felt some faded connection. The doctor had told you that your head trauma from the crash caused your amnesia, and that it was unlikely for you to recover your memories. With all that in mind you figured it was best to move somewhere else, to start over and build your life. 

You still planned to keep in touch with Alya. She was there for you when you woke up, and stayed by your side throughout all your recovery. She admitted that she’d miss having you so close, but she understood your need to find yourself. You still wondered about that ex you ran into, but you knew you couldn’t dwell on the past if you wanted to move forward. You were starting a new chapter in your life after all.

🖤

Minho was still stuck in a routine, but things had changed. He was no longer searching for the ghost of you, but for the one he had lost. After that night he was just focused on finding where you had disappeared to. His best bet was to wait by your friend’s house, surely you would show up, and from there he could find out where you were. It took him days of waiting before he got to see you again. He had to hold himself back from running over to you and embracing you in a hug. Now was not the time.

When you went into your friend’s house he snuck over to your car, placing a tracker on it and going back to wait. Once you came out of the house he had to hold himself back again. As you pulled off into the street he carefully followed you, discovering where you were now. He could see that you moved out of town to a neighboring one. You lived in a small apartment building, and it put his mind at ease knowing where you were now. So he’d spend the days watching you, seeing how you went about your life. You seemed happy, and seeing you smile again made him remember the past.

He thought back to all the time the two of you spent together. Your death made him feel an indescribable guilt, but this was a second chance. Not just for him to make things right, but another chance for the both of you. After some time of watching you, he decided to approach.  You’d go to the farmers market about once a week, and that’s where he’d run into you. He was nervous, but he knew he just had to be himself. Although he did have to encourage himself multiple times to say something or else lose out on speaking with you.

“…ha… hi…”

“Hm? Oh, hello there.”

“I… uh… I’m-”

“Minho?”

“Yes. My name is Minho.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m y/n.”

“I know- I mean, it’s nice to meet you.” Minho offered his hand, which you took. “How… uh… how have you been?”

“I’m doing alright. Still adjusting, but the hard part of my journey seems to be over.”

“I’m glad you made a full recovery.”

“Thank you.”

“Could I… uh… would you like some coffee?”

“I’m good, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Minho had no problem following you around the market, helping you with your bags and picking out fruits and vegetables. It was nice to be together, it felt like old times, like nothing had changed.

“How have you been?” You asked.

“Me? Uh… I’ve been doing okay, doing my best.”

“You should take better care of yourself too.”

“What?”

“Your face.”

“Ah, I’m alright, no need to worry.”

Minho helped you get your bags to your apartment. He only got a small peek into your apartment though.

“Get home safe.”

“Ah, thank you.”

He was sad that you didn’t invite him in, but he could also understand that. Still, he wasn’t gonna just let you go, so he’d watch you from afar. It wasn’t until some days later that he approached you again. He offered you some flowers, your favorites, and you took them with a smile on your face.

“Thank you, they’re lovely.”

“I thought I’d come around to see how you were doing.”

“I appreciate it. I’m doing alright, and you?”

“Better.”

“I can see. Your face doesn’t look so bad anymore.”

“Yeah… I was wondering if I could treat you to a meal.”

“Uh, thank you, but I’m not looking for a relationship right now.” You explained. “I’m trying to move forward with my life and make my own path. You’re someone from my past, and also the reason my present is this way. I don’t know what happened, but the old me left you, and now we’re here. I’m sorry, but I’d appreciate it if you stopped coming around. I don’t have a connection with you anymore.”

“But I-”

“It’s weird having you here since I know no one told you where I was. I won’t call the police, but all I ask is that you leave. Please.”

“I… uh… I understand… sorry…”

🖤

Minho stared down at his wedding ring, remembering that fateful night. He could still hear the yelling in his head, but it was all muffled. That was the night he had proposed, but you didn’t seem ready for that step. You ran away and he could only think to chase you down. He thought he could talk to you, and instead he witnessed the crash, getting into an accident himself. He thought it was all over like a fool, but he had a second chance now, and he wasn’t going to ruin it. Although he had to take matters into his own hands.

He kept his distance as you had asked, watching you from afar and seeing how you lived your life. Just as he had his routine, you seemed to have yours. A way to keep you grounded and moving forward. Once he had a good idea when to make his move he stepped into action. While you were away he broke into your apartment. It was pretty empty as he had expected, you didn’t have much to start over with. Now all he had to do was wait for you. In theory you shouldn’t be gone for long, but any minute apart from you felt like an eternity.

Eventually when he heard you returning he hid, watching you in silence. You put down your grocery bags, starting to take everything out when you heard the floor creak. You looked around, but there was no one. It was probably just the apartment, so you paid it no mind. Then you suddenly felt a hand around your throat, and a rag was over your mouth. You breathed in a strange scent and started feeling dizzy. The edges of your vision were turning black and you felt your strength leaving you. Fear was eating you up, and it consumed you just as the darkness did.

When you regained consciousness your head was still spinning, but you were also worried. Nothing around you looked familiar, and this place was really dark. As you tried to get up you felt something cold against your leg, reaching over and finding a chain. You were really starting to worry, and then you heard a door open. You moved away from the sound, finding your back against a wall and pulling your knees up to your chest. Then you saw a hauntingly familiar face approach you.

“Please… please let me go… I won’t tell anyone…”

“I’m sorry. I know you said you wanted nothing to do with me anymore, but I can’t give up on this so easily. I know you can remember again, or we can just start over and do things right. Either way, I am not losing you again.”

“…”

“I didn’t like how I felt without you. It’s not right. I’m always going to chase you, so let’s try this again.”

[whumpdrivethru]

can i get a whumpee who was kidnapped by whumper and interrogated, but it turns out whumper got the wrong person and whumpee is completely innocent. whumper feels bad for what they did but can’t risk letting whumpee go in case they tell authorities. now they’re stuck with each other but whumpee is still extremely terrified of whumper, and they have to try and make whumpee feel safe again. (hope this makes sense, thanks!)

Hi there anon! Coming right up! Thanks for choosing the Whump Drive Thru!

“I-I told you,” Whumpee whimpered, “I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

Whumper backhanded Whumpee across the face. Whumpee cried out and shrank back in their chair as far as the bindings would allow.

“I’m growing impatient with you, [Name],” Whumper said coldly, opening a switchblade, “I guess I’ll just have to make another mark.”

“Please!” Whumpee begged, “I’m not [Name], I swear!”

Whumper plunged the blade into Whumpee’s shoulder. Not very deep, but enough for Whumpee to scream.

“Enough of your games,” Whumper growled, “it’s impressive that you’ve kept up the lie this long, but-“

“Boss?”

Whumper sighed in exasperation.

“What?” Whumper barked, not looking away from Whumpee.

“We’ve found [Name] in a safehouse near the docks,” Right Hand said, “turns out this one is just a doppelganger.”

Right Hand gestured to Whumpee.

“What!?” Whumper said, whipping around to face Right Hand, “then who have I been interrogating!?”

Whumpee let out a choked sob as blood dribbled from their various wounds.

“Go,” Whumper said, “bring them in, I’ll deal with this one.”

Right Hand nodded and left the room. Whumper turned back to Whumpee, any traces of anger gone from their face.

“Hey,” Whumper said, “shh, it’s okay. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Whumper started to untie Whumpee. Once they were freed, Whumper stood back to give them their space. Whumpee shakily stood up, then their knees buckled. Whumper dove to catch them.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Whumper said, “I should’ve known you wouldn’t be able to stand. What’s your name?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you,” Whumpee stammered, “my name is Whumpee.”

“That’s right, you did say that,” Whumper said softly, “…it’s gonna be okay, Whumpee. I’m going to take care of you.”

Whumper discreetly pulled out a soaked rag. They gently but firmly placed it over Whumpee’s mouth and nose.

“Hm? Mmph!?”

“Shh,” Whumper said, “I’m so sorry. Just go to sleep.”

Whumpee struggled in Whumper’s grip; their efforts were pitiful at best. Eventually, Whumpee drifted off in Whumper’s hold.

…

Whumper sat by Whumpee’s bedside as they slept. They had brought them to the best guest room in their mansion. At first glance, one wouldn’t even know it was more than just a guest room. But upon closer inspection, one would notice the tiny security cameras, the bulletproof, locked windows, and the reinforced door that only had a lock on one side- the outside. Other than those things, it was a beautiful room, and a much better space than Whumpee’s previous arrangements.

Whumper watched the steady rise and fall of Whumpee’s bandaged chest with bubbling guilt. They had taken an innocent person and subjected them to a horrific interrogation that had lasted for hours. It was a wonder the poor thing was still alive.

A gasp roused Whumper out of their thoughts. They looked to see Whumpee trying and failing to sit up in bed.

“Hey hey, easy now,” Whumper said, pushing them back down, “it’s okay.”

Whumpee’s eyes fell on Whumper, and they flinched hard.

“Wh-Where-” they started.

‘Where are you?” Whumper sighed, “I’m sorry to say you’re in your new home. My home.”

“What!?”

“Don’t excite yourself, it’s all going to be fine,” Whumper said, “let me explain everything.”

Whumpee didn’t speak. Whether it was because they genuinely wanted to hear them out or because they were terrified, Whumper wasn’t sure.

“I am the leader of a certain organization,” Whumper explained, “and there has been someone, someone called [Name], that has been getting in the way of my plans. Unfortunately for you, you bear a striking resemblance to them, and my men took you instead of them.”

Whumpee just stared with tears in their eyes.

“I’ve made a terrible error,” Whumper continued, “and as much as I would like to patch you up and send you on your way, I can’t do that. I’m afraid you’ll be staying with me for the foreseeable future. I am truly sorry, Whumpee.”

“You mean… you’re not letting me go?” Whumpee asked.

Whumper shook their head.

“Again, I am sorry.”

Whumpee stared off into nothing while tears ran down their face. Whumper reached out to comfort Whumpee, but they flinched again. Whumper sighed and retracted their hand.

“I’ll leave you alone to get acclimated,” Whumper said, “if you need anything, press the call button on the wall and someone will come in to assist you.”

Whumper stood and headed for the doorway. They heard Whumpee sniffle just as they crossed the threshold and closed the door, locking it behind them.

“Boss?” Right Hand asked.

Whumper looked over at Right Hand.

“Anything they need, Right Hand, it’s theirs,” Whumper said, “but don’t let them leave the building. Heck, don’t let them leave that room. They’re hurt, and the last thing my conscience needs is to learn that they died from a botched escape attempt.”

Right Hand nodded. Whumper left to clear their head, trying to ignore the sobs that came from Whumpee’s room.

-you have been served by Huffle! Please come again!

[notmyneighbor]

resistance | doppel francis x female reader

part 2/?

words | 5.3k

cw | explicit sexual content

ao3 link

taglist | @jazminetoad @uhnanix @fangwh0r3 @zenxvii @mistrosa

You don’t sleep much that first evening with the doppelganger in the next room.

You glare at the alarm clock and shut it off before it has a chance to sound the next morning. Might as well start getting ready for work. You enter the shower before the water has a chance to run warm, thinking maybe the shock of the cold will make you feel more alert. After that brisk cleansing you return to your bedroom, glancing down the hall on the way by, clutching your bath towel tightly around you, but you don’t hear your guest stirring yet.

You get dressed—deciding on a dress today, might as well start with the summer wardrobe now—then prod your skin as you frown at your appearance in the mirror. You’ve got bags under your eyes to match Francis’ this morning. Well, you’d just have to hope the puffiness would resolve later. Concealer will have to do for now.

The replicant seems to have had no such trouble sleeping, you discover as you enter the living room. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling evenly in a slow, gentle rhythm, one arm draped lazily over the side of the couch, fingers brushing the floor, blanket in a rumpled mess across his midsection. You’d never guess in a million years that this slumbering person was really a doppelganger, a monster hiding inside the disguise of a man.

You begin making a quick breakfast in the kitchen, starting with the coffee maker. It isn’t long before your new roommate appears in the doorway, blinking drowsily and digging the heel of one hand against his eyes. It’s such an oddly human gesture. So…normal.

“Good morning.” You’ve finished pressing the paper filter into the machine, spooning a heap of coffee grounds inside, the water already measured and poured and the glass pot sitting on the burner. You normally only make a single cup for yourself, and you’ve no idea if the doppel will be interested, but you decide you’ll make it and offer it anyway.

“Mmmm,” he hums, dragging a hand through his mussed hair. You wonder if any of these mannerisms belong to Francis. Just exactly how much are these doppels able to replicate?

“You didn’t have to get up this early. I just have to go to work.” You point to the coffee maker. “Want a cup?”

“I guess. I’ve never had it before.”

You get another mug down from the cupboard, drumming your nails nervously on the counter while you wait. Francis’ clone is leaning against the doorframe, arms folded, watching you, and it’s making you feel self conscious. You try not to stare too much at all that bare skin he’s flashing.

At last the machine hisses and sputters and begins dripping brown liquid and the aroma of brewing coffee fills the air.

“That smells good,” he murmurs.

You fill his mug three quarters full. “I don’t know how you take it. I mean, you don’t either, obviously, if you’ve never had it before.” You add a spoonful of sugar and pour some cream in and stir, handing the mug to the doppel.

He takes a tentative sip. “Bitter,” he says. “And hot.”

“More sugar, then. You’ve got a sweet tooth, I think. And let it cool for a minute before you take another sip.”

He frowns over the term you’ve used and you elaborate. “It means you favor things that are sweet. Prefer them.”

“Mmmm.” He still looks drowsy. It’s amazing how much he sounds like his human counterpart. Francis Mosses was a man of few words. Stop comparing him to Francis. To humans. He’s neither, you remind yourself.

“Have a seat at the table. It’s just going to be cereal and toast, I’m afraid. I don’t typically cook before work.”

You watch the imposter milkman slouch into the same chair he’d used the previous evening. How strange it was to see a man occupying your kitchen like this. Well, not a man; a male, you suppose, recalling your silent reprimand from moments before. Dropping down, spreading out. He takes up room, the way only one of that gender can. Dominating. The table looks so much smaller with him sitting at it, elbows resting on the Formica table until he moves one arm to lazily scratch at some itch on his chest, the thin white shirt rumpling and shifting. Speaking of clothing…

“I’ll try to find you something else to wear this weekend. I checked the tags on your uniform already. Washed in the sink and hung up to dry in the bathroom. I know it’s not ideal, but for now…”

“Thank you.”

You fill two bowls with cereal and add milk, cutting up the last of the strawberries from the pint in the refrigerator and slotting another pair of bread slices into the toaster after the first set is finished and buttered, setting everything in front of the doppel, along with a spoon and a much sweeter cup of coffee. He takes another hesitant sip, then nods. “Better.”

“There’s leftovers in the fridge for lunch. Or you can make a sandwich.” You’re not sure if he even knows what that is. You suppose it’s a little cruel to make him eat the remains of last night’s dinner cold, but there’s no way you’re letting him use the oven.

The doppelganger eyes the red seeded fruit sliced over his cereal curiously, lifting one free and munching thoughtfully. He hums appreciatively and you add that to your mental list of things he likes. Why does it matter what he likes?

You finally join him at the table, the rest of your meal ready. “What are you going to do all day?”

“I don’t know yet. Just lay low and wait for you to return, I suppose.”

“And then what?”

He’s making short work of the cereal, you notice. Toast, too. Maybe you should offer more. Maybe he needs larger portions. Why are you being so hospitable?

“Then you teach me another recipe.”

“Alright.” You take a bite of buttered toast.

“No vegetables,” he adds.

You smile softly. “They’re good for you. Maybe we can find some you’ll like.”

“Then more cake?” He sounds hopeful.

“It’s gone, but we can bake something else. I only made a small one because I wasn’t expecting company.”

He nods, finishing the rest of his coffee.

You fiddle with the handle of your spoon, trying to think of something else to say. “Were there other doppels there with you? Inside the DDD building?”

“Not that I’m aware. I wasn’t looking, though. I just got out.”

“Did you kill the men?”

He lets his utensil drop, striking the side of the now empty ceramic bowl loudly. “What do you think?”

You lower your eyes. It had been easy to pretend, for a moment there, that he was peaceful. That this was normal. How convincing and manipulative these beings are, you think. How terrible.

“What would you have had me do? I didn’t ask to be taken.”

“I know,” you mumble, wishing you hadn’t mentioned the topic to begin with.

The remainder of breakfast continues in silence. You bring the soiled cups and dishes to the sink, glancing at the clock on the wall. Definitely time to leave for work. You’re running a bit behind, actually. You’re not used to having a second person here to wait on, doing double of everything. The doppelganger follows you to the front door.

“I’ll be home around five, if there isn’t too much paperwork. I’m not planning on staying as late as I did yesterday.”

“Imagine if you hadn’t. Then I wouldn’t be here right now. I’m sure you’re wishing now that you’d left sooner.” There’s a layer of acidity there that he doesn’t bother masking.

Your eyes meet his. “You murder humans. Eat us. How else do you expect me to react?”

“Your kind slaughters animals. Do they deserve it?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Animals are bred to be consumed, for us to survive…”

“And do they not deserve a chance to survive? Do they not have a right to exist as much as you? Don’t answer, because I can see it clearly. You think they’re of lesser value than humans. Just like the doppels.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to,” the mimic retorts bitterly.

“Listen. I don’t know how long you’re going to be hiding out here, but I’ve been trying to be kind to you, accommodate you, and it would be nice if you could return the favor.”

The replicant’s hands, curled into fists, abruptly relax. “I’ve been trying,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Try harder. I’m leaving now. Remember not to make too much noise. Don’t go outside. I can’t be held responsible for what’ll happen if you do.” You shut the door behind you with more force than necessary, realizing your hands are shaking. Infuriating, how judgmental the copycat is. As if he had any right to be, when he’s imposing on you, putting your life at risk.

You’re mad at yourself, because there were moments, last night and again this morning, where you had found yourself enjoying his company, and that admission is something you can’t bare to fully face and analyze the implications of right now.

***

Your shift passes by without a single mention of the doppelganger’s escape the previous evening.

Indeed, if you didn’t know any better, you’d never have guessed anything had happened. The guards still nod courteously as you flash your badge before entering the facility. The standard pair, no additional forces in sight. Everyone else in the office seems calm, focused on their work.

You struggle to feel the same way. There’s a fugitive doppelganger waiting for you when you get home. You can’t stop thinking about him. About your last conversation. He’d been upset. You had, too. You’re not sure if he’ll have cooled off by the time you return.

You try to ask casually in the breakroom if anything interesting had made the news, if anything new was happening at work, but no one provides the information you’re feeling around for. So the story was kept secret, then. Too risky for the DDD to admit they’d lost a captive doppel. Maybe too difficult to explain why he was there in the first place.

Why had they taken him? Why did they alter his memories? Were there other doppels here, too? Being captured and experimented on? To what end?

Your fingers stumble on the typewriter’s keys. You’ve made so many errors today. The wastebin is loaded with crumpled drafts. You find your mind wandering again, your fingers stilling completely. You don’t even hear the phone on the first ring, relying on successive attempts to finally break through your reverie.

You’re no nearer any answers to your questions by the end of your shift. You just find yourself asking more and more. Spreading and multiplying, virus-like. Replicating like the doppels.

The trip to your car is uneventful tonight. Now you’re headed back to the apartment building. To the fugitive you’re concealing.

There’s a doppelganger in your home, and you’re not nearly as upset about that fact as you should be.

***

The day drags by.

The doppelganger isn’t sure what to do once he’s showered and dressed in clothes that are still a little damp, truth be told. The television that humans seem so fascinated with holds no interest for him. He paces the hallway and tries to plan his next course of action. He’s escaped, a free agent, but he’s left without intact memories. He’s not sure if there’s any way to recover them, but if there is, the DDD is the only means to that end.

He can hardly stroll back inside to inquire. Which means possibly putting you to work, seeing what you can discover. Risky, of course. Just like you allowing him to stay here is risky.

He’d been harsh with you that morning. He doesn’t regret it, exactly; he thinks you needed to hear the words, realize the truth behind them. But he’d rather not have had you depart immediately after the argument. It makes him feel…something. He’s not sure what. You make him feel a lot of things he’s not familiar with; has no terminology, lacks definitions for.

He knows he’s been forbidden to enter your bedroom, but he feels that is meant more for when you’re present, for privacy’s sake, so he finally enters in the early afternoon, partly out of boredom, partly out of curiosity. The dresser is littered with objects. A tray full of jewelry, a decoration that baffles the mimic nearly as much as the makeup you wear. There are bottles of various perfumes that he samples, finding most of them to his liking. It reminds him strongly of you, your presence, and he wishes you were home, instead of in that wretched DDD structure.

A wooden hairbrush, the bristles stiff but soft, several threads of your hair visible between them. He watches the way the light filtering in through the windows catches on the strands, turning the handle this way and that. He knows the feel of it, having touched you however briefly the previous evening, securing the loose hair that had spilled free. Silky soft, and fragrant.

Your robe hangs on a hook over the closet door. The doppel takes a handful, lets the fabric brush his injured cheek, inhaling your scent. He knows he’ll also find it in the pillows on the bed, but he doesn’t dare disturb that neatly made furnishing, exiting the room and closing the door quietly behind him.

There is not much else that interests him in your home; little to occupy his time with. He rifles through the mirrored medicine cabinet. A razor. Something he doesn’t require, as his appearance is all an illusion. His face will never grow hair, because Francis Mosses does not have facial hair. He will never need the tousled brown mane to be trimmed, because the length it is at is exactly the same length as the milkman’s. His eyes will always appear tired, because the third floor resident he’s cloned has perpetual smudges beneath his own orbs. The doppelganger stares at his reflection, and for a brief moment, he lets the image shift slightly. The teeth sharpen and yellow, the eyes streak with burst vessels, the lids become red rimmed. You would not care for his real appearance, he is certain.

The milkman’s image is restored. He wanders back to the living room to sit on the couch, waiting for your return.

***

You unlock your apartment door and ease it open, seeing that Francis’ clone is seated on the couch. No disasters, then.

You hurriedly shut and lock the door behind you, stepping forward just as the doppelganger rises and moves toward you. Your handbag is set on the console table.

“How was your day?” The morning’s conversation is still fresh in your mind. The anger on both sides. Your tone is cautiously neutral now, trying to feel things out.

“Boring. Lonely.”

You feel a little ache in your chest at this admission. You don’t know what to say. He missed you, specifically, or just didn’t like having no one else around?

“Did anyone mention me at work?”

“No. Not a word. It was just like any other day.”

“Don’t you find that strange?”

“Yes,” you admit. “But that doesn’t necessarily prove anything.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“I do. I just can’t reconcile that an organization created to protect us would be involved in some sort of devious experiments on the very creatures they’d promised to destroy. I tried to wrap my brain around it all day, and I just couldn’t make it make sense.” You pause. “You’re lonely? Do you have family, or…?”

“Not that I recall. Again, much of my memories are full of holes. This place is empty without you here.”

You swallow, processing that sentiment. So he did miss you. “I don’t want to fight with you,” you say softly.

“I don’t either.”

“Truce?” You hold out your hand and he looks at it curiously. “You shake on it. It’s an agreement. A promise, to keep things peaceful between us going forward.”

“You said never to touch you.”

“I’ll make an exception for this.” His fingers touch yours, threading between them instead of gripping them. “No, it’s meant to be…” Your voice trails off as you stare at that pairing, not drawing back, allowing yourself to be entangled with those warm, human feeling digits. You know they’re not real, and yet they feel it.

“Your heart is beating fast again.”

“I know.” You reluctantly drop your hand. “I should start dinner.”

“We,” he corrects.

“Yes. We.”

***

The doppelganger hadn’t been bragging. He is indeed a fast learner.

Already moving around the kitchen with a comfort and familiarity that’s surprising considering it’s only his second day here.

“You need to crack an egg. You hit it against the side of the bowl, but—” Too late. The doppel smashes the fragile item firmly against the rim and the shell shatters, pieces falling down into the bowl, the yolk running in a slimy trail down the side. “—Not too hard,” you finish, wincing. “It’s okay. We’ll try again. Wash your hands first. I’ll pick out the shell.”

When you’ve finished removing the slivers from the batter as best you can, you select another egg from the carton, handing it to him. “We’ll do this together so you can see how much force to apply. It’s a swift, firm stroke, but very precise, so you’re breaking it open as cleanly as possible to extract what’s inside.” Your hand covers his poised near the rim of the bowl. “Like this.” You guide his hand downward. There is a soft cracking sound, and then you maneuver his hand over the mixture. “Release, gently.” You feel his fingers shift and the jellylike yellow center drops down, the clear, sticky protein filled fluid oozing just behind. “Perfect. You’ve got it.” You smile, turning to face the doppel, and your breath hitches. He’s staring, not at the food he’s preparing with your aid, but at your face, with an intensity that leaves you breathless. Rich milk chocolate eyes, a delicate fringe of lashes on their borders. Full lips slightly parted, breath rushing past. In and out. His hand is so warm.

“You can…you can just drop that into the wastebasket.” You force yourself to release his hand and he obeys your command, the moment dissipating.

***

After dinner and dessert, you both sit on the couch. The television is playing softly in the background but neither of you is paying attention to it.

He’s staring at you again. You can feel it. You change positions and squirm, trying to relax and get comfortable, but it’s impossible. He’d slept here last night. His head cradled right where you’re sitting. Sprawled out. Growing warm during the evening, shoving the blanket down. Long limbs shifting.

You clear your throat. You have to stop thinking these thoughts. “Why don’t we play cards?”

Francis’ clone looks at you quizzically and you jump up, grateful to be kept busy for a few moments, distracting you from the copycat’s gaze as you rummage in the tv cabinet to retrieve a deck. You don’t play often, just an occasional game of Solitaire, but you think the imposter just might enjoy something like Crazy Eights.

“Come with me into the kitchen. We need a flat surface for this.”

You sit at the table and the doppel joins you, watching as you slide the deck free of its container and begin shuffling the cards, dividing the stack and then fanning the edges, then sliding them back together. “Want to try?”

He nods and you guide him through the process. He gets it right on the second attempt, his fingers deftly interweaving the cards.

“Good. Now the game we’re going to play is called Crazy Eights. The goal is to get rid of all the cards in your hand. The first person to do so wins the game. To begin with, we each get five cards.” You deal them out, continuing your instructions. “Leave them facedown for a second. The rest of the deck gets placed here. Top card flipped…okay. Three of spades. That means that if it was your turn right now, you’d need to play another card that is either the same suit, matching this symbol here, or else has the equivalent number value. If you don’t have either of those available, you must keep drawing from this pile here until you find one you can play. With me so far?” He nods. “Now the only other thing you need to know is that the cards with the number eight on them are special. If you place one down, you’re able to declare what suit you want your opponent to play next. We’ll just do a practice run so you can see how it goes, then we can play for real.”

It doesn’t take the doppel long to figure it out. He’s smart, you think. Really clever. Adaptable.

He has to be, you remind yourself silently. That’s how they survive.

You play two rounds, then switch to Rummy, then Spades, then show him Solitaire, something to keep him occupied while you’re at work. You try to conceal a few yawns and the doppel notices.

“You’re tired.”

“It’s been a long day. And I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Because of me.”

“I was nervous.”

“Are you still nervous?”

Yes, you think. But for very different reasons now. Aloud, you simply state that you are.

You place the cards back in the box and leave it on the table. It was time to get ready for bed.

***

The doppelganger makes up the couch while you take your shower.

It’s a simple task that leaves him wanting for things to do to keep him occupied while he waits. His eyes keep glancing to the hallway.

He’s thinking of how it had felt, threading his fingers through yours. Having you hold his when you’d been cooking together. He’s enjoyed this evening with you. You’re the enemy, the one he’s meant to destroy, to conquer, and yet…he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to harm you.

Francis’ clone sits and then stands again. He can’t. He simply can’t tolerate waiting here. He walks down the hall, waiting beside the bathroom door, listening for the sound of the water running, waiting for it to stop. There. Some rustling. Drying off. The sound of the lock turning, and you emerge, looking startled to find him standing right outside.

“Francis.”

He feels odd when you say that name. Partly pleased, because it means he is convincing as the true man. Perhaps a little jealous, too. He wonders if you find the original attractive. A little flare of jealousy at this. He wants to be the superior version. The preferred model.

“I’ve already made the couch up.”

“Oh. Good.” You adjust the height of the bath towel wrapped around you a little higher, concealing more of the curves of your breasts. “Well, I’m finished in the bathroom, so I guess I’ll say goodnight now then.”

“Goodnight,” he says, reluctantly stepping aside to allow you to cross the hall. The bedroom door closes. He stares at that door for a long time, imagining you preparing for bed, your body naked before…

No interest in anything of that sort, isn’t that what he’d promised you? So why is his body reacting this way? The replicant strips and enters the shower, still damp from your recent one, and each stroke of lathered hands over his skin seems a cruel tease, an unsatisfying supplement for what he really wants. He wants your hands touching him, especially…

His breath hitches as he strokes his growing erection. Here. Urging to mate. Sensitive, hot, flushed, hard. Your pleased smile when he does something correctly, the lesson learned. The lines of bone leading to your shoulders, visible even earlier, in the v neckline of the dress you’d worn. Just now, those shoulders bare.

He presses his palms against the wall of the shower, head bowed, letting the water cascade over the nape of his neck. Those lips. He covets those most of all. Those soft looking, pink wedges of flesh. Gates to the warmth and moisture within.

He leaves the shower, aching, unsatisfied. Brushes his teeth like you’d demonstrated. He doesn’t care for the mint flavor, but he does like the clean sensation in his mouth. Combs through his hair. Thinks about you brushing through yours. Those silky strands. Torment.

The mimic returns to the living room, switching off the lamp as he goes. He can find his way in the dark now. He lies down and crosses his ankles, staring up at the void, the blanket shoved at the other end of the couch by his feet. He’s only wearing the briefs. He’s too warm. He shuts his eyes and they snap back open.

You hadn’t locked your bedroom door.

***

You didn’t lock your bedroom door.

You’re thinking this after you’ve gone to bed, lying there suddenly not able to sleep, in spite of how tired you are.

You’re not even sure if leaving the door unlocked was intentional, that’s the crazy part.

Perhaps some part of your subconscious had been at work, providing opportunity, should the doppel be interested.

Be interested in what? You know. Of course you know.

You rest a hand on your chest and feel how hard your heart is pounding. He surely hears it. How can he hear it?

The sound of the doorknob turning makes you hold your breath. You close your eyes and try to keep still. Pretending to be asleep.

A slight creak as the door opens, a click as it shuts. Bare feet sinking into plush carpet. Pausing by the side of the bed. You know he’s there, even with your eyes closed.

“I know you’re awake,” he says softly. “Your heart wouldn’t be beating that fast if you were sleeping.”

“It might if I was having a nightmare.” You can’t help but try to defend yourself just a little. One last measure of resistance before surrendering to the inevitable.

“Is this a nightmare, do you think?”

“No.” You sit up, easing your legs over the side of the mattress. Pushing yourself to your feet. He’s right there. Beside you. You can feel the heat wafting from him.

Your hand reaches out blindly, finding his. Fingers tangling together in the darkness. “Touch me, Francis.”

“I’m not supposed to touch you, remember?”

“You’re not supposed to come in my room, either.”

You can picture him smiling at that, a little smirk. “You left the door unlocked.”

“It was an accident.”

“Was it?” His index finger slides along yours.

“No. It wasn’t.” You turn and his hand shifts, reaching up blindly to sink in your hair, his fingers trailing down your cheek and stroking your jaw. They define collarbone and shoulder and then curve around one breast. Down to your hip and then you take control of his hand again, guiding it beneath the waistband of your satin pajama bottoms.

You whimper, biting your lip when he first grazes your sex.

“No panties. Did you forget those, too? Another accident?” His fingers glide between your lips and you gasp.

“No. Not an accident.”

“You want this.”

“I do. I do want this, Francis. Oh…” He’s brought the dewy slick of your arousal back to your bud, drawing a circle, teasing the hardening flesh out of its hood.

His nose bumps your cheek, trying to find your mouth in the darkness. There. Your stomach somersaults as his lips crush against yours. He moans at that touch and you think it is the most sensual thing you’ve ever heard. Just absolute helpless pleasure and desire. You can taste your toothpaste as he strokes your tongue. Another stomach flip at this sensation. Your nails dig into this shoulder. He’s still massaging your clit as he explores your mouth, until it makes you quiver too much and you sink back onto the bed, reaching for him, urging him to follow.

You feel the weight of his knees pressing on the mattress, sinking down, braced on either side of you. Hands reaching beneath your top to massage your breasts as you struggle to get your pajama bottoms off, lifting your hips and scraping them down over your buttocks. Francis’ clone tries to help, still kissing you, still trying to explore your body while helping divest you of your clothes, everything made more complicated because neither of you has turned on a light. You laugh a little at the absurdity of it and he pauses midway through tossing aside the top you’ve finally removed in a joint venture, the bottoms already shed.

“What’s amusing?”

“Just…doing this in the dark. You can put the light on, you know.”

“But that would mean moving away from you,” he counters. He’s at your throat now, planting wet kisses there. “Besides, I don’t even know where it is. You shouldn’t have worn something so complicated. What you had on last night would have been much easier to remove.”

“You’re right.”

“Mmm-hmm.” He reaches for your hand, laying it on his chest and pushing down. You feel the lean torso of the imposter milkman, the slightly coarse texture from body hair between his pectoral muscles and then again leading down in a stripe to the waistband of his briefs. He keeps pushing, at a slower pace now, and you feel his prick tenting his briefs, hard and demanding, and a little damp spot of pre cum saturating the fabric.

Another moan of sound. You move back to the elastic band and help him shove the underwear down over his hips. Not much past that level, but you don’t think it matters, because you’re both too impatient now. Your legs are spread and he’s found his way between them, sliding his erection across your mound, over your sensitive nub and down to your entrance.

He begins to thrust inside and you drag in a harsh rasp of air at that feeling of being stretched, filled. The doppel leans and pushes further in, down and down until he’s fully buried inside and his mouth is back on yours, his fingers lacing through the hand you have resting limp somewhere near your face.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips lifting slightly, cock easing out before he pushes back inside.

“Where did you learn that word?”

“Where do you think?” He nips at your ear.

“I never taught you that.”

“No. I don’t know where I heard it. But it seems appropriate. That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it? Fucking,” he pants beside your ear after another several thrusts. “Mating. Breeding…”

“Francis,” you gasp, both at his words and the sensation as he pumps in and out of your pussy.

“You feel so good,” he sighs, nuzzling your cheek. “So warm, so tight, so wet…hungry for me, hmm? What a pretty thing you are, so sweet…” His voice fades as he begins pounding into you in earnest, setting a more rapid, intense rhythm. Your pelvis rolls to meet him, knees digging into his ribs. You suck his bottom lip and squeeze the hand that you’re clutching, urging him on. He tastes like salt now, perspiration mixed with soap and musk all lingering at his brow, his cheek, the side of his throat.

Everything is growing tighter inside you, coiling, pressure building. Your bodies slap wetly together and he batters that special aching spot deep inside. He breathes your name and it sounds reverent. Overwhelmed. Back to cursing, primitive and filthy and vulgar, and you drink it from his lips, whisper it back to him. There. It’s happening. Unwinding and shattering around him, becoming boneless, soft, limp as the echoes wrack your limbs, waves that drag at the cock invading you, pulling him under with you, spilling seed, breath hotly huffed above your lips, a little noise of wonder, a groan, the fingers tightening in yours, holding on to you, keeping anchored, until he finally slips free, drops next to you, wet and panting, still tethered to your hand, in the darkness.

[water-to-drink]

Be a Gladiolus in a Field of Belladonnas pt6

Encased In Ice

(Summary): After your sudden alliance with the fatui, it seems your plans of vengeance are possible

Part 1 Last Part Next Part

✧ Masterlist ✧

(Characters): Childe, traveler!Lumine, abyss prince!Aether, Paimon, Pulcinella, Capitano, Dottore, Pierro, Sandrone, Pantalone, The Tsarita, (the others are there they just aren’t mentioned), ??? & ???

(Warnings): Not beta read

(A/n): This took way longer than expected (writer’s block is a bitch), but it’s here. Now that I know where I want this fanfic to go hopefully y’all like what I have planned

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“DAMNIT!!!!”

The shrill voice was accompanied by the sound of a gold chalice being slammed on the marble floor

“What do you mean, there’s been no sight of them?!” Your doppelganger asked the cowering soldiers

“We’re sorry your Grace. We’ve combed through every corner and still there hasn’t been sight of them!” A nameless soldier spoke

“It’s only been a few weeks, they must be hiding somewhere!”

“We’re trying to find the imposter as best as we can-”

“Then try harder! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!!” The almost animalistic shriek sent the soldiers scurrying out of the room like rats

The doppelganger drags their hands across their face, revealing the dark circles that started to appear due to lack of sleep caused by anxiety

“Fuck, they’re probably assembling an army. And they’re gonna come after me and take my head like I almost took theirs….” The doppelganger grab chunks of their hair and begin to pull in an attempt to alleviate their growing panic. “Uhh? Yeah, you’re right. We just need to find them before their army can go against me. We have 6 nations and their archons under our thumb. There’s no way they can face us.” The doppelganger releases the grip on their hair. “I don’t know I would do without you…”

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The trip wasn’t that bad, the only part that you didn’t care for was trying to get Aether and Childe not to kill each other. Other than that, everything’s been alright. The crew treated you nicely, you introduced them to some card games from your world and played some of them on the regular to keep occupied

And before you knew it you reached the shore of the snowy nation, Snezhnaya. A familiar man with a short stature and tall hat waved as you walked onto the dock

“Your Grace, I’m glad you arrived to outr beauty nation safely. Though I wish it was under better circumstances.” Pulcinella said

“I’m just happy that you even allow me here, it’s nice not having to worry about being hunted down.”

“I do hope you find respite in our country, your Grace.” The elderly man turned his head toward Lumine. “I see you brought… the traveler.”

“She was the first one to help me evade capture and saved my life multiple times. Without her I wouldn’t be talking to you right now and I won’t stand for any of your subordinates to harm her or her Paimon in anyway, am I clear with that?”

“Y-yes, let me lead the way, your Grace.”

The harbinger began walking and you and your party soon follow him

“Woo, you gave Paimon a scare back there! It’s almost like you were a completely different person!”

“I have to agree with her, you looked like a sergeant giving orders to new recruits.” Childe leaned in and whispered. “This might be the only time I’ve seen him scared like this!”

Pulcinella lead you to the gate of Zapolyarny Palace. The inside looked absolutely beautiful. You walked down icy blue halls that seemed to be made of ice. The walls had intricate patterns painted onto them, a wall even a mural that was too far away to decipher them. The elderly man opened two big doors and held his head high

“Behold! The Divine Creator of Teyvat!” Pulcinella announced

All of the 8 attendees stood up and watched as you entered the room. Your eyes fixed onto the person in the center

A woman stood proud, a silver crown sat on top of icy blonde hair with light blue tips framing a pale face. Her eyes were a piercing blue and looked colder than the frigid weather outside.

The cryo archon. The Tsarita herself before you

“It is an honor to be blessed by your divine presence, your Grace.” She greeted as she and the other harbingers bowed

“There’s no need for the formalities, I’m grateful that you’re all helping me. But my double doesn’t know that I’m here, I wouldn’t want to put any of you in danger.”

“Only a select few know that you are here, your Grace. We can’t risk your safety by having knowledge of your whereabouts get leaked.” Capitano explained

“We’re already working on a plan to defeat the true imposter and as we this carry out, you can stay in palace for as long as you need.” Pierro said

“Thank you, but I request something else from you.”

“Anything, just say it and we will make come into fruition.” The Tsarita promised

“I need to take part in this plan.” The Harbingers shared glances at each other unsure of what to say. “I can’t sit around knowing that my doppelganger is out there, abusing their power and making the lives of people worse.” You put your hand on your chest. “So I request that you would lend me your resources, because I want to be the one to take my doppelganger off of the throne!”

As your voice bounced off the cold walls the Harbingers all looked at you in horror

“Your Grace, we can’t let you do that in good faith. Your powers aren’t the same as they were when you last walked Teyvat.” Sandrone pleaded

“I know, but Childe told me that you have stones that are the supposed remains of the Creator.”

“We do, but we don’t know if your human form would be able to utilize the effects of these gems and not reject it completely.” Dottore tried to reason

“Bring the gem in.”

The Harbingers turned their heads towards the Tsarita. All wanting to object but can’t bring themselves to do so

“Alright… your majesty.” Pulcinella said as he tried to stead his voice. “You heard her majesty, bring the holy stone in.” He said to an attendant guarding the door

Said attendant rushed out of the room and soon came back into the room with another attendant carting in a glass case containing a glowing stone.

Once the cart was in front of you, you admired the gem. Seeing it on a screen is one thing but seeing it glow with your own two eyes, it truly looked it was something holy

“Uh you know don’t have to do this, you might get hurt really badly.” Paimon pleaded

“She’s right, we can find another way to get your hold powers back.” Lumine suggested

“Your Grace, that is one thing I agree with them on. We nor you don’t know what would happen if you touch that stone.” Aether was the last one to urge you against this idea

For a second you thought maybe it was a bad idea to connect with it, but you had to do what needs to be done

“As I said, I’m a hell of a lot more resilient than I look.” You gave the Harbingers and the twins the most reassuring smile you could muster

You turned your attention back to the gem and mentally prepared yourself. You finally expended your hand and touched the Primogem

A flash of light enveloped you and…

Nothing happened

You looked around the room to see if anything was out of place, except for the gem being gone

“D-did the Primogem vanish?” You asked mainly to yourself

“It looked as if it had fused with you.” Aether replied

“How do you feel, is there anything out of usual?” Lumine asked

“Not that different. If the rock didn’t fuse with me I would’ve assumed it didn’t work.”

“It appears to be that these ‘Primogems’ have a lot less power than what we originally believed.” Pantalone muttered to himself

“If that’s the case, then I’ll put an order on searching these gems.” The Tsarita declared

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Things at the Grand Narukami Shrine have been… tense, to say the least

Everyone is so agitated at the news of an imposter still loose somewhere. It really isn’t a desirable environment to read light novels. But the Guuji is having much more fun listening to the shrine maidens expressing their concerns about the possibility of said impostor in their humble nation

“I’m just saying, where else would that rat go than here!” The shrine maiden Nana said

“It would be very foolish on their part, the Shogun and her army would immediately drive them out!” Hotomi scoffed

“Enough of that nonsense.”

The two shrine maiden turned towards the sound of the voice and saw the Shogun walking into view

“Al-almighty Shogun, we’re honored that you visited us, is there anything we can do for you!” Hotomi stammered through

“Leave, and tell everyone you see here to do the same.” The purple haired woman said

The two women run towards the stairs scared of the wrath they might face if they stall any longer

Once seeing that the shrine was truly empty the Shogun turned towards the youkai, who was enjoying her tea

“My, my, that was a little harsh to scare them away like that.” The Kitsune mused while standing up from her seat. “Seeing you here, I would assume you have something important to tell me.”

The head shrine maiden walked towards the taller woman

“So what do you have to tell me, puppet?”

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[berrypass-de-murdler]

66, 67. Logico Reads Books, the Second Part

I feel bad when people like reblogs I made of someone else's art bc it's probably an accident

Again designed by Fletch and drawn by me, here's Philologist Flint, the biggest nerd to have ever nerded. Or would that be the smallest? Because he looks about 12 and barely taller than Logico. Huh??? Fletch says he looks too much like Gainsboro, but I don't really see it.

Great, book-reading episodes again

DON'T READ THE EPISODES UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST BOOK!!

"Vive la Revolution!"

Logico cringes as he opens another book… this one is an old-times murder mystery featuring doppelgangers of Amaranth, Navy, Eminence, and Champagne. The Navy fake is named ‘Amiral Marine’. Apparently a single murder happened in the middle of a war. 

LOGICO: Thrilling.

He tries to read the book as fast as he possibly can to get any hint of useful information, just like I’m doing writing this. In the end, does it actually matter? (It was "Amaranth".) The murderer got away, and Logico sighs. 

LOGICO: This is the way the world is. The bad guys got away with it.

He should talk, he literally lets half the people go. Tuscany?? A few episodes ago?!

Great shit. Yay, next episode.

The end!

"King Arthur and the Murder of a Jester"

This book’s gonna be even worse - it’s about a fantasy kingdom. HOW IS THIS HISTORY?? 

LOGICO: You can’t just MAKE SHIT UP. [says the talking magnifying glass]

This book has fakies of Lavender, Violet, Dukey, and Rulean. It has many things, mythical locations, talking swords, just- UGH! Logico can barely concentrate on this ‘legendary jester murder tale’, and his thoughts drift away to something slightly more important. 

IRRATINO: Look, look, I’m gonna show you something and you will blow your mind.

LOGICO: Look how excited I am. IRRATINO: You take a book, close it, and… OPEN IT AGAIN! At random. And see what it says!! And then it determines your future. It’s called… BIBLIOMANCY. LOGICO: Wow. Amazing. I am thrilled. 

Irratino does it over and over again with the biggest grin.

LOGICO: Well, I’m glad you found a way to ‘entertain’ yourself. I need to buy groceries.

Logico finds himself closing and opening the book at random. Just… because. He wants his goat lord back. In the end of the story, the fake Duke Vermillion was cheesing with a sword, and started spinning around with it as a jester was cartwheeling by, and thrust his head off, and now all violence today is apparently his fault

LOGICO: OH MY GODDDDD

That’s it. Books are NO help. He goes to what actually might BE help - the runes on the ruins. He looks at the letters (which don’t spell ‘eulogy’). What they do spell, however, is… I RULE ANON.

Logi doesn’t actually care who this is referring to. Or does he? It might have to do with- no. Nothing can get him to open that book again.

The end!

Deepest apologies

Next episode for bday is better I promise

(crumples into a ball of shame)

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[pedroschka]

your one of my fave joe writers so here’s some prompts I’d love to see you work your ✨magic✨ on, ignore / do whatever just some ideas👀🙈

[ ] joe and reader going on a date to the aquarium? ✨✨✨

- [ ] I’m sure we’ve all seen that post from spain(?!) where joe brought everyone a round of shots and set a timer… but what about a blurb / imagine of that, but reader doesn’t drink OR OR there’s only one slice of lime/lemon left and two shots 👀👀

- [ ] Single mum reader x joe, in the middle of a date and the sitter calls as there’s an emergency👀👀👀

Dating app dilemma

Joseph Quinn x single!mum reader

A/n: ahh sorry it took me a while but I chose the third one, hope you like it! <3

Swiping left, left, left, hm not so bad...right, left again. Passing weird selfie poses, pictures with their pets...Where you would rather pick the pet, group pictures, pictures without their face on it, or the last category, simply not your type. Dating app dilemma.

Honestly, you didn't even know what you were looking for, after the first few minutes of swiping you knew that a Henry Cavill doppelganger was out of discussion. You just knew that after five years of being single and a growing collection inside your bedside table that it just wasn't enough anymore to soothe the aching feeling, you needed to get laid. You needed skin-to-skin. you needed intimacy with another person and not just five minutes alone with yourself and then rushing to pick up your daughter from school. So dating app it is.

After a little debate with yourself, while creating your profile and the question popping up if you're having children already you decided against it, it shouldn't matter if you were a single mum, it was just sex right? one night and never seeing each other again so why bother. this wasn't about her and you weren't interested in answering questions about her to total strangers. This was all about you.

It's easy to forget about yourself and your own needs when you're busy looking after another tiny human who is fully depending on you and your love and care. But now she's six and just started school, making friends, and rather wants to hang out with them after school and do sleepovers instead of spending her time with her mum. And that's okay. But you forgot how lonely it can get when coming home to an empty house and spending the night alone in your bed without a body to cuddle with.

After another few left swipes, your thump stills over the next profile. Joseph / 28 / actor. You scrolled through his pictures, him casually sitting with friends, drinking. A beany on his head, brown curls peaking out under it, smiling cheekily into the camera. the second with him, on the beach, shirtless, with sunglasses perched on his head and squinting into the camera. A good mixture between ordinary-looking but also hot and sweet British guy. The best one so far. His interests are nothing special though, reading, music, meeting friends, and going to theaters. But good enough to give it a try.

Taking the chance you decided to write him right away, luckily it was Friday so your daughter is gonna be with her friend until Saturday night, which means a nearly full day for you.

" hi, fancy a coffee tomorrow, see how it goes?"

Now it's on him to answer.

Luckily for both of you, you received a match half an hour later and his answer with suggestions for whereabouts and time. Perfect.

---

After getting off the phone with your daughter, just checking in on how it's going you started to make yourself ready for your date, could you even call it a date?

Joe and you agreed on meeting in a cafe luckily just a few walking minutes away from your home and you would lie to yourself if you would say you were not nervous, you couldn't remember when the last time was when you rummaged through your closet, changing your outfit over five times, angry with yourself for not owning anything near sexy, wardrobe full of comfy clothes. Burning yourself on your curling iron because in your head you already were ten steps ahead, rethinking your conversation topics because sadly, you can't have a one-night stand with a total stranger without having to talk to him first. Cleaning your flat, hiding everything that screams "here lives a child", and even making your bed even though you know you have to do it again after (hopefully) having sex in it. You were a mess to put it lightly.

As you arrived you quickly searched over the few guests hoping to still recognize him. A man is sitting in the right corner, sunglasses perched on his head full of tousled brown curls, a brown shirt with the last button ignored, and a necklace around his neck. Yep, that's him.

Walking straight up to him, he eventually lifted his head and after a few seconds he recognised you, a shy smile spreading across his lips as he stood up to greet you with a hug

A bit taken by surprise by this but also relieved that he made the decision for you on how to greet each other. Just the small touch seems to decrease your nerves on a more pleasant level where you don't feel like throwing up any second anymore.

You both sat down across from each other and you felt like you had been thrown back into your last job interview. His big brown eyes meet yours and create the most intense eye contact you only knew from when your daughter was still a newborn and kept staring at you with her big owlish eyes full of curiosity. But instead of melting into a puddle out of pure love you now stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights, trying to think of anything to sell yourself just right but your mind is clouded with anxiety and your fight-or-flight response is kicking in and you're ready to flee.

" So are we ready to order?"

His question is simple but still manage to overwhelm you

"Oh…yeah yeah sure "

Your whole appearance has to come off as very uncomfortable and just miserable because his next words made you look at him horrified

"Oh man, this is not how you imagined this, is it? Am I looking worse in real life?"

"Wha…no of course not! I'm so sorry! I'm not been on a date for a long time, to be honest between the guy with the picture of him and his dog with matching sunglasses and the other guy who asked me if I was more of a cheese or a ham kinda girl you are a jackpot already!" You panic, do you seriously fucked this all up in under five minutes because of your own body language betraying you?

Before you can spiral even more in self-pity you hear a deep cackle, oh he's laughing. it was a joke.

" I feel flattered, that's some serious competition I got here! I'm so glad you chose me!" he touched his chest in fake surprise

You giggled at his silliness, thankful that he was trying to lose up this whole situation and creating a comfortable atmosphere for both of you.

"But really, cheese or ham?" He raised one comical eyebrow, tilting his head a little, and looked at you expectantly making you giggle again

"I'm vegan so neither"

"Oh good to know! What do you usually order instead of normal coffee? Maybe I could give it a try " his entire demeanor changes instantly again, and he looks genuinely interested with his arms on the table, leaning forward.

Surprised by his unbiased reaction, not being used to not having to explain yourself or start a discussion over your chosen lifestyle you give him a grateful smile

" You usually can just ask for any non-dairy milk for your coffee but when I'm feeling extra fancy I like to order a vegan whipped coffee, that's basically just coffee and coconut sugar whisked together until it's super fluffy on top of any non-dairy milk, so it kinda looks like a caramel turd floating around" instantly cringing at your description for it you hide your face behind your hands " I...I don't know why I thought it was a good idea to compare food with poop I'm sorry "

"No, it sounds delicious! I think I'm gonna order the caramel turd " he starts laughing with you, still not taking his eyes off you. Giving you his full undivided attention like you are the only person that matters right now.

You can't remember the last time you laughed so much, Joe surprised you with one silly question or bad joke after another, at one point even imitating accents while reading the dishes on the menu, making you choke on your coffee which ended with him tapping you on the back and handing you a napkin to dry your teary eyes all while still giggling.

Right in the middle of him telling you the random story of how he got the little scar on his forehead you got interrupted by your phone ringing, seeing your friend's name on the display where your daughter is staying right now, You grimaced, signaling him that you're sorry but have to take it.

" What's going on?" You already have a bad feeling about this ,why else would she call

" I'm so sorry to bother but she has thrown up and is feeling a bit sick, I think It would be better if you could pick her up?"

" Yes yes of course" you looked at Joseph, who pretends to not listen to your call and inspected the menu with great interest " give me 20 minutes " at this he locks eyes with you and you could see his disappointment, guilt creeping up inside of you " thank you, bye!" You ended the call, closed your eyes frustrated, and taking a deep breath before looking at Joe again

"I'm so sorry but something really important came up and I really have to go" you're already standing up and collecting your bag, unbelievably uncomfortable and feeling like the rudest person having to cut it all off like this with no explanation for him.

"Oh uhm…yeah ok" he stood up too, looking bummed and equally unsure of how to act now "bye… I guess?"

"But it was really nice meeting you…bye" quickly turning towards the door, leaving Joe standing in front of two unfinished cups of coffee with hanging shoulders and multiple questions swimming around his head, asking himself if he did something wrong, maybe was too intrusive. Did you used one of those fake calls to get away from him? He really thought you both had a great time until now.

—

After taking care of your daughter and putting her in her bed you slumped yourself into the sofa grabbed a pillow beside you and pushed your face into it, muffling your frustrated groan. One date. The first date after five years and you fucked it up.

Deep inside you knew that this wasn't over the missed opportunity of getting laid, maybe it never was and you hoped for a deeper connection again.

Grabbing your phone from the table you searched for Joe's profile, it was just fair to explain yourself to him and apologize again right?! You still could see the hurt and disappointment in his eyes and you just can't handle the guilt.

You open the chat, and after writing, deleting, and writing again you just clicked on send

" Hey again. I feel really bad about how it ended today I had a really great time with you and thought I owe you an explanation at least. I have a six-year-old daughter and she was with her friend but she got sick and threw up so I had to pick her up. sorry for wasting your time ."

There was still a tiny spark of hope that maybe he was still interested and wanted to give this a second chance and even if not, to be mature enough to communicate this with you and not choose the easy way and just ghost you.

You watch in disappointment as the 'online' switched off and you were left on read.

the tiny spark goes out as quickly as a candle in the wind and it hurts, but you refuse to even shed a single tear about him

His lost.

Your disappointment morphed into anger at him and at yourself. What a silly idea to start trusting men again, you saw the last five years that you're fine without them. You should just focus on your daughter again. Why even waste your time going on dates with some arseholes who have the maturity level of your six-year-old, hell even she has more because she wouldn't ghost someone because they have a kid. Fuck him. fuck men.

The notification for a new message instantly forces you out of your empowering "stay single"- motivation speech and enlightens the spark right back as you gawk at his answer, neglecting everything you told yourself just seconds ago.

" So tomorrow, same place, same time? :)"

(reblogs and comments are very appreciated additional to your likes)