#i’ve passed rage and now i’m just sad

[voulezloux]

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[southern-fried-simpin]

We Belong Dead| Alastor x Dead Wife!Reader

A/n: Hey everyone I know it’s been a LONG time since I’ve written something and I’m sorry it’s not DC related but I finished Hazbin with my fiancée MONTHS AGO and I’ve been wanting to write Alastor soooo bad! With all of that being said, let it be known that I do NOT condone or agree with any of the questionable actions and opinions of Vivienne Medrano, but I DO enjoy this show and a lot of the characters.

Warning(s): Floofy but suggestive, Alastor “using” reader and reader just kind of going along with it, mentions of murder, sad at first, human Alastor and reader mentioned, temporary unrequited love, Demi romantic Alastor, Alastor because he’s…Alastor, mentions of marriage, canon divergence, suicide, death, loooooong introduction and plot h🫠

“Mama, we’re gonna get married!”

Alastor had decided that you were both ready for marriage in the middle of the school yard and decided to announce this as his mother came to pick him up.

His mother feigned shock as she started to playfully chide him.

“You can’t just marry some girl you met on the first day of school!”

Alastor kept his arms around you as you both giggled and showed his mother the ribbon he had tied around your finger.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed.

“Obviously you two are very serious about this! How about we have your fiancée over for dinner after school one day so I can get to know her better, hm?”

Despite Alastor never having that wedding ceremony with you on the playground, you both remained close all the way up until you graduated high school. After that, you went your separate ways.

Several years later, when Alastor bumped into you as you were leaving the corner store one day, you ended up talking to him for hours. After which, you had started getting together more often. Eating out, going to shows, drinking and having fun together.

Somewhere along the way, however, having fun together turned into going on dates together. Going on dates turned into staying up late talking for hours about anything and everything, and lovely gifts.

One such gift being your engagement ring.

Looking back on it now, you don’t know how or why you thought it was normal for a man to propose after 6 months.

On the outside, Alastor was the husband that every woman dreamed of. He helped you clean and cook, he never raised his voice, and he always bragged about you. On the inside however, something felt stiff. Tense. Off.

Alastor rarely ever initiated kisses, he barely touched you, and he disappeared in the middle of the night rather frequently.

After he was killed, it all made sense. You weren’t his wife so much as you were his alibi. Who would have thought the vicious killer that buried his victims on a hunting ground had a wife waiting at home? A wife who, despite what everyone believed, was oblivious to his crimes. It didn’t matter, though. In a matter of days, you lost your job, your friends, and your peace of mind. In the weeks that came to pass, you slowly lost your mind and your will to live as well.

You died in your sleep after taking a cocktail of pills with a glass of brandy. The police found you in bed wearing your most expensive nightgown, your hair neatly styled, and makeup done perfectly.

Just like before, time had gone on, and your time in hell had been quite interesting. Maybe even a bit enjoyable if you were being honest. The old saying rang true: Hell truly had no fury like a woman scorned. Your arrival in Hell was a testament to that.

Armed with your broken heart and raw, stinging rage, you made a home for yourself and began your own business. Anyone who got in your way was sliced open with the very weapons you sold. You were very aware of Alastor’s presence, but made no effort to contact him. He had no idea you were here, either.

That changed a few days ago.

Who should you see while on an outing in Cannibal Town but your darling husband. He looked different, but you recognized him almost immediately. He offered to walk with you and followed you even after you declined. Every day after that, he miraculously ran into you everywhere you went. He was relentless in trying to get your attention. He would try to talk to you and when you ignored him, he would carry on speaking like it was nothing. Today you finally cracked when he invited you to come to a hotel. The Hazbin Hotel, specifically.

“Why?”

“Well, I thought I might show you this little…business venture…I’ve been working on recently! After all, it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my lovely wi-“

“Don’t call me that.” You spat.

His smile never faltered, but his eyes held a look of momentary discomfort.

“Ah, and here we are!” Alastor pointed his staff towards the building in front of you. It looked like some place from when you were alive, except old and decrepit.

Ever the gentleman, Alastor held the door for you as you walked in before he followed suit. Not 5 minutes passed before a woman with long silver hair angrily stomped in your direction.

“Alastor! Where have y-,” she paused when she noticed you by his side, “who…who the fuck is this?” A blonde was following close behind her.

“I’m glad you asked!” Alastor’s smile broadened. He proceeded to introduce you as his beloved wife to everyone in the room, and then introduced them to you, completely ignoring the looks of shock and awe on their faces. Before anyone else in the room could speak, Alastor hastily took your hand.

“Now, if you excuse us, we have some things to discuss.” With that, you and Alastor promptly dissolved into a shadowy mist.

The lobby was silent then as everyone stared at where Alastor and you once stood.

“Ssso…that was weird for everyone elsse too…right?”

Meanwhile, upstairs, Alastor turned after carefully locking the door to his room.

“Now, I suppose I owe you an explana—“, he was cut off by a resounding smack when your hand connected with his cheek. Alastor’s head turned with a sharp snap. He stood completely still there for a moment, eyes wide and smile looking painfully forced. If it had been anyone else, they would’ve been dead by now, but you? Well…he always liked how feisty you were. Alastor cleared his throat before speaking again.

“Alright…”, he said while turning to face you. “I probably deserved that…”

“You deserve a lot worse than that actually, but go on.”

“I know, and I can’t…” Alastor suddenly felt unsure of what to say. Granted, The Radio Demon was not one for heartfelt apologies (or any apologies for that matter) but if anyone deserved one from him, it was you. Yet, there he stood: the feared Radio Demon, lost for words at your mere presence.

There was a long and uncomfortable silence.

“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” You finally said. “What I suffered because of you?!”

Alastor offered no response.

“What FUCKING-“ you paused as tears began to well in your eyes. Your face red and splotchy and your lips quivering as you started to sob.

“You lied to me-“

“I did.”

“You used me!”

“I did.”

“You told me you loved me!”

“I do.”

And that gave you pause. Had he loved you? Really loved you? No. It had to be a lie. He couldn’t possibly-

“I know I can’t make up for everything I did and everything that happened…” Alastor said while walking towards you. When he stopped, just a few inches from you, you had to look up at him. Alastor was taller than you in life, but now he towered over you. He gently took your hand in his. “But I’ll spend the rest of eternity trying…for you.”

You watched as he gently kissed your fingers. With tears in your eyes and an uneven breath, you laid your head on his chest.

You missed him. You tried not to miss him, but you did and there was no use in denying it anymore.

“One chance,” you finally said. “That’s all you get.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

You looked up at Alastor and locked eyes with him briefly. The feared Radio Demon wanted nothing more right now than a chance to have you back. His eyes flitted between your lips and your eyes before he dipped you low. To anyone else, it would be an over-the-top gesture, but to you? Oh, how his theatrics made you blush and swoon.

“So…what do you say, darling?” He leaned in closer, almost touching his forehead to yours.

“Do we have a deal?~”

You raised a brow at his words.

He chuckled then.

“Ah, I apologize for my poor choice of words. What I meant was: May I have the honor of courting you, my dear?”

Your eyes softened and you smiled up at him.

“Yes, darling.”

[wildemaven]

strangers : climax | dave york

pairing: dave york x fireader word count: 6307 content warning: 18+ blog; established relationship, workaholic Dave, Soft Dave, miscommunication, implied/ alluding to infidelity (there is none, reader just doesn't know this), Dave's phone deserves its own warning, mention of food and alcohol consumption, a moment in a dressing room where reader inspects her reflection/self image judgments, smut (oral f receiving, fingering, semi public sex, kissing after oral, public affection, some praise if you squint), angst and sad feels, somewhat jealous Dave in a kind of joking manner, lots of tears, reader is mentioned wearing a dress and jeans- but zero description features, no age given but it's implied she's at least over 30, no y/n, established relationship, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know notes: it's finally here!!! I'm so sorry it took so long to get this chapter out into the world. I was working through lots of writing blocks, kids, travel, and sickness. But it's finally here!!!! This one is a doozy in so many ways but I'm so excited for it!! I'm so grateful for everyone who takes the time to read, share, comment and like each chapter of this series. I'm sad it's almost over!!

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It’s almost sadistic. Taunting every single fiber of your being as each chord of the melody, so perfectly orchestrated, looms over the hotel bar. 

Your body betrays you. So easily giving in to the song's familiarity as each word reverberates through your chest. Flashes of Dave dressed in black, spinning you in front of your closest family and friends drowned out the urge to ask for the song to be skipped. 

The liveliness of the crowd pouring into the dimly lit space helps block out the music. Your fingers swirl around the condensation slowly settling around your drink that sits untouched on the mahogany bar top. Your mind sifting through the day's events leading up to this moment, where you’re sitting alone, annoyance raging in your veins, in a dress you're starting to regret buying. 

*

Lunch was relaxed and pleasant. The oceanfront views of the small cafe were something straight out of a movie. The weather was warm enough to enjoy the patio dining, a subtle breeze cutting through periodically. The ocean swells breaking masked the bustle of beach goers and passing cars. It was everything you had wanted to experience in this beautiful city.

Dave had been fully present since the intimate moment you both shared back at the hotel. More than he had been the entire trip thus far. Keeping you close to him, his hands never leaving you once stepping out of the room. As if to silently say I’m all here with you and I love you. 

You relished in the closeness of him. Internally screaming with increasing avidity at his electrifying advances all afternoon. 

Pulling your chair closer to where he sat so his free hand could nestle between your thighs. Too focused on twirling the pasta around your fork between discussing the most current events Dave had read in the morning paper while waiting for you to return from your walk. 

Growing and falling Stocks. Government scandals that could trickle down and affect parts of his job. National affairs of all levels that jumped out to him. All things you hadn’t really kept up with until meeting Dave, were now things you looked forward to listening to him talk about and giving your input with your own perspective. 

It's when Dave starts discussing something about sports or sports related that throws you off balance. Not necessarily so much in what he’s saying, but in what he’s doing when he’s saying it. 

“So if they draft him this year, he’ll be a starting rookie…” Dave says as he shifts forward in his chair to adjust his position, hand slightly shifting where it still rests between your legs, his pinky sliding up the crotch seam of your denim with an ample amount of pressure. 

“I’ve got money on him this season…” Your mind is too cloudy to even focus on what he’s saying. 

An instant jolt of arousal splinters across your body, you use your napkin to hopefully muffle the moan you nearly choke on. Oh! It’s deliberate, Dave’s expression collected and unphased as he carries on, continuing to drag his digit up and down the thick layer of fabric. 

“You okay, Honey?” He smirks, applying a little more weight behind his touch, before directing his attention to the server passing by the table and signaling for the check.

“Mmhmm— y-yeah! I’m fine. Great!” Your voice pitches at an unusual tone, frantically nodding in response as you wring the napkin between your fingers trying to not succumb to the pleasure currently building in your core. 

It’s a tragic feeling when his hand abandons the heat of your thighs. His focus now is on inspecting the bill, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and tucking the proper amount of cash into the server’s book. 

“That’s good.” He says all blasé as he looks at you with deadpan expression, situating his wallet in place again. 

“Oh my god— Dave! You are the worst!” You toss your napkin at him, shaking your head as you laugh at his flirtatious behavior. 

*

A proper casualness flows between the two of you following lunch— a familiar domesticity that had become so foreign to you. It now almost seems too far-fetched to think things have been strained in the last few months leading up to today and this seemingly perfect afternoon with Dave. 

A stitch of guilt begins to weave through your mind as you take in Dave’s unreserved laughter and the way he looks so, extremely happy. Maybe you were premature in believing that there was anything wrong to begin with. 

There’s a liveliness to Dave that has felt so rare to witness as of recently. No signs of stress. No closed off demeanor. No inkling of any distress that threatens to disrupt a marriage you so desperately desire to keep intact. 

He’s remarkably your Dave— through and through. 

The sun becomes far more dominating as the day passes. It’s fiery intensity has you squinting as you step out of the cute little ice cream shop you dragged Dave into after lunch. 

Thankfully you’re more than prepared. A pair of dark sunglasses now perched on the bridge of your nose and the light fabric tank you opted for thanks to Dave’s attentive nature for planning, always checking the weather forecast incessantly as he sips from his morning coffee.

It’s no surprise at the influx of tourists that crowd the sidewalk as you both amble about. Your arm wrapped around Dave, his free hand gently resting at the nape of your neck, both of you working against the heat to keep your ice cream from dripping down the cone. 

There’s a silence that hangs around the enjoyment of the summer treat, but it’s not uncomfortable. People watching and window shopping paired with brief moments of sweet banter have seemed to reignite the flame that had slowly begun to dwindle. 

“Woah!” A swarm of teenagers rocketing by on skateboards out of nowhere has you stunned, several of them nearly knocking into you. 

“What the fuck!” Dave’s quick like reflexes immediately turn on and he’s pulling you into his chest as the last few of the trailing skateboarders roll by. “Get off the sidewalk before you hurt someone, you punks!” 

“Yeah yeah! Fuck off old man!” The last of the bunch, a typical backwards hat wearing unphased teen, yells over his shoulder raising his middle finger as he skates off into the distance. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, giving you a quick once over. 

“I’m fine. They didn’t hit me— just startled me more than anything.” You assure him. 

“Still— those little assholes almost sideswiped you. And that little fucker calling me an old man?” Dave grumbles, following your lead to continue walking despite wanting to track down the group and give them a piece of his mind. 

“Easy, they’re just having fun. If I remember correctly, you too were once a little asshole. There’s a laundry list of stories your mom has shared with me to back that up too.” He scoffs at your comment, knowing exactly which stories his mom has divulged to you about his wild adolescent years. 

Your favorite being when a senior year prank almost resulted in suspension and losing scholarships. Dave and a few of his high school friends had decided to toilet paper and egg the principal’s home one night. The group of teens had thought they pulled it off until they came to school and their pictures were plastered in every classroom— security cameras were not taken into account while planning such a prank. Dave’s parents caught wind of the incident and the missing rolls of TP from their home and forced Dave to turn himself in. Dave confessed as a lone prankster, adamant that he didn’t know who the other students were in the images, resulting in tutoring lower grade classmates the remainder of the semester and a few weekends of community service. 

“I’m not an old man.” He murmurs against your temple, pressing his lips to your warm skin. His hand settles into your back pocket directing his attention to his almost finished ice cream. 

“Didn’t say you were.” Grinning at his annoyance. “Your mom earlier— How is she? Everything okay?”

“She’s good. Everything’s good. Just checking in. Making sure we’re settling in okay here— you know how she is.” It feels like he’s saying a lot without saying much of anything. 

“Yeah— definitely sounds like her. Feels like it’s been forever since I’ve talked to her. We should invite them over for dinner when we get back. Proper catch up— share about our trip with them in person.” You look at him, his head nodding along at the suggestion. 

You’ve always had a close relationship with his mother, Carol. Weekly trips to the farmers market and coffee dates became a regular thing after you and Dave married. Family dinners took place once a month, rotating between each other’s houses or restaurants. Carol never wanted to be one of those overbearing mother in laws, always making sure that you and Dave didn’t feel suffocated by her and Dave’s dad’s presence. 

“Okay. I’ll umm— I’ll call her when we get back. See what her and dad’s calendar looks like. I’m sure they’ll jump at the chance to get together, since our busy schedules haven’t seemed to line up in the last few months.” 

“Perfect.” 

There’s a beat of silence that follows making plans with his parents. Like there was more he wanted to say but left it unsaid. You don’t push for more and let any needling thought dissolve. 

“How was it?” Dave points to the remaining milky soup that’s settled into the top of your semi soggy cone. 

“It was delicious.” You tell him, then lapping at a few random drips racing down your wrist with your tongue, savoring the last of its salty sweetness.

“Let me have a taste of it.” He says, pulling you both out of the main flow of people walking behind you. 

“What? You don’t even like this flavor, Mr. Vanilla is the only flavor that truly matters.” You playfully mock his go-to choice of a single scoop of plain vanilla, not even a punch of vanilla bean or a sprinkling of chocolate chunks— he’s a simple man. 

“Maybe my taste buds have evolved?” He counters, pulling you flush against him under the shade of a store awning. “Give me a taste.” 

Everything around you fades to the background, it’s just the two of you. Dave’s lips molding to yours. His tongue gently skims over your lower lip, silently seeking entrance. 

It’s unhurried and thorough. A stark contrast from the chilly sensation that still lingers from the frozen dessert and the heat emanating from the way Dave’s tongue languidly traces over every bit of surface he can reach. Dizzying your senses, your mind fully immersed in the way he still tastes of sweet vanilla as he explores every detail of your mouth. Lapping at the remnants of the melted salted caramel that coats your tongue. 

It’s vulnerable and thrilling— feeling so right and fully present together. 

Your ice cream cone falls from your hand, crashing hard on the cement walkway, giving you the freedom to wrap your hands around his neck and relax even more into the kiss as Dave guides you through it. His hand squeezes your ass through your denim pocket, securing you against him. His other hand cradles your face as he swallows the small moans you produce when he nips tenderly at your bottom lip. 

“Dave—“ Is the only coherent word you can think of when he finally breaks the kiss. Your fingers tighten around his short hair as you float back to the ground. 

“I like the way it tastes on you. Might be my new favorite flavor.” He smiles, releasing small puffs of his breath over your lips. 

*

It was the first shop that caught your attention, the front display had you stopping in your tracks. Your initial interest to merely window shop, a signal to Dave that you were interested in the possibility of checking out more of their inventory. 

“Sweetheart? You doing okay in there?” Dave asks cautiously, as if to not scare off any potential decisions you might be deliberating over from behind the velvet curtain of the dressing room. 

It’s nothing new, a song and dance you’ve been through before— turning and inspecting from head to toe. Your mind in an epic battle with the reflection framed in front of you, dreading anytime you step foot in anything that resembles a fitting room. 

Except this time you’re not tearing apart every little thing about what you’re seeing, finding all the negative reasons as to why this particular dress isn’t working.

It’s the complete opposite, because you love the dress and you can see yourself wearing it on many occasions without a doubt. 

An ambered hue that reminds you of autumn when the leaves turn, and Dave spending hours in the yard gathering pile after pile while you bake a seasonal pie, watching him from the kitchen window. 

The tiered tulle fabric plucks a peculiar scene from your memory. Its flowy and dramatic silhouette is reminiscent of the dress you had worn to last year’s CIA Gala. Dave kept you close for the entirety of the evening. Your arm wrapped around his as he talked with colleagues, some new whose names you wouldn’t remember and others who had slowly worked their way into a more permanent place in your lives with regular dinner parties and monumental celebrations. Dave’s hand planted on the small of your back, his thumb drawing soft shapes where your dress strategically exposed your back, you were his grounding force among a sea of highly regarded men and their significant others.

“Hey- is everything okay?” Dave’s head now visible as he pulls the curtain back just enough to check in with you, his hushed tone barely audible over the upbeat music that the trendy boutique has playing through the store. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” You say flatly as you continue to inspect your reflection, the hang tag with the bold asking price of the dress held between your restless fingers.

“Wow— Sweetheart, you look… Wow!” Speechless. Dave stands stunned behind you, taking in every bit of you, completely captivated.

“Yeah? It feels like a lot. I have a dress back at the room I can wear instead…” You say, watching the arduous battle he’s sorting through in his mind, his smitten smirk doing wonders to help settle your dress turmoil.

“No— No this, this is perfect. I love it so much. You definitely should get this one.” Dave says persuasively, a beat of sensualism exuding from where he now stands with his chest flush to your back, his hands attempting to bypass the layers of fabric in search of somewhere to efficiently affix himself to you. “Reminds me of that dress you wore to the Gala last year. You looked stunning. So much so I couldn’t keep my hands off of you the entire night. Pulled you into that closet and fucked you while the awards ceremony carried on.”

“Hmm, I remember.” You smile, your stomach flipping at the way he so vividly remembers that evening too. “But the price is a little much though. Like too much.” Dropping the price tag, allowing it to hang freely from the dress instead of mocking your sticker shop distress.

“Don’t worry about the price— it’s fine.” You gasp when he connects with your skin, a shiver zipping up your spine, his lips fervent and assertive as they work up the expanse of your neck.

Dave’s hand catches your head as it tips to the side, allowing him more ample space to roam. Your skin in his teeth triggers a soft whimper in your throat, your eyes fluttering closed as you get lost in the sensation of him.

It’s a blur of calculated movements on his part, your body receptive to his smooth control, moving along with ease until your back settles against the wall of the dressing room. The carpeted floor envelops the sound of him falling to his knees. Dave’s eyes glazed over as he stares up at you, their usual golden hue dappled with gleaming eagerness. His hands fumble with the hem of the dress skirt briefly, delighted when he finally manages to breach the abundant layers of fabric. The brush of his fingers on your skin as his hands skim up your legs is all the forewarning you’re given before he’s pulling down and removing the lace panties that you’ve been soaking through all afternoon because of him.

“Dave— what are you doing?” A breathless question, one you don’t really need a response to as he looks up to you one more time, his pointer finger resting on his mouth then lifting your leg over one of his shoulders. 

He takes in the sight of your glistening wetness, his mouth watering at how you’re dripping for him. The urge to taste you is strong and he gives into it fully. 

From above all you can see is bunched fabric and brown tousled locks when he connects to you, his angular nose pressed into the patch of hair that covers your mound, that first tentative kiss to your sex delicate and heady. The soft pressure of his flat tongue has your eyes rolling back when he starts to lick up and down, savoring the deliciously sweet taste of your arousal. Desire forging through your body with a deep buzzing intensity. 

“Oh fuck! If we get caught— Ah!Shit. Dave— Baby, that feels amazing—” You purr in what you hope is a hushed tone, tilting your pelvis just so, a dire need for a climactic release. 

Dave’s tongue moves in slow circles, teasing and flicking at your clit. His ministrations causing a slow tingle to build in your lower abdomen, steadily increasing in strength as he goes. 

“Ma’am, how’s everything going in there?” The store attendant asks, completely unaware of the lewdness taking place on the other side of the current. 

“Mmhmmm! Great! The dress is p-perfect!!” Your voice shoots up an octave when Dave inserts two fingers into your fluttering pussy in one quick thrust, moving them in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue on your aching clit. 

“That’s so great to hear. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to holler.” She says before you hear the clicking of her boots retreating. 

You are squirming and quietly moaning, your knees nearly buckling as the fiery pleasure gains momentum, completely lost in the blissful sensation.

“You hear that, Baby. She said don’t hesitate to holler. Doing so good for me— I can never get enough of you!” His fingers hitting that delicious little spot that makes your toes curl, over and over again. 

“Dave— don’t stop!” And he doesn’t. 

He senses the tension building in your body, your walls seizing up around his deft fingers, intensifying his movements, his tongue lapping at every inch of your folds as your arousal runs down his hand. 

“Baby, I'm coming.” You say right before your jaw goes slack, a silent whine only noticeable to you and Dave fills the small space. Your vision dusted in white, a euphoric sensory cloud of light bursting behind your eyes. 

Dave catches you when it becomes too much to stand, whimpering at the loss of his fingers seated so firmly inside you. 

Your skin is dewy. Glowing under the small dressing room light. The beads of sweat running down the length of your neck, sliding down the slopes of your breast, migrating somewhere below the fabric of the dress. 

Dave catches a few salty drops, his tongue trailing over your clavicle makes you aware that he has removed himself from the underside of the skirt. 

You taste the brininess and the sweet tang of your arousal when he licks into your mouth. Zero time to catch your breath, his tongue tangling effortlessly with yours. 

“Hmmm— I take back what I said earlier. I love the way you taste— only flavor for me!” He says smirking against your tingling lips. 

“You are such a menace. But I love you for it.” You pull him in for one last chaste kiss. 

“I love you so much, Sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead, then bends to pick up your discarded panties, stuffing them in his front pocket. 

“Seems like it would be wrong to not buy the dress after that little move you pulled.” Giggling as you begin the process of undoing the back zipper. 

“Knew that would help sway your decision.” He says with an impish grin and wink. 

*

Your reservation has come and gone. 30 minutes to be exact. Misery and frustration fill your veins as you stir the tiny straw in the watered-down concoction. The cocktail-soaked cherry, normally your inaugural sprinkling of how well the drink was mixed, now lays overlooked and forgotten at the bottom of the glass.

The bartender, who checks in with you like clockwork every 10 minutes or so to see if you needed a refill albeit your obvious lack of consumption from the original drink he made, has shown zero annoyance over the fact that you have taken up space in not one, but two chairs at his bustling bar. Your small clutch placed in front of the empty seat reserved for your husband who was supposed to meet you here an hour ago.

*

Dave and you had made your way back to the hotel after purchasing the dress, giving yourselves plenty of time to get ready for the evening Dave had planned out.

It was hard to keep your hands off each other. a magnetic effervescence had you contemplating whether to call off the reservation all together despite Dave’s ecstatic adamancy to make it to the reservation on time. Both of you managed to work against the intense pull, only sharing shy glances and brushing of limbs standing side by side in front of the bathroom mirror while getting ready.

Dave didn’t shy away from flattering you as he helped zip you in, causing you to fight against tears that threatened to ruin the dramatic makeup that paired perfectly with your dress.

I love you. You are so beautiful. How did I get so lucky? I can’t wait to get you out of this dress later.

Dave’s hand molds to yours, a corner of his mouth lifted as you eagerly drag him from your hotel room. Taking advantage of the privacy the small offshoot hallway provides from the main corridor of the floor, he draws you back to him and without hesitation he kisses you with a fiery tenderness. 

“Alright. We need to go.” He says, breathless and not all that convincing. 

“Do we though? We could just swipe the key, make our way back inside, order room service— you can get me out of this dress. See what I may or may not be wearing underneath.” You murmur against his smile, your tongue sensually gliding over the underside of his upper lip causing him to release a heavy sigh, as if he really wants to do exactly just that. 

“You drive a hard bargain, Sweetheart. And as enticing as all of that sounds— amuse me and go along with what I have planned. The sooner we go, the sooner we can get back here and I can slowly undress you.” He counters, leaving you little room to dispute his well thought out plan for the evening. 

“Alright, Mr. York. We'll play by your rules.” You bat your eyelashes at him. “Dinner. Then straight back here—“

A soft buzzing cuts you off. Dave’s body tenses against yours, releasing you from his hold to retrieve his phone from his black slacks. 

“I need to take this— it’s work.” His demeanor completely shifting from his usual sweet carefree self to closed off and mysterious. 

“Okay. Call them later then. They can leave you a message.” You reach for his hand to continue to make your way down to the restaurant. He pulls away, promptly taking a few steps back, his focus still on the number flashing on his phone screen. 

You’re not sure what hurts more. The fact that Dave is putting work first once again or how he so quickly recoiled when you reached for him. 

“I can’t. I need to take it.” He says, finally looking at you with pleading eyes, and you hate how much you so willingly give into his need to brush off the plans he was only moments ago so eager to get to. 

“Dave— Fine.” Releasing a heavy sigh into the narrow hallway, tightening your grip on the small purse that holds your phone, lip gloss and key card, doing your best to mask the resentment and defeat simmering just below the surface. 

“I’ll be quick. Go grab us a seat at the bar and I’ll meet you there when I’m finished.” He doesn’t give you an opportunity to get another word in, turning to let himself back into the room. 

The bottom of your dress floats in the air, kicking out with each step you take, making your way to the main hall of the floor in the direction of the elevator. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone yet again. Suppressing your swirling emotions for the time being.  

Dave’s hushed voice echoes down the walls. Never actually making back into the room before answering the call. Out in the open. Zero care that his wife is still within earshot. 

“Hey, Ashley… Yeah, she just left. I told her to just wait for me at the bar.” 

You stop dead in your tracks. The swish of your dress is now still at your feet, hanging in its normal wearing state. Your blood runs cold as your brain rapidly tries to digest what you just heard. 

Your heart clings to how easily Dave had been so present and affectionate since this morning. That sinking feeling of your suspicions being revealed. I knew this whole day was too good to be true. 

Everything feels like it’s narrowing. The hallway. Your vision. Your airway. Smaller and smaller. 

Something compels you to keep moving. Further from Dave. Closer to being alone at the bar, away from this man who you no longer find recognizable at this moment. 

*

“Excuse me. Can I get a Scotch, neat, side of water please?” Dave’s whereabouts are no longer unknown to you, leaning an elbow onto the bar as he orders himself a drink, his other hand resting on the back of the chair that has kept you comfortable while you wait. 

“Sorry, that took longer than expected.” Dave apologizes, sealing it with a kiss to your cheek. 

You hum a lackluster response. Gnawing at your bottom lip as you focus on the dilapidated napkin you’ve been rolling and unraveling, folding and unfolding for the umpteenth time. 

“You okay?” Dave asks, his hand moves to rest on your back but now it’s your turn to recoil from his touch, leaning forward before he’s able to make contact. 

“Yeah— I’m great.” You say flatly, only briefly looking at him to deliver your annoyed smile, then back to the crinkled napkin that’s now serving as an absorbent to pooling condensation. 

“Here you are sir.” The bartender interrupts, placing the single malt and ice water on the bar, Dave nods his thanks. 

You don’t have it in you to pry or question his tardiness. So you continue to sit in silence, watching Dave out of your peripheral properly dilute his drink so it’s suitable for sipping. 

“You’re not wearing your ring?” He points out to your bare ring finger then takes a light sip of the diluted scotch. 

The fingers of your left hand pause, fanning out so you can inspect the observation yourself. The usually adorned finger is stripped, lacking your wedding band and engagement ring.  

“Oh— I must have forgotten to put it back on after we went to the pool…” You hadn’t realized how naked it felt all day, the fingers of your right hand soothing over the indent skin, recalling when you had tossed the jewelry haphazardly into your bag yesterday. 

“You don’t think these strangers will get the wrong idea?” You sense an attempt at humor in his voice, only he has failed to read the room. His government skills not sensing you have zero interest in Dave’s untimely decision to be a humorist. “A beautiful woman, alone at a bar, without her wedding rings— Don’t want—“

“Excuse me— can you put my drink on his tab? He’ll be taking care of it, along with your generous tip.” You alert the passing bartender. You swivel your barstool just enough to reach around Dave’s solid form to grab your purse, then swivel in the opposite direction to stand. You tuck your purse under your arm, before delivering the irritation that has finally begun to boil over. “I think the only stranger confused about our marriage is you, Dave.” 

“Wait— Where are you going?” His hand gently clasped around your upper arm, halting your departure. 

You glance down at where his hand holds you, his thumb actively moving in soft circles over your skin, trying his best to distract and diffuse the air between you. Unfortunately, too little too late. 

“I’ve been sitting here waiting for you, Dave— for a fucking hour. I’m going back to the room.” You pull your arm from his grip and leave without another word. 

Dave somehow manages to catch the same elevator, but you don’t bother acknowledging his presence as he stands on the opposite side of the small metal cabin. The other riding passengers don’t suspect you two even know each other or the emanant rift that is unfolding between you, just two lone hotel guests sharing a lift to their designated floor. 

2 stops allow for the other guests to get on to their respective floors, leaving only you and Dave left to continue the ride to the final stop. 

The striking silence is met with electric chords spilling from the small speakers in the elevator. The familiar tune feels like an old friend you’ve been reacquainted with after months apart. Those first few lines wrap around you, embracing you fully— I’ve missed you so. The chorus drawing your gaze to where your husband stands slouched against the mirrored wall, looking equally as somber as you feel, his eyes already drawn to you in the same manner. 

A smile tugs at your lips, a fleeting moment of remembrance to that night so many years ago. That night where Dave was more than just a stranger in a bar. He was your future. Your home. Dave without a doubt was the best thing to happen to you. 

The memory of meeting Dave is interrupted by a soft ding and the doors slowly unveiling your intended destination. 

You stalk towards the room with a graceful backbone, a beautiful facade to how you truly feel inside, keeping yourself together with each poised stride. Dave takes his position two steps behind, vigilantly in tune with your body language. 

There’s a sense of relief that overcomes you the second the door closes and the lock clicks. No longer needing to keep a composed demeanor to prying eyes. No longer allowing the hurt to fester and torment your heart in a stealthily manner. 

They flow furiously once they start. Tears streaming down your face. Silent sobs cracking in your throat. 

You move about busily, grabbing and tossing, too lost in your own blurry thoughts to even notice Dave standing there watching you. 

“What are you doing?” Dave asks, perplexed by the way you’re flinging item after item into your suitcase that lays open on the bed. 

“You’re a smart man, Dave. I’m sure you can figure that out.” Grabbing a drawer’s entire contents and dropping it messily into your bag. 

“I get that you’re packing. Why are you packing is my concern.” He takes a timid step closer towards the streamline process of you moving about. 

“I’m going home. I’ll catch a ride to the airport. Book a new flight when I get there. I can have Jacey pick me up when I land.” A plan you had thoroughly developed before Dave had arrived at the bar. 

“Wait— you’re going home? Why? What’s going on?” He steps directly into your path, hindering your progress. 

“I don’t know anymore, Dave. I thought this was what we needed. Some time away together. Away from work. Away from our normal lives. Just us reconnecting. But it seems like this whole thing was just wasted effort.” You try to wipe the tears, but they just continue to fall. 

“Baby, you’re not making any sense right now.” He knows he should allow you space, but the urge to pull you into him is stronger. 

“It’s been months. Months of you working long hours. Months of missed dinners and late nights at the office. Months of being alone at night wondering if you’re okay and when you’ll be home. Months of worrying that something is happening between us and trying to figure out how to fix it.” Each convulsive gasp for air you struggle for fans across Dave’s neck. His arms tightening around you, every word slicing through his chest. 

“Fuck—“ He murmurs, his cheek pressed into the side of your head, your tearful confession not anything he expected to hear tonight. 

“If you didn’t want to c-come with me— I would have u-understood.” Your shoulders jostle in Dave’s arms, your own arms hanging at your side, still holding a few loose garments in your fists. 

“What? No! Baby, I wanted to come. I want to be here— with you.” Dave pulls back, enough so you can see the sureness in his eyes. 

“What about her? Wouldn’t you rather be here with— h-her?” Your voice cracks at the thought of Dave with someone who isn’t you. 

“Her? What are you talking about?” 

“Ashley— She’s the important phone calls you’ve been taking. The work that can’t wait. She’s why you’ve been so distant with me for months.” It feels like glass the minute it leaves your mouth, shattering across your tongue, nearly choking on the tiny little shards. 

“Honey, you think I’m having an affair?” A nod is all your weary state can give. An affair— it’s the only thing that makes sense to you right now. 

“I heard you talking to her several times since we got here, Dave. The last time being when you told me you had to take an important call and you would meet me at the bar before our dinner reservation.” 

You’re not sure what you expect him to do now that he’s been caught. Confess to his actions. Tell you everything from the beginning. Get on his knees and beg for forgiveness. It was a mistake, it will never happen again. 

What you don’t expect is to see a single tear fall down his handsome face. To see a look of rich tenderness in his eyes. Warmth in his touch as he wipes away the wet worriment painted over your face. 

“Baby— Fuck, I’m so sorry. To say that this trip so far has been stressful would be an understatement. Nothing I had planned for this trip has gone right— even after months and months of preparation. And you’re right, they weren’t work phone calls— not all of them at least. I’m so sorry for making you feel like I didn’t want to be here— I do. I want to tell you everything, but I think it’s best if I show you first.” 

“Show me what?” You ask him. 

“Come with me so you can see for yourself. And if you still want to go home afterwards, we’ll leave tonight.” Dave’s head tilts, his eyes searching yours hoping to relieve any reservations you still might be internally feeling. 

“I look like a blubbering mess right now.” You use what you now realize are a pair of socks to wipe any streaks of makeup smeared on your face. 

“No you don’t. I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He says, his lips molding over yours are a sobering reflection of his love for you. 

Not much else is said on the trek back down to the lobby, allowing Dave to take you to wherever this mysterious place is. 

There’s a nervousness about him, his jitters, while subtle, are loud and obvious. Holding his sweaty palm against yours. His other hand actively fidgeting in his pocket. Head tilt back, then forward, stretching his neck from side to side. 

You lean into his shoulder, tucking your free hand under his arm, hoping to ground him a bit. It helps, you feel him relax instantly into your touch. His lips pressing to the side of your head, Thank you. 

“Dave, where are we going?” You ask as you walk in an unfamiliar area of the hotel. 

“Almost there.” He says, his fingers squeezing in small bursts against your hand. 

It’s a long hallway covered in an elaborate wallpaper with rich details of floral patterns and bold hues. It's dimly lit due to the fact that there’s zero windows, the only light is given by the mid century style sconce fixtures lining the walls. Potted plants strategically placed around sculptures and empty velvet chairs. 

You’re met with two large wooden doors as you approach the end of the hall, but it’s the woman standing in front of them that has your attention. She’s beautiful, actually she’s stunning. Her smile is so warm and inviting, beaming at you as you and Dave walk closer to where she stands. It’s as if she’s been expecting you, waiting diligently for your arrival. 

“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. York. My name is Ashley.” 

[writefandoms]

Love Thy Body (Comm)

Adrian Tepes x Female!Reader (smut)

Summary: Adrian Tepes is in dire need of some good ol’ fashion loving.

Word Count: 1.9k

The dhampir of Wallachia was a man known by the name Alucard. 

The opposite of the evil Dracula, he’s seen as the people's savior. The one who will destroy the mad vampire and seal him to rest in his coffin for all eternity. 

But the old stories were just that: stories. Nothing but old wise tales passed around village to village. 

The real Alucard wasn’t the opposition to anyone. He was simply a man. A man who had lost those dear to him in the span of one long nightmare. One that could only end once he drove a stake into his own fathers heart. 

When you looked at this strong hero, you didn’t see a man. No- you saw a crying child longing for his mother and father. 

Adrian wore his scars with great sadness.

From the slice across his chest- given to him from his own father. To the burns around his wrists- given to him by those he entrusted with his body and soul. 

There was no savior, only a wounded child. 

Adrian Tepes was a beautiful man. No one could deny it. 

Even when he spoke with pure arrogance and sass, his golden eyes and sharp jawline were bound to make even the strongest of wills shatter at his looks. 

Upon your first meeting, you were very close to clocking him in his perfect nose. His sharp tongue and know-it-all attitude, made it impossible to not seethe with rage. 

But as you spoke with the man, you began to see past the beauty of his face. Looking into the eyes of a broken creature, longing for someone to hold him- but to scared to open himself to others. Fear of betrayal outweighed his need for compassion. 

The first time you kissed was quite a surprise for both of you. Tension was high after a fierce battle with a few night creatures. One moment your locking eyes, the next your pressed against him in a heated embrace. 

You both swore it was from the heat of battle, even when you can't help thinking about how soft his lips were. 

One broken promise later, you find each other stripped down and in each other’s embrace. No- not quite actually. 

You’re stripped naked, Adrian is only missing his cloak. 

As unfair as you think it is, the orgasms that Adrian delivers are enough to keep your complaints to yourself. 

You thought nothing of his tendency to remain mostly clothed during your heated exchanges. Usually your mind is to busy being blown to care. But tonight would be different. 

“Strip.”

Adrian simply freezes, suddenly unsure where to put his hands on your exposed body. 

“I beg your pardon?” Ever the linguistic, but still playing dumb. 

“Ya’ speak English or not? I said strip.” Your legs shut, blocking his hands or wandering eyes from your privates. 

“I’ve never had to-“

“Aye, I’m naked as the day I was born, yet you’re still in your fancy boots. It’s not fair!” Arms folded like your scolding him, you pick up a pillow to block your chest from his view. “No more fucking until I get to see your bits!”

It’s his turn to scowl now, sitting back on his knees, on the mattress. 

“Language.”

“Stop changing the subject, strip or no more fun time!”

“Fun time?” His lips twitch slightly, a smirk forming on his face. 

Not liking his blatant disregard for his request, you tug a spare sheet around your shoulders to cover your bare body. 

“Fine.” Dragging yourself to your feet, you turn from him, “Good night.”

It doesn’t take him long to call you back, not even two seconds in fact. 

“Don’t leave.” His tone is new, almost fragile. Like if you raised your voice he’d shatter. “Please.”

Clasping your sheet dress, you turn towards him, but wait for him to continue. He doesn’t speak, only reaches a hand out, a proverbial olive branch. 

Who are you to deny this beauty of a man. 

Adrian cups your hand so gently, tugging you towards him. He’s sitting at the foot of the bed, spreading his legs to fit you between them. His eyes level with your chest. 

He’s peering up at you with a look that you can’t quite pinpoint. Definitely lust, but with a twinge of something else. 

Pulling your hand downward, he leads you to his button up. Your fingers follow his to the first button, his hands slip away, but the invitation remains. 

Uncertainty weighs your fingers down, slowly unbuttoning the first one. Only when he nods do you pick up the pace, eager to see more of him. Even the small sliver of visible pale flesh has you excited. 

But that excitement is quickly dashed once you catch sight of the large scar branding his near perfect skin. He must regard your sadness as disgust because he pulls back. 

The look on his face of pure disdain- but you know it’s not directed towards you. 

“Satisfied?” Is all he spits at you, eyes glaring at the wall behind you. 

Lifting a hand, your fingers dance along the scar tissue. Only able to journey so far before his hand grips your wrist and halts your motion. 

“Don’t-“ His grasp weakens, shoulders slumping, “-don’t pity me.”

Allowing your hand to pull free, you begin your conquest once again. This time planting both hands firmly against his chest, before leaning down planting a chaste kiss against his lips.

It’s soft. Softer than either of you’ve ever been with one another. 

Adrian takes a moment but returns the sweet gesture. Lips working against yours, like two puzzle pieces. 

You don’t give him a chance to think before pushing your body weight onto him, successfully landing him on his back. 

Despite being caught off guard, he’s still quick enough to land on his elbows. 

“Bloody vampire speed.” You grumble, but refuse to let him stump this small victory. 

Latching your lips on his jaw, you revel in the gasp that leaves him. Adventure further down the column of his throat, leaving small bites and kisses in your wake. 

The subtle pleasures must be enough for him to lower his guard once again, slowly laying flat on his back. His hands fist the sheets beneath him, claws unconsciously ripping the fabric. 

Noticing this loss of control you take the opportunity to lighten the mood. “Tsk. That’s silk, Mr. Tepes.”

Moving back to lock eyes with him, you’re relieved to see him roll his eyes. 

“I can always buy new ones.”

“Oh? Trying to impress me with your riches?” Hands spread on his chest, you push yourself into an upright position, straddling his waist. 

Adrian’s hands move from the sheets, securing themselves onto your hips. 

“Are you only straddling me because of my possible riches?” The grip on your hip gives him leverage to grind against your bare crotch, drawing a low moan from you. 

“Trust me, it’s not just your money that keeps me here.” You trail a hand down his chest, raking your nails a little harsher as you reach the sharp v-line, leading to the tent in his pants. 

“Y-your- ahhh…vile creature.” His moans only add to the heat between your legs, making you unconsciously rub against his bulge. 

“An’ you’re too sexy for your own good.” Your eyes admire the sight of him beneath you. 

Pale skin, ripped muscles, beautiful face, all for you. 

“Quiet.” Is all he can muster in a weak defense, but the pink tint on his cheeks is a dead give away. 

“Not until I make up for all the times you hid this work of art from me.”

Hands run down his bare chest, fingers trying to memorize every crack and crevice. His breathing hitches when you trace his scar, skin more sensitive than the rest. 

Leaning down you catch a pink nipple between your lips, giving a half hearted suck. His reaction is a mixture of surprise and pleasure, back arching a fraction and fingers twitching. 

“Heathen…” he manages to groan with faux anger, not convincing due to the pink still tinting his cheeks. 

“Whore.” You grin back up at him, rolling his nipple between your teeth now. 

“Hng-” It’s adorable really- watching him struggle to keep his cool demeanor up. 

Your mouth remains latched to his nipple, hand wandering down his arm, pausing at his wrist. Even with your soft grip around it has tension rushing through his muscles. Pulling his wrist a bit, you feel slight resistance before he allows you to drag his hand towards your face. Still hovering over his chest, you place a soft kiss on the dark scar that resembles a bracelet. 

“You’re beautiful,” you sit up to straddle him once again, while hoisting his other wrist to your lips. “So beautiful it’s nearly scary.”

He’s breathless as he lays back and watches you plant kiss after kiss along his scars. 

The grinding of your hips against his catches him by surprise. 

“Oh!” The half vampire gasps, mouth opening revealing two razor sharp fangs. 

His hands are led down your neck, past your chest, landing on your hips. Hot friction burns between your arousal and his, successfully leaving a wet spot on his pants. 

“Please let me show you how badly I need you…” your voice loses any confidence, taking on a breathy, whiny tone. 

Your eyes lock, his half lidded golden orbs staring at you with a near predatory gaze. One hand drops from your hip and slides between your legs.

“Ah! Adrian-” Your cries only make his fingers move more, direct contact making your thighs clench. 

Moving up a bit, unconsciously giving his long, attentive, fingers better access. His fingers are slightly sticky with your arousal, taking said juices and rubbing it around your hole. 

“This- mmm… I wanna be in c-control!” As angry as you try to sound, you can’t help the noises leaving you, screwing your eyes shut to focus on the pleasure. 

“You want me to stop?” He questions, his fingertip pushes into your eager cunt, giving only a hint of relief before pulling out. “Fine.”

The whimper that leaves you has him growing hard- well, harder. 

“Please…more.”

There’s no time to try and deny your body's needs, not when he allows his finger to push into you, all the way in. Thrusting the finger slowly, the sounds of wetness get louder. He pulls them out completely, only for two to push back in. 

“Y-yes- need more…” Your hips move on their own, fucking yourself on his fingers. 

He doesn’t press another in though, instead keeps his eyes locked on the place where you wrap tightly around his fingers. Even the slightest crook of his finger inside of you has you toppling over, bare chests rubbing each other. At this awkward angle you can’t really fuck yourself onto him, leaving you at the mercy of his slow and shallow fingerfucking. 

That need for release grows as his long fingers strike sparks against your inner walls. The sounds coming from your lower half would be embarrassing if you weren’t going mad with unholy needs. 

“I can’t come like this, p-please…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you can’t walk. Okay, my love?”

My love. A title too romantic for your intimate relationship, words failing you.

Your lack of response is substituted by your tightness clenching around his digits, making his chest rumble with an evil chuckle. 

“Good girl.”

[peterquill1021]

Rob Delaney brought PeterPool (née Sugarbear) into our hearts and effortlessly redefined the modern moose-knuckle — showing just how chic it can be. And if theories are correct, he may be the new Anchor Being. There’s more to @robdelaney than some realize. He’s one of the most subversively funny people I know. He’s a beautiful acerbic and vulnerable writer. If you stayed through the credits of Deadpool & Wolverine, you might notice a credit saying, “For Henry Delaney”. Henry was Rob’s son. And Rob lost his little boy to a brain tumor in 2018. Right as we finished Deadpool 2. I’ve always kicked my own ass because I didn’t place a tribute to Henry over the end credits of DP2. If there’s a bright side, even more people are seeing Henry’s name in the credits of Deadpool & Wolverine. And now, at long last, father and son are sharing the same screen. Rob has a vivid perspective on unimaginable grief. And he takes an unfiltered, rage-ful, loving, sad and hilarious (yes, HILARIOUS) look at grief through his book, A HEART THAT WORKS. The book explores the kaleidoscopic colours of emotion Henry’s passing revealed. I’m lucky to know Rob. And I’m lucky to have friends willing to put themselves on the line to make others feel less alone.

[theblueflower05]

Hmmm how about Alpha!reader overstimulating Omaga!Lo’ak because she was jealous seeing him being a little too nice to another female alpha. So she punishes him from sunset to sunrise. Idk if this is any good but just a thought, Love. ABSOLUTELY LOVING YOUR A/B/O series, can’t wait for the next chapter 😘

This is probs my fave slutty ask I’ve gotten. When I saw it I fucking SCREAMED.

It also is kind of a sister story to my Tsireya x Jealous Reader. Like same same, but flipped.

You’re possessive, and it’s not something that you hide.

Lo’ak learned it pretty early on in your relationship. You’re an extremely transparent person, you wear your emotions on your face and your heart on your sleeve. He appreciates it because it because as someone who’s always eager and anxious to impress, you don’t keep him guessing much. You tell him what you feel, what you want.

And you want him to be yours, and only yours.

Smut under the cut

It’s all you’ve ever wanted.

You’re not nasty about it- you don’t snarl at him for spending time with his friends and family. You encourage other healthy relationships in his life. You’re a good woman, his father reassures him proudly. A good alpha, Neytiri tacks on for good measure.

You have zero tolerance for other alphas touching what is yours.

You’re gentle, a weaver. Not known to the clan as a warrior or hunter. Your parents are passed onto Eywa, and even when they were still Pandora bound, they weren’t high standing members of the clan- and yet. You’ve carved out a place for yourself. You’re respected, as a young capable alpha in your prime.

You don’t enjoy fighting, don’t enjoy being angry or violent. But you will become so, to protect what is yours.

Lo’ak had never seen your temper flare the way it had earlier, down at the beach.

It was a little scary- to see you like that. Your powder blue eyes that are usually so soft had gone hard, your pupils slits. The snarl that had left you had made almost all around you take a step back- it was all Alpha. Powerful. Full of rage. A warning for bloodshed.

It had taken two Alphas, twice your size, to drag you off and he’d watched with large golden eyes. In complete shock. At the unfortunate unfolding of the situation-

“What are you doing? Go to her, you skxawng ” his elder brother had hissed at him, kicking him into action.

Lo’ak had followed like a Viper wolf pup as you broke away from the other alphas- snatching out of their grasps with a huff- and had made your way back to your shared home.

He feels like shit, horribly bad, as he enters the Mauri. His tail between his legs and his ears twitching on his head.

You’re pacing, back and forth. Clearly still upset. Your chest is heaving and your thick take twitches sporadically-

“Y/N” he murmurs, calling to you because you won’t look at him.

You just continue on. Still raging. And it’s hard to watch- especially knowing that he had caused the whole thing.

“Yawne, please-“ he continues, coming forward and reaching out to you. His large five fingered hand coming around your petite wrist.

“No. Do NOT touch me right now” You yank, hard out of his hold, and finally turn to him.

What he sees breaks his heart.

Your eyes are big and swimming, tears leave tracks as they rush down your face. He’d never seen you cry, not like this. The sight alone has the hair on the back of his neck raising-

“I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Mamas, don’t cry” his tone is hushed, hesitant. He doesn’t know what to do. Everything in him is telling him to rush to you. To hold you, to make you hold him.

“I’m not crying because I’m sad” you snap at him, hating how he’s looking at you with that pitying gaze. “I’m so fucking angry right now Lo’ak”

You almost never call him by his real name- it’s always affectionate pet names. Hearing it makes his ears lower, flat into his braids.

“I could fucking kill her” you seethe. Continuing, because you have to get this anger out somehow “I don’t care if she’s the Olo’eyktans daughter- how dare she lay her hands on you! You’re mated- you wear my bite!”

Tsireya had been a problem for months now. She had always had her eye on Lo’ak and who could blame her? The Omega was gorgeous. Capable. He’d passed his Iknimaya and was a valued hunter.

And he had a fucking wife.

You thought that she’d get that through her thick skull.

And yet her advances never seemed to stop. They were usually small- barley there things. Occurrences that drove you crazy but that you couldn’t really prove.

“She was just being nice-“ Lo’ak urges and you scoff.

“Don’t. Don’t play dumb when I know how smart you are. She touched your scent gland- she may as well have scented you. I can still smell her on you. Even now” you’re voice is shaking as you try to control it.

Lo’ak feels horrible.

He’d chalked Tsireya’s actions up to kindness- since he had arrived in Awa’atlu the Alpha and future Tsahik had been nothing but nice to him and his family. He’d noticed her advances and while flattered, had ignored them. Pushed them to the side.

Why would he focus on any other Alpha when he had you?

He shouldn’t have let it get this far. She was helping train him, like she used to. It was all supposed to be innocent-

The weight of the reality of the situation is crushing. Another Alpha had touched his scent gland. So be it it was the one in his wrist, the most innocent. But still.

A lump sticks in his throat as panic rises in his chest.

What if…what if this changed things? He had been so hesitant, so confused when you’d courted him. Had been even more so when you bonded him. You’re so good, too good for him.

Had you finally gained clarity? Had it donned on you that he wasn’t worth being with?

“Please” Lo’ak begs as he reaches out for you only to be rebuffed once more. It makes hot tears sting at his eyes “please, I’ll be better. I won’t let anything like that happen again- don’t make me leave. Don’t leave me”

Your eyes snap to his and your mouth pulls into a deep frown. You’re too pretty to look so upset. He hates it.

Lo’ak drops to his knees, right in front of you. His neck tilting to the side, his braids falling away. His clear, unprotected throat on display for you.

Only the faint scarring of his bite mark visible.

It’s the ultimate form of submission. Even most Omegas don’t give it so freely. Showing one’s mating bite is intimate. Big. Off limits.

A small gasp leaves your mouth.

He doesn’t care.

He needs you to get it. To understand.

“I’m yours” he vows, like he had the first night youd made Tsaheylu. The first night he’d taken your knot. The first night he’d felt your teeth sink into his skin.

Your hand cups his face and he leans into it. Your still shaking. Still haven’t calmed down. “You’re mine?”

“Yeah.” He whispers, his tongue coming out to wet his dry lips “I’m yours”

“Prove it”

————————

He knew you weren’t going to go easy on him, but holy fuck.

There was no way to foresee just what the night would entail.

You could make Lo’ak cry from pleasure on any given day. Your pretty pussy, your hot mouth, your skilled hands? They could all bring him to tearful orgasms, easily.

This is something different. Lo’ak feels like he’s been broken down to bare bones, to the base of who he is.

It’s been hours, the sky had turned from blue to black- and was on its way to being blue once more. The birds chirp as the dawn breaks-

And still you give him no reprieve.

He’s a mess- flat in his back on the thread bare bed mat. The sheets and bedding had been pushed away ages ago- there was nothing to tangle himself in. To ground himself with.

He can only lay there and take what you give him.

You’d been fucking him for hours. Bouncing on top of his hard cock relentlessly.

The worst part is is that you don’t even look worse off.

No, You’re goddess as you’re perched on-top of him. Beautiful and ethereal- and wrathful.

You ride him like you have something to prove, your hips moving in dizzying circles. You’re so fucking wet, the juices from your pussy drop down, coating your thighs and his groin- you have to be close to coming.

And yet you don’t. That glorious knot never locks around him. He never gets the fulfillment that he truly needs.

You’ve wrung orgasm after orgasm out of him throughout the night- but you haven’t let him cum inside of you. And you haven’t knotted him-

It’s fucking torture. His body needs it. His cock screams, not recieving the intense pressure of you constricting around him when he shoots off is painful. It leaves him feeling frustrated and unsatisfied.

“Please” he gurgles out the plea as he feels the base of his tail start to tingle- a clear sign of the incoming orgasm.

You glare down at him “please, what?”

Lo’aks eyes squeeze shut, the tears running consistently into his hair line. He’s wet everywhere- sticky. A complete mess.

“Please knot me, Alpha. I need your knot”

It’s nasally and whiney and way too fucking loud. Deep down, he knows he should be ashamed of it. The neighbors can hear him getting worked over like this, punishes beyond belief, but he can’t bring himself to care.

If you want them to hear, then he’ll make sure they do.

He’ll do anything you ask.

Your eyes are hard, unforgiving. Still puffy from the furious tears you’d shed and Lo’ak can’t help it.

He reaches up with weak arms to cup your pretty face. His large thumbs rub soothing circles in the delicate skin under your eyes “love you, Y/N. I’m so sorry…I never want to do anything to hurt you”

You go soft on top of him, your hips stoping their mean swivel as all of the fight seems to drain from your body. Your head hangs. Tendrils of your long hair fall in your face-

“As I love you, sweet Omega”

————

Listen I could go in but I’m gonna cut it there lol somehow I end up writing whole ass mini fics for these asks! They’re just too good!

[voltronisanobsession]

This is more of an idea for you to do or not but

Imagine being the spider that belongs to the universe that Miguel destroyed

I don't know, I just thought " damn that's sad"(if the spider still alive)

Being the Spider from the Universe Miguel Destroyed

Oooo I’ve never really thought about this before😳😳 I’ll answer this because I’m genuinely interested OOOOO!!!!

This spider would quite literally have nothing left to lose

Bitterness and resentment are the first words that came to mind when I first read this LMAO💀

Reader being the spider who survived the destruction of their universe will never recover tbh

I can’t imagine being the spider person from the universe Miguel destroyed because the amount of RESENTMENT they would have against Miguel😦

Bitterness because you know you’ll never be able to go back to your old life, you’ll never be able to reverse time to save your people, your friends, your family

And absolute resentment towards Miguel for destroying everything you loved and cared for

You had no idea that Miguel was in your universe until everything started going wrong, until he finally revealed himself as the virus in your universe

By then it was too late

You had to watch civilians you passed everyday disappear and vanish right before your eyes

You had to watch as the buildings around you glitched and faded to nothing

Had to watch in shock as the Spiderman (you found out was Miguel) stood still as a young girl vanished from his arms

You had to feel the way your body felt like it was almost tearing itself apart, watching in horror as your hands glitched in front of you

Everything in that moment was futile and helpless for you

You were in pain, only for another Spiderman to slap a mechanical bracelet on your wrist and shove you into a strange portal

The last thing you remember from your universe was the darkness that began spreading throughout your city

Once in the safety of a beautiful, futuristic world did you find out why everything you’ve ever known was gone forever

You broke down in grief, fear, and anger, immediately attacking the man that destroyed your entire world

And the surprising thing is that Miguel took all your hits

He did not once fight back, allowing you to take out all your tears and rage on him until there was nothing

Earth 928 (Miggy’s universe) was a place you were forced to call home from now on

But knowing that you would never be able to go back to the one world where you truly belonged in broke you

Broke you down from a confident and strong person to a shell of who you once were

From then on, you were known as the lone survivor of a collapsed universe

A surviving reminder of what the spider society stood to protect

I think Miguel wouldn’t move on from that event because not only did he fail to protect his daughter twice, but because you were a constant reminder of what breaking the canon could lead to

You were a constant reminder of his greatest failure, one that would never go away as long as the memories and you existed

I also think this would mean that spider reader would be a strong advocate for keeping the multiverse safe

You know what destruction breaking the canon will bring, so it’s obvious that you were never going to be a fan of Miles Morales, unfortunately 💔

If and when reader meets Miles, they will be very aggressive with him since they believe he is on a road to multiverse destruction, being an anomaly

As much as the Spider Society welcomed you, you never truly felt like you belonged

Which was true since now you literally belonged nowhere (sorry I had to💀💀)

Having no one to go back home to made you one of the more reckless and aggressive spider people since you having nothing left to lose

The only spider people you really hung around with was Peter B. And Jess while actively avoiding Miguel

You appear very cold towards the younger spiders, Gwen and Pavitr somewhat scared of your constant seriousness in the society

Hobie would still pick fun at you during meetings but would lay off on any comments regarding the multiverse around you

You have an unknown soft spot of Mayday💔

She just manages to break you away from the constant doom and gloom you experience on a daily basis

Her innocent smile might give you another reason to continue protecting the multiverse

To protect the innocent lives that deserve to live

Ending this, reader wouldn’t forgive Miguel for destroying their universe but will help the cause of the spider society in protecting the multiverse

Still traumatized from the event, they will do anything to ensure that no other universe succumbs to helpless destruction (cue the batman stance)

[squipedmew]

well, since the Dream SMP has officially come to a close, I thought I’d share what I’ve been up to for the past 2 years - making character designs for every single one of the characters!

 I really wanted every character to look distinct, with really distinct color pallets, unique weapons for each and every character - basically like each one of them could be the protagonist of a wildly different story from one another. Feel free to steal them (with credit) if you want!

I kinda dropped off working on it in late 2022, so I think I missed a few characters, as well as going back and re-doing some of the oldest ones (that’s why some of them are more detailed - those are the 2023 versions)

As strange as it is for me to say this, DSMP had such a big impact on me, especially over COVID. I haven’t had a piece of media fill me with such a passion to create art and improve probably since Undertale all the way back in 2015, if you can believe it. I owe a lot of my art improvement to this silly little Minecraft series, and though I may have lost touch with it near the end, it will always hold a special place in my heart. 

o7 you crazy, wacky, depressing, stupid, unsatisfying, joyful, hilarious, and amazing series. I wish everyone involved in it the best!

(A few extra designs under the cut!)

This is a 2020 Pogtopia Wilbur I made, and if I were to draw it now, I probably wouldn’t change a thing. This design fucking slaps imo, I’m still super proud of it. 

Exile Era Tommy. Wilbur’s old Pogtopia coat has been passed around so many times between so many different interpretations of characters, so I thought it made more sense for Tommy to take the L’Manberg era coat from Wilbur, since that was the version of him he idolized (This is an old version of Wilbur’s coat btw)

Post Dream-Getting-Sent-To-Prison Tommy! I wanted to emphasize how Tommy was trying to move past his trauma, so he shaved off the grey streak he got from the Withers in the L’Manberg explosions (I gave him the grey streaks before Revival canonized it - don’t ask me why)

Las Nevadas Quackity. It’s basically a 1 to 1 for his skin, save for the really ugly blue patches and hoodie I gave him. If I were to do it again, I would def change that. 

Snowchester Tubbo. Also still holds up, though I’m not 100% on the pants. This was kinda before goat Tubbo got super canonized, so I just decided to have the eyes. The scars are from the execution. 

Revivbur. He looks pretty good for a dead bitch - though I messed up the L’Manberg flag colors on the bandanna on his ankle. Guess he’s french now. 

Team Rocket era Niki! She took custody of Wilbur’s Pogtopia coat, albiet cutting off the parts that were covered in blood and soot (which was most of it) I also made her a fire-born like Sapnap, though you can’t see from his design - her hair is on fire when she feels strong emotions, and she’s basically going through it 24/7 during this part. 

Syndicate Niki! She’s calmed down and is no longer on fire, but her hair is still pink from all those weeks of constant rage and sadness. Also dressed more appropriately for the snow. 

Dream Post Prison. Mask no longer has invisibility enchantments, so he doesn’t bother hiding his face. Gotta wonder how it’s staying on though. Get this man some moisturizer. 

[callm3-q]

 Surveying My Every Motion

to @tiger-willow

WIP, Surveyduo, whatever you want it to be rn

It comes to no surprise to anyone when it’s said that Bad’s a special guest, it’s so painfully obverse to the average eye. For example…

Prison event

Every other day

When it comes to making demands

Basically everything

So yeah, no big surprise. What was a was a surprise was just how much of a special guest Bad was.

…

…

…

Bad was just minding his business, just napping in the middle of a field while he got some mental coffee to be able to make it through the day. So the normal. Then, per usual, Cucurucho showed up. He just stood there, at least for 5 minutes, then 5 turned to 10, and 10 to 20.

Bad woke up slowly, still drowsy and still visibly tired.

Hello, what are you doing?

AHHHHHHHH, WHAT THE FFFFFFFUDGE

Hahaha Hahaha

NO, NO ‘Haha’ NO

Hahaha

Mrmmmmmm Grumble grumble grumble

What are you doing?

I was sleeping, and sitting in this very much once peaceful field… Until you showed up

Hahaha

Bad let himself relax a bit, letting out a sigh. He rolled his eyes before turning to walk away, very much awake now.

What are you doing?

What are You doing

Hahaha

Hahaha, that was sooooo funny wasn’t it

Bad was obviously not in the mood, not for anything, no questions, no banter, no hanging out. He just wanted to be alone.

Ok, why are you following me

Hahaha

Bad was was now vey visibly angry, bitting back a snarky comment. Eyes squinted in anger, rolling his eyes, despite how emptily white they were, the eye roll was still surprisingly visible.

Bad just turned around, and attempted to walk away again. Tried and failed, only hearing the wind blowing in the field, the grass, and footsteps following closely behind him.

Still biting back all the sarcastic comments, he continued to walk, occasionally starting to walk faster, just out of pure rage.

What do you want from me?! Can’t you just leave me alone, I’m in no mood to deal with this!

…Hahaha, follow me!

… Ugh…

…

…

…

What do you want, and why are we at my house… I thought I made it very clear that I’m not in the mood.

Hahaha

…Mmmm….

Follow me

…Fine… but if your planing to kidnap me then just do it now, I’ve got nothing better to do

Hahaha

…

…

…

What did you wann- What?…

Hahaha

Why is… all this here?

Hahaha -Cucurucho paused as he started writing in a book, his classic fancy, basically calligraphy writing.

‘I WILL BE STAYING HERE FOR THE TIME BEING’

What?

Hahaha

…

…

…

Just make yourself at home...?… I guess

…

…

…

As the next couple of days passed Bad had gotten somewhat used to having Cucurucho as his roommate. Then one day, he wasn’t there. He was usually always there, just being him, a weirdo, but him.

And Bad being Bad, assumed the worst. So, assuming that Cucurucho didn’t want to be his roommate anymore, he was sad. An unusual amount of sad, considering there just roommates, and it’s ok that he wanted to leave, but it still stung a bit more than he would’ve liked it to.

[bellarkeex]

Treacherous [Cardan POV]

My interpretation of Cardan's POV from the night he wrote the Alice in Wonderland note. Jude. Jude. Jude.

☾ warnings: confused yearning cardan, not sure there is any?, mention of drink & powders, not explict smutty dream

☾ read on ao3: here.

☾ wc: 1036

“Oh, Cardan.” Her sighs echo into the shadowed trees around us.

I grip at every piece of skin I can reach. Though she is below me, I am the one drowning in her presence. Blissfully unaware to any semblance of touch except nails digging into my back, the hot shallow breaths on my neck, and her warmth I am repeatedly sinking into. Little bruises had begun to show on her collar bone and if one were to look carefully, more would be found on her inner thighs.

My stomach twisting at every little sound which escapes her mouth, urging myself on in hope to be blessed with more.

My name on her lips, I know this would be my undoing. What would finally drive me into madness. The becoming of a mere beggar, my only wish to hear her say my name. No matter whether whispered and breathless. Hell, in this nightmare, I’d settle for it being screamed in rage.

⋆⁺⋆⋆⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺

It was not always like this.

Many times, she had surrendered to him, the only words the mortal girl dare to utter being pleas. Begging for him to do many improper things to her. Acts which would seem unbefitting to any other respected prince. Yet, he was not that kind of prince, and such acts were expected of him by now.

Oh, Cardan please. She would beg. It is your mercy I am at.

⋆⁺⋆⋆⁺⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺

Another countless consecutive night, I’ve awoke from a fitful sleep. Restful nights have become a luxury I don’t often receive without, what others would call, an obscene amount of drink or powders. But no amount drink nor powders could free me from this torment.

I’m unsure how long I lay breathless among ruined sweat-soaked sheets before I rip them from my body, recoiling from the bed. Relieved to feel the cool of the wood chain press against my back, instead of the stick of linen.

This is entirely absurd and should be the least of my worries. My supposed girlfriend is frolicking around with my apparent best friend, and I cannot even get a simple mortal to leave me in a moment’s peace.

I fail in my attempt to disregard my most recent horror, memories forcing me to recall each moment. I need to forget each one. But I cannot. I remember them all.

Breath fails me just as much as forgetting does, I cannot go on like this. I am entirely restless.

Jude. She's just a blip. Her sad short mortal life merely just a chapter in comparison to my immortal one, I remind myself. She'll be gone before I've even noticed the years have passed. Jude. Gone. Buried beneath the strange mortal soil in which she came from. Gone and everything will be as though my mind was never plagued.

And yet even now after she's vanished, she remains remembered by the land. Her mark clinging onto the earth. The earth clinging onto her. Jude. As though she's supposed to be here.

But she's not.

It is unsettling, unnatural.

My skin itches whenever her & her twins’ blanket is a foot too close to ours, but she's not even here and I feel like I'm on fire. Invisible flame biting at my skin, engulfing my heart and shooting down to my gut. An appallingly disgusting sensation that cannot be properly explained to those unknowing of the feeling.

I fear I may lash out at any moment. A tamed animal resorting back to its feral ways, and she knows.

She knows; because she is the same. Nothing more than a dog trained to not bite the hand that feeds it. But every so often, something must give.

And something has.

Despite my, as of late highly frequent, delirious state there is no mistaking the gradual slip of her façade. Unbridle rage replacing usual strategic indifference. And though that rage is evidently directed at me, I would be unable to say I’m not intrigued. Intrigued by what she could possibly be mad about? Wondering of what sets her soul alight.

It is depraved, treacherous even, and I cannot contain this. I cannot shape this into a calculated void.

The blank papers sprawled before me on the desk seem to perfectly mirror my deteriorating mental state.

I am not sure if out of sheer anger or desperate yearning for relief, I feel I must write. Attempting to free my mind of every thought it holds.

I need it gone. All of it.

Could all be fixed if she was out of my sight?

I finish one page after another, only stopping when ink begins to leak uncontrolled from the battered end of the pen. I vacantly acknowledge the distant cramping of my fingers, slowly regaining focus.

Beyond some daze, I’m aware of what I've written. Aware of what I have wasted my parchment on.

Etched in ink that has smeared along the pages, onto my fingertips and the desk below me, is her. Jude. I can only stare at her name on the paper below me. Her odd, rounded name to match her odd, rounded ears. Jude.

In spite of my overly warm skin and unruly appearance, a strange serenity clouds my previous spiralling thoughts. Calm slips into the air around me.

But I don't welcome the feeling.

I don't wish to understand it. I don't wish to see it.

Before another thought can begin to plague me, I brush the stained bits of paper in to the first book I reach for – slamming it shut so hard a few stray pencils clatter to the ground, chasing a few stay pages of truth that avoided being encased inside the book. I’d have to remember to burn them later.

Only after a minute do I read the cover of the book beneath my hands. Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the Looking-Glass.

I almost laugh, as though some sick and twisted work of fate had given me the book itself, deciding to place it in my hands personally. The mortal book I got from my sister. The book my sister got from Judes sister.

I refuse to acknowledge it.

And yet, her name lingers on my fingertips as it lingers on the lands – even after she's gone.

☾ there was definitely more than one jude note, our man was feral for her

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

eternal youth is overrated - a good omens one shot

Summary: Heartbreak and loneliness have left Crowley marked in more ways than one. Aziraphale helps him see that this isn’t such a bad thing.

NOTES: I’ve always had a bit of a bittersweet fascination with aging (David Tennant’s crows’ feet make me emo in ways I cannot hope to describe), with the sadness but also the beauty inherent in it, and I thought it could be interesting to bring this idea to good omens. The concept was “what if Crowley started getting grey hairs after Aziraphale leaves, if, over time, his physical appearance subconsciously changed to reflect his mental state?” The fact that I wrote this as a 19 year old honestly just shows how much I need therapy, but it was honestly incredibly cathartic to work through some of my own mental struggles via Crowley in this fic. Aziraphale’s pov was equally fun to write, as I basically just got to write how he feels about Crowley based on what I feel about David (lol). Hope you enjoy my first Good Omens one shot- I may or may not make an A03 account if it gets enough engagement, I’m honestly pretty proud of it! Special thanks to my wonderful partner in crime @flyingfluse for providing some much needed inspiration!

PS: The title is actually from a song I wrote called Grow Old With Me (hopefully will be available someday fingers crossed)

——————

It had been a year.

Nothing to a demon, really. In the vast expanse of six thousand years on earth, not to mention the innumerable eons Before The Beginning, a year didn’t count for much more than a blip. But heartbreak is a funny thing. Time, for Crowley, now seemed to pass in a much more human fashion- the year that had elapsed since Aziraphale’s return to heaven, a year devoid of anything resembling laughter or joy, a year spent largely either sleeping or stewing in self-loathing, had seemed longer than the past hundred combined.

Crowley’s gaze blearily wandered to the rearview mirror of the Bentley. His reflection, as everything seemed to these days, mocked him.

Those sickly yellow eyes, reminding him of all he was and all that he could never be, like the sulfur he had been cast into all those millenia ago. On his worst days, it was like he could still feel it, eating away at him from the inside out, decaying his soul and with it, his body. It carved shadows into his cheeks and circles beneath his eyes, deep and dark as caverns. It rose in his throat until he choked on it, leaving his voice hoarse and acrid. It spewed out of him onto everything and everyone, every time he opened his mouth, an acidic bile of rage and bitterness.

He had been destroyed and rebuilt over and over through the millenia, and the product was a rough, hardened callus of a being, like a patch of skin that had been picked at too many times. He felt grotesque, untouchable, damaged- there would be no point to pursuing any new connections when no one would understand, nor why would they want to, when he seemed to turn everything he held to ashes? 

A ray of sunlight leaked through the window of the Bentley, catching upon Crowley’s hair, revealing it to be littered with strands of grey, collecting dust-like in his copper mane. How the mighty have fallen, he thought bitterly. Falling, always falling, like leaves in autumn, their color draining as their forms grow brittle and they become one with the earth. From dust they were made, and to dust, they shall return.

Perhaps in a year, he would be dust too. What would he care?

Demons didn’t naturally age, or so he had thought. But loneliness seemed to have made a mortal out of Crowley, centuries of it crashing down upon his corporation, wearing it to the bones, etching his torment into his skin. He could always just miracle any part of himself back to the way it was, reverse all this damned erosion… but what would it matter? Why even try to keep his hair from losing its color when all the color had drained from his life the second his angel had left it?

He felt so, so old.

A single, desperate sob escaped Crowley’s mouth, cracking out of him like splintering firewood.

As he weeped against the steering wheel, the Bentley switched on its radio in sympathy. 

I’ve walked too long in this lonely lane,

I’ve had enough of this same old game.

I’m a man of the world, they say that I’m strong,

But my heart is heavy and my hope is gone.

-----------------

    The demon lay curled in Aziraphale’s lap, clinging to his chest as a snake might in search of warmth. It clutched at Aziraphale’s soul to see Crowley this vulnerable, the swaggering and smirking stripped away to reveal a heart in desperate need of care and healing- a task Aziraphale considered his greatest duty and greatest pleasure, for he knew Crowley would do the same for him. 

    Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair, earning a deep sigh from his beloved, whose brows turned up in fragile, stirring comfort. He loved doing this, both to see how much his touch moved Crowley and because he simply loved his hair itself. Bold, striking, an instant head-turner, just like everything else about him. It was now the longest it had been since biblical times, falling in elegant waves past his shoulders. But oh, something else was different… it was streaked now with rivers of silver, gathering in deltas at his temples. It lit a familiar flame in Aziraphale’s chest; that bittersweet blend of desire and sympathy.

    “You’ve changed your hair, I see”, he said softly. 

     Crowley takes a labored swallow, strain and self consciousness seeping into his face. Whatever he says next, it’s clear that the admission is going to cost him.

     “When you left, I suppose I… let myself wither away.” His voice is lodged deep in his throat, thick and murky, leaking out of him like tar, a sound from the depths of his own personal hell. “Oh, Aziraphale…” he exhales, and it’s one of the most poignant Aziraphale has ever heard.  “I’m so tired. So worn down. So bloody ancient.”

      “So am I, my dear,” he says, trying to come across more soothing than concerned.

     “Yes, but you still shine in the same way you did all those millenia ago… still so bright, so soft.  I’m all tarnished and rusted up… I don’t know how you still want to touch me.”

     Aziraphale gazed down into Crowley’s eyes, piercing and pleading and fragile, like shattered stained glass. At his craggy, rough-hewn cheeks, all bones and edges he’d happily cut himself on to caress. At the deep, deep lines around his eyes, carved there by every grin and grimace and longing and ache. And oh, the silver in his hair… it suited him so, both rejecting and combining black and white with a color all his own. It wasn’t normal for immortal bodies, ethereal or occult, to bear the marks of time and experience as Crowley’s has. But then, Crowley was never an ordinary demon, or angel, was he? No, he was something far more exquisite. 

    “Oh, but I do… I  do…” Affection surges through Aziraphale as he kisses every crease and wrinkle, every scar and every glorious grey, every sign that his dear Crowley has lived. He feels Crowley’s hands winding through his hair in response and kisses those too, those eloquent, spindly fingers and calloused palms…

   “Crowley, my most cherished books… the covers are peeling, the pages are torn or yellowed with age… so why would you be any different?” His heart seizes up, his voice breaking a bit. “I have seen the fire and rain rage within you for so long, and I have seen the marks they have left upon you, and each one is precious to me. You know how I love to read… Why would I not want to see the story of my beloved written upon their face? My 

dear old serpent, my survivor…you don’t have to fight anymore…”

     He pulls Crowley tightly to his chest, drawing the tension from his shoulders and back before cupping the sides of his face as Crowley stares back, looking overwhelmed and old and so, so beautiful. “I want you exactly as you are. Rough and hard and frayed at the edges… you will never be too much of any of these things for me. In fact…” A slightly wicked twinkle forms in his eye as he smiles pointedly at Crowley: “They make you more tempting to me than ever.”

    Crowley processes this for a moment. “Well…” he croaks out, that hint of playful snark finding its way back into his throaty timbre, “I suppose there is something to be said for… shades of grey.” Aziraphale laughs, remembering the words he himself said to Crowley all those years ago, on the same night he realized just how much he adored him.

   Crowley smiles, that crooked, twisted, perfectly imperfect smile that Aziraphale missed, his eyes crinkling magnificently at the corners. “Kiss me,” he whispers, and Aziraphale is happy to oblige. Happy that Crowley, bold, fierce, independent Crowley, could finally let his guard down, could finally embrace that all of his scars and imperfections, every mark of time upon his face, everything he ever thought made him damaged and ugly only made him more beautiful in his sight.

[dumbass-tumbler-cryptid]

Love your stuff what will be updating Visited on the son? Maybe?🤔🤞

Thank you 😊. I had hoped to finish it sooner but then I got side tracked with an au someone sent me. I’m close to finishing the last part of that but I’ve also been on a trip all weekend so I haven’t really been writing much (but I have been think up a complete new fic that I really want to start writing but probably shouldn’t until I finish other stuff) . I’ll get back to writing Visited when I get home tomorrow. I plan on just chilling for the next two days so I’m hoping to get a lot done. In the meantime, here’s a snippet!

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Alright now what sound does B make,” Miles asked his son. Spider’s reading lessons were displayed on their living room t.v, Miles standing off to the side of it with a pointing stick in hand, playing teacher. His son sat on the couch, looking hilariously small on the oversized furniture. Spider was wrapped up in a blanket, clutching it close as if to shield from the schooling, the pout on his face a permanent fixture since the lesson began.

“Bah,” Spider spat out.

Miles sighed. “You know for a kid that’s right y’a look mighty miserable.”

“This is stupid!”

Miles pinched the bridge of his nose, “well son if y’a had passed this portion on your aptitude test then we wouldn’t be doin’ this. But y’a didn’t because y’a couldn’t even read the questions. So it’s not stupid. Knowin’ what sounds all the letters make will help y’a sound out words when we get to readin’. Y’a listen to the sounds, y’a figure out the words and just like that y’a can read.”

Spider defensively crossed his arms, glaring at the floor, still obviously unimpressed. “It doesn’t matter,” the boy mumbled, the words barely decipherable by his father, “I’m a moron anyway…”

“What did you just say,” Miles' anger was rising, hoping that he’d actually misheard his son.

Spider cast off his blanket, leaning forward on the couch, “I said I’m a moron!”

“Don’t you dare say that about yourself,” Miles shouted, wagging a finger at the boy. Spider shrank inward at the yelling but Miles' fury was too high for him to stop, “who told you that! That damn McCosker!”

Spider curled into a little ball, “yeah.”

Miles took a deep breath, trying to quell his rage. You can’t yell at him, he reminded himself, you're scaring him. He crossed the room, kneeling to his son’s level, laying his hands on the boy’s shoulders. In a much more gentle tone he said, “I’m sorry for yelling. I was just mad on your behalf. You are not a moron. Don’t you ever say something like that about yourself ever again y’a hear me.” Spider nodded. “Now tell me what happened when McCosker insulted you.”

Spider was quiet until he found the words, “we tried school a while ago. I couldn’t sit still and that made him angry and when I didn’t get the lessons he got more angry and started yelling and calling me a moron and an idiot and stupid….”

Miles had to stop himself from completely flying off the handle and going straight to McCosker’s apartment to beat the shit out of him. “How old were you?” Spider answered by holding up a hand all five of his fingers splayed. It felt like a knife to the heart for Miles. His poor boy had already been through so much and Miles could have prevented all of it if he had just made better choices. He took his son’s little hand in his own, looking him directly in the eye with a soft encouraging gaze. “Now you listen up. Sometimes when people are mean, like that mean ol’ Nash McCosker, it’s really because they’re unhappy with themselves. They gotta tear everyone else down just to feel good inside. Once you know that, those people can never hurt y’a again. They are sad and pathetic. You are kind and resourceful and strong. And you are most definitely a smart boy. Y’a couldn’t win at hide and seek, or safely make your way through the jungle all by yourself or speak two languages or take care of yourself for as long as y’a did if y’a weren’t incredibly smart.” Spider’s cheeks turned pink, a bashful smile on his face. Miles cupped his face in his hand. “Do y’a believe me now?” Spider nodded. “Good. Now can we try your lessons again?”

[nightlifeseries]

Saying Goodbye to Jermaine - Diamond

Diamond lets Jermaine’s hand go and locks herself in the bathroom. What she is about to do is not going to change anything and she knows that. 

She returns to the bedroom in one of his button-down shirts. 

Jermaine: You haven’t said much all night. Did you even like the food? [chuckle] 

Looking at Jermaine only brought tears to Diamond’s eyes. Someone who could do no wrong in her eyes, was now seen as a villain. 

Jermaine: Diamond? It seems like you have something on your mind. Do you want to talk about it? 

Diamond: Not really. I just have ..... I ...sigh

Looking in Jermaine's eyes brought Diamond so much rage and sadness. It didn’t have to end this way. She wanted to be his wife and mother to his babies. 

Jermaine: What is it? Talk to me. Please. 

Diamond: I can’t believe I’m here. I have so much hatred for you - I could burn this house down with you tied to that bed. Do you know that!? You stand there like you didn’t do anything wrong. Why aren’t you kissing my feet and apologizing?! Huh?!

Jermaine: I get it! I appreciate your honesty also. I’ve tried calling you and you never answered your front door. Don’t act like I haven’t tried Diamond. 

Diamond: B*llshit. But you know what, I didn’t come over here to talk about that. Not right now. I just - 

Jermaine leans in and Kisses Diamond. It takes her by surprise. 

She pushes him away and sits down on the bed.

Jermaine: I’m sorry. You just look so beautiful, standing there in my shirt yelling at me. I’ve missed you so much! 

Diamond: SHUT UP. My gosh. I can’t believe I came over here. My Gosh I am so stupid!

Tears fill her eyes. She lays down to hide her tears falling down her cheeks. Jermaine plops down close to Diamond. She can hear him smelling her hair. His lips are so soft. But she keeps reminding herself that other women have been kissed by him. The thoughts swarming in her mind make her want to vomit. 

10 minutes. 30 minutes. 1 hour pass. She opens her eyes to Jermaine snoring. It’s now or never. Gotta get this over with and get out of here. He will never change. He will never admit fault. Diamond had been there for almost 3 hours now and he hasn’t said a word about his indiscretion. 

f**k this...... 

NSFW under cut

Around they went in the bed. The Floor. The walls. Against the windows. Upside down. Doggystyle. Jermaine pulls her hair. Diamond chokes Jermaine. Jermaine throws her around. Drills her in the air. Diamond bites him all over. When Diamond felt like she was done - Jermaine would pull her in for more. Hands all over her. Passion. Hot and sweaty. Round after round. Orgasms galore. Legs shaking. Soaked sheets.

It was the best he ever gave her. 3 years with this man, he has never made her feel THIS good. It was as if he knew she came to say goodbye and he was trying to change her mind with his Oscar winning performance. It doesn’t matter now. It’s over. Diamond can’t take him back. She’s carrying another man’s baby that she is going to keep. 

The sun is coming up. It’s time to Go. 

Diamond: [heavy breathing] ..... Don’t call me anymore. It’s over. 

Jermaine: [heavy breathing] 

Youtube

[just-an-emily-existing]

DOTD Thomas x Percy Angst

It had been a few weeks since Percy joined the Diesels, and Thomas hadn’t come to see him at all, Percy was now fully convinced that Thomas had forgotten about him. The diesels were delighted.

“Now now dear Percy, we will never leave you behind, unlike that puffball Thomas…” D10 said soothingly to Percy, wiping away his tears, and doing his best to keep his makeup in tact.

“I-I know, but still, I can’t help but miss him even though I mean nothing to him…” Percy said, holding onto D10’s hand. D10 sighed.

“That’s what’s called a toxic relationship dear Percy.”

“What’s a toxic relationship?” Percy asked innocently. D10 smiled.

“A toxic relationship is when you don’t feel supported or loved by the person who’s supposed to do that, and when the relationship stops bringing joy, and it instead makes you sad, or angry, or depressed, that’s when you need to leave the person who’s doing this to you behind. It’s all for the best little Percy.” D10 explained. Percy’s eyes widened as he began to cry even more. D10 held him close.

“After all these years we've been together, and as soon as Belle comes along, boom! He leaves me just like that… What did I do wrong 10?” Percy asked, clutching onto D10’s jacket, tears running down his face.

“You’ve done nothing wrong my little Percy, I’d never leave you like that.” D10 said, patting Percy’s back. Percy blushed, he’d never been called that before, and it made him feel wonderful, like someone finally understood him, finally wanted him around, someone finally loved him. Suddenly, they heard the whistle of an oh-so-familiar steam engine,

It was Thomas.

“Percy! There you are! I’ve been looking all over the island for you and- *gasp* what are you wearing! You look like a criminal! And what’s on your face! You look like a clown!” Thomas said, turning into his human self. Percy’s eyes twitched with rage, the one time he didn’t want to see Thomas, he shows up immediately.

“What are you doing here you useless blue puff-” D10 began but Percy cut him off.

“Don’t worry 10, I can handle this…” Percy said, walking slowly to Thomas, grabbing his guns. Thomas saw this and backed away.

“P-Percy? What’re doing? Come on, this is silly, please, come back with me! Everyone’s worried about you!” Thomas said, terrified of what his boyfriend had become.

“You think your dumbass can just walk in here, tell me I look like shit, manipulate me into thinking, “Oh Percy! Everyone’s SOOOOO worried about you!” and expect me to come home with you?! Are you out of your fucking mind!? HELL NO!!!” Percy screamed, clutching onto his guns even tighter.

“But I’m telling the truth! The Fat Controller wants you to come back! Everyone does, even James! I’m sorry for leaving you-” But Percy didn’t want to hear it, he then shoved Thomas to the ground.

“NO ONE EVER WANTED ME AROUND THOMAS!!! YOU AND I BOTH KNOW I MEAN NOTHING TO YOU!!!” Percy screamed at the top of his lungs. He then pulled out his gun and pointed right at Thomas’ forehead!

“Leave Thomas, leave and never come back! I’m not going back into our toxic relationship with you! D10 would never treat me like you have so I’m staying here!” Percy said, pure rage boiling in his eyes. Thomas looked terrified, he didn’t know what to do.

“D10 is just trying to trick you! They all are! *tries to get up and take Percy’s gun away* Just put the gun down-” Percy gasped as he jumped backwards and shot Thomas in the cheek!

“I said L E A V E Thomas!!!” Percy shouted as he fired two warning shots next to him as his cheek bled profusely. Thomas was crying and bleeding and Percy didn’t care at all. All Thomas saw before he passed out was a furious Percy looking him dead in the eyes with the same gun still pointed at him and a proud D10, putting his hand on Percy’s shoulder. When Thomas woke up, he was in a hospital room, with Henry and Edward next to him, worried beyond belief. Thomas looked slowly at Henry.

“W-What happened?” Thomas asked groggily.

“We don’t know, we found you in your shed with a horrible gash on your face and you were bleeding! A whole pool of blood was around your head!” Henry said, trying not to gag. Thomas remembered now, he was shot by his love. Percy shot him… Thomas started to cry. Edward saw this and held him.

“What happened Thomas?” He asked, wiping away Thomas’ tears. Thomas could only muster,

“Don’t worry Edward, I can handle this…” And as Thomas fell back asleep, he whispered,

“I’m going to get him back…”

[riahlynn101]

"Kidnapping is Easier Said Than Done."

summary: Yoichi sometimes wishes he were born into a better family, but what he wants more than that is for his nephew to be raised by someone, anyone that's not All for One.

Trigger warning: Kidnapping

-----

Yoichi’s favorite hobby is people watching. Call it a holdover from his childhood days of being relegated to the shadows of society, but it has never ceased to amaze him how people interact with the world around them. The park near his apartment is both a nice place to relax and to indulge this hobby. 

He likes to sit on a bench in the center of the park, between a row of neatly planted tulips and a scattering of wildflowers. People pass by, sometimes in pairs or groups, sometimes alone. 

But today he’s there for a different reason. 

“Hello,” a young woman pushing a stroller greets him. 

“Ah, Midoriya-san, how are you doing today?"

“Good, good.” She sits next to him. 

“And how is Izuku?” He looks over the baby. Now a little bigger than the last time he saw him, even though it’s only been a couple weeks. “Getting bigger.” He clicks his tongue. “They grow up so fast.”

Midoriya-san frowns. She traces a finger down the baby’s chubby cheek. “Too fast.” 

Yoichi suddenly feels guilty. He shouldn’t, not yet. But he does. Making people upset has never sat right with him. 

“He has your eyes,” he says, changing the topic to something less imminent than her baby growing up. Though, if Yoichi’s being honest, he knows that’s not true. The only similarities little Izuku and Midoriya-san’s eyes share are that they’re big and green. 

Midoriya-san laughs. “My husband says Izuku has his brother’s eyes. I’ve never met him before….” she trails off, chewing on her bottom lip. “Guess I’ll have to take his word for it.” She laughs again. The sound is nice. Nicer than anything his brother deserves to listen to.

“How is your husband?” Yoichi asks. Maybe his brother calmed down, retired even. As much as he doesn’t want his nephew being raised by his brother, Yoichi really doesn’t want to cause the young woman next to him any pain. She seems nice, just gullible and misled. 

The smile falls off her face, replaced by a frown, and Yoichi knows the answer before she speaks. “Hisashi’s on a business trip.”

“How long?”

“Who knows,” she murmurs. Izuku coos in his sleep. A soft fondness overtakes the sad, tired look in Midoriya-san’s eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be home soon, though.”

It’s Yoichi’s turn to frown. “Yeah,” he agrees, “I’m sure too.”

He looks at her. At her soft hair and soft features and big eyes. Yoichi knows his brother. He knows that he didn’t fall in love with this beautiful but naive woman for no reason. There has to be a plan in place. A scheme to get his hands on One for All, or a chance for a new quirk. Yoichi can’t put his finger on what it is exactly. 

“I’m tired,” she admits in a small voice, like she’s ashamed. Midoriya-san looks at him, and he sees the countless hours of sleep she’s lost raising Izuku on her own. She bows her head, one of her hands rest on the stroller, absently moving it back and forth. “I’m so, so tired.” Tears fall from her eyes, she sniffles.

“I would be too.” Yoichi pats her shoulder. He’s not the best at offering comfort, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try. 

“Izuku is a good boy. I know he is, and I know that it’ll get easier when he gets older. But right now…” Midoriya-san sobs into her hands, shoulders shaking. The noise almost wakes Izuku. Yoichi keeps an eye on him, even as continues to pat Midoriya-san on the back. 

“Do you have any family or friends?” 

She looks up from her hands, shaking her head. “Besides Hisashi, you mean?”

Of course his brother would choose someone without a good support network. The thought fills Yoichi with an indescribable rage. But he’s nothing if not good at managing his emotions (living with someone like All for One will do that to you), so he just flashes a gentle smile. “Yes.”

“Mitsuki, she’s my best friend.”

“Why don’t you reach out to her?”

“She has a baby too, only a few months older than Izuku. I don’t want to burden her.” At those words Midoriya-san devolves into sobs again. 

Yoichi grimaces. The guilt is already setting in. “Midoriya-san,” he says. “You look like you need a break. I’d be more than happy to watch Izuku for you.”

Midoriya-san shakes her head. “N- no….I…you can’t. My husband doesn’t like people watching our son.”

“Besides you?”

“Besides me and him.”

“How is that fair?” Yoichi asks. “You can’t sustain yourself by taking care of Izuku all the time. Besides, your husband will never know. You can go home and sleep, and I’ll take care of the baby. We can meet up here at five.”

“But….Hisashi-”

“Should be here to help you.”

Midoriya-san looks at him and then over at her baby. “Are you sure…? Izuku can be a handful and I’ve heard horror stories of babysitters getting frustrated and-”

He cuts her off. “I’ve dealt with worse, trust me.” Not babies but All for One is certainly close enough. Yoichi takes her hand. “I promise to take good care of your son.”

“His diaper bag is at the bottom of the stroller. It has everything you’ll need.” Midoriya-san sighs sadly. She leans over to kiss Izuku’s downy head. “I love you, Izuku. Be good until mommy comes back.” She then looks over at Yoichi. “Take care of him. Oh, and I know you’re only watching him for a few hours, but he might be a little fussy when he wakes up. He’s not used to being cared for by anyone except my husband or I.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” The sudden urge to throw up washes over him. He smiles. 

-x-x-x-

Yoichi abandons the stroller a block away from his apartment. He shoulders the diaper bag, and carries the baby close to his chest. Izuku is thankfully a heavy sleeper, so the rest of the trip isn’t interrupted by the sounds of a crying baby. 

He enters his apartment. It’s totally empty, minus a few bags, the baby, him, and….

“You got him,” Kudou, his husband, says. His amber eyes are warmer than usual, staring at the baby in his arms.

“I feel sick,” he admits. The baby moves a little, snuggling closer to his chest. Yoichi imagines his baby nephew finds the sound of his heart relaxing. Anything to offset his racing thoughts. “I don’t think I can go through with this.”

Kudou places a firm hand on his back. “I won’t fault you if you don’t. It’s not easy, and if I was anymore approachable I would have been the one to do it. But it is either All for One, us, or a random family’s doorstep.”

“I- Midoriya-san is so kind,” Yoichi whispers, looking down at Izuku. “I don’t think she knows.”

“Would she tell you if she did?”

Yoichi thinks of his own lived experience of protecting his brother’s identity from prying feds and nosy neighbors. The constant paranoia that anyone he talked to could be vying for his brother’s head, and even now he wouldn’t want that. Especially if his brother decided to settle down and retire. 

But that’s a pipe dream , he realizes for the millionth time in the hundred-plus years he’s been alive.

“No,” he says, a finality in his tone. 

-x-x-x-

Izuku stays asleep for the duration of the car ride. Given, it’s not exactly a long ride, but the fact that he does stay asleep is a small mercy. Kudou doesn’t know what he would do if he had to both comfort his husband who is one minor inconvenience away from having a panic attack and soothe a crying baby. 

They bought a new house in the countryside. It’s still hours away, so they’re going to stop for tonight. He already feels like they are pressing their luck. 

Kudou pulls into a shady looking motel’s parking lot. A glowing ‘vacancy’ sign sits in the window. “I’ll be right back,” he says. Yoichi nods. He hasn’t said much this entire trip.

The receptionist is a middle-aged man who, upon Kudou asking for a room, threw the key at him, annoyed at being asked to do his job. After completing this, apparently, herculean task, the man returns to watching his soaps at full volume on the tiny TV in front of him. 

Kudou rolls his eyes. 

Some people. 

-x-x-x-

Yoichi sits in the front seat. He can’t get his mind off Midoriya-san. Izuku’s mom. He knows he shouldn’t feel bad. She made her choices. Choices that Izuku, being born into this family, had no say in. 

But he can’t stop the gnawing guilt clawing at his insides. It’s not too dissimilar to what he felt all those years ago, being rescued and (in certain people’s eyes) leaving his brother behind. The guilt of breaking an unspoken bond. 

The bond of brotherhood. 

The bond of perceived friendship. 

A hiccup startles Yoichi out of his thoughts. He looks over his shoulder at the baby (who is laying a pile of blankets in a laundry basket). Another hiccup and a sniffle. 

Oh, no!

That’s all the warning he gets before Izuku starts bawling. Little arms flailing around.. His face is scrunched up and red from the few seconds of crying. Yoichi unbuckles his seatbelt. He kneels on the seat, leaning over into the backseat. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he says, waving his hands around frantically. “Shhh….it’s-”

His husband decides to come back right at that moment. Kudou has an annoyed look on his face, but it instantly fades when he looks between the screaming baby and Yoichi’s tearful expression.

“Yo’,” he murmurs. “I got him. How about you go check our room out.”

“But,” Yoichi starts, anxious and frustrated in equal measure. Logically, he knows that he’s in no state to calm his nephew down. But the idea of not being the one to do it, of offloading that responsibility on someone else, only adds to his guilt. 

“We’ll be right behind you. You need a few minutes to yourself. Just to collect your thoughts.”

Yoichi opens his mouth to argue but finds that his husband (as always) is correct. “Fine,” he says. 

He gets out of the car, taking with him a backpack and the baby bag. The sounds of his baby nephew crying and his husband shushing him fall silent as he heads to their room. 

-x-x-x-

Kudou is a soldier. A warrior. A commander. 

He’s killed and fought and lost everything.

And somehow, wrangling a squirming baby is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He comes to two conclusions simultaneously. One, his nephew is going to be a royal pain in the ass, especially if they want to continue to stay undercover. And two, baby Izuku looks an awful lot like his dad. 

He shakes his head. He would rather chew on broken glass than willingly think about All for One. The bastard doesn’t deserve to take up residence in Kudou’s head. Not after all the chaos and calamity he’s caused. And, more importantly, the baby doesn’t deserve being compared to someone so awful. 

Tamping down any comparisons or thoughts of All for One, Kudou scoops the baby up. Izuku sniffles, looking up at him. His big eyes seem to search Kudou’s face, as if deciding on something. 

He breathes a sigh of relief, ear drums still ringing from the few seconds of the baby’s screams. But it’s short lived, as not a second later, Izuku bursts into hysterics - louder than before. 

Kudou sighs again, this time resigned to his fate. He carries the baby, squirming and crying like a banshee all the way across the motel parking lot. An older woman shoots him a dirty look as he passes. 

As if the baby crying is his fault. 

To be fair, it technically is. But she doesn’t know that. He glares at her, and feels a little vindicated when she quickly looks away. 

-x-x-x-

By the time he makes it to their room, Izuku has settled down some. He’s more still and his cries have less bite to them. Which doesn’t help his poor ears, but at least they won’t be kicked out because of a noise complaint (not Kudou has any faith in the guy up front to do anything about it). 

Yoichi is making a makeshift bassinet on the bed. He forms some of the pillows and blankets into a circle. He looks up when Kudou enters. 

“I was starting to worry.” He glances at the baby in Kudou’s arms. “He didn’t give you any trouble?”

Deciding not to fuel his husband’s growing anxiety, he shrugs his shoulders. “Nope. None.” 

He hands the baby off to his husband. Kudou busies himself with drawing up plans for the next day and offering small encouragements to Yoichi as he paces the room. 

Eventually, thankfully, as the sun sets beyond the horizon, the baby finally sleeps. His cries taper off into small whimpers and then into soft snores. Yoichi places the baby in the center of the bed, sliding into bed after him. His body curls around the pile of blankets. 

“Coming to bed?” Yoichi asks, quiet because of the looming threat of the baby waking up. 

Kudou hums. “Not yet. I’ll be there in a second.”

Yoichi nods, settling down for the night. It’s not long before he, too, is fast asleep. 

Kudou watches them for a while. If he didn’t know better, he could almost pretend that they just adopted Izuku. That the baby is really theirs, and not the product of All for One scheming. His heart clenches.

Izuku extends his arm in his sleep as if reaching out for something (or someone). 

He frowns, which only deepens further when the baby cries out in his sleep. His tiny hands brushing against scratchy blankets. 

Kudou puts his plans for the next couple of days on the back burner. He sits awkwardly on the edge of the bed. One of his hands hover above the baby, unsure of what to do or how to offer comfort. 

Carefully, tentatively, he strokes a finger down the baby’s chubby cheek. One of Izuku’s hands come up to grab onto him. The whimpering and crying instantly stops. 

Kudou comes to one more conclusion, body curled around the pile of blankets and pillows on their bed:

Their nephew, soon to be son, is innocent and needs to be protected and has all the potential in the world to become something great and kind - if they only treat him with all the compassion neither of them were given while growing up. 

He falls asleep, holding one of Izuku’s tiny hands. The baby’s fingers wrap around his thumb. 

Across from him, Yoichi smiles.

[exvangelicalrage]

I took a couple weeks off from writing about christianity, and in that time, I decided to also take a break from therapy.

I've been going to the same therapist for the last two years, and I learned a lot from her. She helped me understand the true impact of religious trauma, introduced me to IFS and some other techniques that have helped me manage the maelstrom of feelings inside, and told me I was neurodivergent, which I'd always wished to be but thought the term didn't apply because I didn't have autism or adhd. 

But something about my therapist has been bothering me more and more lately, and that's this: she's an exvangelical, but still christian. 

When I started going to her, she told me that she had begun doing therapy focused on people with religious trauma, and then went to divinity school to help them more, which I fully appreciate and respect. She said she wanted to help heal the damage the church has wrought. But she remained christian throughout it all, and is even now a pastor. 

It didn't bother me at first. She was the first person I'd found who specialized in religious trauma, she was located in my state, she was clearly very smart, and she was obviously not trying to convert me back. 

But I realized recently that I've been holding back. I'm afraid to fully criticize christianty in front of her. 

In one session, I told her I flip off churches when I drive by—and christian billboards and yard signs and flags. And she flinched. Just a little. I noticed and said, "It helps cool the rage," and then moved on.

But I've never forgotten that flinch.

And now, every time I want to criticize christianity, I feel like I have to add the caveat, "Not all christians, though." But the truth is, I'm not sure I agree with the "not all christians" bit. Maybe I do a little—I recognize that there are nuances and gradation to christians, just like in every other group. But if I don't feel fully safe shitting on the ideology in front of her, how much more can I get out of my sessions with her?

The thing is, the closer I examine my rage, the more I realize it's not a simmering pot of boiling water; it's a raging inferno. 

A raging inferno I can't tell my therapist about.

christianity stole so much from me. Not just my childhood. Not just experiences and opportunities. Not just my self esteem and personal agency, which I've had to fight and claw to get back. But it took my peace. It took my calm. It ripped away my ability to have a normal, healthy life. It left me alone, isolated, and stranded, when it promised to do the opposite. It left me rejected and hated, when it promised to love me. 

I can't even have a simple conversation with my parents without knowing in the back of my head that they think I'm going to hell. 

They say they love me, and they do in a limited way. But that unconditional love they promised? It's not there. It can't be. 

It's not just rage swirling inside me. It's sadness. And grief. And deep, abiding pain. 

And for the most part, I suffer that pain alone. 

Aloneness isn't scary; in fact, overall I'd say it's a pretty safe place for me to be in. I'm an introvert. I've always sought it. And I'm not alone in every way. I'm married. I have atheist/non-christian friends. I still talk to my family.

But in this pain, I am alone.

christianity promised fulfillment, and instead, it left emptiness. It promised peace, and it left fury. It promised hope, and it left an empty chasm.

I guess I'm a little sad today.

But luckily, quitting christianity is a lot like quitting booze. It leaves you feeling sad, empty, and alone, a lot at first and less as time passes—but on the other side, there's a whole new world of beauty to fill up the hole with. Art, exercise, animals, people, life. And in the end, it's a million times better than the beforetimes.

But just for today, I'm gonna let myself be a little bit sad.