#mistaken for a couple scenario

[teruel-a-witch]

you know how steve constantly brings danny up even when he's not around? which is a lot on its own but particularly if he's with someone who doesn't know danny or what exactly their deal is, especially since he openly likens their relationship to a marriage to people he barely knows even. that lead me to this particular what if...

every year steve meets up with his former navy buddies, guys he came up with or trained with or went into battle with, between their schedules and as they get out they always try to make a date and catch up.

every year as they get older they start talking about their girlfriends and then their wives and then their kids, since that's a huge part of what's going on in their lives.

steve talks...about danny. his ohana. danny. gracie. danny and charlie. then eddie and the kids: tani and junior. and danny. his partner always comes up and no one questions it, they are used to not asking.

steve doesn't think much of it, until one time one of the other guys corners him, kinda nervous, and says he wants him to be the first of the group to know that he's gay. of course, steve is touched but he doesn't understand why until the guy explains. 'it was you, talking about your danny, and your kids, and the family you built together, with such love and conviction and no hint of shame, that made me believe i could some day have all of that too. it gave me courage to ask my now fiancé out on a date. we would be honoured to invite you two to the wedding, since you are at least partially responsible. we can only hope we are still as in love after 10 years together as you guys are.'

steve is in shock, but he doesn't have the heart to ruin the guy's beautiful coming out speech by telling him danny and him aren't like that. he lets him continue to assume what everyone else apparently had been doing for years.

except...perhaps, it's time to talk to danny. there would be plenty of opportunities when he comes home and tells his live-in partner why they have a wedding to attend to.

(two years later he's the one handing out save-the-dates)

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills

Part 1

Your therapist warned you about superstitious thinking. You've been working on it. In fact, you've been very good at catching it, challenging yourself to relax, and letting things go. Even before this big work trip, you consciously avoided the "unhelpful" rituals and reminded yourself that the little ones were just to make you feel secure, not to actually influence the future across an ocean.

"I'm very nervous," you had told Señor Snuggly two weeks ago. Your worn out stuffed lizard hadn't said anything back, of course. "That's normal, because it’s an international flight. So I'm going to give you a hug good-bye, and you're gonna stay here to watch the house. I know it's not going to change anything, but I'll feel better knowing you're here."

At the airport, you realized that you had forgotten your toothbrush. It had satisfied the part of your brain that was looking for one (1) thing to go wrong. Superstitious thinking, but the kind that helped you to relax and listen to music until you boarded.

Now, forced to sit on the floor, surrounded by shouting men with guns, your brain is stuck on your lopsided stuffed animal and blue toothbrush. Of all the things that could pop into your head, why those?

You almost let out a nervous giggle at the mental image of Señor Snuggly using your toothbrush as a shiv to save the day. And then the idea of what would happen if you started laughing right now almost startles you into another burst of giggles. You clap your hands over your mouth and curl into yourself a little bit more.

Next to you, your boss throws you a sympathetic look. "You okay?"

"No talking!" The nearest assailant yells in heavily accented English. You're pretty sure the attackers have been speaking Russian, but you could be mistaken. He brandishes his gun. "You want to die?"

"She needs to go to the restroom," your boss answers.

"No, I don't," you protest. You really, really do, and have for the last two hours. But being escorted out of the room alone seems like enough of a Bad Idea that your bladder can wait.

"No, she does not," the man confirms. "Shut up. Do not talk."

You meet your boss's eyes and try to silently convey, Why are you trying to get me killed?

His doughy face says back, I am a white man who goes to the gym once a week, and I really like the John Wick movies. I have delusions of being a hero. If one man takes you to the bathroom I have the mistaken belief that I can overpower two men with guns to save everyone. Also you're a black woman, so don't you have super powers? I believe in you, queen.

You may be projecting.

Ten minutes later, just as you're wondering if you should suggest a group field trip down the hall to the bathrooms, a series of gunshots rings through the building. The energy in the room goes from nervous to frantic in an instant. Your bladder shuts up. The Russian men start shouting and waving their guns, apparently too agitated to speak English. Two hostages start crying because no one else speaks Russian, just English, French and your half-forgotten, informal, Mexican Spanish.

Another three Russians come bursting in the room, snarling something you can’t understand. They grab at a couple of people, force them to stand at gunpoint and gesture to the rest of you. And then everyone is up and kind of moving in the direction of the door. But you can’t get out of the door because they’re blocking it, but they’re really agitated that the room is still full of hostages. And then some people are being pushed back down to the floor. Your boss ends up sitting back down again. A hard hand closes on your arm before you can get down, and you and four others are dragged out.

The leader says, “You all are dignitaries, yes? Your embassies will send money or they will watch you die.”

This is, potentially, the worst possible scenario. None of the five of you are even remotely important, let alone dignitaries. You’re not 100% sure about most of the others, but you’re an aid. An aid to an aid, really. The blonde woman with the remarkably sharp bob is a personal assistant. Today’s conference was about health data management, of all things.

You decide you’re not going to die with a full bladder. You look to the man holding your arm in an iron grip and point to the upcoming door on the right. “Can I please go to the restroom? I’ll be quick.”

He asks the leader something in Russian, and then you’re being shoved through the bathroom door. He doesn’t follow you into the stall, but it’s still so awkward to pee knowing that there’s a man with a gun waiting for you. You’re so glad you aren’t on your period - opening the wrapper on anything right now would feel louder than it has since middle school.

The door to the restroom opens just as the toilet finishes flushing. You hear a scuffle, an aborted shout, and then something heavy hits the floor. You freeze, heart racing. But then there’s no more sound.

You wait for what feels like an hour but must only be a minute before calling, “H-hello?”

You don’t get an answer. Unlocking the door and easing it open, you peek out and stifle a gasp. The man who had escorted you is on the ground, a pool of blood growing around him. His gun is gone.

You’re halfway through washing your hands before you realize you’re on autopilot.

It takes everything in you to fight down the urge to freeze in place and make yourself inch around the body to the door. When you poke your head out, the hall looks so normal that it makes you dizzy for a second. You try to decide what to do through the anxiety fog. You can’t hide in the bathroom with a dead body, and you probably can’t go back to the big room with everyone without getting shot. You have no idea where the other faux-dignitaries were taken. Apparently, there’s at least one person going around killing people in bathrooms.

You try to think of what your therapist would say in this situation. All of the options feel bad, she would say. So you can’t not do anything because it feels bad. Thank the anxiety for trying to keep you safe, then try to pick the least awful course of action.

“Fight, flight, freeze, fawn,” you whisper to yourself. Fighting is right out. “Flight, freeze, fawn.” There’s a body pouring blood right behind you. “Flight, fawn.” No one is around to appease. “Flight.”

Another gunshot and shouting. It sounds like it’s coming from the left, so you head right.

You shuck off your sensible kitten heels and fervently wish your otherwise sensible pantsuit wasn’t pastel purple in this very beige hallway. Not that a thicker-than-European-average black woman mincing around in a Swiss hotel and conference center would be inconspicuous in a black suit, your mind counters itself. You try to force your brain to shut up, with mixed success.

You wander a good five minutes, reminding yourself not to panic at every locked door you try. The halls are so quiet that you half convince yourself that you’ve gotten out of immediate danger. So of course, right as you’re about the round the next corner, one of the Russians appears, reeling backwards. And then he collapses, a knife sticking out of his neck.

You can’t really worry about that, though, because right after him comes one of the largest men you’ve ever seen. He must catch sight of you out of the corner of his eye, because his head snaps to look at you. You barely register the assault rifle in his hands because his eyes bore into you through the top half of a human skull.

Oh, I’m glad I already peed, you think, staring into the eyes of Death.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell,” the man says, growls really. “What are you doing here?”

“I… bathroom? Please don’t kill me. I’ll cooperate.” you squeak out. Oh, fawning! Cool.

“Price, I’ve got one of the hostages,” he says, nonsensically. “I’ve cleared the east wing.”

You jump when his walkie-talkie - of course it’s a walkie-talkie - squawks back an “Affirmative. Status?”

“She’s up and walking,” the man says, not taking his eyes from yours. “Seems uninjured.”

“Stow her somewhere safe.”

“Negative,” Death says. Before you can panic because what the fuck does that mean? he says, “Bringing her back with me.”

“Copy.”

When he takes a step toward you, you stop breathing. Everything in you is screaming RUN and DON’T MOVE at the same time. His second step in your direction results in a full body twitch. You get the impression that the gun is pointed at the ground, but the only thing you can really see is bone white over a black mask and what might be really pretty brown eyes, but the shadow from the overhead light really makes it hard to tell and your vision is going a bit darkaroundtheedgesandohI’mstillnotbreathingthat’snotgreat.

You’re shocked into gasping when a gloved palm touches the side of your face. The rough material helps you settle into your body, just in time to start hyperventilating.

And that’s when things get weird, because Death says, “Easy, lovie. Settle, f’ me, yeah? Deep breaths, like we’ve practiced.”

Your brain latches on to the familiar command to settle before you can even question why it’s familiar. The way the man makes a long, low shushing noise makes you so suddenly weak in the knees that you stagger where you stand.

And then it clicks. Holy shit. You know this voice. You know these commands. You’ve been listening to and learning them at least once a week for the last six months. He doesn’t even sound that different from over the phone or on a video call.

“There you go, that’s good,” Simon, the dominant you’ve been seeing online, tells you through his skull mask. “Keep breathin’. In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

It’s the second time in your life you’ve been surprised out of a panic attack. “W-what the fuck? Si?” you gasp. “What are you doing here? Did you kill that guy?”

“Questions are gonna have to wait,” he says. “Keep breathing. In for four, hold for two. In for two, out for eight. Can you do that?”

“Why are you in Switzerland?”

“Breathe,” he rumbles. “Settle.”

“No,” you hiss, even as your shoulders relax another fraction. The corners of your eyes start prickling with tears.

“This is a double red light situation,” Si says, staring into your eyes. “I know you’re scared, but I’m going to get you out of here. You trust me?”

“You are wearing a skull on your face.”

“And you’re wearing a purple suit,” he answers. “There are people who want to shoot both of us. You get one more outburst, then you’re breathing and following me. Acknowledge.”

What the fuck? “This isn’t a scene!”

His eyes bore into yours. “Might surprise you, but I’m aware. Acknowledge.”

A distant shout makes you flinch. You relent. “Acknowledged. Four in, hold two, two in, out eight. Follow.”

“Good girl,” he says, patting your cheek once. “Stay behind me.”

[waynewifey]

aftermath — b.w

part one - ‘dear mr. wayne’

part two - ‘aftermath’

part three. - ‘aporia’

summary: you escaped that warehouse, but part of you died in there. now, your husband helps you grief your own loss while trying to not murder your relationship.

pairing: bruce wayne/battinson x reader

genre: drama & angst romance

warnings: mentions of sex and alcohol; mentions of ptsd, anxiety and it’s symptoms; hospital setting; dubious science; dubious law enforcement

word count: 2.9k

A/N: thank you for all the positive feedback on part 1! there will be a part three because this post would get too long, so let me know if you’ll like to be tagged in that. my biggest challenge writing this was trying to give bruce the start of a redemption arc, please tell me if you think it worked. comments and constructive criticism is appreciated!

gotham, USA.

the continuous beeping sound wakes you up.

your eyes are still closed, blocking the intense light over your head. your senses are taken by the familiar scent: sandalwood, cinnamon and lemongrass soap. it almost feels like you're home.

but your feet are senseless from the cold and the bedsheets faintly smell like chlorine. there's a pinching ache in your arm and the scenario is complete. oh how you hate hospitals.

"how are you feeling?" back at home, bruce had learned the difference in your breathing as you woke up, which made pretending to sleep hard enough for you to give up. you open your eyes, finding yourself in a luxurious room. if it wasn't for the IV on your left side, it could easily be mistaken for a five star hotel.

bruce sat at a large light green armchair, about four feet from your left hand. you couldn't tell by his voice, but he looked exhausted. for once, he's wearing sweatpants. the puffy face and swollen eyes show he hasn't had much sleep. you, on the other hand, feel like you've slept for a thousand years.

"i have no idea. what's up with me?" his sigh has your heart racing and the fear of being a liability falls over you. a comforting hand lays on yours, his warms fingers grounding you to remember the last time you were awake. it felt like a nightmare and you desperately hoped it was. instead, the pain comes in flashes, the image of your husband being shot and the feeling of hitting ice cold water do too. it's all just so horrible you wish it wasn't real.

"they told me you were going to be fine, but i don't know." bruce feels as if a burden has come off his chest finally seeing you move. the last couple of days have been a torture of expectation and blame for him. "the doctor had you in an induced coma. you had a concussion on the river. your stomach was stitched up. he said..." he stops for a moment, this is obviously way too hard for him to go through again. bruce hasn't left the room ever since he was discharged. everyday, for two weeks, he kept overthinking the night before and the day during. if he had stayed up and talked about your relationship, you wouldn't be in that bed. if he looked for you in the morning, if he noticed your absence at work, if he hadn't put his phone on silent mode... there were a million of things that he could've done different so the most important person in his world wouldn't have gone through all of that. "he said the ptsd would worsen your recovery. this morning the nurses told me you were better, so i have to believe them. that's my only hope."

you need a moment to take in the words, finally deciding that you didn't want to discuss your health. there were way better people to pay attention to that in the building and it would only make you anxious. you can't help but stare at his eyes, your mind bringing up the image of your husband choking the man that kept you hostage.

"you almost killed him." the tone is of disapproval, bruce couldn't be any more confused. he frowns. bile arises from his stomach leaving a acid taste to his mouth.

"i would've, of course i would. y/n, you had no idea what i would do for you. i would fight the devil himself if it meant keeping you safe. that's why i do what i do. the batman, the politics, it's all for you. if i can make this world 1% better for you, for our children, to live on, it's worth it." his gulp is loud, adam's apple going up and down, showing how dry his throat was. the following words have his voice shaking, almost disappearing. "but fate keeps telling me that i'm not enough. no matter what i do, you keep getting hurt and i just-" bruce stares the floor. that's something he always did when saying harsh things, avoiding eye contact and not letting tears slip away. however, this time it doesn't work at all. he can hear his heart tearing up with every syllable, the physical pain striking his chest. he wants to beg you to forgive him, but there is a noble thing to do. his words are cut off by the creaking of the door and the doctor's footsteps. he's smiling, like this isn't hell. bruce shrinks into the couch, making himself ignorable.

"so... i have good news!" the blonde says, clipboard in hand. "we need to run some other tests and an x-ray, but you seem to be healing pretty well. we'll hold you in for a couple of days just to make sure there aren't any complications with your body and then you can go home. how are you feeling so far?"

you're surprised by the sudden change in the conversation and your brain needs a moment to think about something helpful. you do a body scan trying to identify any pain, but overall you feel good.

"hungry. like, starving." the doctor smiles, saying he'll get you a meal as soon as possible. he warns you that you may not be able to eat much just yet, something about your stomach shrinking. you nod, already feeling irritated by the recovery process. then he leaves and there's a loud silence until you get back on the previous topic.

"you just what?" you expect bruce to sit correctly again, but he doesn't. he looks so small in the shadows, so comfortable. you really don't want to talk about that anymore, but curiosity takes over. he doesn't respond immediately, so your heart pounds over the anxiety of hearing bad news. suddenly you feel so tired, you want him to take over all the decisions like he usually does. today, though, he seems open to suggestions, like his own ideas weren't suitable. how could you know someone so well but still have no idea what's on his mind?

"i think maybe you shouldn't be associated with me. any part of me." the world stops with your breathing. bruce wishes he could take it back. going over this conversation in his head made it seem easier to say out loud. you've been married for three years. you knew his ambitions for even longer. you chose this life and he has no right to take that from you. still, the ring on your finger weighs you down.

— DENIAL

you've learned to appreciate the winter winds. at the top of the wayne tower there were barely any, but tonight they caress your face with the gift of numbness. breathing in is both refreshing and painful. the scratched teacup warms your fingers, a small memoir from your childhood home, from times that won't ever come back. you used to be down there, frightened by dark alleys and gunshots. now you're on top of the world and nothing, not even that psychopath, can take that from you. you did relearn discomfort. ache. cold. it all made you appreciate life even more. in fact, the month that followed your hospital discharge was pure bliss. something about renewal, about rebirth.

bruce watched you from the living room, the wrinkled glass distorting your silhouette in the balcony. that was a good representation of how he currently saw you, slightly blurred and shaken. his cup would usually hold whiskey, neat, but it holds coffee instead. you keep saying you're fine and waking up screaming in the middle of the night. then he would hold you and you would be actually fine. so now he's staying awake through the night, sleeping three or four hours during the day while alfred takes care of you. of course they don't let you know, because you've denied every explicit help. as you get ready to sleep, bruce gets ready to stay in bed through the night, alone with his thoughts. part of him was scared to sleep. he was sleeping when you were taken, there's no way he would let that happen again.

it has been almost a year since he stopped patrolling the city. the news cover murders and robberies every day. alfred makes sure to come up with something for both bruce and you to do at those hours. he's taken a pause in promoting his candidacy, he couldn't handle the public eye for now. still, the marketing team insists that your kidnapping was good media, even though he never officially spoke on it. they publish notes about being away, about taking care of family. he can't see how that could be good in any way.

you open the glass doors, flashing your husband a sweet smile. you're in a red silk robe and your hair is still perfectly done. perfectionism was one of the side effects, as one may call it, of the trauma. you visited a psychiatrist about a month ago, since bruce insisted on it, and he marked all of the habits that made you happy as unhealthy. you never told bruce what was said in that appointment in hopes that he'll get over it. him treating you like a porcelain doll made you nauseous.

"ready for bed?" you ask, standing behind the couch and hugging his shoulders. you breathe in his scent, remembering the day you met. you were an executive in an overseas wayne enterprises headquarters that had just gotten transferred to gotham. they offered you six figures to take the second in command position, so you obviously got to know the first in command. in the beginning, you honestly thought he was an entitled brat that didn't work at all. overtime, you realised how much he cared about the company and how much he was pining over you. you gave him an opening and he asked you out. six months into the relationship, he told you about batman. he knew, somehow, that you would be forever.

he sets in bed while you're touching up in the bathroom. the night had to be perfect. you've hadn't made love ever since the fight and ovulation week had gotten you a little crazy. you check yourself in the mirror, thanking the hormones making you sexy. you crawl into his side, slower than needed, hair falling over the shoulder. "hi" you whisper, sitting diagonally from him and cuddling a bit. he says hi back, with a chuckle. you give him a little peck, which is all you've been doing for all of this time. he stays still, not pulling back but also not doing anything either. you try to take it as a good sign. your lips then reach his jawline and neck, leaving wet kisses all over his skin. your hands touch his shirt and go underneath it, tracing your fingers along his defined abdomen. a hand holds your arm, pushing you away. your smile fades and you frown your face to him.

"touch me, bruce" you not so much ask, it's more like a plead. he sighs, channelling all his will to stick with his decision. he puts a string of your hair behind your ear and you think he's going to properly kiss you.

"i don't think we should do this. you're not well enough yet." he doesn't sound so certain, but it hits you like a hard brick wall. this is harder for him than he lets it show, he's a man after all. even so, he can't see you like that for the moment. he sees you scattered and feels like it's his responsibility to assemble you again.

"i'm perfectly fine." you state like a grumpy proud child who's just lost a soccer tournament. he sees right through it.

"you're not, you're in denial." that simple word makes your mood swing: denial. it's the same thing the stupid psychiatrist told you. you can even hear his smoker's voice echoing in the office. it isn't true. you got over it, that's all. maybe some people take more time to do so, but you did just like that. you had a life to get back to.

you get off the bed and pull your robe tight again. "i'm sleeping in the guest room. good night." he doesn't follow and lets you be. in all honesty, he didn't know if he would have the strength to turn you down a second time.

bruce tries to fight the tiredness. even with caffeine running high in his blood system, he falls asleep for a while. the guest room is far enough that he doesn't hear the muffled sobbing. he wakes up not so long after with screaming. his heart races as he runs down the stairs, following the sound of your voice. his mind starts thinking the worst, but he finds you only having nightmares. he crawls in bed with you, without being kicked off. he lets you lay on his chest, one arm over your shoulder. his body warms yours up and you finally stop spasming. it doesn't take too long for both to fall asleep.

— ANGER

the penthouse is quiet. the winter is almost at it's end, so the pre-spring rays lighten the living room bringing warmness to your solitude. you sit uncomfortably, unknown to this feeling of absence. you don't feel him in the tower.

bruce said there was a non deniable meeting with his press team, because eventually he would have to go back to promoting his election, which would take place in the fall. you acted unbothered. yet, he's barely been gone for an hour and you can already feel the anxiety crippling. you only left the apartment for doctors appointment, still too scared to walk on the streets. and he was always there, too, holding your hand. so this is different.

alfred is downstairs upgrading the batman suit with a new technology he created. he invited you, but the darkness of the cave was definitely unrequited. that's how you end up lounging, in silence, staring at window. finally, you decide to try to watch something. you shouldn't really do that, because something could trigger a panic attack. but you're fine, you really are. enough with this nonsense.

shuffling through the channels, nothing gets your attention until there's a juridical show on. the judge is talking to the prosecutor, apparently, announcing the next witness to testify. the camera angle changes to the courtroom and expectant eyes turn to the wooden door. it opens slowly to reveal a knight in dark armour. you hold your breath. the jury buzzes and the room gets loud. heavy steps make his cape swing behind him, as he makes his way to the stand.

bruce had to make a tough decision. while you and him had been cleared from the trial, you with the psychiatrist report on PTSD and him with the marriage, the lawyers mentioned that the batman's testimony could be decisive for the accused to be found guilty by the jury. the public respected him. either they loved or feared him. so, even though he's never made such a public appearance, less even speaking, he had to go to that trial. he owed it to you. but you could never know. he didn't want to spark your interest in the case, you shouldn't have to go through it again. he lays his hand on the constitution and swears on it.

it doesn't feel real until you hear the judge.

"members of the jury, i present to you the batman."

it feels like a dagger has gone through your chest. there's a mix of feelings that have you almost throwing up. you feel like screaming and crying and blowing the fucking world up. how could he do that to you? that was your case, your life. you stand up only to find your legs trembling. you want to run there and testify. you want to tell the world the horrors you've been through and show them, including your husband, that you had overcome it. he was calling you weak right in you face and you couldn't bear the feeling of being chained up again. you're stuck in this hell of a tower like some futile damsel.

you stomp your way to the elevator, your mind set on leaving the building. but your heart stops you in your tracks pounding and almost vomiting itself out; you feel your toes numb and your legs can't stop shaking. the baritone voice still sounds in the apartment. you run to it and scream at the TV. you throw a pillow on it. that doesn't cool you down. your body is in motion while all you can see is red. you knock the coffee table down, shattering the glass and scattering like ashes the books that were on it on the floor. the noise still doesn't muffle his voice and you can't find the fucking remote control. you stumble across the room, throwing lamps and vases around. everything is falling down, in every sense. you grab a candle and let out a scream when you hit the TV with it, the screen going black and the noise finally ceasing.

alfred finds the room trashed, with you kneeling on the broken glass. there's blood on the floor. your body trembles with every sob. he cautiously steps towards you. you feel out of breath, tears burning your eyes. he holds you like a mother does.

"i'm sorry- i'm so sorry," he shakes his head, saying it doesn't matter. you wanna say it does, but there's simply nothing leaving your mouth apart from "i'm so sorry"

part three - aporia

[signedmio]

i meant to get to this a lot sooner but it slipped my mind as i completely forgot about it until i was scrolling through my posts so my apologies 😭😭

this was interesting to write for considering i’m not sure if husk or alastor would even want kids in the first place (more so alastor) but it definitely got me thinking!!

but anywho, here ya go, friend!!

Warnings: AFAB!Reader, pregnancy talk

Alastor

Alastor isn’t a very kid-loving kinda guy, but he’s very traditional, so he decided to follow tradition, and let his power travel to the next generation

You both end up having triplets, two boys, and a girl!!

Alastor wasn’t entirely sure what to expect, but he didn’t think it’d be as challenging as it is, he originally thought his magic could help him through every obstacle and he is mistaken

Once his children are in his arms, his facade drops, his usual upbeat grin turns into a small, soft smile as he cradled them, stroking his daughters face.

Alastor is practically unfazed if they wake up in the middle of the night, as I headcanon he stays awake most hours of the night, so he’s in no rush to get the babies back to bed for whatever reason (But he will, dw haha)

Despite the fact that he’s an overlord, he really doesn’t do much, so most of the time he just stays at the hotel with the kids

He doesn’t understand the concept of playing with kids, especially when their in their first couple years, so when their just learning to stand he’ll play jazz music and swing his kids around the room with him as a way of dancing, hey, it’s a win-win, y’know?

If he does have to go out, he will most likely take his kids, but if it’s more than just a 10 minute outing — he does have Charlie babysit.

Like, if he’s going to the tailors, he’ll have two kids on each side of him, holding their hands softly, and the other kid on his shoulders, as they play with his ears (which no one else is allowed to do, not even you)

He doesn’t fully understand the concept of love, as you may or may not have guessed. He loves both you (his partner) and kids in his own special way, and he knows that, whether or not he’ll admit to someone outside of you guys is debatable, but he truly does love you and your kids.

He’s not very good at understanding his kids feelings, especially when their upset. For example, let’s say your daughter is crying over a boy in her teen years, first of all, he won’t hesitate to tear him the fuck apart, but he’ll sort of just stand their and watch her for a moment, wide grin as usual, but his eyes widen in shock before softening their gaze at her for a moment.

Anywho, about the powers, Alastor is eager for his kids to get his powers — even if it’s only one of them, as this is the first reason he wanted kids (which did shift a bit as time went on)

He is very precise with his kids about how these powers work, cause their strong, even if they had only gotten a small fraction of what Al uses, cause let’s be real, he’s fuckin’ tough

He explains how they can use these powers to their advantage, he also takes this opportunity to explain how a smile is a tool, so use it. No matter how they each individually choose how to use these powers, Alastor encourages all of his kids to follow their inner bliss, whatever that is

Husk

Like in the last post with marriage, Husk really couldn’t give a shit, but if you want it, Husk is willing to give it a shot

But let’s be real, Husk was much more willing to get married then have kids

After some convincing, you two decide to try for kids, he realistically only wants one though, so don’t get your hopes up

You guys have a girl! (woohoo!)

Husk, like Al and the others I’ve written for in this scenario, he didn’t expect to love his child as much as he did

While you were asleep in the hospital bed a little after giving birth, Husk takes your daughter, and a part of him (on the inside) cries a little, he looks at her proudly, before pecking her forehead, silently vowing to fight for her forever

Husk doesn’t have a lot of time to help out with the baby, he doesn’t get a lot of breaks from the bar a whole lot, so…

But when he does get time to spend with his daughter? Their usually sleeping together.

Like Husk with hold her in his arms and they’ll lay there and snore together

Husk isn’t too sure how to bond with his daughter before she’s learned to talk but he makes it work

Once she’s old enough, sarcasm becomes a big part of him and his daughter’s relationship, constantly making fun of eachother and giving eachother shit haha

When she’s in her teens she starts to develop Husk’s powers from when he was an overlord, and he feels like he’s gonna shit his pants, but he keeps his cool cause he knows your daughter is hyped

He heavily advises to her to not use them out of fear she’ll get hurt, but if she really wants it, he’ll teach her the basics, he won’t go into the extreme shit, cause she’s young and he doesn’t want her to have more strength than control

[impale-me-radio-daddy]

The Lookalike (Part 8)

☒ Summary: The first thing you remembered after your death was an argument. “No, this isn’t one of my fucking sluts.” The man behind you exhaled, frustrated. “This is a present for you. Something to help you work through your Alastor fixation.” You awaken in Hell as the near-spitting image of a certain infamous radio host. Unfortunately for you, you immediately fall into the clutches of his nemesis, then into the arms of the Radio Demon himself. 

☒ Warnings: hermaphrodite!reader, deer!reader, crying!reader, they/them pronouns used, Alastor X reader, explicit content, tentacle sex, bottom!Alastor, reference to drugs, reader is in Hell for a reason, canon typical scenarios.

☒ Series Links: Part I Part2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 6 BONUS SCENE Part 7 Part 9 Epilogue

Ever since Niffty had mistaken an expensive cock ring for an insect and attempted to kill it, the duty of cleaning Angel Dust’s room had been solely yours. You traipsed down to his wing of the hotel, pushing the cleaning and laundry hamper in front of you, and after a cursory listen and knock on the door, you went in.

You’d worked a few different jobs in your mortal life, and more than a few of them had been janitorial. You knew the drill; stripping and changing out the bedding, emptying the bins and cleaning any surface that looked soiled. Angel’s pet pig Fat Nuggets followed you from point to point, and you stopped sporadically to bend down and scratch the critter behind the ears.

When Angel Dust returned, you were scrubbing the floor of the shower, thinking of a time you’d butchered a kill in a similar space; the tray not wide enough to properly lay out the body horizontally. People such as yourself were, out of necessity, not squeamish. It had been hard to get the blood out of the grouting, and whatever Angel had left in the shower was giving you similar grief.

“Hey, Stunt Double! Ya in there?” called Angel as he walked in, dumping his bag on the bed.

You backed out of the bathroom, cleaning tools still in hand, and smiled at him. “Hello, Angel.”

“So it is you cleaning this place.” Angel tilted his head as Fat Nuggets emerged from the bathroom behind you to greet him, and he picked up the pig in his arms. “I was wonderin’ who was puttin’ all my butt plugs in size order.”

“I could do them by color, if you prefer,” you offered, pulling another bottle of cleaning fluid from the trolley, and Angel laughed.

“Neah, size is fine.” He flopped back onto his bed, arms splayed. “Man, I am beat.”

“Should I come back later?” you asked, but Angel just shook his head.

“Just do what you gotta,” he said. “It’s what they pay ya for.”

You gave a noise of surprise. “You have money in Hell?”

Angel lifted his head. “You’ve been here how long and don’t know that?”

You shrugged, heading back into the bathroom with more bleach. “People usually just give me things.”

“What happens when no-one wants to give you what you want?”

You took a couple steps backward into Angel’s room again. “Give me your phone for half an hour.”

“What?” He narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because,” you said, reaching into your pocket. “If you do, I’ll give you this baggie of mysterious white power I found in your room last week before Charlie searched it.” You dangled the drugs in front of Angel with a flourish. You had found them inside the cistern whilst fixing the toilet.

Angel leaned forwards, still squinting. “Those were my drugs.”

“They were,” you said, tilting your head. “And they could be again, for the low, low price of let me search the internet for half an hour.”

“Jeez, fine-” Angel dug in his corset for his phone and flung it at you. “There. Now, gimme.”

You caught the phone with a grin, tossing the drugs into Angel’s lap. “Pleasure doing business,” you said, taking a seat on the corner of Angel’s bed as you unlocked his phone. Alastor had specified you should work, but not how hard.

Angel looked between you, Fat Nuggets, and the drugs, quickly coming to the decision that you were the most interesting of the three. Pivoting with one leg, he rotated so that his head was level with your hip, and looked up at you. “Whatcha searchin’?”

“Overlords,” you said, and when Angel frowned, you added. “Alastor is sending me to some sort of get together and I don’t know what any of them look like.”

“Well, why didn’t ya say so?” Angel reached out to take his phone back, and you handed it over. “I have most of ‘em on sinstagram, ‘cept for Smiles of course. Here.”

You looked over Angel’s head as he swiped through a photo reel, mostly candid shots of the overlords at parties, pointing out both the overlords themselves and any major lackeys. It was information with much greater worth than a few grams of toilet cocaine, and Angel was more than happy to talk as you pressed him on details.

“There’s this rumor that Carmilla and Zestial are an item but I don’t buy it. Friends, sure, but old Zee’s a queen if I ever saw one, and Carmine’s not the type ta keep that kinda thing a secret.”

Angel scrolled to the next picture. “And of course I don’t need ta tell you about the television guy,” he said. “Hey, you want some of this coke?”

You laughed, a small shake of your head. “Thanks though. I’ve got everything I want now.”

“You’ve got everything you want?” Angel rolled over, his expression suddenly sultry as he propped his chin up on his hands. “You sure about that, Stunt Double?”

You nodded. “Oh, you wouldn’t believe.”

Angel deflated. “Smiles must be some lay, huh.”

You grinned. “I’m not answering that.”

In truth, that morning, Alastor had given you what you really wanted. A target.

The sinner that Alastor had named was one of the new overlords who had risen in the power vacuum following the previous extermination, having previously been a minor gang boss in Zeezi’s territory. He was a horse demon, and at least if Alastor was being truthful, guilty of just about every cruelty one could imagine. Including, Alastor had stressed with particular emphasis, disrespect.

His name was Kennedy, also known as the Smoker Demon, and aside from a few grainy sinstagram snaps Angel had shown you, you had little other information to go on. But when you took Alastor’s place at the next overlord’s meeting, you would see him with your own two eyes.

Alastor had agreed that you should have a weapon to hand when you appeared in his place, and on the day of the overlord meeting he presented you with an elegant red-tipped black cane.

“It’s no microphone,” he said, a little cryptically- you had never seen him use a microphone save for the ancient one attached to the desk in his radio tower. “But I had it made with a little surprise inside.”

You twirled the cane, testing its balance in your hand, and pulling the handle you found it held a concealed blade.

A short blade; not a duelist’s sword but a knife, long enough to slit a throat or to puncture a heart through the ribcage. You beamed at Alastor, the excitement bubbling within you at the prospect of violence mirrored by your delight that he had anticipated your preferences so exactly.

“It’s perfect,” you told him, twirling it just to admire the balance again.

“Of course,” he demurred, the creases at the corners of his eyes telling you that he was soaking in your praise. “I can hardly expect you to perform with second rate equipment.”

He hovered about you like a mother hen as you put on his ragged tailcoat, brushing it flat across your shoulders with the palms of his hands, and tutting as he adjusted your bow tie. You half expected him to take out a pocket square and start cleaning your mouth as he fussed over you, adjusting a fold here, a button there. Finally, when you were attired to his liking, Alastor pushed his index fingers into the corners of your mouth and pulled up, not painfully, but enough to make you bare your teeth.

“You mustn’t forget your smile, now,” he said.

It wasn’t hard at all to grin at him, not with the euphoria that currently welled within you. It was a maniac’s grin you gave him, wide and wicked and infectious.

Vox had been wrong about how much the other two Vees would object to his actions. Velvette had been legitimately furious that he had overstepped his usual bounds into social media campaigns, had called him a bloody idiotic twat, and had set the notifications from all of the accounts she usually managed to automatically forward to him. The pings were constant and it gave him a godawful headache. Valentino, by contrast, had broken the television set in their shared quarters, then stalked off to do drugs somewhere.

This was how Vox drew the shit lot of being the one of the three of them to attend the overlord’s meeting. His abilities allowed him to traverse the city quickly through the powerlines, but given the delicate political situation of any meeting of powerful individuals, such flashy displays were frowned upon. Anything that made people jumpy was frowned upon.

As such, Vox sat in the back of his limo as it drove to the meeting place, glaring at the traffic and wincing every time a notification from Velvette’s shit came in. Fuck his fucking life. Apart from, perhaps, the small portion where he got to watch Alastor fuck his doppelganger, that bit of his life could stay.

Would Alastor be at the meeting? Probably not, Vox decided. He hadn’t attended one since his altercation with Adam last extermination.

There was a spring in your step as you walked the streets in your red finery, feeling the breeze in your hair, your cane tucked neatly under one arm. The winds of Hell carried with them the scents of polyurethane and sulfur, and every sinner you passed cowered from your gaze as you grinned. It was barely even an affectation, if you were being honest with yourself. You were loose on the streets with one weapon in your pocket and another under your arm, about to meet a man that you would hunt. Anyone would grin, given the circumstances.

The sensation of being watched prickled familiar on your neck, and you stopped, hand on the handle of your cane, ready to draw the hidden blade as you turned.

A demon taller than yourself stood before you, with black, chitinous skin and a large, plumed hat. “Alastor, hail and well met.”

“Zestial!” you said with a smile, immediately grateful for Angel Dust’s overlord rundown. “Good day to you too.”

He fell into step beside you, taller than you by some margin. You didn’t feel malice emanating from him, but that was hardly a guarantee of anything. Perhaps your instincts were off. But you were heading to the same locale, so giving him the slip was hardly an option. “How have you been?” you asked, keen to push the conversation in Zestial’s direction. Alastor hadn’t told you anything about his relationship with the overlord, so the less you said, the better.

“Alas, my troubles would seem to pale in comparison to thine,” said Zestial, and you cursed internally.

“My troubles?” You raised an eyebrow. “And what are my troubles?” You had a warm place to sleep and a boyfriend who hand-fed you breakfast- practically the high life.

“Rumor has it thou suffered a mortal wound,” said Zestial, his narrow eyes looking you up and down. “ And thy former protégé doth set his sights on the folly thou suffered for.”

It took you a second to realize he was talking about Vox and the hotel. The documentary crew and constant stream of influencers through the hotel was Vox’s doing. And the timing was too co-incidental for it to not be related to the hidden cameras in Alastor’s room. Alastor already suspected Lucifer as the culprit for that, though he had no proof save that Lucifer was one of the few people powerful enough to dare to fuck with him.

“My protégé,” you repeated, lending a little darkness to your tone. “Tell me, who in the hotel did he deal with?”

Zestial smiled, eerily. “That information hath value,” he said. “What dost thou propose in exchange?”

You paused to think, twirling your cane idly around your palm and wrist as the two of you walked. Offering future consideration was a shitty thing to do, doomed to piss off either Zestial or Alastor, depending on who got saddled with the debt. You could sell the overlord the information that you were a fake, assuming that he hadn’t already figured it out, but that would undermine your own usefulness as a double for Alastor. “It seems to me,” you said, a smile at Zestial. “That the window of usefulness of that information is rather short.”

“The identity of a traitor in thy camp-” said Zestial.

“Ah, but it is a rather small camp, is it not?” you asked, grateful for the time you’d spent giving museum tours with a transatlantic accent as you stuck as hard as you could to Alastor’s mannerisms rather than lapse into iambic pentameter. “Are you sure you’d rather keep hold of it in the hopes of a high price when I need only wait for the blasted picture box to gloat about their identity?”

Zestial hummed, but didn’t argue the point further.

“I’ll tell you what. How about an exchange in kind? I’ll tell you the recent gossip I know, and you can stop me if I tell you something you think meets your price.”

“An entertaining prospect,” said Zestial. “Pray continue.”

The conversation with Angel Dust was fresh in your mind, so you recounted what you judged to be of interest, skipping over both Rosie, who Alastor had indicated was his friend, and Vox, whose very mention made Alastor’s smile seem forced, as well as the figures closest to Zestial himself. You named the underbosses vying to work under Zeezi, talked about the sinner who had been stalking Valentino, along with a few other tidbits, and Zestial was a good audience, chuckling and curious in turn.

“Thou art an enigma as ever, Alastor,” he said, as you reached the venue for the meeting, and imposing red-brick building.

You grinned at him. “I suppose that means my little stories don’t pass muster?”

“Quite the contrary,” said Zestial, a slight inclination of his head. “I consider my price paid in full. The king of Hell himself paid a visit to overlord Vox in his domain.”

Vox fought hard not to glitch when Alastor walked into the meeting room. The infuriating grin on his face, the buzz of an electric field around him, the cane twirling idly around his wrist, ears up and alert. He might not have noticed the differences if he hadn’t seen the two of you together barely a week before, if Alastor hadn’t caught him out by being disguised as you. The differences were subtle, but they were there, in the shape of your antlers and the markings on your ears.

No. Not Alastor. You. Fuck.

What were you doing here? This was a room full of overlords; people who would eat an innocent, sweet creature like you right up without a second thought. Had Alastor sent you there to taunt him? To see what he would do? The new overlord, Kennedy, had been talking shit about the Radio Demon for weeks. Vox hadn’t seen reason to worry about it before now, but the rest of the overlords were smart enough not to take a run at the Radio Demon, or anyone they believed to be the Radio Demon.

You met his eyes as you took your seat, a small smile on your lips, and Vox resolved that he would save you from this den of monsters. You were still the sweet little Bambi he had led tottering across his bedroom floor, before Alastor had stolen you. You were probably scared out of your tiny little mind, he reasoned, putting on a smiling face out of fear, or even compelled by the soul contract Alastor doubtless had over you. The small scrunch at your brow told him you were deep in thought, probably trying to think of a way out of your situation.

You strolled to your chair at the overlord’s meeting, a friendly smile to the woman you recognized as Rosie as you pondered two things. First- had Zestial rumbled your disguise? If he had, he’d shown no sign of doing so, taking his own seat across the table from you without comment. Second- was it a terrible idea to blackmail the King of Hell? The few times you’d crossed paths he’d seemed to barely register you as a person, merely part of an amorphous blob labeled ‘staff’. It was entirely possible that he would obliterate you without a second thought. And, if you did blackmail him, what would you ask for?

“Hello, one and all!” you chirped as you swung into your chair. “Tales of my incapacitation are unfortunately exaggerated!”

“More’s the pity,” muttered Vox, and you raised your eyebrow at him. It was only a few days since he’d sat next to your bed and begged Alastor to let him jack himself off as Alastor fucked you. Surely his feelings hadn’t soured that much for lack of aftercare.

“I’m sorry,” you said, cocking an ear. “Could you speak up? Your audio dropped out a little there.”

Carmilla spread her arms as Vox opened his mouth to retort. “Since we’re all here,” she said, a scowl at both you and Vox. “We should begin.”

“Wait, you’re just gonna let that motherfucker waltz in here and take a seat at the table like nothing’s happened?”

You turned and looked curiously at the demon that Alastor had told you you could kill. The Smoker Demon was tall by sinner standards, but much like you he was dwarfed by the larger members of the overlord contingent. His face was long and equine, his teeth jagged like those of most sinners, and he wore his mane plastered to his head with gel, the humanoid portion of his body attired in business casual. He looked around, seeking agreement from the other overlords.

“What? Are you just gonna not talk about how all our problems right now are the Radio Demon’s fault? The war with Heaven? Anyone?”

War with Heaven? Well, that certainly hadn’t been on sinstagram. You scrunched your nose. “Was that on the agenda? I didn’t get the memo.”

“Fuck the agenda.” Kennedy stood, glowering, and you watched as his demonic form manifested. Smoke streamed from his nostrils, wrapping itself around his arms to become biceps, and a single serrated horn proceeded from his forehead. A fucking unicorn? You’d never seen anyone manifest in anger before, except in the sinstagram videos you’d watched whilst prisoner in Vox’s quarters. To your surprise you could feel it, a low thrum in your antlers, akin to the feeling of the hunt. But the hunt was already afoot.

“If you could save that activity for after the meeting?” you said, a grin and a tilt of your head as you stared Kennedy down. You could feel the pulse in your throat, the promise of violence in the air. You felt alive. “I certainly don’t want to watch that.”

Vox watched you with increasing concern as Kennedy stepped onto the table. You didn’t know how much danger you were in, and no-one else around the table gave a fuck. They knew that one mid-tier bisexual unicorn was well within Alastor’s capabilities.

Vox watched as you rolled your eyes, turning to Carmilla with a lopsided smile, even as Kennedy loomed behind you, completely unconcerned. “The use of deadly force is still banned at these soirées, correct? Or did standards decline in my absence?”

Okay, you weren’t just unconcerned. You had a suicidal disregard for your own wellbeing. He had to do something, before Kennedy turned you into an Alastor-colored smear on the floor.

“Sit the fuck down, fuckface,” growled Vox, putting full threat behind it. That worked- Kennedy was too young to properly know the terror of the Radio Demon, but he knew Vox had a bigger dick than he did. Reluctantly he backed down.

“Unusually civic minded of you,” you said, in a perfect facsimile of Alastor’s voice, and Vox rolled his eyes internally. You’re welcome.

You stared across the table at Vox on and off for the entirety of the overlord meeting.

He had cut your altercation with your quarry short. It had been a great opportunity to gauge Kennedy’s speed and strength, maybe set him entirely off-balance by getting him kicked out of the meeting, and Vox had ruined it. It made your fingernails itch, your smile almost painful to maintain. You breathed through your nose, calming yourself by settling your attention on Kennedy, who glowered balefully at you, a little smoke still rising from his nostrils. What had Alastor even done to him anyway? You’d have to ask once you got back to the hotel.

Vox lingered after the meeting. “Hey, uh, Alastor. A word?”

You inclined your head, remaining as the others filed out. You would rather have followed Kennedy, but part of you still felt bad for just chucking Vox out of your bedroom. What you weren’t prepared for was just how close Vox stood to you, his face close enough that you could feel the static from his screen.

“I can take you away from all of this, babydoll.” Vox’s voice was low, the sort of coaxing tone he’d used as he pushed your knees apart. Not the voice he’d use for the real Alastor.

You kept the smile that Alastor had asked you to wear regardless. “Is that a threat?”

“Fuck.” Vox pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “You can drop the act, alright. I know who you are.”

“Oh? And who is that?” You grinned, slow and toothy.

Vox was quiet. You’d never given Vox your name. You hadn’t even given Alastor your name, for all you’d spent each night trading inconsequential secrets with each other, your tongue in his mouth and his in yours.

“Well? Who am I?”

“That guy’s bad news, okay.” Vox changed the subject. “He’s dangerous. He could hurt you.”

Oh. Vox was still buying the ditz act from when he’d taken you in. The only thing he’d seen you do was fuck Alastor, so you supposed he couldn’t really be blamed for that, and that certainly explained the protectiveness, however inconvenient. You fluttered your eyelashes. “How dangerous, exactly?”

It was hard to contain your excitement as you returned to the hotel, neatly sidestepping splashes from acid rain puddles. You had fooled a room full of overlords into thinking you were Alastor, except for Vox, and Vox had given you some downright detailed information on the overlord that you were going to hunt.

And you had traded up from Angel Dust’s toilet cistern cocaine to the identity of the person who had put spy cameras in your room.

When you entered the hotel you were so light on your feet that you were almost dancing, and you caught Alastor by the waist as you swept past, pulling him with you.

“It went well, I take it?” he said, falling deftly into step with you, taking you by the hand and by the shoulder.

You grinned wide, blood hot in your veins. “Zestial either rumbled me or you’re friends with him now,” you said, and Alastor laughed.

Your effervescence faded gradually, but your blood stayed hot, your excitement buzzing behind your teeth even into the night.

You watched Alastor, primly attired in his pajamas in the bed next to you, as he opened his book to the page he had reached the previous night. This was the point in the evening where you would find a book of your own, or simply sit and think, but you were too restless for that now; your senses too keen and your body still thrumming with adrenaline. You reached out and put your hand on his stomach, fingers trailing over the thin fabric, feeling the warmth of his body through it.

Alastor gave a soft hum, and turned the page, though his eyes did flicker to you briefly, curious. You pressed your suit, pushing up the hem of his pajama shirt to expose a few inches of skin, and lowered your face to him, lips brushing the skin of his hip, his flank, and then up to his navel; all of the skin that you had bared.

You lifted your gaze as your lips found his bellybutton and found Alastor staring at you over the top of his book, his antlers perhaps an inch taller than they had been a moment before, and you felt his diaphragm shift as he breathed in.

“You’re certainly forward tonight,” said Alastor, a warm crackle to his voice. “Did you want something from me?”

You shook your head, playful. “Don’t put your book down on my account.”

The snort Alastor gave was so soft that you didn’t even hear it, simply felt it through your hand on his stomach. “I wasn’t planning on it, dear,” he said, lifting his book again with theatrical indifference. “This is a very interesting chapter.”

Sliding your hand down the strip of hair that extended below his navel and under the waistband of his pajama pants, you found he was already hard for you. Just feeling his cock hard in your hand sent a sympathetic surge to your own loins, and you squeezed his shaft in your hand as you eased his waistband down over it.

Alastor feigned insouciance, but you could see the color rising in his cheeks, and feel his growing hardness under your touch. There was a matching heat in your own cheeks too; up until now, Alastor had been the one to set the pace, centering your pleasure, but now you had him in your hands. It was a surrender of the thing he found most precious- control.

You pressed your face to his stomach and then his mons as you stroked his cock, burying your nose in the coarse hair there and breathing in. He smelled like Alastor; like musk and woodsmoke and formaldehyde, and you felt the shivering intake of breath that he gave as you pressed your cheek against the silky-soft skin of his shaft, kissing your way from the base of his cock to the tip. Alastor made a show of turning the page of his book, but when you lapped up the salty liquid beading at his tip with your tongue, he actually gasped, his free hand going to cover his mouth.

You looked at him, questioning, challenging, but Alastor used the few seconds reprieve to recover his composure.

True to form, Alastor did recover, his eyes losing a little of their glazed look. “I hope you plan to finish what you started,” he said, his gaze going back to his book. You waited for him to finish turning the page before you took the tip of his cock into your mouth, careful to curl your lips around the sharp edges of your teeth, and sucked as you pumped his shaft with your hand.

“Fuck,” whimpered Alastor, and the noise went direct to your core. His eyes were closed, his teeth digging into his smiling lip as you stroked the underside of his cock with your tongue, pressing the head of his cock first against the roof of your mouth, then against the back of your mouth as you took him further in, saliva dribbling from the imperfect seal of your lips all the while. “Love,” he whined, though you doubted it was a confession, more likely a reflexive cry, a sweet nothing in his throat.

Alastor put his book down, pages open on the bed, and reached for you. You took his hand, twining your claws with his as you moved your mouth over him, going from pressing the head of his cock to the roof of your mouth to as far back in your throat as you could get him, the deepest point leaving you with your nose pressed to hair wet with your saliva, and then back again. His reaction told you that you were doing well; the quickening of his breathing, the spasmodic jerks that his hips made when you took all of him in your mouth- not enough to make you choke but enough to make your eyes water- the way his fingers gripped yours, and best of all the noises he made. Each cry he made was sweet enough to be intoxicating; to make your cunt throb and your cock ache, and you were sure that if you had ever told him your name it would be on his lips right now, in between the profanities and the broken cajun french.

You crawled between his legs as he kicked his pants the rest of the way off, your free hand cradling his balls as you took him in your mouth again, and between ragged breaths he reached for your antlers, fingertips brushing the perfect, sensitive spots that only he knew, a single tentacle extending from his back and resting at the back of your knee. It was an offer of a good ending for the evening, one that would leave you fucked out and content, deeply asleep on top of him, and it was a lie to say that it wasn’t a tempting one.

But you had other plans; you were feeling bold tonight. Gently, you moved his hand from your antlers, lifting your mouth from his cock with a soft pop, and took a moment to appreciate him being a flushed, panting mess for you. You stroked the tentacle, taking it in your hand. “I want to deflower you,” you said, as evenly as you could manage. “Let me fuck you in the ass.”

Alastor paused, his eyes registering surprise but not disinterest, and you gave him a few seconds to think about it. “You are welcome to try,” he said, finally, and for anyone else you would have offered reassurance. That you wouldn’t hurt him, that he didn’t have to do it. But Alastor had already swallowed so much of his pride in acquiescing to your request that any offer of reprieve would just have him doubling down, so you simply took him at his word, reaching into the dresser for the lubricant. It was one of the preparations you had made for Vox’s visit, a tube from the supply usually kept in the cupboard under the hotel’s front desk, along with the toothpaste and other single-use toiletries.

“Must I do all the work?” Alastor asked, a little archness layered over the desire in his voice as you applied lube to his tentacle, your palm spreading it across the smooth black surface.

“I’m not enough of a sadist to open you with my fingers,” you replied, wiggling a sharp claw at him, and his face split in a silent laugh. His tentacle coiled over your lower back as you crouched between his legs again, twining round your forearm and leaving the first few inches in your hand. You could feel the tension in his body as you touched him again, tracing fingers over his hip as you licked his cock, slowly, from the base to the tip.

He was expecting it to hurt, you realized as you took his cock in your mouth again, feeling the tension in his stomach and in his thighs, held open for you. He was expecting it to hurt and he was letting you do it anyway. You breathed out through your nose as you sucked his cock, pushing the head up against your epiglottis with a tilt of your head, and felt for his entrance with the knuckle of your index finger, stroking the tight ring of muscle with a feather-light touch before guiding the tip of the tentacle to it and pushing it in, your hand around the tentacle controlling the depth. You kept the motion shallow and slow at first, letting the lube on the tentacle spread to his hole, your mouth on his cock slow and unhurried. His body lost a little of the tension as he realized that you weren’t about to bully your way in, and you used that slack to fuck his tentacle a little deeper into him, motion slow and measured to not damage him as he took the thicker section of the taper.

Alastor gave a debauched noise that went straight to the base of your cock, eyes fluttering closed, and you held him by the hip as you kept up the pressure, his tentacle squelching into him now through the generous amount of lube, your lips and tongue and throat up and down on his cock. You could probably slide yourself into him now, smooth and easy as anything, and the thought made you twitch, but you gave him the tentacle a little longer, enjoying the way his breathing hitched at the nadir of each stroke, the salty taste of him as his cock leaked precum.

When you lifted your lips from his cock, he was staring at you again, eyes blown and dark.

“I need your hips a little higher,” you said, reaching for one of the pillows, but Alastor rolled his eyes and extruded another tentacle from his back, curling it under him to raise him up. The view it gave you was pornographic; legs spread, cock hard and angry red at the tip, glistening with your spit, his own tentacle stretching out his hole, lubricant dribbling out around it.

You eased his tentacle out of him, the soft noises he made at the sensation making your whole form ache with desire. Freeing your own cock with a quick movement, you lined yourself up with him, letting the head of your cock kiss his entrance. The sensation made you shiver, the skin there hot and slick.

Alastor’s expression told you that taking him in this position rather than from behind had been the correct decision. His smile was still there, but his ears were flat against his skull, uncertainty in his eyes alongside desire. You paused, palms on his hips, thumbs on his waist.

You could feel your pulse beating in your throat and in your groin. You didn’t want to harm Alastor, didn’t want to upset him, not with him vulnerable beneath you like this. You cared about him. “We can stop if you want. Just say the word.”

Alastor gave a scoff deep in his throat and used the tentacle looped around your back to push you into him.

The feel of being inside him was enough to make you forget to breathe for a second; his intense warmth and tightness and slickness around your cock. You’d worked enough of his tentacle inside him that you’d slid in easily, and you found yourself falling forward a little as you bottomed out inside him, his cock pressing up against your stomach, a snail trail of wetness as his precum spread across your skin.

Alastor’s smile was indulgent as he watched you struggle for breath, and he raised his head to kiss your forehead. “Do I really feel that good?”

“So good,” you said, your voice low and frank and thick with static, and Alastor’s answer was a purr, a vacuum tube hum from the back of his throat.

“I feel the same, you know,” he said, attempting a conversational tone and failing, slipping into a tone lower in his register, cock twitching against your stomach. “Every time I’m inside you, all I can think about is spilling myself.”

That statement sent heat to your face, doing nothing to help you acclimatize to the exquisite feeling of him around you. You bit your lip as you willed yourself to stay hard for him, reminding yourself that if you came in him now he was unlikely to let you try again. And you couldn’t let that happen.

Fingers round his sharp hipbones, you rolled your hips, easing out of him before pushing yourself in to the hilt again. If he’d watched you indifferently it would have been easier to keep hold, but Alastor was already half-lost, thick distortion resounding in his throat and through the cavity of his thin chest. His hands were on your back, claws flexing, tearing fine parallel incisions in your skin, but somehow the pain only ripped a libidinous growl from your throat, serving as an accent to the pleasure you felt. Alastor’s heat was slick and searing and perfect around you, and you narrowed your focus to him, only him.

You watched his face- the subtle change in expression behind the smile that he doggedly held, the way his eyelids fluttered, the way his larynx bobbed when his breath caught. You listened to him- the way he moaned and cursed in turn as you rutted into him, and the ragged edge to his breath. You felt him- his hard cock pressed between the two of you, twitching every time you hit the correct angle with a downstroke, his claws in your back, and the exquisite constricting heat of his ass.

Alastor’s breath grew more ragged, his voice more distorted, and you grinned as you felt your victory draw near; Alastor filled and spent on your cock. Alastor gave a growl, a low thrum of power, and you were caught off-guard as a third tentacle from his back curved between your legs and slid frictionless into your soaking cunt. You had been ignoring the ache there, but now, with a tentacle squelching into you, it was painfully obvious how much you had needed to be filled.

With Alastor’s tentacle stretching you, its movement compelling your rhythm, your already tenuous grip on yourself slipped, the cusp of your orgasm threatening with every stroke. You were close, too close, but so was Alastor, and you fought to make him cum, angling your hips in the way that made him tremble even as he forced you to adhere to his beat, tentacle curling in you with mirrored cruelty.

You came together; both gasping, both twitching, Alastor into the palm of the hand that you shoved between you to catch his seed, and you inside him, hot and deep and quivering.

“Alastor,” you whimpered, your whole body seeming to twitch with your first aftershock.

“Darling,” breathed Alastor, with as much awe as you had ever heard in his voice. “Oh darling, don’t you move.”

Your stomach fluttered as you looked at him, and you realized, perhaps belatedly, that this was something like love. You licked his cum from the palm of your hand, then held yourself over him, careful not to put weight on his injury. The expression on his face was one of clear, perfect bliss, with you inside him and he inside you.

You could feel yourself softening inside him already, beginning to slip out of him, and he wrapped an arm round you, pulling you onto his chest, not seeming to care when you lay over his wound. The claw marks he’d made on your back stung with the pressure, but you found you didn’t care about that, either.

[rheasonly1]

The moonlight shining in from your windows awoke you from your ‘5 minute nap’ and you shot up realising how late it had gotten as the sky was now pitch black. You sighed to yourself as you got out of bed and put on some clothes that were tossed aside on the floor.

You heard the bang of the front door swing open which sent you sprinting down the stairs. You came to a halt as you saw Rick and Glenn helping Daryl through the door. You rushed to their aid taking Rick’s place.

“I got him.” You said waving off Glenn and Rick.

They watch by the front door as you haul Daryl into the kitchen and lean him gently against the island. You walk over to the door and usher them out.

“The others could use your help, I’ve got here under control.”

They both nodded and ran for the infirmary where Denise was helping other Alexandrians with their injuries.

Locking the door you make your way back into the kitchen where you had left Daryl. Leaning against the counter he turns his head towards you as you enter the room.

“Everythin’ alrigh’?” He drawls.

You nod your head whilst crossing your arms. “Rick and Glenn have gone over to help they should be fine.” He furrows his brows and gives you a confused look.

“Why aren’t you over there helpin’ em?” He scowls.

“They don’t need my help, I’m busy taking care of you.”

He scoffs. “ ‘m fine I don’t need ya help.”

You roll your eyes as he attempts to walk out of the kitchen. He gets to the bottom of the stairs until he can’t venture any further without you.

“And I’m telling you you’re not.” You say sternly as you walk over to him.

You throw one of his arms over your shoulder and use your free arm the grip the side of his waist. Slowly and carefully you both start walking up the stairs heading for the bedroom.

Kicking open the door with your foot you guide Daryl towards the bed and gently place him sat down on it. He leans against the headboard with his shoulder and his head soon follows.

“Stay here I’ll be back.” You tell him.

You run to the bathroom and fill up a small bucket of warm water mixing it with some soap. Then grabbing a wash cloth you go back to the bedroom where Daryl was still slumped against the bed.

“Move up.” You say pointing to the empty side of the bed.

Daryl moves to the other side just enough for you to perch beside him. You drench the cloth in the bucket of water and ring it out.

You bring the rag to Daryl’s chest and start scrubbing off the dirt and walker blood. A small groan escapes his mouth of the warm feeling of the cloth against his skin.

After wetting and ringing out the cloth a couple times and scrubbing over his body, the stench and horrific sight of walker blood was gone. Daryl looked more relaxed and you could of mistaken he had fell asleep. You returned to the bathroom and poured the dirty water down the toilet and chucked the washcloth into the bath.

You returned from the bathroom with a towel and some clean clothes for Daryl to get changed into.

“why’d ya do all this…for me?” he asked.

You pressed your hand on his and smiled. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

———————————————————————

This was requested by: @murdadixon

Hiii, i really enjoyed writing this and I think it’s a cute little scenario where Daryl is shown that he is cared about and that he’s important to people. I hope this is up to expectation!

Please request more in the ‘ask me’ at the top of my page :)

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon behind the cut; mistaken identities and interdimensional refugees. ( chrono || non-chrono )

But why the fuck is Alfred calling him– 

“Sorry for the wait, Mr. Wayne, your local self thought it might be for the best not to come in-person! You wanted to avoid a fuss. I mean–he wanted to avoid a fuss,” Rita says brightly, looking sheepish, and Kon remembers, very abruptly, everything she’d said about Gotham tabloids and also the fact that she’d “recognized” him after he’d scooped up a traumatized kid who was calling him “Dad” and then, uh–well, flirted with her. And also literally every single story he has ever heard about Clark and Bruce successfully passing for each other, in costume and out. 

Well . . . shit. 

Well, that definitely means the local Bruce Wayne is out Batman-ing his way through the current interdimensional crisis. But also, what the fuck has Kon just gotten them into? Jon seems to just be rolling with it, thank fuck, but there's no way Alfred Pennyworth actually believes he's a version of Bruce Wayne. 

. . . does he? 

No, no, he definitely doesn't. Interdimensional bullshit aside, it’s Alfred. He's just a really good liar and a trained actor with a flawless poker face. Alfred lies better than Tim lies, for fuck's sake, which is goddamn saying something. So Kon might end up a little mortified later when he's admitting he got mistaken for an alternate version of Gotham’s number one airheaded himbo DILF Brucie Wayne by an aid worker, but . . . 

Well. He doesn't even know who he'd be admitting that to, at this point. 

He doesn't know if he'll ever . . . 

“The car is just down the block, sir,” Alfred says, and Kon tells himself he can do this. He always does, doesn’t he? He can handle his own shit and he'll take care of Jon and go meet the local Batman, apparently, and then embarrass himself explaining how this happened to him, and maybe . . . maybe the local Tim will be there. 

It won't be his Tim, but right now he just really wants to see his face, one way or the other. He's not gonna be picky about which “Tim” he's actually seeing. 

“Cool,” he says, trying not to sound too screamingly not-Gotham. He seriously doubts he manages it, though. He’s no good at the voice-mimicking trick Clark does and even if he was, it wouldn’t exactly be subtle to start doing it now. 

He and Jon say goodbye to the kids, who make a lot of very kid-like disappointed noises, and Kon suggests another game for them to distract themselves with–one that won’t require a technical adult running it–and then Rita’s got some paperwork for him and Alfred to both fill out and sign, and a couple other aid workers rubber-stamp them through, and absolutely no one asks to see his ID or even for a second doubts that he’s a version of Bruce Wayne. Except–hopefully–Alfred, anyway. 

Kon seriously cannot tell for fuck either way, the man might as well be a promethium wall. At this point he’s just counting on Alfred’s weird all-knowingness bailing him out here. Worst case scenario is explaining himself, obviously, but if he doesn’t exist here . . . 

Well, “Lex Luthor made me” is probably not a great start, with most Batmans. Especially after going to see said Batman under what is, technically, false pretenses. Like–obviously Alfred wouldn’t have come out in the middle of an interdimensional emergency for Conner Kent; he showed up here expecting a younger version of his boss. 

Probably would’ve come for Jon, he guesses, if only as a favor to the local Clark, since the guy’s presumably distracted figuring out how many dangerous strangers are currently in their reality with the Justice League, but still. 

Then again, for all Kon knows, the local Luthor is dead or irrelevant or a selflessly benevolent saint who feeds orphan puppies on the weekend, so who the fuck knows. 

Kon cannot actually imagine Luthor ever even existing in the same room as a puppy without it knowing well enough to piss on his fancy leather shoes, but look, alternate realities include the word “alternate” in them for a reason. Like, the word “alternate” is very much the operative word there. 

If nothing else, the local puppies might just be stupid. 

Kon’s not really a dog person, personally. Krypto doesn’t count, on account of being an alien and therefore not an actual dog. The first Krypto he knew was an actual dog, though, and they just did not vibe whatsoever.

He and Alfred sign the last couple papers. Kon fakes Bruce Wayne’s signature because he’s spent enough time in Wayne Manor to know the difference between that and his autograph, and thanks fuck that the eidetic memory finally kicked in last year. Seriously, it is such bullshit it took that long for him to get it, considering Clark and Luthor both have one. 

Alfred doesn’t actually react to the signature, but Kon does notice him noticing it. 

Probably what he’s noticing is that it’s not the same signature that his Bruce Wayne used in his early twenties, because there’s no way that hasn’t changed in twenty-odd years. 

Rita smiles at them and sees them all off happily with some reference numbers and exchanged contact information, and they don’t say anything on the way to the car. Kon keeps carrying Jon, which maybe isn’t normal human behavior, especially for someone who’s supposed to be passing for a ditzy socialite who allegedly only has vanity muscles as opposed to actually functional ones, but Kon kind of doesn’t care about that right now. Like, not even slightly does Kon care about that right now. 

Alfred leads them to a shiny black towncar and opens the door for them, and Kon gives him a nod of thanks and bundles Jon into the thing. Jon sniffles once, and kinda of clings to him a little. Kon figures it’s fair. He was never “ten” himself, obviously, but it seems like a rough age to put up with this kind of bullshit during. Like–definitely it does. 

“You’re good, kid,” he swears, less because it’s a promise and more because it’s something he’s gonna make happen, squeezing the kid’s shoulder the way Clark always does when he’s doing the reassuring thing. “I’ve got you. I’m with you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Jon says, sniffling again and scrubbing an arm across his eyes. “Um. Sorry.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Jonno,” Kon says, and Jon’s face crumples for a moment before he visibly steels himself and nods. Kon squeezes his shoulder again, then gets into his own seat and buckles himself in more out of the habit of trying to pass for human while in civvies than to actually, like, need to be buckled in. TTK kind of cancels out the risk of getting tossed around a car in an accident, and he’s invulnerable on top of that, plus the super-speed, so . . . yeah. Definitely car accidents are not a concern. 

He really wants to help this kid. He wants to at least get him to the local Clark, if nothing else. Like–if they all get stuck here, or there’s nowhere else for them to go . . . 

Well, it’d take a pretty different Clark than the one he’s used to not to want to take in any version of Jon, so as long as this reality actually has a Clark . . . 

Well, Kon’s probably not gonna be watching the kid long, in that case.

[mysticmellowlove]

Yan making fem reader nervous. She is usually decently confident and she still wants to lead a relationship with him but one day when she is hanging out with him he looks at her and asks why she seems distant to him still. She then looks at him and explains that he actually makes her shy and that she doesn’t want to scare him off. And him being in awe that he makes HER SHY!?!?!?!?!?!?!

note; it's a little deviated but i like how it turned out, also my power cut off and nearly deleted the entire thing :)

warnings; yandere male, sub yan, fem reader, comfort?, fluff mostly

It didn't take long for him to notice that his girlfriend was acting differently. He was confused, everything had started off so well. They met one day for coffee and just like that he endeared himself to her but all of a sudden...

He grunted as he picked up the kettle and poured the now boiled water into the two cups he had set out for the two of them. Had she found out about him blackmailing her boss? Or maybe she figured out that he had sabotaged her friend's car so she'd be in a crash?

Had she figured out that he was the one who was stealing her underwear off the line and from her washing basket? He couldn't help himself, she just smelt so good.

His fingers twitched in nervousness, he couldn't let her go now. She was getting used to him and he was so fucking in love with her.

He picked up the cups and carried them to the lounge room where she sat on the couch. She seemed to be looking out the window at the pouring rain, a contemplative look on her face and a slight blush on her cheeks. He sighed and put the cups down before sitting next to her, his arm went to sling around her shoulder only for her to slightly flinch away from him.

"Alright, what's up? Has something changed between us?" He asked, his voice verging on desperation. She seemed shocked as she turned to look at him, her mouth dropping open.

"Of course no..." Before she could finish her sentence he cut her off as he fell from the couch and kneeled in front of her. The resounding bang of his knees hitting the floor made her jump as she looked down at him. His hands went to her knees in a bid to keep her there in front of him, he squeezed them desperately.

"Don't give me that bullshit! Please love, you've been ignoring me for the past couple of days, I promise that whatever I did I can make up for it just please don't leave me!" He pleaded with her, his hands on her knees tightened as he looked imploringly up at her face. She seemed to be frozen, her eyes similar to that of a doe as she looked at him.

"That's not.... it's..." She trailed off as delicate laughter left her mouth, soon it dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

"I'm sorry it's just that, I think I may have been mistaken." His heart rushed at the words that left her mouth, his mind breaking down into the worst case scenario.

"I was a little intimidated." His mind stopped as his eyes widened a little. She was feeling... scared of him? His hands shook as he closed his eyes just as his head dropped. Why was she scared? Why did she feel that way? Was it something he had said? Did she know?

"I mean, you're kinda everything I could ever want." Her voice went bashful as her hands closed over his own, easing the tension in his fingers as she soothingly stroked over his knuckles.

"And I'm just... well I'm just me." She admitted as she pulled his head up, making him look her in the eyes. His heart deflated at the situation. His love, the brightest star in his sky, the most enchanting woman he had ever met... was shy? It made him want to laugh, he could imagine the hearts in his eyes at this very moment.

"That's a little weird to say and all but you're the perfect gentleman, always so kind and I just... well I really love you that's all." She laughed as if she didn't know what to do with herself. He was the same, all he could do was look into her eyes as he bit down his tongue. All he wanted to do was shout how much he loved her and how she was perfect for him because he just knew that she was.

At the moment though he needed to give her a massive hug... and maybe fuck her in front of the mirror to show her just how perfect she really was in his eyes.

[vickyvicarious]

To one thing I have made up my mind: if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.

Jonathan, 3 October

She lay in her Vampire sleep, so full of life and voluptuous beauty that I shudder as though I have come to do murder. Ah, I doubt not that in old time, when such things were, many a man who set forth to do such a task as mine, found at the last his heart fail him, and then his nerve. So he delay, and delay, and delay, till the mere beauty and the fascination of the wanton Un-Dead have hypnotise him; and he remain on and on, till sunset come, and the Vampire sleep be over. Then the beautiful eyes of the fair woman open and look love, and the voluptuous mouth present to a kiss—and man is weak. And there remain one more victim in the Vampire fold; one more to swell the grim and grisly ranks of the Un-Dead!…

Van Helsing, 5 November

One thing I noticed this year was the way Van Helsing echoed Jonathan's declaration about lovers joining the ranks of the undead. They both use very similar language, but with a couple huge differences. This makes these quotes almost a reverse of one another in a really interesting way.

Van Helsing's theoretical men who become vampires out of love are very clearly victims. They are foolish, fascinated by a vampire woman's beauty, and don't need to have known her beforehand to be mesmerized. Their hearts fail them, when they allow beauty to stay their hand which had previously been poised to kill the undead they've been hunting.

Jonathan's very real man willing to become a vampire (and his presumed others before him) is making a deliberate choice. He is not being tricked into anything. He knows exactly how horrible a choice he is making, and is in fact doing so well away from the sight of any supernatural beauty or mesmeric power. His heart feels the holiest love, which guides it into darkness rather than ever even consider harming the undead he loves.

Van Helsing's assumption is that the men who falter didn't already know the vampire who eventually turned them, and thus no deeper love is really possible. This is very much not the case for Jonathan's quote. But I think even in that situation, the Professor would still consider Jonathan himself much closer to the foolish, mistaken victims of his own quote - rather than recognizing the agency and deliberate nature of Jonathan's choice. That's the main difference for me - even more than the depth of the connection/length of association (though of course that hugely informs the situation and is a necessary distinction), it's the knowing/unknowing nature of each one.

In both (hypothetical) situations the men are guided by their hearts, but Jonathan knows the truth even as he declares he would join his love to be a vampire. In Van Helsing's scenario, the men act against what they know by feeling pity and affection for what they intended to treat as a monster. They forget that the ranks of the undead are "grim and grisly" just long enough to fall prey. But Jonathan never does. He knows Mina would become a monster, knows that in this scenario he'd be joining the "ghastly ranks" of the undead. He doesn't forget that fact. He just considers his love to be more important, enough that he is willing to subject himself to such a terrible fate rather than harm or be separated from her. It's the opposite of someone mesmerized into delaying and being enticed into putting down their weapon. Instead he resists entreaties to pick it up in the first place. (At least to point towards Mina.)

[b-dwolf]

the fun thing about buddie is that literally anything would work with them getting together

soft confession in the kitchen? absolutely

angry confession after a hard call where one of them put themselves in danger to save the other? oh 100%

mistaken as a couple while out with chris and going home to talk about it thus leading to spilling their feelings? i can see it

running to the others home in the pouring rain, ending up breathless at their front door, and pulling the other in for a desperate kiss? sign me up!

oh they were drunk when they first kissed and decided to act like it never happened, thus creating a giant space between them and it isn’t until the other snaps that they finally realize and confess the kiss meant more to them? 100% yea

LIKE ANY SCENARIO EVER . WORKS WITH THEM !!!

[ughgoaway]

playing on my mind- blurb masterlist

hi yall!!! I am so glad you're enjoying the blurbs, so I figured I'd make a separate masterlist for them!! I try and tag anything relating to this au with #teacher au! so you can search that on my blog for any content of these two idiots <3

original full fic- here

blurb 1- matty is late to pick Annie up from school, but you're there to keep her company

blurb 2- matty comes into school on career day to play some music for the kids, and maybe to see you...

blurb 3- it's parents evening and matty comes in to see you, and talk about his daughter

blurb 4- its the yearly nativity play, and little Annie has a starring role

blurb 5- it's Annie's birthday, and matty brings in cake for the whole class. Maybe he ends up staying a while.

blurb 6- trick or treating together on Halloween and getting mistaken for a couple.

blurb 7- pre teacher reader, new dad matty has a screaming baby and no clue how to make it better. that is until he discovers the magic of a baby wrap...

blurb 8- two possible scenarios for the first "I love you"

blurb 9- you surprise matty front row at a show

blurb 10- going to a theme park once you and matty get together

blurb 11- (not really a blurb more just a passing thought lol) Annie losing her first tooth

blurb 12- another "I love you" for the first time scenario, if it was said during a fight/apology. Annie breaks her arm, and matty is a dickhead about it lol

blurb 13- short thoughts about matty dad dancing at a school Christmas dance.

blurb 14- not really a blurb but some slutty thoughts lol

blurb 15- Annie doing ross' hair

blurb 16- running into matty at a coffee shop and meeting george

blurb 17- Annie calling you mum for the first time (older teenage annie)

blurb 18- Annie calling you mum for the first time (young annie)

blurb 19- baby Annie is ill for the first time, and matty has no idea what to do. cue a panicked call to Adam and 4 grown men worried about a baby with a cold

blurb 20- Annie finds out about you and matty, and not in the way you hoped.

blurb 21- telling matty you're pregnant, with the help of new big sister Annie :)

blurb 22- you are sick and trying to ignore it, but matty becomes a nurse very quickly and refuses to let you just sit and rot lol

blurb 23- what matty is like during your early pregnancy

blurb 24- (short) Christmas with your family vs Matty's.

blurb 25- girls night out ends up with you getting a lip tattoo for matty, and he loves it

blurb 26- Annie decides its time to trial haircuts in her spare time, and matty is her first victim.

blurb 27- Annie is performing in a talent show, and everyone comes to watch.

blurb 28- Annie meeting her baby brother for the first time

blurb 29- small thoughts about Matty's reaction to Annie dating.

blurb 30- radom thoughts about matty comforting teacher reader after a hard week.

blurb 31- pregnant teacher reader and her mourning Matty's curls: :(

blurb 32- Annie gets her first boyfriend, who just so happens to be George's nephew. and they were doing a great job keeping it secret, until now

blurb 33- short thoughts about Annie's first award show :)

blurb 34- valentines crafts with Annie for matty pre-dating, and all the yearning that entails lol

blurb 35- first time going out as a family after you and matty have officially gotten together!

blurb 36- jealous matty after you see someone you used to go to uni with at a bar. He's definitely hitting on you, and matty is not happy.

blurb 37- a little explanation on Annie's mum and what their relationship is like!

blurb 38- first fight after you've gotten together and your first time trying to build something together.

blurb 39- your parents meeting Annie and matty for the first time.

blurb 40- mayhem, matty, and annie come home covered in mud after a walk, and the three of you are left with the job of bathing mayhem...

blurb 41- matty is home from tour, baby healy is born, and annie is beyond ready for her whole family to be in one place. matty makes snoopy pancakes for a the peanuts obsessed Annie as a celebration of his return <3

blurb 42- not a proper blurb, but just little thoughts about teacher girlie and dlid!!

blurb 43- not a proper blurb again, but just brief thoughts on celebrating your 1 year anniversary :)

blurb 44- baby healy smiles for the first time, and it's all because of a new 75 track

18 + blurbs

blurb 1- matty tries on your labcoat, and you can't help but feel slightly embarrassed about how attractive you find it - matty takes advantage, obviously.

blurb 2- soft gentle sex with matty after you've had a long week.

blurb 3- pulling matty straight off stage after that grab he did...

blurb 4- morning oral w/matty and holding his hand as he's between your legs <3

blurb 5- matty gets angry on the phone and it's hot, so he decides to make you tell him what made you feel like this and make you feel good

[teruel-a-witch]

a fake dating/undercover au where steve decides to use the opportunity to show danny that he can be a great boyfriend, since danny keeps talking about how steve is the least romantic person he's ever met, etc and steve is determined to prove danny wrong (danny does seem to appreciate his looks, so maybe the problem is he doesn't see steve as boyfriend material) and steve truly outdoes himself and is the best damn boyfriend danny could ever dream about...

...which backfires spectacularly because it only makes danny furious: he thinks it's all one big joke to steve and he's taunting him with what he could never have (albeit unwittingly because danny doesn't think he's intentionally cruel).

poor steve doesn't know what he did wrong because he did everything right and still it wasn't good enough.

[lawsvalentine]

Can I Have This Dance? • OP Men Scenarios • (SFW)

Fem!reader

Characters: Luffy, Sanji, Law,

CW: None, Pure Fluff.

Cee’s note: I am soft™️ 🥺🥺. (Also I originally wanted to include Zoro but i literally cannot imagine him slow dancing sgshdj like my mind was blank trying to come up with something) But oh well, hope y’all enjoy!

Luffy

The straw hats had once again saved a town and in return, the villagers have thrown them a banquet. Luffy had already stuffed himself with the food from the banquet. What’s a better way to blow off steam than to do some dancing. He is quick to drag you on the dance floor with him, which you happily obliged.

You and Luffy were practically dancing like maniacs. You two tend to feed off each other’s energy, so it’s no surprise that you guys are in your own little world, just vibing off each other. It wasn’t until the music slowed and people were starting to couple up is when you both froze and stared at each other awkwardly.

You have always had a crush on your captain but pushed those feelings aside because you didn’t think he would be interested in dating. Also because you were practically best friends and you didn’t want to ruin it by expressing your feelings.

So it took you by surprise when Luffy suddenly wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. So close that your noses almost touched. Your face flushed at the closeness and you slowly brought your arms to wrap around his neck. You two start to sway to the rhythm of the music.

“This is kinda weird, right” you say to break the awkward silence.

“Not really, I kinda like it”

Your stomach starts tingling at his words. This boy didn’t know the affect he had on you. Suddenly, Luffy let out his famous chuckle as he studied your body language.

“You know you’re cute when you’re nervous”

Did he just-

“You think I’m cute?” You say, with wide eyes.

“Of course, aren’t you supposed to when you like someone”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Luffy liked you?

“Wait, you like-like me? Like more than a friend?”

“Duhhhh!” Luffy said with a snicker. “Thought it was obvious, Y/N”

You couldn’t help but smile and giggle at his confession. Feeling all giddy, knowing your crush liked you back.

“I like-like you too, Luffy”

Luffy gave you a big toothy grin as he spun you around. You too giggling as you continued to dance.

Sanji

The banquet you and the straw hats were at was in full swing with people dancing and drinking and stuffing there faces with food. The music had slowed and people were coupling up quickly and slow dancing. You took a sip from your wine as you sat and observed people. You couldn’t help but notice Sanji get turned down by yet another girl who he had asked to dance with him.

You saw the saddened look on the cook’s face who slumped down in defeat. You felt kind of bad for him. Sure he could be a bit…much with his love for women but at the end of the day he had a good heart and he wasn’t bad looking in the slightest. You downed the rest of your drink, gaining a bit of liquid confidence and marched your way toward him.

“I’ll dance with you Sanji”

Sanji looked up at you, eyes widened and mouth agape. He couldn’t believe his ears, surely you must be mistaken.

You giggled at his dumbfounded look, “You coming or what?”

Sanji sprung up arms wide and eyes filled with hearts, “Y/N-SWA-“

You clamped your hand over his mouth muffling his voice. A few nearby strangers gave you two weird looks before proceeding with their dance.

“Listen, I’ll dance with you but none of that, got it?”

Sanji nodded his head frantically. He would be a fool to mess up this opportunity. You released your hand from his mouth. Sanji grabbed that same hand and placed the back of it to his lips giving it a gentle peck. It was almost like a switch was flipped, because Sanji’s entire demeanor changed from hopeless simp to Mr.Prince.

“Mademoiselle, may I have this dance?”

He bowed slightly as he said it. You couldn’t deny the butterflies you got from his gentleman-like actions. The boy can be quite charming when he wants to be.

You two made your way to the floor to an empty spot. You wrap your arms around Sanji’s neck and his hands found their place holding your waist. Your eyes were locked on each other as you swayed slowly to the music. You felt timid under his gaze. You have never been this up close and personal with Sanji. Was his eyes always this pretty?

His voice took you out of your thoughts. “I think you’re very beautiful Y/N”

You turned your head slightly to hide your blush. “You’re not so bad looking yourself”

Suddenly, you felt yourself be dipped down, Sanji once again having those heart eyes as he started basically asking for your hand in marriage.

You giggle at Sanji’s forwardness. “Slow down lover boy, how bout you take me on a date first.”

“As you wish, princess”

Law

You were reading a romance novel, back rested against the headboard of the bed, patiently waiting for your lover to be finished with his work. You didn’t mind though, fully enthralled with the story you were reading.

Law finally entered your shared private quarters, to find you giggling and blushing at the book in your hand. He gave you a perplexed look, before sitting at the edge of the bed facing you.

“What are you reading, Y/N-ya?”

“Oh it’s nothing, just the main character and her love interest are slow dancing at this ball. I dunno, I always thought it would be really romantic to be asked to dance.”

Law stared at you with an unreadable expression. You suddenly felt embarrassed at your confession, closing the book and setting it by the night stand.

“Forget it, Law, it’s stupid. Let’s just go to bed”

You were about to pull the sheets over you when you felt Law stand from his place on the bed and make his way to you. You saw his hand being held out in front of you. You look up at him with widened eyes.

Were you imagining this? Surely, this can’t be real.

Law smirked at your shocked expression.

“Dance with me, Y/N-ya”

You beamed at him, before placing your hand in his and standing up from the bed. He slowly brought you close to his chest as his other hand rested at your waist. You brought your free arm to wrap around his neck, playing with the hair at his nape. You two started to sway, creating your own rhythm despite the lack of music.

His golden orbs gazed down at you with a soft expression. It was rare seeing Law like this. Usually, he is not a big fan of PDA, so most of it is done in private. He may not be the most expressive when it comes to love, but it’s moments like this, where he shows you how much he loves and cares for you. Moments like this that make you fall even more in love with him.

You rest your head on his chest, enjoying being held by him as you both continued to sway to the imaginary music in your heads.

He places a chaste kiss on-top of your head before tilting your head up so he can look at your face.

“Your feelings aren’t stupid Y/N-ya, I would never judge you, my love”

[sashi-ya]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ 𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬 𝑻𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑪𝑯𝑬𝑹𝒀 january free requestsㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤ aizen sosuke x f! reader

🕊️ request: anon ⋆｡˚ May I ask about a NSFW scenario of Aizen x afab reader have sex but they have to keep it low because there is a party in the house and people might catch them? It could be even more interesting if they’re not even supposed to talk to each other. Thanks for your hard work on here! 💗 🕊️ tw: mdni. Mafia AU. Aizen's younger brother could be anyone! however since it is not a fic, but a scenario, I didn't want to go much further BUT in my mind it was supposed to be Gin (if you really like this fic I could write more with more than one chap cause I love mafia au and traitors :P) . Kyoka Suigetsu is a gun in this AU. so, usage of gun. fingering. kissing. slap. hair pulling. unprotected sex. fear play? gun play? maybe. (Not so much of a play). wc: 1,4k 🕊️masterlist

For the sake of the business, of the families… Promised to Sosuke’s little brother, there you sit watching the night pass by. Or maybe, just maybe, the handsome features of the oldest of the Aizens.

As always, these parties are never fun, specially knowing all of the men in there carry guns in between their hipbones and clothes.

Is not ok for you to speak more than what you are expected to; the daughter of a mafia boss holds power, but apparently not rights.

To ensure the prosperity of your family’s business they have agreed on an arranged marriage in between the youngest heirs of both of the most powerful mafia clans in all the country…

“Mrs. (Name), are you enjoying the party? Has my little brother already left you alone? What is that man thinking?!” your future brother-in-law asks. His chocolate eyes fix into yours, taking advantage of the power they have on you. He knows very well that his younger sibling cares nothing about getting married, and even if he ends it up doing it he won’t engage into the “good husband” life.

“Aizen-sama, yes. He told me he wanted to dance, I think… but he is probably drinking with… you know” you murmur, ashamed. Is not that you care about him, you don’t even wish to touch him. However, there is one you want to touch, to kiss… him, Aizen Sosuke, the older sibling.

Aizen smirks with class and blinks slowly. He presents his hand with his palm up to you; Sosuke is actually asking you to take his hand and follow him. But should you do it? This could be considered as some kind of treason… what would they do if someone see the younger bride to be on her own engagement party leaving with the brother of the groom?

Well… if your life is about to become hell, might as well do it faster.

You place your hand on his; he slickly looks to the sides and then again at you. With a soft smirk, something like a caring façade that’s nothing but a lie, he pulls you up.

“Follow me, (Name). Please”

And you do. You follow him, and you walk right behind him like following the devil walking you into hell.

The long halls of the Aizen family’s manor can easily be mistaken for a maze. The big windows ahead, show the beautiful scenery that surrounds their lands; a tropical paradise on a steamy summer night. You can see the waves crashing on the coast, that’s barely a few meters from the house. The moon reflect its white silver shine that’s tinted in a little bit of red, on the water… like a flower on a pond, so beautifully unreachable.

“Sosuke, where are we going?” you ask, knowing what you are doing but not exactly where.

He turns around, stopping in the middle of a carpeted covered hall. His eyes scan you up and down, strategically stopping by the high cut skirt of your dress. Sosuke, then, walks a couple of steps towards you and places the soft surface of his fingertips on your chest.

“Your heart is racing…” he whispers, with his face close enough for you to feel his warm breath kissing your skin.

Your eyelashes flutter a couple of times, while your lips slowly separate. Whether you wished to say something or not, you knew you simply couldn’t.

“I know our families have arranged your marriage, but… I have a better plan” he adds, coming even closer to your face. Right there, so dangerously exposed to anyone that decided to walk those halls.

“You do…?” you ask, hoping for a better future, trusting in the man that could be your enemy… that in fact, is still one until you finally marry his brother.

He nods, slowly. Aizen’s hand reaches for your face, placing his fingers on your mandible and his thumb on your lip. He sloppily plays with it, getting you ready for him, spell bounding you, making you stupidly weak for him…

Sosuke pushes you back, unexpectedly. You trip but he catches you and guides you to a random room.

Inside, the luxury never stops, and the scent of chocolate invades you. It’s delicious and it seems to be coming from some steamer. The place is not looking like a pantry but rather a place where massages are done. And in fact, when you turn around, there is a massage bed and many decorations around that reminds you of a spa.

“I didn’t know this place existed” you giggle, knowing this home is about to become your home… well, at least if you make it alive from tonight.

Sosuke scoffs, just enough to make your core wetter, and your legs weaker. He comes closer to you, always with that calm way of walking. Calm and dominant. Calm and dangerous… oh but so attractively.

He lifts you up to sit you on top of the bed. It creeks just a little, and the soft surface welcomes you like you are landing on a cloud. Immediately after, he softly slaps your knees to spread your legs and then get in between them.

Your face reaches his chest height, and your eyes discover the little spot of caramel skin right in between his collar bones. You are tempted to kiss; you are tempted to touch, to let him do it anything he wants.

“I must ask you to keep it quiet; even if this place is huge… walls can hear” he urges you, passing his hand towards the back of your head.

“I will try~” is the last phrase your lips pronounce that make sense, because the next sounds abandon your lips will be just moans and whines…

Sosuke kisses you, violently. So imprudent, so sinfully. He has no trace of regret nor shame for messing with his brother future wife, neither do his hands. Your breasts, freed by a sudden pull on your neckline’s dress, await for him to enjoy them. Your right inner thigh can feel the protruding “Kyouka Suigetsu” carving on your skin… his so well-known gun, that he carries everywhere in between his pants and his sweet, milk and coffee skin.

The silence gets tinted in soft moaning and panting, as well as the sound of his fingers crawling inside you. In and out he goes, straightly to the point. He wants your walls to be stretched enough to receive his now hard rock sex. A hard rock sex you can clearly also feel from time to time, as he grazes against your dampened sex. You are sure his light brown pants are already stained in your arousal, and you don’t mind…

“You are very tight, aren’t you? But you are still taking it very well…” Sosuke asks in your ear, while he forces two fingers instead of one deep inside you. “Did my brother fuck you already?”

You shake, taking the unproper right to pass your arms over his shoulders. “Not yet, he still thinks I’m a virgin…” you whisper back, revealing a lie that could cost your and your family’s heads.

Aizen smirks so devilishly, as if the new information he has just learned about you represented more than a simple lie…

“Then, I won’t be soft… you know that? You little lying bitch?” he says, walking back and taking his gun out of his “secret” not to secret spot. “Go as hard as you wish, Sosuke… we are both traitors by now” you spit, receiving the cold tip of his Kyoka on your thigh.

You lick your upper lip, slowly smudging the already bleed out red lipstick. Even the strongest can faulter when it comes to lust, because Aizen hand slightly trembles… and the trigger he should have pulled, it doesn’t get pulled. And the gun now rests, so dangerously by your side, so next to your own hand.

He softly slaps your cheek, while the other pulls from your hair back. Your neck exposed; his teeth carved on your flesh. The sound of his zipper going down; the stretching feeling of his manhood piercing your walls integrity.

You carve your heels on the small of Sosuke’s back, while he fucks you so rough. You don’t want him to stop, you want him to keep going. Your pinkie can feel the cold metallic surface of the gun resting on the bed. But his does too...

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ...who will grab it first?

[justwritingscenarios]

Hey there, hope ur doing alright

May I please have Sir crocodile &/or Trafalgar Law for a scenario(ig it was numb 6 but I changed it a bit) in which they're mistaken as a couple so their *partner to be* says that they're not together, but they'll correct them by lowkey being protective and saying "well not yet" or sth like that

I'm not sure if ur ok with the changes or u do two seperate characters for one scenario, so feel free to ignore it

and that's it! Thank you.

Hello~ I prefer getting a character one by one. For creative reason, simpler working for one idea at a time. So I went for Law this time but you can still sent me the request for Crocodile ! :) I wish I understood your request well. - Lara

Scenario 2 : "no we are not together" "…at least not yet"

Trafalgar Law x GN! Mugiwara! Reader // Words : 750 // Warning : Law is a bit OC by being flirty. (no beta reader)

Luffy had once again emptied the food stock, earning a kick from Sanji, a punch from Nami and a death glare from Law. The Straw-hat boy was an expert to thwart Law’s plans. The Heart was getting used to it.

The Thousand Sunny and the Polar Tang berthed next to another on the big docks of White Castle, an island known for their marketplaces. It was the perfect place for Sanji to fill up the pantry and for everyone to do some purchases. Everyone was content with that unforeseen stop.

Law was leaning on the railings of the submarine, looking at the city.

“Are you really staying here sulking until the evening?”

He turned his head to you, standing on the quay, and smirked at your remark. “And who’s going to keep the sub if I’m leaving?”

“Close it? Moreover, Zoro’s keeping the Sunny, he can keep an eye on the Tang too. I’m suuure if there is a place you can find a medical book you don’t already have in your huge collection, it’s here.”

Law knew you were right. About Zoro. And about the book. And he found it entertaining to hang out with you. He already had before, during missions or free time on your both ships. You had many interests and hobbies, some he shared, which led you to lots of interesting conversations, sometimes with crewmates, others just the two of you. The man wasn’t naïve; he knew he had fall in love with you and that he couldn’t do anything against it but be there, enjoy your presence and protect you whenever you’d need it. And expect you feel the same. Because he wasn’t sure.

“Look, isn’t it the book you wanted the last time?” Law walked closer to you and watched the book you pointed to. You were right, he was looking for it. That was the kind of thing that made Law thought you could love him too. All those moments you would point out something he likes or wants; or despises, just to kid him with your mischievous smile.

“Yes, it is. Thanks (Name)-ya.”

Law kept looking at the medical section with you before going to the cheek out. The shop assistant registered it and asked him. “It is a gift for you (gender)friend? I can gift-wrap.” Law was wondering what made them think it would be a gift for you, that you answered. “We’re not together.” And Law, in a murmur, added “not yet”, without knowing you heard.

You went on and on with different kind of shops, through different marketplaces, until “I’m hungry.”

“Oh, so it was your tummy rumbling. I thought it was an earthquake.” You punched him lightly on the arm to which he responded with his signature smirk. “What about here?”

He showed a bakery a little forward. The both of you chose quickly and the waitress took your orders. You were still looking at the pastries in the window when she addressed Law: “We have tables for couple on first floor. It will be calmer.” “Thanks.” He simply answered before turning to your confused face. “What? You’re coming?” You nodded and followed him upstairs.

Law sat and looked around, waiting for your order to be brought. On your side, you watched him… It was the second time he implied you were a couple in the same afternoon. When he eventually looked at you, it was your turn to look around. He noticed and smirked silently, the waitress coming with your orders.

“Here. Ice teas. The tiramisu for…?”

“My boyfriend.”

Both the waitress and Law turned to you, surprised by your words. On the other hand, you were looking at him dead in the eyes; if you felt sure of yourself on the outside – which you highly doubted – you were freaking on the inside. The waitress giggled and left, with a low “thank you” from Law, that didn’t stop looking back at you.

He eventually unfreezed and let out a laugh.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m not. I am not laughing at you. It’s just… Why?”

“I heard you at the book shop and that you didn’t correct her about us by a couple… So, I wanted to confirm something.” You took a sip of your drink, not seeing Law’s hand reaching for yours until he grabbed it.

“I wish your verification went well.” His thumb brushed the back of your hand, sending a shiver down your spine.

“It did.” You answered before intertwining your fingers with his.

[callivich]

Callliii, in spirit of that post floating around, do you know of any scenarios where Lip would be mistaken as Mickey's husband. (almost said wife.) and how that would play out?

Comet! I loved (@whatwouldmickeydo) Leah’s post about this. I think @em-harlsnow did a perfect job of writing what might happen in only you (not your brother) 💖

But I love the idea of this so much so here are some possible other scenarios:

Ian, Mickey, Lip and Tami are doing a big shop at a grocery store. It’s for all the family so Ian and Tami wander off at one point - they’re focused on the lists they’ve written and Lip and Mickey are left standing awkwardly with the shopping cart, Fred sat in the child’s seat. Silence. Annoyance. Both of them hate waiting. Mickey’s curled over the other end of the cart, texting Ian furiously about leaving him here with Lip. Meanwhile, a person passes by and notes the contents of their cart - everyday items and a baby - they decide to compliment this nice couple and their sweet son. It goes badly….

Ian and Mickey have hired Lip to work for their security business. It’s Mickey’s turn to have Lip as a co-worker for the day. They’re first stop is a new business. They’re not that familiar with the security guys and assume Lip and Mickey are husbands because they’ve heard that the security guys are married. Cue horror and disgust.

Liam has a parent teacher night and one of his siblings needs to be there. There’s all sorts of miscommunication and Lip and Mickey both turn up. Whatever. They’ll both go and listen to each teacher tell them how great Liam is. The thing is, Liam has recently written an essay on his family (including mentioning his brother and his brother’s husband) and all his teachers incorrectly assume Lip is Ian. Mickey didn’t think he could hate school any more. But he can.

It’s a night out for Lip, Tami, Ian and Mickey. They start off at a bar, then go to a club, then another club and finally they end up at a gay club. Everyone apart from Lip is drunk. Ian and Tami want to dance so they leave Mickey and Lip at a table. A very confident guy comes up to flirt with Lip who quickly says he’s taken. The guy looks at Mickey who loudly says “not by me he ain’t” with a look of disgust. Lip gets offended. Ian and Tami come back to the table to find Lip and Mickey two seconds away from a fight.

The Gallaghers + Mickey, Sandy and Tami included take a trip to the carnival. Fun! Right? Except for the fact that Ian’s feeling a little sick. Must have been those snacks he ate. He asks Lip to tell Mickey that he doesn’t wanna go on the romantic tunnel of love ride that Mickey’s currently queuing for. Mickey’s phone has died so Ian can’t text. Fuck, ok. So off Lip goes and somehow ends up in the boat with Mickey thanks to the ride attendant who doesn’t believe they’re not a couple. Lip becomes the only person ever to ‘fall’ in to the water of the tunnel of love ride.