#that background texture was a pain

[silverbearclaws]

Cleaning up some cute trigun panels ✨

[crystalrainfall]

Ed and Roy having some quality family bonding time

[sweater-equestrian]

the epic highs and lows of getting to have a new gecko but this also meaning i have to work with spray foam again to make a background 😭

[weird-and-unwell]

“Autism isn’t a disability”, “it’s just a difference”.

I am of lower support needs. I hold down a (part time) job. I have travelled around my home country. I live alone.

At work they complain about my speech. I’m too quiet, they say, “barely audible” is the words used at my autism assessment. My voice is all monotone, and it needs to be more expressive. I get this complaint every week for a year straight, until my manager gives up. I don’t attend trainings because I forget and find it overwhelming anyways. My coworkers form friendships, and I watch them talk, wondering how they make it look so easy. I get a new manager, I tell her I find the work socials too overwhelming to attend. She tells me I can just say I don’t want to come. I don’t know how to tell her that I desperately want to, to be like the rest of my coworkers, instead of constantly being the one sat on the sidelines.

I come home, and I can hear my neighbours again. The niggling background noise messes with my head, and I meltdown; I throw myself on the floor, I hit my head on the ground repeatedly as I scream and cry, tear out my hair and scratch my arms and face. When I complain, people tell me that I just have to accept that neighbours make noise, that I should just ignore it, or block it out. I am the problem, the one overreacting. I put in earplugs and it hurts and I'm crying again. I wear headphones but I can't handle the noise for that long.

I have reminders set for everything. Every chore, no matter how big or small. My phone beeps at me, reminding me that I need to wash the dishes. If I don't go now, then tick the little box on my phone to say I did it, it won't get done. My home is almost always a mess despite this. It's not just chores either. I won't think to wash, dress myself, brush my teeth or hair, without those reminders. And unless someone actively prompts me to do so, I will do those tasks "wrong". I haven't changed my underwear in a month, and I'm currently aware that's a problem, but within the hour I'm going to forget all over again until I'm next prompted.

I can't sleep without medication - it's not unusual for autistic people to have messed up circadian rhythms. Without my medication it's hard to even tell when I'm awake and when I'm asleep. When I was younger and at school I slept through so many lessons, and when I have my mandatory breaks from my sleep meds I sleep through every alarm I set. I want to work full time some day, and I'm terrified of what my sleep issue will mean for me then.

I don't travel independently. I don't travel anywhere alone, always with someone or to someone. If to someone, I have assistance the whole way. I find it embarrassing sometimes. Yes, I have a job that requires a certain level of intelligence. No, I cannot get on a train by myself. If I am not shown To The Train, To My Seat, I will be unable to travel.

Last time I travelled, I was left alone at the station for ten minutes. I stayed rigid and sobbed the whole time. I was overwhelmed. It was too loud, I didn't know where I was or where I was meant to be going, and until the assistance person came back I couldn't do anything because for some reason I cannot understand it.

I spend a lot of time trying to explain to people that despite my relative competence, I am unable to do many things. Why can I understand high level maths but not how to get on a damn train? No fucking idea.

"Autism isn't a disability" most severely affects those with higher support needs, and this is absolutely not to take away from them. But for fucks sake, autism is disabling.

Maybe you personally are extremely lucky and just find you're a little "socially awkward", or just find some textures painful or nauseating. Maybe you would be fine with just a couple of adjustments.

But for a lot of us, even lower support needs autistics, it doesn't work like that. I will never sleep properly without medication. I still have the self-harming type of meltdowns as an adult, over things that are deemed as being "just part of life". I live alone but have daily visits from family - if I'm left fully alone I forget all the little daily things one is "meant" to do. I had speech therapy as a child to get me to the "barely audible" "mostly correct" speech. I don't mask, I'm not really sure how I would to begin with.

I'm not unhappy with being autistic. It's just who I am. Life would be easier if I were neurotypical, but I also wouldn't be me. I just wish those luckier than me could...stop saying it's all chill and not at all a disability.

Because yes, socially, I am "awkward". I obviously don't make eye contact - I stare down and to the side of whoever I speak to. People think it's weird or creepy or a sign of disinterest. My autism assessor wrote down about how I often use words and phrases that don't make sense to others, even though they make perfect sense to me. In my daily life this means I'm frequently misunderstood, and have to try explain what I mean, when what I mean is exactly what I said, and the true issue is that what I mean just doesn't make sense to others. I gesture, at times, but again, my gestures apparently don't make sense in relation to what I'm saying. I take things literally, I have almost no filter, and I can't explain how I go from topic to topic.

And yes, I do have sensory problems. Sometimes people, including others with sensory problems, tell me that "sometimes sensory issues have to be tolerated", and I wonder what they think of as being sensory issues. I'm sure they do struggle, but if I say I can't handle a touch, I mean you will need to forcefully hold it against me for me to touch it more than a second and it will make me meltdown. If I say "I can't eat that", I mean that I am unable to swallow it, that I will gag and choke and inevitably spit it back out, as much as I try. If I say I can't handle a noise, I mean I'm so close to a meltdown and my meltdowns are a problem for everyone around me.

But yes. Autism. Not a disability. Just a fun quirky difference.

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

analyzing some images (for fun)

so i found this pair of promotion images for good omens season 1 on the good omens reference library server and it’s hooked me so so bad im having feelings about it. we’re analyzing them now. not really for meta purposes just fun to see the parallels and differences :)

everything under the cut !

unique traits

aziraphale:

1) his plank background. its older, its crisp, it smells like wood from the screen. mmmm

2) the pencil shavings at the bottom. he does a lot of writing honestly, so i like this. also adds a messy and cozy vibe he always seems to have in that shop…. i like that blessed shop fr

3) his SUSHI. little soy sauce drops near it too—just the right amount of deliberate mess. our first formal introduction to aziraphale in the present day and beginning the Tomfoolery just happens to have sushi... i watch that scene and i go “yeah, that sums up aziraphale i suppose” very nicely. (they dont have sushi Up There) (im literally never gonna forget that)

4) the ray of light shining on the scene. tiny thing, but a bit of the heaven is peeking through..it also sort of blurs the whole image but i think thats just me.

5) and we’ve saved the best for last: the big whopper. the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter, witch. I LOVE THAT BOOK!!!!!!! i cant remember if that ring stain was there but if it isnt in the show on the actual book i’d assume thats to add that ‘thy cocoa doth grow cold’ thing. ALSO. you know what’s being used as a bookmark in the pages?? a check for the ritz. he bookmarked their one chance for living . with a ritz check . MMMMMM. my GOD. that means so much to me even if i cant convey it in words. he KEEPS THE CHECKS 😭😭😭😭😭😭

crowley:

1) let me get my favorite out of the way. crowley’s glasses have fire in their reflection. we’ll talk about the glasses themselves later but the REFLECTION IN THEM. fucking FIRE, BOOKSHOP fire, PAIN, SRIVING THROUGH THE M-25, HELL, I DONT KNOWIM HAVING FEELINGS!!! i do believe this is a bookshop fire reference though, the flames feel too Familiar. the lengths people will go to to attack others 🤧

2) the leather seat background!!!!!!! probably meant to look similar to the bentley’s seats but i cant recall their texture, exactly. maybe just meant to convey modernness—unsure. still, its there <3

3) the tiny little crisp plant </3 its trying his damned best to stay perfect. it might a specific plant that means something, but i cant tell at thsi angle, so i’ll assume its a mini version of the ficus he keeps in the flat. its so SMALL and sitting in ANOTHER POT i CANT

4) the snake slithering!! black and red (in this image it looks orange lol) bellied scales!!!! slithering there, chilling, being crowley, showing hints. love it

5) QUEEN RECORD!!!!! TRYING TO OVERRIDE IT WITH TCHAIKOVSKY!!!!!! the tape over it does a reminisence to crowley’s handwriting, but in a clean ‘this made made to be a font’ way. not exactly just yet. ive become a fan of tchaikovsky recently. amazing darling wonderful crowley, trying to push the rock up the hill for eternity 😞

6) HIS LITTLE DEMON KEY THING. HOLDING A TINY LITTLE BENTLEY CAR KEY OHHH. thats how he doesnt lose the tiny key despite probably not needing one of those. and he CHOSE that intentionally probably. little wings and red circle….URGHHHHHHH

similarities

mmmmm now here’s the good shit. similarities! i’ll bullet point most of them but ohhhhh. ohhhh these. i’ll go from top to bottom as best i can….

1) one of their shoes, obviously. crowley has them iconic snakeskin shoes while aziraphale has his old loafers like the old loafer he is /pos

2) chateauneuf de pape wine bottle labels! (crowley’s is under his glasses, aziraphale’s is next to his shoe). oh my fucking god theyre MATCHING. the labels are old, battered, of course labeling the drink’s age, but mmmmm its these tiny details that get me going….

3) their respective drinks in their mugs—crowley’s a black mug coffee (or what looks to be coffee) and aziraphale’s angel mug tea (or what looks to be tea). i think about that mug sometimes. where did he get that from?? mystery for the ages….

4) their glasses, of course. crowley’s iconic sunglasses and aziraphale’s reading spectacles. i cant really tell the reflections in this pair, but if its supposed to be fucking fire, im done with this. im giving up forever

5) their own watches! aziraphale’s is visibily older while crowley’s is visibly modern, but they function just the same. also, crowley’s is set to 2:56:59 (presumably PM), which is around the time we see when crowley starts checking his watch at warlock’s birthday party. its almost time for disaster to strike!! 😃

6) and finally….their ties!! they have their own ties!!! or more accurately, neck accessories, but i digress. i mesn i assume its crowley’s neck tie, because the fabric looks… different. either way, crowley’s neck thingie is very whispy and aziraphale has his funky little bowtie i love so much,,,

okay thats it. there’s no canonical implications, any fantheories, none of the sort. just saw a pair of images and my mind went GOD DAMN!!!!!! theyre very important to me. i need to look at more promo material 😔

[sobfultoast]

•°~* Careful Touches *~°•

Prompt: Touching their demonic features (Wings/Tails).

Characters: Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan, Asmodeus, Beelzebub, Belphegor.

(This is my first one. It ain't the best, idk. Lol)

Being human, it was only natural that you'd be curious about what makes the brothers different from yourself, like their horns and such.

Whenever they were in their demonic forms, you couldn't help but stare at them with fascination. You just had to say something...

"They're beautiful... Can I touch your wings/tail?"

• ° ~ * ~ ° •

Lucifer

"You want to touch my wings? I always knew you were brave."

Lucifer doesn't just let anyone touch his wings. They must be people he trusts and respects. Out of all three realms, there are only 5 beings who have laid a hand on his wings and are still alive: Diavolo, Mammon, Michael, Simeon, and now you.

Lucifer's wings are dense with soft, fluffy feathers. It's so thick with feathers that you can't see your fingers anymore as you sink your hand. Be gentle with your strokes, while his feathers are as resilient as him, it can still cause him discomfort if handled roughly.

As you pet his wings, he physically relaxes. Letting out a heavy sigh, his composure becomes less strict. He feels vulnerable, but he thinks that he is okay with that. It was an intimate experience for him as he doesn't particularly like his wings. They hold a painful past to him, but you said they look beautiful... Someone can see the beauty in something he can't. Someone can see the beauty in his past, and that means the world to him.

You'll see him letting his wings unfurl more often when it is just the two of you. A cursed record playing in the background, he is working on paperwork with you on his lap, stroking his wings. It's soothing.

Mammon

"Eh? My wings? B-beautiful? Of course, ya think my wings are beautiful! They belong to the great Mammon after all!"

Mammon went bright red, but that didn't matter to him. His human thinks his wings are beautiful! Damn, right! Of course, you can touch his wings, and don't stop until he says so!

Mammom's wings are smooth but rough like leather. He uses a certain wax to make them sleek and shine. He has to look good. He is a model, after all.

As you stroke his wings, he started to squirm? Laugh? He almost pushed you away in a giggle fit. Turns out, he is very ticklish on his wings. It's more sensitive near the base of his wings, and it's the easiest place to tickle him to tears. He has noted to himself to never to let you touch his wings when you have that mischievous look on your face.

He likes using his wings to get your attention, especially now that he knows you like them. He'll walk around the house with his wings out, and he'll try to make it look like he is naturally stretching them, but we all know he's forcing it. He'll wrap them around you more often, using it to guide you closer to him. If you ask him about it, he'll deny it in his tsudere fashion but continues.

He has also bragged about it to everyone. Everyone. "Hey, guess what! My human said these wings are beautiful! Ya hear? What did they say to ya? Nothin'? that's what I thought."

Leviathan

"H-huh?! B-beautiful? You think my tail is beautiful?! Y-you must be lying. This must be one of your normie tricks!"

Leviathan went straight to denial. No way do you like his tail! His tail is such an eye-sore, he tells himself, why can't it be as dangerous as Satan's or as cute as Belphagor's? There is no way— W-wait, YOU'RE SERIOUS?! Once you assure him that you're serious and you'd love to touch his tail, he goes bright red and quiet. Give him a moment, and he'll slowly lift his tail towards you. He looks away, still hesitant. You have a feeling that if you don't stroke his tail now, you might affirm his thoughts and make him cry.

Levi's tail is smooth, and your hand glides over his scales. The scales themselves give his tail a nice and unique texture. It rattles with nervousness, but once you praise it, he'll melt into putty.

Levi is more comfortable having his tail out now, which also means you will be finding that tail wrapping itself around you more, too. It has a mind of its own that always betrays his tsudere act. He'll swear he'll never fall for your normie tactics while his tail is slithering its way up your thigh and waist.

It gets more clingy to you the more you pet and praise it. He still has days where he hates his tail, but you are always there to adore it.

Satan

"I don't think that would be a smart idea..."

Satan's tail is as dangerous as his wits. It has razor-sharp edges that have shown Satan its strength in fights and fits of rage. He hates the thought of hurting you, no matter how much you want to touch it.

Even if somehow you have managed to convince him that he won't hurt you, he is still hesitant. He keeps plasters and bandages on standby as you gently press your finger on his tail. The tales aren't false. A light press, and you can already feel how sharp it is. Press any harder, and you'll cut yourself. It makes a rattle noise when it moves, like two bones hitting each other.

After you pet his tail without hurting yourself, he'll be slightly more relaxed with it. He's still wary, though.

So, no tail hugs like Leviathan or Belphegor. Sorry :(

Asmodeus

"Oh, hon! I know they're beautiful! And of course you can touch them. You don't have to ask, I don't bite. Unless you'd like that~"

Asmodeus' wings are drop-dead gorgeous! Of course, you'd stare at their beauty. You don't ever have to ask to touch his wings as he'll probably ask you to touch them often.

Asmo's wings are soft and smooth, like his porcelain skin. They would have been like Mammon's leathery wings if Asmo didn't dose his own wings with skin-care and wing-care products. A very nice texture to touch. His wings flutter with excitement when you pet them. He just can't help it!

Most times, when you pet his wings, it can quickly take a spicy turn. How can he not when you are caressing him so sensually?! But, he does slightly prefer the more domestic feeling of cuddling with his favourite person (other than himself) with them showering him in affection. The only thing he really ever wants...

He spends so long on his wings' care because he really misses his old wings. They were so pure and beautiful. Now they're dull... To make up with that, he has a 2 hour care routine, per wing, that he does every week. If you would like, he can show you his wing-care routine, and you can help him too! He'd love that! He has 4 wings, and caring for each of them is a time exhausting task. He appreciates that you take time out of your day to help him.

Beelzebub

"Yes. You can. Just... Be careful with them..."

Beelzebub's wings are delicate, despite the rest of him. His insect wings can easily tear, but fortunately, his wings regenerate quickly. It's still painful. Because of this, he very nervous at letting people touch them, but he knows you won't purposely hurt him.

Beel's wings are thin. It's kind of hard to pet them. Doesn't mean you can't have a closer look to something so different from anything else you have seen. His wings make a buzzing noise when he flaps them really fast. The same buzz makes most buffets in devildom have flashbacks.

His wings are too weak to make him fly. Have you seen him? There is no way those thin wings can make that buff bloke fly! If anything, it might let him glide or hover for a short time for sports. He has to buzz them really quick to do that, so when he is attempting to hover, a big gush of wind happens and it is able to send you flying.

Beelzebub is happy you like his wings, but he is sad that you can't really pet them like the other brothers. It is what it is.

Belphegor

"Really? Huh... You're werid. You can touch it if you let me use you as a cushion."

Now you have a lazy demon napping on your lap, and he is not moving no matter how much you try. I mean, a free nap spot and free pets. How can he say no?

The base of his tail is rough fur, and the end is very fluffy, a perfect pillow, but it's really knotty as he is too lazy to care for it. Maybe you can brush it? He'll let you brush it. It saves him from getting scolded at by Lucifer or Asmodeus for not looking after himself because he was lazy. Once you've brushed it, it poofs up and becomes all fuzzy.

Unlike Satan's and Levi's tail, Belphie can't control his tail, so he can't use them as another arm or weapon. The most he can do with his tail is wag it like a cow would do.

Belphie also trips on his tail a lot. When Belphie falls over, he doesn't get up. He just lays there and waits. He waits until one of his brothers or you pick him up. It's the main reason why he carries his tail, not cause it's a fluffy pillow. It being like a fluffy pillow is just a happy little coincidence.

•°~* Have a lovely day! *~°•

[pit-and-the-pen]

Pinky Promise

Short little piece for Day 1 of @erisweekofficial: Bonds/Bargins

Summary: It was a stupid deal, promising Eris you would marry him. And now, what happens when you have no intention of following through with it. 

Warnings: Sick Reader, unedited

WC: 1.7k

divider by the lovely @tsunami-of-tears

“I’m gonna marry you one day.” Eris said the words with such conviction but kept his tone light. You couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Is that so?” You picked at a loose thread on your skirt, suddenly unable to make eye contact with the autumn court heir. 

“Yep.” He popped the p and leaned back in his chair. “No one else would be able to keep up with me.”

”You’ll be high lord one day, you could do far better than me.” 

Eris snorted and rolled his eyes. 

‘I could do far worse.”

”You really know how to flatter a girl, Eris.” You let out a heavy sigh. 

“Here, if neither of us have found anyone by the time you become high lord, then we’ll get married.”

 “Really?” He asked, sitting up a little straighter.

 “Really.”

 “It’s a deal then.” You felt it then. The words branding themselves onto the back of your neck. Your hand went up to trace the newly marked skin, the raised fern shaped bump. 

It was silly. Rushed words from childhood that you didn’t take seriously at the time. Your hand still traced over the skin, no longer feeling the texture of it. Just enough to bring you comfort. To know that Eris was your friend. 

Eris had turned down every match his father had tried. Always managing to find some fault with them, no matter how much trouble it got him in. You stopped the glimmer of hope every time that it was because he was holding out for you. Holding out for the bargain, the one you had no intentions of going through with.

You woke up a little later than you intended, the sun already streaking through the window. When you stood up, your muscles seemed to scream in protest, a small throbbing behind your temples started as you got dressed for the day. 

You sighed as you walked into the bathroom attached to your room, the room you had been given when you were appointed as Eris’ second in court, and started searching for the tonic to get rid of this headache. The day was going to be filled with meetings and dealing with the rest of his court was headache inducing enough. It didn’t take long for the pain to recede, not gone but enough to fade into the background as you headed towards eris’ office.

Eris was absolutely glowing with the power of a new high lord. He wore it well. The amplification of his already impressive abilities. He was heartbreakingly handsome before, but now, just being in the same room with him was enough to bring heat to your cheeks. 

“There she is.” Eris says as you walk into the room, his advisors sitting around the table. The spot next to him is empty, reserved for you. 

“I’m sorry for being late. I had an issue I had to deal with.” You felt all eyes in the room as you walked over to Eris. “You could have started without me.” You looked at Eris as you sat down, he waved off your words. 

“No we couldn’t. I trust your opinions on this stuff.” He squeezed your hand that was on the table and you shoved down the butterflies that rose in your stomach at the simple touch. 

“Now, last time we talked, we were discussing how to improve the schools that have been severely lacking since the war.” 

The late morning bled into the afternoon and there had been minimal arguments. A small miracle with the over opinionated circle Eris was still trying to navigate around. The older ones were still adjusting to be able to speak out and be heard. Eris handled every issue as well as he could have and you found yourself smiling at your friend as he truly stepped into his role as High Lord. 

“If you’ll allow me to make one last point. I would like to remind the high lord of the conversation we had a few days ago.” Eris just sighed at the words. Your eyes flicked to Eris, who seemed suddenly very annoyed. 

“I have several daughters that are of age and would be honored to be considered by the high lord.”

“I told you where I stand on the issue.” Eris cut him off, voice tight. You wanted to sink into the floor. There was no subtlety in the words the lord was speaking. He was offering his daughters for Eris to marry. 

“The court needs a lady.”

“I have one.” he didn’t hesitate to say the words, turning to you. You felt the gaze on everyone in the room. “I believe someone made me a promise.” He smiled at you, one you couldn’t return. 

“Eris. Be serious.” You muttered to him, turning away from the rest of the advisors. 

“I am.” He turned to face the man. “And that is all I will hear of this subject.” The older man had enough sense to nod at Eris’ words, looking slightly crestfallen. “You’re all dismissed for the day.” 

Slowly the other filed out of the room, leaving you and Eris alone. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. 

“You didn’t have to do that, Eris.” YOu said, leaning back in your chair. The headache from earlier was coming back with a vengeance. 

“I wasn’t doing anything. I was simply making them aware that I’m spoken for.”

“But you’re not.” You tried to stop your voice from raising but you were getting more and more frustrated with this conversation. 

Eris just looked at you as if he was confused by your words. 

“I thought-”

“You didn’t think at all, Eris. You didn’t think for a second about me in this and just told your entire court that you’re marrying me.” The words spoken through your teeth, the pain in your head becoming unbearable. You rose to your feet, hand on the table as you tried to get your bearings. “I don’t want to talk about this right now.” Your tongue felt like it had turned to sandpaper. The words heavy and mumbled. You wanted nothing more in this moment than to lay down and sleep off this gross feeling. 

You made it to the end of your hallway before it fully hit you.

The room around you was starting to tilt, your head feeling fuzzy like you had too much wine. You tried to keep yourself upright but your legs might as well have been jelly for the way they were shaking. Reaching out a hand, you blindly felt for the rough textured wallpaper and sat yourself down before you could fall flat on your face. The world seemed to right itself slightly as you tucked your head between your knees and took a deep breath. The movement rattled your chest and made every muscle in your body ache in protest. 

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you felt a hand shake your shoulder. One of the handmaid's faces came into focus in front of you. Her words seemed to be traveling too slow for them to reach your ears. You could only look at her with a blank look on your face before closing your eyes again. The pain had only been building and now it felt like your whole body was pulsing with this strange sickness. 

When you finally came to again, you were startled to feel soft velvet under your hands. A blanket had been thrown over you but the thin layer of sweat on your body had you kicking it off immediately. The motion seemed to remind your body what got you into this position. The light making tears spring in your eyes. 

“Thank the mother. You had me scared.” Eris’ voice made your head throb. You groaned, heads going to your temples. You flinched slightly at the contact, even your own touch sending waves of discomfort through you.

“Dove, what happened?” 

You could only shake your head. Forcing your eyes to look at Eris. He reached out to grab your hand and a small gasp left him. You saw it then, the pretty mark on your wrist that was now darker in color, leaking dark lines up your arm. 

“You’re breaking the bargain.” He dropped your arm like he was afraid the mark would transfer to him. 

“I have to.” You crooked out, clearing your throat you repeated the words, louder this time. 

“No. I refuse to accept this.” His voice had risen in pitch slightly, panic leaching into his words. 

“You would rather die than be with me?”

“I’m not having this conversation, Eris.” You cursed the weakness in your voice. 

“No, you have it very clear we aren’t.” He ran his hands through his hair, placing his hands over his eyes. His chest rose as he took a deep breath and let it out through his mouth. “Is being married to me that bad?” 

The hurt in his voice was worse than any of the pain in your body. 

“I won’t make you marry me because of some stupid joke you made over a hundred years ago.” 

A silence filled the room after your words you wanted to curl in yourself. That was when you felt Eris’s hand on top of yours.

“That’s what you think?”

“What else could it have been?”

“Do you think I wasn’t serious then? I would have married you that minute if I could have.”

“Don’t be cruel.”

“I could say the same thing to you. Do you expect me to live without you?” 

You suddenly couldn’t find the strength to look at him. 

“Dove. I wouldn’t want to have anyone else in this world by my side.” He takes your hand and places a small kiss on your knuckles. Rubbing warmth into your stiff muscles. When you look back at him, you only find your best friend staring back at you. No lies or hatred on your face.

Words fail you and you can only look at him, tears threatening to spill over. 

“You don’t have to say anything, focus on being better so you can make good on your promise.” Eris squeezes your hand but doesn’t let go. You smile at him and pat the spot beside you, as Eris climbs into bed behind you, you feel like a weight has been lifted off your chest that you’ve been carrying for the last century.

[pretzel-box]

Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, GN!Reader, Marriage, just wholesome, Sebastian is starstruck about reader

Words: 1,7k

Authors Note: Song fic! Song today: Stay by Ghost feat Patrick Wilson [I really love Ghost]

I thought about my boyfriend while writing this, pls don't tell him!

If this world is wearing thin.

And you're thinking of escape.

I'll go anywhere with you.

Time had no meaning in a place where the sun didn’t shine and the moon held no sway, where even the distant glimmer of the stars was swallowed by the endless, wet depths of the facility. Days blurred into one another, indistinguishable, as the relentless march of hours became a meaningless cycle. Yesterday bled into today, and tomorrow would arrive, indistinct from the days that had come before. Time was a ghost, an illusion, in a place where nothing changed and nothing could change.

But none of it mattered. It never would. Not when you stood there, bathed in the soft, ethereal glow of his lure. The pale light caressed your features, casting gentle shadows on your face, highlighting the curve of your smile—the smile that was so heartbreakingly genuine, so full of warmth and affection that it made the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the facility seem almost bearable.

Sebastian couldn’t take his eyes off you, the way you seemed to defy the darkness that surrounded you both. There was something otherworldly about the way you looked in this moment, as if the glow of his lure was meant only for you, as if it existed to illuminate the small, precious space you shared with him. The facility, with all its horrors, faded into the background. The walls, the steel, the constant hum of the machinery—it all became distant, insignificant. There was only you and the light, a moment suspended in time, untouched by the cruelty of the world beyond.

The air was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of emotions too deep to name. Sebastian could feel it, the way his heart ached at the sight of you, the way it stirred with something unfamiliar and yet undeniably present. It wasn’t just the affection he saw in your smile, but the way you stood so close, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from you, close enough that the darkness seemed afraid to touch you.

In that moment, time truly had no meaning. The past, with all its pain and regret, was a distant memory. The future, uncertain and unknown, held no power here. All that mattered was now, was this—the light, the smile, and the silent understanding that passed between you.

Sebastian’s heart beat slowly, heavily, as if time itself had decided to take a breath. He wanted to reach out, to touch you, to close the distance that still lingered between you. But he didn’t move, afraid to shatter the delicate balance of the moment. Instead, he let himself simply exist here, with you, in the soft glow of the lure’s light.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt something like peace. It was fragile, and he knew it wouldn’t last—not here, not in a place where time had no meaning and every day was a battle to survive. But for now, it was enough. Enough to keep him standing, enough to keep him fighting. Enough to remind him that even in the darkest places, there was still light.

And you were that light.

Just wrap me up in chains.

But if you try to go alone.

Don't think I will understand.

"Stay," he begged that day, his voice breaking as the words escaped his lips. His hands, usually so steady, reached out to you with a desperation that shook him to his core. The rough texture of his palms, calloused from years of struggle and survival, felt softer in that moment, imbued with the tenderness and love he held for you.

"Stay with me."

It wasn’t just a plea; it was a confession, raw and unguarded. Sebastian, the one who had always seemed unbreakable, was now standing before you, exposed and vulnerable. His eyes, usually hard and calculating, were filled with an emotion so deep and profound that it made your heart ache.

He wanted to hold you, to keep you close, to shield you from the relentless darkness of the world you both inhabited. The love he had tried so hard to keep hidden, to bury beneath layers of pride and fear, now flowed freely in his voice, in the tremble of his hands as he reached for you.

You could feel the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers curled around yours with a gentle yet urgent grip. It was as if he was afraid that if he let go, even for a second, you would slip away, lost to the void that constantly threatened to consume you both.

There was a depth to his words that went beyond the simple request. It was a cry from a soul that had known too much pain, too much loss. A soul that had found something worth holding onto, something worth fighting for in the midst of all the chaos and despair.

The world outside was cold, unforgiving. But here, in this small, fragile moment, there was warmth. There was hope. There was love. And all Sebastian wanted was to keep that light burning, to keep you by his side, even if it meant laying bare his heart in a way he never had before.

He didn’t want to lose you—not now, not ever. And in that plea, in the way his hands trembled as they held onto yours, you saw the truth: Sebastian wasn’t just asking you to stay physically. He was asking you to stay in his life, in his heart, to be the anchor that kept him grounded in a world that constantly threatened to tear him apart.

“Stay with me.”

In the silence of your room.

In the darkness of your dreams.

You must only think of me.

Sebastian couldn’t tear his gaze away. You stood before him, a vision so ethereal that it felt as if time itself had stopped, allowing him to take in every detail of this moment. The faint flicker of his lure cast a soft glow around you, making the scene almost surreal—like a painting brought to life.

Your makeshift veil, though simple and worn, had an elegance that transcended its humble origins. It draped over your head and shoulders with a delicate grace, fluttering slightly in the faint breeze that whispered through the corridors of the facility. Despite the thin layer of dust that clung to the fabric, it shimmered faintly, catching the light in a way that made you appear almost otherworldly.

He noticed the blush on your cheeks, the soft pink that betrayed your flustered state. It was a contrast to the cold, lifeless surroundings—so full of life, so human. It made his heart ache with a longing he could barely comprehend. The ribbons in your hair, torn from old bandages, held a bittersweet charm, a reminder of the harsh world you both inhabited, yet they were transformed into something beautiful in your hands. You had a way of doing that—of taking the broken, the discarded, and turning it into something to be cherished.

The bouquet of withered lilies and roses you held was the final touch, a symbol of something fragile yet enduring, something that had withstood the test of time and adversity. Even in their faded state, the flowers carried a poignant beauty, much like the resilience you both had shown through everything.

To Sebastian, you were divinity incarnate. You outshone the stars, made the sun's brightness seem pale in comparison. In this moment, you were everything he had ever wanted, everything he had ever needed. Every part of him, every fiber of his being, was drawn to you, consumed by the love he could no longer keep hidden. You were his.

He could hardly breathe as he looked at you, his chest tight with the overwhelming emotions that threatened to spill over. You were his—his muse, his anchor, his reason for fighting in a world that had given him so little. And in this moment, as you stood before him, the embodiment of all that was good and pure, he knew that he could never let you go.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, the words escaping before he could stop them. They were raw, unpolished, but they were the truth. He reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently touched the veil, the fabric soft beneath his fingers. It was a tender, almost reverent gesture, as if he were afraid that anything more might shatter the delicate beauty of the moment.

His eyes met yours, and in them, you saw everything he couldn’t say—the depth of his love, the fears he carried, the hope that you could be his salvation. He had always been the one to protect, to shield you from the horrors of the world, but here, now, it was you who held the power. The power to heal, to bring light into the darkness that had been his life for so long.

“I never thought…” he began, his voice thick with emotion, “that I could feel like this. That someone like you could…could see me, really see me, and still be here.”

He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. But how could he? How could he express the torrent of emotions that flooded his heart every time he looked at you? All he could do was stand there, trembling under the weight of his love for you, hoping—praying—that you understood.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The cold, the darkness, the fear—it all faded away, leaving only the two of you, bathed in the soft light of his lure. You were his universe, his everything. And as he looked into your eyes, he knew that, no matter what the future held, he would fight for this—for you—for the chance to hold onto the one thing that made his existence bearable.

You had become his light in the darkest of places, and he would spend every moment he had left proving that he could be worthy of such a gift.

There can be no inbetween.

When your pride is on the floor.

I'll make you beg for more.

You promised to marry him all those years ago. Those weren't just words but the assurance that you would never leave him, you couldn't.

You wouldn't marry the handsome raven haired man.

Or the tall sea-serpent hybrid that got experimented on.

You wouldn't marry the nerdy man you knew or the sassy giant.

You would marry Sebastian. Just Sebastian.

“Sebastian Solace. My sweet, beloved Sebastian. Please, stay with me.”

[transform4u]

I’ve always been turned on by cringey str8 gamers. The cockiness, the cringe slang, the doucheiness of their personalities, it’s all so arousing. Think you could make me one of them?

When the unmarked box arrives, you eagerly tear away the wrapping with fervent anticipation. Inside, nestled among the crumpled packaging, is a game that screams ‘90s nostalgia: Maxed Out Mayhem. Your hands instinctively grip the box, feeling the grainy texture of the cardboard and the vibrant colors of the cover art. The sheer sight of it makes a thought burst into your brain with an unapologetic swagger: "Those games look sick, bro." The voice in your head is brash and direct, unmistakably crude, as if it’s been waiting to emerge.

With a determined nod, you slip the game into your Nintendo Switch, which is the only console you have at your disposal. As you power it up, the room is soon bathed in the glow from your TV. The screen flickers to life, its luminescence spreading across the room like a wave of technicolor energy.

Your space, initially a sanctuary of chic and contemporary elegance, begins to transform. The sleek, modern furnishings—bold patterns and luxurious fabrics—are slowly overtaken by the game’s garish, pixelated aesthetics. The gleaming hardwood floors and plush rugs seem to warp and ripple under the onslaught of the neon glow, while the curated art on the walls loses its refined edge, becoming mere backgrounds to the chaotic eruption of game graphics.

The sophisticated ambiance of your room twists and contorts into a mancave of gamer chaos. The walls, once adorned with carefully chosen art, are now plastered with the vibrant, pixelated avatars of the game. Duck-taped posters of scantily clad women and Marvel movies replace the art, and the once pristine furniture now appears to be riddled with a grungy, worn-out charm. The sleek, modern carpet is replaced by a tattered, greasy mess, and the contemporary desk transforms into a cluttered shrine of outdated gaming memorabilia and empty beer cans.

As you watch the transformation unfold, a smile spreads across your face. The 32-bit cartoonish images of typical bro characters leap onto the screen in a flash of vibrant, pixelated action. The game is a classic brawler, reminiscent of Street Fighter, with exaggerated moves and over-the-top animations that celebrate every cliché of the bro gamer persona.

As you delve deeper into Maxed Out Mayhem, it becomes glaringly obvious that the game is all about earning points by embodying the most degenerate, cringey behaviors imaginable. The screen flashes with outrageous animations as your character performs a series of acts that fit the game’s unapologetically sleazy theme.

Each time you hit on a virtual woman, the game rewards you with a barrage of neon-colored points. The animations are deliberately exaggerated: your character’s gestures are over-the-top, replete with smirks and winks that border on the offensive. The barely clothed women on screen react with exaggerated eye rolls and dismissive waves, the game’s point system cheerily tallying up your rewards as you make increasingly intrusive advances.

Grabbing these women, a mechanic that’s celebrated with even more garish animations, results in a jarring display of fireworks and blaring sound effects. The screen erupts in a cacophony of colors, and your point total climbs with each successful grab. Collecting items like Bibles and Mountain Dew is similarly rewarded with loud, flashy effects. Bibles glow with an obnoxious golden hue as your character snatches them, and Mountain Dew cans explode into a blinding green flash, further boosting your score.

The game’s combat sequences, where you face off against "woke hippies," are even more absurd. The hippies are depicted in cartoonish fashion, wearing tie-dye and sporting peace signs. "Get ready for a world of pain, faggots!", you shout to no one in particular.

As you continue to rack up points, you feel a peculiar shift in your own mindset. The game’s influence seeps into your consciousness, and you start to sense a dulling of your usual cognitive sharpness. Your jaw begins to slacken, and a fog of brash, simplified thinking starts to cloud your mind. Each new point seems to erode your previous sense of self, "Suck my virtual dick, losers!"

Your nightly routine morphs into a ritual of high-energy gaming sessions. You gravitate toward titles like Call of Duty, Fortnite, and Apex Legends, relishing the opportunity to flex your virtual muscles and indulge in reckless aggression. Your gameplay is marked by flashy moves and a lack of strategic depth, prioritizing style over substance. The rage that burns within you as you punch out the "woke hippies" on screen translates into a sense of satisfaction and validation, even as your personality increasingly mirrors the cringy, obnoxious gamer bro stereotype.

As you put on your gaming headset, you feel a rush of excitement course through your veins. you're now dropped into an urban environment filled with woke liberals and their allies. Your mission? To beat them up, hard.

You continue by punching some fags who are protesting against traditional values. Their weak attempts at blocking your blows only serve to make you angrier as they crumple under the force of your fists. You move on to bashing feminists who dare challenge masculinity; their screams echo in your ears as they fall unconscious at your feet.

Your muscles tense up from all the action; adrenaline pumping through every fiber of your being. You see a group of SJWs marching towards you, holding signs about "equality" and "diversity." With one swift kick, you send them flying backwards into each other like dominoes falling over one another.

Your body undergoes a dramatic transformation that mirrors the intensity of your gaming experience. At first, your usual nerdy physique feels tight and tense, the strain of gripping the controller making every muscle in your body hum with anticipation. The gaming session soon shifts from a mere pastime to a full-body experience.

With every punch, kick, and combo executed on-screen, you start to feel a noticeable change. The tension in your arms builds, radiating from the controller as if it’s imbuing your very muscles with energy. Your once-slight biceps begin to swell, growing into impressive, bulging forms. The transformation isn't sudden but a gradual, throbbing shift that feels almost like a workout in itself.

“Hey, look at you now, bro! I didn’t think you had it in you to actually get some gains. You’re looking swole, but can you handle the heat?”

As you progress through the game, your shoulders broaden, taking on a commanding presence. The tight, sinewy muscles ripple under your skin, sculpting your torso into a powerful, rock-hard six-pack that seems chiseled from stone. Each movement of your character in the game feels like it’s translating directly into your own body. Your chest expands, growing into a perfectly defined, muscular V-shape that exudes strength and discipline.

“Nice moves, champ! But don’t get too comfortable. I see that six-pack of yours—think it’s enough to handle my skills? Better not let it go to your head dummy!”

"Prepare to be pwned, bitches!" you scream back at them on your headset.

Your once angular, nerdy features sharpen into a strong, square jawline and high cheekbones. A rugged, effortlessly cool look settles on you, complemented by a smirk that hints at your amusement with this transformation. Your eyes grow sharper and more intense, mirroring the sharp, digital action on the screen. The stubble on your face becomes more defined, adding a brooding charm that fits seamlessly with your new physique.

You look down at yourself, seeing your reflection in the TV screen, your body clad in form-fitting, sleeveless gym shirts and workout shorts that accentuate every muscle. The logos on your clothes—branded with high-end athletic and gaming gear—radiate a gym-fueled confidence. Your scent, a potent mix of expensive cologne and the lingering musk of a recent workout, mingles with a hint of sweat, amplifying your dedication to both gaming and fitness.

As the match heats up, your obnoxious personality shines through, matched by your newly sculpted physique. You relish in taunting both opponents and teammates, your voice loud and dripping with superiority:

“Listen up, you pathetic losers! Look at that scoreboard—yeah, it’s me crushing you while you’re all stuck in your little woke bubble, crying about the ‘system.’ I’m out here showing what real skill looks like while you guys keep floundering like amateurs. Quit whining faggots and get used to getting wrecked. If you can’t handle the heat, maybe you should quit and let real gamers take over.You bunch of keyboard warriors. You’re all just a bunch of clowns in my game!”

Your dick starts to harden beneath your pants. You can't help but imagine yourself as the character on screen, beating up all these woke liberals and fucking their women. It's a rush like no other.

You reach the final level - a blonde bitch who thinks she's better than everyone else because of her gender or whatever nonsense she believes in. She taunts you as you approach her, but that only makes you more determined to show her who's boss.

You jump into action, punching and kicking with reckless abandon until she falls to her knees begging for mercy. But there will be no mercy today; instead, you rip off her clothes revealing soft curves underneath before roughly pushing her against a nearby wall and entering her from behind without any foreplay or care for pleasure or comfort on either side.

[diejager]

Halloween Party

Pairing: Ghoap x fem!reader

Cw: smut, cunnilingus, drinking, DUB-CON, partying, kidnapping, mentioned cannibalism, locking up, tell me if I missed any. wc: 1.4k

You’re at a Halloween party with a group of friends, well, coworkers. You all came to this party under the guise of having a good time with the promise of good booze and free food. Who wouldn’t want to go when there was free food? There were neon lights in the dark house, high ceilings with decorative spiderwebs and loud - near deafening - music blasting in the background of the place. In the frenzy of it all, you all separated, one gravitating towards their preferred clique: the wild partygoers, the wallflowers, the dancers, the gossipers or the foodies.

You found yourself lost, between the loud music, the low lights and the shoulder-bumping crowd around you, you couldn’t make heads or tails of where you were, stumbling between swaying hips and screaming voices. You felt lost and confused, falling into the arms of a stranger, strong arms holding you up, big, gloved hands wrapped around your hips. Apologies tumbled off your tongue with awkward shifts, but you didn't expect him to laugh, a smooth voice reaching your ears over the loud music and cacophonous atmosphere, an accent you couldn’t recognize on his tongue.

He presented himself as Soap. Soap, dressed in black rags with his hood lowered, combat boots, leather gloves and a white mask propped to the side of his head, smooth plastic pulled into a screaming face with a thin cloth covering every hole, entertaining you during the first portion of the night. He led you to the kitchen and poured you beer - from the taste - in a red cup, you ate, drank and chatted, from his hobbies to your favourite animal. You slowly gravitated towards stronger alcohol, letting Soap fill your cup over and over again, you lost count of how many drinks you’ve had.

A while into the night, when Soap had broken down your guard and had you relaxed and comfortable around him, dropping hints that he was interested in you, another man peered over his shoulder, making you choke down your drink from his sudden appearance. He called himself Ghost in a low, grumbling voice, British in every sense. He wore tattered clothes, hanging from his wide shoulders and bulky arms, bloodied boots and gloves, and a hockey mask sewn into a black mask covering his whole face. 

Ghost and Soap knew each other, you were certain of it, from the way they faced each other to the way they held one another, Ghost’s arm around Soap’s hip, Soap’s hand on Ghost’s forearm, how close they stood together or how physical they were. You felt as if they were more than friends, more than they told you - or so your drunk mind perceived it. Seated between both men, one nursing a cup and another holding food, they coaxed you into their car, from the stool in the kitchen island to the backseat of their beat-up car, a black, unassuming jeep.

Soap has you squirming and moaning, back pressed into the soft leather of the seats with your panties pulled down to your ankle, legs spread open by his hands, strong and unmoving to your struggle and cries of pleasure. The scruff of his trimmed beard scratched your thighs sensually, the rough texture of his fingers thumbing your pulsing clit and his nimble tongue had you coming a few times, body arched and wound tight, the coil in your navel exploding in white, fiery pleasure. They focused solely on your enjoyment, Ghost driving the jeep with a painful and neglected hard-on, his cock pressing against the seams of his briefs and pants, and Soap’s occupied mouth, tongue and hands left him rutting against the seat, coming in his pants.

The short walk from the car to their room was a blur, ending with you trapped beneath Ghost, his thick and veiny cock pounding you into the mattress, his filthy praises making slick pool out of you, rolling down your ass as he pressed your legs to your chest. Then he had Soap eat you out, cleaning up his mess, moaning and groaning into your lips while he fingered his boyfriend’s ass, thick fingers stretching the rim of his twitching hole.

When Ghost deemed it stretched enough, he had you ride Soap, bouncing on and off his cock while the masked man rocked into Soap, his balls slapping loudly against Soap’s ass, degrading and calling Soap a pup, his puppy. It slipped from riding one to being pressed between them both, being manhandled with both cocks driving into you, fighting for whose cock got to come in you, to paint your walls in his load, ropes upon ropes of white cum. 

Sometime around being pressed beneath them both, to arching over the bed, ass bucking against Soap’s hip while taking Ghost down your throat, roughly fucking your throat, you passed out after a mind-numbing climax, body twitching and whining, used and sensitive. You were too lost to catch onto their quiet conversation, their shared plan of taking you, but then Soap liked you, wanting to keep you rather than cut you up and eat you. 

When you woke up, all you remembered was the incredible night you spent, the heavily sexual moment that left you sore and bruised, you expected to see light filter through the window of their room, but you weren’t laying under a blanket, instead, you woke up shackled by the ankle and naked on a mattress. You were in a dark and damp room, the air humid and the light limited to the small, singular window at the farthest wall of the basement. It was utilitaristically decorated, with boxes and a metal table covered with tools, butcher knives, saws, meat hammers and a variety of sharp and specific knives, and to your far left, multiple freezers. It was like a scene right out of a horror movie with a stupid and horny female character - you.

You panicked, breathing shallowly in rapid puffs, whines tearing through your sore throat, tears bubbling from your lashes and streaming down your cheeks while all you could do was cry and hyperventilate. Your mind raced with terrifying images, the dooming end of your pitiful life and restless death, unable to tell your loved ones goodbye. 

Your cries had attracted the men’s attention, the floor creaking as they walked towards the basement door, you scrambled to your bed, covering yourself as best as you could and stared at the stairs with wide, fearful eyes. Light flooded the room when he opened the door, his feet appearing at the corner of the stairs, the gap between the steps and the railing. The slow walk and the suspenseful silence had you quivering, doe eyes gazing their way until both men stopped before you. 

You let out pleading mumbles, body wracked with shivers from the slight breeze of cool air from the autumn air. You couldn’t fight them, you couldn’t stop them, Ghost and Soap were twice your size in height and weight, muscle-bound forms and specialised strategies. To them, you were the drunk girl they picked up from a party, deeming you fit for their next victim. So all you could do was cry and whimper as Ghost walked closer to you, feet stopping at the edge of your bed. 

He crouched down, his face, now donning a new mask painted with a white skull, meeting your lowered one. You heard him sigh, closing your eyes when his fingers held your chin, forcing you to stare him in the eyes, his pretty brown hues, and you were too terrified to fight against him. Behind him stood Soap, smiling happily, yet unmoving and deaf to your teary plight, he had his hands stuffed into his pockets, his face portraying brightly his happy countenance.

“Oh, don’t cry,” Ghost’s deep, rumbling voice shook you, “We won’t do anything, pet.”

He called you pet, his pet. You were chained and naked in his basement where he probably killed and chopped up people into pieces before burying them in god knows where.

“Aye, we decided to keep ya,” Soap - or whatever his real name was - pushed, closing in to stand by your side, sitting beside you and cradling you in his arms, away from his partner, “I like ya a lot and so does Si, so stop crying, bonnie.”

“B-but you-” you stuttered, voice catching in your throat. “Ple-please, just let me-me go!”

“We're not letting you go, pet,” Ghost - Si as Soap called him - scoffed, his eyes lingering down your chest and bruised thighs, “Johnny and I’ll keep you safe, you’ll be happy with us, yeah?”

At least you knew the names of your captors, the names of the men you screamed last night rather than Soap and Ghost. Your big, handsome and strong kidnappers had normal names despite their unusual hobby: Johnny and Si. 

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973

[valkyriexo]

Invasion of Privacy | Ep. 2 - Favors

ᑉ³SYNOPSIS; In the dazzling world of fame, you have it all—a beautiful home, devoted fans, and Chan, the love of your life. But when cryptic messages start arriving, the line between adoration and obsession blurs. With each note, you feel increasingly unsafe. Now, you're on a dangerous journey to uncover the truth before it's too late.

ᑉ³PAIRING; Chan x Idol! reader. Ft. Stray Kids

ᑉ³GENRE; Smau, FF , Angst, Hurt, Comfort, mystery

ᑉ³GENERAL WARNINGS ; Violence, Sasaeng (Stalker). Mentions of a knife, mentions of blood, Home invasion, cursing, Kissing, Pain, death, Implied female reader, Certain episodes may be Suggestive MDNI

ᑉ³EPISODE WARNINGS;  Death, Suggestive MDNI, Cursing

EPISODE WORD COUNT; 4.7k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ;Surprise! Episode 2.. have you ruled some people out yet?

If you enjoyed this episode, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Whether it's through comments, reblogs, or sending an ask, your feedback means the world to me.

Master Post | Teaser |

The morning sun casts a warm glow over the bustling streets as you and Chan make your way through the vibrant shopping district. Surrounded by a kaleidoscope of colors and sounds, you feel a sense of excitement bubbling up within you.

As you stroll arm in arm with Chan, laughter spills from your lips, the carefree atmosphere infectious as you revel in each other's company. The windows of the shops lining the street display an array of enticing goods, each one tempting you with its allure.

Entering a boutique, you're greeted by a wave of delightful scents and the soft melody of music playing in the background. You browse through racks of clothing, giggling and flirting as you playfully model various outfits for each other.

"What about this?" he asks, trying to contain his smile. You can't help but burst into laughter at Chan's suggestion, his playful grin infectious as he holds up the most outrageous garment he could find.

"This could work perfectly for the family dinner."

"Oh, absolutely," you reply with a playful grin, "I'm sure my parents would love to see you show up in that."

"You know what? I think there's a matching one for you," he says with a sly grin, disappearing into the racks of clothing.

Moments later, Chan emerges from the racks of clothing with a triumphant grin, holding up what can only be described as a fashion disaster. The dress in question is a riot of colors, with clashing patterns and textures that seem to defy all sense of style. But what truly sets it apart are the dozens of teddy bears, each one seemingly hand-sewn onto the fabric with reckless abandon.

"Voila!" he exclaims, unable to contain his laughter at the sight of the garment.

"Chan, what on earth is that?" you manage to choke out between giggles.

Chan's eyes widen dramatically, a look of mock horror crossing his face. "What? You don't like it?" he exclaims, his voice filled with playful disbelief. "To think, I put so much effort into finding the perfect ensemble, only to have my impeccable taste called into question."

You play along with his theatrics, pretending to be remorseful. "Oh, forgive me, fashion guru," you say with a grin, reaching out to pat his arm consolingly. "But that thing looks like it was designed by a kindergartener on a sugar rush."

Chan chuckles, unable to contain his amusement any longer. "Okay, maybe not the best choice," he admits, his laughter blending with yours as you share a lighthearted moment amidst the racks of clothing.

"Ooh, what do you think of this one?" you ask, grabbing a dress that caught your eye. As you hold the dress in front of you, its allure is undeniable. The flowy skirt cascades from your hands, swaying gently with each movement, while the corset top adds a touch of allure and sophistication to the ensemble.

The corset is expertly tailored. Its intricate lace-up design adds a hint of drama and elegance, drawing the eye to the sculpted lines of the bodice.

Chan's eyes light up as he gazes at you, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Absolutely stunning," he says, his voice filled with genuine admiration. 

"The dress or me?" you say.

Chan's grin widens as he steps closer, his gaze lingering on you with unabashed appreciation. "Well, the dress is lovely, But you? You're dangerous"

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. "Dangerous, huh?" you echo, feigning innocence as you tilt your head, "And why's that?"

Chan's grin widens. "Well, it's simple," he says, his voice a smooth, seductive murmur, "because you make heads turn so hard they might break their necks." The words hang in the air, thick with implication, as he leans in, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours.. "You make it impossible to look away, sweetheart."

Before you can respond, he closes the remaining distance between you, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a moment of sweet surrender, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine as you melt into the embrace.

When he finally pulls away, a knowing smile plays at the corners of his lips, his eyes alight with affection. "See what I mean?" he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "Absolutely dangerous."

You can't help but laugh at his corny yet utterly charming response, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at his words. "Smooth talker," you tease, nudging him playfully

"Smooth talker? Nah, I prefer to think of myself as a master of compliments," he quips. "But hey, if the shoe fits..."

As you glance past Chan, your laughter fades as something catches your eye through the boutique window. Your gaze falls on a figure standing farther away, amidst the bustling crowd of people passing by. Despite the distance, their eyes seem to lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

You freeze for a moment, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to make out their features through the crowd. You realize that their features are obscured not just by the throng of people, but also by an oversized hood and mask that conceals most of their face, leaving only a vague silhouette in your line of sight.

With a surge of determination, you shove the dress into Chan's hands, your urgency evident in the abruptness of your movements. "Hold this," you instruct him quickly, your voice trembling.

Before Chan can react, you turn on your heel and bolt out of the boutique, your heart pounding in your chest. Pushing through the wave of shoppers, you make your way towards them, only to find that they have vanished into the crowd, leaving behind nothing but an eerie sense of déjà vu.

"Where are you going?" Chan's voice breaks through your thoughts, his tone laced with concern as he noticed your sudden change in direction. Frustration mounts as you search fruitlessly for any sign of the stranger, your senses on high alert. But no matter how hard you looked, they were gone.

"I saw... something," you reply cryptically, your focus solely on tracking down the shadowy figure that had captured your attention.

Chan's hand finds yours, his touch grounding you in the midst of your swirling thoughts. "Saw what?" he questions, his tone gentle yet insistent.

"I-....Nothing....Nevermind," you murmur, shaking your head slightly as you try to dismiss the unsettling encounter. Despite Chan's comforting presence, the memory of the mysterious figure lingers in the back of your mind

"Are you sure?" Chan asks, his concern evident in his voice. "We can stay if you want, but if you're feeling unwell, maybe we should head home."

You consider his suggestion, feeling a sense of relief at the prospect of leaving the bustling street behind. "Yeah, let's go home," you agree, a small smile playing on your lips. "And hey, how about we cook lunch together? It could be fun."

Chan's eyes light up at the suggestion, a warm smile spreading across his face. "I like the sound of that," he says, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "Let's get going then." With his hand in yours, you allow him to lead you away from the busy street.

Once home, you kick off your shoes and settle into the cozy ambiance of your shared space. Chan wastes no time in heading to the kitchen, his enthusiasm for cooking evident as he gathers ingredients and starts preparing lunch.

As you watch him move around the kitchen with practiced ease, you find your thoughts drifting, a slight fog settling over your mind. You know you should be helping him, but the weight of your thoughts is making it difficult to focus. Your mind is a mix of thoughts, uncertainties, and unresolved questions.

"Hey, could you help me out with this?" Chan's voice breaks through your reverie, snapping you back to the present.

You blink, realizing you've been lost in your own thoughts for a few minutes. "Sorry, what was that?" you ask, your voice slightly distant.

Chan gives you a concerned look. "I asked if you could cut this cucumber for me," he repeats, holding out the vegetable and a knife.

You take them from him, trying to shake off the fog that clouds your mind. "Right, sorry," you mumble, feeling guilty for not being more present.

As you slice through the cucumber, your mind still feels preoccupied. Chan's voice brings you back once again.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his tone gentle as he looks at you.

You meet his gaze, offering him a weak smile. "Yeah, just lost in thought," you reply, though you know it's more than that.

In response, Chan sets down the ingredients he's working with and moves closer to you. There's a determined yet gentle look in his eyes as he takes your hand, pulling you away from the cutting board and towards him.

Without a word, he guides you to sit on the edge of the countertop opposite him. His touch is comforting as he stands between your legs, his hands resting on your waist.

"You seem really on edge," he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine concern. "Is there something specific that's bothering you?"

You hesitate. "I don't know," you murmur, not really wanting to reveal much.

"You don't know, or you don't want to talk about it?" Chan's voice is gentle but probing, his concern evident in the furrow of his brow.

"I don't know," you confess. "I'm just feeling.....weird."

Chan's lips brush against your neck in a tender gesture, sending a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

"Feeling weird huh....," he murmurs against your skin, his warm breath sending a wave of tingles through you. You find yourself nodding, unable to form coherent thoughts as his lips continue their mesmerizing dance along your skin. The tension that had gripped your shoulders begins to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of warmth and arousal.

"Does this help?" his kisses growing bolder, more insistent. His hands wander back down to your waist, tugging you closer. You feel the heat from his body even through the layers of clothing, his arousal pressing insistently against your stomach. You nod again, feeling your face grow hot as your body reacts to his touch. "You always help," you reply softly, melting into his comforting touch as his lips trail along the sensitive skin of your neck. 

He looks up, meeting your gaze with gratitude and affection. Leaning in, you close the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender kiss. The soft, sweet press of his lips is everything you've dreamed of and more.

He moans softly as your tongue darts out to tease at the seam of his lips, eagerly granting you access. You can taste the faint traces of peppermint on his tongue as it slips into your mouth, tangling with yours in a heated dance.

You sigh happily, losing yourself in the kiss as the world seems to fall away around you.

He slides a hand up the back of your neck, gripping your hair and using it to pull you closer to him. His mouth moves over yours, hot and hungry.

"Tell me what's on your mind, love," he urges, his voice husky with desire.

"It's...it's nothing," you breathe, gasping slightly as his hand tightens in your hair. " I was just... just thinking.." you stutter as he trails a line of hot kisses along your jaw.

"Mmmhmm" he purrs, his breath warm against your skin.

His hands slide down back down your sides, caressing your hips and then moving further south to cup your ass. He squeezes firmly, making you gasp in surprise, and then grinds his hips against you, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot through your body.

"Chan," you moan, arching your back and pressing closer to him. You want more. Need more.

"Hmmm?" he hums against your lips, kissing you again.

"You're distracting me."

He smiles, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Maybe that's the point," he murmurs, his hand moving to your front to palm your breast through your shirt. You whimper softly as he continues to explore your body with his mouth and hands, teasing you mercilessly until you can’t take it anymore.

A faint sound interrupts the peace of the moment. It's barely noticeable at first, like a distant melody weaving its way into the room.

Chan lifts his head slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Did you say something?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with curiosity.

“Chan, want you..” You beg.

He smirks against your lips and pulls away slightly, looking down at you with dark eyes. “What do you want?” he asks, voice low and husky.

“Tell me what you want, baby.... I need to know.” You swallow thickly, your face heating up at the way he stares at you with lust in his eyes.

He growls low in his throat and leans back down to kiss you again, more forcefully this time. His tongue slips past your lips and into your mouth, exploring every inch of it. The taste of him fills your senses and makes your head spin.

"You."

His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, caressing your skin. You can't help but arch your back, pressing closer to him.

"Please..." you beg.

He trails kisses down the column of your neck, his lips and teeth leaving a path of fire in their wake. He bites down on the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, and you gasp in pleasure.

His fingers deftly unbutton your shirt and push it aside, revealing the black lace bra underneath.

The faint sound interrupts the space once more, still barely noticeable.

Chan lifts his head again slightly, his brows furrowing in confusion. "Did you hear that?" he murmurs, his voice tinged with curiosity.

You shake your head, the sensation of his touch still lingering on your skin, your attention fully focused on him.

He frowns and turns his attention back to your exposed chest, placing kisses in the valley in your chest. He lets out a contented sigh and moves lower, trailing kisses along the curve of your stomach.

“Fuck, you taste good,” he murmurs against your skin. " but i know something that taste so much sweeter."

Your breath catches in your throat as his lips brush against your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin there.

He pulls back and looks up at you, his dark eyes burning with desire.

"You want me, baby?"he asks, his voice rough with need. You nod wordlessly, unable to speak. He smirks and places another soft kiss against your skin, making your whole body shudder. "Say it."

"Y-yes."

"Say my name," he commands, his fingers tracing patterns on your inner thighs.

"Chan."

"Again."

"Chan."

"Louder."

"Chan!"

"Mmmm."

His tongue darts out to lick a stripe along the seam of your panties, sending a jolt of pleasure through your body.

You can feel his hot breath on your core, teasing you through the thin material. You moan, arching up against him, and his hands move lower, slipping into your panties. His fingers brush over your folds, and he lets out a low growl as he feels how wet you are.

"So wet for me already, babygirl?" he murmurs, his lips pressed against your ear.

"Yes," you breathe, squirming under his touch. "I need you, Channie."

The sound persists, growing slightly louder this time, and you both become aware of a subtle vibration beneath you. Gradually, realization dawns as you exchange a puzzled glance.

Chan runs his other hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in frustration. "Okay," he muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of disbelief and determination. "I know I'm not going crazy."

With a sudden jolt of recognition, you shift and reach into your pocket and retrieve your phone.

You glance at the screen, irritation flaring up as the same unfamiliar number flashes over and over again. Chan shoots you a pointed look, his annoyance palpable.

"Who is it?" he mutters, his eyes narrowing.

"It's some number ," you reply, your frustration mirroring his. "They keep calling me, and I don't know who it is."

With a sigh, you decline the call and return the phone to your pocket.

"Well, whoever it is, they can wait," he growls, leaning in to continue his previous actions.

The phone vibrates once again, the display illuminating.

You both let out an exasperated groan as the ringing persists.

"This is ridiculous," he huffs, his lips curled into a frown. "Why won't they just leave a message or something?"

The phone continues to ring, its shrill sound cutting through the silence of the room. You sit up, reluctantly untangling yourself from his embrace, and reach for your phone again. "Fine, I'll answer it," you grumble, pressing the answer button with more force than necessary.

"Must be important if they're calling this many times," he remarks under his breath. You offered a strained smile in response before finally speaking into the phone, trying to keep your frustration in check as you greeted the unknown caller.

"Hello?" you say, trying to ignore Chan's comment.

"Hello, Y/N."

"Yes? Who is this? How do you know my name?" Your voice trembled with a mixture of confusion and apprehension, the unexpected familiarity sending shivers down your spine.

"I'm sorry to inform you, but there's been a fire at Y/F/N's house," the voice continued, its words carrying a weight that seemed to crush the very air around you. "They... they didn't make it out in time. I'm so sorry."

The world seemed to come to a screeching halt as the full impact of those words registered in your mind. Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach, a heavy weight settling over you like a suffocating blanket.

Shock immobilizes you, rendering you momentarily speechless as your mind struggles to process the news. Disbelief clouds your thoughts, and for a fleeting moment, you entertain the hope that this must be some cruel prank or a terrible misunderstanding. But the solemnity in the caller's voice leaves no room for doubt, and the reality of the situation hits you with relentless force.

"What?" The word escapes your lips in a hoarse whisper, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. It feels as though the ground beneath you has shifted.

"Your friend has passed away," the voice repeats, its tone filled with sympathy.

Your breaths come in shallow gasps as you struggle to comprehend the news, each inhalation feeling like a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down upon your chest. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment, but you fight to hold them back, afraid of what might happen if you allow yourself to surrender to the overwhelming sense of grief. Your hands tremble as you clutch the phone tightly, the cold metal offering little solace in the face of such devastating news.

Chan's irritation dissipates instantly as he sees the color drain from your face. "What's wrong?" he asks, his voice filled with worry.

You struggle to find the words, your mind reeling from the devastating news. "It's... it's ," you manage to choke out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "She didn't make it... there was a fire..."

As you relay the news, Chan's expression shifts from concern to horror as your words sink in. His features contort with disbelief, mirroring the shock and anguish etched across your own face. For a moment, neither of you can find the words to articulate the overwhelming grief that threatens to consume you both.

All around you, the morning light seems to dim, casting a pall of darkness over the room as you come to terms with the harsh reality of mortality. The laughter and playful banter of moments ago fade into the background, replaced by the deafening silence of grief.

"I never got to say goodbye," you confess. Chan's arms wrap around you in a comforting embrace, holding you close, as if trying to shield you from the pain that threatens to overwhelm you. You bury your face in his chest, his heartbeat echoing in your ears.

The phone slips from your grasp, forgotten amidst the grief. Time loses all meaning as you surrender to the overwhelming tide of emotions, the world around you fading into insignificance as you grapple with the void left behind by your friend's passing.

In an attempt to find some semblance of peace amidst the chaos, you seek refuge in the familiar routine of your self-care, the warm shower offering a brief respite from the relentless pain. But even as the water cascades over you, washing away the physical traces of sorrow, the weight of grief remains heavy upon your shoulders, a reminder of the gaping hole in your heart.

When you emerge, you are greeted by the sight of Minho, Seungmin, Felix, and Han, chatting quietly with Chan as they enjoy the lunch he had prepared.

Your heart sinks at the sight of them, a mix of surprise and apprehension washing over you. You had completely forgotten that they were supposed to come over today, and the thought of facing them in your current state fills you with dread.

Before you can retreat back into the safety of your room, Felix spots you, his gaze locking onto yours with a mix of concern and understanding. There's no escaping now. You feel a lump form in your throat as you reluctantly step into the room, their eyes following your every move.

Chan's expression softens as he catches sight of you, concern etched into his features. "Hey, there you are," he says gently, his voice a welcome anchor in the storm of emotions raging within you.

You offer a weak smile in response, attempting to mask your emotions. The weight of their collective gaze feels suffocating, and you find it difficult to meet their eyes.

Minho offers a sympathetic smile as you approach, his eyes reflecting the shared sorrow. "I'm so sorry for your loss," he says softly, his voice filled with genuine compassion.

Your throat tightens with emotion at his words, grateful for his heartfelt condolences. "Thank you," you manage to croak, each syllable heavy with the weight of your grief. You step closer to them, the fragrant scent of the flowers filling the air around you. "This means a lot."

Seungmin nods in agreement. "We're here for you," he assures you earnestly, his voice filled with sincerity and support.

You offer Seungmin a grateful nod, feeling a lump form in your throat at the sincerity in his voice. "Thank you," you whisper, your voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion.

With a final round of supportive embraces and reassuring words, Minho, Seungmin, Felix, and Han bid their farewells, their departure leaving an emptiness in the room. As the door closes behind them, the silence settles in around you, heavy with the weight of your grief.

Your eyes catch sight of a single black rose with a white ribbon tied around it, placed delicately on the counter, near the gift basket. The ribbon, elegantly tied around the stem in a neat bow, adds an air of mourning to the scene, evoking memories of funeral bouquets and memorial services. It's presence feels out of place in the bright warmth of your home, casting a shadow of unease over the otherwise cheerful atmosphere.

Beside the rose, the torn page from a diary lies in disarray, its edges jagged and uneven, hinting at a hurried and frantic tearing. As you approach, the faint scent of ink lingers in the air, mingling with the delicate fragrance of the rose.

"What... what is this?" you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper as you reach out to examine the mysterious objects. Your fingers tremble slightly as you pick up the torn page, the words written upon it sending a chill down your spine.

 You quietly read the note out aloud, the words sinking in with a weight that threatens to crush your spirit.

It's the same signature as the letter you received the night before, the one that filled you with a sense of foreboding.

This wasn't just a casual letter. It was intentional. Someone out there is targeting you, and you can't help but feel a creeping sense of unease at the thought of what might happen next.

Your mind races with questions, each one more terrifying than the last. Was "Her" referring to your friend? Did someone harm her? The possibility sends a wave of panic coursing through you, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to make sense of the cryptic message.

Then the realization sinks in:

How did it get in the house?

You frantically look around for Adam, your bodyguard, realizing he should have been by your side. Panic sets in as you rush to the door, throwing it open to find him outside. Confusion and fear intertwine as you demand an explanation.

"Adam, what are you doing out here?" you ask, your voice trembling with urgency. "You were supposed to be inside with me. Why are you here?"

Adam's expression is grave as he meets your gaze, a shadow of concern flickering across his features. "I'm sorry, Y/N," he says, his tone tinged with regret. "I sensed something off and decided to check the perimeter. Is everything okay?"

You furrow your brow, a mixture of frustration and concern evident in your voice as you question him. "How did this get inside?" you say waving the note and flower in your hand.

Adam's gaze follows the items, his expression darkening as he takes them from you, examining them closely. He hesitates for a moment, looking puzzled before responding, "I'm not sure," he admits, his voice tight with worry. "I didn't see anything, ma'am."

Your irritation grows. "Isn't it your job to do just that?" you say sharply, the edge in your voice reflecting your annoyance at the situation.

Adam, visibly flustered, stammers out . "I apologize, ma'am," He said bowing. "I'll check with the other guards on duty as well as Stacy, who was here this morning"

"Who's Stacy?" you inquire, your curiosity piqued by the unfamiliar name.

As if on cue, Aera enters through the front entrance, her presence graceful as she bows respectfully. "That would be me, ma'am," she says, introducing herself with a polite smile. "It's my English name. Most people call me Stacy. Though I must admit, I prefer Aera."

You nod in acknowledgment, still processing the unexpected revelation.

You address your bodyguard with a firm tone, your frustration evident. "Under no circumstances are you to allow anything or anyone into my home without my explicit permission. Is that clear?"

He nods in understanding, chastened by your stern reprimand. "Yes, ma'am," he responds.

You turn your gaze towards Aera, a firm expression etched upon your features. "And why, may I ask, are you here?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of sternness.

Aera's eyes widen slightly, and she bows apologetically. "I... I'm sorry for the intrusion," she stammers, her voice soft with regret. "I wanted to offer my condolences, but I realize now that I've interrupted."

Aera retrieves a bouquet of flowers from behind her back, her movements hesitant as she extends it towards you with a slight bow,her eyes downcast with humility.

You nod, acknowledging her apology, taking the bouquet, delicately tied together with a pristine white ribbon, from her hands. "Thank you, Aera," you say, your voice softening slightly. "But next time, please check with me before coming over."

Aera bows again, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "Of course, I'm sorry," she says, her tone contrite. "I'll make sure to do that in the future."

As she turns to leave, Chan steps forward, concern etching his features as he approaches you, his touch gentle as he places a comforting hand on your back. Aera's gaze lingers on him for a moment, a flicker of curiosity dancing in her eyes before she quickly averts her gaze and bows once more.

"Thank you. You may go home now," you say, dismissing her with a nod. Aera bows again, her expression a mix of regret and understanding, before quietly leaving.

Turning to Adam, you gesture for him to follow suit. "You too," you say, your voice firm but not unkind. Adam bows respectfully before leaving, leaving you alone with Chan and the weight of the day's events settling upon your shoulders.

Chan notices the tension in your posture, his concern evident as he approaches you with a gentle touch.

"Are you okay?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You offer him a reassuring smile, though it feels strained. "Yeah, I'm fine," you reply, though the words ring hollow even to your own ears.

Chan's gaze softens as he takes in your troubled expression. "You don't have to pretend, you know," he says softly, his hand reaching out to gently brush away a stray lock of hair from your face. "I'm here for you, whatever you need."

Chan notices your hesitation and gently prompts, "You've been on edge all day. Do you want to talk? I want to help."

As you lean into Chan's comforting embrace, the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, but the sense of unease still lingers at the edge of your consciousness. You take a deep breath, steeling yourself to voice your concerns.

"I... I feel like someone's watching me," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Chan's brow furrows with concern. "Watching you? Why didn't you tell me before?" he asks gently, his concern evident in his tone.

You hesitate, searching for an explanation. "I'm not actually sure," you admit, feeling a pang of guilt for keeping it from him.

"Well, do you think it's your mind playing tricks on you?" Chan suggests, trying to offer a rational explanation. "Now that you've won Artist of the Year, you probably just feel like more attention is on you."

"Yeah, you're right," you concede, the weight of his words resonating with you. Perhaps it was just your imagination running wild in the aftermath of your recent success.

"Besides," he adds, "you have a bodyguard. He's good at his job. You're safe with him around."

You nod, appreciating his attempt to ease your worries. "Yeah, you're right," you agree, feeling a sense of relief wash over you at his words. 

"And you also have me," he adds

Chan's concern is evident in the softness of his gaze as he gently suggests, "How about a massage?"

His caring tone and thoughtful suggestion warm your heart, and you can't help but smile at his consideration. "That sounds wonderful," you reply. "But I think I just want to rest," you admit, exhaustion tugging at your limbs as the events of the day catch up with you.

Chan's lips curve into a reassuring smile as he squeezes your hand gently. "Okay." He says.

With a heavy heart, you decide against sharing the note with Chan. You don't want to burden anyone of your fears, and the thought of putting him in harm's way fills you with dread.

What if whoever sent this comes after him next?

For now, you keep the note to yourself, tucked away where no one else can find it. It's a burden you'll bear alone, at least until you can figure out who's behind this and why they're doing it.

But no matter how hard you try, the sense of foreboding lingers, a constant reminder that danger may be closer than you think.

ઇଓ Ep.3 - Knock, Knock

ઇଓTaglist in the comments! If you want to be removed from the taglist send me a dm!

ઇଓ M.LIST | Ko-Fi | Taglist | Thank you for your support ♡ | Consider leaving a comment, reblog or like ♡ | © 2024 Valkyriexo 

[httplvki]

a/n: i don’t do/write for requests btw, but i take suggestions or take inspo from messages <3 anw dad jake x daughter is all im writing rn (dad sully x daughter!reader, hurt comfort?, tw for reader getting shot, lol i took one line from shakespeare, ended short sorry)

though everything was a blur, all you feel is pressure on the bullet wound on the side of your abdomen. your once-seated heart now feels like it’s knocking against your ribs.

trying to make out the screams of your mother in the background and the shouting from your father.

“neteyam! keep putting pressure on the wound!” jake shouted while he scurried to find a cloth to wrap your wound

you start to feel a soft texture tightly wrapping around your abdomen.

“hey, hey, hey baby, keep your eyes open for me, yeah?” your father’s voice sounds rushed

you let your eyes adjust to make out your father’s concerned face

“dad, i wanna go home,” you stuttered out, trying your best to keep your eyes open

“i know, i know, don’t worry we’re going home, just focus on me alright?” your father says

you did your best trying to keep your eyes on your father while he slowly picks you up from the rocky surface.

“we’re going home, baby,” was the last thing you heard before you passed out in his arms.

faint noises can be heard once you gain consciousness back.

“sis, please wake up” crying can be heard.

“tuk, it’s fine baby, she’s a strong girl,” reassurance can be heard.

“oh great mother, please!” pleading can be heard.

“i’m sorry” apologies can be heard.

it was all too loud for your cloudy head until everything fell silent again. you fell asleep.

you feel something gently caressing your face. it was a hand much bigger than yours that was stroking your cheek. you slowly start to open your eyes to see what it is or who it is. you let your eyes adjust to see your father’s relieved face gazing down at you.

“oh baby girl, you’re awake,” he said quietly with a smile of relief on his face

you tried to sit up too quickly without thinking. still, it just caused you more pain

“easy there, stay down, alright? you’re going to hurt yourself if you move too much,” jake said, grabbing onto your shoulders and slowly guiding your back down on the mat to lay on.

tears start to prickle your eyes

“daddy..” was the only thing you could let out

who would’ve thought that one word was enough to make the Toruk Makto cry?

the vulnerability and condition of you started to form tears in jake’s eyes. he reached his hand out to cup your left cheek and gently caressed it while his other hand held your right hand like you were about to disappear right in front of him if he wasn’t holding onto you.

“don’t worry baby, you’re alright now,” he reassures you with a shaky voice

“i was so scared,” you cried out with tears running down your face

“i know, i know, you’re here now and nothing is ever gonna take you away from me, alright?” he comforts you while he also tries to comfort himself with his own words.

[delusional-mushroom]

Platonic Hazbin Hotel x Autism creature reader ii

Apparently you all like this? Sorry about the long wait, school’s been kicking my ass lately.

Anyway, here’s part 2, Bon appétit

Part i | Part ii

You fell.

It hurt. It hurt a lot.

All you remember was waking up to Speckle slithering on your face and- HOLY CRAP YOUR WING SHOULD NOT BEND LIKE THAT

After about 10 minutes of wallowing in your pain, you slowly got up.

Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow ow

You took a moment to take in the situation. Your clothes, as well as the ground beneath you, we’re stained in gold. It was hard to miss the golden blood trailing behind you too.

There was also a crater in the ground where you fell.

You see the Hazbin hotel in the distance and with the obvious attitude of “What could go wrong?” You sauntered towards the looming building

Speckle took over sight duty on the way tho. The Bright sign posts and the occasional dumpster fires rubbing salt on the metaphorical wound of your approaching melt down.

When you finally got there, you uncovered your eyes and stood outside for a few minutes before finally gathering up the courage to knock on the door.

Luckily for you, it’s Charlie who opens the door.

You exchange awkward greetings, Charlie beating around the bush of asking you the casual question of you know, why the fuck you’re in hell?

After a few seconds of staring at each other, you nervously fiddle with your thumbs

“So Uhm, I uh, fell, I guess.”

After the initial shock, concern, and confusion, Charlie welcomed you with open arms

At first, the hotel residents didn’t know what to make of you

Vaggie was pretty neutral with you, you seemed alright enough in heaven and if you weren’t gonna make a fuss neither would she.

That is, until she found you making yourself a cup of cocoa at two in the morning.

“Had a nightmare,” you mumbled when she questioned you, hand stretched towards you as if she held her spear to you throat. Did she sleep with the thing? Who knows.

She dropped her arm and took in your disheveled appearance. That seemed to check out. It seemed tonight wasn’t good for you either. “What about you?” She heard you ask drowsily.

“Nightmare.” She said. It was cold and blunt as she turned on the kettle and carelessly threw a teabag inside of a mug. ‘Best girlfriend ever’ it read in black. A gift from charlie, she smiled at the thought.

“Wanna talk about it?” You tested. This situation was more awkward than you wanted to deal with. At least the noise of the kettle in the background filled up the silence.

Vaggie turned to you, the ghost of a smile lingering on her face. Maybe tonight wasn’t so bad.

And since then you and her talked about what was bothering you. Or not. Sometimes you just sit next to each other, a cup of cocoa in both of your hands and enjoy each other’s company.

Angel found you funny

Fat nuggets 🤝 you.

Whenever Angel has to go to the studio, he leaves Fat Nuggets with you.

Whether its for you to watch the pig, or the pig to watch you, well… thats up to you.

He probably won’t open up to you about Valentino

But if he does, the stupid bald moth asshole can expect a lot of passive aggressive [special interest] themed notes that come seemingly nowhere.

Sir Pentious didn’t know what to make of you at first.

To him, you were some random child that showed up one day and could go from staring into someones soul for minutes on end without blinking, to looking like you were on the brink of tears if you hands brushed against a nope texture.

Eventually though, you ask about his inventions.

Bro had a whole “your asking about my theories? I’ve waited years for someone to ask me about my theories!” Moment.

(If you get that reference I love you)

You become hyper-fixation buddies.

You and Nifty don’t get along too well…

“YOU LEAVE THE ROACHES ALONE!” You shriek, holding two bugs high above you hear as the short little menace tries to get to them, knife brandished.

“NEVER!” She laughed back a crazed look in her eye.

…that wasn’t fun. Rest in piece Sir Bob and dame Jane.

Whenever you zone out in front of Husk, he pours a glass of apple juice and gently places it in front of you, eyeing you every now and then, a concerned look in his eyes.

Alastor finds you amusing.

He tried making a deal with you on your first day.

Now Vaggie won’t let him within a 3 meter radius of you.

When you meet Lucifer, he takes one look at you, Speckle coiled around your neck and a bottle of apple juice in your hands and just immediately goes “🫠”

He’s your father now. There’s no getting out of it. Why would even you want to tho?

Hyper-fixation buddy #2

You both rant about your special interests to each other

Be prepared to be bombarded with rubber ducks.

Meanwhile, in heaven…

Everyone: wHeRe iS tHe cHiLd?

[elvendria]

Clean

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Final Part

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies. There was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big. You just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning: I'm not from the US, so bear with me with states and such) )

18+ MINORS DNI 

Eddie starts as a dick, but I promise he gets better. There’s a slap, but it's low-key warranted? Mentions of blood

18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, the reader Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, the reader is 20 and Eddie is 21, Chrissy is the villain but we stan Grace. Reader has a small scar on her lower torso. underage drinking, allusions to smut, no details of smut for obvious reasons, eventual smut in upcoming chapters, brief mention of Y/N

Every detail of the room felt etched into your consciousness—the rough texture of the wooden floor beneath your feet, the cold smoothness of the linoleum countertops, the mundanity of the generic painting hanging above Eddie's head. You'd stared at it for so long that it had lost its semblance of reality, blending into the background of your mind's eye. But as much as you preferred the silent refuge of these familiar surroundings to the looming conversation you needed to have, you knew you couldn't evade it permanently.

Eddie's voice cut through the thick silence, a reminder that avoidance was no longer an option. "You can’t stay silent forever. We still need to talk about this."

Your heart sank at his words, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on you. You wished for a way out, a reprieve from the inevitable confrontation. But deep down, you knew that delaying the conversation would only prolong the agony.

Summoning every ounce of courage, you forced yourself to speak, though you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes. "I tried to talk about this. Five years and five months ago." The words tasted bitter on your tongue, a painful reminder of a past you'd rather forget.

Closing your eyes, you allowed yourself to drift back to that fateful day—the memories flooding back with a visceral intensity that threatened to overwhelm you. It was the worst day of your life, a day etched into your soul with searing clarity.

The air was heavy with tension as you and Eddie sat across from each other, words caught in your throat like shards of broken glass. You'd rehearsed what you wanted to say a thousand times in your mind, but when the moment came, the words failed you.

You remembered the look of confusion and hurt in Eddie's eyes as you struggled to articulate the truth. You remembered the silence that followed, thick and suffocating, swallowing you whole.

In the years that followed, you buried the pain deep within, hoping that time would heal the wounds you couldn't bear to face. But now, with Eddie's patient insistence echoing in your ears, you knew that avoidance was no longer an option.

Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes, steeling yourself for the conversation ahead. It wouldn't be easy, and the road ahead was fraught with uncertainty. But you knew that facing the truth was the only way forward, no matter how painful it might be.

5 years and 5 months ago

In the stillness of the room, time seemed to stand still, each passing moment stretching into eternity. The air felt heavy with emotions, suffocating in its intensity. The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast elongated shadows across the walls, serving as a silent witness to the turmoil raging within.

As you sat on the edge of the bed, the familiar comfort of the mattress now feeling foreign and distant, you couldn't shake the weight of the sealed envelope clutched tightly in your trembling hands. The words "Return To Sender" emblazoned on its surface seemed to mock you, a cruel reminder of rejection in its most brutal form.

With each passing second, the questions swirled in your mind, each one more haunting than the last. How could Eddie do this to you? How could he turn his back on the life growing within you, on the love you once shared so deeply?

As you traced the outline of each handwritten letter with shaky fingers, the sting of tears threatened to overwhelm you once more. The pain was palpable, a physical ache that radiated from your heart and settled deep within your bones. It was a pain born of betrayal and abandonment, a pain you never imagined you would have to endure.

Desperate for some semblance of connection, some shred of reassurance that you weren't alone in your anguish, you reached for your phone. But each call ended in silence, the void on the other end echoing the emptiness in your heart. It was a loneliness unlike anything you had ever known, a loneliness that consumed you from the inside out.

In the silence of the room, memories flooded your mind like a torrential downpour. You couldn't help but replay the moments leading up to this, each one a painful reminder of what once was and what could have been. The whispered promises, the shared dreams — they all felt like distant echoes of reality you could no longer grasp.

And yet, despite the overwhelming sorrow threatening to engulf you, a flicker of defiance ignited within your soul. You refused to let this moment define you, to let Eddie's betrayal rob you of your strength and resilience. You were stronger than this, stronger than the pain that threatened to break you.

As you sat there, enveloped in the solitude of the night, you couldn't help but wonder what the future held. It was a future shrouded in uncertainty, fraught with challenges and obstacles yet to be overcome. But it was also a future filled with possibility, with the potential for growth and healing in ways you never thought possible.

And so, with a newfound sense of determination, you rose from the edge of the bed, the weight of the envelope still heavy in your hand. You knew that the road ahead would be difficult, filled with twists and turns you couldn't anticipate. But you also knew that you were not alone, that somewhere out there, amidst the darkness, there was a glimmer of hope waiting to be discovered.

Present Day

The memories unfurled like delicate petals in the garden of your mind, each one a testament to the fragility of youth and the bittersweet symphony of love and loss. You transported yourself back to a time when innocence was your constant companion and the world seemed painted in hues of hope and possibility.

“You know, I used to draw a little design along the back of my letters so you could make sure they hadn’t been opened by the time they got to you. It was stupid. I mean, what kind of person would want to read a letter from a 16-year-old?” The simple act of drawing a squiggly line on the back of your letters emerged from the recesses of memory, a quaint ritual born from a desire to safeguard your innermost thoughts from prying eyes. At the tender age of sixteen, such gestures felt like feeble attempts to protect the sanctity of your words in a world fraught with uncertainty.

But uncertainty seemed a distant memory compared to the raw ache that now gnawed at your soul. Tears welled up unbidden, tracing silent rivers down cheeks once adorned with the flush of youth. You hadn’t even realized they were there until the telltale sting of saltwater against your skin brought your attention to their presence.

The weight of your emotions bore down upon you like a heavy shroud, suffocating and relentless. A sob escaped your lips, the sound foreign and raw in the stillness of the room. It was a sound wrought from the depths of your being, a primal cry for understanding in a world that seemed determined to remain indifferent to your pain.

This is what happened when you thought back to that day. You felt your chest tighten like your whole body had shut itself down and stitched itself up, trapping any remnants of the life you once had inside.

 “But… that was just it. I thought you would. I thought after everything, everything, that you were that person, that you’d want to read each word, and keep them until I came home to you.” You murmured, voice barely above a whisper as you navigated the labyrinth of memories that threatened to consume you whole. It was a day etched in the annals of your existence, a pivotal moment that had irrevocably altered the course of your life.

Your chest tightened with each passing moment, a vice-like grip that threatened to crush the fragile remnants of your shattered heart. It was a physical manifestation of the agony that permeated your being, a tangible reminder of the scars that marred your soul.

The spark of happy memories flickered briefly before being engulfed by the suffocating darkness that loomed on the horizon. It was a cruel juxtaposition, the juxtaposition of light and shadow that seemed to define your existence in equal measure.

“But… that was just it,' you confessed, the words tumbling from your lips like fragile petals caught in a tempest. It was a confession borne from the depths of your despair, a desperate plea for understanding in a world that seemed determined to remain deaf to your cries.

“I thought you would,” you continued, voice trembling with a vulnerability that left you feeling exposed and raw. It was a sentiment rooted in the belief that love, true love, could transcend the barriers of time and space, binding two souls together in a tapestry of shared experiences and whispered promises.

But his face remained impassive, a mask of stoicism that betrayed none of the tumultuous emotions swirling beneath the surface. It was a facade you had grown accustomed to, yet it still cut you to the quick, a reminder of the chasm that now yawned between you.

You watched in silence as he spoke, his words a litany of accusations and half-truths that cut through the fragile veneer of your composure. It was a barrage of verbal assaults, each one a dagger aimed squarely at the heart of your fragile hopes and dreams.

The question he posed hung in the air like a heavy fog, suffocating and oppressive in its silence. It was a question that pierced the very fabric of your being, laying bare the insecurities and doubts that had long plagued your tortured soul.

“Is she even mine?” he demanded, the words a cruel echo of the doubts that had long haunted your darkest nightmares. It was a question you had feared and dreaded, yet it still cut you to the quick, reminder of the fragile foundation upon which your fractured relationship now stood.

Any lingering traces of guilt dissolved in the face of his callous indifference, replaced by a seething anger that threatened to consume you whole. How dare he? How dare he question the paternity of the child you had borne alone, a testament to the strength and resilience of a mother’s love?

“Look, don’t give me that look,” he snapped, his voice dripping with contempt as he dismissed your pain with a casual wave of his hand. It was a dismissal you could ill afford, a reminder of the gulf that now stretched between you like an unbridgeable chasm.

But you refused to be cowed by his indifference, refused to allow him to diminish the magnitude of your sacrifice with his callous words. You squared your shoulders, steeling yourself for the storm that threatened to engulf you whole.

“And I don’t know you’d been telling me in your letters how you were getting close to this Jeb kid,” he continued, his words a dagger aimed squarely at the heart of your fragile hopes and dreams. It was a betrayal of the highest order, a betrayal you could ill afford in the face of his relentless onslaught.

Sure, you had attempted to befriend Jeb, and had sought solace in the fleeting moments of companionship he offered. But it was a fleeting respite, a reprieve from the relentless storm that raged within your tortured soul.

“Look, I think we just need to do a paternity test-” he began, his words a death knell tolling in the depths of your despair. It was a proposition you could ill afford, a proposition that threatened to unravel the fragile threads of your fractured relationship.

But before he could utter another word, something inside you snapped. It was a primal instinct, a raw surge of emotion that propelled you forward with a force you could not resist. The crack of your hand meeting his cheek echoed in the stifling silence, a symphony of defiance and liberation.

“Get out,” you spat, the words a bitter indictment of the betrayal that now stained the fabric of your fractured relationship. He recoiled, a hand pressed to his stinging cheek, shock etched into every line of his face.

As he made his hasty exit, you remained rooted to the spot, grappling with the aftershocks of your outburst. Glass shattered against the door, a physical manifestation of the shattered fragments of your fractured relationship.

Alone amidst the debris, you collapsed to the floor, knees buckling beneath the weight of your anguish. Blood mingled with tears as you surrendered to the overwhelming tide of emotion, the cold embrace of exhaustion lulling you into an uneasy slumber.

And so you lay, battered and broken, the echoes of his accusations lingering in the recesses of your mind, a reminder of the fragile nature of trust and the devastating consequences of its betrayal. But amidst the wreckage of your shattered dreams, a flicker of hope remained a beacon of light in the darkest depths of despair. For in the crucible of adversity, you had discovered the strength to endure, the resilience to rise from the ashes of your shattered past and forge a future worthy of the love you so desperately sought.

Eddie seethed with a mixture of frustration and disbelief as he stepped into the familiar confines of his home in Hawkins. All he'd attempted was to apply logic, yet he was met with hostility. Perhaps "assault" was too strong a term, but it wasn't far from the truth. This marked the second occasion he'd been struck since returning home. Did he even still consider Hawkins home? The question gnawed at him as he pushed the door shut behind him, the weight of uncertainty settling heavily upon his shoulders.

Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Wayne sat at the worn wooden table, his hands folded neatly before him. The silence that enveloped the room hung heavier than usual, suffocating any hope of a casual greeting. Eddie's jaw tensed as he braced himself for the inevitable confrontation, his mind racing with a thousand unanswered questions.

"So... what went down between you two?" Wayne's voice cut through the oppressive silence like a knife, his gaze fixed intently on Eddie. Eddie couldn't help but admire his uncle's directness, even in moments like these.

"We argued, as we always do," Eddie began, his voice heavy with frustration. "She gave me the silent treatment for ages, and when she finally spoke, she blamed me for not knowing about the kid. So, I asked if the child was even mine, and she slapped me! Can you believe it?" His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles turning white against the strain as he recounted the altercation.

Wayne sighed heavily, rubbing a weary hand over his face. "You're being dense, Eddie," he said, his tone laced with exasperation. He knew Eddie was smarter than this. Yet here he was, behaving like a petulant child. "Of course, Willow is yours. All the signs point to it."

Eddie shot Wayne a withering glare, his frustration boiling over. How could his uncle trust her over him? Surely the reasonable man Wayne was would understand why Eddie preferred to err on the side of caution, especially with matters of the heart.

"Edward, the kid has your eyes and your hair. She looks exactly like you did as a child. I knew she was yours the moment I saw her."

The words hit Eddie like a ton of bricks, a sudden realization dawning on him. "You knew? When did she tell you?"

"She didn't have to. Edward Munson, that kid is your spitting image. When she visits, all she wants to do is listen to your tapes and hear you talk about your Caves and Lizards game."

"It's Dungeons and Dragons," Eddie corrected automatically, his mind racing to process this new information. "She's mine... isn't she?"

"Of course she is. Did you think she'd choose anyone but you?" Wayne's voice softened, a hint of warmth creeping into his tone as he reached out to reassure his nephew. He had seen it the moment she entered their lives. She and Eddie had an infatuation with each other. They loved each other from day one, and it took a child to make them realize it if they ever did admit it.

"Yeah... about that..." Eddie's voice trailed off, a pang of guilt gnawing at him. How could he have doubted her, doubted them? He'd never forget the look in her eyes, like everything had fallen into place for her that night. He knew because he felt the same way. Even now, he felt like his entire existence revolved around her. "I kind of hinted that I thought she might be with someone else."

Wayne's expression softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them. Eddie had always been quick to jump to conclusions, but his heart was in the right place. "You're something else," Wayne said, a hint of fondness tugging at the corners of his lips as he rose from his seat.

With that, Wayne pushed his chair back and headed to the bathroom, leaving Eddie to grapple with the weight of his own emotions. As he made his way to his room, a sense of unease settled over him. He had ruined everything he ever wanted, and the consequences of his actions weighed heavily on his mind.

To top it all off, he might have ruined any chance of seeing his daughter again. The thought hung heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the fragility of their newfound bond and the importance of trust in their relationship.

The echoes of the argument still reverberated in your mind, though two weeks had passed since the war within your… situation… erupted. Now, amidst the chaos of life, bigger things demand your attention. Today marked Willow's first day of school, a milestone overshadowed by the recent upheaval. Delaying it by a few days seemed necessary as she grappled with the revelation that the person she believed to be her sister was, in fact, her mother. It was a truth that unravelled a web of emotions, triggering one of the most monumental tantrums you had ever witnessed.

As you sat in the parking lot, the weight of recent events felt momentarily lifted by the simple joy of hearing Willow refer to you as her mom for the first time. The word, so longed for yet unexpected in its arrival, wrapped around your heart like a warm embrace. It was a validation of the bond you had worked tirelessly to forge, despite the obstacles and uncertainties that clouded your path.

"Mom... we should go." Willow's voice broke through the reverie, grounding you in the present moment. You couldn’t get past the significance of her words, even if she didn’t. Each syllable held a promise of newfound connection and acceptance for her and a promise that part of you was starting to slip away. It was a moment you had longed for, a moment that filled the void left by the turmoil of recent weeks.

With a sense of renewed purpose, you stepped out of the car, the cool breeze of the morning air brushing against your skin. Making your way around to Willow's side, you extended a hand to help her out, savouring the warmth of her small fingers intertwined with yours. The simple act of physical contact felt like a lifeline, a tangible reminder of the love that bound you together.

Pulling her into a tight embrace, you marvelled at how much she had grown in what felt like the blink of an eye. The past few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions, but in this moment, as you held your precious child close, everything else faded into insignificance. You couldn't help but lavish her with affection, doting on her every movement as if trying to make up for lost time.

"I know, I know. It's just you're so big now!" you exclaimed, your voice tinged with a mixture of pride and awe. Willow's smile mirrored your own, a reflection of the unconditional love that flowed between you. As you stood there, basking in the warmth of the morning sun, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by a love that was as resilient as it was unbreakable.

As she skipped beside you, her sparkly pink trainers lighting up with every step, you held her hand tightly. With each bounce, she seemed to carry a piece of the sun's brightness, infusing the world around you with an infectious energy that made everything seem more vibrant and alive. You wished you could bottle it, like her own brand of lightning in a jar. You were certain a joy like that could cure all ailments.

As you stepped into the building, a wave of familiar scents enveloped you, triggering a strange sense of nostalgia. The hallways exuded a peculiar blend of bleach, plasticine, and an elusive aroma that seemed to linger in every school corridor. It was a scent that stirred up memories, perhaps of apprehension, or maybe of anticipation, but most likely a concoction of both.

High school memories flooded your mind, and you couldn't help but think of her. You wondered how time would mould her, shaping her perspective of the world. If she retained even a fraction of the effervescent spirit she possessed now, you could easily picture her as a beacon of joy, radiating positivity and warmth wherever she went.

As you approached Willow's classroom door, a mix of emotions swirled within. Each step felt like a journey, leading inexorably to a new phase of life. The door creak seemed to underscore the weight of the moment as it swung open, revealing a space alive with the energy of youth. But amidst the chatter and colourful decor, a bittersweet truth lingered: this marked the beginning of the end of an era. Standing in the hallway, holding her tiny little hand, the gravity of the occasion settled like a heavy cloak. It was a poignant reminder that time marches on, carrying precious moments with it, even as it ushers in new beginnings.

“You ready to go in, sweetie? You want me to come in and help you get set up?”

“Wait!” 

Your head snapped up, startled by the rapid tempo of shoes striking the linoleum floor. As you turned, your heart leapt at the sight of the one person you least expected yet secretly yearned for. It was a paradoxical moment, where surprise collided with a silent prayer answered. Time seemed to stand still as you processed the unexpected encounter, each heartbeat echoing the tumultuous mix of emotions swirling within.

“I drove here as fast as I could. I… I had to see her.” 

His dishevelled appearance, with hair hastily scraped back and clothes seemingly inside out, hinted that he rushed here, disoriented maybe. The last thing you wanted was for Willow's first day to be marred by tears or confusion, so you hurriedly guided her inside, a silent observer from the doorway.

As Willow bounded towards a girl in a bright blue sweater, effortlessly engaging in her natural talent for making friends, you couldn't help but feel a pang of emotion. Yet, you remained silent, unable to meet his gaze without the weight of an unspoken intensity pressing against your chest.

It was a sensation that threatened to overwhelm you, leaving your eyes burning and your mouth dry. The urge to scream into the void, to release the pent-up emotions into the world, was almost palpable. But deep down, you knew that no amount of noise could articulate the complex feelings swirling within you.

“Why did you-” You couldn’t handle his questions, only holding up a hand to shut him up for a minute.

“You can see her from here. I can’t have her asking more questions just yet.” He didn’t have to deal with the fallout, he’s never had to deal with any of it. He just walked back in, fired around a bunch of accusations, and walked back out again. He’d never get to understand the pain that left you.

“I’m sorry for what I said. Please, just… just listen to me.”

“Will listening shut you up? Will it make everything go back to the way it was before you knew?” You choked on the end of your words, fighting back the tears that stung your eyes and threatened to fall.

“Just let me speak, and if after I'm finished, that's still what you want? Then we can try to go back to normal. But it’ll never be like it was before I knew, because I want to know her.”

You stood up and began walking away, hearing him follow close behind. You weren't in the mood to hear what he had to say, or how he felt he had some god-given right to see her after everything he had said and done. His presence grated on your nerves, each footstep amplifying your frustration.

“I want to know my daughter. Please.” 

His voice sounded almost like he was begging, pleading with you to change your mind, to hear him out. The desperation in his tone made you hesitate, hearing him call her his. It stirred something within you, and you stopped in your tracks. Turning around, you fixed him with a ferocious glare, your eyes burning with a mix of anger and pain. The intensity of your gaze was enough to make him falter, and for a moment, the hallway was filled with the heavy silence of unspoken emotions.

"So now you feel entitled to call her yours?" Now you get to believe me when I say that I’d never been with anyone but you? Why did you suddenly have a change of heart?

He continued walking towards you, slowing his pace as he noticed you stiffen when he got too close. It was as if he was handling a wounded bird, afraid that any sudden movement might cause you to flee and leave him behind once more. The only thing convincing him that you wouldn't run was the undeniable truth that your child was still here, and you would never leave her. The weight of this unspoken understanding hung heavily in the air, a silent tether binding you to the spot despite the turmoil within.

“I was a fool before. Wayne showed me that. Hell, I was more than a fool. I was an outright fuck up.” He stood there, holding his breath. You could almost hear his heart battering against his ribs from where you stood. As you turned around and met his gaze, a flicker of softness crept into your heart. You wanted to dash to your car, to escape home and hide until it was time to pick her up. But you knew it was impossible. For Christ's sake, he lived across the street. Eventually, you'd run into him again. The thought of the inevitable encounters made your shoulders sag with the weight of resignation, yet you stood your ground, steeling yourself for the confrontation that you knew was coming.

“That doesn’t answer my question. It just proves I was right. Why do you feel the right to call her your child when I was the one who had to endure hell for years?” 

You felt the tears fall, but made no move to wipe them away. A part of you was glad you didn’t when you felt his warm hand on your cheek, gently brushing them away with his thumb. He looked at you with that familiar expression—the one that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. It was a mix of tenderness and regret, a look that pierced through your defenses and made your heart ache. Despite everything, there was still a connection, a lingering trace of what once was, and it left you standing there, torn between the past and an uncertain future.

And it was goddamn working.

“I remembered it, just this morning.” 

He was staring through your soul with those eyes that could melt the ice-cold walls you’d built to keep yourself safe. He was the only person you had ever known who could make you feel secure, make you feel at home. In his gaze, you saw a depth of understanding and a silent plea for forgiveness, a reflection of the love that had once bound you together so tightly. Despite the pain and the years of separation, he still had the power to unravel your defenses, leaving you vulnerable yet inexplicably comforted in his presence.

“When I called you and the line went dead, I tried again and again to get through to you. Eventually, someone answered. It was your dad. He told me you didn’t want to talk to me ever again. Then I remembered something you said to me about a letter you wrote. I… I never got it.” 

The realization hit you like a freight train, surging through every vein in your body like an unstoppable force. It felt as though the tracks had suddenly given way beneath you, sending you hurtling into chaos. Yet, amidst the chaos, everything began to fall into place, like pieces of a puzzle that had eluded fitting together until this moment.

Memories flooded back—your father's abrupt phone call, the slammed receiver, the whispered conversations behind closed doors. And then, the return of your letter, marked with "return to sender." It all made sense now. The pieces of the puzzle, disjointed and scattered for so long, finally clicked into place, revealing a picture you had never dared to imagine.

A surge of conflicting emotions washed over you. Part of you wanted to cry and scream, to unleash the years of pent-up anger and frustration at the injustice of it all. You had wasted so much time hating him for what he did, resenting the world for the hand it had dealt you. But on the other hand, there was a profound sense of gratitude, a realization that despite the pain and heartache, his actions had led to the greatest gift you could have ever received.

In the midst of the turmoil, there was a glimmer of light—a beacon of love and joy that had emerged from the darkest corners of your past. Your child, the embodiment of a love you had never thought possible, had brought warmth and meaning into your life in ways you could never have imagined. And in that moment, as you grappled with the complexities of your emotions, you couldn't help but feel a sense of profound gratitude for the unexpected blessings that had emerged from the depths of your pain.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did when you told me that Willow was mine. I should’ve believed you. I always believe you.” He walked closer to you, till the tips of your shoes were touching, and you could feel his breath on your skin, the smell of nicotine engulfing you. “Maybe if I told you sooner that I…” You watched him catch his breath, watched him stop speaking for a moment. You had a blooming warm feeling in your chest, hoping what he was about to say was the same as what you’d been feeling for as long as you can remember.

“Say it, please. So that I can tell you the same thing.” 

You watched as a sparkle appeared behind his eyes, a joyous expression threatening to overtake his face. It made you want to grin against him too, want to smile stronger and wider than you’ve ever done before.

“Maybe if I told you sooner that I loved you, I could’ve made you stay. We could’ve raised her together. God, I love you, have loved you and will love you for my entire life. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything before now. I wish I had told you that night, the beautiful night that I have been obsessed with since you left.” His words were like poetry, music to your ears.

The fluorescent lights cast a soft glow over the empty high school hallway, the distant hum of the lights barely audible. After five long years apart, you stood facing each other near the lockers where you had shared countless memories as children yourself.

"I never stopped loving you," he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. "Not for a single moment."

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. "I love you too," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I've always loved you."

For a moment, the two of you simply stared at each other, the weight of your mutual feelings hanging heavily in the air. Then, almost in unison, you took a step closer.

His other hand reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb gently brushing away the last stray tear. You leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you savored the warmth and familiarity of his hand.

He tilted his head, closing the distance between the two of you. Your breaths mingled, and you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Then, your lips collided with his in a tender, lingering kiss, a kiss that spoke of years of longing and unspoken words.

It was soft at first, a gentle exploration, as if you were both afraid the moment would shatter. But then, the intensity grew, the kiss deepening as you poured all your pent-up emotions into it. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, your hands tangling in his long, thick hair.

The world around you seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of love and passion. The cool metal of the lockers pressed against your back as they kissed, grounding you both in the reality of the moment. When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to catch their breath.

"I've missed you so much," you murmured, your voice barely more than a breath.

"And I you," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "But we're together now, and I'm never letting you go again."

You smiled, your heart full, and kissed him once more, sealing the promise with a tender touch, the echoes of your love resonating through the silent hallway.

This, this was the life you deserved, the love you deserved, all along. This was what true love felt like, what it felt like to be loved. He was an intoxicating drug, and you knew that you were hooked for life.

You sat in the car together, catching him up on everything he’d missed while you were apart. Soon it felt like no time had passed at all, and that you were back to your old ways. Best friends, and now lovers.

You hadn’t realised that hours had passed until you saw the cute little bundle of joy bounding her way over in her pink light up sneakers. You saw a look on Eddies face, a beaming sight of joy.

“What is it? Are you okay?” You got a little worried, thinking maybe something was wrong.

“She… she’s wearing my old hellfire shirt. It was the first one I’d ever made. I didn’t want to waste a shirt my size, so I tried it on a child's one. Wayne, well, he must have sold it on or something.” You could now see that what that look in his eyes was. It was pride. Pride that his little girl was showing an interest in something that was uniquely his.

The grin stayed on his face even as she climbed into the car, throwing her arms around the seat to hug him, squealing his name in delight. It made your heart soar, like fireworks lighting up your whole world.

“So sweetie, how was your first day?” 

“I got a boyfriend named Sam!” 

You watched Eddie almost choke on his own breath, meanwhile you couldn’t help but break into a belly laugh, clutching your sides breathlessly.

“Well, guess I better meet this boy.” He turned to you, whispering gently. “Is it too much to sit on the porch with a shotgun?”

“Eddie! The kids probably five years old!”

“Hey! She’s my little girl, I gotta protect her from the big bad kindergartners of the world.” 

And that was it, that was how you’d go onto spend the rest of your lives. With a beautiful sunny glow surrounding you like heavenly light. 

The look of love would stay on his face forever, on your wedding day, on the day you brought a brother into the world for Willow. It was there always, and you just knew.

You knew that this was what it meant to be clean.

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And there we go! The final chapter is done after so damn long. I've been writing this fic for over a year and im so glad to finally have it be over. The amount of WIPs I've come up with since then has been enormous, but I've commited and didn't want to give up on this baby. So here it is, I hope you all enjoyed!

next up.... BRIDGERTON EDDIE

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[ronearoundblindly]

For the dirty A-Z headcanon game can I get an A for Steve Rogers?

From this ask game, and I love you to the end of the line, anon, because this is pretty much THE one I wanted to answer...

A - Alone Time

How does he get off when all by himself?

Does he watch porn?

Is it all in his imagination?

Does he jerk off?

Does he use toys?

In case it wasn't obvious... MINORS DNI (vaguely coded to be gender neutral for the possibility of steve x reader or stucky or whatever your flavor)

Here we go, babes. I know I've written several different versions of Steve in various universes, but this is gonna be more generalized and not involve the very specific background experiences I've written into other things. This is just my good ol' fashioned headcanon of Steve masturbating!

This man takes his time--or at least would prefer to--even when it's just him. He will gently touch/play with himself for a while before grabbing his dick. Grazing his nails over his thighs. Pinching his nipples. I think this dude really has a thing with his throat? Like he thinks about teeth along his neck or being pulled forward by it and, yes, a squeeze or two. Don't flame me, I'm just saying!

He craves foreplay, is what I mean, and I don't think Steve feels fully aroused unless more than just his genitals are involved in the act, ya know?

He watches porn, but only for examples. There's a whole lot in modern pornography that is a huge turn-off for him. Steve uses certain imagery or sounds/sayings that he found in porn and kinda edits them together for his pleasure later--like mentally edits, lord knows, because that man would not get the hang of Final Cut Pro OR iMovie, feel me?--plus that way he can imagine a certain someone's voice actually saying those things to him or doing them to him.

Which brings us to Steve's imagination which is unbelievably vivid and runs rampant. Think about it: he's a strategist. He has to see tons of possible scenarios play out all at once, analyze where that leads and where that leaves him, and then plan to thwart or redirect all that happens into an ideal outcome. Don't tell me that artist does not have an incredible mind's eye.

Then we get to Steve finally touching himself expressly to come.

He's toyed with himself for a while, maybe gotten close but held back, probably enjoyed finding friction not with his fist. For some reason, I thoroughly believe he has a thing for fabrics? This guy enjoys the glide of silk and satin. I bet his sheets are nice and slick so he can thrust against them a little and think of a pretty skirt or a dressy, formal glove.

Actual toys? Like the kind advertised as sex toys? Like the kind he'd have to purchase with money in some capacity? No. I think shy Steve hasn't figured out a way to discreetly (and by that I mean, untraceably) do that. He refuses to use anything online attached to his name--credit card or secondary/digital wallet whatever--to buy something or to tell someone what he would want them to buy for him because then that person would know! He'd keel over from embarrassment right then and there!! ARE YOU INSANE?!?!

No. What Steve will do is get seemingly useful things for innocuous reasons and play dumb blond if anyone ever insinuates it could be a sex toy. That man can and will absolutely lie like a champ to keep those secrets. That man is a super soldier but his muscles still get sore; that's what the massager is for, not his taint, nuh-uh no how. How dare you ask him!

Which brings us to the climax: his climax.

Steve prefers to finish in the shower. He's spent all that time enjoying the feel of his hands or various textures, the dry (but not painful) drag of everything before the slick lubrication of lotion or conditioner creates a welcome high under the spray of water, and then, yes, he can clean himself right off afterward. Highly efficient. Also very effective at training his brain to get off quickly in a shower if necessary.

Strategy, you guys, it's all about strategy.

Thank you for asking!

A/N: Are my answers to these like an audition for the Shameless Hoe Club? Maybe. Or maybe Ro has just lost the ability to filter herself...or care 🤭

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[bloodcasket]

WHEN YOU'RE INJURED.

PAIRING(S): Ellie Williams x Reader, Abby Anderson x Reader.

WARNINGS: Mentions injury(cuts), blood, and other wounded descriptions. Slight angst?- (Possibly). Do not read if these are sensitive topics for you!

DESCRIPTION: How they react to your injury/take care of your wounds.

ELLIE WILLIAMS ;

The more loving, and attentive in this situation.

She sees you standing in front of her with a bleeding arm and she's immediately panicking.

After her trauma with Riley and all her other friends dying from infection, the last thing she wishes to see is her lover in pain.

But, she is extremely attentive. Remember when she was taking care of Joel? She will be on her hands and knees for you during times like these.

She rushes to go grab some supplies, not really having an idea in mind, just the goal of getting you healed.

She's full of anxiety and almost forgets to breathe.

"Shit! Where the fuck is it?". She quite literally rummages through everything and makes a mess.

Nothing else matters but you in this situation.

She comes back out with some antibiotics to clean you up, and some sutures to stitch your injury.

"I found some stuff...it might not be the best but it'll get you stitched up".

Her hands are shaking, you have to reassure her that you're okay.

"I got you, I got you", she'll whisper as she cleans you up.

Truth is, Ellie is a little insecure.

When she takes care of her own cuts, she does them messily and doesn't care enough to fix them.

But for you? Oh no. She has to make sure she does this right for her angel. She's just a little anxious she can't do it, is all.

When she's finished doing the best she can, she bends down to softly kiss your bandaged skin.

"There ya go. All better babe".

She's whispering sweet nothings to you all night.

She's hot on you ALL WEEK. Will not stop glancing at you and feeling guilty, even though it wasn't her fault.

"Hey babe, you feeling better?".

She needs a lot of reassurance that you're recovering fine. She doesn't want to lose you after all. It's one of her biggest fears. Even if it's over one trivial cut.

Waits for you to fall asleep at the end of every night to make sure you're not in any pain or form of discomfort.

She's the type of girlfriend to trace her fingers over your scarred skin lovingly once it's healed.

"I think I stitched it pretty good, didn't I?". A cocky act for someone who was scared shitless about you being hurt.

She's an extremely caring girlfriend even though she likes to pretend she's not. With Ellie, you'll feel loved and worshipped every moment.

YOU'RE sitting on the couch with Ellie, the faint sound of the record player playing music in background. A faint sigh is heard from below you, one that sounds defeated and downcast.

"You okay?", you run your hands through Ellie's hair as she lays her head down softly in your lap, her face turned toward your stomach. She responds by reaching up and softly tracing her fingers along your wounded arm, feeling the texture of the cotton wrapped around your skin.

"I hate seeing you hurt like this", she grumbles, and you try your best to hold back a chuckle. She's been like this all week, clinging to you with a woeful tone. "I know", is all you can say, your fingers gingerly massaging her scalp, "and I love you".

You watch her melt into your touch, her lips curving into a soft smile. You can tell she tries to hide it. "I love you too babe". Only you can make her smile like this.

ABBY ANDERSON ;

The more experienced and intelligent in this situation.

Abby is definitely more knowledgeable when it comes to issues like this, she knows exactly what to do because of her father being a doctor.

The moment you're showing her your laceration, she's immediately seating you down someplace safe, telling you to wait a second while she grabs the medkit.

She's extremely calm, her face showing patience, but her eyes prevailing concern.

She doesn't panic you in this situation, quite the opposite. She holds her mature composure.

She soothes you and tells you everything is going to be okay, that she'll take care of you.

Her hands are large and soft against you as she's examining your body. Your face becomes flush as her warm palms caress your aching skin.

"Does this area hurt babe?" , Her keen attention does things to you.

She smiles up at you in-between stitching the cut, trying her best to ease you.

"Hey, hey, hey. Focus on me okay? I know it hurts baby, I'm almost done".

She cleans your wounds thoroughly and makes sure everything is disinfected and wrapped up professionally.

She questions you after everything is done, acting annoyed with her grumpy expression. She wants to know every miniscule detail.

Truth is, she's just extremely anxious as to how you even became hurt in the first place. She wants to find a way to prevent it happening again.

"Just...please be safe next time or else I'll have to go with you. Okay baby?".

She gives you that intimidating glare, one that warns you to be more cautious of your surroundings.

You promise it won't happen again.......but your answer doesn't suffice. Abby sticks to you like glue.

She checks up on you every day and helps aid you when it comes to changing the bandages.

"Stop it, give that to me", she quickly takes the bandages from your hand, "let me do that for you".

She's an experienced girlfriend and is set on a routine of taking care of you. When you're dating Abby, you'll feel like a spoiled princess.

YOU'RE currently in the bathroom, examining all the medical tools Abby has. Truth is, you're searching for something to replace your old bandages with since they became soiled and bloody. "Where are they?-" you ask yourself, but are soon stopped as your girlfriend enters.

"What are you doing?", Abby is propped up against the frame of the door, looking at you with a questioning expression. "I thought I told you to come to me when you needed help changing those. Here, let me handle it", she sits you down on the toilet seat as she goes to unwrap your gauze.

"Looks better already. It's healing quick sweetheart, I'm proud of you". Her smile is so sweet and warm as she looks down at you.

She bends down to kiss your forehead, and you're smiling like an idiot as you feel her soft lips press against your temple.